“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me or anyone, in the history of time,” Wei Ying says.
Lan Zhan should be offended. The handful of times he has - shamefully, secretly - allowed himself to imagine a world in which Wei Ying loves him back, and says so, that was not how it went. But the thing is, Wei Ying isn’t wrong.
This is awful.
He grips Wei Ying’s hand harder.
The heat wave sweeping Hefei has abruptly become not a normal weather fluctuation to be approached with calm acceptance, but a personal attack. He would have Wei Ying halfway to the bedroom by now if this had happened any other day. He’d already know whether Wei Ying squirms when he is pinned up against a wall, or whether he goes loose and pliant.
He has his suspicions.
There was a day, years and years ago, when he’d let Wei Ying drag him along on one of his ill-advised quests to get dirt on Jin Zixuan. It had involved sneaking into an area of the JinCorp building they weren’t supposed to be in. They’d nearly been caught and there had been a moment when they’d been plastered together, up against a wall, desperately trying to hold still and not draw attention. Wei Ying’s face had done something hot and needy and his hips had jerked up against Lan Zhan, precisely once but clearly out of his control, and those twenty seconds have been a staple of Lan Zhan’s fantasies ever since.
But today it is too hot to move. It is too hot to breathe. And Wei Ying’s efforts to fix Lan Zhan’s window air conditioning unit got comprehensively derailed somewhere around Lan Zhan’s absolutely deranged and unplanned declaration of years of frustrated devotion.
Lan Zhan will never regret it. But he regrets, just a little, that he did not bite his tongue until the air conditioning was working again.
Wei Ying’s hand squeezing his is the only point of contact between them, because otherwise they will kiss more. Kissing Wei Ying has already vaulted to Lan Zhan’s top three experiences and will probably take the #1 spot as soon as they do it for a second time, but also, the idea of touching an actual human body right now that is not his own - maybe even that is his own - is absolutely impossible.
And so here they are, Lan Zhan on the floor next to the sofa, Wei Ying flat on his back on the sofa with his legs up over the arm, reaching down to hold Lan Zhan’s hand and moaning, “Why did we do this today. Lan Zhan, you really meant it? You’d have said yes if I asked you out last year instead of chickening out?”
It is too hot to move his head to nod, but it is imperative that Wei Ying understand how desperately Lan Zhan has wanted him for as long as there has been a Wei Ying in his life to want. “I was disappointed when you made a joke of it,” he says, lacing their fingers together more tightly so Wei Ying will know that he is not disappointed or sad anymore. Not if he gets to have this now.
“We could have done this in college?”
Wei Ying groans, despairing, and then says, “Even that time I showed you porn in the library and you got super pissed off but like, in a really hot way?”
Lan Zhan would not have made out with Wei Ying in the library stacks. Probably. But he would have left all his books in the study carrel instead of placing them back on the reshelving cart, to drag Wei Ying back to one of their rooms. If he’d thought it was a thing Wei Ying would ever allow. He confirms as much.
“Shit, you’d have been rude in a library for me. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
It is never a great effort for Lan Zhan to keep his voice deadpan, but it is more of one with Wei Ying than with anyone else. Wei Ying so often makes Lan Zhan’s mouth want to creep up at the edges, into strange expressions no one else inspires from him.
“It was very inspiring pornography,” he says, and lets the corners of his mouth drift upward the way they want to.
“God, you should have seen the stuff I was too embarrassed to show you,” Wei Ying says. He turns his head to the side to get a better look at Lan Zhan and says, “...oh my god, am I going to get to show you all my porn now?”
Lan Zhan really thought all the blood in his body had been baked by the heat into some sort of slow, sludgy mess. But some of it must be flowing properly after all, because his dick gives a small but definite twitch at that thought. He makes some sort of garbled sound that Wei Ying must take as assent.
“Lan Zhan. What about that spring I stayed at your place when Jiang Cheng’s parents were being dicks? Could we have been fucking all the way back then?”
That entire year had been a nightmare of desperate, inappropriately-timed erections and the struggle to hide them. With the benefit of many years of distance, Lan Zhan remembers it with a mix of fondness and horror.
“Neither of us would have known where to buy condoms,” he says, which is definitely true for him, but he’s nearly certain it was true for Wei Ying, too. They’d been so young. They probably would have fucked it up immediately. It hadn’t stopped the low simmering haze of want and fury from ruining his concentration for the better part of several months.
“Ugh. I can’t believe you’re being practical at a time like this. Would you have made out with me, though? Like, could I have gotten my hands on your dick?”
Lan Zhan shuts his eyes against that image, as his body tries valiantly to convince itself that it is not in fact far too hot for sex.
“Yes,” he manages to get out. “I nearly got fired by my qin teacher, Wei Ying, you were so distracting.”
“It was a weird spring for me too,” Wei Ying says with a grin that Lan Zhan can hear in his voice without opening his eyes. “Last winter. Last week. What you’re saying is, I could have propositioned you any other day except today when it is twelve thousand degrees, and you would have said yes, but instead we’re idiots who decided to be in love today, when we might actually die of heatstroke if we tried to have sex.”
“It would probably be worth it,” Lan Zhan says. He’s not sure he’s joking.
“Excuse me.” Wei Ying somehow finds the strength and energy to heave himself upright. “I need to go scream, just a little bit. I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Lan Zhan can nearly hear Wei Ying’s skin protesting its separation from the cushions as he peels himself off them slowly. He holds Lan Zhan’s hand as long as he can, and then lets it go with a little wince as if it hurts on both a physical and spiritual level. Lan Zhan misses him instantly, even though he becomes aware of how slick and damp his hand is once it’s free.
He takes the opportunity to shift so he can rest his head back against the couch cushions more comfortably, and to scrub his palm against his shirt in an attempt to make it less damp in the hopes that there will be more hand-holding very soon.
He also takes the absolutely shameless opportunity to enjoy the view as Wei Ying crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen. Wei Ying’s removal of his shirt to poke at the air conditioning unit is at least forty percent responsible for this situation to begin with, because Lan Zhan’s brain reliably stops functioning when Wei Ying does that. So now he has a clear and inspiring view of Wei Ying’s back as he walks away, muscles doing interesting things under his skin, shiny-slick with sweat. Lan Zhan cannot claim responsibility for that, but it suggests a world in which he might, sometime in the very near future, get to make Wei Ying sweat for better reasons.
It’s a lot to imagine. He’s going to sit very still and process that.
He jumps a little, startled, when Wei Ying’s voice floats back from the kitchen in a muffled yell. Murderers or ghosts come to mind. But Wei Ying did pre-announce his intention to scream, and no alarming thumps follow. Lan Zhan would take a bullet for Wei Ying any day, but he thinks that just this once, weighing the evidence, he can be forgiven for staying where he is in a puddle of lust, disbelief, and sweat.
He’s so happy to see Wei Ying come back that he doesn’t register his full hands, and so is more confused than anything when Wei Ying asks, “Spinach or ‘stir fry medley’?” He somehow contrives to pronounce the air quotes.
Lan Zhan manages to focus enough to figure out that Wei Ying has brought back two bags of frozen vegetables. He cannot imagine that it matters which one he selects, but he tries to take even Wei Ying’s most whimsical requests seriously, so he chooses spinach.
Wei Ying tosses the bag to him and then collapses back onto the couch. He puts his foot down on the floor next to Lan Zhan this time, so Lan Zhan can circle his ankle with one hand. It’s still too hot for it, but it feels imperative to be touching Wei Ying again as soon as possible, and Wei Ying’s hands are busy.
Wei Ying presses the crinkly cold bag against the back of his neck for several moments and then lets out an absolutely pornographic moan as he drags it around to the front of his chest, resting it near his collarbone. Lan Zhan’s dick continues to make a rapid recovery from the sweltering heat that the rest of his body hasn’t quite caught up to.
“I’m sorry I’m molesting your dinner,” Wei Ying says after he’s made the outrageous noise again. “I was going to try to be really sexy and bring back ice cubes or something, but they wouldn’t have survived the walk from the kitchen. I have to get inappropriate with this broccoli to live. Please forgive your Wei Ying for taking advantage of your innocent vegetables.”
Wei Ying is being ridiculous. But Lan Zhan likes that, and anyway barely manages to notice. His brain is short-circuiting at the way he can see Wei Ying’s nipples perking up under the cold as he continues to roll the bag around on his chest. It’s all he can do not to get up on his knees to get closer and put his mouth on Wei Ying to feel that with his tongue - Wei Ying’s nipples getting hard and sensitive in his mouth.
It’s an old desire; it should not be this visceral. He wants to do things to Wei Ying that he barely knows the names for.
Instead, he shoves the bag of spinach behind his head, under his hair against the nape of his neck. It will do him the most good there, short of just shoving it down his pants to convince his overactive dick that this is not the time.
“You may molest my dinner any time,” he says. And then he hesitates only a moment before plunging forward wildly, a cliff dive with no hope of safe landing, to add, “It’s in the boyfriend rulebook.”
Wei Ying’s smile is sunshine. Lan Zhan has rarely felt its full heat and brightness more keenly.
“Oh my god. I bet you have a boyfriend rulebook. Someday very soon when my brain is not melted, you’re gonna tell me all about it so I know the requirements. I’ll be such a good boyfriend, Lan Zhan, I swear. I mean. Not today. Today I’m dating your freezer. But really soon.”
There is a Wei Ying rulebook in Lan Zhan’s heart. He’s never bothered with a separate rulebook for boyfriends. There has never been anyone he’s kept around long enough to deserve the name. The requirements are, essentially, “being Wei Ying.”
Lan Zhan tries to make his parched throat say as much, but instead he finds a suspicious and awful lump there and a shimmering at the corners of his vision like he might cry. It’s just - so much, so fast. An hour ago Wei Ying was fucking around making awful clanging sounds with his air conditioner while Lan Zhan pined hopelessly from across the room, which is to say, it was a normal afternoon.
And now they are...boyfriends. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t wake up thinking this was going to be the day he got his heart’s deepest and oldest desire. If he’d known he might have done something differently. Worn a different outfit, been a better person.
If he tries to say all that he will cry. Instead he breathes around the lump in his throat and stares straight ahead, as if Wei Ying doesn’t know what all his different ways of breathing mean.
Wei Ying lets him get away with it. His hand comes down to pet at Lan Zhan’s hair, but he doesn’t say anything for a minute. They sit there in companionable silence, melting slowly into the surfaces of Lan Zhan’s apartment.
Finally, Wei Ying moves to dangle his sad bag of mixed vegetables in front of Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“Do you want my ice pack?” he asks. “Would it help?”
Lan Zhan clears his throat awkwardly and finds that the dangerous edge of tears has receded and he can form words again. “No, thank you. The spinach is sufficient.”
The spinach is sufficient. What is happening. None of Lan Zhan’s fevered daydreams of love declarations went like this.
Wei Ying cranes forward to look at him, the angle awkward but his features beloved at any angle, and says, “This really is the worst. I want to make out with you so bad. I’ve been dreaming about it, you don’t even know. What if we went down to the pool and made out there?”
Lan Zhan seriously considers it. He thinks he could tune out the grating sounds of shrieking preteens if he could press Wei Ying up against the cool tile sides of the pool and kiss every sound from his mouth. But…he shakes his head sadly, which makes Wei Ying’s fingers in his hair tangle and pull a little, which is excellent.
“We’d get kicked out.”
“Ugh. Fancy fucking apartment complexes, Lan Zhan, why do you have a pool if you can’t make out in it sometimes?”
Lan Zhan tips his head up and sideways and lets his voice go plaintive and wanting because he does, he wants, he is still thinking about things he could do to Wei Ying underwater.
“I’ve made bad choices. I will atone. Don’t you think we could kiss a little bit more without melting?”
“I think we should try,” Wei Ying says, and then seems to get hung up for a moment on logistics. “Is it cooler down there on the floor? Heat rising or whatever?”
Lan Zhan shrugs. He has never cared less about the physics of heat.
“Here goes,” Wei Ying says, that beloved stubborn tone in his voice, and he slides off the sofa and down into Lan Zhan’s lap on the floor. He lands heavily on Lan Zhan’s thighs, crowding close into Lan Zhan’s bubble of personal space.
It’s not that different. Wei Ying has never had any respect for the bubble, and Lan Zhan has never - not after the beginning, when he was young and stupid and didn’t know what to do with feelings he hadn’t grown into yet - wanted him to. But he hasn’t been allowed to look like this before.
Wei Ying is so hot. And so hot, sweaty tendrils of hair escaping from the messy pile at the back of his head and clinging to his neck. Lan Zhan knows his own hair is doing the same thing and that on him it just feels gross and awful, but it looks unfairly attractive on Wei Ying.
“We should,” he says. “Again.” And then Wei Ying takes pity on him and kisses him.
It’s even better this time when it’s not a surprise to both of them, but an exploration. If he turns his head a little, like so, then Wei Ying does that, and their mouths fit like this. He finds kissing awkward with the handful of people he has tried it with, all those tongues and teeth, too aware of his body. It is not awkward with Wei Ying.
It is sticky everywhere their bare skin touches, quite remarkably so, but not awkward.
His hands have become creatures with their own volition, and what they want to do is run up and down Wei Ying’s sides, soaking up the panting bare radiant heat of him. He can feel Wei Ying’s breathing getting heavier under his hands, something Lan Zhan caused, like the sound Wei Ying makes when Lan Zhan digs his fingers in just a little and squeezes.
He thinks about somehow hooking his fingers into Wei Ying’s ribs and cracking them open gently and crawling inside and swinging them closed behind him like gates. Like Wei Ying could be a home.
Wei Ying shifts in his lap with a devastating noise and grinds down in a way that Lan Zhan feels in every inch of his dick. It should be impossible to break out in a fresh sweat when he was already so sticky-hot with it, but his body finds a way to do it anyway.
The ice pack behind his head is still chilled, barely, and it’s trickling cold wet fingers down his back. Wei Ying pressed up against his chest is at least as fever-hot as the icy trickle is cold, and between the two sensations he feels caught. Shivery. Unreal.
He kisses Wei Ying harder because if he does that, if he makes Wei Ying gasp in his arms, then all of this is really happening. And his own shuddering is just part of it and not something larger and stranger. And the wetness at his eyes is just more sweat and not tears. If he holds on.
So he does, for a few more moments of shivering overheated bliss. Until Wei Ying breaks for air and grins at him and then looks at him twice and does the thing with his eyebrows that is the precursor to a frown.
“Hey,” Wei Ying says, taking one of his hands off Lan Zhan’s shoulder to touch his face. The skin where he was touching suddenly feels cooler but Lan Zhan hates it. Wants it back, but also wants to nuzzle into the new touch on his cheek. “Lan Zhan. Is this okay? Is it too much?”
If Lan Zhan speaks it may turn into some sort of hiccupy-sobbing thing and that might make Wei Ying stop touching him and if Wei Ying stops touching him he will die. He shakes his head and makes one of his monosyllabic noises that people complain could mean anything. Wei Ying unerringly, unfailingly, because he is the love of Lan Zhan’s life and has been for a very long time, interprets Lan Zhan’s noises correctly.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says. “Um. You want me to make a plan?”
Yes. He would very much like Wei Ying to make a plan. Lan Zhan is slightly out of his head, his thoughts moving too slow and his racing heart too fast. Out of step with himself, he feels like he might do something unhinged at any moment. It is - better. If Wei Ying makes the plan.
Wei Ying scoots back a couple of inches but he doesn’t take his hand off Lan Zhan’s face. Some distance is probably good, because Lan Zhan’s hips are still trying to twitch upward, in search of more of the sweet friction of Wei Ying’s body. It should be embarrassing and maybe it will be, later.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says again, half to himself as if Lan Zhan is some sort of interesting or amusing problem to solve. It should not be hot. It is, somehow. It makes Lan Zhan feel more real and solid than he did a moment ago.
“We can’t fuck right here. We will actually, literally die, it’s got to be nearly a hundred degrees in here. We’ll get heatstroke. And then I won’t get to be smug about this in front of A-Cheng or to sit in your lap at Huaisang’s next party, and - baby,” he says, and his grin is sharp, vulpine, and Lan Zhan may die of it, “sweetheart, Lan Zhan, I have been wanting to do that for so long you don’t even know. I deserve it. We deserve to be insufferable. We’re going to be so good at it.”
Lan Zhan closes his eyes against how much he wants that and manages to say, “Yes, Wei Ying.”
“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Wei Ying says, getting more decisive as he goes. “I’m gonna move back like...six inches. So we don’t actually get stuck together permanently. And then I would really like to get you off, but I think probably instead you should show me what you like and I’ll try to keep my hands off. Practical demonstration. Can you do that?”
Lan Zhan would turn red at the thought but he’s already heat-flushed all over, there’s nowhere for his blush to go. Yes. He can do that. Touching himself, and thinking about Wei Ying, is something he knows how to do. He nods once, jerky, and opens his eyes as he slides his hand under the waistband of his pants.
Wei Ying’s gaze follows the motion, glittering and feverish. Lan Zhan doesn’t think he even knows when he licks his parched lips.
“Okay, that’s...yeah. Like that. Fuck. Um. The plan.”
It is gratifying to have reduced Wei Ying to monosyllables. Lan Zhan grips himself properly and lets himself sigh like he wants to.
“The plan,” Wei Ying says again, sounding dazed and delighted, as if Lan Zhan is giving him something. “We’ll take a shower after, a nice long cool one, and you can wreck me in there - dealer’s choice, or I’ll pick something if your brain still isn’t up to it. And then we’ll have ice cream for dinner and send some really smug texts and watch something very dumb and go to bed early. And then in the morning you can wake me up when it’s dark and cool at fuck-off-o-clock, and then.”
Lan Zhan is pretty sure he knows what and then is, but he wants Wei Ying to say it so he knows it’s real. He lets his palm skate down the length of his dick, wondering if it’s driving Wei Ying crazy to see the motion but not much more with his clothes still on.
“Finish the plan,” he says. He believes - he hopes - that the rough catch in his voice isn’t too obvious.
“I really,” Wei Ying says. Pauses again. Stares at the slow motion of Lan Zhan’s fist. “Honestly, the plan’s getting a little fuzzy. Um. Maybe just flip a coin in the morning about it?”
Lan Zhan wants to insist on making Wei Ying actually say the words - in the morning I’m going to fuck you. He’s imagined it enough.
“Lazy,” he says instead, nearly a gasp, spreading his legs apart a little wider so he has room to work himself over. That the motion forces Wei Ying’s legs apart too, makes him wobble and re-find his balance where he’s straddling Lan Zhan’s thighs, is a bonus. Lan Zhan has an eyeful of a mouthwatering line in Wei Ying’s questionable shorts that tells him he is not alone in being altogether too affected.
Wei Ying’s eyes narrow and his chin acquires a familiar, stubborn tilt. “Efficient,” he parries. “Saving energy for the important things. Don’t be rude, Lan Zhan. Take your shirt off.”
It’s all in one even, slightly petulant tone, and Lan Zhan has to double back and replay it in his mind to be sure he heard correctly. He definitely did. Wei Ying wants him to take his shirt off and abruptly Lan Zhan wants that, too. Can’t remember what shirts are for or why anyone would wear one. It’s sweltering in his apartment. Clothes are basically medically inadvisable, at this point.
He has to let go of his dick to shimmy his shirt off, and he loses the bag of spinach somewhere under the couch in the process. He does not care. Wei Ying takes the shirt from his hands and places it nearly carefully on the low table, gentle as he always is with Lan Zhan’s things and never is with his own.
“God,” he says, low and reverent, like Lan Zhan is something worth looking at. “Look at you.”
“You are looking,” Lan Zhan says inanely, to be saying anything at all. Otherwise he will make an embarrassing noise as he returns his hand to his dick and starts to stroke himself in earnest, a fast smooth slide because he’s slick already with how much he wants this. This is going to end quickly. He needs it to end quickly or he will burn away entirely. His skin feels too hot and too tight, unable to hold the enormity of how it feels to be doing this where Wei Ying can see him. Steam must be rising from his skin.
“Couldn’t look at anything else if I wanted to,” Wei Ying says, artless, none of his usual teasing in his voice. His eyes roam busily over Lan Zhan, trying desperately to take in all of him at once. It’s a very nearly physical sensation. Lan Zhan feels devoured even though the only thing touching him is his own hand.
“Wei Ying,” he says. “Tell me again.”
Wei Ying blinks a few times, trying to get his bearings “Um. You’re really fucking gorgeous and I am going to absolutely fuck you up as soon as humanly possible?”
It sounds like a question, and Lan Zhan wants him to be sure. Also, it wasn’t what he was trying to get Wei Ying to say. He’s not quite coherent. Not asking the right question. He’s slipping a little, his mind losing itself the way his hips are trying to jerk and the way his free hand is slipping against the wood floor. He feels sweaty and messy and unraveled, the way Lan Zhan tries not to be where anyone can see him. But Wei Ying asked. For Wei Ying, he will try not to hide.
“Not that,” he says. Hand flying over his dick now, dizzy warmth coiling in his belly. A trickle of sweat stings his eyes and he struggles to keep them open. He doesn’t want to miss what it looks like, watching Wei Ying watch him, the hot jagged feedback loop of it. How it makes him feel exposed and held in a way that has nothing to do with clothing or being touched. “Before. When you told me - when we started this.”
“Oh. Oh. Lan Zhan. I’ve wanted you forever. I thought you knew. Everyone knows.”
He’d sounded upset before, an hour ago in another world when he’d stood dripping with sweat in the hallway and half yelled the same words. He’s softer now, and happier, and Lan Zhan’s. He takes Lan Zhan’s free hand off the floor and presses a kiss against Lan Zhan’s knuckles, unhesitating, as if he has a right.
Maybe it’s the kiss. Maybe it’s the way Lan Zhan twisted his grip a little too fast at I’ve wanted you forever. Maybe, almost definitely, it’s everyone knows. Something in Lan Zhan likes that shamefully, too much and too possessive, the idea that everyone will know Wei Ying is his.
Whatever it is, he hangs on for a scant handful of moments, thinks frantically this can’t end yet and then I can have this again, I can have this always and then he loses it. He makes some sort of sound. He can’t hear it. All he can hear is Wei Ying saying “Fuck” as Lan Zhan tips his head back and comes extravagantly, hot and wet and messy over his hand and in his underwear and a little bit on his stomach, where Wei Ying’s eyes lock immediately. His second fuck is silent, a mouth-shape only, but just as fervent.
When Lan Zhan is a person again and not a collection of fizzing, weightless molecules in the approximate shape of an orgasm, he will allow himself to feel pleased about that. Wei Ying can be driven not only to monosyllables, but silence. He will find a way to use this information for good.
For now he can only watch as Wei Ying grabs at Lan Zhan’s other hand, yanking it out of his waistband and away from his dick abruptly, which makes Lan Zhan hiss. It’s rude but he cannot even find words to complain when Wei Ying kisses that hand, too, uncaring about the mess. Licks his lips afterwards in a way that would make Lan Zhan breathless if he weren’t already.
“I am so good at plans,” Wei Ying breathes, entirely too satisfied with himself. “That was really good, Lan Zhan. Wasn’t it?”
They are sitting on Lan Zhan’s floor, holding hands - very sticky hands - over the mess of Lan Zhan’s destroyed pants. They are both shirtless and soaked in sweat, most of which wasn’t even from the last ten minutes. If Lan Zhan could look away from Wei Ying, he would see stray bags of sad melting vegetables on the floor and beyond that, if he craned his neck, he could probably see out into the next room where pieces of his air conditioning unit are still scattered around the floor like a detonated bomb.
Everything is a disaster.
Lan Zhan could float away with how happy he is about all of it, were it not for Wei Ying’s weight pinning him to the floor.
“You are brilliant,” he says, and means it. “The best at plans.”
“Write it into the rulebook,” Wei Ying says. “Wei Ying is the master of plans.”
Lan Zhan, now that his brain is coming back online, has actually just had an even better plan. It involves calling his landlord and making him deal with the air conditioning unit while they abscond to his family’s vacation house in the hills, with the cold springs. But he will let Wei Ying believe himself the master of plans for at least as long as it takes to get them both into the shower, cooled down and scrubbed clean, and to find out whether there is a place Wei Ying can be pushed to even beyond his silence.
“Let me up and I will tell you more about the rulebook in the shower,” he says.
Wei Ying does, reluctantly.
Lan Zhan bites Wei Ying’s thigh once, rather hard, before he lets Wei Ying help him up off the floor. He can’t help it. Wei Ying’s thigh is right there. The shorts are so short.
“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says, scandalized and delighted. “You haven’t bitten me in years! I thought you got over that! Is this a sex thing? Oh my god, Lan Zhan, was it always a sex thing?”
Lan Zhan does not answer. He needs to get Wei Ying out of the terrible shorts immediately. If he stops to explain how many things were always sex things, they will never get there.
“Behave yourself,” he says, grabbing Wei Ying by the wrist and towing him toward the bathroom.
“Or what, you’ll bite me again?”
But Wei Ying is laughing, all the way there, and his laughter echoes in the tiled shower until Lan Zhan shuts him up, and when all is said and done, it is not the worst day in history after all.