Archive of Our Own

“We are gathered here today to discuss my problems,” says Wei Wuxian, grinning as Jiang Cheng takes his seat across the table. “Thank you for joining me during these trying times.”

“I’m only here because you’re paying,” says Jiang Cheng. He doesn’t bother to hide the scowl behind his voice.

Wei Wuxian nods. “Perfectly understandable,” he says. He promptly ignores Jiang Cheng’s huff of displeasure. “Anyways, as I was saying. My problems.” He leans over, placing his elbows on the table and sliding himself across the surface. His brother grimaces as he innocently bats his eyes up in his face. “My roommate is stupidly hot and I’ve been having a breakdown about it all week.”

A long stretch of silence settles in the air around them. It’s ultimately broken by Jiang Cheng, who sighs deeply and reaches for his already-full shot glass. 

“For the food,” he’s muttering under his breath as he raises the cup to his lips and downs it, “do it for the food.”

Wei Wuxian wants to be offended by this—he really does—but he has to admit he too would likely be in the same position if it were him. Still. Jiang Cheng definitely wouldn’t be acting like this if he actually saw the man Wei Wuxian is now sharing his apartment with. Every time Wei Wuxian looks at his new roommate, he melts. God fucking dammit. 

“You,” says Jiang Cheng, “are the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.” Wei Wuxian huffs, and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “What’s the roommate’s name?”

“Lan Wangji,” says Wei Wuxian. He licks his lips and grins widely. “But I call him Lan Zhan!”

“Why?”

“Because!” Wei Wuxian reaches for his own drink and sloshes it around for a moment. He hums. “I’m only trying to be friendly.”

Jiang Cheng deadpans him a look.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. I took a peek at his notebook and it had his birth name on it.”

“You are so shameless.”

“He said the exact same thing!”

“Oh. God. He hates you.”

“He does not.”

Lan Wangji is… a character if Wei Wuxian has ever seen one. He had just moved in earlier that day, lugging two giant suitcases behind him. He nodded hello, and Wei Wuxian attempted to strike up a conversation while he had been unpacking. Lan Wangji had ignored his brilliant efforts at friendship, telling him he didn’t have to worry about it in that beautifully seductive voice of his. Wei Wuxian did not stop staring at him for the rest of the afternoon.

“So?” Jiang Cheng leans over the booth and cocks an eyebrow. “What’s he like?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I dunno. I haven’t really, ah, talked to him yet.”

Jiang Cheng lets out a sound that suggests he wasn’t expecting any better. Which, frankly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t doubt.

“Wei Wuxian,” he hisses. “Why are you here then? Go back and fucking, I don’t know, play icebreakers or some shit.”

“Icebreakers,” Wei Wuxian echoes. “A-Cheng, I’m not twelve.”

“You sure fucking act like it.”

“Hey!”

“What about his work? Does he have a job? Please tell me you know what his job is,” Jiang Cheng continues, peering under the dimly lit restaurant lights. It’s one of Wei Wuxian’s favorite stops—he’d discovered this old place in high school, tucked between alleys like a startling present, if presents were five small tables and a counter crammed inside a restaurant smelling of grease and pepper. Inside, the old, quaint feeling comes through with the broken jukebox and the red leather barstools, some of which have stopped spinning in their age and creak miserably, like old people.

“Uh,” says Wei Wuxian, which is enough of a response. Jiang Cheng groans, and Wei Wuxian limply lifts his hand, palm up in a half-hearted shrug. “Nah, but I think it’s fair. It’s not like he can know exactly what I do either, you know. I can ask him another time. He only just moved in, anyways.”

Jiang Cheng immediately shuts up at this, and Wei Wuxian knows he’s caught him out. “Whatever,” Jiang Cheng mutters, already reaching over to pour himself another glass. “You do you.”

“Yeah!” nods Wei Wuxian, taking a lefty sip from his own cup and setting it down with a resounding bang. He’s always been a bit of a messy drinker. It’s his style. “But, anyways, back to the dilemma. He’s super hot.”

“Won’t believe it till I see it,” Jiang Cheng mutters. 

Wei Wuxian pouts. “Aw, you don’t trust my taste?”

“When have I ever trusted you with anything?”

That is so totally a lie, but he’ll take it. “Hm. Fair point,” he says, and that’s that.

The look Jiang Cheng is giving him, however, suggests the exact opposite. 

“So,” he says. “You’re in love with Hanguang-jun, and now you think your roommate is hot.”

“Lan Zhan is objectively good looking,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. He runs through the rest of the accusation in his head and frowns. “And I’m not in love with Hanguang-jun.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrow ticks. “Yeah right,” he says. “Tell me that once you’ve stopped flirting with him every time you’re assigned to the same hit.”

“I’m not flirting!”

“Sure you aren’t.”

They settle into their normal silence, Jiang Cheng reaching for his phone and beginning to scroll through it with that stupid, permanently scowling expression of his. Wei Wuxian watches on with disinterest, tapping his fingers against the glossy surface of the table and suppressing the urge to yawn.

Then, Jiang Cheng lets out a very audible sigh and looks at him. He has that dumb expression on his face, the one that sort of makes him look like an excited, lost little puppy. Wei Wuxian straightens up, already having an inkling of an idea of what it’s about.

Jiang Cheng holds his phone out to him, a picture of a gruff man staring back through the screen.

“This one’ll be easy,” he mutters. “Just get it done quickly. Preferably tomorrow. Day after’s the anniversary.”

Wei Wuxian smiles despite himself. It feels soft and warm against his lips, but a slice of pain residing in his chest cuts deeper. It isn’t often that the two of them will openly discuss the anniversary, or even anything to do with it, really, but it’s there—it sits against their skin like a badly concealed secret. It’s soon, and Wei Wuxian knows he’ll have to deal with the ache that will inevitably accompany it in any case.

The anniversary. His birthday. Halloween. All on the same day. Quite fitting, really.

“Yeah,” he says. It feels just a tinge too bitter on his tongue. “I’ll kick this dude’s ass, don’t worry.”

“Maybe do more than just kick his ass,” says Jiang Cheng, sipping away at his drink. “Hanguang-jun’s been assigned to him too.”

“Of course he has,” says Wei Wuxian, nodding at this. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Sometimes I really wonder what goes on between the two of you.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “What can I say?” he says, a sly smile creeping out beneath his cheekbones. “He makes the job so much more interesting!”

“He competes with you for hits,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

“Exactly,” says Wei Wuxian. “What’s life without a little competition?”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “Whatever. You’re on your own. Don’t get distracted or I will punch you.”

Wei Wuxian’s muscles relax against the plush booth. He sinks down into it, taking a deep breath and humming affirmatively when Jiang Cheng asks if he can transfer over the target’s information. 

Just get it done quickly, huh?

He can do that.

—

The night is cold. 

Wei Wuxian waltzes into the abandoned storehouse, toes lightly tapping on the floor. He clicks his tongue, eyes darting around. His gaze is narrow, sharp, and perfectly calculated. A heightened chill floats through the air above, desperately attempting to cling to his skin. It fails every time it so much as gets close. 

Movement graces his periphery.

He turns, smooth, and hooks the platinum gun off of his waist. Raising his arm, he aims. Fires. A clean sweep. Done. 

A thud, many feet away, echoes around the empty room. The sound of the shot bounces off of the walls, drifting into his ears. Wei Wuxian huffs and shakes his head. These assignments are getting much too easy, if he’s being honest. What he needs is a change of pace—something to keep him on his toes. Something fun. 

A new sound comes from behind him, barely there but obvious enough for someone of his caliber. The footsteps approaching are familiar, he notices. He feels the corners of his lips tugging upward, and he quickly pockets his gun.

He turns on his heel, eyes finding the newcomer. 

A tall man—just barely taller than Wei Wuxian himself—stares back at him. His mask is tight on his face, the outline of his features hidden beneath the sticky material. There’s a gun in his hand, silver-coated, metallic and shiny. Wei Wuxian smirks. He knows his expression is safely tucked away from sight, but he can’t help it. This really is much too fun.

He lifts his hand to the bottom of his mask, right around where his lips are. He blows a kiss and winks, watching with delight as the man freezes, the lines of his upper body going rigid with obvious frustration.

Wei Wuxian is used to this. He’s never spoken to this man before, but still he knows him like the back of his hand. There’s no need for verbal communication between the two—Wei Wuxian is aware of everything that’s important.

Yiling Laozu shares a very complicated relationship with this Hanguang-jun, after all.

Because Hanguang-jun may be one of the top assassins in the field, but Yiling Laozu is better. Yiling Laozu always somehow manages to get to the sight mere minutes before Hanguang-jun. Yiling Laozu always either obnoxiously takes the hit for himself, or better yet, slinks to the background and watches Hanguang-jun have at it. 

Wei Wuxian thinks that’s what gets on Hanguang-jun’s nerves the most. When he lets him take the hit. 

Hanguang-jun seems to relax his shoulders down, though only barely. He turns, his entire suit flowing alongside him, till his back is facing Wei Wuxian and he’s walking away. 

Wei Wuxian watches him leave as he pockets his gun. A smirk plays at his mouth, curling around the edge of his lips and nestling closeby. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he eyes the heap of limbs in the corner of the room. He sighs, then bounds out the door himself, taking out his work phone only when he’s dozens of blocks away. He sends a text to Jiang Cheng and is answered within seconds.

YLLZ
done & done!! :D

SDSS
uh huh

He grins. Well then. 

He clicks into his other messaging thread, smile widening as he types out another message,

YLLZ
better late than never!

The reply comes within minutes.

HGJ
be professional.

YLLZ
who, me? :D
hanguang-jun, professional is my middle name!!!
yiling professional laozu
don’t wear it out!

HGJ
ridiculous.

Beaming, Wei Wuxian pockets his phone and sets off in the direction of his apartment.

—

The thing about Lan Wangji is that, well, Wei Wuxian simply isn’t used to having to share a space with another person. He hasn’t had a roommate in so long—he’s almost forgotten what it feels like to step through the threshold of his front door and be greeted with the sight of someone sitting on the couch. 

It started out alright enough: Wei Wuxian had been pleasantly surprised by his new roommate’s looks, then had proceeded to throw those thoughts right out the window before they could escalate any further, and was left with a stoic-looking man who looked to be around his age standing in the middle of his living room. 

“So,” he had said about ten minutes after Lan Wangji had greeted him for the first time, “since I’ve been living here for a while, I’ve already, uh, taken up one of the rooms. I hope you don’t mind? You’re gonna have to deal with the vacant one. Um.” A pause. God, how did people do this? “If that’s okay.”

Lan Wangji had nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian echoed. “Great! Glad that’s settled.”

That was yesterday. Wei Wuxian had decided to go out with Jiang Cheng after that, sipping his way through the night and laying down each and every one of his concerns to his darling younger brother.

If he’s being honest, he hadn’t even considered getting a roommate in the first place. He was perfectly content with living on his own, tending to himself and only himself. 

But Wen Qing always told him that he would be absolutely nowhere without her. She had been his roommate in college, and he has to admit, there are some points hidden somewhere in her claims. Somewhere. Deep down. Maybe. 

So, he had cycled through many people he could potentially share a space with. Alas, none of them stuck, so that was that.

He trudges forward. Perhaps this one will end up working out. He has to admit, Lan Wangji seems like a fairly responsible lad. He seems like the type to not get too annoyed by Wei Wuxian’s… everything.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says now, peeking his head into the living room where Lan Wangji is sitting on the couch. His roommate looks up from where he’s furiously typing away at his laptop, his expression perfectly blank as it always is. Wei Wuxian regards it for a short moment, realizing that he’s probably going to have to get used to it. “I’m thinking of ordering in tonight. Do you have any preferences for dinner?”

He likes to treat himself this way. Every night after he embarks on a hit, he tries his hardest to make sure he gets some good food in his stomach. He’s not the worst cook, per se; he’s simply aware of the fact that professionals can probably do a much better job than him.

Lan Wangji’s fingers, poised delicately over his keyboard, immediately go back to their incessant typing. The image is rather strange—he’s looking at Wei Wuxian, but still working at whatever it is that he’s working at. 

Lan Wangji shakes his head before returning his gaze back to his screen. “I am fine with anything,” he says, like an asshole.

So he’s one of those people.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, picture definition of eloquence. Well, no matter. “Alrighty, then! I hope you like spicy food!”

“It is alright,” says Lan Wangji, his voice clipped and not quite there. Wei Wuxian wonders if he had even heard him.

He huffs and turns away, retreating back into the comfort of his own room. This is yet another thing about Lan Wangji—he prefers working out in the open spaces of their apartment instead of in his room. It’s the exact opposite of Wei Wuxian, who is completely enamored by his beautiful, beautiful desk. 

It also doesn’t help that with his line of work, it’s probably much smarter for him to stay away from wandering eyes. The files on his computer are classified, thank you very much. Someone like Lan Wangji, who probably has some boring old day job, would never be able to relate. 

When the food arrives, the first thing Wei Wuxian does is empty out the boxes into separate plates for the two of them. Then he decides against it and mixes everything together. Family-style eating means potential bonding, doesn’t it? Wei Wuxian can already see it play out: Lan Wangji will be forced to pay attention to him, Wei Wuxian can strike up a conversation about something random, and they can become best friends!

It’s perfect. It’s flawless. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for his genius brain.

“Lan Zhan!” he whisper-shouts, balancing the plates in his hands as he stalks his way into the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Wangji tilt his head upward suddenly, a surprised expression dawning over his features when he notices Wei Wuxian’s… minor struggles.

Well, Wei Wuxian thinks it’s a surprised expression. His lips are… kind of parted, he guesses. His eyebrows are… kind of raised? He thinks?

Lan Wangji stands up, moving to come up to him and help him take a few of the dishes out of his grasp. Wei Wuxian shoots him a grateful smile, but unfortunately, the latter has already looked away, turning around and going to sit down on the floor. 

Wei Wuxian follows suit, bending down and crossing his legs beneath him as he lays out the set of bowls and plates. He secretly thanks his past-self for deciding against the carpeted apartment option. That would not be good for someone like him: messy, disordered, chaotic, etc. etc.

He tosses Lan Wangji a pair of chopsticks, then picks up his own plate and reaches out to take a hefty helping for himself. 

“Hard at work, eh?” he says through a mouthful of rice. He cocks his head in the direction of Lan Wangji’s discarded laptop laying a few feet away on the seat of the cough. 

Lan Wangji glances up to him, his eyebrows narrowing the slightest amount. This time, Wei Wuxian sees it clearly. 

“Speech is forbidden while dining,” Lan Wangji says curtly. 

Wei Wuxian raises a delicate eyebrow, because what. “Huh?”

Lan Wangji swallows down a bite of his food and repeats: “Speech is forbidden while dining.”

And then, his face changes again. His ears adopt a slightly rosier hue, and his eyes widen in surprise. He seems to freeze in place, fingers holding chopsticks raised delicately over his bowl. 

Wei Wuxian blinks. “What’s wrong?”

Lan Wangji actually gulps. He gulps and trails his line of sight downward till it meets the contents of his dinner. Pausing, he stares at it. Wei Wuxian looks at him carefully, gaze tapering as he scrutinizes the scene. Lan Wangji then shakes his head and goes in for another mouthful. This time, his expression doesn’t move a single centimeter, and his features even out back to normal.

Wei Wuxian purses his lips. Well, alright. Perhaps this will be a little more difficult than he had initially thought it would be. 

The food enters his own mouth in small increments. Every few seconds, Wei Wuxian glances up to see Lan Wangji’s eyes fixated on his meal. Wei Wuxian bites his lip, running through multiple conversation starters in his head. They all seem painfully inadequate, though, but he’s determined to at least make some kind of progress on the first official night of the two of them being housemates. 

He grins and leans closer to him. “Say, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji does not, in fact, say anything.

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Lan Zhan,” he tries again.

Lan Wangji answers by taking another bite, swallowing slowly.

“Lan Zhaaaaaan.”

That’s when it happens. Lan Wangji looks up and stares at Wei Wuxian, his eyes not quite readable, but not completely covert either. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian in a way that suggests exasperation, and, hm, that’s interesting. 

Then Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, his smile widening at once. That’s permission, isn’t it? That’s clear permission. Sure, Lan Wangji doesn’t sound particularly happy about it, but it’s definitely something! Lan Wangji called him Wei Ying! Yeah! Whoo! Victory!

Granted, it’s probably only because Wei Wuxian himself is so insistent on calling Lan Wangji by his given name, but, pah, details. 

“Yes?” Wei Wuxian says, sinking forward and batting his eyelids in a manner he hopes is annoying enough to make Lan Wangji give in. 

It seems to work, he thinks, as Lan Wangji purses his lips and glances down at the floor. He looks like he’s considering something for a long moment before he inclines his head to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes again. 

“What is it?” 

Wei Wuxian hums. “We’ve been living together for more than twenty-four hours now, haven’t we?”

“We have.” The answers are curt and to the point, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t doubt that this is already much more than what is ordinary for Lan Wangji. 

He nods. “Alright! So we should get to know each other then, don’t you think?”

“There is no need,” says Lan Wangji, but he sounds skeptical enough for Wei Wuxian to push through with the shamelessness five hundred-percent. 

“No no,” he says, “we definitely should. I’ll start.” He pauses to gauge the other man’s reaction, and when he doesn’t move a muscle, he grins. “You already know my name. Hmm… my favorite color is red, I enjoy hiking, I have a nephew who’s a cute little button, a little brother who’s the absolute opposite of a cute little button—”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian takes the interruption in stride. “What about you?”

Lan Wangji swallows down another bite of his dinner, then gently sets his bowl out in front of him. He dusts off the seat of his slacks, the entire action awfully perfect. His posture is straight, his aura is completely intact. It contrasts Wei Wuxian’s general… being… in its entirety. 

Still, he humors him. 

“I have an older brother,” he says, “My son is in university.”

Okay, so there’s an older brother and a—

Wait. 

“What?” 

Lan Wangji stares at him. Then he shakes his head. “He is not my real son,” he says, as if that explains literally anything. “I adopted him many years ago, when he was a child.”

“That doesn’t—” Wei Wuxian sputters, lips parted to form an ‘o’ shape as he waves his hands around in the air. “It doesn’t work like that, what? Why aren’t you living with your son, then?”

“He is in university,” Lan Wangji repeats, then reaches over for his water. “He lives at his school. With his friends.”

There’s definitely an edge of bitterness there. It almost makes Wei Wuxian laugh. He watches as Lan Wangji drains half of the glass, slow and languid with his sips.

“Then…” He takes a deep breath. “Then why aren’t you living alone?”

“He believes I would benefit from the presence of a second person,” says Lan Wangji, setting his glass down again. He sounds so serious, and Wei Wuxian realizes that he probably is. 

“Uh.” His voice is piqued with an oratory style as always. “Okay.”

Strange, but alright. To each their own, he supposes.

Lan Wangji doesn’t talk much more after that. Wei Wuxian tries to ease him back into a conversation of sorts, but he doesn’t really mind overtaking either. He goes on long tangents about his own life—whatever aspects about it he can safely disclose, that is—and watches with mild fascination as Lan Wangji seems to drink in every word without ever offering his own input. It’s peculiar, this style of conversation. Wei Wuxian wonders how Lan Wangji can stop himself from jumping in with his thoughts on Wei Wuxian’s rant about colored fuzzy socks. It’s nothing like anything he’s used to. With Jiang Cheng, at least, there’s a constant back and forth. An exchange of words, phrases, insults—the like. 

Still, Lan Wangji does listen quite intently. He hadn’t seemed very interested in the beginning—Wei Wuxian doubts he is even now, so he’s an excellent actor if that really is the case—but after a while, he begins to look up every time Wei Wuxian trails off and grapples to find his words. He stops voicing that no talking rule, but Wei Wuxian is certain that’s because he begins to understand that there’s no way Wei Wuxian can’t just not talk. 

It’s late by the time they finish dinner and get started on cleaning up. This, at least, Lan Wangji does help him with. What an absolute gentleman. They work side by side, a pleasant buzz drifting through the air between them as they wash dishes and clear out the living room space.

“You seem like you’d be a stickler for cleanliness,” Wei Wuxian says as he watches Lan Wangji rearrange their couch pillows. Two on the far right, two on the far left, and none in the center. A pattern perfected with time, clearly.

Lan Wangji pauses, his hand hovering over one of the cushions. “I appreciate it,” he says. 

Wei Wuxian grins. “Right, right, of course you do. Organization. Mleh.” He yawns, arms stretching above his head. “Well, I’ll be off to bed, then. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Mn. Sleep well.”

Wei Wuxian is halfway out of the room when he remembers something. He pauses in his step, mentally running through the pros and cons of indulging his new roommate. He takes a deep breath and turns around, finding Lan Wangji standing in the kitchen and putting away a few last things.

“Ah, hm, I’ll be out tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, averting his gaze. 

Lan Wangji looks over to him and nods. “Mn. Okay.”

It’s nice that he doesn’t ask questions, though perhaps that’s because they aren’t close yet. Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if they’ll ever reach a point in their relationship where Lan Wangji would feel comfortable asking him about his plans for the day.

And so, he brings those thoughts with him to sleep. Nestled in the comfort of his bed, his mind begins to wander once more, but he decides resolutely that he doesn’t want to think about what tomorrow signifies just yet.

—

The following night, Wei Wuxian finds himself perched on top of a rooftop, looking out into the night. His thighs are pressed up against his chest, and he’s hugging his knees closely. The air is chilly, but not overwhelmingly so.

The inherent beauty of a lonely evening. 

It’s one of the rare nights he steps out in Yiling Laozu attire without his gun. He likes it this way, though he knows his preferences have little weight in the face of his work. Still, he told Jiang Cheng he wouldn’t be embarking on any hits tonight, and he stands by that. 

It isn’t as if Jiang Cheng would assign him one tonight, anyways.

“Happy birthday,” his brother had said in the morning, his voice laced with a tinge of something on the edge of bittersweet.

“Thanks, Wei Wuxian had said, and they left it at that.

There’s a bottle of liquor by his side, but he doesn’t turn to it just yet. It sits, a reassuring presence there next to him for whenever he’s ready. 

His mind begins to drift. 

He gazes down at the bustling streets of the city, watching as people flounder about to their heart's content. He eyes a couple out on a date, a group of businessmen decked out in their pristine suits, and a small flurry of children playing tag in the corner of a building. 

And then, hidden through the crowd of people below, he spots a flash of white. It’s a figure. 

A very familiar figure. 

Hanguang-jun, in all his glory, is staring up at him. He’s standing behind a building, relatively hidden away from sight. The pounding lights around him threaten to spill his cover, but he manages to keep himself discreet, tucked away in a pocket of darkness. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen in surprise. He feels his legs tumble down below, hanging off of the edge of the building. His palms press flat onto the rooftop’s surface by his sides, the pads of his fingers digging into the cold concrete.

Then Hanguang-jun moves. He ducks away, and minutes later, Wei Wuxian finds him standing straight ahead, in front of him, several blocks away on a rooftop adjacent to his own.

They don’t talk. They never have. Wei Wuxian doubts Hanguang-jun would even be able to hear a word of anything he says from this far away. A wet breeze drifts past, slipping beneath his mask and cooling the stunned flush of his cheeks. Somehow, that’s enough to snap him back.

He smiles and lifts his hand to wave. 

Hanguang-jun doesn’t make a move to properly acknowledge him. Instead, he remains perfectly still, gazing out into the night—right back at him. 

Wei Wuxian blinks. 

When he opens his eyes, Hanguang-jun is gone. 

Wei Wuxian sighs and settles back down, reaching for the alcohol—finally—and popping it open. 

Now, he decides as he raises the rim to his lips, is when he’s ready.

—

Yiling Laozu and Hanguang-jun had first met in a restaurant.

It had been on Wei Wuxian’s third ever hit. His first was in a club. His second was in an abandoned old building, spidery cobwebs lacing its cracked interior. The restaurant, naturally, was a drastic improvement. It was classy and bougie. The patrons wore suits with actual ties. 

He asked his brother to help him get a suit ready for the occasion, but Jiang Cheng was an absolute pain and refused vehemently. So Wei Wuxian was left to his own devices, which ended up being a dug up Reddit thread from twelve years ago. 

What do I wear to my first date with a girl? asked user starkiller8736. He supposed it would have to do. The replies were varied: Depends where you’re going dude, said the first one. Nothing, said the second, accompanied by four winky-face emoticons. 

And so, Wei Wuxian ended up decked out in one of Wen Ning’s suits. It was one of the ones he had left behind in the apartment before going overseas, and Wei Wuxian patted himself down in front of his mirror with great delight.

“Lovely,” he said to himself. He nodded firmly. “Now let’s do this, Yiling Laozu!”

He arrived at the restaurant and was able to recognize the target with ease. Honestly, some people really were so obvious. Wei Wuxian was still fairly new to the entire idea of contract killing, but he did have eyes. With the way the man sitting in the corner was acting, it was obvious he wasn’t just here for a nice plate of eggplant parmesan. Also, well, his face. It was the exact same as the picture Jiang Cheng had shown him in the hit packet earlier that week. 

A smug smile creeped onto his lips, and he took his seat at a table a little ways away from the man with a languish glide, eyes carefully trained on his figure. A waitress arrived, and he ordered the first thing the tip of his index finger landed on. He tried not to absolutely wail out in despair when he saw the price at the end of the page.

Whatever. He’d find a way to convince Jiang Cheng to pay for at least sixty percent of the meal later. 

He picked through his pasta when it arrived, sighing in disappointment when he remembered he had forgotten to ask for extra chili flakes. It took all of ten minutes for a waiter to notice him, and then another fifteen for the flakes to be deposited on his table. Wei Wuxian thanked the waiter, then proceeded to dump the entire bottle onto the top of his dish. After mixing it all together, he took a bite, and yes, this was at least marginally better.

The target, however, didn’t seem at all interested in his meal. A shame, really. Wei Wuxian noticed that he had ordered a delicious looking Lobster Fra’ Diavolo with the spicy sauce he liked. Screw his tasteless bed of macaroni. 

Through his fourth—fifth?—bite, he noticed something strange.

There was another man sitting several tables away, his back to Wei Wuxian and his front to the target. His head was down, but tilted in a way so subtle that it gave almost everything away. He was looking at Wei Wuxian’s target. That much was obvious.

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, then tried to crane his neck in order to get a better look at the mysterious man’s face. Just as he was about to catch a glimpse of the side of his face, the man moved, slipping a mask over his features and covering himself completely. 

In the same moment, the target stood up, eyes trained down on his phone screen. There was a nervous look in his eyes, only further accentuated by the hasty speed of his retreat and the anxious bite of his bottom lip. 

Wei Wuxian was up in seconds. He slipped out through the back door, then ducked behind the corner of the building and reached into his front pocket for his mask. He slipped it on, making sure it fit snugly around his face, then peered through the darkness. There was a voice coming from just around the bend, and he leaned over to take a closer look. 

The target was there, bent over his phone. Wei Wuxian suppressed a sigh. How absolutely sketchy. How indiscreet. 

He stepped out and reached for his gun. 

But then he heard another sound. The crunching of leaves, the silent whisper of wind. He looked over, eyes narrowing and peering through the haze. The only light came from a dim lamp hanging right off of the back door to the restaurant. A dumpster lied a few feet away, speckles of flies roaming around it. 

And in front of it all was a man. Wei Wuxian immediately recognized him—it was the man that had been sitting in front of him inside. 

He was wearing a mask almost identical to Wei Wuxian’s, but his was the color of snow. It curled around the top half of his face, hiding everything away from sight save for his mouth. Wei Wuxian couldn’t exactly make out the shape of the man’s lips, but he imagined they were very beautiful—that the man himself was very beautiful. 

He paused, foot up and ready to take another step.

The other man was holding a gun. It was sparkling against the moonlight, and Wei Wuxian caught onto its glint with ease. 

Oh. Oh. 

He suddenly knew—he knew what this man was doing. He knew who he was, what he was after.

The target finally seemed to kick back to life, his head tilted upward slightly so that he was facing the man. The other assassin. The man didn’t move an inch, body stiff yet relaxed at the same time. Wei Wuxian’s eyes darted down, catching onto the sight of fingers curling tightly around the hilt of the gun. 

And then, his arm was raised. 

A silent pop, a wailing scream. Another, another, another. Wei Wuxian watched along with piqued curiosity. This man obviously knew what he was doing, though that might have been an illusion. Wei Wuxian had never met another assassin, and he had initially planned on keeping it that way. 

But looking at this person—the way his mask was concentrated downward, pointed in a way that was unflinching. Persistent. Determined. He knew Jiang Cheng would give him shit for this later, but by now he was much too intrigued. The mysterious man kept at it for a few seconds, walking closer and closer to the target with every shot before he pushed the gun back into his pocket and turned to meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze.

Ah. So the man had noticed him standing there.

Wei Wuxian held the stare, knowing well that the man couldn’t see anything but his mouth. For a moment, he felt incredibly stupid. What, was he seriously just going to stand there and watch someone else take his hit? Was he just going to stay back and let someone else have at it?

But for some reason, a pressure was lifted off of his shoulders as he watched the man stand before him. This man had carried out the job flawlessly, after all. There wasn’t an ounce of regret, not an ounce of anything outwardly displayed in the stiff outline of his body. He was just… there. Standing, unmoving. In fact, it was Wei Wuxian whose fingers were shaking, just ever so slightly. He’d pushed it off as shock from the moment.

And then, just before the back doors of the restaurant swung open, the man in the mask dipped and ran away.

His movements were fast, quick and agile to look at from a bystander’s point of view. The white of his robes imprinted into a spot in Wei Wuxian’s head, permanent and glazing. He wondered how long it would stay there for. He wondered if he would ever see the man again.

Somehow, he didn’t doubt it.

In this dirty profession of theirs, Wei Wuxian knew there were some people at the top. There were definitely people at the bottom too, but the top was where it mattered most. And everyone— everyone— had a reason for doing what they did. 

Did that man have a reason too?

A flash of a memory he’d been suppressing for the past few months comes flooding back to him all at once. Her gentle smile, her kind features, they blocked his senses for a few of the most excruciating seconds he had experienced in a while. Wei Wuxian gulped it down, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he pressed his lips together and counted to ten.

Inhale, exhale. In and out, in and out. 

After catching his breath, he peeled off his mask and walked back inside. He smoothed out his suit and slipped back into his booth, eyes automatically wandering back to the table in front of him. 

The man, of course, was nowhere to be found.

— 

“Hello hello!” Wei Wuxian says as he lets himself into Jiang Cheng’s apartment. The man in question is in the kitchen, chopping away at some vegetables and sliding them into a shiny pot. Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow at the scene, clearly intrigued by the sight of his brother looking, well, normal. For once in his life. “Jiang Cheng, are you cooking?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even glance up to properly greet him. Instead he mutters: “A-Ling wanted me to make lotus root and pork rib soup.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, deciding not to comment on that. “Ah.”

Jiang Cheng stays quiet for a few seconds longer, covering the pot with a lid before brushing the palms of his hand against the apron he’s wearing. The apron he’s wearing. Peppering laughter threatens to escape Wei Wuxian’s lips at the sight. 

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Shut up or I won’t give you your job.”

Wei Wuxian pulls a face at him. “So mean! Wen Qing wouldn’t treat me like this.”

“Yeah, well I’m not fucking Wen Qing.”

“Ugh.” The new voice startles Wei Wuxian, and he glances back to see Jin Ling coming out of the corridor and walking up to them. “It’s just you.”

Wei Wuxian snickers, reaching over to ruffle Jin Ling’s hair. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite nephew!”

“Stop,” says Jin Ling. “And you can’t say that because I’m your only nephew.”

“Correct,” Wei Wuxian says seriously. He nudges Jiang Cheng’s side. “Better get onto fixing that, eh, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrow twitches. “Wei Wuxian—”

“Anyways!” says Wei Wuxian, clapping his hands in front of his chest. He leans closer to Jin Ling, batting his eyes at him. “Why so sad to see me, A-Ling? Were you expecting someone else?”

“Yes,” Jin Ling says immediately, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice.

“You wound me, A-Ling!” exclaims Wei Wuxian, mockingly raising his hands to his lips. Then, with more interest, “Who are you waiting for?”

“My friends,” says Jin Ling.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “You have friends?”

“Dajiu!”

Wei Wuxian laughs, unable to help himself. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “You just make it so easy.”

“Whatever,” Jin Ling mutters, then retreats out of the kitchen. 

Wei Wuxian watches him go with a fond smile, and that smile instantly disappears when Jiang Cheng enters his line of sight once again. He pouts, slugging his shoulders by his sides. 

He holds out his hand. “The job?”

Jiang Cheng eyes him warily for a long moment, before sighing in resignation and passing over a thin yellow folder to him from across the counter. Wei Wuxian takes it eagerly, running his index finger along the edge of the paper. 

“Who is it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He trusts Jiang Cheng with accepting assignments—he knows his brother will never give him one that he won’t be comfortable with playing out till the very end. The two of them? They’re a team. They know each other like the backs of their hands. 

“Man in his forties,” Jiang Cheng grunts. He reaches over for his coffee—black like his soul, Wei Wuxian likes to say—and takes a long sip. “Does some stupid shit underground. You know the drill.” 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t often elaborate on the wrongdoings of the target. That’s another line he knows Wei Wuxian would rather not cross. 

“That I do,” says Wei Wuxian, nodding as he opens the file. He immediately grimaces upon seeing the small box in the top left corner of the first page, a slightly blurry image of man staring back at him. “Do you know if anyone else has their eye on him?”

“It’s been over thirteen years,” Jiang Cheng says. “Do you really have to ask?”

Wei Wuxian smirks, the sly curve of his lips accentuated against the dim lighting of the room.

“Uh huh. Excellent. Will you be joining me on this one, my dear little brother?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. 

Wei Wuxian scoffs, but he doesn’t expect anything else. Jiang Cheng rarely comes out with him. Something about how he doesn’t want to see him flirting with Hanguang-jun.  

“The deadline is the same night as that event at A-Ling’s school,” he continues.

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue between his teeth. “I guess I won’t be able to come then.” He glances over to the dining area, where Jin Ling is sitting and furiously typing away on his phone. “A-Ling!”

“What?” comes Jin Ling’s voice, but his eyes remain steadily trained on his screen. 

“Dajiu can’t come to your ceremony thing, whatever it is,” Wei Wuxian says as he waltzes over to where his nephew is. He reaches down to gently pinch Jin Ling’s cheeks, watching with delight as the young boy practically squirms in his seat. “You don’t mind, A-Ling? Won’t you miss your favorite uncle?”

“Watch it,” says Jin Ling, looking up for a split second to cast Wei Wuxian a sharp look. “I’ll let Fairy out of my room.”

Wei Wuxian gasps, fear already spiking through his heart. “You wouldn’t.”

From behind him, Jiang Cheng snorts. “Imagine what people would do if they found out your only weakness is fucking dogs. You’d never make another penny in your life.”

“Rude,” says Wei Wuxian, but he has to admit there is a point somewhere in Jiang Cheng’s words. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning against the edge of the dining table. Then, he remembers something. “Oh, right. I wanted to ask for your opinion on something.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “My opinion on what?”

“I need to find a job.”

Jiang Cheng pauses, eyeing him carefully. “What,” he says slowly, “not satisfied with the bank you make already?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says. “I just think I should have some kind of cover-up, you know? What if one day Lan Zhan asks me what I do? He hasn’t yet, but what if he does? What if he wants to be a cool roommate and bring me food between my shifts? Jiang Cheng, I don’t have shifts! I need shifts! Where am I supposed to get shifts from?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps, raising a hand in front of his face. “Just… shut the fuck up, will you?”

“I can get you a job,” comes Jin Ling’s unexpected voice. 

Wei Wuxian spins around, eyes landing on his nephew. “You, A-Ling?”

Jin Ling shrugs. “I work part-time,” he says.

“That’s perfect!” Wei Wuxian says, nodding quickly as he slides into the seat across from him. “What do you do? What’s it like? Are your coworkers nice?”

“Chill,” says Jin Ling. He puts his phone down and clears his throat, looking way too proud of himself. “I work at Cloud Recesses. We’re all just a bunch of high schoolers and college students. It’s fine. I can ask my boss if he needs another pair of hands.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite,” Wei Wuxian grins, reaching out to gently flick his ear. “You do that. Let me know what the bossman says, alright?”

“Uh huh,” Jin Ling says, picking up his phone again redirecting his attention to it.

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Wei Wuxian, your nephew is helping you get a job. Unbelievable.”

“My nephew loves me and would do anything for me,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He smiles sweetly down at Jin Ling. “Right, A-Ling?

Jin Ling ignores him.

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Whatever, whatever. He’s still helping his poor dajiu out.”

“Poor is right,” says Jiang Cheng, and wow. “Whatever. Don’t you have a hit to plan out?”

“Right!” says Wei Wuxian, clapping his hands out in front of his chest. “I should get going, then. Work calls, you know?” He winks. 

Jiang Cheng pretends to throw up. “Gross. Never do that again.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, incredibly fond.

—

The second time Wei Wuxian met Hanguang-jun, the two were in an alleyway. It was dark, muddled, and everything was seemingly a blur.

He asked Jiang Cheng about The Man From The Restaurant, and his brother had told him of the assassin: “That’s Hanguang-jun,” he had said. “You’ll probably be seeing more of him around, I guess. I don’t fucking know.”

So Wei Wuxian had been told two things about this Hanguang-jun.

The first was that the two entered the field at around the same time. Wei Wuxian had just graduated university when the incident happened—a mere couple of months ago—when he forcibly guided himself into the scene. Hanguang-jun hadn’t been around for too long before him, and Wei Wuxian had only ever heard bits and pieces of his character. 

The second was that Hanguang-jun was very, very good at his job. He was agile, quick with his motions and merciless with his kills. His gun was an extension of his hand, bullets bruised and biting against guilty skin. 

Blood lost was victory gained. That was their motto. That’s what they strived after. 

He pulled his mask over his eyes, smiling when he felt the familiar warmth of the fabric pressed against his skin. He pulled out the thin piece of paper he had pocketed earlier, and the target’s schedule stared back at him in ten-point font, small and obscure and easily indistinguishable to the untrained eye. 

An alley near his university. That was where it would all go down. 

He smirked and wondered if Hanguang-jun was already on his way. Jiang Cheng had told him that he’d probably run into him at the site of the hit—that it was very likely he had been assigned to it as well.

The darkness of the night served as a clean blanket of warmth—it was untouched, untainted. The harsh slopes of the horizon cut through the chilly air, prickling at the edges of Wei Wuxian’s suit as he floats through the busy streets of the city. People were everywhere, as they always were, chatting with friends and family and stopping every few blocks to check out a brightly-lit storefront. 

Wei Wuxian rarely ever lingered. His gaze raked over the figures of the innocent, hoping with all his heart that they’ll remain as they were: pure, loved, and cared for. 

The palm of his hand felt cool against the surface of the stone building. He pushed off of it, landing himself in a dim corner. There was a single lamp at the edge of the lonely street, its only company the piles of bushes nearby. 

There was a man sitting a few feet away, kneeling on the heels of his feet and bending over something in his hands. Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow as he peered through the darkness, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the main city behind him. He took a single step forward, his gaze sharp and calculating. 

He was careful not to make a sound. His fingers curled around the handle of his gun, and he swallowed. 

He was never too sure about what his targets were guilty of. He thought about asking Jiang Cheng in the beginning, but had immediately decided against it. 

He didn’t want to know. 

A crunch sounded from next to him. Wei Wuxian looked over immediately, eyes narrowed and feet ready to pounce. 

There was a figure at his side, their outline barely visible to the naked eye. Wei Wuxian didn’t have to look closely to know who it was. He didn’t have to look closely to know that it was Hanguang-jun. 

He grinned, unable to help himself. So Hanguang-jun has made it to the site of the hit in time, huh? Good, good. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the thought sent a thrill down his spine.

A single shard of moonlight sliced through the air, landing around the two of them and momentarily bathing them in light. Wei Wuxian was keenly aware of the target ahead, but he kept his eyes on Hanguang-jun. If they were to be discovered, it would be fairly easy to play it off as being there together by chance. 

Hanguang-jun seemed to be thinking the same thing. His eyes were covered by his hoodie, but Wei Wuxian knew that they were trained directly back on him. It was unnerving in a way that sent a chill down his spine. 

The first time, Wei Wuxian had watched from afar as Hanguang-jun made the kill. This time, however, they were neck to neck, the same distance away from the target. It was also the first time that they were this physically close to one another, but Wei Wuxian didn’t doubt that it wasn’t going to be the last. 

Hanguang-jun wasn’t that much taller than him, but their height difference was especially apparent when Wei Wuxian’s masked nose was close to colliding with his bare, pale neck. It was one of the only parts of his body that was exposed, Wei Wuxian noticed, save for the lower quarter of his face.

His cheekbones were defined, sharp against the vague outline of his face. Wei Wuxian inhaled slowly through his nose, careful not to make a sound. 

The temporary light passed, and they were once again bathed in the striking comfort of darkness. 

Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath, soft but sure, and swiftly darted his head back to face forward. He took three steps, roaming deeper into the alley, and knew that Hanguang-jun was following in kind beside him. 

Then, there was a hand on his arm. 

Wei Wuxian startled despite himself. His eyes widened at his slip-up, lips parting as he swiveled around to find that the man was suddenly even closer than he had been before. 

No words were exchanged between the two, but Wei Wuxian would be an idiot to not understand the unspoken agreement bending to life between them, the one crafted in mere seconds of the two “knowing” each other: don’t make a sound, don’t give yourself away. Wei Wuxian gulped, his gaze automatically hardening as he stared straight ahead. 

Then, Hanguang-jun was moving. He raised his hand, the long sleeve of his suit colliding with Wei Wuxian’s face. Wei Wuxian’s vision was momentarily obstructed, and when he managed to make out the details scene once again, Hanguang-jun was meters ahead of him, his gun glinting in the moonlight. It was sparkling in a way that was absolutely memorizing, contrasting deeply with the suffocating thickness of the air. 

Wei Wuxian paused, his entire body going frigid as Hanguang-jun glanced over at him. His eyes, previously hidden away safely, shined brightly as they bore right back into Wei Wuxian’s own. 

There was a sharp inhale of breath. 

Hanguang-jun raised his gun, taking perfect aim toward the unsuspecting target. 

A deep, resonating sound. 

A biting bullet, free from its confines, sunk deep into blood-tainted skin. 

Wei Wuxian watched, his breath hitching uncomfortably. His own gun hung loosely from his fingers, hooking around his knuckles like the forgotten weapon it was. He blinked, rapid, peering through the night. Hanguang-jun was still there, now looking down at his feet. A lump of limbs lied ahead, squirming and crying out in pain. 

But Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear the yells. His ears were ringing. His heart was pounding, pressing and releasing in quick breaths against his ribs. The feeling was disappearing, then reappearing to its liking, and Wei Wuxian felt the goosebumps on his arms rise expectantly, itching with anticipation.

Then Hanguang-jun looked up at him again, this time the faintest of smiles painting his obscure features. It was directed at Wei Wuxian, and he knew it. It was a clear statement: I got him, you didn’t.

As Hanguang-jun disappeared out of the alley, Wei Wuxian realized that it was shot at him in the form of a challenge. 

It was the beginning of a long, thirteen year-old rivalry. 

— 

“Do you have any, like, friends?”

Lan Wangji glances over across the living room, his expression perfectly flat as always. Wei Wuxian is staring back at him, cheek resting in the palm of his hand and elbow leaning against the armchair of the couch. 

Lan Wangji promptly goes back to his computer. 

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Lan Zhan.”

“My brother,” says Lan Wangji. 

“But that’s your brother,” Wei Wuxian presses. “Family doesn’t count! What about, like, friends from college?”

“One.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Yeah? Who? Tell me about them!”

Lan Wangji slams his finger down onto the enter key on his computer before he abruptly closes the lid and sets the device aside. Wei Wuxian leans forward automatically, perking up excitedly as he sits and waits.

“Her name is Luo Qingyang,” Lan Wangji says finally. 

Wei Wuxian nods. “Cool cool. She sounds amazing.”

“I have not told you anything about her.”

“Yeah, but she’s friends with you,” says Wei Wuxian. “That in it of itself is a huge feat.”

Lan Wangji pauses, then nods slowly. “Yes. I suppose.”

“You’re not supposed to agree!” Shaking his head, Wei Wuxian stretches his arms above his head and leans back into the couch. “Well, anyways, what’s Luo Qingyang like? How did you two meet? What’s she doing now? Can I meet her?”

“She got married last year,” says Lan Wangji, not seeming phased at all by Wei Wuxian firing question after question at him. “She is very kind. Eccentric at times. We met in university. We work together. You may meet her, if you would like to.”

“You work together?” asks Wei Wuxian, cocking his head to the side. “Eh, Lan Zhan. What do you do, anyways?”

There’s a beat of silence. It drips around them, and Wei Wuxian bats his eyes calmly. Hm. Well. Perhaps this wasn’t the best course of action to take. After all, Lan Wangji hadn’t asked a thing about Wei Wuxian’s professional life, no matter how much Wei Wuxian had been anticipating it.

Plus, he knows virtually none of the details about the job Jin Ling is attempting to secure for him. So if Lan Wangji does choose to ask him what he does too, then—

“My family owns a café,” comes Lan Wangji’s response. It cuts through the hamster wheel of thoughts currently looping around Wei Wuxian’s mind. “I work there.”

Wei Wuxian snaps back to reality, blinking. “Really?” he asks. “Can I visit?”

“If you wish to.”

“Awesome!” Wei Wuxian beams. 

“And you?” asks Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian freezes. Oh, fuck. Here they go. 

He smiles, innocent as ever. Step one: ignorance. “What about me?”

Lan Wangji stares at him, gaze piercing into his own. “What does Wei Ying do?”

Step two: evade.

“A—ah, ah ah, haha.” Wei Wuxian averts his gaze, biting his lip. God. What did Jin Ling say about the job he was going to get for him? “Um. You know. Just… simple work, here and there. Nothing fancy like owning a café, of course!”

And thank god Lan Wangji is the way he is—he doesn’t bat an eye, and not a single question slips past his lips. Instead, he nods firmly, like he believes the excuse. Wei Wuxian tries very hard not to let his jaw drop, because how does Lan Wangji do that? How does he always just accept everything for how it’s said? If it were him, Wei Wuxian would be firing question after question, eager to get as much information as possible.

Still, in hindsight, it’s pretty stupid. It’s not like their apartment is simple in any way, shape, or form. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Wei Wuxian might not keep it as neatly as he should, but Lan Wangji takes care of that without any fuss. The rooms are huge, the kitchen is extremely high-tech, and every corner is decked out with the latest pieces of furniture. 

He laughs and hopes it doesn’t come out as awkwardly as he thinks it does. “I, uh, have night shifts a lot of the time, though. So if you, like, see me randomly leave. At night. It’s because of that.”

Wow. He truly is an excellent actor.

But Lan Wangji is, after all, Lan Wangji, and he of course doesn’t say a word about this. Instead he twists around to pick up his computer again, then moves to stand up and dust off the seat of his trousers. He offers Wei Wuxian a polite nod, then begins his retreat to the hallway—to what Wei Wuxian presumes is his bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Lan Zhan!” he calls at the very last second.

Lan Wangji throws a glance over his shoulder. Then, quiet as ever: “Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

When he’s gone, Wei Wuxian relaxes his shoulders and slumps back against the couch. He groans.

—

Cloud Recesses, as it turns out, is a boba shop.

“Really,” says Wei Wuxian, voice laced with interest as he walks beside Jin Ling. “The way you made it sound, I thought it was some kind of, like, hotel.”

“Why would I work at a hotel?” Jin Ling asks, his nose scrunching with obvious distaste. 

“I dunno,” says Wei Wuxian. “Maybe you’d be a receptionist or something. Or a bell boy. Are those a thing?”

“I don’t know because I don’t work in a hotel,” says Jin Ling as he rummages through his pocket and produces a single, shiny golden key. He lifts it up and grins. “I’ve got the morning shift because my boss wants me to teach you how to act around customers.”

“Your boss thinks you should teach me?” Wei Wuxian asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Jin Ling pulls a face. The two of them reach the front of the shop, entering without any trouble. It’s a small, quaint little café. There are a few tables in the corner of the room, and a multitude of posters outlining sugar percentages, add-ons, and topping selections are stapled up on the walls. The entire place is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be seen. The walls are a light blue color, and the plastic seats are the color of milk. Which, actually, is quite fitting.

Wei Wuxian whistles under his breath as an apron is tossed to him. He catches it, but only barely, fumbling around with it for a moment before he’s able to hold it out in front of him. Cloud Recesses is written in perfectly straight navy font right by the heart of the fabric. He grins and quickly moves to strap it on.

“It’s simple,” Jin Ling says as he moves to boot up the register. “It’s all in the smile. Sickly sweet and fake as hell. Customer service at its finest.”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound very genuine, A-Ling.”

“Of course it isn’t genuine. You’re missing my point. Sickly sweet and—”

“—fake as hell, yes yes, I got it.”

Just then, a chime sounds throughout the café. Wei Wuxian looks up from where he’s carefully examining the various buttons on the register, his eyes finding the deep periwinkle ones of a stranger.

The boy looks young—he’s probably just a few years older than Jin Ling. His clothing is impeccable for eight in the morning, pressed and folded to perfection. He’s smiling, gentle but clearly surprised at the sight of Wei Wuxian.

“Oh!” the boy says. “You must be Jin Ling’s uncle.” He walks up to Wei Wuxian and holds out a hand. “I’m Lan Sizhui! It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Wei Wuxian instantly decides that he likes this guy. He grins and takes his hand. 

“Wei Wuxian!” he says with a nod. “Jin Ling’s favorite uncle. His dajiu.” To Jin Ling, he smiles cheekily. “A-Ling! What have you been telling your friend about me? Have you told him anything? Only good stuff, of course!”

Jin Ling snorts and ignores him. 

Sizhui laughs. He inclines his head politely to Wei Wuxian before sliding away and over to where Jin Ling is. “Jingyi said he’ll be a little late,” he says as he sets his things down and walks over to one of the ginormous steel pots in the back area. 

“Of course he did,” Jin Ling mutters, eyes carefully trained on the computer screen of the register. 

Then, Sizhui looks over to Wei Wuxian, who is still standing near the entrance. “Wei qianbei, would you like to learn how to cook the pearls?”

Wei Wuxian brightens, but his hopes and dreams are crushed to dust by Jin Ling’s sudden gasp. His nephew looks up immediately from his work—whatever that is—and his eyes widen. He frantically shakes his head at Sizhui. 

Wei Wuxian quirks an eyebrow. 

“No!” says Jin Ling. “Absolutely not. There will definitely be some kind of accident if dajiu is given free reign of the ingredients.”

Immediately, Wei Wuxian pouts. “But, A-Ling—”

“No! Remember the last time you cooked for me and jiujiu? The food was inedible!”

“I just added a little chili—”

“A little?”

Sizhui laughs awkwardly, cutting into their petty little argument. Wei Wuxian immediately quiets down, biting his lip to stop himself from retorting. “Alright, alright,” Sizhui says. “It’s okay, Jin Ling. Wei qianbei doesn’t have to touch anything.”

Jin Ling looks skeptical for a long second. 

Sizhui sends him a look, and Wei Wuxian watches with great interest as Jin Ling immediately shuts up, crossing his arms and releasing a huff. 

“Whatever,” he mutters. 

“Amazing,” says Wei Wuxian, then slips behind the counter and right past Jin Ling. He sends the boy a wink on his way across to where Sizhui is, grinning when he sees the way Jin Ling glares sweetly back at him. “You must teach me your ways,” he says seriously to Sizhui, who looks startled for a moment before laughing. “Or, actually, you should teach Jin Ling’s other uncle your ways.”

Jin Ling grumbles, “Dajiu, shut up.”

Wei Wuxian smirks, and then they get to work. 

“Tell me about this boss of yours,” he says as he leans against the counter and watches Sizhui mix together a boiling pot of tapioca pearls. “I’ll be meeting him soon, right? What’s he like? Is he nice?”

“No,” mutters Jin Ling. “He’s scary.”

Sizhui nudges his side. “Shush.” To Wei Wuxian, he shakes his head. “He’ll be by soon, Wei qianbei. He usually comes in at around noon.”

“Yeah,” says Jin Ling, “and maybe by then, Jingyi will somehow be here.”

Sizhui sighs deeply. 

“So, what, it’s just the two of you?” asks Wei Wuxian, raising an eyebrow.

“Zizhen and Jingyi too,” says Sizhui. “Zizhen works the evening shift today, and Jingyi had an exam this morning, so he said he’d drop in a little later.”

“Yeah right,” says Jin Ling, “he’s probably in his bed right now, taking the day off—”

“Speaking about me, Young Mistress?”

Jin Ling’s expression settles into a scowl that reminds Wei Wuxian a little too much of Jiang Cheng as a head peeks into the café through the back door. Wei Wuxian glances over to see another boy looking upon the scene, a cheeky smile playing at the corners of his lips. He waltzes over to them and hooks a hand around Jin Ling’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest and giving him a rough noogie. 

“Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling hisses. The boy—Lan Jingyi, apparently—gasps in a mocking fashion. Across from them, Sizhui raises his hand to hide his ever-growing smile. 

“Jingyi,” he says, then cocks his head in Wei Wuxian’s direction. “This is Wei Wuxian. He’s Jin Ling’s uncle. Wei qianbei, this is Lan Jingyi.”

“Huh?” says Jingyi, tilting his head to the side. Confusion decorates his features. “Young Mistress, you never told us you have another uncle.”

“Yes I did,” says Jin Ling, glaring at him. “Like, multiple times. Don’t you ever check the group chat?”

Jingyi shrugs. “Sometimes.” He dusts off the fronts of his trousers, walking confidently up to Wei Wuxian and offering him a bow. “Hi, Wei qianbei! I’m Sizhui’s best friend! We go to the same university.”

“A pleasure,” Wei Wuxian cackles. 

“Wei qianbei,” Sizhui suddenly pipes up, “how do you like your boba?”

“My boba?” Wei Wuxian asks. “I dunno. I’ve never had the same thing twice.”

“God,” groans Jin Ling, “of course you haven’t.”

“What?” says Wei Wuxian, blinking innocently. “I’ve made it my personal life goal to try out every single combination of flavors in the history of boba at least once in my life.”

The three of them stare up at him, their expressions ranging from vague approval to absolute, blaring disgust. The former comes from Jingyi, and the latter comes from Jin Ling. Sizhui keeps his smile perfectly straight and equally political. 

Someone has raised this boy correctly. 

“You know what,” says Jingyi, “I respect that.”

Wei Wuxian grins and reaches out to give him a high-five. 

“I don’t,” says Jin Ling, so he does not get a high-five. 

“I dunno,” says Wei Wuxian. “I think today I might be in the mood for something fruity. Mango, perhaps?”

“We don’t serve mango,” says Jin Ling. 

“Yes we do,” says Jingyi. “Ignore him, Wei qianbei. Young Mistress still hasn’t memorized the menu like he was supposed to do a month ago.”

Jin Ling scowls but doesn’t refute the statement.

The rest of the morning goes by smoothly enough. They open up shop and Wei Wuxian is immediately thrust to the register. Jin Ling cackles under his breath, probably thinking he is oh so discreet. Wei Wuxian hides his smile—he supposes he’ll let his nephew have this one. Just this once. 

Said nephew works with Jingyi in the back, doing whatever it is that they’re doing to get everyone’s drinks ready. Sizhui opts to work alongside Wei Wuxian, giving him small tips here and there and interjecting every once in a while to make sure he’s understanding how to use the register properly. Wei Wuxian nods along, ears perked with interest. 

From the looks of it, Cloud Recesses seems to be a pretty popular hotspot for incoming guests, and they rack up their workload by a hefty amount by the time noon rolls around. Wei Wuxian laughs along with the customers, recommending a random new drink each time he is asked to provide his opinion on the menu and secretly hoping he’s not accidentally leading strangers into a trap. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the best idea to make people not want to return to the café he just started working at, especially on his first day.

“Wei qianbei, you’re a natural!” Sizhui compliments as Wei Wuxian waves goodbye to a young couple looking to be in their early twenties. 

“You think?” he asks, cocking his head. 

“Mhm!” nods Sizhui. “Your smile… it doesn’t even seem fake.”

“Oh, it’s not,” says Wei Wuxian. “At least, I don’t think it is?”

“It’s not?” Jingyi’s voice sounds from behind them. Wei Wuxian turns around to find him gaping up at him. When Wei Wuxian laughs affirmatively, Jingyi claps his hands in front of his chest, effectively grabbing Jin Ling’s attention from where he’s digging into a pot of hot pearls. “Guys, I think we just found our new permanent main barista.”

Sizhui nods seriously. “I agree. I’ll let Zizhen know immediately.”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. “Permanent main barista?”

“It’s a serious thing,” says Jingyi. “We’ve been, like, obsessively rotating the position ever since we all started working here. Sizhui and Zizhen are the best at it, though. I’m moderately okay. Young Mistress gets a solid D for effort.”

“Shut up,” Jin Ling hisses. 

Jingyi shrugs. “I mean, you’re moderately okay backstage, so it all works out.”

Wei Wuxian reaches over to pat Jin Ling’s head. Jin Ling immediately flinches away from the touch, but that only makes Wei Wuxian lean in even further, a wicked smile curling at his lips. 

“It’s okay, A-Ling,” he says, “we all have our weaknesses.”

“Some more than others,” Jingyi pipes up. 

“Some more than others,” Wei Wuxian agrees. 

Then, a new voice.

“Sizhui.”

It is precisely three minutes past twelve o’clock when Wei Wuxian decides he is one hundred-percent screwed. He, of course, knows that voice. It’s coming from behind him, but he doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. 

The three kids immediately perk up at the sound of the newcomer, and Wei Wuxian notes with great interest the way Jin Ling squirms with something akin to fear, if only for a short fraction of a second. He raises an eyebrow, and Jin Ling glares back at him. 

“Lan qianbei!” says Jingyi, sinking into a polite bow before he holds up his hand to wave. 

“Lan qianbei,” says Jin Ling, but his comes out more as a forced grumble. 

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder, eyes landing right on Lan Wangji. He inhales in surprise. “Lan Zhan?”

It’s almost comical, how three jaws drop down at once. Sizhui is the first to recover, blinking rapidly as he closes his mouth and swallows carefully. Jin Ling’s eyebrows raise high above his temples, which is to be expected. Jingyi is the only one still left gaping, his pupils blown out in surprise. 

Lan Wangji surveys them all for a careful second, then nods. “Wei Ying.”

Sizhui and Jin Ling’s jaws promptly drop open again. 

“Wait,” says Jin Ling, slowly. “Wait, wait. Lan… oh. Oh. Dajiu, is Lan qianbei your roommate?”

Wei Wuxian furrows his eyebrows. “Yes,” he says. “How did you not know? I distinctly remember saying Lan Zhan’s name to Jiang Cheng while you were around.”

“Do you realize how many Lans I know? And how am I supposed to know my boss’ given name anyways?”

A pause. Then, “Hm. Point taken.”

“Oh,” says Sizhui, his eyes widening with the realization. He looks up to Lan Wangji, tilting his head. “So Wei qianbei is your new roommate, Father.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, and apparently this is a really big deal, because Jingyi immediately gasps again and takes a few stumbling steps back. 

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It’s not all—wait.” He blinks, turning on his heel to wheel around and gape at Sizhui. “Did you say Father?”

Sizhui looks startled for a moment, but he nods. “Yes,” he says, looking just a touch cautious.

“Ohhhh,” says Wei Wuxian. “Lan Zhan, Sizhui’s the son you were telling me about?”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. 

“And you both work here?”

“Mn. This is the café my family owns.”

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. Well, that makes sense. He had said he works at a café somewhere—Wei Wuxian had just never bothered to ask for the specifics. He hums. “Huh. Small world.”

“Excuse me,” Jin Ling interrupts, “but how are you not freaking out about this more?”

“I need to text Zizhen,” mutters Jingyi, already halfway through the process of whipping his phone out and clicking it to life. “Oh my god. I need to text Zizhen.”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, causing everyone to quiet down. “What are you doing here?”

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks. He pauses for a second, then relaxes his shoulders and adopts his usual, easygoing smile again. He gestures down to his apron, then over to the register. “I’m your new, ah, what did you guys call it?”

“Permanent main barista,” says Jingyi.

“Right! That!”

Lan Wangji’s face does a funny thing, like it’s halfway between a thoughtful frown and a surprised gasp. Then again, Lan Wangji isn’t the type of person who gasps—at least not out loud—so it’s probably more of the former. Wei Wuxian meets his gaze slowly, blinking underneath the rough edges of bare familiarity. 

“You are Jin Ling’s uncle,” Lan Wangji says finally. 

Wei Wuxian beams, reaching over to Jin Ling and pulling him closer. “And proud!”

“I see,” says Lan Wangji. 

Jin Ling seems to stiffen in Wei Wuxian’s grasp. “Wait,” he says, “Lan qianbei, did you think I was talking about my other uncle?”

“I was unsure,” Lan Wangji says smoothly.

“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Wuxian, “you know Jiang Cheng?”

“I do not,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian looks over to Jin Ling with a raised eyebrow. 

Jin Ling shrugs. “He only knows jiujiu from what I’ve told everyone about him.”

Wei Wuxian mocks a gasp. “And you haven’t told them anything about me?”

“I have,” Jin Ling huffs. “Guess everyone thinks you and jiujiu are the same person.”

“That’s…” Wei Wuxian trails off, wincing. “Don’t tell your jiujiu that.”

Jin Ling shudders. “Yeah, whatever.”

“This is crazy,” Jingyi mutters, visibly typing away on the bottom half of his phone’s screen.

Sizhui peers at him. “Did you text Zizhen?”

“Yeah. He wants to meet Wei qianbei as soon as possible.”

Sizhui nods, then smiles up at Wei Wuxian. “Wei qianbei, you have a fan!”

Wei Wuxian laughs, the tinkling sound warming his own ears. He feels at ease in the midst of these youngsters, plus Lan Wangji, and has a fleeting thought about his future working with the lot of them. “I do, don’t I,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “As I should, of course!”

“Dajiu,” Jin Ling says, exasperated. 

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji. “Have you managed well with the job thus far?”

“It’s great!” says Wei Wuxian, nodding. “I told you! Simple work. Here and there.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji.

“It’s not really simple when you accidentally spill hot pearls onto your foot,” Jingyi pipes up. 

Wei Wuxian turns on him, lips parting and eyes widening. “Who’s the idiot that did that?”

“Don’t call me an idiot,” Jin Ling hisses. He places his hands on his hips and glares.

Jingyi shrugs. “After Young Mistress pulled that particular fiasco, and I say it like that because there have been multiple fiascos, we tried to put him on as the permanent main barista,” he says, then grimaces. “You can imagine how well that worked out.”

“Lan Jingyi—”

Jingyi smiles, syrupy sweet. “I told you. Solid D for effort!”

—

Later, when he’s back in the car with Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian reaches over the console to pinch his nephew’s cheeks. 

“I like your friends,” he says as Jin Ling scowls in retaliation. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

At this, Jin Ling softens. He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. He scoffs. “Yeah, whatever.”

—

When Jin Ling was born, Wei Wuxian was a weeping mess. 

Still, he wasn’t as bad as Jiang Cheng. His brother spent four days in the aftermath locked up in his room from sheer embarrassment. No matter, though, because Wei Wuxian made sure his phone was absolutely flooded with pictures of his snot-filled, tear-streaked face. 

His roommate at the time, Wen Qing, had sighed very loudly when he had shown her his camera roll.

“You’re crazy,” she said, hands on her hips and resignation painted on her features with startling clarity. “Do you ever stop to think about why your relationship with your brother is the way it is? I’ll tell you. It’s because of this.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

“No,” said Wen Qing. “It’s hilarious.”

“You get it, Qingqing! Mutually assured destruction!”

He visited Jiang Yanli in the hospital about forty times every day, give or take five. Every time he entered her room, however, he was greeted with the sight of his sister’s husband’s ugly face. Jin Zixuan scoffed when Wei Wuxian pushed him aside, bounding into the room and cooing from his place at the side of Jiang Yanli’s bed. 

“A-Ling!” he exclaimed, shaking toys in front of his baby nephew’s face. “Look here! It’s your dajiu! Dajiu got you gifts!”

“You spoil him, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli laughed, the tinkling sound warming every last corner of his heart. His sister always had that effect on him, it seemed. She was the earth, and he was a moon orbiting around her. 

“Someone has to!” he said. 

Jin Zixuan shot him a dirty look. “Are you saying I don’t spoil my own son?”

Wei Wuxian nodded, not even bothering to look up. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying! Jiejie, look! A-Ling’s smiling at me! Aww, what a cute little boy. A-Ling, you and I are going to be the best of friends.”

Jin Ling made a series of gurgling sounds, and Wei Wuxian’s heart soared.

Later, when Wei Wuxian entered the kitchen with an apron slung over his frontside, Wen Qing gave him the most disappointed look he had ever seen from her. 

“What?” he asked innocently.

“I will not be kissing the cook,” said Wen Qing. 

Wei Wuxian glanced down to the bold-lettering on his apron. He grinned, slyly smirking and taking a step toward her. “You wish you could kiss the cook.”

“I really don’t,” Wen Qing deadpanned. “Besides, you’re not going to actually be doing any of the cooking, I hope you realize. Like I’d ever trust you in the kitchen.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “She’s my sister—”

“And she’s my dear friend,” said Wen Qing. “And she also just had a baby. You really think I’m going to let her be subjected to your spice overload?”

“Jiejie likes the spicy food I make—”

“A-Li just had a baby,” Wen Qing repeated. She capped the lid on a steaming pot and crossed her arms over her chest. “Plus, this is my first time meeting A-Ling. What would the boy say in ten years if he finds out his aunty Wen Qing almost killed his mother because she was too soft for her best friend?”

“Aww,” Wei Wuxian crooned, “you called me your best friend!”

“Watch it.”

So, naturally, Wei Wuxian was forced to stand a good ten feet away from Wen Qing while she worked, because even if she didn’t have a soft spot for him, he definitely had a soft spot for her. Still, he was perfectly content with leaning against the counter and chatting her ear off. 

“Oh he’s so cute,” he said, pinching his own cheeks for extra effect. “Thankfully, little A-Ling got most of his looks from my jiejie.” He snorted. “Now imagine if he ended up coming out and looking like a peacock.”

“Jin Zixuan is objectively good looking,” said Wen Qing. 

Wei Wuxian gasped. “I cannot believe you just said that. Why would you do this to me. In my own house.”

Wen Qing shrugged. “You literally know it’s true. What if A-Ling really does grow to look like his father? Would you really be disappointed?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said without a smidge of hesitation. 

Wen Qing sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“My jiejie is the prettiest person on the planet!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I mean, you’re a close second, I guess, but Qingqing! My jiejie!”

“Yes yes,” Wen Qing says, rolling her eyes as she chopped pepper after pepper on the thin, wooden cutting board in the kitchen counter in front of her. “We all love A-Li.”

“We do,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling. “We adore her.”

They went back and forth like that for a while longer. The banter he shared with Wen Qing was unrivaled—she listened and responded to everything Wei Wuxian said with a practiced kind of ease, yet also knew to take absolutely no shit from him. It was perfect.

“Hey,” she said. The knife paused over the tomato she was working on, and suddenly, her shoulders seemed to ride upward ever so slightly. Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as he watched her fumble for a moment. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Shoot. What is it?”

“Well,” said Wen Qing. She set her tools down and turned to face him properly, her short stature blatantly evident in comparison to Wei Wuxian’s towering one. She crossed her arms over her stomach and planted her feet firmly down onto the floor. “We’re graduating this year.”

Wei Wuxian nodded at the plain fact. “We are indeed,” he said. Something told him that this wasn’t exactly about the logistics of their graduation ceremony. 

Wen Qing exhaled slowly. “And you know how I was applying for all those graduate positions, don’t you?”

Wei Wuxian nodded again, but this time the gesture came out a little slower. “Yeah?” His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. “Oh! Oh my god, were you accepted?”

At this, Wen Qing did finally smile. “I was,” she said, her cheeks flushing with pink color. 

Wei Wuxian gasped. “That’s amazing!” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping down. “Holy shit, Qingqing! That’s incredible! Which one? Is it at a proper hospital and everything? When were you accepted? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? When did you find out? Holy shit!”

Wen Qing shook her head. “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t want to tell you about it properly till I talked it over with A-Ning, but he said I should take the opportunity.”

“Well of course you should,” Wei Wuxian said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t you? Is there something wrong with it? Is it a bad offer?”

“No,” said Wen Qing. “It’s the opposite, actually.”

Curiosity was beginning to burn around him. Wei Wuxian leaned closer to her, resting his chin in his hands. “Okay. And? What’s so bad about it, then?”

“It’s overseas,” said Wen Qing. “And if I accept it, I’ll be leaving next year.”

Oh. 

He felt his smile dim, but he quickly tried to mask it before it became too apparent. Unfortunately for him, Wen Qing had always been able to read him like an open book. Sometimes, that was a good thing. Other times, it made Wei Wuxian feel unfairly naked. This time, he knew it was the latter. He knew that Wen Qing had seen right through him, that she had seen the way disappointment laced into his gaze on her. 

He offered her a smile, feeling it grow warm automatically on his lips. “That’s amazing,” he said, and he meant it. “That’s really fucking amazing, Qingqing.”

“Yeah,” said Wen Qing. “It kind of is.”

“I mean it,” said Wei Wuxian. “That’s incredible, you deserve it so much.”

Wen Qing shook her head. “But…?”

Ah. 

“But I’ll miss you,” Wei Wuxian said, and with this his grin became that much more genuine. “I’ll miss your annoying face. Stupid head. I love you, motherfucker.”

“Idiot,” Wen Qing said, but her smile was so wide that it didn’t even matter. “God, I knew you were going to be like this. I’ll miss your stupid face, too.” A pause. “Motherfucker.”

Wei Wuxian laughed out loud. “What, like a supportive best friend? Gosh, I would never have guessed!” he said. “And just for the record, your face is stupider.”

“You’re the stupidest,” said Wen Qing. 

Wei Wuxian smiled, feeling it as it nestled down into his bones. “I know,” he said, “but you love me anyway.”

Wen Qing sighed, fondness glowing like a dark red bulb in the night. “Just a bit.”

— 

Wen Qing had remained unrivaled in roommate rankings for a long, long time. She would help make food for the both of them, (and by help he means she would literally do everything,) would clean him up after a long night of drinking, and was generally the most organized, most important person in Wei Wuxian’s life. Wei Wuxian never thought he’d be satisfied with someone else sharing an apartment with him, and he wasn’t. After Wen Qing left, he was alone. 

And then came Lan Wangji. 

He’s digging away at his dinner when the doorknob at the entrance of the apartment turns, the sound clinking him out of his heedless thoughts. 

“Hey!” he says after a particularly hearty slurp of his ramen. “Cool night?”

“Adequate,” says Lan Wangji. He’s padding his shoes off, slipping them into the cupboard at the entrance of their apartment. He shrugs his coat off, then looks over to where Wei Wuxian is sitting—where he’s currently halfway between another mouthful of his dinner, chewing slowly.

He swallows the food down and laughs awkwardly. “Were you at Cloud Recesses?” he asks. 

“Yes,” says Lan Wangji. “I was helping Zizhen clean up.”

“What a helpful boss you are,” Wei Wuxian says, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “Can you believe it, though? Who would have thought we’d end up working together?”

“Mm,” says Lan Wangji. “A coincidence.”

“Yeah,” nods Wei Wuxian. He holds his bowl up to eye level. “Oh! Do you want some?”

Lan Wangji levels him with a look. “It is unhealthy,” he says. 

Wei Wuxian pouts. “Yeah, but it’s convenient. Who has time to actually make a proper dinner?”

“Have we run out of vegetables?”

“Vegeta—no.” His eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. “At least, I don’t think we are? Do you wanna check super quickly?”

Lan Wangji nods and walks over to the kitchen, his socks not making a single sound as they glide across the floor. Wei Wuxian yawns and stretches his legs out in front of him as he waits for the verdict, sighing contentedly. He rubs his tummy, humming happily to himself. 

“We are out of carrots,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice, suddenly much closer than it was previously. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen as he starts up, turning around to find that Lan Wangji has traveled to stand right behind the couch. He’s staring down at Wei Wuxian, eyes narrow and focused carefully upon him. 

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Huh?”

“We are out of carrots,” Lan Wangji repeats.

“O…kay? Why is this a bad thing?” Wei Wuxian asks. The way he sees it, there are plenty of other substitutions for carrots.

Lan Wangji looks pained as he responds, which is a first. “I was planning on making carrot cake.”

“Carrot cake?”

“Yes. Shredded carrots are a vital ingredient.”

“I… see.” Wei Wuxian twists his lips into a frown. “And you want to make it today?”

“Tomorrow is Sizhui’s birthday,” says Lan Wangji. “It is his favorite.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian pauses. “Oh! Then we have to make carrot cake! Does he like spicy food? What if we make a spiced carrot cake? That would be so cool!”

“No,” Lan Wangji says immediately. 

“Brutal,” Wei Wuxian says, frowning. “Personally, I think it would be great if we added some—”

“No,” says Lan Wangji, voice firm and absolute. 

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t take any offense, of course. Lan Wangji doesn’t seem like the type to go against… tradition. Whatever it is. In any case, Sizhui is his son. Wei Wuxian smiles when he remembers the fact.

“Then… what’s the time? Do you think the grocery store will be open right now?” he asks.

“Right now?” 

“Well, yeah,” says Wei Wuxian. “What, were you planning on going shopping tomorrow morning?” Silence. “Lan Zhan, you can’t be serious! Mornings are for sleep.”

“Mornings are ideal for errands,” says Lan Wangji. 

“Now I just know you’re tripping,” Wei Wuxian mutters. He sighs, then shakes his head. “Why don’t we go right now? That way, even I can come with you! It’ll be fun. Roommate bonding time at its finest.”

“Hm,” says Lan Wangji, considering. 

Wei Wuxian waggles his eyebrows because he is, for lack of better word, shameless. “What do you say?”

“One condition,” says Lan Wangji. 

“Anything!”

“We will walk.”

Wei Wuxian reels back in disgust. “Okay, maybe not anything. It’s almost seven o’clock,” he says, biting on the edge of a whine. “You can’t be serious! It’s cold outside. I’m tired. I have a comfy car with heated seats. We can get a taxi.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, patient.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian presses. “Don’t you try and get in bed by nine? Walking to the nearest store is just gonna make us scrunch for time!”

“The store is four blocks away,” says Lan Wangji.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian nods. “That’s four blocks more than what it should be if we were to walk.”

“We are walking,” says Lan Wangji with an air of finality. Then he turns around and disappears into the hallway. 

And so, five minutes later, Wei Wuxian finds himself pulling his sneakers on, muttering curses under his breath. Still, he chooses this specific pair in hopes that maybe it’ll aid in the fact that he’s going on a walk at night. These are his favorite—black body with curls of bright red lace tied up along the front. Jiang Cheng had begrudgingly got them for him for his birthday two years ago, and had later deposited a similar pair, this one in gold and green, to Jin Ling a month later. 

Lan Wangji emerges from his room, dressed down in a casual overcoat and slacks. They fit snugly against the lines of his body, and Wei Wuxian immediately looks away. He puffs out a breath of air and feels himself swallow, eyes dancing around till Lan Wangji stops right in front of him. Hm. Fuck. Okay.

“Let’s go,” he says, and Wei Wuxian can do nothing but offer a flimsy nod. 

They step out into the night, the cool air hitting Wei Wuxian’s face and nestling in a spot behind the shell of his ear before escaping and breezing right past. He smiles, feeling it blind his face, and nudges Lan Wangji’s side as they step into an easy rhythm, side by side. 

“Why so adamant on walking?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. A taxi rolls past them on the main street, and Wei Wuxian silently moons over what could have been.

Lan Wangji is silent for a moment. Then, “I prefer it. It is healthier.”

“Why don’t you just, like, go to the gym?” 

“I do,” says Lan Wangji, and okay. Fuck you, destiny. How dare you make such a perfect human being Wei Wuxian’s roommate? Huh? Huh?

Wei Wuxian swallows. “Oh, well, I do too. We could go together sometime! Workout buddies.”

“Workout buddies,” Lan Wangji echoes. 

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian nods. 

A silent huff. It isn’t even really a huff—more like a longer-than-usual exhale. Lan Wangji doesn’t seem like the type to huff, anyway. “We will be eating cake tomorrow,” he says. “It is important to balance that out with physical exercise.”

“You‘re absolutely hilarious if you think I’m going to be able to wait till tomorrow to eat it,” says Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji’s lips downturn, if only slightly. Wei Wuxian barely manages to catch the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he does, and he supposes that it’s a sign of sorts—yes, Wei Wuxian, you are slowly becoming able to read the facial expressions of the guy you are living with.

“You cannot eat it till tomorrow,” says Lan Wangji. “We will be sharing it with the others.”

“No, yeah, I know that,” says Wei Wuxian. He rolls his eyes. “But haven’t you ever, like, licked the batter? Stolen a chocolate chip? Made, like, a tiny little cupcake’s worth of cake on the side to eat while you wait for it to cool? Have you ever eaten the icing?”

“No,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops. “Lan Zhan. Then what’s the fun in baking?”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian looks over, aghast. Lan Wangji looks so serious, so contemplative with that small furrow on his brows, the slopes of his face rigid with something akin to confusion. “It ruins the surprise.”

“The surprise?” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Don’t you ever taste-test? What if you end up making something with batter that has, like, way too much sugar? Way too much egg? Way too much baking powder? Way too much—”

“All of that is unnecessary,” says Lan Wangji, “if you follow the recipe correctly.”

“The recipe.”

“Yes.”

“So you just don’t experiment at all.”

“Mn.”

A pause.

“We,” Wei Wuxian says, jabbing his finger out in front of him, “are going to make the best fucking carrot cake you have ever eaten in your life. Sizhui is going to be floored by our combined baking skills. Your perfection and my imperfection.” He clicks his tongue. “Now, usually I’d think: wow, Wei Ying, this is truly just a recipe for disaster. Haha, get it? Recipe for disaster.”

Lan Wangji does not laugh at his excellent pun, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t take it to heart.

“But,” he says, and this is where he picks up speed so that he’s in front of Lan Wangji, back facing the road they’re walking on. “No matter. I will prove to you just how fun you can make baking. An art, I tell you. It’s an art.”

“Hm,” says Lan Wangji, and he offers nothing more on the subject. 

They arrive at the store without much fuss, and Wei Wuxian immediately swoops by to pick up one of those handy-dandy mini-carts. He holds it up for Lan Wangji to inspect, and when he receives a nod of approval, he charges inside and enters the first aisle. 

“The carrots are in the vegetable section,” says Lan Wangji, eyeing Wei Wuxian carefully as he waltzes from shelf to shelf, peering closely at everything the store has to offer.

Wei Wuxian waves him off. “We’re not here just for carrots,” he says. “Do you really think I’m not gonna get stuff for Sizhui’s party?”

“It is”—Lan Wangji looks distressed for a split second—“not necessary.”

“Tell that to these beautiful sparkly streamers,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning and picking up a packet from the top shelf. He hums. “Hey, Lan Zhan, can I decorate Cloud Recesses?”

“It is… not allowed,” Lan Wangji says slowly, but Wei Wuxian sees right through it. Lan Wangji may be a stickler for rules, but he cares for his juniors much more than that. He cares for Sizhui much more than that. Of course, Wei Wuxian sees it with ease, even after only working with the two for one day. The soft smiles Lan Wangji directs to the boy are unrivaled. Just as Wei Wuxian is about to say something about it, however, he notices Lan Wangji’s shoulders falling down. “Just for tomorrow,” he says. 

“You are such a softie,” Wei Wuxian croons, then selects three more packets of streamers in multiple colors. “Hmm. Red or blue?”

“Blue.”

“Both, then. Red is too excellent to pass up.”

Wei Wuxian ends up buying balloons, banners, centerpieces for every table at the shop, four jumbo packs of confetti, party blowers, party hats, wall cutouts, and three more rolls of streamers for good measure. At some point, Lan Wangji separates from him to go and gets the carrots, and when he returns, he’s holding about ten other things in his arms. Wei Wuxian grins at the sight, ushering him to put everything in the cart.

“Oh, Sizhui’s going to love all of this,” he says as they’re paying. “We should go in extra early to get everything set up! Should we make A-Ling, Jingyi, and Zizhen come in before Sizhui so we can make it a big surprise?”

“Jingyi will come with Sizhui,” says Lan Wangji as he’s bagging everything. “Jin Ling and Zizhen can help in the morning if they would like.”

“Of course they’d like!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. “Don’t worry. I’ll force A-Ling if I have to. What else does he have to do on a Saturday morning?”

“Perhaps he has homework,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian snorts. “Boring.”

They stroll leisurely back to the apartment, soft words exchanged between the two. Wei Wuxian’s jacket feels snug around him, encasing him in a cloak of warmth. The pleasant chill that hovers around them is deliciously enticing, and if they weren’t holding handfuls of bags, he’d definitely try to tempt Lan Wangji into spending a little more time outside with him. 

“Say,” he starts as they push in through the front doors and deposit the bags on the kitchen table, “why didn’t you do this earlier? Like, in the morning?”

“I was busy,” says Lan Wangji. His voice is quiet. 

Wei Wuxian hums. “Yeah, same.” In reality, Jiang Cheng had sprung a last minute hit on him earlier this morning, so his time was spent with Hanguang-jun, dancing across rooftops and chasing the target of the day. 

He fights down a smile when he remembers the way he had blown Hanguang-jun a kiss after they were finished and was rewarded with three bullets shot by his ear. Playful bullets only, of course. Hanguang-jun would never purposely try to hurt him. 

It’s all in good fun. 

“Well,” he says now, cocking his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Ready to be enlightened?”

“Mm,” says Lan Wangji. “We will see.”

And that. That sounds like a challenge. And Wei Wuxian never backs down in the face of a challenge.

“Okay!” he says. “Then let’s start by greasing the pans… ready, set, go!”

Cooking has never been his strong suit, Wei Wuxian will admit to that. However, baking is in an entirely different ballpark—though that’s mainly because it’s less likely he’ll find random points in the process where he deems that it’s appropriate to add a dash of chili flakes. When he and his siblings were young, his sister would make the main courses for most of their meals, and Wei Wuxian would dabble in different recipes for cakes and brownies and ice creams. Jiang Cheng would be the taste-tester, because he is generally useless. He’s also incredibly biased, especially considering how he would always give their sister full marks and Wei Wuxian a barely-passing six-on-ten. 

The thought brings a smile to his face now. The memories are still so fresh in his mind, even after all these years.

“Warm spices,” Wei Wuxian says, holding up two bottles. “Ground cinnamon. Nutmeg.”

“Cloves,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian grins. “Yeah! Cloves!”

“Pecans,” says Lan Wangji. He’s leaning over a carrot on a chopping board. “Toast them. Walnuts. Pass me the grater.”

Wei Wuxian tosses it over, careful to avoid his skin from nicking against the sharp surface. He hums as he watches Lan Wangji begin to slide the tip of the carrot down the shiny tool. 

“What kind of icing do you usually make?” he asks. 

“Buttercream,” says Lan Wangji. 

“What?” Wei Wuxian makes a face. “Why would you use buttercream for carrot cake? Cream cheese is the way to go.”

Lan Wangji pauses. “Cream cheese,” he says. His eyes narrow in consideration. “I see. There is some in the fridge.”

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian grins. “See? You do know how to improvise!”

“Mm. Wei Ying is well-versed in baking.”

“I told you,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s an art. I am an artist.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm!” He leans over the counter, tapping the bottom of his chin with his index finger. “I was actually an art student in college, you know. My roommate was a medical student. We were, like, completely on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Jiang Cheng did business like the boring ass he is.” He bites his lip, taking a breath. “Honestly, though, we were all kind of disasters.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji mixes together the oils and sugars, eyes carefully focused on his work. “Does Wei Ying still do art?”

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian nods. “I haven’t painted anything in a while, but yeah. What did you do in college, Lan Zhan?”

“Music,” says Lan Wangji, pouring egg and vanilla into the bowl. “Start on the frosting.”

“Yessir,” Wei Wuxian says, saluting for added effect. He grabs the tin of cream cheese and a stick of butter in one hand, then reaches for a knife. He whistles lightly as he swiftly flicks the knife around in his grasp, twirling it between his fingers and slicing off large chunks of the butter. “Music, huh?” he says. Then, “Oh, we should spice the frosting.”

Lan Wangji turns to look at him. 

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian peers down at the ingredients laying out before him. “Ginger? Do we have ginger? I’ll use the cinnamon too.”

“We have ginger,” Lan Wangji says smoothly, opening a cupboard and sliding it over the countertop. “Are you sure?”

“You called me well-versed!”

“Hm.” There’s doubt laced in that single syllable, but Wei Wuxian will choose to ignore it for now.

“So!” he says instead, working on swirling the frosting to life. “You said you were a music student. Did you play an instrument? What do you play? Do you play multiple? I played flute all throughout grade school.”

“I can play the flute,” says Lan Wangji. “Piano. Violin. I specialized in the guqin.”

“The guqin?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyes going wide. “Woah. Nice. Do you still know how to play?”

“Mn. I do,” says Lan Wangji. 

“We should play together sometime, then!” Wei Wuxian says. “I think I still have my flute. Somewhere. Probably. I can dig it up! Or… I could paint you while you play?”

“Either,” says Lan Wangji, and, yeah, that’s nice. That’s really nice. Wei Wuxian can see it now, the quiet solitude of the scene, the two sitting across from each other in their living room and doing their own respective things. The wind coming in through the window, blowing against their faces and making their hair flutter back behind them. Their eyes locking over their instruments, the—

He shakes his head, pushing the train of thought away. Far away. God. He needs to get a grip on himself, what the fuck.

“Okay,” he says, slight incline of his head attached to his words. “Sounds good! Workout buddies, actual work buddies, roommate buddies, and now… uh… whatever this is buddies.”

Lan Wangji’s lips do a funny thing. Wei Wuxian almost gasps when he realizes what it is—a smile. A real smile. Holy shit. Holy shit. Is this the first time he’s seen Lan Wangji smile? Probably, right? It’s a gentle curve, nothing more and nothing less, yet for some reason, it claws at Wei Wuxian’s chest in a way he’s never felt before—sharp, protruding. 

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, and the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Have you finished the frosting?”

“The—oh, yes, yes yes.” Wei Wuxian lifts the bowl up, displaying it proudly. “See? It’s perfect! Sizhui is gonna love it.”

“He will be happy,” says Lan Wangji. 

“Yeah.” Sizhui’s face comes blaring to mind, the soft bend of his features, his kind eyes, the gentle slopes of his face. A boy that had been raised by this Lan Wangji, apparently. Wei Wuxian smiles. “Yeah.”

—

“Tell me about this other friend of yours,” says Wei Wuxian as he buckles himself into the driver’s seat of his car. Beside him, Jin Ling grunts out a questioning hum. 

“Who? You mean Zizhen?”

“Zizhen,” Wei Wuxian repeats.

Jin Ling puts his phone down and shrugs. “I dunno. He’s cool, I guess. He’s super close with Jingyi.”

“What, and you’re not?”

Jin Ling grimaces as Wei Wuxian backs out of the parking slot they’re currently in and leans to the side as they turn into the main street. “You’ve seen the way Jingyi treats me. He never stops teasing me!”

“It’s all in good fun, A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian snickers. 

Jin Ling huffs. “Whatever. They’re all annoying. All of them.”

At this, Wei Wuxian quirks an eyebrow. “Even Sizhui? Sizhui seems nice.”

“Yeah,” Jin Ling nods. “That’s the problem. Sizhui’s too nice. I can literally never tell what he’s thinking.”

“How can someone be too nice?”

“Exactly! That’s my question!” Jin Ling exclaims. “Literally, who knows if he secretly hates all of us? I sure don’t.”

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian says, thoughtful. That definitely reminds him of Lan Wangji. “Maybe your uncle will benefit from having a conversation or five with him.”

Jin Ling, against what is probably his better judgement, laughs out loud at this. Wei Wuxian smiles, pleased with himself for eliciting that kind of reaction out of his darling nephew. Jin Ling has always been a hard one to satisfy, after all. 

He supposes he inherited that trait from his father. 

Before he can dwell on that particular thought for too long, they arrive in the back parking lot of the building complex Cloud Recesses is located in. Wei Wuxian quickly slots the vehicle between two thick painted lines and tosses Jin Ling the keys as they exit and walk up to the entrance. 

They’re immediately greeted by the friendly smile of a stranger. 

“Jin Ling,” says the boy, nodding. He turns to look over to Wei Wuxian. “And you must be Jin Ling’s uncle! Wei qianbei!”

“That’s right,” Wei Wuxian grins, holding out his hand.

The boy takes it, excitement decorating his features. He looks to be just around Jin Ling’s age—perhaps a few years older at most. 

“Ouyang Zizhen,” he says to introduce himself. 

“Excellent,” says Wei Wuxian. He holds up the bags of decorations in his other hand. “Glad you could join us this morning, Zizhen! Now let’s get this party started!”

Lan Wangji is already there, pinning his apron onto his frontside and getting the machines powered up and going. Wei Wuxian grins and slides up to him, nudging the side of his arm to catch his attention. 

“You got here early,” he says. The two had agreed to go in at separate times, Lan Wangji first and Wei Wuxian later since he was on Jin Ling Picking Up duty this morning. Usually Jiang Cheng will do the honors, but Jiang Cheng is an annoying piece of shit and lives to make Wei Wuxian’s life as miserable as he possibly can.

Lan Wangji nods. “Mn. Did you bring everything?”

“Yeah!” He glances back over his shoulder to where Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen are, the two juniors seemingly lost in conversation. “A-Ling, Zizhen, come help your Wei qianbei and Lan qianbei put up all these posters.”

Decorating is cathartic in a way Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly used to. Being around people he’s on the road to getting to know, laughing and smiling as they prepare for a morning of celebration, it’s something he hasn’t done since his college days. It’s strange. It’s nice. 

“Why are there so many streamers?” asks Jin Ling, grimacing as he rummages through the plethora of plastic packages. 

“They add character,” says Wei Wuxian, looking over from where he’s currently trying to balance a roll of tape in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. “And honestly, what’s a party without character?”

“A boring party,” says Ouyang Zizhen.

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue approvingly. “Exactly! You get it, kid.”

Ouyang Zizhen beams. 

“Whatever,” Jin Ling mutters, pulling out a handful of the sparkling blue decorations. “When are Sizhui and Jingyi getting here?”

“Dunno,” says Ouyang Zizhen. “Jingyi said they’d be here, like, within the second half of the hour.” He blinks, then turns to Wei Wuxian. “Is there a cake?”

“Of course there’s a cake!” says Wei Wuxian. “Lan Zhan and I were up super late baking it last night. He brought it in this morning.”

“Really?” Ouyang Zizhen asks.

“Mn,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice from behind them. “It is in the fridge.”

“What kind of cake is it?” Jin Ling asks, peering closely at them.

“Carrot cake,” says Wei Wuxian. “Apparently it’s Sizhui’s favorite.”

Jin Ling scoffs. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

“Why?” Wei Wuxian asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Jin Ling shrugs. “Sizhui’s always bringing in carrots for snacks. At first I thought he was being obnoxious about it, but now I’m starting to think that he genuinely has a thing for them.” He grimaces. 

Lan Wangji brings the cake out a few minutes later, and Wei Wuxian takes great pride in the way both Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen’s jaws drop open at the sight. Yes, the icing job wasn’t exactly his doing, and yes, Lan Wangji had to butt in multiple times to take over during the short period in which Wei Wuxian was in charge, but in the end, it really was a team effort! Wei Wuxian should get a good fifty-percent of the credit!

“Amazing, right?” he asks right by Jin Ling’s ear, leaning in close to the side of his face.

His nephew yelps in surprise, turning to glare at him. “Stop that!”

Wei Wuxian smiles cheekily. 

And then, when Jingyi and Sizhui finally arrive, it's a true party.

“Oh my,” says Sizhui, all breathy and surprised as he steps in through the front door and his bag slips off of his shoulder. There’s still about an hour till they open shop, so they have plenty of time for celebrations. Sizhui’s eyes are wide as he takes in the elaborate decorations, and when his eyes land on the cake, he gasps out loud.

“You like it?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Happy birthday, kid!” Lan Wangji is standing somewhere next to him, and by the looks of it, he too is intently waiting for Sizhui’s response. Wei Wuxian stifles back his snicker of amusement.

“Wei qianbei!” Sizhui exclaims. His smile softens. “Yes, I like it very much. Thank you so much.”

“Happy birthday,” says Lan Wangji.

“Thank you, Father,” says Sizhui, his lips pressed together as his cheeks and ears burn brightly. Wei Wuxian suppresses the urge to laugh out loud.

“Can we eat the cake now?” Jin Ling asks, his eyes darting between Sizhui’s face and the cake on the table. 

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, reaching over to flick Jin Ling’s ear and ignoring the glower he receives in response. “Patience, young grasshopper, patience.”

The party is a huge success, and Wei Wuxian takes the time to piece out small aspects of each one of the juniors’ personalities. Of course, he already knows Jin Ling fairly well, so he concedes that there’s probably not much new information there. Wei Wuxian is also slowly beginning to get to know Sizhui and Jingyi—he knows that the two have been best friends since their time in elementary school, and that they’re currently roommates in university. Sizhui wears a smile on his face at all times, and Jingyi wears a similar beam of mischief. Sizhui remains partial to every side of a story, and Jingyi is only slightly troublesome in the face of potential juicy drama.

Ouyang Zizhen, on the other hand, is a true romantic at heart. Wei Wuxian catches onto this fairly quickly.

Throughout the entirety of the remaining morning preparations, the boy spends his time outlining in great detail the plot of his budding crush on a girl in one of his classes. Jin Ling has discreetly managed to grab ahold of his earbuds, plugging them in and going about his day, but Sizhui and Jingyi listen to Ouyang Zizhen’s rambling with great interest. Wei Wuxian finds himself joining the latter group, leaving Jin Ling scowling off in the corner on his own. 

“Personally,” says Wei Wuxian seriously, “I think you have a chance.”

Ouyang Zizhen visibly lights up upon hearing this. “Do you really, Wei qianbei?”

Wei Wuxian nods matter-of-factly. “Sure! Keep up with the flirting and you’re bound to catch her eye. It’s easy money that way.”

“A-Qing doesn’t seem like the type to like that kind of stuff though,” Sizhui observes, carefully looking between the rest of them. “I mean, of course I could be wrong, but that’s just the vibe that I get from what I noticed during the time I was in that Biology lecture with her last semester.”

Ouyang Zizhen visibly deflates. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.”

“Maybe you could try to infiltrate her friend group,” says Jingyi, smiling devilishly.

“No,” says Ouyang Zizhen. “Absolutely not. Do you even know who her friends are?”

“Who are her friends?” asks Wei Wuxian, his interest fairly piqued at this point. He’s all for living vicariously through the lives of these kids, after all. Plus, these boys seem to have quite the exciting university experiences. Loads more exciting than his own, at least.

“These two upperclassmen,” says Ouyang Zizhen. “Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. They’re scary.” He shudders for added effect. 

“Xiao Xingchen is nice,” Sizhui offers in an attempt to be helpful. He hums. “I haven’t had a chance to interact with Song Lan before, but he seems nice as well.”

“Oh!” Jingyi exclaims. “I know them! Isn’t that other kid—what’s his name—Xue Yang? Isn’t he also in their group? I’ve seen him around campus before. He seems like an absolute—”

Behind them, there’s a crash. The sound is surprising, and four pairs of eyes automatically look over to see what the commotion is about. They find Jin Ling glaring at them, three cups of boba balanced in his arms and two empty ones on the floor, brown-colored tea spilled across the floor and pooling by his feet.

“Will you guys please stop gossiping and help me,” Jin Ling hisses before promptly dropping another cup.

Sizhui is the first to react, immediately jumping into action and running over to him. He carefully extracts the two remaining cups from Jin Ling’s hands and laughs softly, shaking his head. “Sorry about that, Jin Ling.”

Jin Ling huffs and doesn’t respond.

“Aw,” Jingyi drawls as he walks over to the counter and snatches a roll of thick white napkins, “is Young Mistress sad because he’s still in high school?”

“Believe me,” Jin Ling mutters, “if college is anything like what you guys tell me, I’m good.”

“College is objectively better than high school though,” says Ouyang Zizhen as he too wanders to the back of the area and starts refilling the plastic cup stands.

“I second that,” says Wei Wuxian, raising his hand.

“You can’t talk,” Jin Ling scowls, accepting the napkins Jingyi is forcefully thrusting into his arms. “Jiujiu tells me all you did in college was go to parties and get drunk with your roommate.”

“You should definitely stop hanging around your jiujiu,” says Wei Wuxian. He grins, because, well, Jin Ling isn’t exactly wrong. There were multiple nights back in university when all he’d do was sit in his apartment with Wen Qing across from him on the couch, the two of them ranting to their heart’s content about their stupid professors and cradling a few too many bottles of wine against their bosoms. Those days were truly his peak, Wei Wuxian thinks. 

But no matter. Life is a simple series of ups and downs.

Jin Ling mutters something under his breath and rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says. “I’m just going to enjoy my time where I am right now and worry about all of that later.”

“My smart little A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian coos. 

Jin Ling shoots him a disgusted look. “Never say that again.”

“Someone has to,” Wei Wuxian points out. “You don’t see Jiang Cheng praising you for your adorable, cute little brain.”

“Jiujiu just doesn’t praise me for anything,” says Jin Ling. “And he definitely doesn’t praise me for my adorable, cute little brain.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m your favorite uncle and Jiang Cheng is not.”

Jin Ling snorts. “You wish, dajiu.”

“It’s okay,” says Jingyi, a naughty, characteristic smirk playing at his lips. “Young Mistress is just a salty little baby. If I was his uncle I wouldn’t praise him either.”

Jin Ling’s eyebrow ticks in a way that is really much too similar to Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian will have to talk to his brother about that later. Jin Ling’s mouth opens, and Wei Wuxian already knows what’s about to fall through his lips. “Lan Jingyi—”

—

When Wei Wuxian arrives at a hit site the following night, he finds that Hanguang-jun is already there.

Damn, he thinks to himself, grinning like a cheshire cat as he hops to the opposite side of the room. There’s an extra beat in his step, he thinks, and the burn on the bottom of the soles of his feet barely leave much more than a fleeting impression. The smile gracing his lips is bold as ever, and the hilt of his gun threads tantalizingly through his fingers.

The target goes quickly. Hanguang-jun is very obviously alert, the lines of his body extremely frigid and still. He leaps around the area, the tips of his toes landing on every last inch of the building as the target is chased. Wei Wuxian huffs, because honestly. So much drama for such a little hit. This target isn’t even a big hotshot, he thinks. Or at least, Jiang Cheng didn’t seem like he cared too much when he was assigning it. 

Still, Yiling Laozu is Yiling Laozu. He hears a scream of surprise from somewhere behind him, sees Hanguang-jun’s head whip around in his direction, sees the way Hanguang-jun’s gun lifts in mid air, ready and poised to take the shot. Wei Wuxian smirks before he can help himself, eyes darting to the other side, catching and hooking onto the target’s movement with ease.

Oh, yeah, this is definitely not a hotshot.

The gun is raised, and the target is shot. And shot. And shot. Easy comes, easy goes. Wei Wuxian grins as he retracts his gun, blowing out a puff of air on the muzzle before pocketing it. 

He wheels around on his heel, the bottoms of his boots blazing with heat against his battered socks. Hanguang-jun is staring at him, going incredibly still, his mask faced entirely in Wei Wuxian’s direction. Yiling Laozu takes over Wei Wuxian once again, and he smiles. He feels the smirk tug on his lips as he raises his hand, only managing to get through half of the movements required for waving before he notices Hanguang-jun’s fingers tightening fruitlessly around his gun.

Wei Wuxian blinks. 

Within seconds, he is ducking, and three bullets are being fired at him. They land high enough above his head for him to know they were aimless—or, at least, they weren’t aimed for him. Wei Wuxian doesn’t doubt it, either. He knows Hanguang-jun. He’s known him for far too long to think he would kill him just like that, no questions asked.

No. That’s not Hanguang-jun’s style, and that’s definitely not Yiling Laozu’s style.

Half-bent over, Wei Wuxian leaps to his feet, then rolls back down onto the floor. A smile plays at his mouth as more bullets are shot, all flying in the general direction of his body. He feels for his own gun, index finger locking into place in front of the trigger. 

He laughs, breathy, audible to only his ears.

His gun is up in a flash, pointed right at the side of Hanguang-jun’s ear. He fires when he sees the other fall still, watching as the bullet leaves his side and shoots over to Hanguang-jun’s. It lands several feet away from him when it finally imprints into the wall. It doesn’t leave a mark, not even a dent. Hanguang-jun is already jumping away from it in a clean sweep, his robes dusting against the floor in his wake.

Wei Wuxian rises, his legs frozen in place. Hanguang-jun is behind a shelf, long and towering in front of him and perfectly hiding his body from view. Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow at the scene and takes several steps forward. His gun is at his side, poised and ready for any surprise attacks.

Still, Hanguang-jun doesn’t seem like the type to—

A flash of white evades Wei Wuxian’s vision. He blinks, eyes widening when he sees Hanguang-jun’s figure return to view. He’s still holding his gun up, it seems, and this time it’s aimed directly for the center of Wei Wuxian’s chest.

Oh. Yes.

He’ll play along with this, alright. It’s nothing more than a game—it’s the farthest from anything serious. Maybe years ago if this had happened, they might have meant it. 

But back then, they were too scared. They were tittering at the edges of bare inexperience, familiarity coming and going in waves. Anger would sometimes take over Hanguang-jun, but never to the point of changing the target. His outward displays of irritation just served as more reason for Wei Wuxian to keep teasing him, blowing kisses in dark alleyways and dancing across rooftops capping the city. 

He lifts his right arm—the one still housing his polished pistol—and matches Hanguang-jun’s focus. Dead center. The target is bright, waiting for the shot.

They stand like that, what seems like miles away, aiming their respective guns at each other. Yiling Laozu’s mask meets Hanguang-jun’s. Wei Wuxian eyes sink into Hanguang-jun’s face. It may be covered, but that’s never mattered before, has it? This—this right here, what they’re doing right now—it’s nothing more than frustration. It’s a game. It’s always been a game.

Back and forth, like two silhouettes in the night, they fly together. They glide as one, always. They’re two people with the same direction, the same purpose in their lives. Wei Wuxian feels a strange, foreign tug at his heart. It’s like a rocking string, pulling and letting go all at once. It’s drastic, certain yet obscure. 

His eyes narrow. The sight of Hanguang-jun is minute. There he is, standing several meters away, staring right back at him. They don’t move. They’ve never spoken. They work on opposite ends of the same field, same goal in mind.

His lips pinch together, and that seems to be what sets it off. 

Two bullets, shot simultaneously.

Two figures, ducking simultaneously. 

Two bodies, rolling across the floor, traveling to meet in the center.

The bullet flies above Wei Wuxian and lands somewhere behind him. He sees it from his position on the floor, staring up at it for a split second before his eyes are met with the sight of the concrete floor. He rolls over on his side, over and over and over again, like a snowball tumbling to life. 

And when he comes to a stop, he finds Hanguang-jun laying right next to him. 

They’re panting, Wei Wuxian’s ears and cheeks and chest burning with fire. The holes in his mask are covered with a thick veil, but he sees the way Hanguang-jun is looking at him clearly. 

No, not sees—he can’t truly see him, after all. Not with his eyes. All he can see is the outline of Hanguang-jun’s mask, the bottom of his chin, the curve of his lips. They’re parched dry, it seems, so close yet so far away at the same time. Wei Wuxian imagines them with a splash of chapstick dabbed across. He imagines the blooming color they would boast in summertime, pink as a stained rouge kiss.

But—none of that. He shakes the thought away. His mouth closes, his tongue clacking against the roof of his mouth. Hanguang-jun is unmoving, like a stone at the bottom of a drifting ocean.

Like this, they’re barely a few feet apart. Like this, the electric string between them is so thin it could break with a sharp tap. Like this, Wei Wuxian is able to feel. He feels it deep within, the current surging through his veins. It cracks at his insides, a cobweb patterned at his skin. He wonders, briefly, if Hanguang-jun can feel it too.

And then they’re up. Hanguang-jun spares not one glance back at him as he picks up his gun from where it’s tumbled on the floor and carries himself to the door. Wei Wuxian watches. He watches intently. He watches as Hanguang-jun pockets his gun. He watches him survey the room around them. He watches his eyes land on the target’s dead body, slumped over in unconscious defeat in the corner of the room. He watches him nod, nothing more than the smallest incline of his head. He feels the acknowledgement deep in his bones, like Hanguang-jun is verbally giving him his thoughts on the hit. He imagines the ‘Good job’ that’s all but spoken aloud.

And when Hanguang-jun is gone, Yiling Laozu sheds away, and Wei Wuxian returns.

—

Nothing really had kicked off till about one month from the time when Yiling Laozu and Hanguang-jun had first met: when Yiling Laozu snatched the kill away from Hanguang-jun at the very last second.

They were running. Wei Wuxian’s hair fell in harsh sprays behind him. His heartbeat was roaring, thudding against the confines of his chest. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were narrow, squinting through the hot blaze of summertime heat. 

Hanguang-jun was in front of him, but just barely so. They both had their guns out, holding onto them tightly like a lifeline, like an extra few inches on their hands.

The target was head, slipping through cracks and avoiding every single one of their hits. Wei Wuxian had his gun held up, poised at the ready, and Hanguang-jun’s was down, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

And then, they were cornering him. The target looked desperately around, right to left, up to down. He was backed up against a wall, weaponless, and Wei Wuxian felt a rush of excitement course through his veins. His grip on his gun tightened, index finger resting in front of the trigger—ready to pull. 

Hanguang-jun began to slow down. Wei Wuxian did not.

He slipped through, arm brushing against Hanguang-jun’s side as he flitted past him. Air rushed through his ears, pressing against his cheeks. It was exhilarating, the way he flicked his wrist upward, directed the muzzle of his gun up with ease, and let the bullet shoot free. 

It was a perfect aim—a perfect fire. 

His feet carried him closer still, out of control. He saw the brick of the building approach, the one that the target’s back was sliding down on, and he jumped. The momentum blinded him, his heart raced, and he tumbled onto the ground.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened when he saw the target collapse down onto the floor ahead. As he frantically stood up back to his feet, his gaze bolted back to his side, searching, searching for—

Hanguang-jun was staring at him. Or, well, Wei Wuxian thought he was staring at him. He couldn’t exactly tell with the mask covering his features. The gun fell limp by his waist, hanging there like a lone vine in an abandoned forest. Dejected. Forgotten. 

They stood there, two ships in the night. 

Hanguang-jun took a step back. The movement was sudden, and Wei Wuxian’s eye caught onto it immediately. Retreat, he thought. He’s leaving.

The flurry of white that resulted from Hanguang-jun turning around was blinding, a flash of color amidst the murky night sky. Wei Wuxian watched, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as Hanguang-jun ran out of the alleyway and disappeared from sight.

And then it kept happening. Yiling Laozu would arrive at the hit site mere minutes before Hanguang-jun. Yiling Laozu would twirl into action and take the kill for himself. Yiling Laozu would wait, tauntingly, for Hanguang-jun’s appearance just so he could watch him kill the target. With this, Yiling Laozu secured his relationship with Hanguang-jun, and Hanguang-jun did nothing to refute it.

And Hanguang-jun would retaliate too. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how to work his way around a hit. Yiling Laozu was thoroughly aware of it, of course, and it would only fuel his need to be better and better and better.

They would go on for years, provoking and shooting and slowly untangling each other, Hanguang-jun’s annoyance coupled with Yiling Laozu’s need to incite him.

That was their life. This was them.

—

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says as he enters their apartment. 

Wei Wuxian looks up from where he’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Lan Wangji is standing in the middle of the doorway, multiple flimsy plastic bags hanging from the hooks of his fingers. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen; he quickly puts his phone aside and rushes up to help him.

“What’s all of this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow as he ushers his roommate inside and closes the front door behind them. “Did you go shopping?”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. He sets the bags down in the middle of the living room, then picks the biggest one up. It’s shaped quite strangely, Wei Wuxian notes. Like a box. A very thin box. 

“What’s that?” he asks, peering closely at it.

Lan Wangji goes still for exactly three seconds, give or take two. Then he gently takes hold of the top of the bag and peels it off. “I saw it at the store,” he says quietly—quieter than normal, at least—as he takes the large object out and into his hands. “Wei Ying said he does art.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen in surprise.

“I… did,” he says slowly, “but, Lan Zhan, I—” He shakes his head. “Okay. Wow. Okay.”

It’s a canvas. A very, very nicely structured canvas. It’s a smooth, ivory white color with a surface glossed to perfection. Wei Wuxian is yet to run a finger down its skin, but he already knows that it has an unparalleled texture. 

“You—” He stops, stares for a couple more seconds. “You didn’t have to.”

“Hm,” says Lan Wangji. “I did not, but you had mentioned we would work together.”

Wei Wuxian looks up so that he can see Lan Wangji’s expression, finding his usual placidity coated with a little something extra. It isn’t too obvious—Wei Wuxian can only notice it in the slight downturn of his eyebrows, the curve of his lips, the tips of his ears just barely hidden away behind a lock of hair, brazenly pink with color. 

He gulps down the building nerves, blinking rapidly to stop himself from saying something stupid. 

“Then,” he says, “let’s do it. Right now!”

“Right now,” says Lan Wangji.

“Unless you’re busy right now,” Wei Wuxian says quickly. “I get it if you are. You’re always, like, working. You know. You probably have something you need to do, so you don’t have to day yes just because you—”

“I do not,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian blinks, momentarily startled by the interruption. “Don’t what?”

“I do not have something I need to do,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian feels his breath hitch, but he’s determined not to let it affect his flow. God fucking dammit. What is going on? Lan Wangji really—he really just—

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. He bites his lip. Are they chapped? They feel chapped. Where’s his lip balm—oh dear, this is terrible, this is awful, this is—

Lan Wangji stands, and Wei Wuxian promptly feels all the breath leave his lungs. He looks up at him, his towering, overbearing figure. He sees the way Lan Wangji’s eyes sweep across the room, looking for everything yet nothing at the same time. He sees the way his gaze pauses in the direction of their hallway before he steps away. 

“Mn,” he’s saying, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t dare tear his eyes away. “I will retrieve my guqin.”

“Guqin,” says Wei Wuxian. He mentally smacks himself. Holy fuck. “Right, right! Your guqin! I’ll go get my paints. Do you wanna do it out here? Thank god we have hardwood floors. Imagine if we had carpet. Knowing me, I’d definitely spill something.”

“Here is fine,” says Lan Wangji. He casts a glance over his shoulder, catches Wei Wuxian’s eye, and nods. 

Five minutes later, Wei Wuxian finds himself rolling out his paints onto his palette, watching Lan Wangji across the room. The latter is tuning his instrument, listening closely for the sounds of plucked strings. There is no melody—not yet, at least—but the soothing notes are enough to muddle Wei Wuxian’s insides into a pile of floppy jelly.

Lan Wangji looks up, his eyes catching in the sunlight for a fraction of a second. Wei Wuxian’s hands curl around his paintbrush, picking it up by the handle and lifting the end to align with Lan Wangji’s face. 

“Ready?”

Lan Wangji nods, simple. “Mm. Ready.”

And so, they begin. 

Art is a dance, Wei Wuxian thinks. Smears of color begin to position themselves on the canvas in front of him, paint flecks landing everywhere from his wrists to his plain cotton t-shirt. His eyes flit back and forth from his work to Lan Wangji’s face, peering through the lighting and imprinting every stroke of his body’s outline to memory. 

Lan Wangji’s posture is brilliant, straight as a stick, perfect like every other part of him. He seems to be in deep concentration, but his eyebrows don’t betray him. Instead, they do nothing but add onto his calm demeanor. 

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and drinks in the music.

It isn’t a song he recognizes, but then again, it’s not like he’s particularly well-versed in the realm of classical music. Still, it’s an exceptionally beautiful piece, and one does not have to be a musical prodigy to be able to acknowledge that. 

When he opens his eyes, he sinks himself back into the familiar rhythm of brush strokes against parched paper. 

He hasn’t been able to paint in a while. With his work as Yiling Laozu, coupled with everything else that’s been going on, there never seems to be a spare moment to himself. It’s fine, though—it really is. There’s nothing else Wei Wuxian would rather be doing. Even if a snazzy alternative would be spending his days like this, painting against the blazing sunlight and listening to his stupidly lovely roommate play his guqin.

He shakes his head and smiles to himself.

Across from him, Lan Wangji’s fingers move delicately across the strings, painting his own art into the air around them. 

—

SDSS
[1 File Attached]

YLLZ
ooh for me? :D

SDSS
watch it
this one’ll be quick i think

YLLZ
yessir!
what abt hgj?

SDSS
he’ll be there
as always

YLLZ
as always :)

 

—

The one downside of Wei Wuxian’s profession is that it’s unforeseen. It isn’t stable; there’s no constant. He’s never seen the same day twice in his life. Some days, he’ll reach the site of a hit with plenty of time to spare, he’ll make the kill without any fuss, and then he’ll go about the rest of his day as normal. 

Other days, it’s not that easy. 

Sometimes, Wei Wuxian finds himself in a bind, trapped with no escape in sight. 

This one was supposed to be quick. He had no idea what to expect, but Jiang Cheng had told him it wouldn’t take too long. 

He ends up with several slashes that tear through his suit, boasting his slowly reddening skin. Heaving a sigh, Wei Wuxian looks down at himself, peering closely at the injuries through his mask. They’re not too bad, he thinks. He’ll be able to finish the hit off before the true intensity of the pain hits him. 

The target stands before him, his knife up at the ready as it's been for the past three minutes. Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow as the man tries to trick him with some elaborate footwork, ending up tripping on his own feet and fumbling to the floor.

“You guys never learn, do you,” he mutters, feeling for his gun at the side of his waist. 

His eyes widen. His breath hitches. 

His gun. 

Immediately, he flits his gaze around, eyes flirting with every corner of the room. He searches for the familiar flash of his silvery weapon, throat running dry when he notices the target pause in front of him, still lying in a manner similar to a twisted pretzel. 

The door bursts open from behind him. Wei Wuxian whips around, his eyes widening when he sees Hanguang-jun standing before him and surveying the scene. 

Behind him, he hears wheezing. The target is getting up, presumably, and is taking several long strides toward an unarmed Wei Wuxian. 

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and groans. God fucking dammit. 

He raises his fists, ready to fight through it himself if need be. Fistfighting has never been his go-to method, of course, but he’ll do it if he has to. It’s kind of like his firm belief about how mental math is useless with the invention of calculators.

And then he notices it. 

Right by Hanguang-jun’s feet, his gun lies poised and bare for the taking. He gasps, quickly lowering his hands and pointing to it. 

His mouth opens before he can stop himself—before he can even register what he’s doing. 

“Hanguang-jun!”

Hanguang-jun’s head snaps over to look at him, and Wei Wuxian watches with belated surprise as he goes incredibly, incredibly still. 

A moment of silence surrounds them. In reality, it lasts for no longer than a few seconds, but it feels like eons have passed by the time Wei Wuxian shakes his head. Whatever. He’ll have to deal with it later. 

What’s done is done.

He swallows. “Hanguang-jun!” he yells again. “My gun!”

It seems to snap Hanguang-jun out of whatever trance he’s in. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian sees the sparkling edge of a blade slowly raising. He takes a staggering step forward, away from its range, and mentally begs for time. He watches as Hanguang-jun quickly bends down, movements agile as ever, and grasps the handle of Wei Wuxian’s gun. 

For one, painfully bruised second, Wei Wuxian thinks Hanguang-jun is going to do the unspeakable. He can see it all playing out before him: Hanguang-jun throws Yiling Laozu’s gun aside, takes the hit for himself, and leaves Yiling Laozu behind. When Yiling Laozu gets home, he gets his ass beaten by Sandu Shengshou, and is forced to retire from the field. 

He sighs internally. Screw his dramatic, romanticizing mind. 

There’s movement behind him once again. His hand raises and his palms are outstretched as he jumps, landing right on the floor—on his chest. He looks up, craning his neck and catching sight of Hanguang-jun suddenly above him, tossing his gun down. 

Wei Wuxian catches it with practiced ease. He suppresses his smile, then twists around on the floor till he’s lying on his back and facing the target. 

He raises the gun. 

Three shots, you’re out.

The knife clatters away from the target’s hands, toppling down next to his body on the floor. 

Wei Wuxian breathes a sigh of relief, adrenaline pulsating through his veins and slowly quieting down. He pushes himself up into a seated position, wincing when he finally begins to feel the blooms of pain flowering about his skin. His hand automatically comes to press against his chest, and he releases a low, quiet moan. 

Suddenly, someone is by his side. Hanguang-jun leans down, the breadth of his body looming over him like a shadow in the blistering sun. 

Wei Wuxian suddenly realizes what had just happened. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

He’d spoken. Out loud. 

He gives himself a mental slap. Idiot. Of course speaking would be out loud. 

Wei Wuxian looks up to Hanguang-jun, who is visibly squinting down at him. He can’t make out a single other thing save for the way the lines of his features have gone exceptionally rigid. They stay like that, solid in place. Wei Wuxian finds himself at a loss for words. 

Then, suddenly, he doesn’t. 

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s somehow enough to have Hanguang-jun moving again. His motions are fluid, but they seem uncharacteristically anxious for some inexplicable reason. 

Wei Wuxian almost laughs. Is his voice really that terrifying? 

“I know we’ve had the whole”—He stops to wave his hands about, stopping immediately when he feels the sting at his skin—“no-talking-to-each-other thing going for a while.” He breathes, in and out. “I panicked. You know what they say. A gun is a hitman’s best friend.”

No one says that, but he doubts Hanguang-jun cares. 

Hm.

“So, will you speak for this Yiling Laozu too, Hanguang-jun? Will you let Yiling Laozu hear your voice?” Wei Wuxian croons. He leans forward and ignores the prickling sensation throbbing throughout his body. God. Fuck. Jiang Cheng is going to have an absolute field day with this one.

He isn’t expecting Hanguang-jun to say anything, so it comes as no surprise when his figure tightens considerably, lips zipped shut and eyes wandering away from where Wei Wuxian is sitting. 

Wei Wuxian shakes softly as he laughs. “Didn’t think so.” Then, a sharp stab of pain. “Oh. Ow. Fuck.”

Hanguang-jun looks back to him, alarmed. Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I’ve survived worse! You’ve seen me survive worse!”

Hanguang-jun doesn’t move. 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Yes yes, alright, alright. I’ll go home. My roommate’s probably wondering where I am.”

He wonders if this is a little too much information to be giving out, but he thinks it’s pretty harmless stuff. After all, who doesn’t have a roommate in this day and age? Are there people who can actually afford to live on their own? Well, yes, Wei Wuxian is probably one of those people, but still! Having people around you is thrilling! An experience in it of itself!

So he gets up and tries his very hardest to divert his attention away from his wounds. He focuses instead on the way Hanguang-jun is hovering next to him, hands halfway out and mere inches away from gracing Wei Wuxian’s body with their touch. 

He looks down at them and feels the corners of his lips hook up. 

Gulping, he drags himself across the floor of the dim room, heading toward the exit and taking his work phone out to shoot a quick text to Jiang Cheng. 

YLLZ
betrayal, a-cheng
betrayal

SDSS
the fuck are you talking about

YLLZ
u said this one would b quick!!!! i’m literally bleeding!!!!!

SDSS
what
are you ok?

YLLZ
omg do i get ur worry now too
i am not prepared for this kind of attention

SDSS
shut up
do you need me to pick you up or something

YLLZ
nah i got it
just updating u!!! byebye!!!!

Looking up from his phone, he finds the sight of Hanguang-jun’s mask again. It’s tilted a fraction of the way down, clearly looking at the way Wei Wuxian is typing at his phone.

Wei Wuxian smiles, holding the device up. “I’ll text you later, then.”

He leaves, the skip in his step barely dying down despite the painful, constant tug at his skin.

—

He tumbles into a nearby alleyway, safely hiding himself away from any wandering eyes. He reaches for his backpack, rummaging through the front zipper for a moment before producing a plain white t-shirt. 

He groans and curses himself. Fuck. A white shirt? What had he been thinking, packing like this? It’s black tees or nothing, usually, especially when he knows there’s a possibility of getting hurt on the job. His entire frontside is bleeding, and his Yiling Laozu suit is already about sixty-percent soaked. 

The pain, at least, has numbed, like a flame too hot that it’s cold.

With a sigh, he peels his suit off and peers down at the damage. They’re mostly small cuts, though some run so deep that droplets of blood are still leaking out.

Well, fuck. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t keep towels in his backpack, but this is a lesson learned. Keep A Towel In Your Backpack, Wei Wuxian. He’s forced to use the sleeve of his black and red suit to wipe himself down, inhaling sharply as the cloth runs over the burning injuries. Then his fingers flirt with the white t-shirt, turning it around and over a few times in his grasp before finding the bottom and pulling it over his head. He tries not to wince when the fabric sticks at his skin.

Immediately, crimson color bleeds through. Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth in frustration. 

Sighing, he takes out his work phone, clicking into the only other message thread he has with someone other than Jiang Cheng.

YLLZ
i know what you’re gonna say

The reply, of course, comes immediately.

HGJ
Yiling Laozu.

YLLZ
yeah yeah
professionalism and all that
u have always been such a sucker for it

HGJ
you spoke aloud.

Wei Wuxian huffs. Seriously?

YLLZ
yeeesss we went over this back at the hit site
i thought we established a long time ago that i’m an idiot
but anyways
we’ve been working in this field together for so long now

HGJ
not together.

YLLZ
yeah yeah whatever
rivals
one against one
hashtag #enemiez 4 life
the whole thingamabobber
i must say tho
do u /really/ think of this one as your enemy?
this venerable being? the respected yiling laozu??
(゜´Д｀゜)
hanguang-jun!!!!!!! after everything we’ve been through!!!!!!!

HGJ
ridiculous.

YLLZ
hey.
hey that’s not actually a yes so
victory for me!!!!!
n e ways as i was saying
yeah!!!!! assassin ride or dies forever!!!!!!!!!!! for so long now!!!!!
surely knowing what my voice sounds like doesn’t change much?
T____T

HGJ
perhaps.

YLLZ
:D
wait fuck i’m like
kind of bleeding
talk later!
see you next time 

HGJ
be careful.

Wei Wuxian smiles and sighs to himself, pocketing his phone and gathering the rest of his things together. He silently hopes Lan Wangji is in his bedroom by the time he gets back so that he can slip by and get himself properly cleaned up in the bathroom. 

But of course, life never really does seem to work in Wei Wuxian’s favor. 

He turns the lock of the apartment’s door as quietly as he can upon reaching, wincing lightly when he hears the sound it produces. 

It’s alright. Lan Wangji usually sleeps early—“Nine o’clock, Wei Ying”—so it’s unlikely that he’s going to hear. Wei Wuxian knows for a fact that it’s at least half-past eleven right now, and with a surge of newfound confidence, he charges inside. 

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees a figure sitting on the couch in the living room. 

Lan Wangji notices him immediately, his eyes widening as he stands up to his feet and surged over to him in seconds.

“Wei Ying,” he says, then stops a few feet away. “You are home.”

Wei Wuxian forces saliva down his throat. He is blisteringly aware of how bad this looks. 

“I am home,” he says, and then he ducks. 

He pushes forward, bent halfway down his middle, and tries to swerve past. He’s instantly unsuccessful, and Lan Wangji’s hand curls around him to grasp over his bicep. Wei Wuxian freezes at the touch, then begins to desperately try and pull free. 

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, “Lan Zhan, stop, Lan Zhan, I—”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, and then he pauses. Wei Wuxian looks up to meet his eyes, finding swirls of confusion mixed beneath furrowed eyebrows. Lan Wangji’s voice cuts through the air like shards of broken glass. “You are hurt.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian swallows down a smile. “I’m fine,” he says, shrugging Lan Wangji’s hand away. “I, uh, hm. I just… bumped into a pole on my way here. You know how it goes.” Excellent. A perfectly reasonable excuse.

Lan Wangji doesn’t laugh. 

Wei Wuxian sighs, and his shoulders slump down in resignation. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m gonna go and, uh, get myself cleaned up.”

Just like that, Lan Wangji’s bruising touch on his arm returns, stopping him in place before he can bolt away. Silently, Wei Wuxian is grateful for it. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but for some reason, his heart aches for the feeling of being cared for. He’s obviously made Lan Wangji feel… something. Maybe. Wei Wuxian doesn’t exactly know what that something is, and he’s too tired to feel the need to ask.

Wordlessly, Lan Wangji pulls him deeper into the apartment. The way he flies forward in the direction of the living room is graceful in a way Wei Wuxian isn’t used to. It’s as if he’s gliding across the hardwood floor, toes bouncing and fingers tightly coiled around him. 

Wei Wuxian feels his breath snag as he’s roughly pushed onto the couch. He blinks, his bottom colliding with the soft cushion, and he looks up to see Lan Wangji already turning around and retreating once again.

“Lan Zhan, what are you—”

Lan Wangji raises a hand, effectively silencing him. Wei Wuxian watches, lips pinched together, as his roommate heads to one of the cabinets in the kitchen, opening it and moving the contents around for a couple of seconds. He pulls back, and when Wei Wuxian sees him again, he’s holding a large plastic box. 

Lan Wangji leans down in front of him, landing on his knees in front of the sofa and opening the box. Wei Wuxian takes a peek at it, stopping when he sees an array of different medical supplies neatly laid out within. 

“A first aid kit?” he asks. “I didn’t know you kept one in the kitchen.”

Wei Wuxian’s own kit is in the bathroom, stuffed behind rolls of toilet paper and empty shampoo bottles. He’s sure there are rolls of bloodied up tissue in there, forever forgotten about. He’d rather Lan Wangji not accidentally stumble upon that particular mess.

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer for a long moment, instead rummaging through the box and pulling out a thin pair of gloves. They’re the kind you get at an obnoxious open house for an extremely overpriced mansion in the middle of a random suburb, Wei Wuxian thinks. Lan Wangji sheathes his hands, then reaches over and finds the hem of Wei Wuxian’s shirt. 

Wei Wuxian yelps, leaning back in surprise. “What?”

Lan Wangji ignores him, gripping onto the shirt and beginning to slide it upward. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. “Lan Zhan! What are you doing?”

Lan Wangji looks up, a searing glare landing right on the bridge of Wei Wuxian’s nose. Wei Wuxian gulps, meeting the gaze head-on. 

“I am taking your shirt off,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Lan Zhan, you haven’t even taken me out on a date yet! How can you—”

“Shameless.” 

A smile escapes through Wei Wuxian’s lips when he notices the tips of Lan Wangji’s ears burning a pretty rosy hue. A single lamp is lit in the corner of the room, and the light it provides is barely enough to make out its shape. Still, Wei Wuxian has excellent vision. His grin deepens, and he laughs lowly.

“Yes yes,” he says, his hands travelling down to hover above where Lan Wangji’s are. “Move. I can do it.”

Lan Wangji, albeit a little reluctantly, follows through with the request. He backs away, though not enough to completely rid Wei Wuxian of his presence, and waits patiently. Wei Wuxian throws him a wink before peeling his shirt off, his body recoiling when the cool air hits his frontside.

He looks down to gauge Lan Wangji’s reaction, but the latter is too busy staring ahead, right at his chest. Wei Wuxian’s back arches automatically under the scrutiny, but he straightens out when Lan Wangji’s hand comes up to rest on his thigh. 

Wei Wuxian waits, prepared for the incoming question: What happened?

But it never comes.

Lan Wangji’s eyes are narrowed in determination. His hands move with startling accuracy, taking Wei Wuxian’s wrist and making him press into one of the larger wounds as he rolls out a hefty bit of fluffy gauze. 

The blood soaks through in increments, tainting the perfect white cloth with its deep, scarlet color. Wei Wuxian knows better than to talk now—there’s no way Lan Wangji will be having any of it. Instead, he watches, not daring to make a sound. 

Cleaning and dressing every cut on Wei Wuxian’s skin takes an agonizingly long time, but it’s not like he has something better to do. If anything, Lan Wangji seems infinitely more skilled than Wei Wuxian at doing this kind of stuff. Usually, Wei Wuxian will just throw some bandages on his wounds and call it a day.

Once, he had made the mistake of letting Jiang Cheng sneak a peek at his handiwork, and was thus given a three hour lecture about the importance of proper medical care.

Wei Wuxian had rolled his eyes. Wen Qing was already the one to scold him time and time again for his carelessness. He didn’t need Jiang Cheng to add fuel to the fire.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Lan Wangji’s voice, deep and articulate and painted with a coat of seriousness. 

“Wei Ying,” he says, “you must be careful.”

“I am careful,” says Wei Wuxian. The words spill forth automatically, like they’re an excuse burning on the foot of his tongue. His lips part. They’re dry. “I’m always careful, Lan Zhan.”

Another excuse, threatening to cascade down. He holds it, keeps it stored within for safe keeping. Lan Wangji is looking at him again, his spine straight and poised as the lines of his face even out. This expression, Wei Wuxian has come to realize, is one he should expect.

“You have seven cuts on your abdomen,” says Lan Wangji, not sounding impressed in the slightest.

Wei Wuxian finds that he can’t help himself. He must know. He has to risk it.

“Why aren’t you asking me what happened?” he asks before curling in on himself.

The question seems to take Lan Wangji by surprise. He stares back at him, the fire beneath pinpointed somewhere between the extremes of hot and cold. He purses his lips, then moves to stand up. 

“It is not my business,” he says.

“But,” says Wei Wuxian, and this is where he falters, “you aren’t even trying to make it your business.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. “It was never mine in the first place.”

Wei Wuxian feels himself frowning. “What, if something like this happened to you, you’d think I wouldn’t ask?”

“I would not answer,” says Lan Wangji, but his eyes squint as he says it. 

Wei Wuxian peers closely at his face, analyzing the barely-there brush of hesitance. “And you think I’d just accept that?”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji. He sounds tired. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

That shuts Wei Wuxian up immediately. “I told you,” he says, “I bumped into a wall.”

“A pole.”

“Oh.” He presses his lips together to suppress his amused smile. “Right. A pole. I meant to say that.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji says nothing more, bending down to pick up his box and burying it beneath his armpit. Wei Wuxian offers him a cautious smile, quietly searching for a way to break their awkward stride once more, but finds the attempt fruitless. Lan Wangji turns on his heel and heads right in the direction of the hallway, and seconds later, he’s disappeared out of sight.

Wei Wuxian gulps and moves to follow him. He stops right in the doorway to Lan Wangji’s bedroom, chancing a peek inside. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, treading the waters before him.

Lan Wangji is standing before his closet, rummaging through assortments of clothes swinging off of hangers. He pauses upon hearing Wei Wuxian’s voice, hands poised in front of a thick white sweater.

“Wei Ying,” he says, turning around. His eyes land on Wei Wuxian once again, and Wei Wuxian—Wei Wuxian suddenly feels a thousand times barer than before. He still isn’t wearing a shirt, and the bandages on his chest stick coldly to his skin.

Then Lan Wangji turns around again, and Wei Wuxian falls silent. Minutes later, Lan Wangji is holding up a navy shirt in his hands, the fabric looking like it's made from the softest material in the country. Wei Wuxian feels his breath hitch in his throat as Lan Wangji walks up to him and reaches down to take his hand, thrusting the t-shirt into his grasp.

“Wear this,” he says, eyes connecting to a spot somewhere by Wei Wuxian’s feet.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, blinking rapidly. He looks down at the shirt, his fingers already half-curled around it. “Lan Zhan, you really don’t have to. I have plenty of shirts in my—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and it immediately makes Wei Wuxian shut up. Standing like this, so close together, Wei Wuxian looks up at him, finding the figure of his roommate suddenly a thousand times more overwhelming. Lan Wangji stands still in a way that makes him want to preen—makes him want to take several steps back to catch his breath.

“Okay,” he manages to get out. 

Lan Wangji moves away to give him more space, and Wei Wuxian gulps down his nerves and fiddles with the shirt for a hot second before finally finding the bottom of it. It’s quite large, by the looks of it. He closes his eyes as it flutters down onto his body, and he inhales softly when he feels it drag off of his shoulders, exposing his rough skin. 

“Thanks,” he says. The shirt really is a few sizes too big for him, but he supposes it’s better this way. Something tight would make the cuts on his chest burn more than they already are. 

“It is late,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice once again. Wei Wuxian’s gaze travels to where he’s standing, several feet away from him. “Sleep now.”

“Mmm.” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue and eyes the clock on the far wall. “But, Lan Zhan, it’s not even—”

“You are tired,” says Lan Wangji. 

Is he? He supposes he is, yes. Just a little, maybe. The hit had taken a lot out of him, it seems. First with the difficult target, then with the fiasco surrounding Hanguang-jun. Wei Wuxian’s lips pinch together when he remembers that specific detail. 

For thirteen years, he and Hanguang-jun had danced around each other without saying a single word out loud, their only interactions happening either at hit sites or through a choppy phone display. Wei Wuxian had built a very specific type of relationship with Hanguang-jun, after all, and despite wanting to know more and more about him, he also knew that there was an invisible line he could not cross. 

The mysteries swirling behind the two of them—it was part of the fun, wasn’t it? After all, it’s what made everything that much more exciting. 

He sighs, clutches the hem of Lan Wangji’s shirt.

“Okay,” he relents. “Yeah. Sleepy time. Whatever. Goodnight?”

“Goodnight,” Lan Wangji agrees. 

Wei Wuxian turns around and marches out of the room. 

It takes all of forty-five minutes for him to come crawling back.

He turns the handle of Lan Wangji’s doorknob with extra care, making sure it doesn’t creak in the process. Thankfully, the door is perfect—much like Lan Wangji, unsurprisingly—and he manages to sneak his way inside without much fuss. 

The room is dark, not a single peek of light filtering in. The curtains are drawn, and the lamps are turned off. With only the hallway light, Wei Wuxian can barely make out the outline of Lan Wangji’s body lying on the far side of his bed. The sight is quite unsurprising, with Lan Wangji laying on his back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. Perfect posture, perfect everything. It’s just what Wei Wuxian would expect. 

He uses the heel of his foot to push the door closed, then leaps forward and into the bed.

Lan Wangji doesn’t move a muscle as Wei Wuxian climbs under the covers, nestling himself into a little cocoon and taking extra care not to jostle or accidentally hit Lan Wangji’s side. For a minute, he wonders if he had succeeded in the art of not waking Lan Wangji up, but the thought is immediately shattered when he hears a voice so quiet it almost makes him scream in surprise.

“Wei Ying?”

Ah. There it is.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, bringing his legs up and pressing the front of his thighs to his chest. “Sorry. Do you mind? I can’t sleep, I don’t know why, I just—”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji again. It sounds more strained this time, and it makes Wei Wuxian immediately fall still. His voice feels like it could break any moment now. 

“I can leave if you—”

“No,” says Lan Wangji, and it falls so flatly that Wei Wuxian almost doubles back in shock. “It is alright,” he amends quickly. “You can stay.”

“I… can?” Idiot. He’s the one who barged into Lan Wangji’s room like this, what does he mean can—

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian can’t see him in the darkness, but he imagines the placid expression he’s housing with perfect accuracy, the soft curve of lips, indulging him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. 

And he sleeps.

—

The realization, Wei Wuxian thinks, comes in ratcheting waves. One moment, he’s bathed in calm seas, breath even and steady. The next, he’s surrounded by a dull, throbbing ache. 

“Listen up asshole,” Wei Wuxian says, slamming the palm of his hand down onto the table across from Jiang Cheng. “I have news.” A pause. “I think,” he continues, “that I like him.”

Jiang Cheng is too busy drinking himself into oblivion to notice his excessive floundering, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind too much. If anything, this is miles better than Jiang Cheng actually listening and offering him words of inevitable discouragement. After all, there’s no way his brother will actually be nice to him about this. 

“Like,” he continues, “a lot. I think. I don’t know. What does it mean to like someone?”

He remembers asking his sister the question, back when she was engaged to Jin Zixuan. She had laughed, her voice as soothing as the tinkle of bells, and her fingers had curled around his round cheeks and squeezed, gentle as always. 

“Fuck youuuuuuuu,” Jiang Cheng drones, grabbing his head and spilling random gargles of words. “A-Jieeeee come baaaaaaaaaack.”

Wei Wuxian grimaces. He bites his lip and reaches forward, awkwardly patting his brother’s shoulder. Jiang Cheng sniffles like the absolute baby he is when he’s drunk. 

“Aaaaa-Jieeeeeee,” he’s saying, and Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, pressing back a sigh. He’s gotten used to this, of course. It’s nothing new. “I can’t raise Jin Ling on my oooooooooooown, A-Jieeeeeeeeeeee.”

“Aish, what am I, then?” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “So dramatic A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng pouts, cheeks rosy and red. “A-Jie used to call me that.”

“Okay,” says Wei Wuxian. “Let’s talk about something else. For example, me. Let’s talk about me. Are you listening?”

“No,” says Jiang Cheng. 

“Good,” says Wei Wuxian. “Excellent. Now, as I was saying, I think I like him.”

“Whooooo,” says Jiang Cheng. “Hanguang-juuuuuun?” He reaches for another shot glass, and Wei Wuxian jumps up to snatch it out of his grasp. 

“Stop,” he says, then downs the glass himself and pushes it away from them. The alcohol slides down this throat, burning heat, and he shakes himself off in the aftermath. “And no, what the fuck? I don’t like Hanguang-jun. We’ve been over this, like, at least seventeen times.”

“Yes you dooooo,” says Jiang Cheng. 

“No. I was talking about Lan Zhan,” says Wei Wuxian. “I like Lan Zhan. I think. I don’t know.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you about this,” says Jiang Cheng. “Disgusting. Gimmeee that glass—”

“No,” says Wei Wuxian. He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Hold on. What even makes you think I like Hanguang-jun? You’re always harping on about it. And now you're drunk.” A mischievous glint glows deep within him. “Don’t tell me, do you like Hanguang-jun?”

Jiang Cheng pretends to choke. A lazy smile decorates his features. “You’re gross.”

“No you,” Wei Wuxian says automatically.

“No you.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupider.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck youuuuuu.” Then Jiang Cheng winces. “Nooo don’t do that actually. Go to Hanguang-jun for thaaaat.”

“Stop. I don’t like Hanguang-jun that way,” says Wei Wuxian. He sighs. “Anyways, yeah. Lan Zhan. Toast to that.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows narrow on him. “Does this mean I get another drink?”

“No,” says Wei Wuxian. He reaches for the bottle between them and pops it open. He lifts it up in front of his face and tilts it to the side, reveling in the hopeful, desperate glow in Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “This means I get another drink.”

He gulps it down. Whatever. He’ll have time to regret it tomorrow morning.

—

“Wei qianbei,” Jingyi pipes up one morning, “you live with Lan qianbei, right? What’s he like at home?”

Ouyang Zizhen snorts. “Why don’t you just ask Sizhui?”

Sizhui smiles, the upper portion of his cheeks crinkling his eyes. “I haven’t lived with Father for many months, now.”

Jin Ling raises an eyebrow. “How much changes in a couple months?”

“Hmm,” says Sizhui, deeply considering. “I’m not sure.”

“Well then!” says Wei Wuxian, bounding over to one of the tables in the corner and taking a seat. He crosses his legs beneath him, settling himself in and patting the seat across from him. “There’s still time before opening! Let’s discuss.”

Sizhui smiles and nods, sliding into the chair and resting his hands in his lap. “What would you like to know, Wei qianbei?”

Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen eagerly sit themselves down on the remaining two plastic chairs, and Jin Ling—albeit a little grudgingly—pulls up another from a table nearby to join them. Wei Wuxian grins and leans closer, resting his elbows on the surface and directing his attention back to Sizhui.

“For one,” he starts, “is the nine o’clock bedtime thing a farce? Lan Zhan always preaches about it but sometimes he’s out of the house till, like, eleven!”

Sizhui hums, thinking. “Well, he starts, “when I was a child he used to always try to get me in bed by that time, and I think he does try to implement it on himself. But, you know.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian nods. “Makes sense. Okay. Next!”

“What about snoring?” Jingyi asks. “Does Lan qianbei snore?”

Sizhui stifles back a smile and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know, of course,” he says. “Father and I haven’t slept in the same room in many years.”

“He doesn’t,” says Wei Wuxian with a shrug. “Snore, that is. Lan Zhan’s too, like, annoyingly perfect for that.” Despite his words, he still sighs, fondness leaking through the breathy sound. “He sleeps on his back, flawless composure, hands on his stomach. Seriously, how boring. Lan Zhan’s only flaw.”

It’s only when he finishes that Wei Wuxian notices the way the four of them are staring at him, jaws dropped open in obvious surprise. He blinks, lips parting in confusion. Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen are staring at him and then looking back at each other, Jin Ling has his arms crossed and is very pointedly looking in a completely different direction, and Sizhui is smiling. Sizhui smiles a lot, it seems. Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly sure what to make of it.

“Uh…”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Jin Ling snaps. “Literally, are you hearing yourself?”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Hey, that’s not very nice—”

“Now I understand what jiujiu means when he talks about you,” Jin Ling continues. 

Wei Wuxian raises a delicate eyebrow. “You talk to your jiujiu about me?”

“Of course,” says Jin Ling, nodding like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Jiujiu thinks you’re stupid.”

“Dajiu thinks your jiujiu is stupid too,” says Wei Wuxian.

“Okay,” says Jingyi, silencing the both of them. “Let’s go back to the topic at hand.”

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian nods in agreement. “Lan Zhan doesn’t snore. What’s the next question?”

The juniors seem hesitant for a moment, but sigh and nod along with it. Ouyang Zizhen asks the next question, something about Lan Wangji’s eating habits, and Wei Wuxian is extremely proud to tell them that he’s been introducing Lan Wangji to all the different spices of the world. Slowly.

“Incredible,” Sizhui whispers in a voice that’s barely audible. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t really know what that means, but he’ll trust the kid on this one.

The rest of the day goes on as it usually does, with Wei Wuxian cracking jokes with customers and Sizhui standing by his side, grinning along with every silly thing he does. The three others are somewhere in the back, and Wei Wuxian only turns around twice to see Jin Ling’s trousers covered in milk tea. Jingyi laughs both times, and Jin Ling grumbles as he heads to the back to get a spare change. 

“Does he really have so many extra clothes?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Young Mistress is a disaster,” says Jingyi. “This happens, like, three times a week at the very minimum.”

Right before Wei Wuxian’s shift ends, the door clicks open, and the five of them whizz around to see none other than Lan Wangji himself walking inside, his bag slung over his shoulders. He looks around for a moment, peering closely at the empty café, then looks over to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. 

“Wei Ying,” he says. 

“Hey, Lan Zhan!” says Wei Wuxian, holding up his hand to wave. He is excruciatingly put on making sure there is absolutely zero awkward tension between the two of them. The cuts on his chest have slowly begun to heal, and he’s already gone on several parkour runs across rooftops in his Yiling Laozu attire to make sure he’s completely loosened up. Lan Wangji has been nothing short of an immense help. 

He sighs mentally. He really has to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. Not too soon, at least. He doesn’t know how many more excuses he can make. 

Lan Wangji nods, expression giving nothing away as usual. “Was everything okay today?”

“Yes, Lan qianbei!” the juniors chorus at once. Wei Wuxian grins, wondering if they’ve practiced that.

“Yes, Lan qianbei,” he says. 

“Mm. Good,” says Lan Wangji. “Jingyi, you are on cleanup duty tonight.”

“Got it,” says Jingyi. 

“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Wuxian, frowning, “I didn’t know you were coming in today? You have a shift?”

“I was in the area,” says Lan Wangji. “Your shift ends now.”

“Oh!” says Wei Wuxian. “Yeah, it does. Do you wanna head back home together?” When Lan Wangji nods, he grins and turns back to see Jin Ling staring at him. “Your jiujiu’s coming to pick you up, right?”

“Yeah,” says Jin Ling, rolling his eyes. 

“Excellent,” says Wei Wuxian. He looks back to Lan Wangji, shooting him a thumbs-up. “Let’s go!”

“Mn.”

They step out into the thick afternoon, cool air hitting their faces. Wei Wuxian glances over to Lan Wangji, finding the latter looking up to the sky with his brows pinched together. 

Wei Wuxian inches closer to him, gently jutting his elbow out to make contact with Lan Wangji’s arm. Lan Wangji startles, expression immediately shifting into something more neutral. 

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says, “Sizhui is really cool.”

Lan Wangji inhales, lips parting. Then, he nods. “Mn.”

The evening light glints against his cheekbones, sparkling and still. Wei Wuxian finds his gaze lingering for just a moment too long, his throat parched dry as he swallows. 

“You don’t have to answer me,” he says, “but… you know.”

“You are curious,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah. A little.”

“A lot.”

A smile plays at his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. A lot.”

“Hm.” Lan Wangji grows quiet for a moment, and Wei Wuxian watches as his eyes trail down to the concrete sidewalk they’re traveling along. He waits, ever the patient lad, till Lan Wangji is speaking again. “He was around four.”

“When you took him in?”

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian pauses in his step. “And how old were you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Oh. “Wow.” The question burns at the tip of his tongue. “What… what happened?”

And with this, Lan Wangji finally seems to be at a loss for words. His mouth opens, then closes, and the air feels a few degrees too warm. His expression is downcast, like a flood of harsh memories hit the shore and bled through. Wei Wuxian realizes, on a whim, that his place in those fragments of recollections is fraught. Disastrous. 

New. 

“Sorry,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t have to—”

“An accident,” says Lan Wangji, quietly certain. He stops, then shakes his head. “No, not an accident.”

It’s the first time Wei Wuxian has ever seen him fumble for words. It’s jarring, this experience. He feels like he’s unrightfully intruded on something sacred. 

“Lan Zhan…?”

“I found him,” says Lan Wangji. “He was alone.”

A pang, deeply resonating in Wei Wuxian’s heart, courses through brittle skin.  He breathes deeply, in and out, in and out. The flashbacks threaten to push through and invade his thoughts, but he keeps them suppressed. They’re simply a prickling hum at his skin, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Brave,” he says. 

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. “He is.”

“And you,” says Wei Wuxian, but he isn’t looking at him anymore. “You’re brave too, Lan Zhan.”

At this, Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Wei Wuxian skips in his step, his hands threaded together behind his back as he catches sight of a pebble littering the road. He peers closely at it from above, raising his foot and kicking it away. He watches it tumble to the side, rolling against the clothed earth and colliding headfirst with the bottom strip of a brick building. 

It resonates somewhere deep within. He imagines it's a bullet from his gun—tossed aside, never to be used.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Wei Wuxian looks over, finding a strange expression decorating his face. It looks almost frantic, like a fish out of water. Defeated. 

He furrows his brows. “Yeah?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, this time with more force. It’s almost as if he’s purposely trying to get these words out. It’s like his own voice is failing him. “Wei Ying, I should tell you that I—”

He’s cut off by the sound of Wei Wuxian’s phone ringing. It vibrates in his front pocket, and Wei Wuxian silently curses out whoever is calling him. Grumbling an apology, he digs the device out and flips it over, glancing at the brightly lit screen. 

Jiang Cheng. 

His eyes widen in surprise. 

“Sorry,” he says, but it sounds deaf to his ears. “Sorry, I need to—”

Lan Wangji nods like he understands. Wei Wuxian knows for certain that he doesn’t, but the sentiment is appreciated. 

“I will go back first,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian gulps down his sigh of frustration. 

Whatever Jiang Cheng wants, it better be good. 

He groans and answers the phone, bringing it up to his ear as he watches Lan Wangji offer him a slight incline of his head before heading off. 

“What?” Wei Wuxian hisses into the phone. 

“It’s great to hear your lovely voice too,” Jiang Cheng deadpans across the line, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but roll his eyes. He turns on his heel and wanders away, heading down the street in the opposite direction of his apartment. 

He relents. “What’s up?”

“I have another assignment for you,” says Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian immediately perks up. 

“A hit? When? Where?”

“It’s short notice,” says Jiang Cheng, “but tonight. Like, in the next few hours.”

“Fine by me,” says Wei Wuxian. “I guess.”

Well, it would have been nice to continue his conversation with Lan Wangji back at their apartment, but alas. Work is work. 

“I’ll send you the address in a minute,” says Jiang Cheng, and then the call is over. 

Wei Wuxian huffs out a smile before he can help himself. He spends the next few moments scrolling into his messaging app, opening the thread he has going with Lan Wangji and typing out a quick message.

Wei Wuxian
ah sorry lan zhan!!!! smth came up… i won’t be home till later tonight so don’t wait up for me!!!

♥ lan zhan ♥
Something has come up for me as well.
I will see you later, Wei Ying.

Wei Wuxian
oh ok!! then it all works out hehe :D
see u!!

—

The hit, as it turns out, is to take place on the top floor of a company’s headquarters. It’s well past the time for any normal employee to be in the building when Wei Wuxian creeps inside, his hands trailing along the wall as he ducks through long, dimly-lit hallways. 

The plan is simple. Get to the site, pull the trigger, and go about his day as normal. 

Fifteen minutes in, he realizes someone is following him. He doesn’t have to look to know who it is. 

“Hanguang-jun,” he says, because now that he can, he won’t stop. Wei Wuxian doesn’t see any point in continuing to be discreet around the other. Hanguang-jun has already heard his voice, after all. It’s not like speaking out loud again is going to change anything.

Hanguang-jun doesn’t respond, but Wei Wuxian isn’t expecting him to. Instead, he walks up till he’s at his side, and Wei Wuxian feels a surge of a strange emotion budding in his chest like a unripe flower. His heart pounds, probably from anticipation, gently thudding against his chest. He quickly gulps it down.

He glances over, finding Hanguang-jun cloaked in his regular suit of white. His eyes are turned away from him, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind. In any case, it’s easier this way. 

Then, Hanguang-jun grabs him by his arm and tugs him away. Wei Wuxian yelps in surprise, but his features relax when he sees that he’s being led in the direction of the staircase. Using the elevator would be a rookie mistake—security cameras are always more likely to be monitored there, after all. 

He snickers. “Eager, are we?”

In retaliation, he receives a harsh squeeze around his bicep.

The two climb up, and Wei Wuxian’s thighs ache as he pushes forward, hands on his knees and back arched. Hanguang-jun is now ahead of him, ever the agile fellow, and he’s casting long glances back over his shoulder every few seconds. 

Wei Wuxian meets his gaze head-on every time. He tries to ignore the way it messes with the agitation at his skin.

This new dynamic between the two of them—it’s strange, but not entirely unwelcome. Wei Wuxian feels blistering familiarity about their exchanges. He doesn’t know what it is—doesn’t know how to properly describe it—but the few choice words roaming wild in his imagination are enough to make him string his lips together, glued tightly shut. 

“Who’s the person?” he asks into the silence. The question hangs between the two of them for a long moment, and it ends with Hanguang-jun turning to face him. Wei Wuxian can’t make out his expression through his mask, but he imagines a look of curiosity with what he hopes is accuracy to some extent. He smiles, and it feels soft on his lips. “Yeah, uh, I don’t exactly look into the targets when I’m given a hit.”

Hanguang-jun looks away, which is enough of an answer as Wei Wuxian needs. 

“I just think,” he starts, then stops. He takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes. “You know, that there’s no point? It’s not like knowing who they are is going to change anything. I’m still going to have to storm in and kill them.”

Hanguang-jun’s hand trails down the span of his arm, moving till it rests delicately on his wrist. Fingers, thickly gloved, curl and tighten around his skin. Wei Wuxian feels himself freeze momentarily. 

He shakes it off, then continues: “It makes it easier,” he says. “I guess.” 

Hm. Should he?

“I’ve always wondered,” he says, voice betraying his brain as always. “Everyone in this field of ours, we all have a reason for what we do, right?” Then he smiles, hoping it looks as natural as it always does on his features. Glancing over to his side, he sees Hanguang-jun’s mask pointed back in his direction. “So, Hanguang-jun, I assume you too have some kind of story, huh?”

Silence comes as a response. 

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Well, in any case, all of this stuff is really depressing. Whatever.”

Hanguang-jun pulls him up to the last flight of stairs, stopping in front of a large door. Wei Wuxian squints at it, then looks over to where Hanguang-jun is standing. His hand has not left Wei Wuxian’s body once in the last ten minutes. 

It’s strangely comforting, Wei Wuxian thinks. He then also momentarily considers that he’s quite possibly going insane. 

It doesn’t seem like a totally out-of-place conjunction. 

Then, Hanguang-jun walks up to the door and reaches out with his free hand. He grasps the metal bar decorating the door’s waist and pushes it, launching it forward and bathing the two in nothing but darkness. 

The room within is quiet. It sends a chill down Wei Wuxian’s spine. 

He knows it’s not smart to talk anymore. Instead, he catches Hanguang-jun’s eye and gives him a firm nod, and Hanguang-jun visibly bristles for only a fraction of a second before he’s nodding back and guiding the both of them inside. 

It’s even creepier once he steps through the threshold. Not a single peep of life illuminates the unpleasant gloom within. Wei Wuxian gulps, eyes flitting around in search for any sign of movement. 

There is none. He takes a deep breath. 

“Lock the door,” he mutters, and Hanguang-jun doesn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second before he’s letting go of his hold on Wei Wuxian and traveling behind him. Wei Wuxian hears the clock of the lock and nods to himself. 

It takes a moment for his eyes to completely adjust, but when they do, he can just barely make out the outline of a curtain in the far left corner of the room. He presses his lips together and walks up to it, grasping the fabric and pulling it over. 

Immediately, he realizes that the curtain had been concealing a large, floor-length window that spans the entire wall of the space. His eyes widen in surprise, before a grin overtakes his features and he forcibly pulls the rest of the light into the room. This way, he’s able to see Hanguang-jun’s body more clearly, finding that he hasn’t moved from the front door since when Wei Wuxian had told him to lock it. 

Their eyes meet once again, and Wei Wuxian feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight, prickling through the fabric of his suit.

His hand moves to wrap around his gun, safely tucked in the confines of his side pocket. He glances over to Hanguang-jun and finds him doing the same. 

Yet still, Wei Wuxian isn’t buzzed. He knows that—theoretically—he should be more careful in the face of his rival. He knows that doing nothing to restrain Hanguang-jun is not the best course of action, especially considering the type of history they have together. He also knows that Jiang Cheng can never hear a word about any of this. He doesn’t particularly want to be killed at the hands of his own little brother, does he?

And then, he sees it. 

Someone is crouching underneath a desk, their knees curled up to press tightly against their chest. Their head is in their arms, and their forehead is burning into the rough carpeted floor. 

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow as Hanguang-jun seems to notice the person too. He watches, frozen in place, as Hanguang-jun approaches them, steps agile and light and leaking with unfiltered professionalism. 

Wei Wuxian thinks back to Jiang Cheng—how he always scolds him for letting Hanguang-jun steal his hits. 

But this—this isn’t Hanguang-jun stealing, is it?

This is Wei Wuxian not moving a muscle to stop it from happening. This is him willingly waiting for Hanguang-jun to show him what he’s made of. Not that there’s anything to show, of course. Wei Wuxian is Yiling Laozu, and Yiling Laozu is already more than familiar with Hanguang-jun’s skill.

Hanguang-jun bends down, caution evident along the contour of his body. He’s firm, and he doesn’t shake in the slightest. Wei Wuxian knows that if it were him, the target would already be long gone. 

But Hanguang-jun’s style is different. It’s one of the many things about him that absolutely mesmerizes Wei Wuxian. 

Then, he sees something else.

The glint of flashing silver underneath the target’s person. It’s shiny, obscure, and quite possibly invisible to Hanguang-jun’s line of sight. Wei Wuxian’s lips part as he realizes what it is—as he recognizes the way the target’s hand is crushed beneath his body, fingers coiled around the hilt of a sharp object. 

He leaps, tumbles across the scratchy carpet and ignores the way it burns against his clothes. His gun lifts, poised to perfection, and lands squarely on the target’s forehead as a knife is brought up to hover between them, inches from Hanguang-jun’s body.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t see the way Hanguang-jun reacts. The air turns a few degrees too cold, and it blows harshly through his ears. An ache settles into the sides of his head as he drags the edge of the gun down the target’s face, over his nose and lips and chin, and nestles it deep into the crook of his neck. 

The man blinks up at him, shock painting his features. 

“Who are you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” hisses Wei Wuxian. 

He presses his index finger back. The sound it produces rings through his ears and imprints yet another scar in his mind. 

He’s shaking when it’s over. 

Never— never— has he done this from so close up. He watches the light leave the target’s face, the way every last bit of hope, every last ray of plausible sunshine dissipates. Sunshine. Pathetic. These people know no sunshine. There is no kindness in their hearts. 

And yet, Wei Wuxian still feels sick. 

He takes a stumbling step back and ignores the hand reaching out to him. It’s Hanguang-jun, because of course it’s Hanguang-jun. 

“Oh,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “That was…” He trails off, unable to find the right words. Hanguang-jun comes up right beside him, his hand traveling over to rest gently on the curve of his waist. Wei Wuxian looks up and smiles weakly. “Ah, don’t worry about me. You know how it goes.”

Hanguang-jun says nothing, leading him instead to the exit. He fumbles with the lock of the door, trying to unhatch it. It’s dark, and the remaining light is obscured by his looming back. Wei Wuxian laughs lowly, lifting his own hands to help unlatch the gate. Hanguang-jun doesn’t flinch at all, moving aside to let Wei Wuxian at it. 

Wei Wuxian manages to unlock the door, the faint click sounding heavily through the empty air.

He whispers his thanks and wonders if Hanguang-jun hears him. 

—

Wei Wuxian
lan zhan!!!
i’m headed to my bro’s place for a bit
u can have dinner without me!!!
see you soon!!!!!!!!

♥ lan zhan ♥
See you soon, Wei Ying.

 

—

Later, when he’s staring up at the ceiling of Jiang Cheng’s apartment and cradling a mug of steaming hot cocoa, he asks the question he’s been meaning to ask for the past decade and a half. 

“I’m going insane.”

Jiang Cheng looks up from where he’s typing away at his laptop and snorts. “The fuck are you talking about?”

But Wei Wuxian isn’t phased. “I,” he says, “am going insane.”

Jiang Cheng finally seems to realize that he’s being serious, and he pauses for a long moment. Wordlessly, he closes the lid of his computer and sets it aside. Wei Wuxian watches him cross his legs beneath him and lean forward on the couch. 

“I mean,” Jiang Cheng starts, “you are insane. Really fucking insane, if I’m being honest.” He grimaces. “Are you going to talk to me about your feelings and shit? Please don’t talk to me about your feelings.”

Wei Wuxian straightens up too. His fingers itch with anticipation. He needs a shower. 

“You were right,” he says.

“Of course I was right,” says Jiang Cheng. “What about?”

“Hanguang-jun,” says Wei Wuxian. He screws his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He gulps. It’s quiet. Jiang Cheng stares at him. “I saved him.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow on him. “What do you mean, you saved him? Wei Wuxian, if you did something stupid—”

“The target was gonna stab him,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, and Jiang Cheng goes very, very still. “I cut in. I shot the guy.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Jiang Cheng, visibly steeling himself. “Okay. Fuck. Okay. You’re the stupidest person I know.”

Wei Wuxian grunts, curling in on himself. “Uggggghhhhhhhhhh.”

“Uh huh,” says Jiang Cheng. “So, what, you finally realized you’re in love with him?”

“I’m not,” Wei Wuxian insists. 

“Idiot,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “You think I’m fucking blind? You’ve been in love with Hanguang-jun for years. All fucking thirteen of them. God, I’m so fucking mad at you. I’m seething with rage. Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, but it comes out weaker than intended. “Jiang Cheng. I’m not in love with him.”

“No, you’re just the king of denial.”

“You are so rude to me and for what.”

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng hisses. He makes a very big show out of picking up his computer again and forcefully opening it. “Keep me the fuck out of it.”

Wei Wuxian pouts at him. “I don’t know,” he says, quieter. 

“What do you not know?”

It’s different now,” he says. He doesn’t know why it’s different, but he also knows he should probably keep that information to himself. “It’s weird. He’s, like, strangely attentive. A good friend.”

Jiang Cheng shoots him a look. “God, I cannot fucking stand you.”

“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian says again. “I can’t fucking stand me either.”

“A friend,” Jiang Cheng repeats. “You’re friends with your rival, Wei Wuxian. Do you even—okay. Whatever.”

He swallows, mind racing. He feels like every thought of his is being twisted up into a soft gooey pretzel. 

A picture of a face comes to him, and it makes his next breath come out even shakier. “A-Cheng,” he says before he can register his words for himself, “I just miss her so much.”

Jiang Cheng grows quiet at this. Wei Wuxian doesn’t expect him to respond—he knows Jiang Cheng is the last person to engage in this topic of conversation with him. It’s not like them, all this sentimental nonsense. The two of them, they’re tough. Or, at least, they pretend to be. They release their pent up anger through hits. Kills. Blood. 

It’s ruthless behaviour, Wei Wuxian thinks. It’s what makes them human.

And then, Jiang Cheng says, “I miss her too,” and Wei Wuxian feels himself crumble.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he says, throat scratchy and parched dry. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He doesn’t know why it’s hitting him so hard, this way. He doesn’t know why his mind is churning in circles, flying past at the speed of light. He doesn’t know why he cares so much.

—

Here is a simple fact: Wei Wuxian saved Hanguang-jun’s life.

He doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know what inexplicable force drove him to doing it. He could have easily let it all happen before him and could have taken the target for himself with no qualms at all. 

But he would have felt empty, like he didn’t deserve the victory. 

The next time they see each other, Wei Wuxian is perched on a rooftop, toggling with the latch of a door that’ll bring him inside the building.

And, just as always, Hanguang-jun arrives beside him. 

“Hey!” says Wei Wuxian, shooting his hand up to wave. He sees Hanguang-jun nod in acknowledgement, and he smiles. “Ready to kick this guy’s ass?”

Another nod, the one firmer.

Cocking his head to the side, Wei Wuxian gestures to the door. “Shall we?”

Hanguang-jun answers him by hopping in first. Wei Wuxian watches his figure retreat, reaching the head of a long flight of stares and glancing back fleetingly. Wei Wuxian quickly moves to follow, his boots gliding across the glossy floor, and he almost crashes straight into Hanguang-jun before he manages to contain himself. 

Hanguang-jun’s mask is directed at him, and Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly at the attention. 

“Second floor,” he says, and Hanguang-jun nods. 

The hit goes by as it always does. Quick. Easy. Target spotted, target eliminated. Wei Wuxian eyes the bloodstains with disdain, eyes narrow and sharp as they dart around in the darkness.

He looks back to see Hanguang-jun staring at him, his gun fallen flat at his side. There’s something—something there. Wei Wuxian has no idea what it is, just that it sends an unwelcome chill down his spine.

He takes a cautious step toward him. He pockets his gun.

“That was easy,” he says, his words breaking the silence around them.

Hanguang-jun doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move a muscle. 

Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes behind his mask, then moves till he’s just a few steps closer. The room that they’re in is a small one, a few desks and tables decorating its layout. It’s gloomy, obscure, but it’s nothing Wei Wuxian isn’t used to. After all, hit sites are usually depressing. It helps that way, he thinks. It makes it easier to carry out the kill.

After all, who would want to taint something innocent? Something bright and full of color?

Hanguang-jun moves, and Wei Wuxian inhales sharply. He comes so close that his mask is the only thing in his vision, dark and intruding. It punctures something deep within. His heart feels like it’s racing, like it’s been lit on fire.

And then, Hanguang-jun is backing him up, and Wei Wuxian feels his knees buckle beneath him as his spine presses against a wall behind him.  

A gloved hand is splayed across his chest, pushing him down firmly till Wei Wuxian’s insides feel like a pile of mud, sloshing around to their heart’s content. His ears are ringing, beating loudly against his skull.

It’s dark around them, the only light coming from the city below. It filters in through the window, spilling over and casting rough shadows across the outline of Hanguang-jun’s body. It feels firm around him as it closes in, and Wei Wuxian begins to drift. 

He realizes belatedly that he’s being kissed. 

It starts slow, then picks up speed. Rapid, rushing, hot, wet, sweet. His mind is a blur, and Hanguang-jun is firm over him, kissing him like he’s never been kissed before. 

There’s a fire at his bones, catching light and burning at his skin. His chest aches with something just a breath away from pain, and his mind churns at the intensity of a thousand suns. Hanguang-jun’s lips are warm, calloused yet soft all the while. They move with a force akin to no other against Wei Wuxian’s mouth, drinking him in slowly, surely, like they have all the time in the world.

Wei Wuxian finds himself kissing back despite himself, despite every coherent thought in his mind screaming at him to stop. His hands inch up, sweat leaks from his temples, and his fingers hook around the gentle waist rocking against his stomach. The touch elicits a hiss out of Hanguang-jun—the first sound he’s ever heard from him—and it makes him gasp and tilt his head backward till it’s begging to sink into the wall behind him.

His ears are ringing. His brain is a scattered mess. All that matters is Hanguang-jun’s body against his. It’s stable and unyielding, firm and absolute.

He dips, and Hanguang-jun retreats. 

He can’t see his face, can’t even make out an outline of it anymore. Wei Wuxian’s eyes are hooded, blurry with shock, and as his sight begins to clear, he finds Hanguang-jun slipping out of his reach. He escapes through the tips of his fingers. 

Wei Wuxian stumbles forward, barely managing to catch onto his sleeve. 

It’s as if a bolt of electricity surges between them, and Hanguang-jun shakes him off a second later. 

Wei Wuxian’s mouth opens. “Hanguang-jun, I—”

But that seems to be a mistake too, for Hanguang-jun inhales sharply as the words cascade off of Wei Wuxian’s tongue. His kiss-burnt tongue. 

He abruptly zips his mouth shut. God. God.

And then Hanguang-jun is gone, and in his wake, he leaves nothing. 

The target’s dead body serves as his only company till he too manages to pick himself up and walk out of the building.

He decides resolutely that he’s in desperate need of a drink.

—

An hour later, he finds himself in the corner of a bar two blocks away from his apartment. His Yiling Laozu attire has been shed in favor of a comfortable sky-blue shirt. There are two bottles in front of him, elegantly poised and ready for the taking.

He plunges in. The alcohol burns his throat as it slides down, sloshing about and fogging his brain.

One shot, everything’s fine. 

Two shots, a pleasant buzz hums at his skin. 

Three shots, his fingers itch. 

Four shots, he throws his head back and suppresses a wail. 

Five shots, chilled and heavy. 

Six shots, the bruise of Hanguang-jun’s kiss imprints his temples. A crawling tug sinks into his bones as he recalls the way Hanguang-jun had fled in the aftermath.

Seven shots, the outline of Hanguang-jun’s mask, ivory silk, chalky white. 

He looks around, eyelids drooping, fluttering down against the tips of his cheeks. He wrenches them open, gulps down the tartness in his mouth, and coils his fingers around the smooth glass resting on the counter in front of him. 

Fill. Raise. Drain till dry.

He loses count after nine.

Ten? Eleven? Perhaps twelve. Twelve shots is a tank. Jiang Cheng doesn’t believe he can down more than ten. Eleven is a stretch, but twelve is unfathomable. He’s only done it once—back in his second year of college, when his brother had held his hair back in the morning and Wen Qing had made him soup. The soup was nothing like his sister’s, he remembers, but it was sweet, a piquant flavor on the tip of his tongue.

This is when he starts to think about Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji with that stupid face of his. Lan Wangji with his kind, forgiving gazes that never seem to peel away from the slopes of Wei Wuxian’s face. Lan Wangji, rising early to make meals and packing vegetables into small containers for them. Lan Wangji, a lovely constant at his side, waiting up for his everyday return.

He wonders if he’s sitting on their couch right now, back in the comfort of their apartment, wondering where he is. 

The thought makes him reach for another cupful. He feels drowned, low with simmering heat. His fingers trip over themselves, and it's only ages later when he finally manages to pull himself together.

He kisses the skin of his wrist. 

Hm. Hanguang-jun’s lips had felt better.

He leaves, a single droplet of liquor rolling out from the corner of his mouth. 

—

Somehow, Wei Wuxian manages to get home.

Lan Wangji is quiet upon his return. 

Quieter than usual, that is—quieter than Wei Wuxian is used to. He likes to think of their relationship as a spiderweb, sharp corners protruding out and threads of nuances hidden deep within. They’re friends. They must be friends by now. Wei Wuxian is certain. 

He fumbles—drunk, loud—inside. 

“Lan Zhaaaaaan.”

The slur in his voice is immediately audible, even to his own, half-shut ears. He tumbles, and then he’s on the ground. A pitched moan rumbles past his throat. He faintly wonders if perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. 

Somewhere, faraway, he hears Lan Wangji’s voice. “Wei Ying?” he‘s saying, or at least that’s what Wei Wuxian thinks it is. He can’t be too sure. He wants to sleep. He wants to be held, and doesn’t know who he wants to be the one to hold him. 

“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs. His mouth is hovering against skin. Lan Wangji’s skin—he’s sure of it. “Lan Zhan, what do I do? What do I do?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers, and then he’s being hoisted up. There are arms around him, secure and heavy to the touch. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “what’s happening. To me. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Lan—”

“Sleep,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice, and now it’s somewhere by his ear. Wei Wuxian feels himself sinking, back dipping into something plush. Soft. He aches to know what it is.

“Okay,” he says, and the pressure around his eyes burns. 

He sleeps.

—

HGJ
i apologize.

Wei Wuxian blinks down at his phone, the message blurring his vision the more he fixates on it. It’s not often he wakes to messages on his work phone. Usually, if Jiang Cheng wants something, he’ll call on his regular number. Hanguang-jun has never texted him first in all their years of knowing each other.

Memories of the previous night begin to flood in in small fragments, chipping through the haze. 

YLLZ
an… apology… from the esteemed hanguang-jun himself……

HGJ
be serious.

He laughs before he can help himself. Then, he abruptly remembers the events of yesterday’s hit and frowns. 

YLLZ
what are you apologizing for, hm?
for kissing me?
for ridding me of my innocence?

HGJ
for leaving.

With this, he remembers the drinks. 

He remembers Lan Wangji arms around him. 

Maybe another drink will be due in time. 

YLLZ
what….

HGJ
i am sorry.
i should not have left like that.
and for my inappropriate behavior, i apologize.

“This Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian whispers. A smile is tugging at his lips, threatening to escape. He clears his throat, shakes his head, and bends over his phone once more.

YLLZ
yea yeah
i must ask tho
why????

Wei Wuxian does want to know. Was it out of guilt? Resentment? Unresolved sexual tension with another?

Anticipation curls around him as the typing bubble flickers back to life.

HGJ
i am not sure.

Hm. Well. Okay.

Just as Wei Wuxian is about to respond, another message filters in.

HGJ
also, i never thanked you.
during that hit, i would have been injured.
quite badly.

YLLZ
ah ahhh dw about it
i couldn’t have u dying on me!!!

HGJ
yes you could have.

YLLZ
yes i could have

HGJ
hm. in any case, i still would like to sincerely thank you.

YLLZ
uh huh
well in that case ur welcome!!
it was the least i could do.

Wei Wuxian swallows.

YLLZ
let’s let bygones be bygones???

He holds his breath as he waits for the response. The typing bubble flickers to life. 

HGJ
alright.

He exhales, air leaving his lungs in one long motion. Gulping, he tosses his phone aside and buries his face in his hands. 

—

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says as he swings down onto the rooftop of a brick building in the corner of a street. Hanguang-jun doesn’t seem startled at all, glancing over to him with an impassive flick of his head. Wei Wuxian grins, leaning impossibly closer. “How’ve you been?”

Hanguang-jun shakes his head, saying nothing as always. Wei Wuxian snickers, then retreats. 

“Sandu Shengshou said to be careful with this one,” he says. “Did your Mianmian say something similar?” Mianmian, of course, is to Hanguang-jun what Jiang Cheng is to Wei Wuxian.

Hanguang-jun nods. His focus is trained on the street below. 

Wei Wuxian hums, taking a seat properly and swinging his legs off the edge of the building. “The targets are in this building?”

Another nod.

“Excellent,” says Wei Wuxian. “Shall we go, then?”

Hanguang-jun turns to look at him, the sight of his smooth white mask once again thrust into Wei Wuxian’s line of sight. Mere centimeters apart like this, Wei Wuxian is reminded of plush lips, hot breath, bodies pressing into each other, their—

He gulps the memory down. Now is definitely not the time to be thinking about all of that. 

They head inside the building, Hanguang-jun just a little behind him. Wei Wuxian hears the clicking of the heels of his boots against the glassy floor, always a few steps away. He glances over his shoulder, sees Hanguang-jun’s mask tilted just barely in his direction, and offers a smile. Their mouths are the only parts of their face the other can see, after all. It’s fitting.

“Can you believe it?” he asks into the silence. They’ve slowed down, walking side by side as they venture further down the dimly lit hallway. “Like we met, what, thirteen years ago?”

Hanguang-jun turns to face him. Wei Wuxian hums. The sound thrums in the depths of his throat. He imagines Hanguang-jun’s ‘What?’ in the random voice he’s made up for him in his head.

“Actually,” he says, then takes a deep breath, “I’ve always thought you were super cool, always coming in on time to watch me save the day.”

Hanguang-jun releases a small little breath through his—nose? Wei Wuxian can’t exactly tell. He laughs nevertheless. 

“Kidding,” he says, shaking his head. “Just, you know, we weren’t exactly on the… best terms when we first met.” He presses his lips together. It’s a dramatic understatement, considering their extensive rivalry and general history together. Wei Wuxian is sure Hanguang-jun has been tempted to kill even him before. At the beginning, at least. 

But that was then. This is now. And this is them.

“Thank you,” he says. Their hands brush together, gloved knuckles gently swaying by like a passing breeze. Warmth floods him, a tidal wave. “For everything. I know you used to hate me—actually, you might still hate me for all I know, I’m not exactly—”

Fingers curl around his own, harsh and biting. Wei Wuxian blinks, eyes fluttering down to look in the direction of his own wrist. His lips part in surprise when he sees Hanguang-jun’s hand wrapped tightly over his own, their fingers threading together. He feels it squeeze around his palm, and Wei Wuxian abruptly closes his mouth. Oh.

He knows what it means, knows that Hanguang-jun can’t say it out loud. ‘I don’t hate you,’ he imagines him saying. ‘I don’t hate you.’

“Okay,” he says. He gulps. It burns down his throat. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

Another squeeze, this one lighter. Gentle. It feels like a promise.

The thrumming of his heartbeat grows louder still, but Hanguang-jun doesn’t let go of his hold on him.Wei Wuxian keeps his eyes trained ahead, knowing that if he turns around to face Hanguang-jun again, the reddening of his cheeks may just spill through his mask. He wonders if Hanguang-jun is blushing too—he wonders if Hanguang-jun even blushes in the first place.

They sway together, side by side, unmoving, unflinching. It’s calm. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s the exact opposite of the majority of the hits Wei Wuxian has taken under his wing thus far. He glances over to Hanguang-jun’s shoes, gaze shifting in a way so natural it almost shocks him. His feet click against the floor, the sound reverberating through his ears. Other than that, it’s silent. Wei Wuxian breathes.

“Downstairs,” he says, voice coming out as nothing more than a still hush. 

Hanguang-jun walks faster in response, tugging his wrist in that mild, tender way of his. Their speed ignites, Wei Wuxian feels his hair flying over his back behind him. At the end of the hallway, there’s an elevator. They turn away from it, ducking into the hidden passage of stairs through a doorway to the side. 

There’s a door at the bottom. Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches as they pause before it. He peers closely at it and hums. 

He glances over to look at Hanguang-jun, finding the latter already turned to face him. He finds himself gulping, but a wave of relief washes over him for some inexplicable reason. He’s not nervous, no. More… this is new. It’s not an unwelcome type of new, but it is new. 

He nods, and Hanguang-jun returns it. With a flick of his wrist, he reaches out and turns the doorknob. The door opens with a creak, the sound flooding their ears like a dam has just been broken. Wei Wuxian winces before he can help himself, hoping— praying— that the targets hadn’t heard. 

He hears Hanguang-jun breathe behind him. He swallows, then gently pries his hand away from him. The loss of contact immediately travels to his heart, blood pumping through his veins. He presses his lips together, a tight line stretching the bottom portion of his face, and he pushes the door open fully. 

Everything after that happens in a blur. 

A woosh. Steps, hard and furious. He yells something—he doesn’t remember what—and all of a sudden, there are arms around him. They aren’t warm and secure, the hold isn’t like the ones from Hanguang-jun. No, these arms are cold. Frantic. His breathing quickens, his heart races in the cage of his chest. He stops screaming. He knows there’s no point. His eyes screw open—looking, searching—and they land on a flash of white, far away. He realizes he’s moving. He’s being held. Lifted up. His limbs are burning. God. Fuck.

And then, black.

—

When he wakes, he finds himself bound by thick rope. It coils around his wrists, strapping him to the wooden chair. 

He blinks. His eyebrows furrow. 

Raw spurts of blood tingle against his skin like spiderlilies, intricate patterns drawn in crimson heat. It’s sticky and fresh, a coat of thick sweetness glistening in the dark. A river, thirsty, swallowing him whole.

He breathes, in and out, in and out. Okay. Fuck. Okay. Something is very, very wrong.

His gun, once nestled in the safety of his back pocket, is bare and out in the open. It lies on the floor by his feet, lustrously polished to perfection. Wei Wuxian has always greatly prided himself in the sheer aesthetic of his weapon—Jiang Cheng always makes fun of him for it, but that’s only because he’s jealous. 

Something sharp prods at the skin of his neck, running down, slitting. He winces, biting his lip. His eyes are hot on the run, looking for any sign of movement. It’s coming from behind him, but the moment he turns his head to get a closer look, he’s yanked back to his previous position. A crack. A hiss. He presses his lips together to suppress his urge to scream. 

“Who’s this?” a voice comes from behind him. 

“Picked him up outside,” another grunts. Wei Wuxian can’t see their faces, but it’s obvious what’s going on. The pressure around his shoulders tightens.

“Outside?” the first voice says. 

“Had a gun,” says his… partner? Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure of the relationship between the two. Just that he was tired, and this was very annoying, and that the second he figured out how to get himself out of here, he was going to pounce on them. 

“Dangerous,” says the first one.

At this, Wei Wuxian can’t help himself. He sighs, ignoring the way it slides down his throat. “If you know that I’m dangerous,” he starts, “why take it this far?”

A blade lands the side of his face, gently threatening. Wei Wuxian scoffs. 

“Do you know who we are?” says the second man. He comes into view, but he’s wearing a mask. Wei Wuxian shrugs to the very best of his abilities.

“No clue,” he drawls lazily. “I dunno anything about the assholes I take out. Just that they’re assholes.” He hums, feels the hands around him stiffen. “That good enough for you?”

“You—”

The rope tightens around Wei Wuxian’s wrists, and he barely manages to stifle back his groan of displeasure. Honestly, what a fucking hassle. Being kidnapped is definitely not fun, he decides. A solid three on ten. The three points are only for the experience, because honestly, what a story to tell at dinnertime in three years. 

“Okay,” the first man says. He sounds exasperated. Honestly, fuck the guy. Wei Wuxian feels tired all of a sudden, fatigue coming at him in overwhelming amounts. His shoulders relax. God.

Then, he remembers something. 

Where’s Hanguang-jun?

A chill runs down his spine. 

“Where is he?” he asks before he can stop himself. He immediately snaps his mouth shut with a click. Oh, fuck. Oh no.

“Who?” says the first man. Both of them are still behind him, and Wei Wuxian wants nothing more than to crane his neck back, break free, and punch them. Break their noses, preferably. Break their stupid fucking faces so badly that even the nation’s best plastic surgery won’t be able to salvage it.

His eyelids droop over, slits in the night. He feels a wave of fury wash over him, hot and sharp as it climbs over him and surrounds his entire being. He doesn’t shudder—doesn’t even tense in anticipation for an answer. He waits, quiet. His teeth are digging into each other, making his jaw absolutely ache with pain. He doesn’t care.

Wei Wuxian seethes, the pot beginning to bubble. “Where is he?” he asks again, harder this time.

No response. 

He shakes. “Where the fuck is he?”

Still silence. It hangs in the air like a man on the edge of a cliff, withering away as he looks up at the sky above. It falls around him in slices, cutting like the edge of a broken sword. Something akin to fear, to real panic, weasels its way inside. Wei Wuxian takes a breath to try and steady himself. It doesn’t work. The quiet is tangible, sticky and unpleasant like an acid on his tongue.

“Fuck you,” he spits, teeth grinding against the inner flesh of his mouth. The rope around wrists is bruising, biting through his skin and leaving marks too prominent to be temporary. 

God. And then there’s Lan Wangji. How the fuck is he going to explain this to Lan Wangji? How many pole excuses can he drag out before it gets to be too much? This time, will Lan Wangji ask questions? Will he be able to stand still in the face of so many scars, so many scratches, so many bruises?

Suddenly, he heard the shot of a gun. A door slamming open. Light flooding in. 

White.

And then there’s noise. Overpowering noise. Noise that’s so quiet, yet so loud at the same time. It thrums through his ears, a steady rhythm pulsing at his veins. His skin is crawling. His head hurts. He wants to sleep. Fuck. He wants to sleep. He misses Lan Wangji. God. What would Wen Qing do? Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

A crash. A hiss. Wei Wuxian’s eyes begin to flutter closed as movement surrounds him, enveloping the air. There’s pressure against his skin. His wrists suddenly feel light—is the rope gone? Where did the rope go? What’s going on?

He pushes. He needs to open his eyes. He needs to see. 

And then, there’s light. He’s being picked up. Is it his kidnapper? It can’t be. Who is it?

Qingqing, I miss you.

“Wei Ying.”

Oh.

Lan Zhan.

—

Thirteen years ago, Wei Wuxian received the worst news of his life. 

“She’s dead,” Jiang Cheng had said. 

Wei Wuxian felt his entire world crumble around him. No amount of crying would ever make up for it, he thought. The tears pooled, then stopped before they fell, unable to leak out any further.

They were useless, after all—nothing more than simple reminders that he could do nothing to help, nothing to stop what had happened. Pathetic.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t looking at him. His fists were clenched, and there was crimson blood smeared over the long sleeves of his shirt. Her blood. 

Wen Qing’s blood. 

He wondered what Jiang Cheng had seen. He wondered how he had found her. 

And then, suddenly, Wei Wuxian was angry. Seething, burning rage enveloped him in a tight shell. He stood up, staggering to balance, and walked over to Jiang Cheng. He grabbed his brother by his front and frantically shook him. Jiang Cheng didn’t struggle against the harsh touch, and Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he should’ve been grateful for it. 

He screamed. “What the fuck happened?”

Everything was going according to plan, Wei Wuxian thought. Wen Qing had been taking A-Yuan to the grocery store. They were going to buy snacks—the snacks A-Yuan liked to serve at the party—and they would be returning before the sun set. 

Wei Wuxian had waited up for them, hours upon hours. Wen Qing was a strong woman. She was his best friend. There was nothing she couldn’t do. She was invincible. She was Wei Wuxian’s strength. 

And then?

Jiang Cheng was speaking, but Wei Wuxian could barely hear him anymore. 

He found his voice after what felt like an eternity and beyond.

“And… and A-Yuan?”

Jiang Cheng looked stricken, his front teeth sinking into the flesh of his inner lip. Wei Wuxian’s knees wobbled beneath him, bone crushing against the wooden floor as he looked up at his brother. 

“Jiang Cheng,” he said, voice desperately crawling against the tangible tension hanging around them, “Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng answer me. Look a-at me, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng, A-Cheng—”

“I don’t know,” whispered Jiang Cheng, low and quiet and subtle and unsure. Wei Wuxian felt his heart beat rapidly against his chest, loud enough to completely encompass every last one of his senses. “He was nowhere to be found. They got him.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, sinking down to the floor and burying his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

A-Yuan, with his sweet round rosy cheeks, his soft, helpless giggles of mirth and happiness and love. Wen Qing, her steadiness, her devotion, her beautiful heart. 

Wei Wuxian, a broken ship, staggered out at sea. 

The tears finally spilled over, hot and wet against his skin. They burned. They came in waves, rushes, billows of overwhelming emotion. He bent to his knees, the pressure surging through his skin and bones, and sobs ratcheted through him. A lump in his throat. A crack in his silent wails. 

Wei Wuxian felt like he was going mad. The tears felt heavy. They imprinted his skin, the trace like a slug on a honeydew leaf. He tasted salt on the tip of his tongue. 

And then, there was screaming, loud and thumping by his ears. He didn’t know where it was coming from—he didn’t care enough to want to know. Memories of every moment—every breath—zoomed past him, encasing him in a cold, shuddering hug. They were happy, but he was not. Every minute after this would be different, forever gone, but never to be forgotten.     

—

Someone is calling out to him, oceans away, voice blurred through murky water. 

Wei Ying, the voice is saying. Wei Ying. 

He’s floating, miles above the surface yet drowned altogether. Everything is smudged around him, colors smeared as dark as night. The voice is constant, settling by the yolk of his ear.

And then, it’s bright. He breathes, and the air lodges in his throat, releasing after three short huffs. 

“Wei Ying, wake up.”

Wei Wuxian is warm all over. His bones feel stiff, like they’re being pulled in all the wrong directions. There’s pressure at his sides, hard, biting, but somehow still not completely unwelcome. It feels… different. Different in a way Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to categorize. 

He finds his eyes opening on their own. 

There’s a hand beneath his chin. Dainty, long fingers tilt his head upward as he blinks his way back into consciousness. The hand is familiar, and if he couldn’t place it before, he definitely can now. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, whispery breath raking through the air, climbing up till it’s tangible in a way he’s never felt before. He knows where he is—he’s back in his own apartment. Lan Wangji is sitting in front of him, his golden eyes staring back into his. They’re flecks of light, contrasting brilliantly with the dimness of their living room. 

They’re familiar. Achingly familiar.

Wei Wuxian feels his breath leave his lungs as he stares. He can’t tear his gaze away. It’s exhilarating, Lan Wangji’s eyes on him, not turning away for even a fraction of a second. 

“Lan Zhan, what are you—”

“You are injured,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice, cutting into every one of Wei Wuxian’s senses. Something in his throat hitches upon hearing the sound. “Do not speak.”

It’s then when Wei Wuxian realizes something. 

Lan Wangji looks… he looks angry. 

And Wei Wuxian? Wei Wuxian is covered in blood. It’s sticky and hard against his skin, cracking as it dries and pools over the small hairs on his arms and neck. God. What exactly happened? Was it a hit? A job? Where’s Jiang Cheng? Did Jiang Cheng bring him home and leave him with Lan Wangji? He wouldn’t do that. It’s too dangerous. Lan Wangji can’t ever know about his…

Ah. Is that why he’s angry?

“Lan Zhan,” he manages to push out, wincing when he feels the tightening of his chest. He coughs, once, then relaxes against the back of the couch. “Lan Zhan, you can’t—you can’t—”

“You.” Lan Wangji’s voice stops suddenly, and Wei Wuxian takes a peek down at him. He can’t see his face anymore; Lan Wangji’s hair is cascading over the sides of his face like a curtain, and he’s looking at the floor now. There’s a slight tremble around his shoulders, and when Wei Wuxian notices it, he frowns. 

“Lan Zhan?”

“You,” says Lan Wangji again, and this time he does look up to meet his  eyes. Wei Wuxian starts at the scrutinizing attention, his eyes widening when he notices the sheer strength of the gaze Lan Wangji is directing back to him. 

He gulps, unable to stop himself. “Me?”

“You,” Lan Wangji repeats, his voice sounding faraway all of a sudden. He says nothing more, but his gaze lingers on Wei Wuxian’s face. 

Wei Wuxian feels an urge to reach out. It must be the state of his mind right now, all foggy and buzzed, that makes him act on it. He finds his fingers itching forward, right till they’re resting below Lan Wangji’s jawline. He blinks, tilts his head to the side, and raises an expectant eyebrow. 

When Lan Wangji does nothing to stop him, he hooks his index and middle fingers around the bottom of Lan Wangji’s cheek, grasping it firmly and rubbing his thumb against his skin. 

“Lan Zhan?” he asks. His voice is soft, breathy, and unsure. 

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian’s brain is spinning. His lips are bruised. His cheeks are flushed. 

A hard thought comes to him, then. 

“Wait,” he whispers. He feels his eyebrows narrowing, his gaze most likely turning into something much sharper. “Wait.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Wait.” He’s right. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t leave him alone with Lan Wangji. Where is he? Where had he been? What does he remember? A kidnapper—there was a kidnapper—and he was in a chair. There was rope tied around his wrists. 

He felt an urge to cry. He had wished for her—for Wen Qing. 

And Jiang Cheng—there’s no way Jiang Cheng would leave him with someone else when he was in that kind of state. He would take him back to his own place  and tend to his wounds alone. 

But Jiang Cheng isn’t here. Lan Wangji is here with him, and by the looks of it, he’s been the only one around for a while. 

He wonders if Jiang Cheng even knows about what had happened. 

Back in the warehouse, someone had come for him. Someone had come to save him. Someone had come, crashed through the doors, and had finished the job for him. Someone had been so overridden with anger, they had—

Wei Wuxian’s eyes find Lan Wangji again. His wrist is still raised in the air, and the scars over his veins are unmistakable. His breath hitches despite himself, and his mouth opens. Lan Wangji is looking at him, more pain in his features than Wei Wuxian has ever seen before, and he looks… he looks like he wants to say something. He looks like he wants to cry. 

And suddenly, Wei Wuxian understands. 

“It was you,” he says, and Lan Wangji inhales sharply. 

“Wei Ying—”

“It was you,” says Wei Wuxian again, harder this time. He’s breathing heavily, air coming out in harsh pants. He feels dizzy. Something is wrong. Something isn’t clicking. How did Lan Wangji know where he was? How did he know what to do to get him out of there?

How had he gone against someone who had managed to outsmart even him? Even Wei Wuxian? Yiling Laozu?

There’s only one person whose skills match up to Wei Wuxian’s. 

Familiar eyes stare back into his own. The gaze is piercing, so cold that it feels warm. Hot. It licks against his skin, against every last one of his senses. 

He pulls on Lan Wangji’s face, bringing him closer. 

“Oh,” he says, and Lan Wangji’s eyes fall shut. 

A single tear, crystalline, drops out of the corner of Lan Wangji’s eye. It travels down the spanse of his cheek, and Wei Wuxian watches as it falls and pauses under his chin, mere millimeters away from where his fingers lay. 

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“You’re…” He trails off, then gulps. “Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji’s lips part, but he doesn’t look surprised. The simmer in Wei Wuxian’s chest picks up speed, and he feels himself floating. He’s high above the clouds, looking down at the chaos beneath him. He’s free. He’s relaxed. 

And—

And Lan Wangji is Hanguang-jun.

For some inexplicable reason, the revelation brings Wei Wuxian’s heart to a stuttering stop. Relief washes over him, and he doesn’t know why he suddenly feels lighter, like a weight has just been lifted off of his shoulders. 

“Wei Ying,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice again, and he sounds absolutely broken. It claws against Wei Wuxian’s core. “Wei Ying, I am sorry, I am—”

“What?”

Lan Wangji snaps up to look at him. “I am sorry,” he says again, more slowly this time. “I should have gotten to you faster.”

The words hang by a thread. 

“Did you know?” Wei Wuxian asks, ignoring him and leaning closer. His voice is choked and broken as it spills out. “That I’m Yiling Laozu? Did you know?”

It’s a stupid question, because of course Lan Wangji knew. Fragments of memories, chipped stale, poke at his mind. The rawness of it all, their interactions, the way Wei Wuxian spoke to Hanguang-jun—it all comes flooding to him, all at once. 

Lan Wangji goes quiet for several seconds, and the silence hangs around them like thick vines in a dense forest. Wei Wuxian can hear the palpitations of his heart, thudding against his ribcage and moving in time with his heavy breathing. 

Then, Lan Wangji nods. 

It’s a small incline of his head, his chin tucking in as his eyes trail down to the floor. He looks exceptionally guilty, but Wei Wuxian feels nothing but alleviation. It’s as if he’s suddenly relieved of all the stress he’s ever felt in his life.

Strange. A gentle hum settles on his skin.

All he can say is “Lan Zhan,” over and over and over again. He wonders if Lan Wangji can even make out his voice anymore—Wei Wuxian’s own ears are deaf to the sound of his constant, shushed cries. He’s reaching, pulling, tugging at every last corner he can reach. Lan Wangji is right there. He’s right there. Wei Wuxian finds his hands resting over the other man’s shoulders, his grip firm on the fabric of his flimsy t-shirt. “Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re serious? Lan Zhan, I—”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, “yes.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian repeats, both in pain and in awe. “Yes. Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji inhales, so loud it’s audible to Wei Wuxian’s ears. “Mn.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says again. “Lan Zhan, I want you to kiss me.”

The words spill out before he can stop himself, but he can’t even bring himself to regret them. He’s already pulling Lan Wangji up by the time they escape, gathering him into his arms and wrapping himself around his middle. Lan Wangji freezes, his breath hitching as his expression blooms with color. It’s not a visible color, no, it’s a feeling. It’s embedded in the way Wei Wuxian feels his chest ache with warmth, the way Lan Wangji slowly brings himself to his feet and gazes down at him with only heat in his eyes. 

Wei Wuxian brings his fingers to Lan Wangji’s hands, and he threads them together. Lan Wangji is staring at him, a constant, burning pressure against his skin. His line of sight rakes his frontside, landing on every last inch of him. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says again, subconsciously leaning forward, “I want you to kiss me.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice coming out in chopped, broken increments. “Wei Ying.”

It’s beginning to push Wei Wuxian over the edge. What is he doing? Why isn’t Lan Wangji in his arms yet?

Impatience scalds him. He surges up, toppling forward till he’s able to comfortably rest against Lan Wangji’s chest. He ignores the hushed yell of “Wei Ying!” as it cradles close, envelopes his entire being, and bursts. 

He grabs both of Lan Wangji’s cheeks and kisses him fully. 

He feels Lan Wangji melt. 

Wei Wuxian breaks away, then goes in again. “Do you know,” he whispers between kisses, “how much I have struggled because of you?”

Panting, Lan Wangji bends back. His neck stretches uncomfortably as Wei Wuxian chases him. “Wei Ying,” he’s saying, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t care. “Wei Ying, I apologize for making you feel that way, I—”

“Will you shut up?” Wei Wuxian shakes his head and grips Lan Wangji’s shoulders. It forces Lan Wangji a few steps back, and Wei Wuxian wastes no time in following suit. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

And Lan Wangji does. 

He does, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted. It’s wonderful. His familiar mouth sinks against Wei Wuxian’s, rough and hot and beautifully enticing. His hands come around to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper. Wei Wuxian gasps as they move with each other, desperately reaching and hopelessly enduring the storm. Lan Wangji backs him up again—just like he had the first time, as Hanguang-jun—and presses him against the wall of their apartment. 

This time, he doesn’t turn away. 

—

Curtains flutter. Sunlight spills against the floor in thin slices. Wei Wuxian wakes feeling the warmest he’s ever felt. There’s a hand slung over his waist and lips against his neck. He finds that his hand is buried in a head of hair. 

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, and Lan Wangji hums. He’s awake, Wei Wuxian realizes, and by the looks of it, he has been for a while. “Lan Zhan, good morning.”

Lan Wangji responds by tightening his grip, fingers digging into Wei Wuxian’s side. He moves closer, and Wei Wuxian turns his head slightly to find that his eyes are still firmly shut. 

He smiles, lifting his free hand up to cup around Lan Wangji’s face. The touch is gentle, and Lan Wangji’s skin is smooth. He looks relaxed, shoulders slumped down against the mattress and blanket ridden just below his chest. Wei Wuxian runs the pad of his thumb over Lan Wangji’s lips, pressing his own together. 

They spend the next few minutes like that, lazing around in the other’s presence and exchanging brief touches here and there. Eventually, Lan Wangji wrenches away from him to get out of bed, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t manage to suppress a whine of displeasure. It earns him a playful glare from Lan Wangji, and that expression alone is enough to make Wei Wuxian immediately shut up. He sighs, stretches himself out, and soon hoists himself up as well to follow Lan Wangji into the kitchen. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says several minutes later, when he’s getting their breakfast together and Wei Wuxian is swinging his legs off of the counter he’s sitting on. Wei Wuxian hums to show that he’s listening, picking at his nail. The angle makes him perfectly able to see the still-fresh bruises around his wrists, rope lines evident and dark against his otherwise light skin. He frowns, then pulls the sleeve of his shirt up slightly to cover the scars. He wonders how long they’ll last. He wonders how long the memory will stay imprinted in his mind. 

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing over to find Lan Wangji eyeing him closely. He cocks an eyebrow. “Lan Zhan?”

“Yesterday,” says Lan Wangji. He pauses, calculating. “I have never seen you slip like that.”

It’s not an insult—Wei Wuxian knows it isn’t—and if anything, Wei Wuxian takes it as a compliment. A closed-lipped smile curls at the corners of his mouth. Lan Wangji looks cautious, as if he’s treading in an area Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him to explore. It’s endearing.

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian hums, twisting his lips. “Yeah, yeah yeah. I know. I don’t… ah, Lan Zhan, it just caught me a bit off-guard, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting to actually be captured.”

“When you were unconscious,” says Lan Wangji, his eyebrow visibly twitching. The rest of his face remains perfectly impassive, but Wei Wuxian knows him better than that. “You called out a name.”

“Oh, did I?” Wei Wuxian asks. “What did I say?”

“Qingqing,” says Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. This—this should not be a surprise. Wei Wuxian knows he has a tendency to call for Wen Qing when he’s put in especially tough situations. Jiang Cheng has told him this multiple times—he’s told him how it’s incredibly dangerous, and if someone were to listen in, someone untrustworthy, it could ruin them. It could ruin him.

But this—this is Lan Wangji. This is Hanguang-jun. Lan Zhan. 

Lan Wangji exhales softly. “I’m sorry. You do not have to—”

“Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian cuts in. He swallows, and it feels heavy as it travels down his throat, “is dead.”

He sees the way Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker to life, the way the words sink in. There’s a hardness around him, his features ablaze as his entire body seems to stiffen. Wei Wuxian himself feels it. He feels it in his bones, how they sense the impending storm rushing to life. 

He shakes his head, but it comes out tighter than he means for it to. “I told you,” he says quietly, “she was my roommate in college. She was my best friend. Her, her brother Wen Ning, and A-Yuan. The three of them, they were family to us. Jiang Cheng, my jiejie, me, and them.”

“A-Yuan?” asks Lan Wangji, the faintest of frowns peeking through. 

“A-Yuan,” says Wei Wuxian. “A-Yuan was Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s little cousin. They took him in after his family passed away.”

“I see,” says Lan Wangji. “That was very kind of them.”

“Wen Qing was an amazing person,” says Wei Wuxian. “The best person I knew. The bravest and the kindest.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, walking up to him. There’s a certain urgency about the way he’s gliding over the tiled floor, till finally his hands are reaching out and the tips of his fingers are finding Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. Wei Wuxian melts under the touch. Tears prick his eyes and he wills them not to escape. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, and then he leans forward till his forehead is gently resting against Lan Wangji’s right shoulder. “I’ve never told anyone this. I don’t even think Jiang Cheng knows everything—my side of things.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, and Wei Wuxian is for once grateful for the fact that his name seems to be one of Lan Wangji’s favorite pieces of vocabulary. “You have carried this with you for a while.”

“Yeah,” says Wei Wuxian. “I guess. It’s hard. Sometimes, at least. Wen Qing had just gotten this fucking amazing job opportunity, and she was going to go with Wen Ning and A-Yuan and—and—and then it happened. And all of their dreams just—they just shattered, you know? A-Yuan—A-Yuan didn’t survive it either. We never found him. Everyone said he had run off and then the fucking… those people… they got to him. They got to him before we could.”

Lan Wangji’s hands on him are warm, exceptionally soothing to the touch. Wei Wuxian wonders just how long he can ride this out, how long it’ll be before Lan Wangji gets tired and steps away. 

Till then, he’ll simmer beneath this feeling. His hands come up to fist around Lan Wangji’s shirt, pulling him closer till their chests are just a breath away from each other. 

“Wen Ning still went,” he says quietly, voice muffled by the curve of Lan Wangji’s neck. “I—I had told him he’s always welcome to stay with me, because of course he’s welcome to stay with me. He thanked me so many times, you know, for everything. Even when I did nothing in the end. Even when Wen Qing and A-Yuan died.”

“Because it was out of your control,” says Lan Wangji. His hands have moved to the middle of Wei Wuxian’s back, stroking down his spine. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” says Wei Wuxian. He breathes, hard. “I—that was when I decided to—you know.” He breaks away, finally, and the lack of warmth is immediately apparent by the coolness of his skin. He makes vague gesticulations, hands flying all over in front of him. “Do all of this.”

Nothing truly works as an excuse for Wei Wuxian’s profession, and in all honesty, he forgot the reason for it a long time ago. He doesn’t expect Lan Wangji to understand, because after all, he himself has lost all ability to understand himself. Sometimes, he thinks he’s doing right by his best friend. Other times, he thinks he’s crazy for thinking he can ever live up to the injustice she was put through during her final moments. 

But then, Lan Wangji nods. He nods, and it’s so firm, so definite, so certain. It makes Wei Wuxian’s breath hitch as his eyes find Lan Wangji’s golden ones, mere flecks in the morning light. 

“I, too,” Lan Wangji starts, “do this for a similar reason.”

Wei Wuxian stumbles back, but Lan Wangji holds him in place. 

“Lan Zhan?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji nods. He brings him closer, hands curling around the small of his back. “Many years ago, I met someone. A young boy. A child.”

“Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian whispers. 

“Yes,” says Lan Wangji. “Sizhui was crying when I found him. He told me nothing of his parents, nothing of his family. It seemed to me that he had forgotten it all.”

“Oh,” whispers Wei Wuxian. 

“The first thing he said,” says Lan Wangji, and this is where his voice goes rough as steel, “was that his mother was killed. That he saw it happen.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s voice sounds far away to even his own ears. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.” They’re the only words he finds capable of sinking through his lips, biting the air around them. Lan Wangji’s name, just Lan Wangji’s name, clouds Wei Wuxian’s being, enveloping him in the tightest blanket of warmth. 

Never in his life has he felt this understood.

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. “Yeah.”

And that, somehow, is enough.

—

It happened like this. 

On the morning of October 31st, thirteen years ago, Wei Wuxian expressed his interest in having a birthday party.

“A birthday party,” Wen Qing repeated.

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, nodding seriously. “I haven’t actually had a proper one since the time I was in high school, you know? Jiejie always threw huge ones for me, even though Madam Yu highly disapproved.”

“She always disapproved,” said Wen Qing.

“Exactly,” Wei Wuxian nodded. “And, well, all I do every year now is get ass drunk with you and Jiang Cheng, because Wen Ning—”

“—is a frail little flower that should be protected from the—”

“—harsh realities of the world. Exactly, Qingqing! You get me!”

Wen Qing sighed one of those sighs of hers—the ones that Wei Wuxian likes to classify as distinctly Wen Qing. She shook her head, but Wei Wuxian of course knew her better than that. The way her shoulders were slumped in defeat, the slight part of her lips—he knew she was going to cave. After all, she was much too soft for him. He was the light of her life, her bestest friend in the entire world, the only person keeping her from insanity. 

Well, that one was probably a bit of a stretch, but still.

“A-Yuan!” she called, and exactly seven seconds later, the kid peeked into the kitchen. A-Yuan giggled, and Wei Wuxian broke out into a grin and leaned down to pick him up. Wen Qing rolled her eyes. “Do you want to come with me to get some things for Xian-gege’s birthday party?”

“Xian-gege,” said A-Yuan, looking up to Wei Wuxian with those big, beautifully round eyes of his. “Xian-gege wants a birthday party?”

“Only if my A-Yuan wants me to have one!” Wei Wuxian said, pinching his fat little cheeks. “What do you say, A-Yuan? We can call your Li-yiyi and Cheng-shushu. And Li-yiyi’s peacock husband too, if you want, but that’s only if you really want to see him.”

“A-Ling?” A-Yuan asked. 

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Yes yes, A-Ling is of course invited too.” It was absolutely adorable how taken A-Yuan was with the newborn. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli were especially delighted by the budding friendship between the two. Granted, Jin Ling couldn't exactly talk yet, but still! They were clearly on the road to something beautiful!

Wen Qing was smiling at the two of them, and she reached out to gently ruffle A-Yuan’s hair. “Alright,” she said, “we can go to the store later today and get some food for the party, okay?” To Wei Wuxian, she said, “You better get working on that guest list of yours.”

“I love you,” said Wei Wuxian. 

“I know,” said Wen Qing. 

And that was that. Wei Wuxian spent the next six hours thoroughly going through a list of all the people he can somewhat stand on a good day—and it was a very good day—and then mentally crossed off about every other person. He produced a list, displaying it to Wen Qing with a cheeky smile. 

“So,” he said, “I’m thinking: you, me, A-Yuan, and Wen Ning. Jiang Cheng, jiejie, A-Ling.” Pause for dramatic effect. “Jin Zixuan, but only because jiejie would be sad if he wasn’t invited. And Nie Huaisang, because he’s cool.” He clapped his hands together and placed them on his hips with a firm nod. “Any objections? Going once, going twice, gone. Next!”

“What if Jin Zixuan wants to bring some of his extended family?” Wen Qing asked.

“Then he can go and fuck himself,” said Wei Wuxian. He glanced around for wandering little ears, but when he found none, he sighed in relief. “Still, I don’t think he’d do that.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so either,” said Wen Qing. “Did you send out the invitations?”

“Five minutes ago,” Wei Wuxian grinned. “Already got a yes from jiejie’s entire family. Jiang Cheng’s gonna be an ass about it, but there’s no way he has anything better to do tonight. Same with Nie Huaisang. Wen Ning will be by later tonight, anyways.”

“Great!” said Wen Qing. “I’ll go to the store with A-Yuan right now, then, and we can make some dishes for the party.”

“You are my favorite person,” Wei Wuxian said seriously. 

“That’s a very big compliment,” Wen Qing said. “A-Li is your sister.”

Wei Wuxian pretended to think about this. “Hmm. Maybe… second best, then?”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes and said nothing. Instead, she called out for A-Yuan, who was watching TV in the living room with a bowl of caramel popcorn nestled in his lap. The sight was incredibly endearing, and Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to run up to the child and kiss his cute cheeks. 

“Be good for your Qing-gugu, okay?” he said, and then he did skip up to press his lips against the side of his face. A-Yuan squealed under the touch, the absolute delight of a child that he was, and Wei Wuxian felt his heart grow a few shades warmer. 

Wen Qing grabbed her keys and shot him a wave. “See you in about thirty minutes, okay?”

And Wei Wuxian had nodded, a small incline of his head, his features soft against his face and not a single worry in his mind. He watched the two of them leave, hand in hand, and retreated back to his couch. 

He would spend the next two hours scrolling through his phone, eyebrows furrowing with anticipation with each passing second after the forty minute mark. He would check his phone for messages from Wen Qing telling him that they’d be a little late back, that there was nothing to worry about and that everything was fine. He would call her fourteen times before his own phone rang, Jiang Cheng’s caller I.D. blaring at the top of the screen. He’d scream when the news reached his ears, that Jiang Cheng had seen something on his way to Wei Wuxian’s apartment, that he had found Wen Qing lying in a pool of her own blood. He would cling onto his brother for the next seven nights, a constant anxiety attack that never seemed to truly fade into darkness settled against his pulse.

He’d go mad—insane, almost—and dig aimlessly around till he himself turned helpless. He would find himself unable to look Wen Ning in the eyes for years to come. He would turn to Jiang Cheng with his only remaining emotion, revenge, splattered like old paint. 

But what he was after—it wasn’t revenge. Not really. The people who had done what they did to Wen Qing weren’t some special organization that he could go against. They were just… people. People with horrifying intentions. People that Wei Wuxian would never even begin to understand. 

And Wei Wuxian?

Wei Wuxian wanted to kill them.

—

“Okay, hear me out.” Wei Wuxian gestures down to three identical cups of plain milk tea. He raises his hand, and in it lies a packet of red chili flakes. “Chili pepper flavored milk tea. Just take your regular milk tea and spice things up a bit with a dash of this! It’s perfect! Good to go!”

He’s met with stony silence.

“Hell yes,” says Jingyi.

“Perhaps not,” says Sizhui.

“You,” Wei Wuxian says, jabbing his index finger in Jingyi’s direction, “have earned my respect.” To Sizhui, he shrugs. “Better luck next time, kiddo. You still have an opportunity to fix your views.”

“Ah,” says Sizhui, “that won’t be necessary.”

At this, Jingyi slumps down and nods solemnly. “He’s right,” he sighs. “All new flavors need to first be approved by Lan qianbei before they make the main menu.”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?” Jingyi asks. “He always—we’ve tried to introduce so many cool flavors! Zizhen has tried mint chocolate, I’ve come up with this mixture of buttercrunch and oreo popping boba, Sizhui has—”

“Oh, popping boba,” Wei Wuxian says. “Excellent. I saw someone selling sweet and spicy chili flavored ones online. I’ll place an order right away.”

Just then, the door to the back swings open, and Jin Ling appears holding a stack of cardboard boxes. He peeks out from behind them, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian waves him off. “Nothing, A-Ling. You carry about your day.” He turns back to the other two. “Anyways, as I was saying, chili pepper flavored milk tea. Now with sweet and spicy popping boba.”

Sizhui chews on his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t mean to burst your bubble,”—Jingyi snorts at the pun, and Wei Wuxian hides his smile—“but I really doubt that Father will approve of a spicy boba option.”

“Nonsense!” says Wei Wuxian. “Lan Zhan doesn’t have any problem with my spicy chocolate.”

“Spicy chocolate?” asks Jingyi, eyes widening with interest.

“Spicy chocolate?” asks Sizhui, a similar expression gracing his face.

“Spicy chocolate,” Jin Ling deadpans.

“Mhm!” says Wei Wuxian. “Spicy chocolate!”

There’s another long moment of silence. 

Wei Wuxian frowns. “You all are terrible!” he exclaims. “I’m an absolute genius and you all refuse to see it! Where’s Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan wouldn’t treat me like this, I know it! Lan Zhan would back me up because Lan Zhan is perfect! I—”

“Jesus Christ,” says Jin Ling, setting down the boxes in his hands. “Just shoot me. Do it. Shoot me.”

Wei Wuxian definitely does not comment on that, but he is, admittedly, extremely tempted to.

Lan Wangji ends up arriving later in the afternoon, when Jin Ling has already cleaned himself up and headed back to Jiang Cheng’s place. He comes in a flurry, Ouyang Zizhen somewhere in tow to appear for his own shift, and surveys the lot of them with a careful eye. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, skipping up to him and grinning. “The kids were bullying me.”

“Hm,” says Lan Wangji. 

“Ah—ah, Lan qianbei,” says Jingyi, and he actually looks flustered. “We weren’t! We were just telling Wei qianbei that you probably won’t approve the drink he came up with for the menu.”

“What drink?” Lan Wangji asks, turning to look down at Wei Wuxian. He raises an eyebrow, and Wei Wuxian is just close enough to catch it. 

“Hear me out!” says Wei Wuxian, breaking away from the group and heading back over to the three cups of milk tea he had brought out earlier in the morning. He picks up the packet of red chili flakes and tips a few into the first cup. “This,” he says, “is mild.” Then he tips about twice the amount of flakes into the middle cup. “This is medium.” He tips the rest of the packet into the third, a flurry of red dumping into the open cup. “And this is spicy! Zizhen, pass me a spoon, will you?”

Ouyang Zizhen looks minutely startled for being called out, but complies nevertheless. Wei Wuxian grins his thanks, then proceeds to stir the three cups. When he’s finished, he sets the spoon down and looks at his concoctions proudly. 

“I’m telling you,” he says, “this is going to be a bestseller.”

“I believe in you, Wei qianbei!” says Ouyang Zizhen, pumping his fist out in front of him. “Can I try?”

“That’s the spirit!” says Wei Wuxian. “Which one? Mild, medium, or spicy?”

“Um. Maybe… mild?”

Wei Wuxian nods and passes the cup over. “It’s okay. We can work on your spice tolerance later. Everything comes with time, after all.” He glances over to the others. “Anyone else wanna try their hand out at the medium and spicy options? Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji seems to contemplate this for a long few seconds, before he nods slowly and holds out his hand. Wei Wuxian smiles brazenly and passes him the spiciest one, then deposits the medium one into Jingyi’s hands and gestures to Sizhui. 

“Sharing is caring,” he says, then steps back to gauge everyone’s reactions.

Lan Wangji looks just as he always does, but there’s a slight tinge at the tip of his ears. Sizhui’s cheeks turn bright red, and Jingyi erupts into a series of coughs. Ouyang Zizhen peers into his own cup and takes an experimental sip, his face breaking out into a funny expression after his lips retreat.

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. “Too much flake?” he asks, batting his eyes innocently at the four of them. “You all are tasteless. Lan Zhan, you liked it, right?”

Lan Wangji is silent. Then, “Mn.”

It’s comical, how everyone’s jaws drop down in shock upon hearing the single syllable.

“We will add it to the menu,” Lan Wangji says. 

“Lan—Lan qianbei?!” Jingyi exclaims, eyes wide on his face. 

Sizhui seems to be in a similar position, but the shock on his features disappear fairly quickly and his expression smooths out into a polite smile. “Then I will add it in at once.”

Lan Wangji nods, seemingly pleased with this. Then he gracefully moves past all of them and heads over behind the counter and disappears into the back room. Wei Wuxian immediately moves to follow him, smiling when he sees the way the three kids huddle together and talk between themselves in hushed voices. 

His eyes linger on Sizhui, abruptly remembering his conversation with Lan Wangji from before. Sizhui catches his eye and offers him a gentle tilt of his head. Wei Wuxian can’t help the beam that breaks over his lips, warmth flooding through him like an impending storm.

There’s familiarity there, he thinks. Somehow, somewhere, for some strange reason. It builds inside him, a gentle ache at his skin.

—

“You’re dating my boss, aren’t you,” says Jin Ling, not even bothering to hide his scowl as he barges out of his room. 

Wei Wuxian starts, looking up from where he’s sitting on Jiang Cheng’s couch, his computer in his lap. Jin Ling is marching up to him, his hands on his hips and a glare framing his features. Frowning, Wei Wuxian closes the lid of his laptop and turns to face his nephew. 

He blinks innocently. “What ever are you talking about, A-Ling?”

“Don’t A-Ling me,” says Jin Ling, and damn, he really needs to stop hanging around Jiang Cheng so much. “I didn’t have the evening shift, but Jingyi spammed the group chat with pictures of you and Lan qianbei doing… doing stuff in the back room. And apparently you were, like, flirting with him! Which I guess isn’t anything new, but still!” He squints down at him. “So you’re dating him, aren’t you?”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. Jiang Cheng, who’s sitting across from him, looks up with an expression that reeks of suspicion. 

“What’s this about?” he asks, and before Wei Wuxian can respond, Jin Ling jumps in. 

“Jiujiu,” he says, “dajiu is going against professional conduct.”

“Brat,” hisses Jiang Cheng. 

“Jiujiu!”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He looks to Wei Wuxian. “Are you serious?”

“Firstly,” says Wei Wuxian, crossing his arms and legs matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t doing anything with Lan Zhan in the back room. We were just talking about my new chili pepper flavored milk tea.”

“That sounds disgusting,” says Jiang Cheng. 

“You’re disgusting,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s actually delicious. We bought these cool chili popping boba the other day and I’m going to try and mix something together within the next few weeks. I’ll send you a free sample!”

“Please don’t.”

Jin Ling scrunches his nose distastefully. “I thought you were joking when you said you’re gonna make spicy boba.”

“It’s a revolution,” says Wei Wuxian. “I have recently realized my true potential for being an entrepreneur.” He bats his eyes, puckering his lips. “You two, my only family besides my beloved jiejie, will support me, won’t you?”

“Right. When is Ma returning,” whines Jin Ling. “I’m sick of living here. I want my mom.”

“I want her too,” Wei Wuxian says seriously. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with living with your stuffy jiujiu for the past—”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says dangerously. 

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Whatever.” Then he turns to Jin Ling, and with a strange surge of defense, he says, “No, I’m not dating Lan Zhan.” A pause. “Officially.”

Jin Ling whips out his phone and begins to type furiously. 

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Are you texting that group chat of yours? Why am I not in it? I work at Cloud Recesses too, don’t I?”

“Sorry, no old people allowed,” says Jin Ling. 

Wei Wuxian gapes at him. “I am not old—”

“The fuck do you mean officially,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, his eyes narrowing on Wei Wuxian’s face. “And since when did you even like that Lan Wangji? When the fuck did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “We, um, like, kissed and stuff. You know, as people do.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrow ticks. 

“But I haven’t, like, actually asked him to be my boyfriend and shit,” says Wei Wuxian. “Not yet, at least. Lan Zhan hasn’t asked me to date him yet either, so. Yeah. That’s where I’m at right now.”

“You can’t,” Jiang Cheng says. 

“No no,” says Jin Ling. “Dajiu, you should, but only after next week.”

There’s a long stretch of silence in which Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow on his nephew. 

“You and your little friends totally bet on it, didn’t you.” 

Jin Ling doesn’t seem phased at all. “Of course we did,” he says. “I told you. You and Lan qianbei spend all of your shifts together flirting. It’s disgusting.”

“Lan Zhan doesn’t flirt,” Wei Wuxian says pointedly, because he’s pretty sure he’s right. Lan Wangji doesn’t flirt. He’s just… quite responsive to Wei Wuxian’s flirting.

“No,” agrees Jin Ling, already turning on his heel to retreat back into his bedroom, “but all Sizhui and Jingyi tell me is that apparently the way he acts around you is different. Or something. I don’t know, I only pay attention to what they’re saying a solid sixty-percent of the time.”

“You are just like your father,” says Wei Wuxian. “Did you know that? You’re exactly like your father, and that’s not a good thing.”

Jiang Cheng reaches for his water bottle and takes a long, hard gulp from it. He doesn’t comment on the accusation, which is telling enough. Jin Ling shrugs and decides apparently that it’s not worth sticking around, so he waves the two of them off and walks back into the hallway, disappearing from sight behind the corner. 

Wei Wuxian sighs and leans back against the cushion of the couch. It’s a comfy couch, he supposes, but the one at Jiang Yanli’s house is infinitely better. Hers is practically made to sink into. Jiang Cheng’s gets a solid four out of ten. 

Speak of the devil. 

“You can’t ask him to be your boyfriend,” says his weasel of a brother. “Wei Wuxian, you know you can’t ask him to be your boyfriend. You can’t date. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I wasn’t,” he admits. 

“You—”

“But,” he cuts in, “I think you should trust me on this one.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow on him. “Trust? You?”

“I’m serious,” says Wei Wuxian. “I can’t tell you the whole story yet, though, so before you ask just keep that in mind.” Jiang Cheng grumbles something inaudible under his breath, but complies nevertheless. “I just—hm. You know.”

“God,” his brother groans, “please don’t go all sappy on me. Please fucking spare me from that.”

Wei Wuxian grins, and it feels loose around the edges of his mouth. “You should meet him!”

“I’ll pass,” says Jiang Cheng. Then he fixes Wei Wuxian with a glare. “And what the fuck happened to your thing with Hanguang-jun?”

Ah. Wei Wuxian bites down his smile.

“There was never anything with Hanguang-jun,” he says. “I told you a while ago that I like Lan Zhan.”

“You fucking did not.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Yes I did!”

“No you didn’t?”

“It’s not my fault you were drunk off your ass and crying about how much you miss jiejie.”

Jiang Cheng’s teeth audibly clench. “I do not cry.”

“But you do when you miss jiejie,” Wei Wuxian says pointedly.

Jiang Cheng huffs. “Not my fucking fault her husband whisked her away to Europe for his stupid business. Do you know how difficult A-Ling is? Do you realize how little his personality reflects A-Jie’s?”

“It does reflect her’s,” Wei Wuxian says. “Just, like, really deep down.”

Jiang Cheng groans, his entire body slumping down in defeat. “God. Thank fucking god she’s coming back this weekend.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. He will admit, however, that he is very much looking forward to Jiang Yanli’s arrival. It’ll be the first time he sees her in a number of months, and he knows Jiang Cheng feels the same way.

The two of them are like lost puppies without their sister.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and picks up his phone, scrolling through something for a moment and leaving the two of them in relative silence. Wei Wuxian goes back to his laptop, pretending like he’s actually doing something important when in reality he’s shooting out a text to Lan Wangji. He hums quietly to himself, a soft smile gracing his lips.

The tranquility is ruined by Jiang Cheng’s annoying voice, because of course. 

“Wen Ning is paying a visit next week,” he says, and oh, that’s not what he’d been expecting. Wei Wuxian inhales sharply, looking over to his brother with a wide-eyed stare. “He called this morning to ask if it would be okay for him to stay here for a couple of days.”

Wen Ning.

“What did you tell him?” Wei Wuxian asks. 

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Dumbass. Of course I said yes.”

“Good,” says Wei Wuxian, and then he huffs. “That kid. He won’t bother calling me, will he?”

“He said he’d like to,” Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Expect a call from him soon, I guess. I won’t assign any hits for the time being.”

“Okay,” says Wei Wuxian. He nods. “It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“I know it doesn’t,” says Jiang Cheng. “You’re an idiot. Always fucking working. Always getting on my damn nerves. You better talk to Wen Ning like normal, okay?”

“It’s been over thirteen years,” Wei Wuxian says pointedly, because it has. It’s been thirteen years since that day, since that time Wei Wuxian had to look Wen Ning in the eye and tell him that his sister and his cousin were dead. Thirteen fucking years.

“That’s exactly my point,” says Jiang Cheng. “Thirteen years and you still get clammy around him. When will you get it? When will it go through that thick skull of yours? Wen Ning doesn’t blame you for anything that happened. No one fucking blames you. Not everything is about you, Wei Wuxian.”

“I know,” says Wei Wuxian. He frowns. “Of course I know that. You know I know that. You know that’s not what it is.” He takes a deep breath, feels it vibrating through his core. He thinks of Wen Ning’s face and the heartbreak laced within. He thinks of Wen Qing. He thinks of A-Yuan. “He lost his entire family, Jiang Cheng. His sister and his baby cousin. And who was he left with? Only me. Me, instead of Wen Qing and A-Yuan.”

He doesn’t like to think about this—he never likes to even entertain these thoughts. He knows it won’t end well. He knows he’ll jump down the rabbit hole if he starts. He only allows himself one day every year: his birthday. No more, no less. 

His skin itches with invisible blisters, fear riding up his bones and imprinting on him like a badly-drawn tattoo. He’s never spelled it out for Jiang Cheng. He knows his brother will have nothing good to say about it if he does. This—this is the closest he’s ever gotten to letting it spill forth, bare and out in the open. 

Jiang Cheng snaps up to look at him. 

“Are you fucking saying it should have been you?”

“I’m saying—” Wei Wuxian stops, because isn’t that what it is? Isn’t that the fear clawing at his skin, pouring fresh bruises over barely-healed wounds? Isn’t that what frightens him the most? He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Forget it. Nevermind. Let’s talk about something else.”

Jiang Cheng looks skeptical, but then again, he always looks like he’s about to pop a vein. Still, he doesn’t push on the subject, and Wei Wuxian knows it’s because he’s aware that he won’t get anywhere with it even if he does. That’s just the way they are—they know when to push forward, and they also know when to stay a safe distance away.

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng says. “Anyways, if you really are in the mood for a hit, just tell me and I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re the best,” says Wei Wuxian, and he means it.

“Yes I fucking am,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, and they leave it at that.

—

Three days later, when Wei Wuxian opens the door to Jiang Cheng’s apartment, he’s immediately thrust into his sister’s arms. 

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, holding him close. Wei Wuxian almost fucking purrs. Oh, god. Oh yes. He’s missed his sister so much. He’s missed his sister so much. 

“Jiejie,” he whines, then wraps his arms around her tiny waist. “Jiejie, Jiang Cheng’s been so mean to me, jiejie. Why’d you have to leave for so long? Why did that stupid peacock have to take you away from meeee—”

“It’s nice to see you too, Wei Wuxian,” says Wei Wuxian’s least favorite voice in the entire world. He looks over Jiang Yanli’s shoulder to see fucking Jin Zixuan standing with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised high on his head. 

Wei Wuxian pretends to throw up. 

He feels Jiang Yanli shake in his arms, a tinkle of laughter escaping through her lips. “A-Xian,” she chides, “you know it was an important trip.”

“Whatever,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “The only good part about you leaving was spending some quality time with my lovely nephew.” He glances around the room. “Where’s A-Ling, anyway? He can definitely attest to this.”

“I’m right here,” comes Jin Ling’s voice. Wei Wuxian whips his head over in the direction of the sound, finding Jin Ling fiddling with a can of soda in the kitchen. Jiang Cheng is leaning over him, his hands on his hips as he peers down at it.

“You’re sixteen,” Jiang Cheng is saying. “You’re sixteen and you don’t know how to open a soda can. You absolute brat. What is your father teaching you?”

Jin Zixuan scoffs. “He’s been living with you for the past six months,” he says. “If anything, you could have taught him.”

“He’s been living with you for the past sixteen years,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “If anything, you could have taught him.”

Jin Zixuan rolls his eyes. Jiang Cheng’s left eyebrow visibly ticks. 

“Jiejie,” says Wei Wuxian, pouting at her. “Do you see what I’ve had to deal with? Be sad for me!”

Jiang Yanli shakes her head and pinches Wei Wuxian’s ear. “What have you been up to, hm? Your emails and texts have only told me so much.”

“He fell in love,” Jiang Cheng grunts.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to protest. “I—”

“Oh, no,” says Jin Zixuan, shuddering. “With who?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” says Jiang Cheng. “He fell in love twice.”

“It’s not like that!” Wei Wuxian insists. “I told you I’m not—Jiang Cheng, stop exposing me!”

“Yeah right,” says Jiang Cheng. “I’ll expose you however much I fucking want. The shit that I’ve had to deal with for the past—I don’t even know how long. God. Turn me over and fuck me sideways.”

“Jiujiu.” says Jin Ling, looking incredibly focused as he wraps his index finger and thumb around the top of the can, “don’t be so vulgar.”

“Shut up, A-Ling. Give me that.” Jiang Cheng snatches the can out of Jin Ling’s hands, ignoring his cry of protest as he pops it open in one, quick motion. He raises it to his lips and gulps down a long sip, then slams it down onto the counter and stomps off, out of sight.

Wei Wuxian stares after him, unblinking. “Uh.”

“He seems to be in a good mood,” says Jin Zixuan, walking over to his son. “A-Ling, twist and pull. It’ll open if you just give it a bit more force. Are there any more cans? I’ll teach you. Come come.”

Jiang Yanli turns back to look at Wei Wuxian. She takes his hands, smiling softly and leading him over to the couch to sit down next to him. “A-Xian,” she says, “you like someone?”

“My roommate,” Wei Wuxian admits, settling in against the plush backside of his seat. “His name is Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Yanli says. “Oh, A-Xian, what’s he like? Does he like you as well? Does he treat you right? What did A-Cheng mean when he said twice? Tell me everything.”

And so he does. Jin Zixuan disappears into the hallway with Jin Ling after successfully teaching him how to open a can, and Jiang Yanli sits across from Wei Wuxian, her hands on his knees, a gentle pressure upon him. Always guiding. Wei Wuxian spills everything out, tumbles through the events of the past few months. His time with Hanguang-jun and his time with Lan Wangji, his lovely roommate, the one who’s there for him through thick and thin, through anything and everything. 

“Oh,” says Jiang Yanli. Her eyes are glassy. Wei Wuxian reaches out to gently thumb over her cheek. “Oh, A-Xian, they’re the same, aren’t they? They’re the same person. Hanguang-jun and Lan Wangji.”

He isn’t surprised that his sister had figured it out—he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it. Still, it does make him feel a little stupid for not realizing it sooner himself. 

“Yeah,” he says, gulping back his nerves. “Um. I haven’t told Jiang Cheng yet.”

“Mm, it’s alright,” says Jiang Yanli. “I won’t tell him till you do.”

“He’s gonna be so angry,” Wei Wuxian pouts, “and then he’s gonna laugh in my face. Jiejie, you need to calm him down afterwards. Okay?”

Jiang Yanli laughs, her expression glowing with all the fondness in the world, and Wei Wuxian is struck once again with the realization of how much he has missed her. “Of course,” she says, a mischievous little smile painting her beautiful face. “Till then, it can be our little secret.”

“Our little secret,” Wei Wuxian agrees, pleased with this. He remembers something then. “Ah. Wen Ning’s coming back for a visit later this week.”

“Oh?” says Jiang Yanli. “That’s wonderful. Tell him to drop by our house before he leaves.”

“I will,” Wei Wuxian nods. “He’s staying here, with Jiang Cheng.”

“That’s very kind of A-Cheng.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “A first.”

“A-Xian,” his sister chides, but there’s humor in her voice. She sighs. “Are you okay? Will you be okay?”

“Yeah,” says Wei Wuxian. “Of course I will. Okay is my middle name. Wei Okay Wuxian.”

Jiang Yanli shakes her head, shoulders shaking. “Hm. Will you let me meet your Lan Wangji soon?”

Your Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian presses his lips together to suppress his smile. It leaks through anyways. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

—

When Wen Ning arrives, Wei Wuxian feels at a loss. 

He looks well—very well, actually. There’s a stride in his step, an extra beat of vigor that there wasn’t before. The sight makes a smile tug at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He’s happy for his friend, he really, really is. 

He hugs Wen Ning and wills the tears away. 

“A-Ning,” he says, the name feeling warm on his tongue. He’s taken a liking to it. “How have you been?”

“Good, Wei-ge,” says Wen Ning. “I’ve missed you!”

“Mm,” nods Wei Wuxian. The smile now is genuine. “I missed you too. Come in! I’d have let you stay in my own place, you know, but, ah… I have a roommate now.”

“A roommate?” asks Wen Ning as he follows him up the stairs and to Wei Wuxian’s door. He sounds curious, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t blame him. After all, he hasn’t exactly had a roommate in a while. 

“Yeah! His name is Lan Wangji,” he says. “He’s. Um.” Hm. How to describe Lan Wangji. “He’s cool. Yeah. He’s inside right now, so you can meet him in just a bit.”

“Okay,” says Wen Ning as they reach the front door. Wei Wuxian shoots him a grin and raises his hand to knock. Moments later, Lan Wangji is standing in front of him, expression blank and still as it always is. 

Wei Wuxian blows him a kiss. “Lan Zhan,” he says, then promptly remembers himself. Pressing his lips together, he smiles awkwardly at Wen Ning, who’s looking between the two of them with a small smile at the corners of his lips. “Ah, A-Ning, this is my roommate, Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan, this is Wen Ning. I’ve told you about him!”

“Mn,” nods Lan Wangji. “You have.” He holds his hand out to Wen Ning, and Wei Wuxian can practically feel his internal struggle. “It is nice to meet you. I am Lan Wangji.”

“N-Nice to meet you,” says Wen Ning, carefully holding his own hand out and lightly gripping onto Lan Wangji’s. The entire interaction is… insanely awkward, actually, but Wei Wuxian has always been one to thrive in the most difficult of situations. Besides, this is his old friend, and his… Lan Wangji. Whatever Lan Wangji is. He, uh, isn’t exactly one hundred-percent sure yet.

Lan Wangji holds himself with an air of caution, and Wei Wuxian knows he has no one to blame for this but himself. After all, Lan Wangji knows about Wen Qing now. He knows about A-Yuan.

They travel inside, and Lan Wangji offers some tea. Wen Ning, always the charmer, politely declines, but Wei Wuxian insists, and that is that. They huddle around each other in the living room, and Wei Wuxian asks Wen Ning all about his time abroad, what he’s doing, if he’s made any close friends. Wen Ning readily answers all of his questions, his shy smile never once gracing away from his features. It’s… strangely comforting. 

Usually, when Wen Ning is around, Wei Wuxian can’t help but think about Wen Qing. Guilt prods through his veins, sharp and brazen as it punctures all of his sweet spots. Memories rarely serve as a blanket of warmth. Rather, they’re dark and hurtful. They’re ships cruising through hazardous seas, tearing away at his conscience.

As always, the painful loss of Wen Qing digs through him, even now. Wei Wuxian knows he can’t outwardly show it, however. Not in front of Wen Ning. Never in front of Wen Ning.

“I work with Lan Zhan,” he says, smiling his thoughts away. He’ll revisit them at a later point, maybe when he’s in bed, preferably when he’s in Lan Wangji’s arms. “He owns a boba shop, and I’m their… what was it again?”

“Permanent main barista,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah! I’m their permanent main barista. There are four other kids, too. A-Ling is one of them! I think you’ll like them, A-Ning! Wanna meet them?”

Wen Ning nods, excitement pooling around his features. “Okay.”

And so, Wei Wuxian takes Wen Ning with him to work the following morning. Lan Wangji is by his side, listening to the countless stories Wei Wuxian is telling, ranging from Jin Ling’s spare pants in the back room to Jingyi’s love for teasing him for it. A few times, Wei Wuxian will nudge Lan Wangji to ask for his input, and Lan Wangji will respond with a gentle hum and a nod. 

“And Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian says. “Sizhui is Lan Zhan’s son!”

“Son?” Wen Ning asks.

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian nods. He shoots a small smile over to Lan Wangji, who returns it with an easy murmur of agreement. “Lan Zhan adopted Sizhui when he found him as a child,” he explains. Warmth wraps around his heart once more, just as it always does when he’s reminded of this. 

“That’s wonderful,” says Wen Ning. “That’s really wonderful.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. 

They head inside the shop through the back door, immediately faced with the sight of Jin Ling yelling at a machine. Wei Wuxian stops dead in his tracks, startled. 

“You are so stupid,” Jin Ling is saying, hands on his hips and glare fixed on the array of buttons in front of him. “Why won’t you just start? Why do you have to make my life so miserable?”

“A-Ling,” says Wei Wuxian, smirking to himself when Jin Ling starts in surprise, “I really don’t think it can hear you.”

“Dajiu! Lan qianbei!” says Jin Ling, eyes wide as his gaze flits between Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Wen Ning. “You’re, uh, you’re here. Sizhui and Jingyi are out front. Zizhen’s cleaning tables.”

“Amazing,” says Wei Wuxian. 

“Why’s Wen-shushu here?” Jin Ling asks. 

“I thought I’d introduce him to you lot,” says Wei Wuxian, patting Wen Ning’s shoulder. Wen Ning offers Jin Ling a smile, face kind as it always is. “Let’s go.”

“Mm!” Wen Ning nods. 

They make their way out of the back room, finding Sizhui talking intently with a customer and fiddling with the keyboard on the computer at the register. Jingyi is filling a plastic cup with boba, and Ouyang Zizhen is casually leaning against the counter. They look over when Wei Wuxian clears his throat. 

“Wei qianbei!” Jingyi grins as he deposits the drink into the cup sealer. 

“Wei qianbei, Lan qianbei!” says Ouyang Zizhen. His eyes stop on Wen Ning, and he furrows his eyebrows. “Uh…”

“Wei qianbei,” Sizhui says, walking over to them and bowing. “Lan qianbei.” He smiles, tilting his head in Wen Ning’s direction. “Xiansheng.”

Wei Wuxian grins, glancing over to Wen Ning. 

And Wen Ning—

Wen Ning is looking at Sizhui. Closely. It’s almost as if he’s squinting.

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue, but decides not to comment on it. He shrugs and steps forward, gesturing to the juniors with a smile.

“A-Ning, this is Ouyang Zizhen,” he says, gently patting Ouyang Zizhen’s head. The kid cowers back under the attention. “And this is Lan Jingyi.” Jingyi waves and bows. “And this is Lan Sizhui. Kids, this is an old friend of mine. His name is Wen Ning.”

Sizhui looks nervous under the intensity of Wen Ning’s stare. He visibly bites his lip, cheeks pinched inwardly. His smile never fades, however, and Wei Wuxian is silently awed. Truly placidness runs in the family.

Then Wen Ning smiles and looks away from Sizhui, turning his gaze to face the rest of them. “Hello,” he says, voice fiddling at the edge of something between shyness and nervousness. “It’s nice to meet you! Wei-ge has told me a lot about you all.”

The juniors, of course, take an immediate liking to Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian watches from behind the counter as Jingyi guides him over to one of the corner tables and Ouyang Zizhen slides into the seat across from him. 

“Do you like boba, Wen xiansheng?” he asks, eyes bright and large on his head. 

“Mhm!” says Wen Ning. 

“What kind?” asks Sizhui. 

Wen Ning turns to look up at him, and if he wasn’t looking so carefully, Wei Wuxian would have missed the way Wen Ning’s eyebrows flatten, relaxed and content. “My sister’s favorite was brown rice milk tea with pink cactus pearls.”

Sizhui’s brows furrow together, his eyes adopting an odd glint.

“Your sister?” Jingyi asks, quirking an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Wen Ning smiles. “I always got whatever she got.”

Wei Wuxian remembers. Of course he remembers. He would go on countless boba runs for everyone, and Wen Qing would always order the same drink. He had stopped asking Wen Ning for his order after a while, too, because it was always the same: “I’ll have what jiejie is having.”

He smiles now. It’s sad. The memory is begging to fade away, but he won’t let it. He’ll keep every thought of Wen Qing close to his heart.

“Okay!” Sizhui says. “We just got some pink cactus pearls in a shipment a couple of days ago.” He smiles sweetly down at Wen Ning, who returns it in the same vigor. “What percent sugar?”

“Zero percent,” says Wen Ning. “No ice.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, hiding his smile. Oh, Wen Qing.

“What?” Jingyi shrieks. 

Sizhui nudges him roughly. Then he nods. “I’ll get that for you right away, Wen xiansheng!”

“Wei Ying,” says a voice right by his ear. Wei Wuxian turns his head to find Lan Wangji next to him, eyes carefully trained on his face. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says. They’re side by side, arms ghosting against each other. Lan Wangji’s almond-shaped eyes shine brightly in the fluorescent light, speckles of honey brown highlighted around the edges. A comforting, everlasting presence at his skin.

“She would be happy,” Lan Wangji says, “to see you happy.”

And it hurts—it hurts a lot. The words pierce through his heart, sending a shiver down his spine. Lan Wangji’s fingers curl around his arm, pulling him closer till they’re pressed against each other. He’s warm—he’s always warm—and so, so beautiful. Wei Wuxian feels whole.

—

The feeling doesn’t fade, even as they venture into the night. 

Jiang Cheng sends Wei Wuxian a file. Mianmian sends Lan Wangji the same file. They show each other their phones at the same time, laughing together when they see the identical addresses. (Well, Wei Wuxian laughs. Lan Wangji does that thing where he curves the corners of his lips upward and takes Wei Wuxian’s breath away.)

They dress together. Lan Wangji leads Wei Wuxian into his bedroom, and Wei Wuxian discovers his Hanguang-jun robes in the back of his cupboard. He laughs as he takes a hold of one of the sets, holding it up to his chest. 

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “What if I wear your robes tonight, and you wear mine?”

Lan Wangji looks startled at the suggestion, but his expression turns sunset warm and Wei Wuxian wants to kiss him. 

So he does—it’s soft and warm and Lan Wangji is so, so lovely. Arms wrap around his waist and pull him unbearably closer. He laughs against Lan Wangji’s mouth, sinks his teeth into his lips, and tugs on his sugar-sweet tongue. He breaks away for a moment, reaching down with his hands and finding the hem of Lan Wangji’s shirt. 

He pulls it upward in one swift motion, rolling it off his shoulders and over his head. His chest is completely out in the open now, and Wei Wuxian marvels in the sight. He ducks down to press a light kiss to his collarbone. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers. It lands right by Wei Wuxian’s ear, hot breath against the skin there. He revels in it, feeling warm all over. A gentle heat pools in his stomach, spreading thin like a coat of liquid gold. 

“Lan Zhan,” he retaliates, thumbing small circles on the side of Lan Wangji’s waist. His other hand curls around Lan Wangji’s back, fingers finding the small of it and pressing in. He looks up, eyes connecting with the other’s light specks in the dark, and he smiles. Lan Zhan returns it, soft and sure in that beautiful way of his, always a constant presence by his side. 

Wei Wuxian suddenly feels overwhelmed, saturated to the brim. He slinks his arms up, fingers trailing across the spanse of Lan Wangji’s frontside till they’re curling around his jawline, cupping around his cheeks. He isn’t that much shorter than him, so he only really needs to press himself forward a small amount to land a kiss at the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

Lan Wangji makes a noise, and it’s low and rumbling against his throat. His arms, strong as ever, wrap around Wei Wuxian’s middle, hands finding the bottom of his own shirt and pulling at the fabric. 

Wei Wuxian laughs. “We’re gonna be late,” he says. 

Lan Wangji hums, and Wei Wuxian feels it tickle his own mouth. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, but doesn’t move away. Lan Wangji kisses him silent, then pulls off Wei Wuxian’s shirt in a single flick. “Lan Zhan, stop, Lan Zhan—”

“Wei Ying started it,” says Lan Wangji, but he does finally seem to get the memo and lets go of his hold on Wei Wuxian’s bare torso. Wei Wuxian pouts, because that really is so childish of him. 

He reaches out to boop Lan Wangji’s cute little nose, giggling when Lan Wangji makes a face in return. “Later,” he promises. “Give me your robes.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji reaches for them, fiddling around with them in his hands before finding the opening and sliding them over Wei Wuxian’s head. The fabric is soft, unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome at all. It’s a different feel than his Yiling Laozu robes, but they’re just as comfortable. They hang off his shoulders, the sleeves flowing at his sides. 

“Woah,” says Wei Wuxian, eyes widening as he carefully squints down at himself. “They’re big.”

“They are fine,” says Lan Wangji. He’s staring at Wei Wuxian’s fit as well, top still stark naked. “They look good.”

“Do they?” Wei Wuxian asks. He tilts his head forward, batting his eyelashes. “You like it?”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, not an ounce of hesitation to be found.

Wei Wuxian’s breath catches in his throat, lodges as he searches for what to say next. He shakes his head, sighing softly and reaching over to the bed where his own robes are kept. He gathers them into his arms, holding them out in front of him. 

“Come,” he says, and Lan Wangji bends down so he can loop them over his head.

The dark color contrasts beautifully with the image of the usual white. Wei Wuxian peers at Lan Wangji, pressing his lips together as he watches him pull the robes on. The stripes of red coupled with the brazen black builds the Yiling Laozu image perfectly; they’ve served Wei Wuxian for as long as he can remember. 

On Lan Wangji, however, they feel different. A piece of Yiling Laozu on his Hanguang-jun. 

He smiles. “You look hot,” he says. “My Yiling Laozu for the day.”

Lan Wangji reaches out to finger the white fabric on Wei Wuxian, rolling the sleeve around between his thumb and index finger. “Mm,” he hums, quiet. “My Hanguang-jun for the day.”

And Wei Wuxian—Wei Wuxian will not comment on that. He will not even mention what it does to his stupid, fragile little heart.

“Hm!” he says, sucking his cheeks in to stop the smile from overflowing. “Let’s go, then.”

“Let us go,” Lan Wangji agrees.

Hits are different now, with the two of them leaving for a site together rather than meeting there separately. Lan Wangji opts to drive, and Wei Wuxian spends the entire time playing with the fingers of his free hand over the console. Lan Wangji chides him for it only once before settling down and letting Wei Wuxian have at it, the sleeves of his dark robes blending in with the bleak leather seats.

The kill is quick. Wei Wuxian grins as Lan Wangji passes him his gun, rewarding him with a quick kiss to the corner of his jawline. “Thank you,” he whispers, and is gifted with an “Always” in return. 

Hits are, as always, a kind of dance. For all he can remember, Wei Wuxian has danced opposite to Hanguang-jun—to Lan Wangji. They’ve fought within themselves, never edging on the lines of anything serious. They’ve played around before, bullets exchanged for fun. Or, at least, they were fun for Wei Wuxian. He’ll have to ask Lan Wangji about that later.

Dancing alongside Hanguang-jun, however—it’s an entirely different experience. The two of them, side by side, bullets out and in the open. Wei Wuxian laughs out loud, mainly because he knows he can, and simmers with pleasure in the way Lan Wangji huffs in response. Their masks are sticky against their faces, but now Wei Wuxian knows for certain what is behind Hanguang-jun’s. He paints the complete picture of the amused quirks of his lips, the gentle exasperated expressions, the fondness in his eyes.

And when they’re done, they peel away their masks as if they were never there in the first place. Wei Wuxian is met with the sight of Lan Wangji’s flushed face, the budding color blooming at the tips of his ears. He smiles and reaches for him, hands finding his firm shoulders. He squeezes, and Lan Wangji sighs. 

“Ready to go home?” he asks. 

Lan Wangji leans against Wei Wuxian’s hold on him, tiredness leaking over his build. He hums, clearly satisfied.

“Mm,” he says. “Home.”

And so they go.

— 

“Wei qianbei,” a new voice comes from behind him. Wei Wuxian pauses where he’s wiping down one of the tables in the café, and he looks over his shoulder to see Sizhui peeking out through the back door. 

He grins. “Sizhui? What are you still doing here? Don’t you have class in the morning?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” says Sizhui, dusting off his uniform and offering one of those bright, kind smiles of his. He walks over, picking up one of the rags by the counter and spraying some water onto its surface. 

“Where’re the others?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“They went back already,” says Sizhui, eyes trained on the table in front of him. 

It’s already well past nine o’clock, so this makes sense. The flickering light bulbs are their only companions now, save for each other. Wei Wuxian stops where he’s working, turning around fully this time and hoisting himself up onto the clean table behind him. It’s cold beneath him; his spine is frigid, locked in a half-shiver. 

“Well, then it’s just you and me, buddy,” says Wei Wuxian, tossing the dusty towel aside and crossing his legs beneath him. He knows he must look a sight—if Lan Wangji were to see him like this, he’d surely get a scolding. “What’s up?”

With this, Sizhui does look up to meet his eye. He’s harboring a funny look, like he’s simultaneously deep in thought and also resisting the urge to bolt out of there. Wei Wuxian regards him with an expression of curiosity, leaning forward in his place as he waits patiently for an answer. 

Sizhui takes a deep breath and puts the cleaning rag down. “Wei qianbei, can I tell you a story?”

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. “A story?”

“Mm. A story.”

“Alright,” says Wei Wuxian, shrugging. “Hit me with it! I am prepared to be deeply entertained.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much,” Sizhui says, stifling back a laugh. “It’s… well, I think it’s a bit of a sad story.”

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian hums, thoughtful. “Does it have a happy ending?”

The question seems to catch Sizhui off guard, but he quickly contains himself and nods. “I think it does, yes.”

“That’s good,” says Wei Wuxian. “What is it?”

“Well,” says Sizhui, and this is where he seems to falter slightly, stumbling over his own words as he mulls them over. Wei Wuxian watches him carefully, eyes never straying away. “It’s about a boy,” Sizhui continues. “When… when he was a child, his parents passed away. He was raised by his grandmother, but soon she too passed.”

Oh. Ouch. What a beginning. 

Wei Wuxian nods, urging him to continue. “Go on.”

“That boy,” says Sizhui, “was then taken in by his aunt and uncle. That boy.” He stops. His gaze hardens. “Was me.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. 

“Ning-shushu,” says Sizhui, and Wei Wuxian faintly feels his heart thudding to a stop, “Ning-shushu and Qing-gugu were all I had. I was a child. I don’t remember much, but Ning-shushu has been telling me stories about the time when I was younger. Qing-gugu… she had a best friend, and her best friend was also a part of my family. Just the three of us, even though all three of them were in university while they were taking care of me.”

Burning, scalding tears prick the corner of Wei Wuxian’s eyes. His lips part, his throat runs dry. The bells behind his ears ring loudly, a constant screech beneath his skin. 

Sizhui, he’s—

“Xian-gege.”

Wei Wuxian looks over. The thud of his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as the tender calling reaches his ears. Sizhui looks nervous, but his eyes shine with an unshed, glossy overcoat. His fingers are curled by his sides, and he just looks like—a boy. A young boy.

He looks like Wei Wuxian’s—

Wei Wuxian’s—

—A-Yuan.

“Xian-gege,” Sizhui says, his voice cracking as it tumbles past his lips. “Qing-gugu’s best friend was Xian-gege. Xian-gege always played with me, always looked after me with Qing-gugu and Ning-shushu couldn’t.” Wei Wuxian breaths, heavy and full. “Xian-gege , Xian-gege, I—”

But that doesn’t—that doesn’t make sense, does it? A-Yuan was with Wen Qing when the incident happened. A-Yuan hadn’t—he hadn’t been found, and Jiang Cheng had—Jiang Cheng had—

Oh. 

“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian whispers, falling deaf to even his own ears. “A-Yuan, what are you—I don’t understand, I—”

Sizhui shakes his head. “Three bags,” he says. He reaches up to swipe the back of his hand across the wetness on his cheeks. “There were three bags of groceries. I asked—I had asked Qing-gugu to let me hold one, because I was a big boy. I wanted to help. She let me hold one, the lightest one. She carried the milk cartons and I carried the snacks, the… the cookies and the chips. The spicy chips, the one with the red chili powder, the ones that made Ning-shushu throw up. But we got them because Xian-gege likes them, and we—I held Qing-gugu’s hand as we walked back home, back to you.”

Wei Wuxian remembers. He remembers that night with astounding clarity. 

“I…” Sizhui trails off, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t—I don’t remember everything, but it’s been coming back to me, slowly. Ning-shushu says it’s natural, and soon I’ll be able to—I might even be able to remember her face, her—”

“A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian’s voice breaks. “A-Yuan.”

Sizhui swallows, and it’s audible to Wei Wuxian’s ears. “There were people. Lots of people.” His voice grows steadier with time, dropping an octave as the rough edges smooth out. “And… and Qing-gugu told me to run—told me to find Xian-gege and Ning-shushu—and I… I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I was frozen. I don’t remember, I, I don’t—”

Wei Wuxian lunges away from the table he’s sitting on and reaches for Sizhui, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling him in roughly against his chest. He feels Sizhui shaking beneath him, and the tears—the tears are coming, he feels them. They’re bright and shiny, cascading down Wei Wuxian’s face.

It’s the first time he’s cried since Wen Qing’s death.

“I left,” Sizhui says, his voice muffled by Wei Wuxian’s clothes. His fists clench around Wei Wuxian’s sides, fingers coiling around his waist. “I was… I remember screaming a lot. People would… they would stare at me on the streets. I felt so—so bare.”

“A-Yuan,” says Wei Wuxian, lifting his hand to stroke his fingers through Sizhui’s hair. “It’s okay. Xian-gege…” He trails off, breath hitching. “Xian-gege’s here, A-Yuan, Xian-gege won’t leave you again.”

“Someone found me,” says Sizhui. He pushes away from Wei Wuxian to wipe his tears against the palms of his hands. “Someone found me,” he repeats, his time quieter. “A man. He was wearing white. He had a lot of money.”

Wei Wuxian stares down at him, his jaw tightening as the words sink in.

Of course he knows who Sizhui is talking about. How can he not know? 

“Lan Zhan,” he says. 

Sizhui nods. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. 

“Xian-gege,” says Sizhui, looking up at him. “Xian-gege, I missed you.”

“A-Yuan,”—and this is where Wei Wuxian laughs, low and sweet like spun sugar—“Xian-gege has missed you too.”

—

Wei Wuxian barges in through the front door of the apartment later that night, eyebrows set in a thin, determined line. There’s a fire in his step, hot and ignited with all the certainty in the world, and it only extinguishes when his eyes find Lan Wangji’s. 

Lan Wangji is standing in the kitchen, a startled expression evident over his elegant features. His hands are paused over something on the counter, and when Wei Wuxian sees him, he runs. 

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, setting down the spoon he’s holding, “what’s wrong—”

“You stupid idiot,” Wei Wuxian hisses, and then he kisses Lan Wangji right on those pretty pink lips of his.

Lan Wangji makes a small noise of surprise, and it vibrates against Wei Wuxian’s mouth as he presses closer. 

“You stupid idiot,” Wei Wuxian says again as Lan Wangji breaks away. He bends over to plant a fleeting kiss by the shell of his ear. “I’m in love with you.”

Lan Wangji pauses. His grip on him tightens. 

“I’m in love with you,” Wei Wuxian says again, the words hanging heavily between them. “Every part of you. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much. Lan Zhan. Kiss me more.”

He leans in again, plants two kisses to Lan Wangji’s mouth, then one on the corner of his lips and three on his nose and cheeks. Lan Wangji remains still at the touch, reacting with only the smallest of exhales as Wei Wuxian peppers his face with invisible marks.

“Wei Ying,” he says, soft. “I love you as well.”

Warmth blooms in Wei Wuxian’s chest like an unripe flower, color bursting to life within. Lan Wangji raises his hands to cup the sides of Wei Wuxian’s face, firm on the edges of his jawline. Wei Wuxian immediately leans into the touch, eyelids flickering closed.

It’s as if a spark goes off, and all of a sudden, every tightness in Wei Wuxian’s chest breaks free and tumbles out from his swollen lips.

“A-Yuan,” he says, “you took my A-Yuan in. You gave my A-Yuan a home.”

He sees the way Lan Wangji’s eyebrows curve—the way his eyes light up, recognition laced behind the warm golden hue. 

“Sizhui?” whispers Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian nods. “Sizhui is A-Yuan.”

“Oh,” Lan Wangji breaths. “Oh.”

“My A-Yuan.” A lodge in Wei Wuxian’s throat. He gulps it down. “Is your Sizhui.”

“Ours,” says Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian feels his heart squeeze tightly within the confines of his chest. It threatens to burst, to cry out and wail. He keeps it away, hidden safely. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Ours. I love you.”

“I love you,” Lan Wangji echoes.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.”

“I don’t know what to say anymore,” Wei Wuxian says. He presses Lan Wangji into the counter. “I don’t know what to say except that I love you so much.”

“Then don’t say anything,” says Lan Wangji, and—yeah. Yeah. Yeah yeah. He doesn’t have to say anything—everything is already out in the open, like this. Still, when has Wei Wuxian been good at following the rules?

“I love you,” he says, just because he can. “Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, Lan Zhan. All of you. I love you. I’ve never felt this way before, about anything or anyone.” The words tumble past his lips like they have always been there, nestled safely behind closed doors. “I like you. I love you, sweetheart. I want you. I can’t leave you. I whatever you. I want to, fuck, I want to be cool assassin boyfriends with you, like from the movies, you know? I want to take hits and carry them out by your side. I want you.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers, eyes wide from obvious shock. The expression does nothing but heighten the swelling in Wei Wuxian’s chest. “Wei Ying, yes. Yes.”

“You.” Wei Wuxian jabs his index finger on Lan Wangji’s frontside. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you know how stupid I felt when I figured out I like Hanguang-jun? And when I realized I like my cool hot sexy roommate too? Huh? Do you?”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, and, god, that's not fair. 

“Stop,” says Wei Wuxian. “I hate you. Fuck you. I love you so much. Lan Zhan, hold me.”

“Mm,” says Lan Wangji, and he wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian like planets orbiting their star, like Wei Wuxian is a love letter encased in a baby pink envelope with sparkling red heart-shaped stickers.

—

YLLZ
we… should tell jiang cheng shouldn’t we

♥♥♥ HGJ ♥♥♥
wei ying, we are in the middle of a hit. pay attention.

YLLZ
but lan zhaannnn i’m boredddd
the target isn’t even here yet
:(
omg hehe i can see u glaring at me from behind that box
that’s kinda hot
excellent hiding spot, hanguang-jun
teach me your ways ♡ 

♥♥♥ HGJ ♥♥♥
hm.
if you think it is wise to tell your brother, then i have no objections.

YLLZ
ok!
but we should make it super dramatic don’t you think hehe
hmmmmm
maybe we could take him out for dinner
i’d b like… haha meet my bf <3 and he’d b like haha fuck u <3
but of course he’d say yes bc he loves me

♥♥♥ HGJ ♥♥♥
yes.

YLLZ
omg wait
wait wait
HAHAHAH
HAHAHAHA I HAVE THE BEST IDEA
LMAO

♥♥♥ HGJ ♥♥♥
we will talk about this later.
the target is here.

YLLZ
ahhhhhh fuck

—

Wei Wuxian takes his siblings to the fanciest restaurant in town.

“Why the fuck did you bring us here?” Jiang Cheng grunts as they climb out of the car. “Why do you suddenly wanna eat dinner together? What do you want?”

Wei Wuxian pouts at him. “Hey, who says I need a reason to eat with my lovely didi and my even lovelier jiejie?”

Jiang Cheng squints at him.

Jiang Yanli laughs. “Now now, A-Cheng, A-Xian. Let’s go inside first before we talk.”

Wei Wuxian passes them a lazy grin. “It’s time you meet Lan Zhan!” he exclaims.

“Lan—oh fuck no,” says Jiang Cheng. 

Jiang Yanli gasps. “Oh, really, A-Xian? That’s wonderful!”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Yeah!”

They head inside, and Wei Wuxian gives the hostess Lan Wangji’s name before they’re led deeper into the restaurant. He glances over to Jiang Cheng, who firmly has his eyes trained ahead, an annoyed, prevalent tick over his eyelids. He reaches over to pat his brother’s neck, gently tugging at his ear. 

“Are you excited, A-Cheng?” he asks, batting his eyelashes innocently. He drawls out his voice slightly, just for the added effect. If anything, it makes Jiang Cheng even more irritated, and Wei Wuxian strives to be as annoying of an older brother as physically possible. It’s his brand. “Are you excited to meet the love of my life? The one I dedicate my heart and soul to? My precious, lovely boyfriend? Lan Wangji, my—”

“If you don’t shut up—”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian points over to a corner. “There they are!”

Jiang Cheng shoots him a curious look. “Who’s they?”

“They!”

From across the room, Sizhui holds a hand up from the table he’s sitting at. Lan Wangji is next to him, carefully observing the menu in his hands. He looks up, eyes finding Wei Wuxian, and he stands up to greet them.

Lan Wangji bows, and Wei Wuxian skips over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Jiang Cheng grimaces. “Oh, god, if you two are just gonna—”

“It’s so lovely to meet you!” says Jiang Yanli. A bright smile overtakes her features as she slides into the seat next to Sizhui. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and sits down next to her, and Wei Wuxian in the middle of him and Lan Wangji. Menus are deposited on the table in front of the three, and Wei Wuxian smiles in thanks to the waiter. 

“A pleasure,” says Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian beams when he sees the way the corners of his lips are just slightly upturned. “Wei Ying has told me much about the both of you.”

“Has he,” Jiang Cheng says. 

Wei Wuxian roughly slams his elbow into his brother’s side. “Of course I have! Who do you take me for?”

“An idiot,” says Jiang Cheng. He sighs and shakes his head, then looks over to Lan Wangji. “Is he holding you hostage? Why would you date him? Blink twice if something’s wrong, if you’re doing this against your will.”

“I am not,” says Lan Wangji. 

Jiang Cheng blinks, then narrows his eyes on his figure. “Hmm.”

“And who is this?” Jiang Yanli asks, turning her head around to look at Sizhui. Sizhui offers her one of those kind little smiles of his. 

“Ah…” he says softly. He looks over to Wei Wuxian, who nods in encouragement. 

Well. Here they go.

Sizhui takes a deep breath, then meets Jiang Yanli’s gaze again. He glances at Jiang Cheng as well, and Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “Li-yiyi,” he says, and Jiang Yanli freezes, “Cheng-shushu, I am Lan Sizhui, Lan Yuan.” A pause. “A-Yuan.”

A long, stretched-out silence.

Jiang Yanli’s lips part. “I’m sorry—what?”

“What the fuck,” says Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian swoops in with a laugh, then points his thumb back at Lan Wangji. “And this is Hanguang-jun!”

This time, Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen. “What?”

“A-Yuan?” Jiang Yanli asks. 

“Hanguang-jun?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“Yes, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian says with a nod, “and yes, Hanguang-jun. Are we done here? Let’s order some dinner!”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“A-Yuan,” whispers Jiang Yanli. She’s reaching out, her dainty fingers gently cupping around Sizhui’s cheek. “Oh. Oh.”

Sizhui is bringing his hands up, encasing them over Jiang Yanli’s touch. He leans into it, visibly gulping. Wei Wuxian watches, pressing his lips together. He feels something squeezing his thigh, and he looks down to find Lan Wangji’s palm pressed by his knee. He throws a grateful smile to him, and Lan Wangji smiles, the delicate curl of his lips making Wei Wuxian tremble. 

“Lan Zhan found him,” he says, catching everyone’s attention. He’s still looking at Lan Wangji, not caring enough to break their eye contact. “That night, Wen Qing told A-Yuan to run. Lan Zhan found him. Lan Zhan took him in. Lan Zhan took care of him.”

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng hisses.

“Oh,” Jiang Yanli is saying, over and over again. “Oh. Oh.” She’s looking back at Sizhui. “A-Yuan,” she whispers, “do you remember me? Do you remember your Li-yiyi? I used to play with you all the time, you know? Your Qing-gugu was one of my best friends. A-Qing, she loved you so much.” She smiles, tears pooling around her eyes. They’re thick and glossy. “You were friends with my son, A-Ling.”

“Mm,” nods Sizhui. “I still am. Jin Ling is one of my best friends.”

Jiang Cheng turns to look at Wei Wuxian again. His eyes are wide and his expression is tight. Wei Wuxian recognizes it with ease—his brother is trying not to cry. 

He smiles. He nods. 

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “We,” he says, “are talking about all of this later.”

“Yes yes,” says Wei Wuxian, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “Good.” He looks back over to where Jiang Yanli and Sizhui still are, his expression softening by a thousand miles. Wei Wuxian suppresses the urge to giggle, and the hand on his thigh tightens. 

He feels strangely complete, like all the pieces in his life are finally slotting together, just as they were always meant to be.

Qingqing, he thinks soundly, I hope you’re happy.

—

—

—

Wei Wuxian smirks as he walks through the dimly lit streets. Three lamplights are illuminating the thick path, cobblestones against the heels of his brand new shoes. His gun hangs loosely from his hands, threading between his index finger and palm. 

There’s a thin trail of blood on the edge of his face. It feels cool against his skin. 

Ahead of him, he sees the target. Grinning, he raises his gun. 

Fire.

Something vibrates in his back pocket. Wei Wuxian presses his lips together to suppress his smile, pulling his phone out and lifting it to his ear. 

“Hanguang-jun,” he croons, eyes flitting around for a glimpse of his partner. Nowadays, Lan Wangji likes to work above the scene, aiding him while being stationed somewhere behind him in the dark.

“On your right,” comes Lan Wangji’s voice through the staticky connection. Wei Wuxian immediately turns on his heel, like it’s a dance, and shoots three bullets in a row. Perfect aim, perfect hit. 

He looks up, head still tilted downward, and finds himself staring at a figure several rooftops away. Lan Wangji is perched on the top of a building, gun at the ready and eyes piercing the scene, looking for any sign of movement. Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if it would be appropriate to wave. He does it anyway, then laughs when he hears the breathy tch in his ear.

“Hanguang-jun,” he says, voice burning at the edge of a whisper. “Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji, “be serious.”

“I am being serious!”

His eyes catch onto something, a flurry of red, and he almost rolls his eyes. Amateurs, really. Who wears such a bright color in the face of their own death? 

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says, then drops his phone to his side and lunges forward. 

His arm stretches out in front of him. The trigger is pulled. He reels back.

Clicking his tongue, he looks back up to where Lan Wangji is, still and unmoving like a dove in the night. He winks at him and clicks his screen back to life, raising his phone back up to the side of his face.

“Now, how about that date?”