Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Classes are about to begin, and Lan Zhan waits patiently outside the doors, trying to trample down his nerves. He quietly stands beside his uncle and a short, plump man who is set to be his homeroom teacher, as they finish up their conversation. The same conversation he had lost focus on when the topic became less about him, his classes, the excitement of integrating him into school life; the introductions and welcoming process, and more of an opportunity for the teacher—Mr Yao—to boast about himself and shower his uncle in unnecessary flowery praise.

Mr Yao has not stopped talking for the entire duration of their walk down. From the moment they left the office to standing outside his classroom, it didn’t take long for his nasally voice to become grating. It’s something he will have to get used to, in time. But for now, Lan Zhan simply blocks them out and continues to follow behind whilst they snake through the never-ending stretch of corridors.

Lan Zhan feels like a rabbit in a pen. His uncle had delayed them for a moment so he would avoid the wave of bodies and chaos that came with the morning rush, but that also means there will be a classroom full of students right behind him, watching him. They have passed a couple of dawdling students on their way, but the instant their sights set on Lan Qiren, they bow and quickly scarper off.

He tries to ignore them, even if it means listening to Mr Yao once again compliment his uncle’s choice of neck-tie, but he can still feel the uncomfortable weight of their lingering gazes and inquisitive stares trailing the length of him. He hates it. Lan Zhan has spent most of his primary and secondary education being homeschooled; this isn’t something he is used to, and certainly not something he likes. Then again, there are a lot of things Lan Zhan doesn’t like.

He wants to go home.

“Well then,” Mr Yao claps his hands together. “You ready?”

Wei Ying cranes his neck to try and get a better look, but the old goat is blocking his view. He strains just a little bit more, twisting awkwardly whilst he uses his brother as a support beam to keep him balanced.

“Get off!” Jiang Cheng snaps, trying to shake him off.

“Wait, I’m nearly – will you stay still I’m trying to see.”

“Stop being nosey!”

“Excuse you! I am not nosey; I’m just curious. Don’t you wanna know what’s happening?”

“That’s the same fucking thing!”

The door suddenly slides open and Wei Ying yelps in surprise. He scrambles and stumbles, nearly landing in his brother's lap as he darts back to his own seat, and somehow manages to smack his knee against one of the other desks in the process. He hisses at the sharp pain that shoots through his kneecap, trying to hold back a cry as tears instantly well up in his eyes. Jiang Cheng snorts, but he ignores him and tumbles back in his seat.

Wei Ying chuckles nervously under the weight of Mr. Yao’s glare. He is top of his class and yet; breathe a little too loudly and Mr Yao will sentence him to a month’s worth of detentions.

He offers an innocent smile, but the man’s sharp stare doesn’t waver. He shrinks back in his seat, discreetly rubbing his knee under the desk. The class quickly falls silent around him, and it is then that Wei Ying notices the boy standing beside the miserable man.

Wei Ying blinks. The sting in his knee instantly forgotten, and his interest piqued. This is who was hiding behind that old goat.

Most new students would normally smile, maybe offer a shy little wave—something to try and make a good first impression. But the boy stands there unmoving and stone-faced. He is tall, sharp; shoulders square and spine straight, and with the clean cuts of his freshly pressed uniform, he looks as though he is standing to attention in a military line-up. He simply stares  straight ahead and not a flicker of emotion creases his pale jade skin.

“This is Lan Wangji. He will be joining our class for the remainder of the year. Now, let’s make him feel welcome.” Mr Yao’s smile is all gums as he starts to clap.

Lan Wangji bows but offers nothing else. 

The class claps just as they are told, but there is an awkward air to it.

“Now, you can take the empty seat at the back next to…” Mr Yao’s lips press into a thin line, the vein on his forehead visibly pulsing. He looks just about ready to jump out the window, or throw Wei Ying through it first.

The seat beside him is the only one left available. Mr Yao has avoided placing anyone next to him thus far because, and in Mr Yao’s own words, he couldn’t afford to have Wei Wuxian corrupt and misguide any of his students. The man spoke as though he was some type of delinquent criminal, prepped and ready to drag the next poor soul down the path of evil and damnation.

Mr Yao had all but worn his tongue out kissing Lan Qiren’s ass during their chat outside. And if Lan Qiren has gone as far as to escort Lan Wangji here himself, there is very clearly a relation. Seating him next to Wei Ying won’t exactly earn the guy any brownie points. But there aren’t any other options.

Lan Wangji nods, walks towards him, and takes a seat. Everything strangely fluid.

With a couple of grumbling disagreements and quieting the class, the lesson begins, and the words quickly fade into murmurs as his focus lands purely at Lan Wangji.

“Hi, I’m Wei Ying,” he leans in closer, whispering so as not to get caught, as Lan Wangji seamlessly unpacks a few pieces and sets them on his desk.

Silence.

He cocks his head to the side, maybe he didn’t hear me?  “I’m Wei Ying,” he tries again a little louder but still nothing. Lan Wangji remains unyielding.  “Um, hello?” He leans in a little closer, enough that his knee brushes against Lan Wangji’s leg. He moves, finally showing signs of life, if only to move away. Wei Ying huffs; he doesn’t try again, but that isn’t going to deter him from trying to grab the boy's attention. He has never not managed to make friends with someone. Jiang Cheng said it was rather annoying how no matter where he went; he always made a friend—or five.

“Do I smell or something?” He raises his arm and sniffs himself. Nope, nothing. Only the remnants of lotus and jasmine from the washing detergent jiejie uses. “Well I don’t smell, so why do you keep on ignoring me? Come on, I’m just trying to be welcoming. Can’t you say a quick hello? Or look at me at least? You know it's rude to not greet someone or look at people when they’re talking to you?” His head cocks.

Wei Ying swears he can hear crickets chirp.

He grumbles under his breath, but he refuses to give up. “Come on, not even a peek, handsome gege?”

“Wei Wuxian!” He jumps at the loud shrill of a voice. “It hasn’t even been a minute, and you are already being a disturbance. Leave Lan Wangji alone. Look forward and shut up.”

He huffs and slouches back in his seat, only partly defeated. But he doesn’t disturb Lan Wangji again. That doesn’t stop him taking a peak here and there throughout class. Watching him as he copies down notes effortlessly in flawless calligraphy, and seemingly unfazed by everything.

Wei Ying isn’t one to give up easily, and the more Lan Wangji ignores him, the more he sees it as a challenge. Feeling an odd compulsion tingle under his skin to see that perfect jade crack. With a smile, a frown, he doesn’t care. There is something about him that he can’t quite grasp. Maybe it is the reserved mysteriousness to him. Or the cold, stoic features that makes him unmistakably beautiful but shows absolutely nothing. Or maybe it is the fact that a sixteen-year-old boy has his desk already meticulously arranged with adorable bunny stationary.

There is just—something.

The bell rings; Wei Ying leans back with a yawn, relieved to finally be free. Stretching out the crick in his back and rubbing away the tiredness from his eyes. The last lesson seriously dragged, and he was dangerously close to falling asleep, multiple times. It isn’t as though it is entirely his fault—no one can really blame him, especially when the maths teacher’s voice was basically whining white noise, with a degree. But with the scraping of chairs, shuffling of bodies, and the rising chatter; Wei Ying bolts upright, suddenly wide awake. Wait. End of class—end of ban. He smiles, and turns to the side, “Hey, wanna grab lunch –” 

Lan Wangji is already walking out the door.

“ – with me.” Wei Ying stares after him, watching as with quick strides, he disappears among the rapidly filling hallway.

Wei Ying’s shoulders sink. He can’t understand it, and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. 

“What stick lives up his ass?” Jiang Cheng scoffs, dropping his lunch down on his desk. 

Wei Ying chuckles, making space for Jiang Cheng to take  the unoccupied seat beside him.

Nie Huaisang drags a chair from the desk in front, flopping dramatically into it. “Awh Wei-xiong,” he heaves. “I wouldn’t even try if I were you.” 

Nie Huaisang isn’t the type to say something if there wasn’t a meaning behind it. Wei Ying’s eyes narrow. “Why?” 

“Oh,” Huaisang looks everywhere but at him. “I don’t know,” he demurres. “I really don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” Jiang Cheng scoffs, popping the lid to his packed lunch.

The three of them had been as thick as thieves from the very first day of high-school. Well, maybe just Wei Ying in the beginning; Jiang Cheng had taken a little longer for Huaisang to warm up to. By the first month Huaisang had finally stopped hiding behind him whenever Jiang Cheng was around. Two months to stop shaking like a leaf whenever Jiang Cheng’s glare went his way.

In the years since, the trio only grew closer, which also means Wei Ying knows Huaisang better than most. Including Huaisang’s older brother; practically everyone saw him as  feeble, empty-headed, and lazy. He is. But, Wei Ying knows, he is far smarter than he likes to let on. Knowing nothing and everything all at once.

Nie Huaisang sighs deeply, acting as though painting fans and collecting gossip to be such a difficult and burdensome task. Wei Ying simply rolls his eyes at the  theatrics. When he doesn’t give up, brow pitched in exasperation, Huaisang gives in. 

“Fine,” he relents. “Fine, fine, fine. But I really don’t know that much.” With a flick of his wrist, an artful painting spreads across his fan. “He is Lan Qiren’s youngest nephew. His da-ge and da-ge are close friends. So, we grew up together, and Wei-xiong, to be honest you would have better luck having a conversation with a lamppost than Lan Wangji. He doesn’t talk to anyone who isn’t his uncle or brother.”

“What, why?”

Huaisang shrugs as he pops a piece of braised tofu into his mouth. Stolen, of course. “What can I tell you Wei-xiong. Our brothers are friends. We are not. He’s always been odd and kinda…scary.”

“Kinda?”

“Scary.”

“Scary?” Wei Ying repeats in confusion. Is Lan Wangji scary? Yeah, the boy was stoic looking and maybe a tad cold, but scary? “He didn’t look very scary to me. A bit of a fuddy duddy, maybe, but Nie-xiong you were scared of ChengCheng over here.” Wei Ying pats Jiang Cheng on the back playfully. Jiang Cheng quickly bats it away.

“Who the fuck you calling ChengCheng?” he growls. “Why do you even care anyway? He’s a weirdo.”

“Hey! Don’t be rude. You don’t even know him!”

“Yeah and neither do you. So what’s with the fixation? It’s annoying.”

“Pfft! Fixation?” Wei Ying shoves a piece of his own food in his mouth. Sulks, loudly: “Who has a fixation? I certainly don’t! I just want to be friends, that’s all.” 

He’s an orphan who bounced around from foster home to foster home for years before finally being adopted by the Jiangs, alright? He is used to people turning their noses up at him. Used to them looking the other way and ignoring him. Rude comments and rumours are practically a staple. He has learnt to ignore it, and in more recent years—it stopped bothering him. But this Lan Wangji…

Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes.

Nothing more really comes from the conversation after that. With any question that follow, Nie Huaisang simply shrugs as he continues to pick his way between Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s lunch, and claims he knew nothing. Nothing at all.

Wei Ying slumps against his desk in defeat; head resting on folded arms as his eyes trace the invisible line that marks the ghost of Lan Wangji’s route. There really was something about him; Wei Ying isn’t sure what—but he wants to find out.

“Oi, you coming or what?” Wei Ying jumps in his seat, startled, having not heard the other two pack up or notice Jiang Cheng move to stand.  

“Where?”

“You deaf or what?” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and really, Wei Ying is beginning to worry about his brother developing terrible eye strain. “Snack shake. He stole half of mine.” Jiang Cheng jabs at Huaisang, who pouts pathetically.

“Well I’m sorry. We don’t all have loving, doting sisters to always make us amazing lunches.” Nie Huaisang huffs, pouting as he drapes his chin on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. 

Jiang Cheng instantly shrugs him off, annoyed. “Your brother gives you money. Stop complaining.”

The two continue to bicker as they make their way out the classroom. Wei Ying takes a moment to rearrange the desk and chairs, making sure to put them back to the neat and orderly fashion they were previously; wiping away any food residue left behind from Huaisang’s thieving fingers, before hurrying off to catch them up.

Jiang Cheng’s voice is loud and carries above everyone else. Wei Ying scoffs as he watches his brother and best friend argue and can’t help but smile.

Back in the classroom, everything is just the same. He sits beside Lan Wangji who once again don’t utter a single word. Who had their desk meticulously organised with a light blue bunny-themed pencil case, sat in the middle-front on his side of the desk. A pencil, a pen, a ruler and rubber, all perfectly aligned to his right with his textbook and notebook opened already out in front of him.

Not a single thing out of a place. Lan Wangji himself, ramrod straight and eyes focused.

Wei Ying on the other hand is the complete opposite. He is the incarnation of chaos.

No pencil case in sight, just whatever pen or pencil he happened to find floating around in the deep depths of his bag; only hoping it works and hasn’t leaked. Textbook: non-existent. Notebook: crumbled, creased, and covered in doodles and his chicken-scratch handwriting. Even his uniform was missing his school-issued tie and jumper.

It is laughable how different they are.

Wei Ying zones out the moment the teacher opens their mouth. Drowning on about something, something, political structures. Blah, blah, bureaucracy, blah, blah, economic factors. He is by far more interested in Lan Wangji’s profile. Plus, it is subjects Wei Ying already knows, things set to be on their upcoming tests that he can say with full confidence, he will pass with flying colours. Which never goes down well with Jiang Cheng.

It isn’t that Wei Ying doesn’t study, he does, probably not nearly as much as Jiang Cheng and yet he still always manages to come out top of their class. Jiang Cheng will buckle down and study till his nose bleeds, and still only  manage to scrape in the top five. Wei Ying has tried to flunk a few tests in the past to help his brother and free himself from the wrath of Yu-ayi, but that never worked out. Jiang Cheng had clocked on relatively quickly and that only made him angrier.

Either way it is easier now, less forced competition between the brothers living with their a-jie and her shiny peacock of a husband.

With his elbow on the desk and his cheek resting against his palm; Wei Ying drowns out the teacher’s lecture and opts to doodle instead. Gaze flickering over to Lan Wangji more often than not. Even whilst listening and taking notes, Lan Wangji’s posture never falters, his face unreadable; it is as impeccable as his handwriting.

Wei Ying is in awe.

He had attempted to spark up a conversation before class, despite Huaisang’s words, but just as he had expected, nothing changed. Lan Wangji remained focused, unwavering and silent, and nothing seemed to get through that. However, there had been a moment, a split second, short enough that it could have been all in his head of hopeful thinking, but when Wei Ying referred to his pencil case as ‘cute’—Lan Wangji’s lip may have moved one tenth of a fraction. Possibly.

Probably not.

As he watches and sketches, Wei Ying tries to think of what the reasoning may be to Lan Wangji’s quiet façade. Nie Huaisang was as helpful as chilli oil without the spice. Yes he learned his so-called best friend kind of – sort of – grew up with his new desk mate, that their elder brothers were childhood best friends. But that tells him nothing really. He tries to see what Huaisang meant by saying the boy was scary, but no matter how long he stares, he can’t see it.

Wei Ying turns his focus back to his sketch of a rather funny interpretation of Jiang Cheng as an angry grape. He has to keep himself from snickering so as not to attract the teacher’s ire. Jiang Cheng will totally kill him for this, but it is far too funny; maybe he’ll set it as his new contact photo.

By the end of the day, he has done nothing more than a few lines and a whole bunch of new doodles to show off to his siblings, and even a few sketches of bunnies. Maybe he could show—the bell rings and once more, before even fully turning in his seat, Lan Wangji is gone.

Wei Ying sighs. If he is going to find a way to get Lan Wangji to like him, he needs a plan. A solid, fool-proof plan. Nie Huaisang telling him it was a pointless endeavour has only made him that much more curious. He will find a way to make that stone face crack; to make Lan Wangji like him.

Whatever it takes.

Nothing is working. Two weeks has already gone by, and Wei Ying still hasn’t managed to get anything more than a few irritated side glances.

Every day he would come in, say hello, talk about what he had been up to and moan about whatever homework they’d been assigned. He told him about his brother’s stupidity, and gushed about his jiejie’s perfect cooking. “Oh, have I told you about her lotus root and pork rib soup yet, Lan Wangji? You’ll have to try it one day! It’s the best thing in the whole world!”

Anything and everything. But still, nothing.

On one of the days, Wei Ying didn’t even bother to try and invite Lan Wangji to lunch, instead, he waited until the other was out the door before hastily following after him. When they weren’t in class, Wei Ying never saw him out and about. Not in the canteen, nor the courtyard, or any of the usual spaces students liked to hangout between lessons.

Dodging between the bustling students—Lan Wangji is half a head taller than him, and he himself is taller than the average seventeen-year-old—making the other out wasn’t the issue, it was how quickly he moved. How swiftly he slipped through growing crowds, somehow running without running. By the time he reached the end of the corridor, Lan Wangji was gone.

He repeated this the following day, and the day after that, and after that. Lan Wangji was elusive as a fox in the night, or like snowfall on a wet winter’s day. There one minute and gone the next.

It is Friday and self-study; Wei Ying has already completed the majority of his homework assignments, but his advanced maths is giving him grief. He is locked in a staring competition with one of the questions, stumped, scratching his head with the end of his pencil after having scribbled out equation after equation. Wei Ying is stubborn and refuses to let it best him, but no matter  how many times he goes over it, the answers aren’t simply adding up.

Just as he is about ready to tear his hair out, a slip of paper slides across the tabletop. He looks up in surprise, catching Lan Wangji as he turns back to his own work.

Wei Ying looks at the piece of paper, and written out in flawless handwriting is a detailed explanation on how to find the answer. Lan Wangji must have been watching him, likely having at least grown tired of him grumbling to himself, but it means Lan Wangji was also, actually paying attention to him.

Wei Ying can’t believe it and beams. “Ahh thank you! Thank you, er-gege!” He repeats over and over. Lan Wangji doesn’t look over at him, simply offering a gentle nod. Everything flows easier after that, and the smile doesn’t leave his face once.

It isn’t much, but it was progress, and Wei Ying will take it.

Over the weekend Wei Ying hoped that the little interaction he and Lan Wangji had wouldn't be a fluke. He walks into homeroom Monday morning, quickening his steps. “Hi, er-gege!” 

Lan Wangji nods back and Wei Ying feels elated. 

However, his luck in good things happening to him isn’t to last. So, by mid-week, Wei Ying finds himself walking out the old goat’s office with a week's worth of detentions. Both at lunch and after school. 

It’s bullshit. It isn’t even his fault. He didn’t even start it…He certainly ended it, however.

Wen Chao and his group of bumbling buffoons are a bunch of grade-A assholes. What was Wei Ying meant to have done when he watched him trip over a first-year, food flying everywhere, and proceed to pour flavoured milk over them as “punishment” for dirtying his uniform. Laughing as the poor kid’s bottom lip trembled and tears rolled down his cheek.

Jiang Cheng tried holding him back, barking that it wasn’t his business and to leave it be.

He couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

One punch to the nose, and Wen Chao went down like a sack of shit.

Wen Chao got suspended and Wei Ying is currently on his way to the school library to start his week-long stint of torture. Who even gives lines as punishment these days? Honestly, Wei Ying is starting to believe that old man Lan really is far older than he is letting on.

“See you later Chengcheng, love you!” Wei Ying teases, shouting over his shoulder. Jiang Cheng throws up his middle finger, and Wei Ying walks across the courtyard laughing. When his brother is out of sight, he drops jiejie a message, letting her know what’s happened, that he is going to be home late and sorry for once again causing trouble

He reaches the set of large double doors when his phone goes off. He chuckles.

Jiejie 🪷

> You’re not even a month into the term, didi.

Followed by.

> I’ll have your favourite waiting.

This isn't the first time Wei Ying has landed himself in detention, or in trouble for fighting, and his sister certainly doesn’t condone it. But Wei Ying also never fights without reason. jiejie always makes sure he sees punishment and acknowledges he was in the wrong; she will give him a stern talking to and tell him off—which to be honest is punishment enough, he hates letting his jiejie down—but she also never goes out of her way to punish him further. Jiang Yanli dislikes bullies just as much as he does.

He pockets his phone and opens the doors.

Wei Ying’s mood is instantly lifted. He believes it will be the dullest waste of an evening, sat in a stuffy old library, surrounded by nothing but rows and rows of boring books and being watched by the miserable lady who runs the main help desk. But when he enters, the desk is empty. The entire place is empty, all for one.

Old Man Qiren did say he would be having someone watch over his detentions, but Wei Ying hadn’t expected it to be Lan Wangji. Then again, he isn’t sure why he is all that surprised. Lan Wangji is, if not for the most part, a rigid, rule-abiding fuddy duddy, that despite not saying a single word has managed to build a reputation. Break even a minor infraction in front of the boy and you damn well bet a teacher will hear about it.

He is occupying one of the tables towards the back, right in front of the window that stretches from floor to ceiling. The whole day has been gloomy, and nothing but a depressing grey filters through the clear glass.

Maybe he should have taken the spare umbrella this morning.

All this, however, isn’t going to dampen his mood. Wei Ying skips over and drops down in the seat directly opposite Lan Wangji. “Well, fancy seeing you here!”

Lan Wangji continues to read his textbook.

“So, the old goat –” Wei Ying taps his mouth, catching himself, and chuckles nervously. “I mean, I see Lan Laoshi has you on babysitting duty then.” 

Wei Ying is used to the lack of replies by this point, the one-sided conversations, not expecting a reply to come and in honesty, he doesn’t really mind. At least no one is going to tell him to shut up.

He sets his bag down on the chair beside him and leans across the table, trying to get a look-in on what Lan Wangji is reading. But Lan Wangji carefully closes the book and Wei Ying slumps back in his seat with a pout.

“Aiya, why are you always so mean to this one? I just wanted to see what you were reading. It doesn’t look like anything we are studying in class, and we share, what?” He looks down, thinking and counting out each class on his fingers,” Oh wait, do we share all the same classes? Thinking about it, we don’t share art class. Does that mean you’re studying music instead?”

When the new year began, they were given a choice; a split between two classes. They could either take arts and art history, or music and music history. Wei Ying loved art. It is one of the only classes he really loses himself in, so he hasn’t even noticed the lack of the quiet boy.

“That’s really cool! I can totally take you for the musical type. What do you play? Hmm, I bet I can guess,” Wei Ying taps his chin. “Violin? No, no, um, oh piano? Yeah, I can see you playing the piano! I can play the dizi, not very well, I mean probably not as good as you’re playing but Nie Huaisang—oh, you know Nie Huaisang don’t you? He said your brothers are friends? That’s so weird. Not like them being friends weird but, like me and Huaisang, oh and Jiang Cheng—that’s my brother by the way. I’m adopted, so different last names—anyway, we’ve been best friends since our first year and it’s strange we’ve never met before.”

Wei Ying’s ramblings are cut off when Lan Wangji places a brand-new notebook in front of him, as well as a white book; plain and boring with nothing but the words written in black, ‘Cloud Recesses: The Lan Book of Righteousness. Rules and Code of Conduct’.

“Uhh…what’s this?”  Wei Ying asks, confusion in his voice.

Lan Wangji simply hands over a piece of paper. On it are the printed instructions outlining Wei Ying’s full punishment.

“Wait, what?!” Wei Ying all but shouts. “What do you – what do you mean I have to copy this book in its entirety? Lan Wangji, you can’t be serious? There has got to be at least five-thousand rules in here.” 

Wei Ying stares at the other boy who does nothing but go back to his own readings.

“This isn’t fair! You can’t expect me to write all of this in  a week? That’s impossible. No, more than impossible…is there a word for something more than impossible? Look…can’t I just do extra homework or something?”

Lan Wangji turns a page.

“All I did was punch Wen Chao, what? Once? And he totally deserved it!”

But Lan Wangji doesn’t rise to his whining and cries of unfairness. Wei Ying doesn’t even know why he is even bothering, when every other attempt at communicating with the boy is met with an ice wall. Even throughout their first shared evening, Lan Wangji doesn’t take the bait, no matter how hard Wei Ying tries. And he tries. A lot.

Ultimately in the end, he gives in, and his week of misery begins.

It turns out, however, that Lan Wangji won’t be in charge of all his set detentions. During the lunchtime portion of his punishment, a teacher has been assigned the diligent duty. Yet, said teacher spends the entire hour, mouth agape and snoring away. Wei Ying misses spending the free time with his friends but thankfully he only has copying to do otherwise he will have gotten no work done with a foghorn in the room.

Lan Wangji is nowhere to be seen and it makes Wei Ying wonder where the other boy spends his lunch.

“Aiya! I don’t know which one will come first: my hand falling off or dying of boredom,” he whines as he slumps forward, dropping his forehead down on the desk—the thump echoing. “Come on, can’t we do something else? Something fun? It’s the last and look,” Wei Ying sits up and thrusts out the notebook. “I’ve practically finished, see.” Page after page filled with his chicken scratch. So close—he is so damn close to being finished.

“Come ooooon,” he whines, sounding like a three-year-old. “My hands are cramping, soon I’m gonna lose all feeling and that will be entirely your fault! We’ve been at this for hours already!”

It hasn’t in fact been hours; he hadn’t even managed a quarter of an hour before his complaints started. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Wei Ying has lost count how many of the Lan school precepts he has managed to copy. Line after line of dos and do nots. A lot of them are blatant common sense, a lot of them are damn right stupid. But there are certainly a few he can definitely twist in his favour. So there is at least some light at the end of the long dark tunnel.

He continues to write, line after line; an aching pain in his wrist as his fingers cramp. But it has already been over a week. Despite the close proximity to Lan Wangji—during class and here in the library—Wei Ying has only managed to garner the odd glare or crease of paper where the former’s grip would tighten. Not even a small ‘mm’. He can mope and whine all he wants, but Lan Wangji never responds. Verbally, at least.

He is no closer to sparking up a friendship than he had been on the first day. Further away in fact. But he refuses to believe Jiang Cheng and he will prove his little brother wrong.

The sun is already low, peeking between the clouds and sitting below the treelines. A myriad of warmth cut through the dreary autumn sky, and Wei Ying has finally finished. There is nothing left for him to copy, but there is still time left. Given Lan Wangji’s lack of capability to bend the rules even minutely, Wei Ying doesn’t even bother to mention it.

He pushes the Lan precepts-filled notebook off to the side in favour of his own sketchbook. If he has nothing better to do—he rests his elbow on the desk, palm cupping his cheek; from where Wei Ying sits, he has the perfect profile view of Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying watches as Lan Wangji’s eyes drift across the pages of his book, noticing the slight tilt of his head as he reads; the way his finger slowly brushes the edge of the pages. How his jade skin warms under the orange glow of the setting sun, and for a fleeting moment, watches those honeyed-brown eyes turn to a golden fire-light.

Beautiful.

Wei Ying’s own eyes widened. With the drawn-out silence, the sound of his thumping heartbeat becomes all the more louder—just that bit more obvious. He shakes his head to push away the intruding thought and quickly diverts his gaze elsewhere. Wei Ying is a known flirt, shameless with it, but he also isn’t blind, and Lan Wangji is by far more beautiful than any of the girls he has ever seen.

An idea comes to mind.

“Hey, Lan Wangji!” Wei Ying cheerfully calls as he rocks back and forth on his toes, hands crossed behind his back. “Lan Wangji?” Quickly his smile slips, his bottom lip pushes out pathetically. “Don’t ignore me, look, I just wanna give you something.” 

Wei Ying is starting to believe that maybe Lan Wangji can’t actually hear him.

“Lan Wangji.” Nothing. “Lan er-gonzi…Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan stills and turns towards him; brows pinched and stares at him with indignation.

“Hehe, that got your attention! Lan Zhan. Laaan Zhaaan. Hmm, I like it!” Lan Zhan hasn’t been fast enough, and Wei Ying has managed to catch a glimpse of his name neatly penned at the top of the page. The innocent way he flutters his lashes is of no help; Lan Zhan’s piercing glare doesn’t fade.

“Aiya, don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault you were ignoring me.” He pouts. “It’s our last day together, Lan Zhan, and I know you’ll miss me dearly, so I made you something.” The pseudo sadness disappears instantly when he settles the sketch down on the book Lan Zhan was reading.

Oh, it was poetry. Cute.

Lan Zhan picks up the piece of paper, and Wei Ying waits. The stoic boy just stares; not blinking, not moving, just staring.

“It’s nothing really, probably childish, but I had nothing else to do so.” It is a drawing of Lan Zhan; instead of being in the library surrounded by overused books and aging wood, he is sitting in a field—a bunny in his hands instead of a book. It isn’t Wei Ying’s best work—those are reserved exclusively for his jiejie—but he is rather pleased with it.

It wasn’t even meant to be anything noteworthy, just something to pass the time. Something to initially act as a distraction.

But then; Wei Ying’s breath catches. It is minute, tiny, barely even there, and infinitesimal in the way of movement. But it is there. Lan Zhan is…

“You’re smiling!” His own cheeks grow plump, all teeth, and eyes crease from how widely his own smile grows. Finally! After weeks and weeks of nothing more than stoic stares and frosted glares.

It isn’t to last, however. Lan Zhan’s smile drops quicker than a rock in water the second he says anything. He can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. But it is something and Wei Ying can’t help feeling warm knowing he made Lan Zhan smile. As short as it was.

An erotic magazine laid useless in his backpack—completely forgotten.

“Well? What do you think? You smiled so you must like it, er-gege. Was it the bunnies? You like bunnies. I mean I think you do at least,” he taps at his chin in thought. “All your stationary has adorable little bunnies on them. I like them too…boiled isn’t too bad but roasted is definitely the best! ”

Lan Zhan clearly doesn’t find it very funny, because before he can say anything, Lan Zhan is up and quickly packing away his things. Jaw-set and scowling at the books as if they had been the ones to personally offend him.

It wasn’t his intention to upset him; he was messing about, it was only meant to be a joke.

“Oh don’t go Lan Zhan, it was just a joke, I won’t actually eat the cute little bunnies…even if they are tasty.” He teases—which, probably isn’t the best thing to have said as Lan Zhan’s frown darkens. Wei Ying holds up his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay, no more bunny jokes. But aren’t you breaking your own rules? We still have…” he looks over to the clock hanging on the wall and oh, is it that time already? “Hey wait!”

Lan Zhan is already walking past him and heading towards the doors, ignoring all his calls and cries for him to hold up. He hastily tries gathering all his belongings, though with a lot less order and decorum; not caring if papers crease or books bent, Wei Ying quickly shoves it all in his backpack. “Ahh!” He panics. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Wait for…” he turns, arms full, but the door is already closing behind him.

The doors close with a heavy thud and Wei Ying sigs in defeat. Shoulders slumping, the loose papers fall out of his open bag. After weeks he actually believed he was finally getting somewhere. Making and seeing Lan Zhan smile—but his big, stupid mouth had to go and ruin it all.

Maybe Jiang Cheng was right after all.

Detention is over. There are no more one-on-one moments with Lan Zhan and Wei Ying doesn’t really fancy spending another week in the gloomy library, copying more of the Lan’s ridiculously long list of rules. He would just have to find a different way—if Lan Zhan doesn’t already hate him that is.

With another heavy sigh, he repacks his bag and heads out.

The gravel crunches beneath Wei Ying as he walks, dragging his feet along and kicking the stray stones, watching as they skim across the parking lot. It isn’t enough to rid him of his sour mood, but it helps—as did the thought of going home to jiejie’s pork rib and lotus soup. His mouth waters and belly rumbles, and he picks up the pace.

He turns the corner and freezes. Off in the distance, standing beside a parked car is Lan Zhan. But he isn’t alone. The other person is taller, older; a small frown settled on his brows as he talks, and it is rather eerie how similar they look. There are subtle and obvious differences, but the two could very easily pass off for twins.

So that must be Lan Zhan’s older brother, Lan Xichen.

One of the very obvious differences being, Lan Xichen is talking, and rather animated too. From where Wei Ying is standing, he can’t make out what they are saying. In honesty, it is a rather strange sight, seeing Lan Zhan engage with someone who isn’t his uncle. Even then in those short glimpses, the relationship between the two always feel more brief—a teacher and a student, rather than an uncle and a nephew. It is nice. He just hopes whatever it is they are discussing, it isn’t about him. He can’t be having Lan Zhan’s older brother disliking him before he’s even had a chance of actually befriending him. 

He keeps watching. His bike’s locked up on the other side of the parking lot, he won’t need to pass them but something—something about the situation catches his attention.

Wei Ying is hyper; he fidgets, he can barely sit still for more than a minute and Jiang Cheng is always on his ass for it. When he talks, his hands move, waving them about to go along with whatever or wherever the conversation is going. Sometimes it is intentional, sometimes he will do it without thinking. It helps . This though; the movements are clean, structured, and flow with practiced ease. Quick combination of different motions and Lan Zhan watches intently.

Sign language.

Lan Xichen isn’t being expressive like Wei Ying is when he talks, but actually because he is talking to Lan Zhan with sign language. Though Lan Xichen still verbally speaks as he signs, Lan Zhan replies with hand movements only, and it all seems natural, comfortable, something that is completely normal for them.

Wei Ying is in awe. It is fascinating and he can’t look away. Where he is standing, the chances of the Lan brothers spotting him practically spying on them are slim, so he stands there and watches. Following along and  trying his hand at trying to work out what they are talking about, but he doesn’t know the first thing about sign, or lip reading—faces, however—and right now,  the more Lan Zhan replies, the more Lan Xichen’s face twists in concern.

Wei Ying cringes. Again, he really hopes it isn’t about him.

He stays the duration they do. Mesmerised, and strangely, slightly jealous. Watching Lan Xichen talk to Lan Zhan with such ease, there’s a clear understanding between the two, and Wei Ying wants that. Not the years of brotherly bond—he has that with his own—but the closeness, the comfortability. To have Lan Zhan reply to him when he asks him a question, to have him say or sign hello and goodbye. He wants to sit and talk in detail about anything and everything. Even if it is with their hands.

Ask him why he likes rabbits so much. What kind of poetry does he like? With romance or tragedy? Does he enjoy more than just poetry? Music? TV? A favourite musician or artist? Wei Ying oddly wants to know it all.

Something warm and weird twists in his stomach. But the good kind.

He isn’t sure why Lan Zhan uses sign, and he doesn’t want to presume. The first thought was that he was hard of hearing, but he never noticed hearing aids and he sat with him at the back of the class. Wei Ying knows that doesn’t tell him shit, and not everything was immediately visible.

Either way, no matter the reason, Wei Ying knows of a way to communicate with Lan Zhan now. He just needs to learn how.

With a toothy smile, he turns on his heels and makes his way to the sheds. Thankfully he and Jiang Cheng rode their bikes in together that morning. He has a plan and with no time to waste, he unlocks his bike and races home.  

Wei Ying can’t wait. Buzzing with excitement, he kicks off his shoes and heads straight to his room. Jiang Cheng is likely in his own room, jiejie in the kitchen cooking dinner, and he couldn’t care less where the peacock is; hopefully they are all absorbed in their own thing to disturb him on his mission.

He isn’t sure exactly why it has him all giddy and a buzz with energy, but after weeks of trying to get Lan Zhan’s attention, he finally, possibly, may have found a way.

Not bothering to change, he grabs his laptop off the desk and flops onto his bed. Legs crossed, he grabs his backpack and takes out the paper bag filled with the items he has acquired.

On the ride home; the route he takes has him passing by a couple of shops, and there is one particularly quaint little book and stationary store he frequents for new art supplies. Luckily, Wei Ying still had some of his month’s allowance left, and it should be more than enough to get what he needed. There was an added something too that caught his eye, screaming for his attention; how could he say no?

The blue and white set peeking out its brown paper bag; Wei Ying bites his lip and smiles. A strange giddiness bubbles in his stomach and a warmth prickles beneath his skin at the picture of seeing Lan Zhan’s face when he gives it to him. He is incredibly inpatient and the more he thinks about it the more he wants to give the gift to Lan Zhan right away, but he has to wait. Lan Zhan won’t accept anything from him right now, especially not after how things were left. No, he needs to wait. It only adds to Wei Ying’s nervousness, but he revels in the warmth that blooms throughout his chest.

With the new notebook laid out in front of him, his laptop ready; Wei Ying gets to work.

The moment Lan Wangji passes through those double doors, he instantly knows the mistake he has made. The air is thick and stuffy, breathless and humid from the collection of bodies that allies around the store. It is considerably more busy than he had anticipated it to be and what he is comfortable with. But he has delayed coming for as long as possible and today is the last day he has left.

He had brought a book a few weeks back, only for the following day Mingjue-ge handed him the exact same copy as a gift. “I saw it whilst I was out with Huaisang; thought it’d be something you’d enjoy.”

It was a very kind gesture. So he nodded, thanked him and neglected to tell him he had already precured himself a copy already. It was of no issue to return his own copy without everyone being none-the-wiser. That’s how he finds  himself in the store, on a busy Saturday, practically body to body with tens of strangers.

Lan Wangji stands in the long queue, reciting the remaining tasks he has left on his list, over and over: return book, Uncle’s tea, guqin strings, and meet brother. A small mantra in his head to help filter out—everything—and try to calm his rapidly rising nerves.

His headphones have died. Minutes into the store, the peaceful lull of classical Chinese guqin suddenly cut off, and the noise cancelling effects disappeared. It was like a wave against cliffs during a storm; everything crashed into him all at once and he had frozen.  

There isn’t much more he needed to do and then he could return home, get out of these clothes, tune out the world, and decompress. But simply standing in the line awaiting his turn is seeming to become  too hard of a task.

He can hear everything. Feel everything. Smell everything. Yet, there is everything and nothing all at once. Lan Wangji’s head is overwhelmingly loud but there is nothing there, hollow yet heavy as he can’t get anything in order; he can’t even think what he needs to think. Noise and lights. People and smells.

His skin feels tight; prickly and clammy under his clothes, which in themselves are too restricting. Having chosen something soft, loose, and airy; something he knew he would be comfortable in, and still it feels wrong against his skin.

It is all too much. Too loud. So overbearingly loud. Why are they standing too close? There is ringing, someone shouting; why can he feel his own heartbeat?

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—wait, where is he? He stands there, staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, face unresponsive—blank and as cold as clear-cut jade—the world works around him, unknowing and completely blinded by the storming turmoil raging in his head.

His mind is screaming for him to leave, crying out for help but the call will go unanswered because he didn’t know, he didn’t know, he didn’t know.

Someone bumps into him as they go past, causing him to stagger slightly. The stranger grabs him to help steady him—too close, they are too close. Their breath unpleasantly warm with the lingering scent of coffee, and they smell of cheap cologne that is vastly overpowering.

“Shit, my bad dude, sorry.” The guy pats him on the shoulder, then leaves. Lan Wangji can still feel the ghost of his grip and he hates it.

He tries to take a deep breath. In for four, out for four; again—just as his brother taught him. In for four. Out for four.

It isn’t working, and he can feel the rising itch of electricity trailing up his spine: his neck, his arms, building and building with no way to release it. He really hates stimming in public. He has tried in the past, when out with his brother—or on occasion, his uncle—but it felt too big, too obvious. The feeling everyone’s eyes were on him, feeling like heavy weights or sharp pins.

The line is moving, and he is next.

Someone behind him is on the phone, laughing and talking louder than would be deemed respectable. Children are running around, shouting and screaming whilst their adults stand by chatting and paying little to no mind. Loud voices and crying pierce through the thin cushions of his headphones. Despite having died, they still act as somewhat of a buffer, even if it isn’t much help. It is something.

In for four. Out for four.

Lan Wangji really does try to focus but it is though his body is no longer his own, as though being controlled and moving instinctively. His brain hides him away, being no more than the eyes, and subconsciously doing what needs to be done. Following the list; keep to routine.

Another phone is ringing.

A high-pitched squeal.

His ears are buzzing and there is a dull throbbing behind his eyes.

The lights are too bright.

It is too hot, too stuffy; the air heavy and thick.

It is too hard to breathe—to think.

He needs to get out. He needs to leave. Now. Now. Now.

“Can I help?”

The whirling chaos stops. 

Lan Wangji stares at the clerk who stands behind the counter. His face impassive, and stature ramrod straight; monotonous, expressionless, and simply unreadable. Seemingly rude to the majority.

He does not reply, placing the book on the counter and laying the receipt on top of it.

“Yeah?” The clerk waits a beat and Lan Wangji just stares. “And what’d you want me to do with that? I ain’t a mind reader,” the clerk rolls his eyes, and he can feel the nausea rolling in his stomach.

He has no words, no voice; even when he wants to, nothing can come out. Sentences and conversation would happen fluidly in his head, but his tongue and his mouth would not move.

The majority of the time the employees will understand: take the receipt, or shopping and process it without any fanfare or the need to explain. Some think him rude and impolite, grumble about youngsters these day with their lack of manners or respect for their elders. They just went about their job.

Then there are times like these.

“I ain’t got all day, what d’you want?”

His phone. He could; he fumbles slightly with his bag, trying to get the phone out of the pocket but the clerk is not giving him a moment. “I’ve got a whole line and don’t have time. So you gonna tell me or what?”

Lan Wangji can hear people grumbling behind him. One person shouting about the hold up. Clear voices of irritation grows and everything is closing in. He is starting to shake, black clouding the corners of his vision, and his hearing is starting to muffle.

“You deaf kid or what? Look. Either tell me or move.”

He tries. This morning he had spoken with his brother before he left. Having a small, light conversation—he had done that. But outside, with strangers, with those he is not comfortable with; no matter how much he tries, or forces himself, Lan Zhan remains wordless.

“Right kid, I’ve had enough. Next!” The clerk shouts.

“I can help.”

Lan Zhan knows that voice.

Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is beside him, facing the clerk with a smile. Hair fastened into a ponytail with the red ribbon he always seems to favour, and instead of their school uniform, Wei Ying wears an oversized hoodie and skinny jeans. Ears decorated with piercings and a lack of coat are rather concerning. A light pat on his forearm draws his attention.

Lan Wangji’s heart skips. 

“/Are you wanting a refund, Lan Zhan?/” Wei Ying signs.

Wei Ying signed.

He can do nothing but stare blankly and nod.

Wei Ying smiles at him and turns back to the clerk. “Yeah, refund please.”

Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying avidly speaks to the clerk, apologising a few times but even with his enthusiastic and bubbly personality coming to help, nothing can placate the clerk’s seemingly terrible mood.

He is still too overwhelmed to follow along and comprehend what exactly is happening. But before he knows it, a hand is in his and he is being guided outside.

Wei Ying instinctively grabs for Lan Zhan’s hand to pull him outside, leading him down a side street and away from the bustling weekend crowds. It is quieter here; the smell isn’t exactly pleasant but at least they are alone. “That guy was such an asshole!” he complains as they come to a stop. “Like seriously, what was that guy’s problem?”

Bumping into Lan Zhan had been a complete coincidence. Normally he would still be curled up in bed and dead to the world, but he was out shopping with his siblings. jiejie suggesting they have a day whilst the peacock was busy doing whatever boring thing the peacock did. And he had somehow managed to get distracted, get lost, and wander off.

He hadn’t realised what was happening at first, hearing the commotion and people complaining; it wasn’t till he caught sight of Lan Zhan—face paled and hands shaking—that he ran over.

Honestly he wanted to punch the guy in the face. What was so difficult for him to understand? Book, receipt, done. It was clear what Lan Zhan had wanted, words or not.

“Hey, are you – ”

Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him, he is staring at where they are holding hands. Wei Ying hadn’t even thought; in the moment, all he could think about was getting Lan Zhan out of there that he didn’t even realise. “Oh,” he chuckles nervously, pulling his hand away. “Sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t move; eyes remain fixed on the ground in front of him, and Wei Ying isn’t sure what to do. There was only one thing running through his mind at the time, and it was to get Lan Zhan the hell out of there. He could see something wasn’t right, could see Lan Zhan’s hands shaking and knuckles white with strain. But a panic is soon filling him and wondering whether he did the right thing at all. That maybe, he is shoving his nose where it doesn’t belong. The whole library detention debacle was weeks ago, but Lan Zhan hasn’t exactly been forthcoming in his bids for friendship since. Maybe he really is still mad at him?

/You know sign?/

Wei Ying startles. There is a beat. “What?”

/Sign. You know how to sign./ Lan Zhan repeats himself, and all the worry instantly drains away because Wei Ying can’t help but smile

“Yep!” He replies enthusiastically. “Well, kinda. I’m still learning and stuff. I have all the basics down and think I could hold a pretty decent conversation now. But there is a still a lot I am trying to figure out, and –”

/How?/

Wei Ying cocks his head. “How, what?”

/How do you know sign language?/

“I’m teaching myself!” He puffs out his chest, beaming with pride. 

/Why?/

“Why? Because I wanted to be your friend.” He says, as though the sentiment isn’t obvious. “I mean, I didn’t do intentionally or anything, and I wasn’t spying on you, it was a complete accident I swear but…after detention I saw you with your brother and that you were using sign, and well I don’t know if it’s been obvious or not, but I really wanted—or want because you know, I still do, wanna be your friend, so I thought I’d…learn.”

Lan Zhan is stunned. No one has ever done anything like that for him before; besides his uncle and brother. When people realise he is non-verbal, they tend to just leave him alone; see him as far too much effort and not worth trying. But Wei Ying—Wei Ying wanted to be his friend so much, he learnt a whole other language for him.

A strange feeling nestles in Lan Zhan’s chest.

/Thank you, Wei Ying./

It shouldn’t be possible, but Wei Ying’s smile grows bigger and brighter.

“/You’re welcome!/” He replies, using both sign and talking. He finds it easier, more natural that way. Even with a silent language; Wei Ying can’t stop talking. “/Are you feeling better now?/”

Before Lan Zhan can reply, his phone starts ringing. It has been buzzing away for a while, but he’s been ignoring it in favour of helping Lan Zhan. He huffs, “Sorry Lan Zhan.” Digging his phone out and cringes when he sees his brother’s name flash on screen.

Wei Ying answers. “Jia-“

“Where the fuck are you? Me and a-jie have been looking everywhere for you for the past half an hour!” He winces, pulling the phone away from his ear as Jiang Cheng barks nearly burst his eardrum.

“I got lost. I didn’t mean to you know.”

“Lost? What are you? A fucking child? How do you get lost?”

“Hey! Don’t be mean,” he pouts. “Yingying is only three!”

“God, you’re fucking weird. Whatever. We’re getting food now, a-jie’s hungry and I’m done looking for you.”

“Rude! What if I had been kidnapped? Or worse! Attacked by a pack of rabid dogs!”

“They can have you. Hurry up!” 

Okay, mean. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” Wei Ying sighs, hangs up, and ignores the text that comes through seconds later.

He needs to go; selfishly he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay with Lan Zhan. But his siblings are waiting for him, and Lan Zhan does certainly look far better, but a paleness still clings to his cheeks and Wei Ying can’t just leave him alone. “Hey Lan Zhan, I need to go but um, is there someone I could call for you? Your brother?”

After a bit, Wei Ying doesn’t think he will get a reply, when Lan Zhan signs.

/I am meant to be meeting my brother soon./

“/Do you want me to call him for you?/”

Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Ying can’t help but notice the light blushing of pink at the tips of his ears. Cute.

Lan Zhan gives him the number; he speaks to a rather confused, then worried Lan Xichen, and waits. Soon enough a car pulls up.

“Didi, are you okay?”

“The dude working in the store was a complete asshole! I can understand it was busy but how difficult was it to understand what Lan Zhan was saying? Well, ha, not saying but anyway. Lan Zhan had a bit of a panic, but he seems better now.” The question isn’t meant for him, but he answers it anyway.

Lan Xichen is stunned for a moment, looking his little brother over; who certainly does look better than he has come to expect and seemingly unfazed by the other boys loud mouth and profane language.

“Did he hurt him?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Oh no no no, just being a complete jerk.”

Relief washes over Lan Xichen’s face. “That is good at least. Either way, thank you, Wei Wuxian.”

“How do you –” Another buzz rings in his pocket. Then another. “Ah, sorry! That’s my brother, I’ve got to go.” Wei Ying smiles at the brothers and then to Lan Zhan, “/I’m glad you’re okay! I’ll see you Monday, Lan Zhan/.” and he runs off.  

Wei Ying never liked Mondays. It meant the weekend was over and he had to redo the whole week again back at school. This Monday, however, is different. With his whole body thrumming with excitement, he doesn’t even wait for Jiang Cheng, instead he grabs his backpack and leaves. Ignoring Jiang Cheng’s tired, angry calls from behind him.

He gets on his bike and rides the short distance to school, ignoring the gloomy grey clouds overhead, and the light drizzle of rainfall left lingering from the early morning’s downpour. Wei Ying loves this time of year. The fading ways the colours change, the warm sun on his skin but the crisp wind against his cheeks; the earthy sweet smell that comes from damp decaying leaves. His jiejie’s warm soups!

It is still early, and definitely early enough that walking past a couple of his classmates raises a few eyebrows.

He smiles and waves and skips over to the empty classroom. Lan Zhan never explicitly stated that they were now friends, but this could be the start, and Wei Ying is the most hopeful he has been in weeks.

He spots Lan Zhan through the window, seated alone at their shared desk, everyone else still lingering with their friends before the first bell rings.

Wei Ying has checked his bag multiple times before he left, making sure the brown paper bag is—yep! Most definitely still in there. He can’t help but smile, and he walks into the room, “Lan Zhan!” He calls cheerfully, bumbling his way over to the desk, nearly slipping in the process as he takes his seat. “Good morning!”

Lan Zhan stares at him, puzzlement creasing his usually stoic features. Eyes running the length of him, drifting over and studying Wei Ying’s rumpled form. He has been under Lan Zhan’s fierce gaze before, but something feels slightly different this time.

/Good morning, Wei Ying/. Lan Zhan finally signs.

Wei Ying can’t help but beam; eyes crinkling and all teeth.  

“/How are you feeling? Did you get home okay? How was the rest of your weekend? Did you know your brother looks just like you, but more…smiley./” He hurriedly signs, hands trying to keep up with his spewing rambles.

/Fine. Yes. Okay. I did./

Wei Ying waits for Lan Zhan to expand on that, but he doesn’t; he simply turns back to the textbook he was revising. Wei Ying chuckles, he can practically perfectly picture how Lan Zhan were to sound if he spoke. Straight-to-the-point and monotonal. “That's all? You’re not going to tell me how you are? Or what you got up to?” He asks, cocking his head.

/I answered what you asked/. 

“Yeah but…” He can see the confusion set in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Aiya, never mind. You’re such a fuddy-duddy, Lan Zhan." He shakes his head. “Oh, I forgot to – ”

The first ring of laughter and loud voices begin trickling in, and like a switch, Lan Zhan goes back to his stiff, solemn self and back to blanking him. He can always talk to him later, he thinks.

Hours tickle by like seconds. His lids feel like lead, and each blink feels like sandpaper. He wants to study some more sign before seeing Lan Zhan today, but that seems to have been his mistake. He grabs a piece of paper and begins fiddling; folding the edges over and over, letting the teacher's voice drift into background noise.

It is a bunny. A cute origami bunny.

With the teacher’s back to the class, he bounces the little bunny over to Lan Zhan until it is perched on the edge of his notes. Lan Zhan stops writing midsentence and stares, before turning to him. Wei Ying smiles. /Do you like it?/ He signs discreetly.

Lan Zhan nods.

“Wei Wuxian!” Wei Ying startles and faces back to the front, missing the adorable way Lan Zhan tenderly caresses his new folded friend, and slips him into his pencil case.

Before Lan Zhan has an opportunity to escape, Wei Ying quickly blurts out, “Lunch!” Loud enough that it catches the attention of some of their classmates, who start laughing at him. Jiang Cheng included—who has spent the majority of their last period drilling daggers into the side of his head.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer and the worry is that it will be just like every other time he has asked. But maybe shouting the word at him isn’t much of an ask. “Lan Zhan, do you want to have lunch together?”

“Leave him alone, don’t you think –”

Lan Zhan nods .

The room is silent. 

“Wait, really?” Wei Ying asks, bewildered.

Lan Zhan awkwardly nods again, and Wei Ying is clearly unaware of all the eyes on them. 

“Great!” He waits until Lan Zhan places the last of his book in his bag before looping his arm in his. “Let’s go then! I’m starving,” Wei Ying cries, his stomach rumbling. In his rush this morning, he completely forgot about breakfast, and it feels like his stomach is about to start eating itself. “Oh, wait I forgot. I need to grab my lunch for the canteen. Where should I meet you?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t sign, instead where Wei Ying’s belongings are still left sprawled across his desk; he writes in his notebook. ‘Practice room 3 Music department’.

“Okay! I’ll see you in a minute then, Lan Zhan!” He smiles and watches Lan Zhan leave, disappearing through the slowly growing sea of students.

“Hey! What the fuck was that?” Jiang Cheng grabs him and turns him harshly.

“What the hell, Jiang Cheng? That hurts, you know.” He pouts pathetically, rubbing his arm.

“That. What was that? And why you calling him ‘Lan Zhan’ for? Since when were you two all buddy-buddy?”

“Awh, is my didi jealous?” Wei Ying teases.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “You think I’m jealous of that walking block of ice?”

“Don’t be rude, Jiang Cheng.”

“I’ve never even seen the guy’s eye so much as twitch. It's creepy.”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying snaps.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true. Lan Wangji is weird. He doesn’t talk, he walks around like he’s got a stick up his ass thinking he’s better than everyone else. Just because his uncle is the head. Only last week you were moaning about how he was ignoring you, and now what? You’re all suddenly fucking paly-paly with him?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Lan Wangji doesn’t like you.”

“Stop Jiang Cheng,” his tone drops. “You don’t even know him.”

“Neither do you!” Jiang Cheng barks; drawing more eyes their way. “You know what, whatever. Do what the fuck you want, Wei Wuxian.” Jiang Cheng walks towards him, shoulder checking him as he passes.

He looks over to Nie Huaisang in disbelief. Huaisang just shrugs, “I don’t know, I really don’t know Wei-Xiong.” And runs off after Jiang Cheng.

What the hell just happened?

 Jiang Cheng’s weird behaviour sticks with him; he can’t quite shake what his brother's problem is, what is he so angry for? Wei Ying knows he is going to have to talk to him at some point, but for now, he is finally spending lunch with Lan Zhan. So, this is where he hides away. He smiles, counting down the room numbers.

The door is closed but the faint, gentle lulls of a string melody manages to escape. There is a small window on the door, and Wei Ying takes a peak, finding Lan Zhan settled behind a seven-stringed qin; eyes closed, and perfectly poised as his fingers dance across the strings. Looking serene and the most comfortable Wei Ying has ever seen him.

As though sensing his presence, Lan Zhan stops playing, the music stills and he looks up.

Wei Ying beams and opens the door. “Lan Zhan!” He shouts. Which was probably a little too loud by the slight way Lan Zhan flinches. “Oops,” he cringes, instantly lowering his voice. “Sorry.” Sound must carry more in music rooms, he thinks.

He sits down at the low table, settling his lunch beside him so as not to get in Lan Zhan’s way. “Where’s your lunch? Would’ve thought you’d already started?” Wei Ying asks as he looks around, spotting Lan Zhan’s lunch on another low table in the corner.

Lan Zhan finishes wiping down the guqin’s strings; folding and placing the cloth next to him before he looks up and starts signing. /I like to play before I eat/.

“Oh, okay! Well, are you ready now or do you wanna play a little more?”

/We may eat/.

“Great! Because I’m starving!”

“How long have you been playing, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks around a mouthful; cheeks comically bulging like a hamster’s pockets stuffed with food.

Like every question he has asked so far, Lan Zhan remains unresponsive as he eats another piece of boiled tofu. With every piece Lan Zhan delicately places in his mouth, Wei Ying can’t help thinking how anyone could eat something so incredibly bland. Where was the flavour in any of his meals? There isn’t even a hint or a slight dusting of seasoning, and that truly pains him. Everything is just…beige.

Wei Ying’s own meal is currently drowning in the spiciest chili oils; the sight alone is enough to make a grown man cry.

It is clear he isn’t going to get any answers out of Lan Zhan till they finish eating. So, he shuts up and joins in the silence. Enjoying Lan Zhan’s company and the sounds of new rain tapping against the window.

/Since I was three/. Lan Zhan signs after having packed away his empty lunchbox.

“Wow! No wonder you’re amazing, Lan Zhan! I mean, I only heard a little bit, but it sounded really good. I don’t know much about music, I mean I used to play the dizi, and guess I still could if I tried,” he thinks, brushing the tip of his nose. “Oh! Maybe I can start playing again and we could play together, Lan Zhan, that would be so fun! What were you playing? I can look up if there’s any sheet music for wind instruments. It’s not something I recognise. Who taught you?” He leans forward with anticipation, excitement shining in his eyes.

Lan Zhan blinks, blinks, and blinks again. Taking in question after question, and detangling the spew of word vomit falling from Wei Ying’s mouth.

When the silence stretches and Lan Zhan’s hands remain neatly folded in his lap, he begins to worry…just a little bit. He isn’t stupid, and certainly not deaf; he knows he’s loud and at times overbearing, and for someone like Lan Zhan, it is like letting off a firework near a timid rabbit.

He had hoped that after Saturday and after Lan Zhan accepted his lunch invitation, that maybe they had finally become friends. Maybe Lan Zhan just thought he owed him, that this was nothing more than –

/My mother taught me/.

Or maybe he is simply overthinking. Again.

“/Your mother/?”

Lan Zhan nods.

“She must be amazing, Lan Zhan! What’s she like? I mean if she is anything like you, er-gege, she must be beautiful,” he teases playfully.

His smiling quickly fades, however, when he notices the subtle drop in Lan Zhan’s shoulders. The sudden dullness in his eyes seemed sad, almost—mournful.

Oh.

Nie Huaisang had mentioned his uncle, his brother—never a mother, or a father.

“I’m adopted!” Wei Ying suddenly blurts. “Jiang Cheng’s parents adopted me when I was eight. Apparently Jiang Shushu was my Baba’s best friend. They grew up together or something, I’m not really sure, Jiang Shushu didn’t like to speak about my parents much, and it’s not as I remember them that well; I was only four when they passed away.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He isn’t exactly sure what possessed him to start talking about his parents, he very rarely does; it isn’t as though he has a lot to speak about, with one of his only true clear memories being a donkey ride at the local farmers market.

He smiles at the memory, despite it being the only one on replay, he never tires of his father’s laugh or the teasing lilt in his mother’s voice.

A hand comes into view, tapping lightly on the table, and starling him back into focus.

/My mother passed away when I was six/. Lan Zhan signs, though slowly, more hesitantly than he usually would. /My father a few months later/.

“Do you – do you remember much of them?” He asks, treading carefully, as though stepping cautiously into a foliage-choked lake. 

/She liked to sing. Mother often sang when she played/.

“I bet she had a beautiful voice, Lan Zhan.” He says softly. “What about you?”

Lan Zhan cocks his head in confusion.

“/Sing. Do you like singing/?”

/Most presume I do not, or can not speak/. Lan Zhan signs.

Wei Ying shrugs. “I don’t like making presumptions.” When Lan Zhan doesn’t answer the question however, he moves on. “The song; you never told me whose it is? I was serious, you know, when I said about relearning the dizi! I still have it somewhere…”

But Lan Zhan simply shakes his head.

“What do you mean? You don’t want us to play together? Or you don’t know?”

/I did/.

“You did what?”

/I wrote it/.

Wei Ying freezes, mid-drawing his phone from his pocket. “You? You wrote it?”

Lan Zhan nods again, though this time a little more nervously, and Wei Ying clocks the growing red hue kissing the tips of Lan Zhan’s ear. He finds himself wondering whether they are warm or not.

“Will you play it again?” He finds himself asking.

/Wei Ying wishes to hear me play?/ Lan Zhan signs. /Why?/

“Because” Wei Ying leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “I couldn’t really hear it earlier, but from what I managed to hear, it sounded beautiful.” The last part colouring his own cheeks to match Lan Zhan’s ears.

Lan Zhan thinks for a moment, checks his watch and nods.

“Yes!” Wei Ying quietly cheers. Quickly packing away his own empty boxes and making himself comfortable.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared Wei Ying for what he was about to hear. He has no words as he watches Lan Zhan’s fingers dance gracefully along the strings; a featherlight and deeper touch mixing into one.

The melody sounds sad at first, sombre and lonely as the notes travelled, drifting between something careful and nervous; erring on the edge of cautious. A broken, heavier note rings throughout, until it flows seamlessly into something lighter, softer; something more sure, hopeful, something warm.

Wei Ying watches in awe, and can’t help the way his eyes begin drifting. From the tips of Lan Zhan’s fingers; wandering the length of his body as he plays. His posture remaining austere with its unwavering strictness, Wei Ying’s gaze finally lands on Lan Zhan’s face, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Gone is the usual coldness and jaded line; Lan Zhan looks relaxed, comfortable; at home as he becomes lost in his own music.

Something flutters within Wei Ying’s chest.

Lan Zhan is beautiful.

The music suddenly cuts off mid-bridge and the abruptness startles Wei Ying from his staring. Shifting, their eyes meet and he can’t look away. There is an unyielding pressure and it feels  as if Lan Zhan isn’t staring at him but within him.

Lan Zhan quickly looks away and stands up, heading over to the other table where his guqin case sits and begins packing away. “Lan Zhan?”

/Lunch is almost over. Classes will resume shortly/. Lan Zhan replies without looking up; the strained tension back in his shoulders.

Wei Ying sits there puzzled, watching as Lan Zhan once again wipes down his guqin before placing it in its bag. Only moments ago he was lost in the lull of Lan Zhan’s music, and now? He isn’t quite sure. The pinch between Lan Zhan’s brows has him worried. 

He is hastily shoving things into his own backpack when he spots the brown paper bag. Oh right!

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, wait!” Wei Ying jumps up. “Before we head back,” nearly stumbling over his own feet in the rush, catching Lan Zhan just as his hand meets the doorhandle. “ I forgot…I um, I got you this!” He beams, holding up a small brown paper bag.

Lan Zhan stares at him. /What is it?/

“Well open it and find out, you fuddy duddy!” Wei Ying chuckles, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation; a smile not leaving his face as Lan Zhan takes the bag. Months. He has waited months to finally give it to Lan Zhan—he only hopes he likes it.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen as he holds a bunny-themed stationary set; holding it as tenderly as he would a real little rabbit.

“Well? What do you think? I spotted it a few months ago and just had to buy it! I mean, look at their lil faces,” he coos. “Aren’t they adorable?!”

But his excitement begins to waver the longer Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. He stands there staring at the set, unfazed, unmoving; with the most monotonous look on his face. 

“/Do – do you not like it, Lan Zhan?/” Wei Ying signs, movements louder than his own muffled voice.

The bag rustles as Lan Zhan places everything carefully back inside; needing both hands to reply. /Why?/

Well, that wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. “/What do you mean, why?/”

/Why did you buy me this?/ Lan Zhan asks.

“/Because I saw it and thought of you. All your school stuff is bunny themed, and I couldn’t resist when I saw it. The blue and clouds reminded me of you and well, yeah, I just thought you’d like it./” His signs, stumbling here and there. The air growing more awkward. “I wanted to wait until we were friends to give it to you, you know, kinda like a celebration! And well –” Wei Ying chuckles nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d accept it if we weren’t.”

At some point during their conversation, the rain had picked up, rapping against the window.

/We’re…friends?/

Wei Ying’s smile drops. “I mean, yeah; I thought so—I hoped so.” He tries not to be hurt, but it is hard, and even harder when he sees the blank, expressionless way Lan Zhan is staring at him. Maybe he should have left it.

He isn’t one to give up, and he won’t; Wei Ying will find another way, try again. But…maybe Jiang Cheng was right.

Even though it hurts, he ignores the odd ache in his chest and plasters on his best smile. “Aiya, don’t worry about it, Lan Zhan. Don’t hurt your pretty face thinking about it too hard. Come one, we should head back; the bell’s about to ring.” He slips his bag onto his shoulder and turns to leave. But as Wei Ying’s about to grip the handle, Lan Zhan reaches out to stop him; only stopping himself at the last second, rethinking.

But he already has Wei Ying’s attention.

/I did not realise you wished for us to be friends/. Lan Zhan signs, head bowed. /I am used to being alone. I did not know how to be someone’s friend/.

The blunt, straightforward way Lan Zhan signs make Wei Ying’s heart sink. He knows Lan Zhan is a loner; he has never seen him with anyone else other than his uncle and or brother, and despite growing up with Huaisang, they aren’t friends either. Lan Zhan doesn’t have friends. Lan Zhan has likely never had a friend before, and Wei Ying’s heart breaks.

“Well, Lan Zhan, you’re in luck because not only will I be your first friend, but I’ll be your Bestest friend!” His smile is so wide, his eyes arched like crescent moons and bulged-up cheeks hurt. The good kind.

For a moment Lan Zhan doesn’t move, and when he looks up, Wei Ying sees a glimpse of something in his eyes. He can’tt be sure what, but they seem almost brighter.

/Friends?/

“Best friends!”

/Best friends/.

Wei Ying squeals excitedly but before they can say anything more, the bell rings and it is time to head back to class.

Wei Ying slumps against the sun-warmed grass with a sigh; stomach full and hunger happily sated. “Did you ask your uncle about this weekend? Are you allowed to come over?” he asks, peering over to Lan Zhan sitting beside him with his eyes closed, seemingly meditating under the afternoon sun. He nods.

“Great!” He beams. “I can’t wait for you to try jiejie’s cooking, Lan Zhan. Really, once you’ve tasted it I’m 100% sure you’ll never want to go back to your boring, beige-bland lunches ever again!”

The two are sitting in one of their usual lunchtime spots: a small, quiet clearing situated behind the music building. Wei Ying had no idea it was even here, and by the wild way flowers were growing, and the grass overgrown in places, neither did most people. Another place Lan Zhan liked to escape to; when the weather called for it.

A whole month has passed since the incident at the bookstore, since their first shared lunch, and so much has changed. As if a switch had flipped, in the few short weeks that followed the two of them became practically inseparable. When you find one, you will find the other. Much to Lan Qiren’s dismay.

They worked together, studied together; by the second week Wei Ying had begun going over the Lan’s house. Spending hours in Lan Zhan’s bedroom, practicing sign, or introducing him to shows other than documentaries; or—to Wei Ying’s absolute delight—in the bunny room.

Lan Zhan had bunnies! Plural. He had two adorable little buns that stole his heart, even more so when he watched the tender way Lan Zhan cared for them. How they excitably hopped over to him, nuzzling him for attention.

Wei Ying really likes Lan Zhan’s house. It is certainly different from his own—quieter, far less chaotic, and Lan Xichen is always very friendly; with a welcoming smile and the offer of tea.

It was funny however, the first time Lan Qiren returned home, only to find the bane of his existence sitting at his dining room table. Though, that too soon whittled down to neutral irritation when he discovered his nephew teaching him sign language one evening, and Wei Ying was getting good at it too.

With that, there really wasn’t a moment anymore when the two were apart. Every lunchtime, break; any spare moment from then on, they spent it together.

And this will be the first time Lan Zhan comes to his house.

“We’re home!” Wei Ying calls out as they take off their shoes and walk into the living room.

“Ah didi,” Jiang Yanli smiles sweetly as she walks in from the kitchen, a towel laying on her shoulder. “Did you and a-Cheng get into another fight by chance?”

“Not even a hello? How was school? So mean to your Xianxian, jiejie,” Wei Ying pouts.

Jiang Yanli chuckles as she reffules his hair playfully. “Just Xianxian? And what about your guest, hm?” She turns to Lan Zhan, smiling kindly. “Hello, you must be Lan Wangji. It is nice to finally meet you, Xianxian here,” she teases, “talks about you a great deal.”

“Jiejie!” He whines, cheeks blushing.

“I’m Jiang Yanli, you can call me Yanli or Yanli-jie if you like. Would you mind me calling you Wangji?”

Lan Zhan bows politely.

Wei Ying has already told his sister that Lan Zhan is non-verbal, so she knows not to expect a verbal reply.

“Well, Wangji, make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in about an hour, so why doesn’t my didi here show you to his room? Maybe give him a tour, a-Ying?”

“Okay! Come on, Lan Zhan. My room first, then I can show you all the ugly art the peacock put up!” He beams, taking Lan Zhan’s hand in his and pulling him towards his room. And Lan Zhan goes happily.

Wei Ying gives a rather underwhelming tour. It had grown too dark to show off the garden, and jiejie’s lotus pond. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let them into his room, slamming the door in his face when he asked, and the peacock came home before he could sneak Lan Zhan into his office to laugh at the self-portrait he had framed.

They are instead sitting on his bed, his laptop between them playing a drama he hasn’t stopped gushing about. Lan Zhan enjoys history, has a soft spot for romance, and he couldn’t resist trying to get him into his favourite Xianxia.

“So, what did you think?” Wei Ying asks as he pauses the ending credits.

Lan Zhan looks at him and nods. /It was good./ He signs.

“/Just good? Come on, what was your favourite bit? I know we only managed the first episode, but do you have a favourite character yet? I love the Yiling Laozu!/”

Lan Zhan thought for a moment. The show was different to anything he had seen before, anything his uncle would allow him to watch at home. Even then television was a rare thing for them and only showing educational shows like documentaries or musical performances.

/Hanguang-Jun./

“I knew you’d like him! Just you wait until they start showing the backstory, their friendship to heartbreaking rivals. Ah, Lan Zhan, my heart!” Wei Ying whines dramatically, clutching at his chest and flopping onto Lan Zhan’s lap, head pillowing on his thigh.

Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying, a gentle look in his eyes as he continues to ramble on about the gut-wrenching relationship between the male leads, and enjoying the welcomed weight.

“Oh right, Lan Zhan, I completely forgot to ask. Are you comfortable with signing in front of my siblings or do you want to use the notebook?”

Lan Zhan is quiet for a moment, and at this angle, Wei Ying can’t really read him well. He knows it is a touchy subject. Lan Zhan only ever signed to him, his brother and his uncle; asking to sign in front of people he barely knew, in a whole new environment; Wei Ying didn’t mind acting as Lan Zhan’s voice, ever, the last thing he wanted was for Lan Zhan to be uncomfortable.

/I do not mind. I did not realise my signing was to be kept a secret./

“/Well, I mean at school we don’t sign in front of the others and well I just wanted to double check with you first just in case./”

/I have no qualms with your siblings knowing./

Wei Ying cocks his head. “Wait, what was that sign? I don't know it. Hang on.” He leans over and grabs his notebook off the bedside table and flicks to their most recent chat log, handing it over to Lan Zhan.

“Qualms.” Wei Ying bursts out laughing. “Qualms? What teenager uses the word qualms? You’re such a fuddy-duddy, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan isn’t entirely sure why exactly Wei Ying finds a singular word so hilarious, but he isn’t sure he minds. He likes it when Wei Ying smiles.

“Can you show me the sign again?” Wei Ying asks, watching Lan Zhan repeat and stilling the sign so Wei Ying can sketch. I’m gonna need a new notebook soon, Wei Ying thinks as he finishes, flicking through the last few empty pages. “Thanks, er-gege!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes tried catching glimpses of the filled pages; he had seen Wei Ying with it plenty, never crossing his mind to ask what it was. Wei Ying was drawing…

“Oh shit I forgot!” Wei Ying suddenly remembers, grabbing the notebook. “I need to speak to jiejie before dinner.” Panicking, he can’t believe he let it slip his mind. He shuffles off the bed, getting caught and legs twisted in the bed sheets in his hurry, falling ass first on the floor. “I’m fine!” He jumps up. “Um, yeah, okay, give me a minute. I’ll be back in a sec. Well not literally a second but, yeah, wait here, okay.” He hurries—slightly breathless—out his bedroom door and down the stairs. The rich smell of Jiang Yanli’s cooking wafting through the air.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath. Letting the sharp smell of garlic and spice tickle his nose.

Jiang Yanli is fluttering around the kitchen, hair tied and apron on, humming away as she begins dicing washed vegetables. “Jie,” he calls out.

“I hope you’re not coming to offer you services, didi.” She chuckles teasingly.

“I burn a pan one time!” He whines. “And it was like five years ago!”

“It was last month, and it was the third pan this year.” Jiang Yanli cocks her eyebrow, a playfulness in her tone.

“But Yingying is only three,” he sniffs, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Then the kitchen is a very dangerous play for little Yingying to be playing in. Shouldn’t you be with Wangji?”

“Yeah, about that…” Wei Ying instantly shifts, opening his notebook and flicking to the very back pages. “So I know I told you Lan Zhan is vegetarian, and that he cannot handle any type of spice, right?”

Jiang Yanli nods.

“Well, um, would it be okay if you didn’t plate any of his food?”

“What do you mean, a-Ying?” Jiang Yanli is confused as she finishes chopping the peppers.

“It’s just, Lan Zhan—he isn’t picky or anything, it’s nothing like that, and he’s not rude, but he has really particular ways he likes to eat his food, and well,” he flips to the page, remembering where he wrote it down. “Lan Zhan doesn’t like certain foods touching. He likes everything laid out in a particular way otherwise he struggles to eat it. He still will, he won’t let it go to waste, or say anything for that, but it’s the first time he’s come over, and I want him to be comfortable, so,” he lets out a breath. “Would that be okay?”

The first time they ate together, Lan Zhan brought his own packed lunch. A small box where each of the beige-based foods were separated. Wei Ying had joked about it; laughed at Lan Zhan’s clear lack of taste and flavour, and after the first week he was sure whoever was making his food was punishing him in some way. Surely no one could like such flavourless dishes.

Wei Ying offered him some of jiejie’s homemade chilli oil—just wanting to help—and before Lan Zhan could say no, Wei Ying drizzled a little on some of his fried tofu. Lan Zhan still ate it; had thanked him. But Wei Ying could see something wasn’t right.

The next time he was round at the Lan’s he asked Xichen-ge about it, and it was then he learnt that Lan Zhan made and packed his own lunches, every day. Not only does Lan Zhan dislike heavy seasoning or spice; even the mildest of spices are painful for him.

He ruined Lan Zhan’s food; joked and teased him when it was what he liked. Wei Ying hurt him, unintentionally, but he had hurt him. He really felt like shit after that.

Since then, he has taken notes.

“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says softly. “What is all this?”

“Oh,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He hands it over to his sister who begins flicking through.

Pages and pages filled with sketches of hands; broken down into sections in meticulous detail. Colourful annotations of directions, movements, and placement. The word and what it means.

“Didi, this…”

“That was the other thing I wanted to mention. Lan Zhan said it was cool and all, so…Lan Zhan isn’t always non-verbal. He can talk, it’s like selective or something? I mean he’s not exactly a chatterbox, you know, but with his family, people he’s comfortable with he talks sometimes. But when he can’t, he uses sign language!” He smiles, rambling as he starts skipping back through the pages, showing his sister all the different ways to say a singular word, or how it can change depending on the context and placement.

“He started learning when he was younger, his brother and uncle too. They all still talk and stuff, but it helps…I’m not really sure why? Lan Zhan’s never actually said, but I think it makes him feel more comfortable, not being the only one signing?”

“…and you taught yourself?” Jiang Yanli asks.

“I mean Lan Zhan helps me now, but yeah, kinda.” He nods, feeling oddly sheepish as jiejie continues flicking through the little notebook. Landing to parts Lan Zhan hadn’t even seen. 

Lan Zhan’s Likes & Dislikes / Dos & Don’ts

After the thing with the bookstore and the food (and a few other things Wei Ying had picked up), he wanted to be Lan Zhan’s friend, and not do more harm than good. So, he started keeping a list. Of things he noticed that Lan Zhan liked and didn’t like; things that made him uncomfortable, and things that helped him.

An easy one, Lan Zhan loves bunnies. Listed as: soft, quiet, friendly, and affectionate. But he dislikes dogs: too loud and unpredictable, and they slobber…a lot. Wei Ying thoroughly agrees and added EVIL to the list.

Lan Zhan also doesn’t like loud, sudden noises, but really loves music—classical mainly, and prefers wearing his headphones when out and about. He doesn’t like floral scents, but his favourite fragrance is sandalwood. He dislikes hats; prefers wearing long sleeves but hates when they wrinkle.

Lights can’t be left on, a door can’t be just ajar; everything has a place and it’s order. No matter how small or silly it may seem, Wei Ying would write it down, and add it to the list.

Jiang Yanli closes the notebook, settles it down on the kitchen side and looks at him. “When did my little a-Ying become so grown up, hm?” Her smile warm, as she holds his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

“Jiejie,” Wei Ying whines, but still melting into her touch. “I haven’t done anything.”

“I don’t think Wangji would agree.”

“What do you mean?”

Jiang Yanli chuckles lightly, and before he can get his answers, the timers for the food start going off, and it reminds Wei Ying why he came down in the first place. “Right, the food! Is that okay?”

“It’s not a problem, didi. Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah! Don’t sit him next or near to Jiang Cheng, he eats like an animal and chews with his mouth open!” Jiang Yanli shakes her head and Wei Ying laughs as he runs off back upstairs.

Wei Ying flops onto his bed with a satisfied sigh; belly fully and happily sated. Crossing his arms behind his head, he closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the soft bedding. His sister’s food always manages to fill the empty void just perfectly. “Aiya, I don’t think I can eat again for a whole week!” He pats his stomach; a job well done. “Didn’t I tell you Lan Zhan, that my jiejie’s cooking is the best in the world!” Wei Ying praises, smiling as he turns to look at Lan Zhan, who took his spot back on the floor, seated at the low table where their study materials lay opened and left midsentence.

He pops himself up on his elbow, trying to get a better look at what Lan Zhan is so intentionally focusing on. Wei Ying spots his notebook; open, and Lan Zhan is staring blankly at the pages. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t budge, ignoring Wei Ying’s calls as he flicks through, reading page to page, line for line.

Wei Ying’s brows crease in confusion, and he drags himself off the bed to join Lan Zhan on the floor. “Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?” Did he take it a bit too far with dinner? Lan Zhan did only give him to go ahead with telling jiejie about the sign language situation; did he overstep when it came to everything else? He’s sure there wasn’t an issue with the food itself, Lan Zhan ate more than Wei Ying had expected him to. There was even a moment—when they first sat down—where he swore he caught an uptick at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth.

He thought he was getting better at picking up on Lan Zhan’s micro-expressions; his little quirks. Did he misread the entire thing? Even Jiang Cheng behaved himself, and kept his mouth shut. He still threw a few not-so-subtle judgemental glares here and there, but that was also just Jiang Cheng’s default look.

Lan Zhan turns a page, fingers slowly, tenderly tracing over the doodles and sketches that run alongside the notes. Wei Ying can never leave a space blank. “Lan Zhan?” He tries again, nervously stuttering, pulling at the cuffs of his hoodie over his knuckles and fingering the fraying strands.

/Wei Ying, what is all of this?/ Lan Zhan finally signs.

“All of what?” Playing dumb may have worked in the past, but Lan Zhan knows him better than that.

Lan Zhan turns the book and pushes it towards him; open on the same page he had shown his sister earlier. Specifically, the one detailing Lan Zhan’s likes and dislikes; his dos and don’ts.

“Oh, yeah, right,” he falters, chuckling nervously, rubbing the nape of his neck. “That’s – um – yeah I can explain. It’s nothing really, it’s just…” Wei Ying isn’t sure where the sudden anxiety comes from; he isn’t someone who got nervous. Talking to Lan Zhan is as easy to him as swimming is to a fish. There’s never been a moment where he lost his own voice, or struggled to find the words; going for hours without taking a breath. Yet, he could feel the heavy weight of burning gold settle on him, and all of sudden—his stomach is in his throat, and his mouth is as dry as cotton.

“/I – if I overstepped, I’m really sorry/.” His own signs became sloppy and shaky. “/It’s just, well, I know we haven’t exactly talked about stuff, and I didn’t want to make any presumptions or anything. I know I’m terrible with boundaries and I’m way too loud, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or do something you didn’t like. So when I started picking up on things…I wrote it down. You’re my best friend Lan Zhan and I just…”

Lan Zhan taps the table in front of him, breaking Wei Ying from his panic-filled rambles.

The room falls silent. Lan Zhan eyes are fixed on the notebook, and Wei Ying can feel his heartbeat rabbiting away in his chest; his blood rushing in his ears.

There is a beat. And then another.

“Thank you.”

Wei Ying’s hands still. The loose thread he’s been fiddling with slips free from between his fingertips, as his head shoots up eyes wide with surprise. “What – did you – Lan Zhan, did you just –” he chokes up, a sting rising behind his eyes from growing tears. The two words were barely above a whisper; deep and raspy, but clear enough, and Wei Ying felt his breath catch.

He wants Lan Zhan to keep talking, he wants to know how his name would sound; does he have an accent? Is his voice always this deep or is that only from disuse? He spots Lan Zhan’s downturned gaze, and Wei Ying knows, hearing this much, is already enough.

A tear slips free and Wei Ying beams. “Mm!”

Wei Ying walks over to the couch, and with a groan, flops face-first onto the soft crème cushions. He is utterly drained, but he drags himself until he meets his jiejie; the soft sound of a book closing as pillows his head on her lap.

“Everything okay, a-Ying?” Wei Ying melts under his jiejie’s touch, instantly feeling like mush as she brushes her fingers through his hair.

He shakes his head. “I’m okay, jiejie.” A lock of hair falls across his face, and with a subtle frown; Jiang Yanli tenderly tucks it back behind his ear.

“Since when was my didi big enough to lie to me?” She scolds playfully, leaning over and boops his nose.

“Yingying is only three.” He pouts, but he can’t help but picture Lan Zhan from earlier that evening. How after embarrassing himself and nearly descending into a heap of tears and snot, they had gone right back to studying; as if nothing had happened, as if Lan Zhan hadn’t thrown him into complete chaos/spiral and made his stomach twist and turn and do weird things—from two simple words.

Or how he smiled after at that folded bunny army Wei Ying had amassed. Petting each and every one carefully, as the heat that usually kissed the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears, flushed across his face too, and Wei Ying couldn’t help but coo. But then how that smile slipped at his realisation, and Lan Zhan was far too easy to tease; how could he resist? Especially when his brow pinched and nose scrunched up, twitching just like an adorable angry bunny.

“jiejie, can – can I ask you something?” He whispers nervously.

Jiang Yanli continues to comb her fingers through his hair, watching him with a knowing concern. “Of course.”

“How do you know when you like someone?”

Wei Ying stares at himself in the mirror; fingertips whitening as he clutches the edge of the bathroom sink. Focusing on the water droplet clinging to the end of his lashes, as he tries to ignore the way the room spins beneath his feet. Although the slashes of cold water were refreshing—and certainly woke him up—they did nothing to alleviate his burning skin, or help clear the grogginess in his head.

He doesn’t fall sick often, not anymore. When he first moved in with the Jiangs, the change had been a lot on his little body, and he became unwell. From then on; it wasn’t to say he was more susceptible to getting sick, but compared to his siblings, he tended to be the one curled up in bed with a cold towel draped over his head; pale as porcelain and tissue shoved up his nose.

However, it was something he grew out of, and now, he very rarely gets sick. But when he does; it certainly likes to come for him when the seasons change, and by this point winter has fully set in. The trees are stripped bare, the air bitingly cold, and the ground is constantly covered in a dusting of snow. And with it comes waking at an hour that even old man Lan would be proud of. Twisted amongst his sweat-soaked bedsheets, limbs as heavy as lead, and feeling as though he has swallowed a cocktail of glass and sand.

When the room finally settles, Wei Ying opens the cabinet overhead and takes out a small pot of painkillers. Popping a couple and washing them down with water straight from the tap, moaning as the water soothes his sore throat.

Everything will be fine once the medicine kicks in. It is likely nothing—at least nothing worth really worrying about—everyone gets sick from time to time, he will be fine. There’s no chance he will be able to go back to sleep, so he'll get ready for school and keep himself occupied in the meantime. Maybe find a new naughty word to tease Lan Zhan with.

It is probably just a simple cold. Nothing to worry his sister or anyone else over.

Wei Ying will go to school, go about his day; he will be fine.

Everything hurts. Every joint, muscle, bone, and tendon; every inch of his body is crying out. The lights are too bright, sounds are too loud; his head is pounding so much he fears it is going to burst his eardrums. But as the school day progresses, so did whatever bug that had decided to possess his body, and he isn’t due another dose of pain relief for at least another hour.

It is fine, he’ll be fine. If he can make it through gym class, then he can go home and hide beneath his bedcovers. Maybe his jiejie would even make him her lotus root soup. His mouth waters and stomach rumbles at the thought. He had skipped lunch—which probably wasn’t the wisest of ideas as now Wei Ying was feeling more unsteady on his feet—but the smell alone had been enough to turn his stomach.

He can feel a set of eyes on him and when he turns, Lan Zhan is staring at him, concern etched across his face. A silent question being asked, are you okay? Wei Ying smiles at him, all teeth as he gives him the good old thumbs up.

“Right,” the gym teacher interrupts, and he winces from the shrill of the whistle. “Just because we can’t be outside does not mean I am letting you guys off laps. I want twenty laps around the gym. Go!”

There is a collective groan from the class, and they all get running.

Wei Ying instantly feels unstable on his feet; muscles and joints protesting more and more with every torturous lap, but he pushes through. Just fifteen more to go.

He can hear Nie Huaisang complaining from across the hall, and normally Wei Ying would laugh and go help but he can barely keep himself upright.

“Pick up the pace! I don’t want to see anyone lagging behind!” The gym teacher shouts.

Ten more laps to go.

Lan Zhan is at the front of the pack. Running at a steady pace and making it look easy, making everyone else behind him look like mere mortals. He tries to keep himself away, keep himself in the midst of the group so Lan Zhan can’t get too close and spot something was amiss.

Wei Ying doesn’t like worrying him.

But by lap twelve, the room begins to spin. Every step is a hammer against his skull, and nails in his bones. His knees grow weak, and he finds himself lagging behind, stumbling as he tries to rejoin the others. “Wei Wuxian! Keep up otherwise I’m adding on another five laps!”

He fights through it; picking up the pace, and ignoring the way the room waves. He keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing, when he finally reaches the last lap, and crosses the finishing line.

Everyone drops like pebbles in a lotus pond; panting heavily as the collective groans and cries surround him, but it all feels delayed, feels wrong. A buoy stuck along choppy waters; the fog drawing in—black clouds creeping in the corners of his eyes. He can hear someone calling his name, can sense a roomful of eyes on him, but he can’t focus.

Heart slamming against his chest, the blood echoing in his ears. Words—he can’t—something—Lan Zhan—everything—Wei Ying can’t think, can’t form a sentence in his head; he can’t figure out what is up and what is down, left from right. Hot and cold. His skin is on fire, but his body is trembling. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. 

Wei Ying is falling, and everything goes black. 

Lan Zhan is across the hall within seconds. A moment of hesitation, then his feet are moving, faster than his mind can catch up. Before he knows it, he has an unconscious Wei Ying in his arms and is racing towards the nurse’s office.

Wei Ying is hot, too hot. Lan Zhan can’t ignore the unpleasant warmth seeping through his clothes and into his skin, or the sheen coating Wei Ying’s brow. He seemed off all morning. Their daily routine is off-balance. Normally, Wei Ying would excitedly call his name, place a folded bunny on his desk and take his seat. He would show off a new sign he had learnt—ninety percent of the time it is something crude—and they would pass notes back and forth until the teacher arrived. That has been their mornings, the mornings he has come to look forward to.

It was all the same, yet Lan Zhan noticed the purple bruises hugging under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders; the tired way Wei Ying said his name. Wei Ying waved him off, claiming it was nothing more than a little cold, completely normal for him, absolutely nothing to worry about. “Don’t be such a worry wort, Lan Zhan. It will be gone by lunch.”

Everything is moving far too fast, not giving him enough time to process. His feet hammering against the tiled floors as he runs through the empty halls, feeling Wei Ying’s hot breath against his neck and damp shirt against his chest. And a singular thought whirling around his mind; Wei Ying is sick. Wei Ying is sick. Wei Ying is sick.

Without thought or care, Lan Zhan kicks open the nurse’s door office, heading straight to the empty bed by the window.

“What – young man!” The nurse shouts at him; he just ignores her as he goes about making sure Wei Ying is okay and safe under the bedcovers. The nurse still talking behind him.

He spots a notepad and pen on the desk, picks it up and starts hurriedly writing down everything that happened, and hands it to her.

Lan Zhan stands there, chest rising and falling, trying to steady his breathing as he waits for the nurse to finish reading over the notes. Watching her eyes flick across the page, saying nothing and Lan Zhan feels the electricity building underneath his skin. Her facial expressions are giving him nothing, and normally silence is his safe space, but right now, he can feel his entire body beginning to shake with anxiety.

The last someone collapsed in front of him; his mother went to hospital, and she never came home.

In a few short months, Wei Ying had become to him what his mother once was. She too was filled with light, with a smile brighter than the moon, and a laugh warmer than the sun. She knew there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t like this brother, that he wasn’t normal. She made him feel seen, she made him feel heard—understood—even without his words. She didn’t care; she loved him all the same.

Wei Ying did the same. Made him feel that same way.

His mother was his safe space.

Wei Ying is his safe space.

He understands he is likely overreacting. Allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement and rational thought. Normally he would have a better hold, better control. Years of learning, of understanding himself and his limits. Years of hiding and suppressing; setting boundaries for himself and living comfortably within them.

Wei Ying pushes those boundaries, and Lan Zhan has found himself letting him in.

There’s a light tap on his shoulder, and he startles from his slip. “Take a seat, I’ll check him over.” She hands him the notepad back, and gestures to the chair situated by the window beside the bed. He bows his head minutely, and sits down, not taking his eyes off Wei Ying for a second.

“Do you know if he hit his head when he collapsed?” The nurse asks as she places a thermomotor in Wei Ying’s ear. A little beep.

He shakes his head.

“Is that no he didn’t or no you don’t know?”

Lan Zhan takes the notepad. I do not know. I did not see. He writes.

“Okay, well I do not think we need to worry that his syncope episode is due to hitting his head. Guessing by the clothes, you came straight from gym class?”

He nods.

“Stupid boy.” The nurse—Nurse Liu—clicks her tongue.

Lan Zhan frowns. Wei Ying is not stupid. A little careless maybe, but how was he to know this was going to be the result of his actions.

“What’s with that look? Don’t take me so literally.” Nurse Liu chuckles. 

Lan Zhan didn’t even realise he was making a face.

“From what I can tell it’s just a simple case of the flu. That be it a worsened one given his idiocy to come into school and run laps.” She heads to a tall cabinet at the other end of the room, rummaging around, collecting items into a tray, before making her way back over. There is a  sudden smell of alcohol and disinfectant.

 Lan Zhan really hates that smell.

Nurse Liu cleans the croak of Wei Ying’s elbow, then ties a torque around his bicep, and Lan Zhan watches as she pierces a needle into his vein and feeds in a cannula. “I’m going to hook him up to some fluids. He’s severely dehydrated, but that is no surprise. Do you know if he has eaten?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. No. He remembers – I believe he skipped lunch.

“The IV will take roughly forty-five to an hour. Once that’s done, and his fever has broken, he can go home. I will go give his parents a call.” She places a cold towel on his head, “I will be back shortly.” She heads to the door, goes to open it as she remembers, “Make sure you change the towel every ten minutes to keep it from warming.”

And she was gone.

So, he sits, and he waits. Lan Zhan’s eyes don’t leave Wei Ying for even a second. He has set a timer on his phone to go off every ten minutes, but besides those few seconds standing over the bowl and wringing out the fever-warmed cloth, his eyes are firmly glued to him. Watching carefully over Wei Ying’s sleeping form, and apart from the subtle rise and fall of his chest, Wei Ying hasn’t moved. Lying motionless beneath the crisp, white linens, face ashen, and Lan Zhan mentally scolds himself for not noticing his declining condition sooner. He had known something was amiss, seen it the second Wei Ying walked into class that morning, but he took his word.

Wei Ying said he was okay, and he foolishly believed him.

He had been in this position once before, though much younger, far too young. Like today, he was there the day his mother collapsed. She too looked okay; told him she was fine and there was nothing to worry himself about. Then she was on the ground; Lan Zhan just thought she was sleeping. Then he saw the rush of bodies, the sounds of sirens. His uncle whisked him and his brother away.

He was allowed to visit from time to time, sitting at his mother’s hospital bedside. Skin so deathly pale, and wires curling around her like snakes. The beeping of the machines, and doctors dressed in white. Even then she continued to smile.

Until he was told he could no longer visit her. She was gone.

His words left him that day too.

Seeing Wei Ying lie the way his mother once did fills him with a sense of dread he has never experienced before.

Lan Zhan realised fairly early on that what he felt towards Wei Ying extended beyond the basic rules of friendship. In the beginning, it was an irritation that prickled beneath his skin. Emotions he didn’t understand, sensation he couldn’t find the words for, and believing it to be nothing more than displeasure and indignation. Dislike.

Wei Ying was someone Lan Zhan had never experienced before. A walking sensory overload.

But soon he found himself seeking out those noises, seeking out his touch—his name on Wei Ying’s lips, a hand on his wrist, an arm draped around his shoulder.

Years of setting boundaries that kept him safe—a bubble of his own making—that kept even the people he cared for the most at an arm’s length. He wasn’t so oblivious, but school, people his own age were something different, and uncle wanted him to adapt, to accumulate. Ge wanted him to find a friend.

Lan Zhan had gone out expecting to hate every second, to struggle with his surroundings, and to understand his peers. He knew what he looked like. Has heard the whispers from other family members over the years, of his stone-cold face that was uncomfortably emotionless. Of how it is strange he never spoke and when he did it was monotonous. Louder voices of how he should be more like his brother, less abnormal, less weird.

Does the boy not know how to smile? It is rude to not look at a person when they are talking to you, Wangji.

Wei Ying was bright, he was friendly and loud, outgoing, unreserved, and so utterly unapologetic. He was everything Lan Zhan was not. He should hate him, and yet, Lan Zhan found himself drawn to Wei Ying in a way he had never been drawn to another before.

The little gifts of drawings and folded rabbits that made his ears warm and his heart race.

In the bookstore, those few short months ago, was the moment Lan Zhan realised what those feelings were.

The third timer sounds, and Lan Zhan is on his feet. The cloth’s grown unpleasantly warm, but he places the back of his hand against Wei Ying’s forehead and lets out a sigh of relief. Wei Ying’s fever is beginning to break. He isn’t out of the woods yet; his temperature is still higher than Lan Zhan likes, but it’s no longer alarmingly so.

He feels a weight of worry lift away but the tightness in his chest remains, the breath still trapped in his lungs because—even if Lan Zhan had the words, they would be lost to him now, as he follows the shadows of snowfall dance across Wei Ying’s face.

A mellow breeze ghosts across the nape of his neck, silently making the curtains sway, and Lan Zhan can’t look away.

He slowly leans over and, with a shaky hand, gently coaxes aside a few silken strands of damp hair. Fingers brushing lightly across his skin. Lan Zhan can’t help himself, like a whispering compulsion; his thumb caresses the arch of Wei Ying’s brow to his temple. His mouth runs dry as Wei Ying lies unknowing, vulnerable under his touch.

A small whimper slips from Wei Ying’s lips; face twisted in distress. Lan Zhan freezes, hand stills where it came to rest on the side of his head. Afraid he had been caught. But when Wei Ying’s eyes remain closed, he relaxes. 

“Shh,” he hushes, a deep sound feeling a little more natural since he first spoke to Wei Ying. Tenderly stroking caressing, the side of his face until Wei Ying calms, and the pinch between his brows settle.

Lan Zhan studies him as he had done a thousand times. Eyes racking over his sleeping form, trailing along his hairline, mapping the angles of his cheekbones and jawline; the sweep of his nose, and the thickness of his lashes.

The dusty pink of his soft, plump lips.

There was a yearning inside him, a need.

He shouldn’t. He can’t. It’s not right. But like a rope being pulled, before Lan Zhan can stop to think, he is inching closer and closer, when finally, their lips meet.

It is only a light press, a whisper of a touch but, he is kissing Wei Ying.

The room falls away around him until only the two of them remain. The usual grating noise of his surroundings disappear to nothing more than a gentle hum. Never has his world felt so silent.

The bitter metallic of medicine vanishes, leaving only a sweet smell of cinnamon; the light taste of salt and a lingering of something sweet, and an unnatural heat radiates from fever-warmed lips. It takes his breath away.

Another calm breeze flutters through the gap in the window, the cool winds enough to snap him back to his senses. As he slowly pulls back, his eyes land on hazy silver, he feels his heart stop, and his stomach sink.

A clattering outside the door startles him, and he quickly moves away; wide-eyed with realisation. He stands at the edge of the bed, drawn to the sound of Nurse Liu walking in, offering him a gentle smile he’s too frozen to return. When he turns back, Wei Ying’s eyes are once more closed, and without another thought, Lan Zhan backs away; nearly bumping into Nurse Liu as he goes to leave.

Lan Zhan is across the room in a blink, with a mountain of panic firing through his veins. Without thought, he mechanically bows before making his hasty escape.

What had he done?