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Lan Wangji doesn’t like Halloween.
It’s not the candy or the pranks that he doesn’t like. He’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi get up to enough shenanigans that he’s come to appreciate harmless pranks. He’d enjoyed the one where they replaced all of his photos with pictures of rabbits, and even kept some of the framed bunny photos in his office after. He looks at them on difficult days, and they never fail to make him smile.
That’s not why he doesn’t like Halloween.
It’s everything else around it. The pathos of the whole day. He doesn’t like scary movies, he doesn’t understand the aesthetic of skulls and death, and he especially doesn’t like being scared. He’s never seen the appeal. Why would someone deliberately subject themself to such a negative emotion?
But Lan Wangji, more than he doesn’t like Halloween and being scared, loves his son. And Halloween is, undeniably, Lan Sizhui’s favorite holiday.
Which is why Lan Wangji finds himself at a haunted house, standing in a dark anteroom covered in fake cobwebs as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi listen to a woman in a white t-shirt covered in red corn syrup explaining the rules.
“No touching the scarers,” she instructs them. “They won’t touch you either. Don’t run, and stay together as a group. Got that?”
The boys nod in enthusiastic unison. Her eyes turn to Lan Wangji, who gives her a brisk nod as well, keeping his mouth firmly shut, feeling a bit queasy.
“Alright,” she says and opens a door behind her. “Have a frightful time.”
The Yiling Burial Mounds is famous in the region for being one of the scariest “haunted house” experiences around. Tickets sold out every year, months ahead of the opening. Lan Sizhui has wanted to go for years, but there is a strict 14+ age restriction on the attraction, with any under 18s requiring an adult chaperone. Lan Wangji supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised when, on his son’s 14th birthday, Lan Sizhui opened Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue’s gift and found three tickets sitting inside.
“Don’t worry,” Lan Xichen reassured him in the kitchen later as they cleaned up, “Mingjue agreed to take them.”
But then Nie Mingjue came down with the flu a couple days before the event, and everything began to crumble. Lan Xichen couldn’t accompany the boys because he had to take care of Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang couldn’t do it because he was suddenly “very busy with work, Wangji, I couldn’t possible take time off!”, and Lan Wangji wasn’t about to ask Lan Jingyi’s mother, who worked two jobs and deserved better on one of her rare days off than chauffeuring the boys around.
Which means there was really no avoiding it; nobody else could take them. Lan Wangji had no choice but to stuff down his distaste, and step up to the plate.
The first few rooms are…fine. Lan Wangji has to admit, the concept of the Burial Mounds is an interesting one. The “haunted house” isn’t a house at all, but built into an old mine that had long since been abandoned before the attraction took over. They’ve created a whole storyline around the history of the mine, a little educational flare to go with the grotesque attraction. It’s exaggerated, of course, but it’s done well so that it’s difficult to tell where the truth ends and the fiction begins.
Right up until the part about who the Burial Mounds are haunted by the ghosts of those who had died there, or else had their bodies dragged into the mines for disposal, which isn’t true, of course.
He’s enjoying the storytelling, he finds. It helps that he came prepared; Lan Wangji had researched ahead of time, wanting to know what he was getting into, and to make certain the attraction wasn't exploiting real tragedy. But from what he could find, there wasn’t a single death traced back to the Burial Mounds, though there are many interesting accounts of allegedly supernatural happenings that had given him unpleasant dreams for the past week.
In any case, the truth of the matter—that the Burial Mounds were not the site of numerous gruesome deaths and murders—clearly didn’t stop the owner of the attraction from going all out and leaning into the rumors. Room after room is filled with curling fog that creeps across the floor, lit only by deep red lights that do little to fill the dark corners. The rooms are largely empty; some tight and claustrophobic, with stalagmites jutting from the floor, casting strange shadows that dance in the flickering lights; others are large, cavernous, echoing, sending chills up Lan Wangji’s spine at the sense of being so exposed.
Four rooms in, though, and there still hasn’t been a single scarer. Nobody jumping out of shadows at them, waving chainless chainsaws or rubber knives, as Lan Wangji has been led to understand are a staple of these sorts of attractions. Just a growing sense of unease. Of anticipation. Waiting for something that it isn’t clear will ever come.
Lan Wangji shivers, noticing the vapor puff of his breath as he exhales. He hadn’t even noticed how the rooms are growing colder.
Darker.
They pass into yet another chamber, and Lan Wangji realizes he can hardly see. There is a single red light, dangling in the middle of the low-ceilinged room, the weakly illuminating a small three foot circle. He can hear Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi behind him, their breathing loud in the dark, quiet room.
Lan Wangji steps forward, squinting in the dark, looking for the door that will lead into the next room.
Suddenly, a loud crash ricochets around the room as the door slams closed behind them. A loud, shrieking laugh echoes through the space as the bulb in the center of the room pops with a crackle. They’re thrown into darkness for the space of a heartbeat before the strobe lights kick in, illuminating the thick fog as it fills the room, and a figure moving towards them in jerky stop motion through the flashes.
Looking back, Lan Wangji isn’t entirely sure what made him do it. Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking at all, running purely on adrenaline and instinct as he grabs Lan Sizhui’s wrist behind him and runs without so much as looking back, rushing past a tall figure adorned in chains.
He can see it now: his destination, the doorway on the far side of the room. He sprints for it, dragging Lan Sizhui with him, the sound of laughter following close behind as he runs.
It isn’t until he’s made it through the next room, and then another, to see the red glowing sign reading “EXIT” above one of the doors that he realizes something is wrong.
The wrist in his hand is too large, the person he is pulling too tall to be Lan Sizhui.
He turns with dawning mortification to see the ghoulish smiling face of a man looking back at him. A very beautiful man from what Lan Wangji can make out beneath the makeup.
“Boo,” the man says, giving him a salacious wink.
Lan Wangji feels the tips of his ears flaming as the full realization of what he did hits him, and he is grateful for the dark.
“I’m sorry,” he says once he finds his voice again, breath coming fast from both running and fear. “I thought you were my son.”
“Ah, no, not your son,” the man says, smiling even wider. “But I could call you daddy, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Adrenaline is a funny thing, as it flips from fear to arousal so suddenly that it makes Lan Wangji’s head spin. “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji says instead of looking at any of that too closely.
“But, gege,” the man says, batting his eyelashes, “you’re the one still holding my hand.”
Lan Wangji drops it like a hot iron, certain now that his blush is visible even in the dark. His ears are probably glowing.
It’s at that moment that the door into the room opens, and Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi walk in, both looking exhilarated, if a little confused.
“A-die!” Lan Sizhui says, hurrying over to him. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t believe you left us!” Lan Jingyi says in shocked betrayal.
Guilt squirms in Lan Wangji’s belly, but he has no defense for himself. He struggles with what to say, when the man he’d just dragged through the haunted house, breaking every one of the rules in the process, chimes in.
“You know,” he says, “it may have been unconventional, but you can’t deny that your dad here definitely got you out of harm’s way. Or, I guess, got the harm out of your way. Now why don’t you two go on through and check out the photos? I’m gonna talk with your dad here for a minute.”
Lan Sizhui takes Lan Jingyi’s arm and pulls him through the exit, leaving Lan Wangji alone with the man. Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to expect. Is he about to be reprimanded? Is there some sort of penalty for breaking the rules of the attraction? Is the man going to press charges for Lan Wangji grabbing him and dragging him along? Surely that counts as assault of some kind.
He waits, uncertain and anxious, as the man watches Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui until the door clicks closed behind them.
“So,” he says, turning to Lan Wangji with a stern expression. “Are you always such a rule breaker?”
“No,” Lan Wangji says quickly. “I apologize for my actions. I—”
But the man’s face breaks and he doubles over with laughter, reaching out and squeezing Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he does so. “Aiyah, don’t look so scared, gege! It’s okay. It’s all part of the job. Last week, I had somebody punch me in the face. It’s just an occupational hazard when your occupation is jumping out of dark corners and scaring people.”
“Nonetheless,” Lan Wangji says, a little relieved to be forgiven, but still uneasy, “it was inappropriate. I would like to make it up to you.”
He’s thinking: money. Maybe a tip. He’s not sure if you’re supposed to tip in a haunted house situation, but he wants to do something to make it right. What he’s not expecting is for the man to look him in the eyes with a rakish grin that makes Lan Wangji’s mouth go dry.
“Tell me,” he says, “is there a Mr. or Mrs. Handsome Gege?”
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Wangji answers. The man blinks in confusion. “My name is Lan Zhan. And…no. I do not have a husband.”
The man’s smile returns. “Or a wife?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner?”
“I am single.”
“In that case.” The man leans in a little. “I’m Wei Ying.”
“Wei Ying.”
“I don’t get off until 1am.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m free all day tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Wei Ying is close enough that, even in the relative dark of the room, he thinks he could count each of Wei Ying’s eyelashes. He feels the ghost of his breath across his lips, and then something being pressed into his hand.
“I have to get back to work,” Wei Ying says. “But call me.”
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji takes Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi to a late night diner in apology after they leave the Burial Mounds, buying them each a milkshake, his thoughts drifting as the pair discuss the events of the evening.
The next day, he calls Wei Ying. They make plans to meet for dinner that night.
The man who sits at Lan Wangji’s table is even more beautiful than he had imagined, face cleaned of the ghoulish makeup, with his black hair tied back in a red ribbon, ruby jewelry glittering in his ears, and the black ink of a tattoo creeping above the low neckline of his shirt over his collarbone.
Lan Wangji decides that maybe he likes Halloween after all.