Chapter Text
Lan Zhan was at his desk in the back offices of the Getty working on a very tedious grant application, when Miranda, the director of fundraising walked into the room.
“Lan Zhan,” she said, striding towards him, heels clicking on the wooden floor. “Can I bother you for a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, relieved to be given a reprieve from the application. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I’m meeting with a potential donor today, and I was going get Mike to show the donor some of our collections, but he’s sick. The donor is interested in funding an exhibition on Chinese art, so I was really hoping you wouldn’t mind showing him the vase collection.”
“I would be happy to provide a tour,” he replied. Although he generally found it difficult to provide the type of social interaction that was expected for wooing potential donors, he was the museum’s expert on Chinese ceramics, and he would very much like them to be the feature of an exhibition.
Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much Lan Zhan. Just to let you know though, the potential donor has quite a high profile, so if you could be discrete about this…”
“You have my word,” he said. In truth, he knew very little about celebrities, being generally uninterested in pop culture; it was entirely possible that he wouldn’t even recognize the person.
Miranda reappeared after lunch celebrity guest in tow. When Lan Zhan looked up from his desk to greet them, his face broke briefly from its usual expressionless facade.
“Wei Ying,” he said. It had been over a decade since Lan Zhan had seen Wei Ying in person. He appeared a more little more polished then when he was a teenager; his black jeans appeared to have been ripped before he purchased them instead of after, and his chin-length hair no longer looked like it had been cut using household scissors. Otherwise is aesthetic remained remarkably similar. The most notable difference was that he looked healthier. In the last few months of their friendship, Wei Ying had began to look rather gaunt, with hollowed-out cheeks and purple bags under his eyes.
Wei Ying’s eyes widened. “Lan Zhan? You work here?”
“You two know each other?” Miranda said, a note of surprise in her voice.
“Yeah, we went to high school together,” Wei Ying replied cheefully. “He was subject to some of my early attempts at acting.”
“Wei Ying is not being truthful,” Lan Zhan said. “He was always very good.” They both stared at each other.
“Well,” Miranda said, evidently sensing the tension. “Lan Zhan has agreed to give you a tour of our collections, since he’s our Chineses ceramics expert, so I’ll leave you both to it.”
Lan Zhan brought Wei Ying to the public galleries to show him the ceramics currently on display. The museum had yet to open, so they had the space to themselves. As they walked though the windowless galleries, an awkward silence hung between them, punctuated only by Lan Zhan’s brief comments regarding the art. For possibly the first time in his life, Lan Zhan thought that he would feel more comfortable if he was giving a tour to a stranger. Still, he would take as much of Wei Ying as he could get, even if it was limited to walking with him around his workplace.
“So how’d you end up in art history?” Wei Ying asked, as they paused to admire a set of of white porcelain jars, which were decorated with colourful floral motifs. “The Lan Zhan I remember would have had a heart attack if he knew his future self wasn’t a lawyer.”
“I left home for university,” Lan Zhan replied. “And I realized that I had interests and desires beyond what my uncle had planned for me.”
Wei Ying snorted. “I’m sure your uncle was thrilled.”
“He came to terms with my choice,” Lan Zhan said. Lan Qiren had, of course, not been pleased when Lan Zhan announced his intentions to study something other than law. Now, Lan Qiren took no issue with his career path, as he could state that Lan Zhan had a PhD from Harvard and a job at the Getty.
“I’m glad,” Wei Ying paused. “This is so funny isn’t it? Who’d’ve thought that this was where the two of us would end up?”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying grinned. “There’s the Lan Zhan I knew. Following up something thoughtful with an ‘Mn.’”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying laughed. It was a beautiful, full-throated laugh, indicative of Wei Ying’s genuine amusement. Lan Zhan had experienced it through a screen many time since they had last seen each other, but it still wasn’t the same as experiencing it in person. And it was Lan Zhan himself who had made Wei Ying laugh. He hoped that Wei Ying could not interpret his expressions, because he knew that those who could would see the joy written on his face.
They continued with the tour. Now that the silence had been broken, Wei Ying chattered away. Lan Zhan was surprised by how similar his topics of conversation were to when they were kids. He had assumed that Wei Ying’s everyday life would have become unrecognizable to him, but instead he was treated to stories of Wei Ying’s series of parking tickets (a result of simply forgetting to pay for parking, as opposed to intentional evasion), and the third pan he’d destroyed in his quest to make scrambled eggs.
Once they had finished, Lan Zhan lead Wei Ying to the staff exit. They both paused in front of the door.
“So are you going to be the one designing the exhibition?” Wei Ying asked, turning to face him.
“As the head curator, Mike is responsible for the overall design,” Lan Zhan replied. “And with your funding, we will likely loan objects from other collections, and thus we would have some input from curators at those institutions.”
“But you’re the Chinese pottery guy right? Surely you’ll have some input?”
“Most likely” Lan Zhan said, feeling the tips of his ears flush. Wei Ying’s proximity and apparent interest in Lan Zhan’s work was not doing his heart rate any favours.
Wei Ying smiled. “Hopefully we’ll get to work together then!”
Lan Zhan inclined his head in response.
“Bye then!” Wei Ying said, pushing the door open. He smiled at Lan Zhan once more before turning away and walking out the door. Lan Zhan, unable to look away from Wei Ying’s retreating figure, found himself frozen in the doorway until the door closed in front of him. After all of this time, Wei Ying had waltzed into his life unannounced, upending his emotional stability, just as he had done when they first met.
Despite the thirteen years that had passed since had last seen him, Lan Zhan was still hopelessly in love with Wei Ying. He probably would have found it difficult to relinquish his feelings for him regardless of the situation, but Wei Ying’s career meant that Lan Zhan was frequently bombarded with his image. Lan Zhan admittedly made very little effort to avoid him, and against his better judgement, had watched every single one of his movies. Multiple times. He couldn’t resist the chance to see as much of Wei Ying as he possibly could, to drink in the glimpses of his personality hidden in his characters.
Lan Zhan had first met Wei Ying in Grade 11, when he and his siblings transferred into his school. Lan Zhan’s first class of the day was orchestra, and Wei Ying had burst into ten minutes late, his shirt buttoned up wrong and his tie loose around his neck.
“Sorry!” he said, “Got lost.”
Lan Zhan’s immediate reaction was one of distaste. In his eyes, to make such a scene was unthinkably rude.
“You must be Wei Ying” the music teacher said, a note of irritation in his voice. “We’ve already warmed up. Get a chair and come sit by Jake; he’s also playing the first flute part, so you can share music. I’ll grab you yours later.”
After Wei Ying had organized himself, they resumed the piece that had been interrupted by his entrance, and Lan Zhan immediately noticed Wei Ying’s playing. His tone was beautiful, free of the shrillness often possessed by less experienced players, and he sight read all of their music with ease. Lan Zhan could not help but steal glances at him as they played. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he appeared lost in his playing.
After class had ended, Wei Ying bounded up to Lan Zhan as he was putting away his violin.
“Hi! I’m Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Zhan stated, unsure of why this boy had approached him. His cold demeanour meant that even his peers generally left him alone, and thus having a stranger approach him was unsettling.
“You’re really good!” Wei Ying said, gesturing at his violin. “How long have you been playing?”
“I started when I was five.”
“Oh cool!” Wei Ying grinned. “I played piano for a long time but I picked up the flute a few years ago. Suits me better I think.”
Unused to having such enthusiasm directed at him, Lan Zhan simply nodded.
“What’s your next class?” Wei Ying asked.
“History.”
“I’ve got calculus,” Wei Ying grimaced. “See you later then!” Once again, Lan Zhan nodded. As Wei Ying walked away, Lan Zhan thought to himself, Oh, he’s beautiful.
The realization that he found a boy attractive, and that that boy in particular was loud, disrespectful Wei Ying, was utterly terrifying. Lan Zhan did his best to convince himself that his strong reaction to Wei Ying’s presence was a result of his poor behaviour, but this turned out to be futile. Inexplicably, Wei Ying continued to try to interact with him despite his frigid responses, and thus, somewhat against his will, they became friends.