Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wei Wuxian has been feeling strange for a while now, maybe two weeks. Three, tops. 

Those who know him will readily say that Wei Ying doesn’t exactly know how to take care of himself, or how to move comfortably within his own body (He’s looking specifically at Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng at this, who would rather say that outright, and not so kind; at least his amazing, loving Yanli-jie is gentler with her wordings. And Lan Zhan would never… Or maybe just hint at it patiently, silently, lovingly, in his own Lan Zhan way). But the truth is, though— bodies are bodies, and sometimes they do bodily stuff, while behaving like absolute pieces of shit— and even if Wei Ying is an adult with neurodivergent traits (Very possibly AuDHD, complete with sensory issues and proprioception problems and all that,) he does know his own body. Which is how he knows that right now, it’s doing something wrong. something off. 

Iit isn’t pain, exactly, what grips his stomach and refuses to let go of it. It’s more like a diffuse discomfort, the kind you feel when you wake up after sleeping twisted at a bad angle, and it takes some time to figure out which muscle is betraying you. Except, this doesn’t fade. It stays with him all day, every day, getting dramatically worse in the mornings. 

And worst of all: it doesn’t have a name. 

“Well, I think it’s probably just exhaustion and stress piling up, A-Xian,” Jiejie had told him, gently. “You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself, have you?”

Wei Ying had talked to her more than once, and this was the conclusion they’d reached together. He didn’t want to say anything else — not wanting to worry her— so he’d only shrugged it off. “Yeah, mayb I’’ve been living pretty wildly lately, but I can’t complain.”

(And he couldn’t, because— objectively— he found himself right now, in a much better position than what he’d been ever in his entire life). 

“Knowing how incompetent you can be sometimes,” Wen Qing had said, rolling her eyes as he showed up —unnanouced, as always— at her clinic, while she was clearly in the middle of work, “You probably picked up some stomach bug or something, and what you’re experiencing are some remnants as it leaves your body.” 

“Wow, Qing-jie, that’s cruel!” Wei Ying had protested, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Am I really that hopeless at telling when my stomach hurts because of a bug?”

Wen Qing gave him a glare and Wei Ying, suddenly knew what she was thinking about (After years upon years of actually knowing her  it was obvious): ‘You can’t tell even the difference between a mild stomach pain due to not eating properly from an intestinal obstruction that requires immediate medical attention, you idiot’.

It 's true. Wei Ying hadn’t even tried to argue. More than once, the only reason he was still alive was because of Wen Qing.

“So if it’s a bug,” he’d grinned at her, “can you give me something to get rid of it?” She’d rolled her eyes at him again, of course, but in the end she’d prescribed a dewormer and a bit of Melox for the acid reflux.

As it turned out, it was none of that.

Wei Ying has lived through long periods of stress before; poor eating habits, insomnia and had come out mostly unscathed all the samw. And it couldn’t be a stomach bug caused by neglecting himself either, because—believe it or not—Lan Zhan takes good care of him. That includes making sure he ate proper meals and got enough exercise, the amount a young alpha like Wei Ying actually needs.

He’s grateful for the effort his boyfriend—another alpha—puts into taking care of him.

The thing is… it still feels wrong.

Like taking a sudden step backward, to a time when Wei Ying’s life was falling apart in every possible direction. Back when he didn’t know what food security felt like, or what enough sleep looked like— enough not to leave him utterly exhausted, drained, and foul-tempered the next day. Back when he didn’t know what self-love was, or what it meant to be genuinely cared for by someone else, and he came across as irritable and prickly more often than not, emotionally raw, rough to the touch (those last four things were a fucking nightmare, if you ask him).

It’s almost like being dragged back into a room he once escaped from, into a skin he shed years ago—even if only for a moment.

Wei Ying breathes in. ‘Inhale. Two to four. Exhale slowly—eight counts, like fogging a mirror’. Again. ‘Inhale. Two to four. Exhale.’

His pulse settles.

He has tools for this. This is one of them: slow, conscientious breathing, a quiet anchor when everything else threatens to tip him off balance.

He’s in a very stable place in his life—too stable, actually. He’s happy, and he loves Lan Zhan. They’re both happy; they’ve been togeter for almost four months and a half now, on the verge of moving in under the same roof (although yes, they have practically an entire decade now of having known each other since their early teen days). He has a job he genuinely enjoys, one that pays him far better than he ever expected. Lan Zhan supports him in the ways Wei Ying needs. He’s both an exceptional best friend and a supportive, cool boyfriend. And even better— he does that without going overboard or tipping into overprotectiveness—they’re still working on that—, and it’s been going well. Wei Ying has friends and family who support him, who show up when he asks. He knows his body much better now, has grown more comfortable in his own skin—truly comfortable this time—and he’s even learned a few tricks to make his “bad brain days” not quite so… well. Bad.

That’s why he’s not going to spiral into full-blown panic.

(Even if a part of him really, really wants to right now.)

He huffs and stares into the open refrigerator for what feels like an eternity. Inside, there are the containers of food Lan Zhan made for the both of them yesterday: chicken with bok choy, stir-fried noodles, and wonton soup (a small indulgence Wei Ying had suggested). There’s also the congee Lan Zhan prepared early that very morning, before leaving for work. And then there’s the takeout container, still wrapped in cellophane, of ramyeon from the Boba and Buldak Ramyeon place Wei Ying likes to frequent after long, stressful days at the office. (Extra spicy chicken ramyeon, just the way he likes it, with the perfect balance of kimchi and egg. Fantastic hangover food, if you ask him.) But right now, seeing it sitting there—sad and abandoned in the fridge—makes Wei Ying feel nauseous. Repelled!! He has never, in his life, rejected buldak  ramyeon like this!!!

He sniffles a little and, in the end, only manages to eat half a mandarin and drink a glass of water. Coffee—his beloved morning coffee—didn’t go down either.

For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t he even keep down a single cup of coffee? Let alone three—the bare minimum he needs to function properly during — he checks the kitchen’s wall clock— 8:30 am in the bloody morning!

The same thing happens that night, even after Lan Zhan comes home with more ramyeon. Comfort ramyeon this time, because he thought Wei Ying was still feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Ramyeon. Not as spicy this time.

Wei Ying nearly bursts into tears at the sight of his boyfriend standing in the doorway, holding two bottles of his favorite drink—Emperor’s Smile (even though Lan Zhan himself doesn’t drink at all)—and a large container of please get well soon ramyeon.

They’re both in the kitchen after dinner now,  Wei Ying having barely managed to eat a quarter of his portion before having to excuse himself and retreat to the bathroom for a moment. Lan Zhan watches him quietly now that he’s back in the kitchen,  leaning against the doorframe with a steaming cup of tea in his hands, while Wei Ying—who’s supposed to be washing the dishes tonight, because that’s only fair. Lan Zhan already cooked and brought the food, even after a long, exhausting day—feels his stomach rumble again, pathetically hungry.

Lan Zhan observes him in silence, making no comment, until later—around 8:30 p.m., to be precise—when Wei Ying wanders back into the kitchen absentmindedly, opens the fridge, looks inside for two seconds, and then closes it again with a small, defeated motion, like a puppy denied food, left to drool as it watches its meal being taken right away from under its tiny nose.

“Are you okay, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan finally asks.

“I’m fine,” Wei Ying says for the fourth time that night, opening the fridge again without knowing what he’s even looking for, and closing it again in less than three seconds.

This time, though, it seems like his boyfriend doesn’t believe him at all.

Wei Ying lifts his head and meets Lan Zhan’s gaze watching him more carefully now, with that calm of his that, depending on the day, makes Wei Ying feel either deeply reassured or suspiciously like he’s being accused of something.

“What?” He asks, trying to convince Lan Zhan of the fact he’s okay — which he’s definitely not— with a wide, impish smile.

As it turns out to be, he doesn’t fool Lan Zhan, who still watches Wei Ying, in absolute silence. It’s a tactic. Wei Ying hates when Lan Zhan does this—stays quiet and forces him to talk, especially when Wei Ying doesn’t want to say outright what’s going on. (Uncle Fengmian used to do it sometimes, too, and Wei Ying curses internally. He’s never liked uncomfortable silences with ulterior motives, because in his AuDHD mind, that means he has to fill in the silence before even thinking in advance about what to say, saying it and then remembering it and rethinking it for a long, long time afterwards.)

“It's just… I’m a little tired and stressed, okay? It was a terrible day,” he finally says, sighing as he drags his feet back into the living room.

He grabs Mr. Tackle—a Miniso throw pillow Lan Zhan gave him on Wei YIng’s 18th birthday as some sort of reverse-applied joke, after Wei Ying had joked that maybe he’d give something like that to his future omega, just to see what Lan Zhan would think about that. . The taco has since become a permanent fixture in this living room and in Wei Ying’s everyday life. He hugs it tightly against his chest and stares up at the ceiling, the still-damp ends of his dark hair fanning out against the suede upholstery of the couch.

On any other day, Lan Zhan would gently scold him, ask him not to lean like that on the couch—especially not the suede one, since water stains never really come out. But today, the other alpha simply watches him, waiting for Wei Ying to tell him what’s actually going on.

It takes about twenty more seconds before the floodgates open.

“Okay. I’m not fine,” Wei Ying blurts out. “I feel weird, Lan Zhan. I couldn’t focus at all today while my students were presenting their final projects for the semester. I mixed up my coffee mug in the teachers’ lounge three times—three times!—with Mianmian’s, even though they look nothing alike. The ramyeon you brought me, which was very good, by the way—plus the one from last night that I tried to eat this morning—none of it stayed down. And my stomach feels tiny, like there’s a knot in it, or like things are shifting around in a way they shouldn’t. It makes me feel disgusted—nauseous! Nauseous, Lan Zhan! You know this has never happened to me before, because I happily devour any kind of noodles you give me, especially if they’re extra spicy! And today I threw up, like, five times in a row, and I feel so foggy, weirdly irritable. Go on, ask me if I want to do our usual nighttime activities—”Wei Ying lifts his eyebrows and gestures vaguely with both hands toward Lan Zhan, who’s seated on the opposite couch, facing him.

“Do you want to come to bed with me tonight, Wei Ying? Let me fuck my knot into you?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice low and dark—the one he uses for these kinds of intimate moments.

Under normal circumstances, Wei Ying would feel aroused right away. He’d say yes. They’d make it to the bedroom already kissing, tongues in each other’s mouths before they even managed to set foot inside, stripped bare long before reaching the mattress. Lan Zhan would be presing into him, deep, before they could even close the bedroom door and shut the rest of the quiet, empty apartment out.But…

“No,” Wei Ying says, defeated, shaking his head. “Even the idea of sex makes me gag right now,” he admits, closing his eyes with genuine mortification.

What the hell is happening to him?!

Wei Ying stares up at the ceiling, still clutching Mr. Takle to his chest like some kind of improvised lifesaver. The words not yet weigh heavily on his tongue. Not until he actually feels like his body isn’t doing something strange—like he isn’t just losing his mind.

But what the hell is he even expecting in response? He doesn’t know. He only knows that the unfamiliarity—the not knowing, the sheer sense of this being unheard of, unprecedented—makes his stomach churn with nervous energy all over again.

And Lan Zhan keeps looking at him.One heartbeat passes. Then another. He only looks. Then, Lan Zhan finally says, “Thank you for telling me,”  with that inflection-less tone of his.

He doesn’t move right away. There’s no disappointment on his face (Wei Ying thinks that in the entire year they’ve been together, now on the verge of moving in together, Lan Zhan hasn’t once shown him anything like real, deep disappointment. Well. Not strictly directed at him, anyways—only miles and miles of patience, the kind only he seems to possess). There’s no sign of irritation either, just a slight furrow between his brows—a sign that he’s taking this seriously, thinking it through carefully, trying to come up with a response that will give Wei Ying what he’s waiting for. Some reassurance, some relief.

His alpha boyfriend keeps watching him closely, with focused, taut attention, as if every one of Wei Ying’s movements is being carefully noted, catalogued.

And then Wei Ying feels the urge to shift again, or to rub his right thumb distractedly along his left forearm—the way he always does when he’s uncertain. When he’s restless.

“Say something, please,” he asks softly. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking, Lan Zhan.”

“I’m just  thinking,” Lan Zhan replies. That’s all he says.

“It’s okay,” Wei Ying says quietly, eyes fixed on the wrinkled, smiling face of the pillow from how tightly he’s squeezing Mr. Taco. “You don’t have to think about it so much. You don’t need to try to help me fix it, but  I really appreciate the intention, nevertheless.”

He immediately receives a look from Lan Zhan that very clearly says: ‘Wei Ying, I’m your boyfriend. Of course I care. Of course I want to know you’re okay. Of course I want to help you—however I can.’

Wei Ying—former number-one self-saboteur, who sometimes still forgets that Lan Zhan truly loves him, that he does this because he cares (his brain… tch. It’s being particularly unhelpful right now, isn’t it? Bad brain. Lan Zhan is an ally, not an enemy. Not like Madam Yu)—is just about to say that it’s his problem, that it’s just his body doing weird body things, that Lan Zhan doesn’t need to worry so much— an old reflex, buried somewhere in the back of his mind from years ago (even though he actually hates making Lan Zhan worry too much)—when the other alpha rests his large, warm palm against Wei Ying’s bare thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

Wei Ying shivers slightly at the contact, which is firm and grounding all at once.

“I want to,” Lan Zhan says. “You don’t have to tell me that you’re ‘just not yourself right now.’ I know you.” Wei Ying opens his mouth as if to protest, or add something, but closes it again. “I want to know that you’re okay. That everything is alright,” Lan Zhan continues, and he sounds sincere. There’s even a hint of vulnerability there, paired with quiet resolve—something he doesn’t show often. Only to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying exhales, long and slow, and finally gives in, his voice barely more than a breath. 

“…Okay.”

Lan Zhan nods, and then he’s moving from the sofa across the room to sit beside Wei Ying, slipping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him closer against his chest. He knows exactly what Wei Ying needs, and he gives it to him without being asked. He strokes his hair, hIs back, rubs hIs thumb along Wei Ying’s forearm in a grounding, reassuring motion, while Wei Ying buries his face into the curve of Lan Zhan’s neck—where the scent of sandalwood and something clean and forest-fresh is strongest—and simply closes hIs eyes, content, anchored, as Mr. Takle slips just slightly from his grasp.

“Does it hurt?” Lan Zhan asks softly after a while, voice coming from above him, once they’ve spent several quiet moments held together like this.

Wei Ying shakes his head, then presses his nose more firmly into Lan Zhan’s neck. He leaves a soft kiss there—maybe a way to anchor himself—licks lightly, then just breathes Lan Zhan in.

“No. It’s just… strange. Like something is out of place. Like something decided to take up residence inside me. It feels like my body is running on the wrong instructions. Backwards.”

The nausea is unmistakable. Lan Zhan had noticed it right away, along with Wei Ying’s heightened irritability and sensitivity. But there’s something else, too…

“I suddenly have this overwhelming urge to nest,” Wei Ying admits after another pause, his voice muffled against Lan Zhan.

There’s a slight, hitching exhale above him. Lan Zhan’s large, steady fingers still for a fraction of a second against Wei Ying’s back—just an instant—before he resumes the gentle motion.

Wei Ying feels him swallow.

“As if you were turning…?” Lan Zhan asks quietly. Into an omega, he doesn’t say, but the implication lingers there, unspoken, in the air.

Wei Ying shakes his head again, then realizes Lan Zhan might not see it and adds, “No.”

Because… he doesn’t think it’s that.

He’s heard stories, sure. Rumors about alphas supposedly turning into omegas after prolonged exposure to another alpha’sspunk . Pure fantasy, if you ask him. The kind of thing you find in live-action porn videos, erotic novels, adult media and the like. Alphas don’t turn into omegas. It was probably meant to scare young alphas into not getting involved with other alphas, male or female—or simply the result of people not knowing as much about genetics and biology as they think they do. (Wei Ying has spent time around geneticists, biologists, biomedical practitioners, nurses—people from Wen Qing’s circles. He knows a thing or two more than the average person.)

“It’s more like… how do I explain it? An idea. A suggestion. A what if?” he says slowly. “And my body reacts to it, like it wants to answer it eagerly. Like responding feels… imperative.”

Is something wrong with him? Is he… Broken somewhere? Did he come with some setting no one ever bothered to tell him about? (A little, traitorous —maybe even a little bit devil’s advocate— part of him says it happened once. With his late-diagnosed neurodivergence. There was something that could happen right now like this. Too, right?)

‘A-Xian, alphas don’t have that nesting instinct, silly. That’s something only we omegas deal with’, Shijie’s voice echoes in his head again, patient, fond. 

And of course, because Wei Ying feels strange, exposed, and very much not in control of his own body right now, he keeps talking, like he tends to do in moments like this.

“It’s not just that, of course. It’s not like I’m not hungry,” he adds, absently sliding a hand over his abdomen, his brow knitting slightly. “It’s more like… it’s not time. Like my body is saying ‘not yet’ or ‘let’s save the energy we have’. You’d be shocked to know that over just these past three days I’ve had this overwhelming urge to not move at all and sleep for another thousand years. Me, Lan Zhan!! Sleeping way more than the nine-ten hours  I do even when I’m genuinely exhausted and trying to recover from a brutal day. And that definitely has nothing to do with burnout or stress or my neurodivergence. I just know it. It’s like… like my body knows something I don’t.”

“You’ve been like this for several days,” Lan Zhan says after another long pause. He has been weighing every word, memorizing every knot of tension in Wei Ying’s back, every sign of fatigue, every clumsy movement since he got home that night, every uneven breath his boyfriend takes.

Wei Ying exhales and settles further into him. “Yeah.”

“And it’s not going away.”

“No.”

Silence settles between them again—not awkward, not hostile, just there, breathing with them. The muted hum of the city filters in from outside: one of Wei Ying’s neighbors coming home, the sound of a car engine cutting off. A couple’s conversation passes by, slightly muffled, almost imperceptible. Inside the apartment, everything seems suspended in time for just a moment.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says after that quiet stretch, lifting his right hand to massage the bridge of his nose—between thumb and forefinger—the way he does to counter visual strain and the fatigue of a long day. His voice is full of patience. Of love. So much it hurts, so much that Wei Ying almost wants to whine.

There’s a pause, and then, with all the tact in the world, Lan Zhan continues, “I know you had a lot of doctor visits in the past. And that they left a mark. But please consider the possibility that we go—together.”

Lan Zhan rises slowly, not stopping the gentle contact until the last possible second. Wei Ying follows him with wide eyes, his cheeks slightly flushed. His body tenses reflexively. Almost the same way it does when someone says, ‘I brought my dog for a walk around the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi’, or ‘you’re going to need an injection’… because he really, really hates needles (as much as he’s afraid of dogs!!)

Part of him knows Lan Zhan is worried, and that there’s nothing better than making sure everything is fine. But another part of him is just… tired. Because countless times he was forced to spend nights in hospital rooms, because he didn’t take proper care of himself when he was younger, or because Madam Yu would suddenly decide she wouldn’t cover health or education expenses. And even when Uncle Fengmian looked at him with concern, wanting to help, it was always painfully clear who controlled the family finances.

Too many close calls. Too many moments where he nearly met with Saint Peter—because of drinking too much, or throwing himself into danger to protect Shijie, Jiang Cheng, and twice even Wen Ning (once from people as dangerous as his own cousins)…

He simply has… a long medical history. Hospital visits, being greeted by needles, medications, and antiseptic-white rooms. His stomach twists just thinking about it—about tests, examinations—but Lan Zhan is… right.

Still, he clings to the last option: postponing things just a little, so he can feel like he has some semblance of control. And if that’s not possible, well… then he’ll deal with it.

“But Lan Zhan, I already went to see Wen Qing,” he says quickly, reflexively, pushing himself up a little so he can look him in the eye. “She even gave me a dewormer and something for the acidity. That’s it.”

“That was before,” Lan Zhan replies gently. “Before you got worse.”

Wei Ying purses his lips in a thin line. He knows his boyfriend is right; he’s known all of this since days ago. But, admitting it out loud makes the situation turn into a reality, something tangible. And Wei Ying’s brain… simply just wants to enter into freeze mode to protect itself, wants to delay this a little bit longer. 

He closes his eyes, inhales a long and sharp breath, and then murmurs, “I don’t want it to turn out to be anything serious.”

Lan Zhan finally continues his hand’s ministrations against Wei Ying’s back, sitting him more into a position where the other alpha con rest his head on his shoulder and brings his other hand, between their bodies, to touch firmly, over his knee, warm and anchoring, in a reaffirmation of ‘I’m here’. 

“Wei Ying,” he says, “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. 

Wei Ying closes his eyes for a second; the phrase catching and lodging into his chest in an unexpected way. “I feel… dumb,” he confesses, “As if I was exaggerating. As if everything was just an invention. My own little, disordered fantasy.”

“It is not.”

“How do you know?”

Lan Zhan stares back at him, in all seriousness. “Because I know you,” he states in reaffirmation. 

That … seems to be enough to make something inside of Wei Ying break. He swallows, and he even lowers his voice more before speaking. “Today, I got dizzy at work… I got simple stuff mixed up, I couldn't even focus. And then… When I tried to eat during lunch,” he grimaces, “I almost ended up vomiting my food again.” 

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow furrows. “How many times has it been today?”

Wei Ying doubts. And then, he says, “Three… maybe four?”

The silence that follows through is different, heavier. 

Lan Zhan rises and goes for his phone. He doesn’t unblock it, he just holds the device in his palm, as if the simple fact of holding it here on his hand was a choice. 

“We will go tomorrow morning to see someone who gives you a proper check up”, he informs with a voice that doesn’t allow room for discussion.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying tries to dissuade him, but is immediately shut up with another look. He then swallows a small groan. He wants to assure his boyfriend of the fact that he’s okay, that Lan Zhan is a bossy little bastard—when he puts his mind into it. He might be in fact the most bossy of the Lans he’s acquaintanced with —, but Lan Zhan beats him to it. 

“It’s not a discussion, Wei Ying. We will go and that’s it.”

There’s no roughness in his voice, just a calm, quiet firmness, immobile that tells Wei Ying ‘please, let me help you’. And, who is Wei Ying to say no to the man who, time and again, has shown him he is trustworthy, who has been a constant, containing presence to him all this time? He can just sigh, and surrender. “Okay,” he finally concedes. 

He continues eyeing the roof again. Slowly, tiredness finally sinks into his bones, pressing them more into the couch, digging deep on his insides. 

“Hey,” Wei Ying suddenly mutters, “What if it’s something odd?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer him immediately. “What do you mean with ‘odd’?” He asks, while he comes back to take his place, seated beside Wei Ying, who is again resting against him. 

He shrugs and while he plays with Lan Zhan’s hand in his (both of them have supposedly same-size hands, but Lan Zhan’s has long, elegant and slender fingers and Wei Ying loves to feel it against his), Wei Ying says, “I don’t know. Something that is amiss? Something that…” He gestures vaguely, “something that is not normal. You know, how long it took me to figure out how to define the fact that I had a… neurospicy brain. But I’m afraid that this time it might harm me even more.”

Lan Zhan watches him closely. “Wei Ying,” he says, calmly. “What happens to you doesn’t have to be ‘normal’ to be real. Or for us to take care of you.”

Wei ying turns his head and looks him in the eye. His are a little bright, maybe too glazy, though he isn’t crying. “Do you promise not to panic?”

“I promise to stay” Lan Zhan answers without hesitation. 

That’s what finally breaks him (because he knows it’s true.)

Wei Ying closes his eyes and nods, resting his forehead against the back of the coach. His breathing becomes slow and heavy. 

“I’m scared,” he admits in a low voice. 

Lan Wangji says nothing. He just moves closer, close enough for his shoulder to brush against Wei Ying’s present, resolute. “I know,” he replies. “And I am here, with you.”

_________________

Sleep doesn’t come to Wei Ying easily that night. He has to toss and turn, changing positions every few seconds, as if he is staging a dance routine and his darkened room is the grand rehearsal space for the dancers. He goes to the bathroom three times during the early wee hours, relieves himself, and before going back to his room, looks at himself in the mirror. The man looking back at him is young, in his late twenties. He is attractive, but has increasingly prominent dark bruises under his eyes and seems somewhat tormented. 

After returning to his room he pulled his weighted blanket over himself. He did some stretches— not too strenuous for the time of night. He plays music and tries not to spend too much time in bed (he’s heard it’s not good for you to spend more than 30-40 minutes in bed when you cannot sleep— else you might develop a habit of thinking bed is for something else, not for resting and sleeping.) He stays awake, jumping from activity to activity for hours, floating in that uncomfortable space between tiredness and wakefulness, where the body feels too heavy but the mind refuses to shut down completely. Lan Zhan didn’t want to sleep with him tonight (something Wei Ying doesn’t blame him for. But wouldn’t it have been better for both of them to sleep together tonight, here in Wei Ying’s apartment? It would be practical for them to go together later for the medical checkup.)

Then he thinks he remembers Lan Zhan saying something about having to stay up a little late because he’d been away at a conference a few days ago and wanted to do some work and academia’s teaching lessons’ catch up. He also had some family finances to take care of, and he didn’t want to wake Wei Ying with his business (because, there’s only one room in Wei Ying’s apartment and no other available place to do paperwork other than there— Not even the table. It wasn’t set for Lan Zhan’s specific requirements for a safe, comfortable work desk. “Kitchen tables are for eating, Wei Ying,” he  had said.  Wei Ying loves the man so much, it hurts.) 

Wei Ying, sad without the weight or warmth of Lan Zhan’s body beside him — goes back to bed and tries to think of pleasant memories, of nice things to fall asleep to… which he only manages to do well past four in the morning, fitfully and unevenly. 

He dreams of white corridors, of lights that are too bright, of hands touching him— examining him— without him being able to see the faces they belong to. He wakes with a knot in his stomach and a vague sense of loss. 

The next morning, Lan Zhan is already there at exactly seven a.m — after letting himself in with the spare key to Wei Ying’s place, who had allowed him to keep (and after texting the alpha at 6:30 am to say he was coming over, to wich, Wei Ying, still half-asleep, had replied with a thumbs-up emoji.)

He helps Wei Ying get dressed and waits for him in the kitchen with breakfast, a simple congee and a cup of tea, while he waits for his brain to come back online. 

Lan Zhan isn’t going to let him go on his own— that is much painfully clear when he tells Wei Ying, “I’ll drive you”, with that steady, decisive intent that comes from being a Lan alpha —one who is, very much, not used to being disobeyed. And then, he stays at Wei Ying’s side while Wei Ying gets back to his room to get dressed. He doesn’t protest. He’s too tired for that— and it’s still insanely early for him, especially for a Saturday morning. 

Wei Ying rests his forehead against the car window, watching the city blur past in front of his eyes. His stomach churns, and his head feels light, like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Lan Zhan drives in silence, one hand steady on the wheel while the other rests nearby, ready in case Wei ying decides to take it. And he does so, a few minutes later. 

When they arrive, the building is white. Too white. Wei Ying frowns the moment he steps out of the car. “I hate places like this,” he mutters. 

“I know,” Lan Zhan replies. “It won’t take long.”

That’s what Wei Ying also hopes. 

The waiting room smells like disinfectant and stale coffee. Wei Ying sits stiffly in his chair, hands clasped together, bouncing his leg without realizing it—his knee tapping lightly against the floor. His other hand is rubbing at his opposite forearm again, and Lan Zhan, quiet but firm, catches it and places it on his own thigh, giving it a squeeze. It’s one of the gestures they’ve learned for calming Wei Ying down— and thank god, it works. 

“Breathe,” Lan Zhan murmurs under his breath. Wei ying obeys, even though the air tastes too sharp with stale coffee and pine disinfectant and something antiseptic. 

A doctor receives them after a few minutes. She’s a middle-aged woman, with a calm voice— clearly, an alpha— and an attentive gaze. 

She reads through the history on her tablet, her brow slightly furrowed. 

“So,” She says, barely looking up at Wei Ying over a pair of small, rectangular reading glasses, “You’ve been experiencing general malaise, nausea, fatigue, appetite loss, and episodes of vomiting for about two or three weeks—and I quote, ‘maybe even more’, addendum added by your boyfriend here.”

Wei Ying gives a sharp intake of breath while Lan Zhan squeezes his hand under the table. 

“Yes,” he confirms, Wei Ying just nods. 

“And changes in sleep, very notorious ones at that,” Lan Zhan adds, “And difficulty concentrating,” he says. 

The doctor looks at them both, then studies Wei Ying more closely. “The stomach symptoms you’re describing… do they include localized pain in any specific area.”

“No,” Wei Ying answers, “Well maybe, mid center of the abdomen. But it’s pretty much just… weirdness. Like something is not in the right place.”

The doctor takes note. “Dizziness?”

“Yes.”

“Sensitivity to smells or foods?”

Wei Ying hesitates, doing a serious inventory of his memories, frowning slightly. “I think so”, he says after a small pause, “I cannot longer eat spicy food, or too condimented  food or too heavy fats, for a matter of fact. I also get heartburn?” He lets out a small laugh. “Hah, it has been a long time ago since I last properly experienced a heartburn like this.”

“Mmm,” she hums, still writing something down. Then, she looks back at him, one eyebrow faintly raised. “ A long time, you say?”

“Oh yes. My other other headmaster doctor —who also happens to be a good friend of mine and like a second sister— says I had developed pretty much a “stomach of steel” or something over the years, but I cannot — feel it steeling so much nowadays.”

Doctor Fei smiles slightly at the comment (Wei Ying is indeed nervous, although he tries not to show. Of course he kinda is.)

“Mmm, ¿and any notorious moodswings?” She continues her assessment. 

Wei Ying glances sideways at Lan Zhan, then he answers, “A little bit.”

Doctor Fei nods slowly.

And then, as if Lan Zhan can’t help himself— because it might be another very telling symptom— he adds, “He’s also described an unusual urge to nest. Even though we know that, in alphas, that isn’t typically a common behavior.”

The stylus in Doctor Fei’s hand stills against the tablet. She looks up at them, and she is — honestly— surprised. 

“I see.” She adjusts her reading glasses slightly on the bridge of her nose. “Then, all the more reason for us to run a few tests,” she says. “Don’t worry— noting invasive. Just bloodwork, urine, hormone levels, and a full biochemical panel. Mostly to rule out a few conditions.”

Wei Ying swallows. “Is it… serious?”

“We don’t know yet,” she answers honestly. “But there are certain patterns I’d like to take a closer look at. If it’s not an inconvenience for the two of you.”

Under the table, Lan Zhan’s fingers lace through Wei Ying’s and squeeze harder. “Do it,” he says, “Whatever is necessary.”

The tests only take like thirty-five minutes at most— though, for Wei Ying, it feels like an eternity. 

He hates needles, which is something he can now admit without shame. He grits his teeth while the nurse works, staring hard at a fixed point on the wall. Lan Zhan doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— but he just sits there, like an ever-present apparition, sitting across from them. Watchful. Supportive. 

When it’s finally over, Wei Ying feels wrung out, like he’s run miles without ever leaving the spot. 

“The results will be ready tomorrow around noon,” Doctor Fei says. 

Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying. “Thank you. We’ll be out then.”

Wei Ying nods, too tired to argue. 

That afternoon, they’re sitting together again on the living room couch in Wei Ying’s apartment, two steaming mugs set on the coffee table. Wei Ying has his head rested against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, while Mr. Taco is back in his rightful place— as an emotional support cushion— in Wei Ying’s lap. He closes his eyes, feeling the faint, lingering ache behind them from lack of sleep, and the hunger post tests finally trying to build there too, dull and insistent. 

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while. “If something weird comes up…”

Lan Zhan lowers his gaze to him. 

“We’ll deal with it when it comes,” he replies. 

“And if it’s something that… isn’t…?” Wei Ying asks, but he doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to. 

Lan Zhan is too quick, answering firmly: “Wei Ying. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

Because you’re with me. 

Wei Ying closes his eyes. 

Time drags— too slow. But for some reason, he can sleep. He can forget everything for a moment. 

Until the next day arrives. 

Finally, a nurse calls their names and asks them to come in— A Sunday appointment is unusual— there’s no one else in the waiting room now besides the two of them.  

Doctor Fei receives them, and this time, her expression is different. Not alarmed, nor calm either. Just… focused. 

“The results are… interesting,” she says, choosing her words carefully. 

Wei Ying straightens more in his seat. “Interesting how?”

The doctor turns the screen toward them. “There are certain hormone levels that don’t quite match a typical alpha profile,” she explains, “It isn’t common, but it’s not impossible, either.”

Wei Ying feels his stomach drop to the floor. “What do you mean they don’t match?”

Doctor Fei hesitates for a second. “I want to order more tests to confirm first," she says. “But there are indications of a rare genetic condition. Nothing dangerous in itself, but… maybe it could explain even more your symptoms. Can you do first a couple more tests first and be back  tomorrow morning? I’d rather be careful and verify  it first.”

Wei Ying nods slightly, dazed.  

They do so, this tim, him even more nervous than before, but also this time Lan Zhan accompanying him to every single test he is subjected to. And in the spare times he can watch Lan Zhan carefully, as he gives Wei Ying a steady, comforting presence during all, he notices the tension in the other alpha’s shoulders, the kind that doesn’t usually live there. A muscle jumping out on his chiseled jaw. 

In all the time Wei Ying has known him, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lan Zhan this tense before—not since he’d stood face to face with Madam Yu when she’d finally decided to cut Wei Ying out for good, severing every financial and familiar tie from Wei Ying with the Jiangs (and hurling every offensive, scanting comment in his direction while she could). Lan Zhan had ended up in a heated argument with her too, defending Wei Ying from the verbal and psychological abuse she’d always loved throwing at him. 

Both go home, tensely, yet this time they’re maybe too tired (between waiting and other stuff going around with each) to talk about it properly. Lan Zhan just goes to sleep that night, with Wei Ying between his arms, both crammed up in Wei Ying’s small size bed, holding him close, tightly. 

______________

Doctor Fei receives them herself in the entrance doors the next day, Monday, during 11 am and they’re admitted directly into her dispatch— although the waiting room is again packed, and even more so (since it’s a week day during rush hours)luckily, Doctor Fei had given them advance notice, and she’s already expecting them. She closes the door behind them with a definitive, soft click. Then she takes her sit in front of the couple, laces her hands over the desk and watches them carefully before speaking. (Wei Ying swears he can notice some sort of light in her eyes, which maybe he hadn’t noticed yesterday). 

“So, what is it?” Lan Zhan asks, holding tightly Wei Ying’s hand under the table. 

Doctor Fei stares at them and then begins. “I’m going to explain this to you, slowly. But please don’t worry, nothing on the test results indicate there’s any reason to be alarmed. This isn’t exactly a complicated diagnosis, per se… It’s just… surprising”, she assures them, “ And if at any moment you want me to slow down, please let me know.”

A pause, and then, Doctor Fei begins, “Mr Wei, the test results show us  double genetic expression, as the first discovery.”

The silence that follows is thick. Wei Ying feels the world tilt slightly. What does that… even mean?

“What does that mean?” Lan Zhan asks for him, voice low. 

Doctor Fei takes a slow breath, then holds Wei Ying’s gaze. “It means your body might be functioning in a different way than we expected. Your genetic profile shows a variation that appears unusually in the population of young alphas. Its, not, as I’ve previously stated, an illness nor a dangerous annomaly— there’s no reason for alarm. It’s simply a rare condition.”

She opens the folder and slides a page toward them, filled with charts, indicators, and percentiles.  

“You have what is known as a dual genetic expression,” she explains. “In simple terms, your body doesn’t respond to a single alpha pattern. There is a second genetic expression here, in the 0.2001 percentile, that is active— although it typically remains latent. Ninety-eight percent alpha, genetically, hornonally, biologically. But the small last two percent has recessive omega alleles only.”

Wei Ying blinks. “What does that… actually mean?”

Doctor Fei smiles at him sympathetically before continuing. “It means your body produces and responds to pheromones differently than most alphas do. Under specific circumstances— such as prolonged stress, hormonal shifts, stagnant cycles, stable bonds— that second expression can partially activate. Even more so if there are…” She pauses, “Other specific factors.”

“Like what?” Lan Zhan frowns. 

“They aren’t necessarily negative. This, what might be causing this patterns and changes is something you’ve been experiencing for a little while now, but it isn’t high-risk.”

“Is it?” Wei Ying asks. (Look, don’t blame him okay, for trying to make sure. Enough shitty surprises he has had for an entire lifetime. He will trust doctor Fei’s statements, but given if she can convince his little still-trauma addled neurospicy brain of such thing). 

“Yes,” doctor Fei nods, then she lists down his symptoms; “Nausea, fatigue, appetite changes, the increased—reported— need to nest, something uncommon in alpha behavior, sensory hyper sensitivity and over reactivity… Even emotional swings and problems sleeping.”

Slowly, he begins to feel something click into place— though, he still doesn’t know whether he likes it or not. He wants even clearer explanations. 

“Why now?” He asks, brow furrowing in confusion. 

Lan Zhan squeezes his hand harder, grounding him. 

“Because your body is reacting to something specific right now” Doctor Fei replies, watching him closely. “Something that is already happening. The changes in composition and hormones naturally might trigger, in cases like this, the last recessive factors that were asleep.”

So? What does that have to do with him…?

What is… happening? His mental squirrels and his executive manager are about to panic, slam buttons at random on his internal control board. The executive manager part of him —tethered to his autism— argues that he needs to stay calm and listen to the facts before he slips, objectively and coldly put, into a small defensive freeze. And the squirrels — his more ADHD side— want to run, spiral, get out of there. Claw the walls. Scream. Do something. 

“Wei Ying,” Doctor Fei continues, holding his gaze. He forces himself to look at her and swallow, while Lan Zhan doesn’t let go of his hand, “you’re … pregnant. You’re expecting— approximately six weeks along.”

What? 

He is what? 

No.

So that’s why his ass had been self-lubricating out of nowhere from time to time? —especially when it came to thinking of sex with Lan Zhan, which almost inevitably, immediately ended up with him having more nausea? (Something that had never happened to him before, mind you! Uhm, yes, yes… Both the self-lubricating ass in a very low volume and the nausea and dizziness at the idea of having sex with his boyfriend.) 

And that was why… the sudden urge to nest as well?

Lan Zhan says nothing beside him. He is a statue— he’s carved out of jade, ivory, or ice— perfectly still, and yet, somehow, he still lets out a short, razor-edged exhale, like how a statue definitely should not do.

Wei Ying feels as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room at once. Like he’s trapped in the cabin of a plane in a steep nosedive, the pressure and oxygen dropping too fast. Like a tsunami wave crashing through this dispatch, this same instant…taking all breath with it. 

“N-No… that can’t be,” he mutters, his voice suddenly small, and he blinks several times. 

“I understand this is a lot to take in, I really do, and that you may believe it isn’t possible,” Doctor Fei tries to soothe him. “But these are the results we obtained after multiple studies and tests— test results we analyzed over again three separate times, testing for reliability. I know it is standardized and widely understood that alphas who mate with other alphas do not conceive, be it male/female pairs and more same sex-couples. But your… your case, here with Mr. Lan is a miracle, Mr. Wei. An unusual gift of biology. It is your own child— your own fruit of love— that you are carrying in your womb.”

Womb, the word feels rare. And at Wei Ying’s obvious, confused, baffled stare, Doctor Fei clarifies; “The deeper testing confirmed the presence of a small, underdeveloped but still-there womb. Maybe that’s why also the pain or rather wrongness felt so sharp during the first appearance of your symptoms.”

Wei Ying is suddenly dizzy (with this new information intake). It’s too much… to take in. 

“This isn't a joke, right?” He asks, tightening his grip on Lan Zhan’s fingers until he’s nearly crushing them. Lan Zhan barely grimaces perceptively, it’s the smallest thing of all, his teeth clicking faintly. (He could, of course, endure a lot of that pain— he could endure far worse, since, for Wei Ying, it is worth it.)

“It is not” Doctor Fei shakes her head, patiently. “It is the truth. That is your baby,” and then she takes out the belly sonogram done to him after the womb-testing thig, and there’s the truth… the matter present, visibly. “This over here,” she signals at the small, smudged bean in the center,” is your little one, your baby. You’re expecting a little one— six weeks along.”

Wei Ying stares at the full report of test analysis in front of him as though it might sprout legs and try to devour him. The hormonal shifts are there. The fatigue pattern detectors. The positive testing for nausea, and the sonogram confirming a pregnancy. 

All of it real. Here, right under his nose. 

A strange heat climbs up his chest. He shakes his head, stunned, and Lan Zhan keeps holding him, anchoring him in palce. 

“No, no, no, no…” He whispers. “I’m an alpha…”

‘You’re so rough, so alphaly—and yet, look at you, trailing after omegas and alphas alike like a dog. What a disgrace of a ward you’ve turned out to be for this family.’

‘Never the appropriate gender, were you!? Filthy little vermin.’

‘No matter how much I hated her, Cangse Sanren was at least a beta… that bitch. You’re someone who can’t even make peace with his own face, and worse still, is an alpha. You’d better not end up spreading your seed and impregnating some poor omega with your genes over there.’

‘It’s disgusting, the way you fall in love and lay down with another alpha… At the very least, I hope you don’t disappoint this family further— since we have already given you so much. I hope that useless little “partner” of yours isn’t a good-for-nothing’. 

He hears every single scorching comment Madame Yu ever made about him— every one he had stored away for years, every one he had believed under the center of his brain and to his core, until now. 

Right now— with the floor shifting beneath him, with the rug slightly out of place— Wei Ying doesn’t know whether to collapse or not. Suddenly, it’s all as if those five and a half years of therapy had turned into a blank cassette, and he has to choose, from nothing, from a blank script on how to respond and react to this. 

“You are,” Doctor Fei nods, cutting through his spiraling thoughts for the moment. “But your genetics are not typical. Your body has the capacity— though extremely rare— to carry a pregnancy under certain conditions.”

“Six… weeks along?” He murmurs, “Does that mean that…?”

“Yes,” the doctor says carefully. “That the pregnancy is still in its early stage.”

Wei Ying goes completely still. His mind tries to process the information, but everything is happening too fast.

 Six weeks.

 Pregnant. 

His alpha body. 

He—He hd already had to accept that no matter how much he loved Lan Zhan— an dhe really, really did, — they didn’t need children to be fulfilled and happy adult members of society in a love relationship. 

And if they ever wanted children, they could always adopt or…something could be done. For so long, he had believed they would never have a child that came from Wei Ying’s own body. 

And now, all at once, it shatters entire paradigms. It changes the way he sees the world. 

“But…” His voice trembles, “I can’t— I can’t —” He cannot carry. He had always known he couldn’t, not like an omega could.

 (No matter how much he liked his own biology and was happy in his own current alpha body— too happy, really— his fantasies of getting pregnant by Lan Zhan’s dick had only ever been that: fantasies till now, that only lead nowhere.)

“You cannot carry in the traditional way,” she agrees, conceding it gently. “That is precisely why it’s important we know this from the beginning. In cases like yours, development must be monitored very closely, and delivery is scheduled solely via C-section once the body can no longer sustain it safely— I might estimate around weeks 37-38 tops, sometimes a little bit less, rarer times full term. Your abdomen (although it has a primordial, omega womb), is not completely structured for gestation the way an only omega’s typically is, and your body is not anatomically designed for a natural delivery. I need you to understand that we will need to take some precautions— maybe even since this stage on— and provide a different and integrated class of specialized care.”

Wei Ying’s nausea has suddenly intensified (although this time they aren’t physical). 

“And… the baby?” he asks in barely a whisper. 

Doctor Fei softens her tone. “For now, the indicators are stable. It’s still very early, but within what we would expect.”

Wei Ying lowers his gaze to his abdomen, still flat, as if he could see something there. He feels nothing, though. Nothing resembles what he thinks he should be feeling. (It’s too early for that. Of course it is.)

“This…” he swallows hard, around the sudden lump on his throat. “This wasn’t in my plans.”

Lan Zhan leans toward him. “Not in mine either. But you are not alone, Wei Ying. I’m here— with you. We can get through this together,” his boyfriend says, firm. 

Wei Ying looks up, his beautiful silver eyes— those eyes that Lan Zhan loves so much— lit with something fragile. 

“Lan Zhan…” 

“I’m here,” he repeats. “With you.”

Doctor Fei gives them a moment before continuing. 

“I need you to understand something,” she says. “This is not a sentence, and its not an immediate emergency. But it does require follow-up, rest, maybe some vitamins, a set of specific nutrients and dietary choices, rest, and constant medical support.”

Wei Ying nods slowly, 

“And if… I don’t want to?” he asks, suddenly. “What if I can’t?”

Doctor Fei looks at him seriously, but without any judgement. 

“That is also something we can discuss about. But right now, what matters most is that you are safe— and that you are not facing this alone, whichever decision you want to make.”

Wei Ying feels something break and settle inside him at the same time. 

All of this happened in six weeks, completely unforeseen. A small life he hand’t know, until this instante, that he could create inside his body— a body he hadn’t known could do this. 

“Lan Zhan…” he whispers. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer with words. He wraps an arm around him— firm, ever present, like an anchor. 

“I’m here,” he says, “No matter what.”

Wei Ying rests his forehead against his chest, breathing in deeply, trying not to get lost in the vertigo of the whole moment. 

For the first time since he started feeling strange, he now understands why— and this fear, this strangeness, finally has a name. 

Pregnancy. 

He is pregnant. 

He has two genetic expressions, even if he is essentially and first and foremost an alpha. 

His fear and wrongness have a name now. 

________________

They say goodbye to Doctor Fei after stating — Lan Zhan, in this case— that they would talk and discuss more about it privately before making a decision nd letting her know. 

She smiles, pleased, and tells them she will be waiting for ther answer. 

________________

On their way out of the clinic—slash hospital—, all around them feels strange. Different, as soon as they step outside, and even more as soon as they walk toward the parking lot. 

Wei Ying moves on autopilot, as if his body is moving by inertia solely and his mind has been left behind in Doctor Fei’s office, stuck on a word that refuses to fit anywhere in his identity. Or rather— several words, to be exact. 

He’s pregnant. 

Six weeks along. 

He has, for most part, an alpha strong expression which turns him biologically into an alpha— but there is a recessive omega component of about two percent in him as well.

His body has been doing all of this— making all these changes —because Wei Ying is gestating. 

He… when the idea had been so foreign to him, and he had even considered impossible. (Until now.)

He gets into the car, still on autopilot. 

Wei Ying buckles his seatbelt when the dashboard beeps, and then turns to stare out the window for the entire drive home. The world keeps functioning around him as if nothing has just happened, keeps spinning. Cars pulling in, people talking on their phones beside the machines that print parking tickets. Through the glass, he hears someone laugh loudly and another driver blasts music with their windows down.

Life goes on. And suddenly, he feels like he isn’t moving at all, he has stopped inside this m0ment.

Wei Ying just crosses the door.m, when they get to the apartment, he slides out of his shoes, still lost deep in though, shuffles his feet acros the floor up to the couch and then, he lets himself fall flat on it, turning himself into a small ball, so small, so helpless, so lost and confused. 

“Lan Zhan—“ he mutters, barely in a thin voice.

The man in question immediately turns to look at him, from where he’s gone into the kitchen to prepare them both a comfort tea cup (for himself) and some coca for Wei Ying. “Wei Ying?” He asks. Since he’s just heard Wei Ying call to him with that voice of “please drop everything. I need you to come and hold me tight.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Yings croaks again, slightly stronger this time, while turning over his shoulder to search for him and find him  with his eyes.

“I am here Wei YIng,” the other alpha answers, walking to stand just beside Wei Ying, still on the sofa.

 He doesn’t cry; he doesn’t do it. Yes. Although he feels his eyes get teary, and the unshed tears scorch his throat, although he feels the stomach in knots… he still doesn’t cry. Not yet, his sight just slightly dazed.

“I don’t know… how to process… all of this—“ he whispers. And that’s what scares him the most. Wei Ying should feel happy, maybe confused maybe apprehensive, maybe terrified— not blank, not lost not… empty— and that’s what scares him the most. 

There’s nothing. Not even a tiny bit of joy or hope. Shock is an animal which slowly, inexorable, sinks its claws into his chest, his throat, his stomach. 

“I don’t—“ he continues, sniffing—“ it feels as if I’ve been dragged out of my body and have been put back abruptly into another different one. I can’t feel— anything… I feel out of place, everything disentangled, just plainless and blank notinghess, as if my system wanted to freeze, to shut down, as if I was about to depersonalize myself right now. And I don’t know if I can do—this.”

He then fails silent, looking down at his hands from where he’s finally seated back on the couch, intertwining them again over Lan Zhan’s solid tigh (he has already sat next to him, his presence grounding, comforting). 

What if he fails? What if he isn’t good enough?

It’s a very realistic fear. One Madam Yu had drilled into him since he was a little kid. Wei Ying, as far back as he can remember, was never an easy child to control to begin with. He was always too much, sometimes too restless. Sometimes too rough, or obnoxious. Sometimes too impulsive and intelligent for his own good. 

She threatened countless times to throw him out into the street if he didn’t behave.Wei Ying had been little—fresh off the streets, freshly orphaned—still adjusting to a new body, already-presented, a body that had… impulses. Impulses that ran sharper than those of two beta parents, an omega daughter, and a beta son, to.He was too much, inn the sense that he was expected not to outshine Jiang Cheng, but also expected to make himself small, so as not to hurt Jiejie or her suitors.For so long, he had felt abnormal. Out of place. Unable to name what, exactly, was wrong—what was different.

First his neurodivergence. Then the sense that sometimes he didn’t fit the mold of an average alpha—too flirtatious, too horny, too careless, less aggressive than expected until certain moments. Then his attraction to other alphas—toward Lan Zhan, specifically.And now, he was dealing with… this.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer immediately, not at first.  He only waits—patient—until Wei Ying indicates tacitly that he’s finally done speaking. He waits, gives him time. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t minimize anything Wei Ying is feeling. He only wraps him in his arms—firm, solid, anchored to reality—and lets the scent of sandalwood fill the space. He lets Wei Ying press his nose into the curve of his neck and inhale, letting himself sink into him.  He lets him breathe in slowly, steadily, until his lungs fill with his boyfriend’s scent.

Until he shudders, lets the air out, and then continues—after that small silence: “I’m scared, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his voice small, muffled against his neck. “I’m so scared.”

“I know,” Lan Zhan says, resting his cheek against the crown of Wei Ying’s head. “I know,. We didn’t know this could happen.” He assures, and resses a soft kiss to Wei Wuxian’s head, who shuts his eyes tightly. 

“Wei Ying” his boyfriend continues,  “ If you think you cannot do this, you don’t have to know that right now. You don’t always have to have an answer immediately for everything”.

Wei YIng falls silent, staring at ther hands— intertwined again—restin on Lan Zhan’s solid thigh. “What if I fail?” A tiny, infantile part of him asks, something deep in the back of his mind. 

“Then, you won’t fail alone.”

He doesn’t answer right away, only gives the smallest nod, his forehead still pressed to Lan Zhan’s crook of his neck, breathing him in— his scent, that uniquely Lan Zhan mix of neutral soap and something warmer, with the everpresent-sandalwood smell form his pheromones always calms him down before he even realizes it. 

Lan Zhan inhales slowly . This isn’t an empty pause. It’s one of those pauses Wei Ying has learned to recognize in him: when he’s organizign something he doesn’t usually say out loud; when he’s pulling words from somewhere deeper— somewhere that isn’t immediate, or simple. 

“Wei Ying,” the other alpha begins after the pause, and his tone is slightly different. More vulnerable. Intimate, yet firm and steady. “I didn’t grow up with all certainties either or with the perfect, tempestless life people tend to think I had, and you know that.”

Wei Ying wants to nod, or say yes, he knows. He knows Lan Zhan’s life story well— how even perfect, with wealth, the looks, the body and name that carried respect in their circles, he still didn’t have loving, close parents. (Mother wanted him, but she also only treated him goodly and well as much as she could, and yet, not before always thinking first and resenting, obscurely in her heart, how much he resembled his father. More than Xichen tended to do. Wei Ying cannot imagine the shock and heartbreak it was for twenty year old Lan Zhan to finally discover this when he reached adulthood, because he had always held his Muqin the closest to his heart.) And Lan Zhan also wasn’t exactly raised, in his most formative years, by the best uncle in the world. 

Wei Ying only lifts his head a fraction in response, looking at his boyfriend through dark lashes. 

Lan Zhan still doesn’t look exactly at him. His gaze is fixed on some indeterminate point in front of them, as if he’s reviewing an internal file, one that doesn’t get opened often. “My father…” he says. “He was always proper, present, responsible. But he wasn’t easy to understand, it wasn’t easy to feel loved by him, it wasn’t easy to please him. I learned many things by watching him from a distance, always trying to decipher what I was supposed to do. And mother wanted both us, Lan Huan and me, but there was a part of her that resented us— me even more specifically, as you will know”, Wei Ying knows. He knows this one,” She tried to love us, care for us, and she had done it right. But we never avoided making her remember what she had lost… and how we reminded her —me specifically— to the man who took so many things from her, the man who said to love her deeply, truly.”

A minimal pause. 

“And yet, even both of them… who seemed like they had everything clear— doubted. They abandoned us, each in their own way.”

Wei Ying swallows as he watches him, then reaches up to stroke Lan Zhan’s cheek, almost as if the roles have shifted now, and Lan Zhan needs his support. 

“I know…” he mutters, barely audible. 

Lan Zhan closes his eyes. Inhales, pauses, and continues, saying this with the ease that comes from years and years of therapy too, and radical acceptance of himsel (always making things sound easier than they really are. Even though, if you know him, if you are him, you know, it isn't always easy. Something isn't easy just because he is Lan Zhan and can make it sound or seem that way): “I’ve heard conversations. I’ve seen silences. Iv’e noticed fears people don’t say outloud.”

“No parent…” He corrects himself, “Nobody knows how to do it right from the start. You’re supposed to learn along the way. Even your Shijie showed it openly, at one point, during her pregnancy. Even Jin Zixuan, who, as you know, has been a friend to my family for a long time, has told me as much.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

He’d been there too when Shijie went into labor, and his stupid, overly-sensitive-and-prissy-borhter-in-law— that peacock— had genuinely panicked right along with her. 

“Even your Shufu,” Wei Ying adds, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “the one who pretends he knows everything—You told me Lan Huan once said that when you were little, even he got scared to the point of a man almost crying his heart out in fear and he was this close of having a heart attack when you went suddenly missing after your mother’s funeral ceremony.”

“Mn, even Shufu. He didn’t know right then what to do— or so I’ve heard Xiongzhang tell me,” Lan Zhan concedes, and his mouth mirrors that same entertained, little smile in Wei Ying’s own lips. “And still,” h continues,  with a calm that is almost firm, sure, “Even he has been wrong. Many times. He just doesn’t always admit it.”

Wei Ying can already feel some of the weight loosening from his shoulders and chest. It’s something like relief, though he doesn’t think it’s happiness, not fully, not yet. 

But it’s a crack. A place where air can finally get slowly back in. 

Lan Zhan lowers his gaze then, to Wei Ying’s hands on his tigh, still laced to his. “What exists… is people who learn, who make mistakes. Who try again.”

Wei Ying feels the knot in his throat shift; it doesn’t get bigger, nor tighter, but it alters, right around his windpipe. 

“But we…” He murmurs, “We didn’t come from good examples.”

Lan Zhan nods. “No. we didn’t.”

It doesn’t sound bitter on his lips, it is honest— realistic and objective in the way he can be, and sometimes, just as anchoring as Wei Ying needs it to be. 

“But that also means we know what we don’t want to repeat,” he continues. 

 Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut. That sentence hits him straight in the chest. 

“If you want to try, you don’t have to do it alone. We can learn as we go, together. Step by step.”

Wei Ying breathes in deeply. “And if I’m not enough?”

LAN zhAN doesn’t hesitate this time, “Then we will learn how to be.”

Silence wraps around them again; it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s dense— heavy with everything that still doesn’t have a name. 

WeiYing stays like that for a long moment, unmoving, his head still pressed against Lan Zhan, feeling the weight of his own body, his breathing, the reality settling slowly in layers. And then, almost in a whisper, Lan Zhan adds something else, “And if you don’t want to,” he says, with the same seriousness, “...That’s okay too.”

Wei Ying tenses, just slightly, “What?”

Lan Zhan hugs hima little tighter— not to hold him back, but to make sure Wei Ying is listening from the same place he is. “If you decide you don’t want to go through with this,” he says, “It wouldn’t make you a bad person. It wouldn’t make you weak. It wouldn’t make you selfish.”

Wei Ying opens his eyes. “Lan Zhan…”

“I’m not saying you have to decide now,” the other alpha clarifies immediately. “I just— want you to know there isn’t only one right answer. That you’re not obligated to anything out of fear, or expectation, or because you think you should.”

Wei Ying goes quiet, his heart pounging again, scared and angry, against his heart. Then he says— “But, it’s not that, Lan Zhan!” And then he jolts, startled. “I can’t believe you’re saying that” Wei Ying scolds. 

H feels it in his body before he understands it deeply, consciously in his head: It’s a visceral reaction, immediate, primal and unexpected. Something ignites in the center of his chest and sinks with a wamr, heavy pull into his belly, like a reflex he didn’t ask for but that is there all the same. His breath catches. 

His hands— which had been loose just a second ago— tighten against Lan Zhan’s clothes. 

It isn’t panic. 

It is protection. 

For this small, defenseless thing inside him. 

A life that might be not bigger than a lentil right now. 

So innocent. 

So fragile. 

Something — a little person— who will still need of his protection. 

“No—”he repeats, and the word comes out too fast, too loaded. “No.”

It isn’t exactly an alpha command voice— No, not when, in the first place, Wei Ying had accepted being symbolicale pushed down and submitting into a delta form to let Lan Zhan’s control in him take root. (A miracle, honestly, that Lan Zhan still hasn’t done in earnest, with the full weight of what that command would mean). 

(It’s not also like Wei Ying could use it either, or is ever going to be willing to use it, against other people or other secondary gender presentations. It had just been a long time since he had.)

But still. It comes out dark, heavy. Full with decision. 

Lan Zhan goes very still. He doesn’t interrupt him. He doesn’t dare. 

He almost pulls his hands away from Wei Ying’s body, but seems to decide against it— because, blessed be him and all the heavens, he keeps prioritizing Wei Ying’s physical safety and grounding, even when right now Wei Ying wants to bare his teeth, to growl, to hit him for even thinking that— thinking that Wei Ying could— 

Wei Ying lifts his head just enough to look at him, eyes too bright, too wide, and too pleading. 

“Please…” he continues, and this time his voice does crack. “Please don’t make me get rid of them.”

The sentences lands between them with a real, tangible weight. Wei Ying goes still the moment he says it, like he didn’t know it was inside of him until it came out. His own reaction surprises him. The knot in his stomach, and throat tightens even more. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t frown. He doesn’t panic, he doesn’t retreat. On the contrary, he only moves closer, and then, his large, warm Lan Zhan hands are rubbing the sides of wei Ying’s shoulders, holding him tightly. “Wei Ying, I would never think that,” he says, with immediate softness and appeasingness in his voice. 

Wei Ying blinks. “Oh, you wouldn’t?” he asks, his hands still held protectively over his stomach. 

“I just…” Lan Zhan settles a firm, open hand against Wei Ying’s back, steady, reassuring. “I just wanted you to know you wouldn’t be alone, and you wouldn’t be judged… especially not by me. If you ever thought it wasn’t the right time. I’m here with you, okay? I will always be. We should just try to make a decision carefully. With respect. Always from what is right. For you, and for our child. That’s all. I would never pressure you into giving them up.”

Wei Ying breathes in, trembling, letting himself calm down. He strokes his flat stomach once, twice, three times. 

“But I couldn’t,” he says, almost on a thread of voice. “Not out of fear, nor out of pressure, nor to go backwards… not… not this.”

The instinct beats inside him now, strong and unmistakable. It isn’t dramatic, it isn’t heroic. It’s simple, absolute. 

As if his body has already accepted this fact— this small life— before he can turn it into something conscious, before he can even begin to truly process it. 

It’s unusual, but a gift of biology nonetheless. A miracle.

Doctor Fei’s words, or something like them, echo in his mind again. 

Lan Zhan watches the gesture, registers it. Something in his expression softens even further, if that’s even possible. “Then it’s okay to say it,” he replies. “You don’t have to justify it.” And after a moment he adds; “The only thing I want you to know is that we will do what you can carry. I will adjust to what is necessary. Whatever you want, we will do it. I will be here… whatever your decision is.”

That is what disarms him the most. Sometimes, Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan is a little unfair, telling him this A+ Romantic Knight in Shining armour stuff, he cannot… 

And then, he has to curl his fingers tighter into the fabric of Lan Zhan’s trousers, as if he needs to make sure he is real. 

(He is.)

Wei Ying stays quiet for a moment the stretches into long seconds, almost minutes. The shock and fear— he realizes— are still there, yes, squeezing at his chest. But he thinks something else finally is beginning to bloom, slowly. Something that grows at its own pace and spreads around the two of them. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says at last. 

“Mmm.”

Wei Ying swallows, his voice no longer trembling as much. Closing his eyes, breathing in deep, he then says, “I think… I want to have them.”

After another short pause, as if he needs to make sure the words won’t break on their way out, as if saying them aloud will make them one hundred percent real. Lan Zhan doesn’t speak immediately. But his hand closes a little more, protective, appreciative, against wei Ying’s back. 

Then, his breathing changes. 

And he has that look again; the one that isn’t complicated, the one that isn’t cold and aloof, but is radiant, softened at the edges, full of love and devotion. 

Ah. His alpha is so beautiful— and right now, he looks ethereal. 

Then, finally Lan Zhan lowers his head until their foreheads touch. There is something different in his gaze: a quiet light. Deep, contained. But absolute happiness. 

“Then,” He says calmly, “we’ll do it right.”

Wei Ying lets out a small laugh, full of disbelief— tears even slipping into his eyes— mixed with something that already feels dangerously close to hope, to real happiness. Something invaluable. 

“I’m scared.”

“I know…”

“But I think I want to learn,” he adds, hands again caressing his plain tummy, careful. He gives it two pats, and then, “Let’s learn together, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan wraps him in his arms. Not tight, not crushing, but the way someone holds the most valuable thing in their hands, the way someone protects something fragile without hurting it. 

“Mn, let’s learn together,” he answers. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his voice still muffled, full of fabric from the embrace. 

“Mn.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, “For not pushing me. For not deciding for me. For taking care of me all this time, and for loving me too.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer with words. He only holds him more —firmly, present, the way he has been since the beginning. 

And for the first time since the diagnosis, Wei Ying feels that the fear is still there, but that he isn’t facing this alone. (He never trully has). Now, at last, he has the certainty that the future— that he always believed would feel as an uncertain, bleak and cruel to him— it isn’t that. It’s something… Happy, possible. Between the two of them. When he has Lan Zhan— and this little one— right here, with him