Archive of Our Own

“Well,” Wei Ying says, pressing ‘Enter’ with a flourish and leaning back in his chair with a grin. “That should do it.”

Nie Huaisang rolls over from his own desk and peers over at Wei Ying’s screen. “Wei-xiong, it’s been great being your friend,” Nie Huaisang says with a delicate pat on his shoulder. “It’s so sad you’re going to be murdered tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Wei Ying says. “It’s perfect. Lan Zhan is going to love it.”

“Remind me what he asked you to do.”

“Build him a website.”

“What kind of website?”

“A professional one.”

“And what did you do?” Nie Huaisang asks

“I built him a fantastic website,” Wei Ying says. “I mean, look at this. It’s using React, can do static and server-side rendering from the front end, it’s scalable--”

Nie Huaisang gives him a sidelong look. “It looks like a Geocities site. From 2001.”

“It’s retro!”

“It’s got a dancing baby.”

“Classic!”

“It’s got a giant picture of your face superimposed on a flashing banner at the top of the screen that says, ‘Want to go for Java sometime?’”

“I have a very nice face. And it shows that I have a sense of humor. I mean, that’s funny. And charming.” Nie Huaisang does not look convinced. “Look, he told me, and I paraphrase, ‘to have fun with it’.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Huaisang says with perfect skepticism, befitting someone who had been friends with Wei Ying for the last ten-odd years. “What did he actually say?”

“‘I trust your judgment,’” Wei Ying says.

“Tragic,” Nie Huaisang says, shaking his head. “I don’t think this is what he meant.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says with a sigh, throwing his hands up. Nie Huaisang is no fun. “I can change it later, the layout and styles are all there. Mostly. This is just a little reminder that if he’s going to ask a freelancer for work, he should give said freelancer designs if he doesn’t want to relive the early internet.”

Nie Huaisang reaches over and sifts through the absolute chaos that is Wei Ying’s desk with the air of someone who knows what he was going to find. He pulls out a folder from the bottom of a stack of Javascript books that Jiang Cheng had given Wei Ying six months ago that are already out of date and which he is currently using as an altar to his coffee cups. Nie Huaisang opens the folder with a cursory glance, and then drops it on Wei Ying’s lap. “You mean these designs?”

Wei Ying opens the folder, and stares at no less than fifteen pages of very meticulous, very detailed pages, all of which had a very neat “Lan Wangji” typed at the bottom. All of his earlier smugness vanishes. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Like I said, I’ve loved being your friend. And I’m going to love your Switch even more after you die; you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to play Animal Crossing.”

“Why didn’t he email them?” Wei Ying asks as he tugs at his hair, ignoring Nie Huaisang and trying to calm his rising panic. “Seriously, who gives people paper designs?”

“Hot young men looking for a good, professional time?” Nie Huaisang says, incredibly unhelpfully.

Wei Ying shoots him a glare and shakes his mouse to get rid of the screensaver. “What time is it? How long do I have to fix it?”

4:32. He grabs his phone and opens the calendar. Meeting with Lan Zhan - 5pm.

“I am so fucked.”

“Well, you might have gotten fucked,” Nie Huaisang says. “But there is no way that Lan Wangji, a man that stares at beautiful, calligraphed ancient manuscripts all day, is going to find Comic Sans sexy. He’s much more of the Garamond type, if I were to guess. Maybe Cambria. Something serifed.” Nie Huaisang clicks his tongue with exaggerated disappointment. “Such a shame. That Java line might’ve worked, too.”

Wei Ying perks up at that. “You honestly think so? No, that’s not the point. Fuck. Nie Huaisang.”

He sighs. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know? DDOS attack?”

“The site’s not even live,” Nie Huaisang says. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this but you’re being a little dramatic. You have two weeks, right? Just delete a semicolon somewhere, be apologetic and say you’ll get it up and running, and then fix it later. It’s not like he’ll know what’s wrong and how many times have you cried into your coffee about a webpack error and that’s what it was?”

“Yeah, ok, but that’s why I installed a linter. I learn from my mistakes.”

“That happened as recently as a week ago.”

“I learn from my mistakes eventually.”

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, either way, he doesn’t have to know that. Again, history professor. He gave you designs on paper. Which is why we’re having this conversation at all.”

“But then it will look like I can’t do my job. He hired me because I said I was the best.”

“Sometimes even the best of us have to lie our way out of why there’s a spinning animation of the word ‘Hot’ next to a picture of -- what are you even doing in that picture?”

“Spicy wing eating contest,” Wei Ying says. “I won.”

“Yikes,” Nie Huaisang says.

“Help me.”

“Help you with what?” Jiang Cheng asks as he kicks off his shoes and throws his keys into the bowl by the door. He looks less exhausted than usual, and more casual, his tie is loose around his neck. There’s a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. He must have come from a late associate’s lunch at the law firm, which means he saw Lan Xichen, which means he is in a better mood than Wei Ying could hope for when Wei Ying has maybe, perhaps taken his job a little too lightly. Especially when Jiang Cheng had been the one to tell Lan Xichen that Wei Ying was a software engineer and gotten him this job in the first place.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. As long as he just draws Jiang Cheng’s attention elsewhere--

“Wei-xiong’s going to die tonight,” Nie Huaisang says conversationally. “I already have dibs on the Switch.” 

Fucking traitor.

“Oh yeah?” Jiang Cheng says mildly as if he’s asking about the weather as he pulls off his backpack. “Who is killing him this time? Me or you?”

“No one!” Wei Ying says. “Nothing! Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it--”

A lot of things are going on, a lot of very panic-inducing, sweaty-palm-causing things, so Wei Ying forgets that the site is open on his computer screen behind him as Jiang Cheng rounds the corner and properly enters their workspace. “What the hell is that? That’s god awful, did someone pay you to make that monstrosity?”

Nie Huaisang, who is now casually peeling an orange and reveling in the chaos he is currently orchestrating, like a traitor, says, “Lan Wangji.”

“Lan Wangji?” Jiang Cheng says slowly. Wei Ying watches, as if in slow motion, as Jiang Cheng fully processes that, and the implications thereof. His face instantly darkens.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says quickly. “Look, I can explain--”

“Lan Wangji. The Lan Wangji that is meeting with you tonight to see the progress you’ve been making on his very professional website that I promised Lan Xichen would be up by the end of the week because his brother is under immense pressure for this upcoming conference? That Lan Wangji?”

Nie Huaisang turns toward Wei Ying with a wide-eyed expression that Wei Ying in no way trusts. “There are other Lan Wangjis?” Nie Huaisang asks, innocent and politely confused, and Wei Ying is definitely disowning him as a friend and fellow freelancer. Fuck him and his Etsy store.

Part of what Jiang Cheng said worms its way into his panicked thoughts and Wei Ying feels his body go numb. “End of the week?” Wei Ying says, strangled, and oh. Oh. This is bad. This is so, so bad. “I was told it needed to be done two weeks from now! By the 25th, that’s what Lan Zhan and I agreed!”

There’s a beat of silence, like the hush before a disaster strikes. Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng share a significant look and Nie Huiasang trades his orange for one of his custom fans off his desk and uses it to point at Wei Ying’s phone. He snatches it off the desk and stares down at the date. The 22nd.

“You used to make the best wontons,” Nie Huaisang says, sighing with great effort. “I’ll never forget those wontons.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng explodes. Wei Ying snaps his laptop shut and yanks the cord out of it, throwing the laptop and charger into his bag.

“Well, I have a very important meeting,” Wei Ying says. “Don’t want to be late!” He’s definitely going to be late.

He manages to dart out of the room before Jiang Cheng can grab him, though he’s sure that anyone in a ten-mile radius can hear him cursing him out.

“Don’t worry, Jiang-xiong,” Wei Ying hears Nie Huaisang saying from the next room as he shoves his feet into his battered converse and yanks the front door open. “You can have his Gundams.”

~

Lan Zhan is already at a table with two drinks set out in front of him when Wei Ying arrives at the cafe fifteen minutes late. He looks even more gorgeous than the last time he’d seen him, nearly half a year ago, which is saying something considering how he’d spent the better part of that time waxing poetic to anyone who would listen about how beautiful Lan Zhan is. It’s not that he’s never noticed before; they’ve known each other since they were 15, after all, and even then Lan Zhan was something to behold, but it’s only recently that they’ve started seeing each other more than once a year at the Jin holiday party. It’s still a bit of a shock to the system to see him in anything other than his lumpy, garish holiday sweater that says, “Let’s get blitzen,” with a pair of reindeer clinking beer mugs.

And let’s just say Drunk Rudolph really doesn’t do that shoulder-hip ratio justice. Fuck, Wei Ying is bi.

Lan Zhan gold eyes (did he mention they are beautiful? All of him is beautiful) are on him the second he stumbles through the door, cataloguing him from his messy hair all the way down to his untied sneakers. It would make Wei Ying self-conscious if he wasn’t currently stuck somewhere between a panic attack and a heart attack from running all the way here. He really needs to exercise more.

He collapses into the chair across from Lan Zhan and bends down to open his computer bag.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says with that deep, resonant voice of his. The ‘you’re late’ is unspoken, but it is in the thin set of his lips and the furrow of his eyebrows, as unimpressed as it would be if he had said it outloud and, ok, he deserves that. Wei Ying likes to think he’s a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to Lan Zhan’s expressions. That, or it’s the fact that this particular look is one that he’s been leveled at him too many times to count.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” Wei Ying says. “I just lost track of time. You know how it is!”

Lan Zhan stares at him in a way that makes it clear that he absolutely does not. Wei Ying tries not to wilt.

Oh god. Oh fuck. This is going to be so bad.

Wei Ying makes a show of opening his computer, and clicking around to make it seem like he’s trying to open things while he surreptitiously opens a CSS file, disables his linter, and deletes a semicolon off the end of a property. He fumbles his keys  after he manages to connect to his phone’s hotspot which he set up on the way here, which pulls up his browser.

He hits ‘Enter’ more quickly than his brain can catch up and he cycles through a few more windows as he tries to switch to his terminal to spin up the site locally. “Shit,” Wei Ying says.

“Is there a problem?” Lan Zhan lifts a perfect sculpted eyebrow at him. Wei Ying laughs nervously as he takes a sip of the coffee in front of him, both because he is trying to cover his tracks and also because Lan Zhan is beautiful and a little bit mean, and has bunnies on his phone case and he also ordered Wei Ying the exact type of coffee he likes with the perfect amount of sugar which means he was paying attention at the last holiday party where he’d ordered 10pm coffee for them from the Jin barista on staff to keep Lan Zhan from falling asleep on him. Wei Ying is actually very into all of that.

“Ah, no, no. I mean, yes, actually,” he says. Smooth. Flawless cover. “It looks like there’s something wrong with the site. I swear it was working right before I left!”

He spins the computer over so Lan Zhan can see the big red webpack error, taking it back before he can actually read the error, which, while not being super obvious, says the exact file, line number and character the error is occurring on. Never in his life has he ever complained about  an error message being too descriptive. The one time he needs it to be vague and unhelpful. Way to almost blow his cover, well-detailed console logging.

He makes a show of looking it over, opening a new file in his text editor and writing, “I, Wei Wuxian, vow to never, ever pull this shit again if you just get me out of this without absolutely ruining my chance to ask out this literal god of a man,” to make it look like he’s debugging. He shakes his head and leans back. “Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

He gnaws on his lip, glancing up worriedly, which, luckily he doesn’t have to fake. Lan Zhan is watching him with a cool expression, but there’s the slightest wrinkle to his eyebrows. Concern? Annoyance? So much for his advanced credentials in Lan Zhan; Wei Ying has no idea.

“Can I help?”

“Why, did you pick up coding since I last saw you?” Wei Ying, despite the situation, can’t help teasing him. It’s become one of his favorite things to do since they met. He throws his hands over his heart dramatically and fake swoons. “Gorgeous, talented, and a total nerd. Lan Zhan, you really are the whole package!”

Wei Ying delights in the way the tips of his ears turn red, and he glances sharply away. “Ridiculous.” Wei Ying grins at him.

“In all seriousness, thanks for the offer, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” Wei Ying says. “Basically, there’s an error somewhere that isn’t allowing my dev server to run. I could try to fix it, but it might take a little while. I hate to do this, but could we reschedule?”

“I need the site by Friday,” Lan Zhan says after a long pause. “I have already given out the website address ahead of the conference.”

“Absolutely. You’ll get it by Friday for sure,” Wei Ying says, premature relief flooding through him, though it shouldn’t, since he’s only got until Friday. Oh well, there goes sleep for the next three days. Whatever. He’s had worse. “Like I said, it was working.”

“Can I see what you had? An older copy?” Lan Zhan asks, picking up his phone from where it’s laying face down on the table. Bunnies, Wei Ying is reminded again, and wow, this man contains multitudes. Wei Ying likes him a lot.

Wei Ying waves his hand at Lan Zhan’s phone, sinking back into his chair and trying not to make any sudden movements in case that alerts some vengeful god to his presence.

“I mean, you can try, but I just did a little ‘Hello World’ to make sure the routing was set up,” Wei Ying says. “Not much there, I’m afraid. Want me to walk you through what I did? It’s really good, Lan Zhan, I gave you the works because you are my favorite client. Then this won’t be a total waste of your time.”

He settles back in his chair to, respectfully, admire Lan Zhan, whose ears have gone pink again, silently thanking whatever power in the universe granted this one mercy to him. He might actually get away with this.

He should not have thought that.

Due to his respectful admiration of the perfect human form, he sees Lan Zhan’s face go from a cute, concentrated look, to confusion, to tight-lipped irritation.

“What is this?” he asks.

Wei Ying’s breath freezes in his chest. “What’s what?”

Lan Zhan turns the phone towards him and to Wei Ying’s horror, he sees a bright blue background and a (not as mobile-friendly as the developer tools led him to believe, fuck) pixelated set of sunglasses animating over the eyes of a dancing rainbow unicorn.

Oh no.

“No, that’s not -- it’s not supposed to be live!”

Wei Ying goes back to his browser and to his abject mortification, realizes that the tab that he had accidentally pressed enter on earlier was actually a publish and because he’d been testing and he was the owner, there were no controls in place to stop it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, his voice low and even and oh god, Nie Huaisang was right, Lan Zhan is going to kill him. And he would let him, because it was one thing to make a joke out of this in his code, but to make it live for a client... “What is this?”

“I, uh…” Wei Ying scrambles for an explanation. “I think we got...hacked?”

Lan Zhan looks at his phone again and scrolls down before turning it back. The picture of Wei Ying’s grinning face and the ‘Want to go for Java sometime?’ banner stares back at him.

“Lan Zhan, I am so sorry,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, it was just a joke! I was just trying to prove a point -- look, look, I’ll revert it right now, just give me a few minutes.”  He navigates to the right page and frantically starts reading through the docs for how to revert. “It’s fine, no big deal, it’s not like anyone’s looking at it, right? No harm done.”

Lan Zhan, in a move that Wei Ying is learning to dread, turns the phone back with an exaggerated grace that Wei Ying knows means that he is really fucking pissed, scrolls down, and then shows Wei Ying the bottom of the page where the stupid, archaic website visitor counter is. 80 views and counting.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says. “I am so sorry--”

Lan Zhan stands up abruptly, picks up his coat and his bag, and pockets his phone. Wei Ying darts up with him, but then remembers that he needs to revert this like yesterday and sits back down. “Please, Lan Zhan, don’t go, I can explain--”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, just brushes past him and out the door without looking back.

Wei Ying gets an alert that the revert is complete. He switches tabs to the site to make sure, closes his laptop and puts his head in his hands.

He fucked up. He fucked up so bad. He’s such an idiot.

And the site looks like shit on an iPhone.

~

Wei Ying only has two full days to fix this. Not just the website, but also his friendship with Lan Zhan (god, he hopes that there is a friendship there to fix, because despite Wei Ying’s infatuation, which he realistically knows won’t go anywhere no matter how much he might want it to, because, well, look at him, he’s a fucking mess, he really does want to be Lan Zhan’s friend).

“What’s two days but three nights?” Wei Ying says after he has a short meltdown and grabs an energy drink. He’s feeling positive, more upbeat with a clear goal. Or maybe that’s the caffeine. Either way, it’s working.

“That isn’t as wise as you think it is, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says without looking up from Wei Ying’s Switch in his hands.

“You know you don’t actually get to keep that, right?” Wei Ying says. “One, I didn’t die. And two, I don’t have a will, and I’m sure dibs don’t hold up in court.”

“You didn’t die yet,” Nie Huaisang says, unconcerned. “But I still see this,” he flashes his mobile at Wei Ying to see the blank “Hello World” of Lan Zhan’s recently reverted home page, “and that,” he points at the terribly designed site that’s still running on Wei Ying’s local machine. Wei Ying sighs and Nie Huaisang goes back to his game. “Also, in terms of the legality of dibs, you’d be surprised how often that argument works out in civil cases. Don’t try me on that.”

“Well, challenge accepted on behalf of Jiang Cheng, then; he’s my lawyer and sole executor of my non-existent will. It’s too bad in this scenario I’m dead, because I would love to see your brother and my brother try to destroy each other in a courtroom.”

“Friday is going to be so fun,” Nie Huaisang agrees. Wei Ying frowns at him and then finally turns back to his computer.

He tries texting Lan Zhan just once, a little after midnight. He knows it’s not helping his case -- he’s sure Lan Zhan is asleep, and it’s incredibly unprofessional, but knowing how badly they’d left things earlier eats away at him.

Wei Ying 12:07am
Lan Zhan, I’m really, really sorry for earlier.
And I’m sorry now for sending you these texts after midnight
And I’m sorry that I don’t text all in one giant block of text and keep sending these individually, old habit
Oops
Sorry again
Fuck
Anyway, I know I said I’d explain, but really, it’s just an excuse for acting unprofessionally, and I’m really sorry. No more excuses from me. I just wanted you to know that you’ll have the website exactly the way you want it by Friday
I promise
Good night, Lan Zhan

The rest of the first night is fine. He pours over Lan Zhan’s designs making notations as he goes with ideas he has about how to make what Lan Zhan has laid out come to life. The guilt gets worse and worse the longer the night wears on -- these designs are painstaking and beautiful, and Lan Zhan had obviously enlisted the help of someone who knew good web design and architecture because there are notes on interaction design and pixel measurements typical of a real design comp. This is more than he normally gets from clients -- hell, this is more direction he’s ever gotten from any client. It’ll save him hours and peace of mind not having to decide on small, overlooked details because nothing has been overlooked.

He begins to implement the designs and finds a bug with the interactions he’d built beforehand, and then another, and then another. Wei Ying hears Jiang Cheng get up at the ass crack of dawn as he does every morning and swear when he walks into the kitchen door while trying to make coffee. A few hours later, he hears Nie Huaisang peel himself off of the couch and disappear out the door without so much as a good morning. Morning comes and then passes. He eats some leftover spicy congee, or at least, he thinks he does -- that might’ve been yesterday. The hours bleed together.

Lan Zhan still doesn’t text him back. He didn’t expect him to, but he’d hoped.

It’s at hour 35 that things start getting real dicey. His vision narrows and dims as he stares down one of his callback functions and he thinks for a moment that he might be in the middle of losing consciousness and panics before realizing that he just hasn’t touched his mouse for long enough that the screen is dimming to save power. He switches from coffee to five-hour-energy and wishes his healthcare was better for the arrhythmia he’s definitely giving himself.

Jiang Cheng returns home not long after (he thinks? What is time? What is home? What is a Jiang Cheng, really?) bearing gifts of Korean takeout and Nie Huaisang materializes out of nowhere as if summoned by the scent of kalbi. Wei Ying believes he has transcended past the mortal imperative of hunger and tries to ignore the good-natured sniping from the other room, but when Jiang Cheng walks in with a bowlful of spicy bulgogi and fresh rice, Wei Ying nearly brains himself on the edge of his desk in an attempt to stop Jiang Cheng from making good on his threats to eat Wei Ying’s helping.

“Like luring a donkey with an apple,” Jiang Cheng says, relinquishing the bowl to Wei Ying and he begins eating it with gusto. Jiang Cheng pulls him by the elbow to the table and forces him to sit. “I guess that makes you an ass.”

Jiang Cheng looks far too pleased with himself so Wei Ying spares a breath to look up over his bowl to glare at him before shoveling food back into his mouth again.

“You’re right, Jiang-xiong, he’s got quite the ass, especially in those jeans,” Nie Huaisang says, giving Wei Ying an appreciative once over. Wei Ying transfers his bowl to his right hand and high fives Nie Huaisang with the other, all the while staring Jiang Cheng down. Jiang Cheng’s smug look turns to a scowl.

“That’s not even what I said!”

“You opened the door, I just stepped through,” Nie Huaisang says, spreading his arms out wide and almost smacking Wei Ying in the face with a piece of kalbi.

“That’s also the story of you as a roommate,” Jiang Cheng snipes back.

“I’ve missed this,” Wei Ying says. “The camaraderie. The good-natured bickering. Oh, to enjoy the freedom that you both have.”

“It hasn't even been 48 hours, Wei-xiong.”

“And you fucked this up yourself.”

“I know,” Wei Ying complains, shoving the bowl aside and resting his forehead on the edge of the table. “I know. Lan Zhan won’t text me back.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Jiang Cheng says. “Lan Xichen said he was pretty furious when he got back last night.”

Wei Ying lets out a wounded sound.

“You’re saying that rather calmly for someone whose reputation hinges on Wei-xiong’s ability to finish this,” Nie Huaisang says to Jiang Cheng. “And rather calmly for you, like, in general.”

“Yeah, well, after all my groveling, Lan Xichen didn’t seem all that mad, so,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Ying tilts his head up enough to see the red spreading over his cheeks. “But I swear to everything that could rain unholy hellfire onto you, you better finish it to Lan Wangji’s standards.”

“Aw, Jiang Cheng, did you wax poetic about my skills?” Wei Ying says, unable to keep from teasing him. Maybe a little self-servingly -- at least if he died tonight, it would be a nice break. “Did you tell him I thrive under pressure, and that my work is better than anyone who they could find, short notice or otherwise?”

Jiang Cheng’s face gets redder, and Wei Ying laughs at him. “No! Shut up!” He pauses for a minute. “He did say Lan Wangji is looking for someone else to do it.”

Wei Ying’s stomach sinks, all of his good humor draining out of him. He leans back in his chair and then sinks further into it, putting his hands on his face. “Fuck,” Wei Ying says. He blames the lack of sleep for the burn he can feel behind his eyes.

Nie Huaisang pats his arm sympathetically. “Well, if it helps, you didn’t really have a chance with him.”

“That absolutely doesn’t help.”

“I didn’t want to crush your dreams, but you’re at a real low point here, so I feel like it’s a good time to tell you that Lan Wangji doesn’t really date. Anyone. Ever.”

Wei Ying sighs, the knowledge oddly freeing even as it makes his heart twist in his chest. He knew he didn’t have a chance, but at least that’s less personal. “It’s not even about that,” Wei Ying says. Or, not all of it. “I really did want to do a good job.”

“Well, do it then,” Jiang Cheng says. “What’s with all this sighing bullshit? It’s Wednesday, you’ve got until Friday -- when have you ever given up before the last possible second? You’re seriously starting now?”

Wei Ying stares at him and feels a familiar fire light his veins, the return of his determination after hours of work and no sleep. He could do this. He would do this, for Lan Zhan. “Weirdly, that was really inspiring.”

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, the cheap wood groaning under his weight. He sniffs a bit indignantly, but it’s clear how smug he is. “I don’t know why it’s weird. I give advice professionally; of course I’m good at it. Now finish eating and go take a fucking nap.”

~

The final day and two nights are a blur of caffeine, shout-singing 80s rock ballads, and some of the fastest coding he’s ever done in his life. He follows Lan Zhan’s designs down to the letter where he can, and where he can’t, he adds little, subtle flourishes of his own that he runs past Nie Huaisang, who has curled up like a cat on the bean bag chair in the corner and exchanges website advice for stalk market consultation. He goes outside in the middle of the night (he can’t remember which night, exactly) and grabs a potted plant off their beer-stained balcony because he’s lonely and practically buzzing out of his skin, and talks it through most of the problems he’s running into with his form logic, which is surprisingly helpful for solving them.

He checks his phone with a compulsive frequency; still no texts from Lan Zhan. That’s fine. It really is.

Friday morning finally dawns. Wei Ying’s eyes are sticking together and his breath smells rank, even to him, but at 7am, just when he hears Jiang Cheng getting up for work, he goes to his git pages and presses publish. On purpose, this time.

He checks the site on live, clicks through all of it to make sure everything looks ok, double checks the content (which he had to type up -- he’s definitely still going to tell Lan Zhan to send his next poor developer the copy at least; luckily, Wei Ying’s great at typing fast, though he’s less great at spelling).

And like that, he’s done.

He leans back in his chair and lets out a breath that feels like it’s releasing all of the stress of the last few days. He’s got nothing left to give, too tired to even feel relief. Still, there’s one last thing he has to do before he collapses into his bed and sleeps for the next week.

He takes his phone and opens his chat history between him and Lan Zhan. There’s still no response from his texts a few days ago, even from the one he didn’t remember sending yesterday that just said, You didn’t find someone else, did you? when he was at the height of his exhaustion. He intends to type up a quick text that the site is live and another apology, but his fingers won’t move, and he just stares at the chat history, feeling oddly untethered.

Jiang Cheng finds him still staring some time later, his sigh from the door jolting Wei Ying out of his stupor. He spins around to find Jiang Cheng already dressed in his usual suit and tie, a dark purple pinstripe this time, fiddling with the cuffs.

“You look like shit,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying doesn’t bother to drum up a response, just stares, deadeyed, at him. “You finish?”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, scrubbing his hands over his face. Jiang Cheng walks in and rolls Wei Ying away from the screen and takes a look for himself.

“Huh,” Jiang Cheng says, which isn’t a compliment, but Wei Ying, who has tipped over next to him and leans his greasy head into Jiang Cheng’s side, lets it slide from how gently Jiang Cheng is absently patting his shoulder.

Wei Ying goes back to staring at his phone. Jiang Cheng must notice, because he sighs again and takes his hand off of Wei Ying’s shoulder and reaches into his suit jacket. A moment later, he waves a piece of paper in Wei Ying’s face that he goes cross-eyed trying to see.

“It’s Lan Wangji’s building and office number, I got it from Lan Xichen,” Jiang Cheng says. “Go take a shower, and I’ll give you a ride.”

Wei Ying really does love his brother.

He’s slightly more awake after his shower, enough for the nerves to creep back in as he sits in Jiang Cheng’s car and watches the city speed by as they make their way to the university, his laptop a welcome weight on his lap. It keeps him grounded, even as his fingers pick away at the frayed edges of the laptop case.

“You’re actually nervous about this, aren’t you?” Jiang Cheng says, a little incredulous.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I do care about things,” Wei Ying says.

“Sure, but it’s not like you haven’t done shit like this before and I’ve never seen you like this,” Jiang Cheng says. “You’re not even talking. It’s weird.”

“I’m tired,” Wei Ying says.

“Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve known you almost your whole life. Usually you talk more, not less, and about stupider things when you’re this tired,” Jiang Cheng says. “Look, it’ll be fine. So what if Lan Wangji hates you forever? It’s not like you care what people think.”

Wei Ying groans. “I care what he thinks.”

“Why?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? All that’s really between them is one night of awkward fun once a year, plus a few mutual social gatherings. He sees Lan Zhan’s own brother more than Lan Zhan. But Lan Zhan is never boring, and never judges him for getting drunk and making fun of Jin Zixuan when they end up in a fancy bar that Wei Ying could never afford to go to even if he had accepted that job at Google. He’s a bit of a petty bitch when someone annoys him, Wei Ying included. He’d even trusted Wei Ying to work on his website without asking for any portfolio, and didn’t try to haggle with him over the cost. Lan Zhan is good, and attractive, and smart, and secretly hilarious and Wei Ying doesn’t want whatever they have to end before it even really starts.

Before he can come up with a good answer, Jiang Cheng turns into one of the back entrances to campus and pulls up outside a well-kept, mid-century building with immaculate landscaping that Wei Ying vaguely remembers from his school days.

“Nie Huaisang said he’d come pick you up, if you were alive, so call him after you’re done,” Jiang Cheng says. “And absolutely don’t ignore me and walk home. I’m not convinced you won’t walk straight into traffic.”

“Ha ha,” Wei Ying says. “I’m not that out of it.”

“Your shirt’s inside out. And backwards.”

Wei Ying glances down at his black long sleeves. He’s right. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“I didn’t notice!” Jiang Cheng says. “Look, just, go apologize or whatever, and then go home and sleep! Figure it out!”

Wei Ying gets out of the car and gives Jiang Cheng a sour look and shuts the door, though he can’t quite manage to be too angry. He watches Jiang Cheng drive off with a sigh. If he was less tired, he might start to regret this plan right about now, but as it is, he feels scooped out, like someone’s taken a melon baller to his insides, and he hitches his bag higher on his shoulder and goes inside.

Lan Zhan’s office is tucked in the corner of the building two floors up, only accessible through a labyrinth of hallways that Wei Ying swears are shifting around him right as he thinks he gets his bearings. It takes twenty minutes and two separate sets of directions from staff that look at him pityingly as they try to help, further proof that even though Wei Ying might be approaching 30, he will never truly shed that college aesthetic. Or maybe it will never shed him? He lets that thought trail off before it gets too tangled for his tired brain.

He walks past his office twice before he realizes that the reason he can’t find it is because the door is already open and the “Lan Wangji, Ph.D., Chinese History” plaque affixed to it is really hard to read from a weird angle. Mostly because he can’t focus enough to read, but that’s neither here nor there.

Lan Zhan, thankfully, doesn’t seem to have noticed that he’s been wandering around like some sort of sad bird trapped in a glass box -- seriously, how many windows does this place have? He can see outside, but will he ever return to it again? -- and his head is still down as he writes something when Wei Ying knocks gently at the open door.  Lan Zhan finally glances up and looks genuinely surprised to see him, if the slight part of his lips and the minute widening of his eyes is any indication. He also looks unfairly gorgeous -- he’s got simple gold wireframe glasses on, which highlight the molten gold of his eyes and his long bangs that are falling around his face, the rest of his long hair pulled back in an elegant french braid, and a light blue cashmere sweater with a button up underneath. There’s a leather computer bag slung over a chair near the door and a long coat folding over the back. Wei Ying can’t do anything else but stare at him helplessly.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, the confusion evident in his voice, which is echoed on his face when he takes stock of Wei Ying in front of him, probably looking like all of the hot mess that he is.

“Oh, hey,” Wei Ying says, giving him the sweetest smile he can manage, though he’s sure it still just looks tired. Lan Zhan’s gaze drifts over him, and yep, now he can see that Wei Ying’s shirt is inside out. And backwards. Why hadn’t he taken the time to fix it, again?

Oh, that’s right. He’s an idiot.

Wei Ying means to ask if he has a minute to talk, but his attention has already drifted as he steps over the threshold, captivated. Lan Zhan’s office looks like the office of someone thirty years older than him and a total nerd. It’s pristine, as most things about Lan Zhan are, with wall-to-wall inset bookshelves displaying not only an impressive number of books, but also with very healthy looking plants, various artifacts, and a single framed picture of a beautiful woman who must be Lan Zhan’s mother, seated with two young boys. There’s a guqin on display behind the cherrywood desk that is clear of anything but the notebook Lan Zhan had been writing in when he’d arrived, a monitor and a simple, cheap black keyboard and mouse.

It’s so very him it makes Wei Ying want to laugh. He doesn’t, but he also has no idea what expression his face is making, and he is beginning to realize that he’s now been standing, staring at the room with no explanation of why he’s here for a good three minutes.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks again, and there’s concern in his voice as he goes to stand up, glancing at his watch.

“Oh, no, don’t get up,” Wei Ying says, waving his hand in front of him and breaking himself out of his reverie. He goes to drop his bag and sit in the vacant chair, but thinks better of it. His ass is sore, damn it, and not for any fun reasons. “I just wanted to come apologize one more time, in person.”

“Unnecessary,” Lan Zhan says, but Wei Ying shakes his head and cuts him off.

“No, it definitely is necessary,” Wei Ying says. “I’m really sorry about Tuesday. I didn’t realize that you’d given me designs already, because I’m used to getting them over email and when I couldn’t find them, I just wanted to prove a point since I knew whatever I came up with, you’d want to change anyway, like all clients do. It’s actually really frustrating, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, even if you hadn’t given me designs. That was unprofessional, and I am really, genuinely sorry, Lan Zhan. I really wanted to do a good job for you.

“I just wanted to come and tell you that the website is done and live. I put it up a few hours ago. I followed all of your designs, and added all the content -- you really should send people things over email, Lan Zhan, typing all that up at 3am is not that easy, there were typos everywhere. Don’t worry though! I fixed them, ha ha, anyway, I made some adjustments to a few things, just to make the experience a little smoother and to make some of the functionality a bit more intuitive -- sorry if that was too much, I can change it -- but it’s all there and it all works. I tested it. A lot.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t move, just stares at Wei Ying with an inscrutable expression. Or maybe it’s scrutable, Wei Ying wouldn’t know, he’s staring at Lan Zhan’s lips, already mourning the fact that there’s no way he’s going to get to find out what kissing him feels like because he really fucked this up and apologizing is just the right thing to do. He doesn’t really expect forgiveness.

“I’m not going to charge you, obviously--”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts, sounding deeply unimpressed. “I’m going to pay you.”

“No,” Wei Ying says firmly. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m the one who screwed up. Keep your money and enjoy the site, yeah? I hope it turned out the way you wanted it to. And that I got it to you in time for your -- oh, shit, your conference!” He glances at the clock just behind Lan Zhan. “Shouldn’t you be at your conference?”

“I should be,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry!” Wei Ying waves his hands and scrambles back and then trips over his own feet, slamming his back and computer bag into the door. It isn’t a good look. “You were just about to leave, weren’t you? You’re going to be late, I really shouldn’t have imposed--”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, standing up with perfect calm, though Wei Ying catches him glancing at his watch again. “It is fine.”

“No, no, that’s all I came to say, I swear. Sorry, again.” He swallows down his disappointment -- he’d hoped Lan Zhan would give him some reassurance that he didn’t hate him, even if he hadn’t expected it -- and pastes a smile on his face. He  gives an awkward half-bow as he starts to beat a hasty retreat out of the office. “Good luck with everything!” He should leave now, cut his losses -- but being this sleep-deprived is making his judgment about as good as it is when he’s drunk, so he adds, “Text me, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, waving behind him, too much of a coward to look him in the face and practically runs down the hall. And then gets properly lost for another 20 minutes. It’s probably for the best. The last thing he wants to do is run into Lan Zhan again because he’s hopelessly lost after bolting from his office like that. He’d never be able to look at him again.

He’s glad that he came in person to apologize, but an emptiness that can’t entirely be explained away by exhaustion still settles in him. He texts Nie Huaisang and then sits down on the curb outside the building, his head in his hands, valiantly trying to keep himself from falling asleep right there on the concrete.

“Oh, god, this is sadder than I thought it would be.” Nie Huaisang’s voice startles him out of his near daze. He’s leaning out the window of a towncar eating an ice cream bar even though it’s overcast and chilly.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Wei Ying peels himself off the curb and goes to join Nie Huiasang, who opens the door from the outside and kicks it open, sliding over to let Wei Ying in.

“When Jiang Cheng said you’d give me a ride, I thought you’d be driving,” Wei Ying says as he settles into the dark leather seat.

“Me? Driving?” Nie Huaisang says, amused and a little condescending, as if he can’t imagine anyone having such a ridiculous idea. “Wei-xiong, I don’t have a car. I don’t even have a license.”

“What,” Wei Ying says. He really is too tired to put up with Nie Huaisang’s bullshit right now. “What do you mean you don’t have a license?”

“I don’t drive,” Nie Huaisang says, licking the ice cream that’s dripping down his wrist. “When have you ever seen me drive?”

Wei Ying opens his mouth to argue but then realizes, no, he hasn’t ever seen Nie Huaisang drive. He’s dumbfounded. His whole life is a lie. “But...you…the parties? You always offer to be designated driver!”

“I offer,” Nie Huaisang says. “And then I immediately get drunk and Jiang-xiong does it. Or I call Da-ge and start crying. Da-ge is many things, and a sympathetic crier is one of them. He makes emotional decisions when he’s crying.”

Good information, if Wei Ying was ever brave enough to wield it. Which he isn’t. He values his life. “Wow,” Wei Ying says. “So that’s why you always do shots just before we decide who does the grocery store run. I always thought it was because you’re an asshole.”

“And that, Wei-xiong, is why we’re friends,” Nie Huaisang says, patting his thigh and getting vanilla ice cream all over his skinny jeans. Wei Ying tips his head back and closes his eyes with a sigh, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He can feel Nie Huaisang’s eyes on him, and just lets him look. “It didn’t go well?”

Wei Ying groans and pulls his head back up with great effort. “I apologized, and that’s what matters,” Wei Ying says, though it sounds about as convincing to himself as it seems to Nie Huaisang, who gives an exaggerated, “Uh-huh, sure.”

“What does it matter? I’m never going to hear from him again,” Wei Ying says. No, he’ll just spend every holiday party for the rest of his miserable life avoiding Lan Zhan and finding someone else he can unload all of his steamed vegetables on. Fuck. He tries to be flippant, but the words, when said aloud, make his heart hurt more than they have any right to. Especially since he did this to himself.

“Probably not,” Nie Huaisang agrees, though a touch gentler than he would otherwise. “But at least you’re not dead, like I predicted. Which you know, good for you. I don’t really take losing bets. That’s why I’m not allowed at the Jin casino anymore.”

It’s a cryptic enough statement, which Nie Huaisang refuses to elaborate on, to distract Wei Ying all the way until he collapses into his bed and a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

~

Wei Ying sleeps through the entirety of Saturday, only waking long enough around 11pm to pee and devour three slices of pizza from a box in the fridge that says, “WEI WUXIAN, EAT THIS AND I WILL MURDER YOU.”

He checks his texts -- two from his sister asking how his project’s going that he doesn’t have the energy or emotional capacity to answer right now, a text from Wen Ning asking for help on a project sometime next week, and another from Wen Qing in a separate thread telling him that helping Wen Ning doesn’t mean doing the project for him. He scrolls through them, bemused, and then pauses as he sees the most recent message. His breath catches in his throat.

Lan Zhan 5:42pm
Wei Ying, I apologize for not being able to finish our conversation on Friday.
I looked at the website. Would you be available to meet tomorrow for coffee at 8am?
I hope you are resting.

Wei Ying snorts at the idea that it was Lan Zhan who was the reason they didn’t have a full conversation on Friday, considering the way he vaguely remembers throwing himself bodily out of his office, but sobers at the I looked at the website. No indication of whether he liked it, or whether he hates Wei Ying, absolutely nothing. He wonders if Lan Zhan comes by his mystique honestly, and then remembers the time he told Su She that he wasn’t qualified to speak to him in front of a full dinner party, and decides he does not. Lan Zhan, despite all appearances, doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to, or accidentally.

Which means asking Wei Ying to coffee was on purpose. And it also means that maybe there is something to salvage.

Wei Ying 11:53pm
Lan Zhan!!! Of course!!! Just know that I don’t wake up that early on Sunday for just anyone
Just for you ;)
Did you have a place in mind?

His message is much more confident than he feels, but he’s giddy with the thought that maybe things will actually work out. He sets his alarm and goes back to sleep with his phone on his chest, feeling lighter, anticipation buzzing through his veins.

He wakes just before his alarm, feeling groggy but more well-rested than he’s felt in ages. He checks his phone the moment he wakes up and sees that Lan Zhan has responded at the inhuman time of 5:03am with a coffee place that’s near campus and no other indicators of what’s to come. Wei Ying finds he doesn’t mind; he hums K-Pop hits as he brushes his teeth, and dresses in his tightest jeans and a flowy top that Nie Huaisang had once said made him look like a sexy forest elf. He’s still singing when Jiang Cheng stumbles into the kitchen, looking around blearily as Wei Ying catches his wrist and places a coffee cup in his hand.

“You good?” Jiang Cheng asks through his sleep-tousled bangs. He takes a sip of coffee and makes a face somewhere between contentment and disgust. “You smell like a tree.”

“That’s just my shampoo,” Wei Ying says. “But it deeply upsets me that you forgot what my shampoo smells like.”

“Take a long, hard look at your life,” Jiang Cheng says. “And ask yourself where regular bathing fits in.”

“I made you coffee,” Wei Ying says, indignant, “and this is the slander I receive?”

“Slander implies that what I’m claiming isn’t true. Which it is.”

“I thought we agreed not to let the law come between us.”

“We agreed not to let the Lans come between us, you moron,” Jiang Cheng says.  “And that was just for that one holiday party, like ten years ago, because you and Lan Wangji cheat at charades.”

“It’s not my fault Lan Zhan is so expressive,” Wei Ying says. “Or that he was so pissed at me that he couldn’t keep his cards steady and I kept reading off of them before he could act them out.” The memory is a pleasant one, though the thought of how genuinely annoyed Lan Zhan had been with him over a little erotica that he may or may not have downloaded onto his phone that year makes something swoop fitfully in his stomach. To be fair, it was replacing a truly depressing article about critically endangered dolphins and Lan Zhan had left his phone unlocked around a bored Wei Ying, who wanted to know what would happen when Lan Zhan started reading it instead of listening to the toasts.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. Wei Ying shoves his feelings down as far as they will go and waggles his eyebrows at Jiang Cheng. “Besides, we both know we only made that rule because you kept throwing me under the bus in an effort to impress Xichen-ge when you got too drunk off of half a glass of wine.”

“For the last time, it was sangria, and Nie Huaisang definitely added vodka to it,” Jiang Cheng says, his cheeks turning bright red. “God, we need to stop going to the Jins for New Years.”

“You’re right about that,” Wei Ying says without meaning it, like he does every time this comes up. Despite all his complaining, he likes the holiday party. Or, well. He likes Lan Zhan. Shit. “If Jin Zixun mentions ‘big data’ to me again one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. Let’s skip this year.”

“Great, you’re telling Mom,” Jiang Cheng says, raising his mug as he leaves the room and Wei Ying makes a loud sound of protest.

He ends up getting to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early out of nerves, and orders both himself and Lan Zhan green teas and then, out of pure impulse, gets a heap of pastries for himself. Despite how good they’d looked at the counter, when Wei Ying sits down, he can’t do anything but pick at them, his nerves getting the better of him.

What if Lan Zhan didn’t like the site? What if he invited him here to do a dressing down of how terrible of a person Wei Ying was to mess with his livelihood like that? He didn’t think Lan Zhan would do that, but then again, Lan Zhan is nothing if not exceedingly well-mannered, and maybe even tearing Wei Ying a new asshole needed to be presented in a traditionally Lan way, formally and in person. He doesn’t so much entertain as torture himself about the possibilities until Lan Zhan walks through the door.

Once again, and as always, Lan Zhan’s beauty is overwhelming. Today, he’s dressed more casually, in dark jeans and a long, fashionable white knit sweater. He’s wearing his hair long over one shoulder, the bottom of it held together by a cloud patterned ribbon that he’s worn to other events they’ve both attended, his laptop bag slung over the other shoulder. He draws attention all around him, the whispers of the other patrons as obvious as they are loud. Lan Zhan scans the room, a little panicked, and Wei Ying can’t help but feel a rush of affection for him. As if his body wasn’t already rushing with affection for Lan Zhan, because Wei Ying is nothing if not an utter sap.

“Lan Zhan! Over here!” Wei Ying calls, waving and lifting his cup of tea. “I already ordered for us!”

The relief in his eyes is apparent, and he makes his way over. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and wow, he really hopes that this meeting isn’t to tell him that Lan Zhan doesn’t want to see him again, because the thought that he won’t be able to hear his name in that deep tone again is too depressing to think about. His eyes scan him up and down, and Wei Ying resists the urge to double check that his shirt isn’t backwards. Or inside out. “Are you well?”

“Concerned about me, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teases.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “You didn’t sleep for three days.”

Wei Ying’s smile falls off his face into a scowl. “Who told you that?”

“My brother,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying frowns. If Lan Xichen knows, then that means...

Jiang Cheng, that fucker.

“That’s an exaggeration,” Wei Ying says. “I did sleep. Like 8 hours.” Lan Zhan narrows his eyes and Wei Ying admits, “Non-consecutively. Look, I’m fine.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t look happy, which really isn’t a great start. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I did,” Wei Ying says. “Do you not remember the apology?”

Lan Zhan, mystifyingly, softens at that. “I do.”

“Well, then,” Wei Ying says, a bit thrown. “Cool.”

They lapse into silence, Lan Zhan sipping his tea, staring at him. He stares back. He really has gorgeous eyes, bright and intelligent and molten, like everything that is Lan Zhan is flowing just beneath the surface.

“So,” Wei Ying says, breaking his gaze when it gets too much. “You looked at the site?”

“Mn.”

“Did...did you like it?”

Wei Ying glances back at him with a weak smile and loses all feeling in his body. Lan Zhan is smiling.

It’s small, barely there, and probably wouldn’t be considered one by anyone who hasn’t made an art of staring at his face, but that’s an honest-to-god smile and Wei Ying isn’t sure he knows what human language is anymore. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying sucks in a breath and holds it. “It is perfect.”

“What--really?” Wei Ying’s laugh is genuine and a little hysterical. That’s embarrassing, but it’s an honest reaction so he’ll stand by it. “I’m so relieved! I thought you were going to say you hated it! Or that you didn’t need it anymore! Jiang Cheng said -- you didn’t say if -- I thought you might have asked someone else to make it before I could finish.”

“I did ask someone else,” Lan Zhan admits.

It’s one thing for Jiang Cheng to say it so carelessly, but to hear it from Lan Zhan’s mouth hurts more than it should. Disappointment eats away at his insides, even though it’s ridiculous. It’s not like it matters. He was going to finish the site regardless because that was his job and he said he would. But maybe because he’s spent the last week churning out code for it with no sleep or because he’d actually been really proud of the end product, or maybe even because it’s Lan Zhan, he cares.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, pasting on a smile. “Of course you did. That was smart. Practical.”

“She said she’s never seen code that ingenious before,” Lan Zhan continues as if Wei Ying hadn’t spoken, unaware of the spiral of his thoughts. “She said you are very good.”

“Ah, that’s...nice,” Wei Ying says and tries to laugh though it sounds much less natural than he’s hoping. “At least she recognizes talent when she sees it.” He musters up enough energy  to wink at Lan Zhan. “I’m sure she did a good job. Do you need the URL back or…?”

“She would have done a good job,” Lan Zhan says. “But I decided not to hire her. Not for that.”

“What?” Wei Ying says. Ok, now he’s properly confused.

Instead of responding, Lan Zhan calmly reaches down to his laptop bag and pulls his Macbook out of it. He takes a moment to type something in and then turns his computer around. On the screen, in a tab with the URL Lan Zhan had given him to use but with an added ‘2’ at the end, is a very poorly photoshopped stock photo of two people at a cafe. The faces are covered with the same picture Wei Ying used on the first version of the site of his wing-eating contest and Lan Zhan’s serious professor headshot, animated to move like they’re dancing. But perhaps the most striking thing is the header, splashed across the center of the page, with the words “I WISH YOU WERE ASYNCHRONOUS SO YOU’D GIVE ME A CALLBACK” in bold, 72pt Garamond.

Wei Ying, for a moment, thinks he maybe didn’t recover as much of his sleep as he’d hoped and he’s hallucinating and that in a moment, he’s going to wake up in his chair at home and realize that he’s passed out from a caffeine overdose. 

“It’s my first website,” Lan Zhan says mildly.

And that’s it. That breaks him. Days of stress and no sleep and the damn Animal Crossing theme and the realization that this crush he has on Lan Zhan might be more than that all coalesces inside him. Wei Ying bursts out laughing, so hard he starts to cry. Lan Zhan, for his part, waits patiently, something like fondness swirling in his eyes. 

“Did you make this in one day?” Wei Ying asks once he’s recovered, heart in his throat.

“I had help,” Lan Zhan says.

“It’s terrible,” Wei Ying wheezes.

“I know,” Lan Zhan says, with some chagrin.

“I love it.”

The smile is back. Wei Ying never wants it to go away.

“So,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan doesn’t stop looking at him. He feels jittery, like he’s too big for his skin. “Are you asking me out?”

Lan Zhan, who doesn’t fidget, is fidgeting, twisting his fingers in his lap like they’re working against his will and he’s trying to contain them. It’s unfairly adorable. “You did so first.”

There’s a slight pout to Lan Zhan’s lips and Wei Ying is hit with such an overwhelming urge to kiss him that it takes everything in him to not leap across the table. “Is this you saying yes, then?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Zhan gives him a look that’s so unimpressed that Wei Ying can’t help but laugh again. “Is this you saying no?” he counters, petulant but also with a thread of anxiety and wow. Lan Zhan is his favorite person.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says and immediately realizes his mistake when Lan Zhan’s face falls. “No, I mean, yes! Yes, let’s make out! I mean, go out! Let’s go out! Coffee? Wait, we’re at coffee. Dinner?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, his ears going pink and his lips giving the slightest upturn and...fuck, Lan Zhan can’t keep smiling. He’s going to kill Wei Ying, and then all of his possessions are going to be distributed through legally binding dibs. But as Lan Zhan picks up his bunny phone case and opens his color-coded calendar to pick a time and place for their first date, he finds he really doesn’t mind.

~

So, Nie Huaisang texts as Wei Ying rides in the passenger seat of Lan Zhan’s car on his way home, one hand on his phone, the other one tangled in Lan Zhan’s over the drink holders. Was I right about the Garamond?

And the Java line, Wei Ying says as he glances at Lan Zhan and then laughs, bright and happy, as an incoming call lights up the screen.