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Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is entirely hostile to the concept of costume parties. Maybe they’d been fun in his early twenties, the way a lot of ridiculous things seem fun at that age, but at a cool twenty-eight years old he simply cannot be bothered anymore.

And yet, here he is, bothering, because his assorted group chat of friends and siblings needled him into coming, an initiative spearheaded by his sister, who he had no chance of saying no to. Wei Wuxian can’t exactly remember who is hosting this party, but presumably they’re a friend of Jiang Yanli’s, because she’s friends with everyone, and presumably they’re annoying, if the costume requirement is any indication. (Has Jiang Cheng been pressured into dressing up? That would just about compensate for the hassle of attending this event.)

Wei Wuxian had dithered about whether to make an effort for long enough that he was incredibly late and making only the barest half of an effort, with a pair of bunny ears left over from a long-ago Halloween he can’t even remember buying that make him look like he has a very specific fetish. 

The group chat is blowing up with messages asking where he is, but a glance around the room does not immediately reveal anyone he knows, and Wei Wuxian’s regret about being persuaded into this grows. He’s certainly not going to respond to the chat at this time, not when doing so will almost certainly invite some variety of lecture from Jiang Cheng. 

Jiang Yanli had insisted this party would be “fun.” Wei Wuxian is frankly appalled that he believed her for even a second, and after he acquires a drink he’s just about to text her to say as much when someone taps him on the shoulder.

Wei Wuxian turns, expecting a familiar face that will relieve his mounting tension about being at this party—unless it’s Jiang Cheng, of course—and is instead met with a stranger smiling pleasantly.

“Come here often?” the man asks, his dimples just barely visible amid the dim light of the party. 

It’s a testament to how out of practice Wei Wuxian is at talking to strangers that his eyebrows actually draw together in bemusement as he tries to recall whether he’s ever been to this particular basement before. Probably not, but he can’t totally rule it out. 

He’s about to say as much when the guy smoothes the awkward pause with a laugh. “Sorry, that was a terrible line. I just wanted a way to break the ice.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, realizing what’s happening, “yes, flirting, of course, I’m familiar.” Because apparently he has completely lost control of his faculties. It seems that unlike riding a bike, flirting is a skill you can lose—to devastating consequences, like making an absolute fool out of yourself at a party you don’t even want to be at in front of a person you don’t particularly care about. 

Now it’s the stranger’s turn to look to bemused, but to his credit he recovers quickly, saying, “Flirting was my intention, yes. You got me. I’m Jin Guangyao.” 

How is it that picking up strangers used to be as easy as breathing? Looking back, though, Wei Wuxian may owe that effortlessness mainly to happenstance and/or other people’s fleeting desire to hook up with someone minimally celebrity-adjacent. 

A lot of things were easier in his youth, though that may just be the convenient rose-colored tint of all the alcohol he consumed back then speaking. 

Good god. How did he skip straight to existential and morbid when he hasn’t even taken a sip of his drink yet? Maybe he’s joining Jiang Cheng in the “old man yells at cloud” stage of life. What a ghastly thought. 

“I’m Wei Wuxian,” he says, trying to salvage the situation and prove he can reasonably communicate with another human. 

“I know,” the guy says affably. Wei Wuxian cuts him a sharp look, a frown ready on his lips, but the man holds up his palms in surrender. “I was just asking around about you before I came up to you because I think you’re attractive.” 

Well, that could incur a number of responses, the most likely of which would be—

“You’re Yu Ziyuan’s son, right?” 

Yu Ziyuan, also known as his extremely begrudging adoptive mother, would be horrified to hear her name being invoked in association with Wei Wuxian at grimy parties like this one. 

“Not . . . exactly,” Wei Wuxian ventures, and then smiles brightly as he attempts to divert the subject away from his extensive mommy issues. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? What do you do?” He casts his gaze around the party, half-hoping his sister will materialize to save him from himself, but neither she nor the rest of his friends are anywhere to be seen. 

If Jin Guangyao is perturbed by the abrupt topic change, he doesn’t let it show in his unwavering smile. “I’m a journalist, actually.”

The feigned cheer melts off Wei Wuxian’s face as he is once again forced to confront the deeply unfortunate realities of his life. “What, uh, kind of journalism?”

Jin Guangyao gives a rueful shake of his head. “Perhaps that was a bit too generous of a description. I mainly get stuck writing puff pieces and listicles. You know, like ‘Seven Celebrities You Didn’t Know Were Flat Earthers.’ That kind of thing.” 

Wei Wuxian finds himself making a terribly unconvincing approximation of a smile. He probably looks a bit manic. “Great. Cool. That sounds so . . .” It’s frankly criminal that after all those texts berating him for being late everyone goes missing the second he backs himself into a very awkward conversation with someone who very probably wants to write a story about him in a tabloid. “. . . great?”

Jin Guangyao’s laugh sounds a bit forced this time. “I mean, it’s not exactly glamorous, but it’s just a stepping stone, you know?”

Wei Wuxian does not know, probably because his own job is not a stepping stone to anywhere except a permanent migraine. “Totally, yeah.”

“And what do you do?” Besides being the problem child of an aging movie star you’re not actually related to, Wei Wuxian imagines that Jin Guangyao is thinking.

“I work for a nonprofit.”

If there is a god, Jin Guangyao will not ask any follow-up questions.

“Oh, cool. Which one?” 

That’s fine. Wei Wuxian is an atheist anyway. “It’s . . . quite obscure. You probably haven’t heard of it.” Jin Guangyao continues to look at him expectantly, and instead of just answering him like a normal person would, Wei Wuxian panics and points at a random spot behind Jin Guangyao. “Oh, there’s my sister!”

Jin Guangyao turns to look, giving Wei Wuxian a chance to take a casual sip of his drink that results in him spilling some on his shirt, because of course it does, and then say, “Oh, false alarm. She must be upstairs somewhere.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Jin Guangyao says interestedly. Whether the interest he’s expressing is in Wei Wuxian’s family or just in finding a way to extricate himself from this situation is hard to say. Wei Wuxian certainly would not blame him for the latter. In fact, he would welcome it. 

The unnaturally high pitch of Wei Wuxian’s laugh surely gives it away as false. “Well, why would you? We just met.” How is this conversation still happening? 

Jin Guangyao clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “I mean, I have heard of you. And your mom.”

Wei Wuxian winces. “‘Mom’ is such a strong word.” Mrs. Yu would faint from horror if he ever called her that. 

“I didn’t realize your relationship was so strained,” Jin Guangyao says, eyebrows lifting in what is probably supposed to be sympathy.

Wei Wuxian is not about to accept pity from a man wearing a cape. He’s just not. “I didn’t realize it was any of your business.” 

Jin Guangyao has the nerve to look wounded. “I’m just making conversation.”

Wei Wuxian downs the rest of his drink in one gulp in the hopes that it will be fast-acting enough to make this whole thing more bearable. “Are mommy issues usually your go-to topic at parties?” He tips his cup, wishing more vodka would appear, but the move only produces a couple droplets. “Or do you reserve that for people you want to write a wannabe Buzzfeed article about?” 

“Excuse me?”

“‘Seven Celebrities Who Are Estranged From Their Kids. Number Five Will Shock You,’” Wei Wuxian drawls in his most mocking tone, apparently past the point of caring what half-truths and/or straight-up lies this guy could sell to the nearest tabloid. 

It’s almost satisfying to wipe the pleasant smile off Jin Guangyao’s face completely. “You think I was flirting with you for a listicle?” He looks annoyed, either because Wei Wuxian wrongfully insulted his character or because Wei Wuxian rightfully foiled his plot. Either way. 

The initial satisfaction of offending Jin Guangyao has worn off just enough for Wei Wuxian to be idly concerned that something he’s said tonight will actually end up online tomorrow. As much as he wants to not care, he’s not sure he can take another disappointed frown from Jiang Yanli or irate call from Mrs. Yu’s publicist. “Look, I’m sorry for being a dick.” He’s not, really. “Can you just please not repeat anything I said tonight to anyone?” 

This time, Jin Guangyao’s laugh is sharp and disbelieving. “I should’ve listened to Zixun when he said you were a nutcase.”

Well, yeah, probably. “Should we go back to the part where you were flirting with me instead?” Wei Wuxian asks, not because he has any romantic or sexual interest in Jin Guangyao—something about those dimples just strikes him as untrustworthy—but just in case it’ll avert a media scandal.

“I don’t think so,” Jin Guangyao says frostily, which, fair enough. 

“Cool. I’m just gonna—” Wei Wuxian jerks a thumb behind him in the direction of what he hopes is the exit and turns to leave, remembering to remark, “I’d rather be a nutcase than a dollar-store Dracula who writes stupid lists,” before he makes his departure. Jiang Yanli has always said he never knows when to stop. 

He’s half-expecting to be accosted by his sister on his way out, gently demanding to know why he’s leaving so soon, but she’s still nowhere in sight and Wei Wuxian is nowhere near drunk enough to prolong his stay in this dank basement. He has more important matters to attend to, like writing hate comments on all of Jin Guangyao’s damn listicles. 

Perhaps it’s karma, or perhaps some other hand of fate, but it must be a metaphysical force that finds Wei Wuxian as he steps outside the party to meet his own incredible lack of grace. Not only does he trip over his own feet and land in a heap on the ground, but he also gets to share that moment with a variety of witnesses and not a hint of drunkenness to numb the ordeal.

What a lovely night, Wei Wuxian thinks sourly as he tosses his bunny ears into a dumpster and gives his audience a peace sign.

Wei Wuxian has the rare privilege of reliving the night before not with Mrs. Yu’s publicist but with the legend herself. 

He’s always had difficulty waking up before noon, but his adoptive mother’s fury is better than any alarm. 

“What is the meaning of these photos?” 

“What photos?” Wei Wuxian is allowing himself to be petulant because it’s not even ten a.m. on a Sunday. 

He can imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. He’s become well acquainted with the gesture over the last twenty or so years. “The ones of you lounging on the ground like some kind of inebriated streetwalker.” 

“I can assure you I was neither lounging nor inebriated nor streetwalking,” Wei Wuxian says helpfully. “I just tripped.”

“The public perception does not support that description of last night’s events.” Mrs. Yu says the last word with the same disdain one might employ to say orgy or satanic ritual. 

“Where’s Jinzhu this fine morning?” The publicist is far more pleasant to deal with than Mrs. Yu, although that bar is pretty low. 

“Don’t interrupt me. Were you on drugs?” 

“Not as far as I recall.” Mrs. Yu makes a skeptical sort of scoff. “Do you want me to pee in a cup?”

She pauses as if considering it and then seems to decide they have more important matters to attend to. “I warned you that even one more incident like this and I would be forced to take action.”

He does remember that conversation, of course, and he’s been half-hoping the action in question is just finally disowning him and putting him out of his misery. But that would be too easy, of course. And it would upset Jiang Yanli, so he should probably let that dream go. 

Mrs. Yu grows impatient from his lack of response to her threat. “I have been extremely generous with you, and in return you have gone out of your way to sabotage my public image.” 

It is unfortunate for them both that her reputation is in many ways predicated on Wei Wuxian’s behavior. As an older woman in the industry, she’s come to be typecast in recent years as a mother, as bitter as she is about that fact, and she’s talented indeed to make her maternal act convincing on the screen. What people don’t like to see, Mrs. Yu assures him, is an actress made unbelievable by her inability to control her children in real life. 

“I wouldn’t say I’ve gone out of my way,” Wei Wuxian protests against his better judgment, although he supposes that the party last night was a bit inconvenient. 

“I will not have people speculating that I raised a promiscuous alcoholic,” Mrs. Yu continues as if hadn’t spoken.

As if she really raised him at all. “I thought it was the drugs you were worried about?”

“If you continue to refuse to settle down, I will make you.”

Wei Wuxian sits up halfway in bed. “Make me—?”

“Some stability will be good for you. A-Li is already married.”

“Jiang Cheng isn’t,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. 

“A-Cheng isn’t getting his drunken exploits plastered across magazines.”

“Only because no one wants to see his face.” And because Jiang Cheng would rather perish than disappoint his mother. 

“I’ve indulged you far too much. You will find a way to appear monogamous and temperate, or I will find one for you.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how monogamy even got brought into the conversation. He gave up on both relationships and hookups a long while ago; it’s not his fault no one believes he is capable of change. But sometimes lying is essential. “Then it’s a good thing I have a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend?” Mrs. Yu repeats, her voice sharp with suspicion. “You? I didn’t know about this.” This woman who’s legally supposed to be his mother doesn’t even know his birthday, so he’s not sure who her feigned surprise is for.

“It’s . . . new.” 

“Fine. I’ll be checking up on this. And you’ll stay out of the news?”

In an ideal world, nothing Wei Wuxian did would ever be considered newsworthy unless it was something cool, but the real world is by no means ideal. “Yes?”

“See that you do. Next time I won’t be so kind.”

“Sorry, was this you being kind?” Wei Wuxian asks, but Mrs. Yu has already hung up. He slumps back down on his mattress with a groan. 

He gets a few minutes of peace to check the Google alert he has set up for his own name. Jiang Yanli had tried to turn it off, saying it was self-destructive, and Jiang Cheng called him a narcissistic douchebag, but it remains useful for immediately locating the photos of his “drugs sex booze shame,” to quote one article from this morning. He has to say, they’re not terribly flattering. And he does have some editorial feedback on the stories themselves he’d like to submit. But at least Jin Guangyao isn’t a credited author on any of them, and none of them make use of the phrase “mommy issues.” So it could be worse.

Jiang Yanli calls just as he’s beginning to compose an anonymous hate letter to one or perhaps all of the magazines. 

“A-Xian,” she says, voice light and sweet as always, as if all they have to discuss is the weather and not the significant dysfunction of their family dynamic, “why didn’t you tell me you’re in a relationship?”

Of course Mrs. Yu has already gotten to her. “Right. Well. The thing about my, uh, relationship is that it’s not entirely nonfiction?”

She pauses for a moment to decipher the double negative. “It’s fake?”

“Yes, very much so. In other news, I need to find a boyfriend immediately or your mother is going to crucify me.”

There was a time when Jiang Yanli would’ve responded with a soft She’s your mother too. Thankfully she knows better now. “A boyfriend?” she says instead. “Oh, I know! What about—”

“Don’t say Lan Wangji.”

“But—” He can hear her pouting through the phone.

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, okay. Come to the cafe this afternoon. I’ll rally everyone, and we can brainstorm.” 

Wei Wuxian shudders to think of the ideas their collective mind-meld will yield, but he supposes it’s better than nothing, so he agrees.

“Wait, but—you’re not feeling too poorly to come out, are you? After last night—”

“I’m not hungover, a-jie.” 

“I know you can hold your liquor, but do you need me to bring over anything?”

“I had one drink last night and then tripped in a fit of bad luck. I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh,” Jiang Yanli says, and he tries not to feel hurt by the surprise coloring her tone, “sorry, I just assumed—”

“The worst?” Wei Wuxian supplies with a short laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, immediately repentant. “Of course I don’t think the worst of you. I just worry, especially after . . .” Years of mischief to ensure she was constantly worried about him, is what she probably wants to say. “I should’ve asked you what happened first.”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian says dismissively. “If I had it my way I would’ve gotten messy drunk, so you weren’t too far off.” He gives her a recap of his brief stint at the party, dramatizing it enough to make her giggle, and promises to see her in a few hours. 

At least the coffee get-together will make this Sunday slightly less depressing than most, if Wei Wuxian simply overlooks the fake-boyfriend/controlling-not-mother aspects of the day. Sundays used to be a day for brunch with friends similarly in recovery from the events of the night before, but he has been steadily losing those comrades to lives of in-laws and taxes. Or whatever functional people do with their weekends.

And here Wei Wuxian is, stuck at a dead-end job and in an apartment whose ceiling could collapse at probably any second, with a ledger of romantic prospects so far in the red he’s going to have to resort to finding someone to pretend to date him because people think it’s fun and profitable to take pictures of him at his lowest.

But at least there’ll be coffee today. 

Chapter Text

When Wei Wuxian is rudely awoken for the second time that day, it’s by a FaceTime call from his coworker.

That fact is confusing in and of itself, as he and Nie Huaisang have an acquaintanceship almost exclusively contained to the confines of their office, but Wei Wuxian swipes to answer anyway, mostly out of curiosity.

“Wei-xiong, my guy!” Nie Huaisang exclaims, wearing the grin that always seems to come so easily to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Why does everyone think I was drinking last night?” Wei Wuxian complains. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“You were drinking last night?” Nie Huaisang asks, looking delighted. Perhaps he hasn’t seen the tabloid photos, then. “Is that why you’re not here today?”

Wei Wuxian is about to ask where exactly Nie Huaisang means when his eyes catch on the background behind his coworker and the familiar drab walls. “Why are you at work?” he counters instead. “It’s Sunday.”

Nie Huaisang jolts in astonishment, his eyes growing comically wide. “Sunday? Is it really?” His chin slumps into his palm as he appears to contemplate this, then he snaps his fingers. “That explains it! I was wondering why the office seemed a bit empty.” 

“Have you just been sitting there alone waiting for—?” Wei Wuxian cuts himself off, knowing it’s better not to pursue this thread any further. “Never mind that. You should definitely go home.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me here? It’s quite peaceful, actually. I’ve gotten a lot done.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to know what Nie Huaisang considers “a lot,” but if he had to hazard a guess, he would say it involves playing with the dartboard Nie Huaisang had helpfully installed in the office so he can make holes in the wall or accidentally—or purposefully—deleting lots of important emails. “As much as I’d love to spend my weekend at work, I do have more pressing matters to attend to. But if you have any ideas on how to find me a pretend boyfriend,” he tacks on, mostly as a joke, “please enlighten me.” 

“A pretend boyfriend? Oh, I’m sure that’ll be easy. Don’t your parents know anyone?”

“The whole point of finding a pretend boyfriend,” Wei Wuxian explains, unable to comprehend why he’s even bothering, “is so my parents can’t set me up with someone.”

“Ah, tricky.” Nie Huaisang bobbles his head a few times, his expression either enigmatic or just vacant. Wei Wuxian wonders now and again whether he’s actually as empty-headed as he seems, or if Nie Huaisang is a secret genius moving the rest of them about like pawns. It really could go either way. “I’ve got a great idea!” 

Wei Wuxian sincerely doubts it, but he’s pretty much at rock bottom, so he opts to entertain it anyway. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang beams. “You can just say you’re going out with me!” 

“Huaisang, you’re not even gay.”

Nie Huaisang waves his hand dismissively, the camera wobbling as he seems to almost drop his phone. “I’ll just tell everyone I’ve changed my mind.”

“That is definitely not how that works.”

“Oh, but slight wrinkle,” Nie Huaisang continues, ignoring Wei Wuxian. 

“Just one?”

“My brother has me on a little dating ban after I got myself into a spot of trouble with a woman pretending to be Anastasia.”

Wei Wuxian’s grasp on history is tenuous at best, but even he knows enough to ask a couple follow-up questions. “Like, the Russian princess? Isn’t she dead? And wasn’t she born over a hundred years ago?”

“You know, my brother raised those concerns as well,” Nie Huaisang says, nodding thoughtfully. “Surely he wouldn’t find out, though, about us?”

“Okay, first”—Wei Wuxian can feel the familiar swell of the headache he gets when talking to any of his coworkers—“there is no ‘us.’ Also, the whole point of my having a fake boyfriend is for it to be a pretty public affair.”

“In that case,” Nie Huaisang says, a bit grave, “we may need to break up.”

“I’m going to hang up now. Thanks very much for your help.” 

There’s not a trace of irony in Nie Huaisang’s voice as he says, “Oh, you’re so welcome!” and gives a little wave.

Wei Wuxian ends the FaceTime call feeling no closer to a solution and also convinced there’s no point returning to sleep, lest he invite any more unwanted calls today.

Wei Wuxian is on time to the coffee shop only because the clock on his oven, which is ten minutes fast, led him astray. Everyone else is there when he arrives except for Jiang Cheng, who shows up three minutes late in what is surely a performatively petty act meant to communicate the fact that he didn’t want to come but Jiang Yanli made him. 

“I didn’t want to come but a-jie made me,” Jiang Cheng says as he slumps into the only available chair left, one in between Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing. He has a passion for stating the obvious.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli chides gently. “We all needed to be here to support A-Xian!”

“Just to be clear,” Wen Qing cuts in, “I’m not here to be supportive. I’m mostly just here to mock.”

Her honesty elicits a giggle from her girlfriend, Mianmian, who’s seated on her other side. Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes good-naturedly, mostly because he knows Wen Qing will allow herself to get roped into being supportive if she deems it appropriate. 

Jin Zixuan mumbles something that sounds like “Me too,” earning him a venomous glare from Wei Wuxian. He doesn’t know why Jiang Yanli’s husband is even here, but he’s already on thin ice, as usual. 

“I’m here to support you!” Wen Ning says, because Wen Ning is an angel.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jin Ling says, because Jin Ling is a demon. 

The two of them are a few years younger than the rest, but Wen Ning got an automatic invite into the friend group because he’s 1) Wen Qing’s brother and 2) as mentioned, an angel. Wei Wuxian still doesn’t understand how they got stuck with Jin Ling, except that he’s a stray Jiang Yanli found one day at work and keeps insisting is a “sweet young man,” an assertion Wei Wuxian has yet to see evidence of.

“We’re all here,” Jiang Yanli explains, “because we need to find A-Xian a boyfriend!”

“A fake boyfriend,” Wei Wuxian corrects. There is simply nothing he wants less than an actual relationship, given the way his last one went up in flames. 

He gives them all a brief synopsis of his conversation with Mrs. Yu, keeping it as blasé as possible for the sake of levity. But Jiang Cheng, who has been subject to many a fun conversation with his mother over the years, knows how to read between the lines, and his expression tightens as Wei Wuxian explains his newfound need to manufacture a significant other. 

Before Jiang Cheng can open his mouth to suggest Wei Wuxian brought this upon himself, or whatever he was going to say, Mianmian says, “Right. And is she aware you’re not a contestant on Love Island?”

Wei Wuxian taps his chin in feigned contemplation. “I’d have to check.”

“How are we supposed to find someone who wants to date you?” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

“Well, you’re not, because the only people you know are in this room.” Wei Wuxian gives him a beatific smile. 

Jiang Cheng thins his lips at the insult and seems to go on strike from the conversation, turning to look out the window instead. Disengagement from each other is a recently perfected strategy that has become increasingly necessary the less patient Jiang Yanli grows with their bickering. 

“Can’t you just hire someone?” Wen Qing asks. “I can think of thirty people offhand who’d probably do it.”

“Okay, a couple notes,” Wei Wuxian says. “First of all—and anyone else can feel free to jump in here—I don’t think soliciting a sex worker should be Plan A. Secondly, is there a reason you know thirty of them?”

Wen Qing sighs, no doubt already regretting her participation. “I meant actors.” Which doesn’t explain a whole lot, because Wen Qing is a doctor, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how she became acquainted with so many unless her hospital has been the set of Grey’s Anatomy this whole time. 

“I know this is a rock bottom-type situation, but I was hoping not to resort to paying and/or bribing someone.”

“How else are you going to get someone to do it?” Jin Ling says.

Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at him, which he considers a fair and measured response, then addresses the group at large. “Come on,” he complains, “one of you must know someone.”

“My cousin Zixun is single,” Jin Zixuan offers.

Wei Wuxian represses his violent urge to hurl. “Jin Zixun is the single most repugnant person I’ve ever met in my entire life. I do have some standards, you know.”

“That seems a bit harsh,” Jiang Yanli says, resting a calming hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm.

“He called me a nutcase!” Wei Wuxian protests.

Jiang Yanli’s face hardens. “Did I say harsh? I meant accurate.” Wei Wuxian grins at her before returning to the matter at hand.

“One of you must know someone who isn’t repellent,” he amends. “Or a sex worker,” he adds, because if Mrs. Yu found out he’d hired one he doesn’t think he would live to see another sunrise. Not that he’s awake for them anyway. 

“Maybe we should narrow the field a bit,” Jiang Yanli says pleasantly. “What kind of man are you looking for, A-Xian?”

He knows she’s just trying to help, but what an insane question. “Literally just . . . a man. Any man. Except Jin Zixun, obviously.” He sends another deserved scowl Jin Zixuan’s way. Jin Zixuan just rolls his eyes.

“I know lots of men,” Mianmian says, “but they’re all way out of your league, so I don’t think I can help.”

“On the one hand,” Wei Wuxian says, “that is extremely offensive because I’m perfect. On the other hand, you’re probably right and for the sake of my self-esteem please never introduce me to any of them.”

Mianmian salutes her assent, but Jiang Yanli makes a displeased noise. “No one’s out of your league,” she insists, because she’s a wonderful sister and person, if a bit misguided by her loyalty. “Does anyone else have any suggestions?”

Wen Ning whispers something in his sister’s ear, but Wen Qing shakes her head. “He just got married. Also, I’m pretty sure he thinks the moon landing is fake.”

Wei Wuxian casts a dismayed look over the group. He hadn’t expected great things from them, but he thought at least one decent idea might be generated from this get-together. But instead it seems like he is, as he suspected, entirely screwed.

“If no one else has any suggestions—” Jiang Yanli starts.

Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t say it.”

He reopens them a beat later to find her leveling a look at him. “Would you rather my mother arrange a match for you?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but visibly shudder; god only knows what kind of person Mrs. Yu would see fit to set him up with. He doesn’t say anything in reply, which only seems to egg his sister on.

“Lan Wangji is perfect for you!” she exclaims.

Lan Wangji is not perfect for him. Wei Wuxian has met the man exactly twice, and twice was more than enough to know they should never meet again. The first time was at one of Jiang Yanli’s work parties. He and Lan Wangji had been standing next to each other making the absolute bare minimum of the most boring small talk ever when someone had asked if they were a couple and, with abject disgust written all over his face, Lan Wangji had made a vehement denial. The second time, Wei Wuxian had been drunk and desperate enough to proposition him; that night is entirely fuzzy, but he had woken up fully clothed and alone, which is confirmation enough that Lan Wangji wants nothing to do with him. Any further interaction would just be inviting more humiliation for Wei Wuxian.

“He’s not my type,” Wei Wuxian tries, but Jiang Yanli’s expression says she’s having none of it.

“From what I remember, he’s pretty boring, so maybe you will balance each other out,” Mianmian says.

“Or maybe you’ll just be stuck with someone boring,” Wen Qing says. Perhaps she’s annoyed that he’d turned down her thirty sex workers.

Jiang Yanli pouts. “He’s not boring. He’s a lawyer! And he’s lovely! His apartment is immaculate! And he dresses so well!” She stops, seeming to realize she has devolved into just making random statements about this man. “I don’t know how he’s still single,” she tacks on, appearing genuinely bewildered by the fact that no one wants to date her awful friend. 

“If he’s so wonderful,” Wei Wuxian says, in one final attempt to wriggle out of this, “then what would he possibly want with me?”

Jiang Yanli looks personally offended by the question. “You’re wonderful too! Of course he’ll want to date you!”

Wei Wuxian tosses his head back in exaggerated exasperation. “Once again, there will be no actual dating. We are merely going to create an illusion of loving monogamy for Mrs. Yu, and that’s that. And . . .” He sighs, knowing he’s going to regret this. “. . . if I have to be stuck with someone like Lan Wangji to pull it off, thus is my lot in life, I suppose.”

Jiang Yanli beams at him.

Jiang Cheng finally decides to rejoin the conversation then, but only to say, “This is going to go terribly wrong.”

Wei Wuxian has a policy against agreeing with Jiang Cheng, especially out loud, but he may have a point.

He’s way more screwed than he thought if Lan Wangji is his only option.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Nie Huaisang says the next day, “and I’m willing to date you in secret if that’s what you need.”

Wei Wuxian squints at him. It’s too early in both the morning and the week for this. “I explicitly told you that’s not what I need.”

“Are you sure?” Nie Huaisang presses, though it’s hard to focus on what he’s saying when he’s rotating at such a dizzying pace in his spinny chair. “I’ve been told I’m quite a catch.”

“Did Anastasia tell you that, by chance?”

“Who?”

The dunce-or-mastermind debate rages on with no clear answers in sight.

“Wei-xiong?” The office intern, Ouyang Zizhen, pokes his head in the doorway. “I tried to make ramen in the coffee machine and I broke everything.”

Wei Wuxian has actually also done that before—a fond memory from his youth—but now that he’s almost thirty and already jaded he gets to be the office babysitter, apparently. It’s terribly unfortunate that he has a vested interest in keeping this job, mostly because it’s the only one he could get, and even then he’s pretty sure he only secured it because the director of the organization, Dr. Baoshan Sanren, knew his mom. (His actual mom, that is, AKA the one who died when he was a child, AKA not the wicked witch of the Jiang family.)

The organization in question is a nonprofit focused on research about and preservation of a vital piece of terrestrial ecosystems. 

Unfortunately, that vital piece is dung beetles. And the Coleoptera Research and Protection Project has a most unfortunate acronym. And, as a fundraiser for CRAPP, Wei Wuxian has to spend a significant amount of time trying to convince people that saving bugs that eat shit is a better cause than helping starving orphans or whatever else. What a glamorous life he leads.

There are some perks, of course. Dr. Baoshan only has two loves in this world, coffee and invertebrates, so the coffee is generally decent unless someone decides to play Master Chef with the machine. And . . . well, no, actually, that’s probably the only pro he can come up with. 

“Is the ramen at least good?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Ouyang Zizhen nods vigorously. “Do you want some? It’s great if you like a smoky flavor.”

“So it’s burnt,” he translates. 

“That’s a very narrow way of looking at it,” Nie Huaisang informs him.

Wei Wuxian sighs and gets up to go stare at the coffee machine in the hopes that enough scrutiny will make it fix itself. 

“Would you be so kind as to make me a ristretto?” Nie Huaisang calls as he walks away, as if Wei Wuxian has any earthly idea what he’s asking for. 

“Nope.”

Wei Wuxian finds Dr. Baoshan standing next to the coffee machine staring blankly at it, sort of like a Sim who hasn’t been given instructions yet. His boss has several PhDs and is, by all accounts, a genius when it comes to dung beetles, but her social skills are such that he’s come to suspect she’s some kind of droid with malfunctioning programming. 

“There is an error here,” she says, eyes still fixed on the coffee contraption as if concentration alone will produce a cup of coffee.

“Good catch,” Wei Wuxian says, eyeing the blackened ramen very clearly on display.

“Who did this?”

“The intern.” Considering this is Ouyang Zizhen’s fourth valiant attempt to destroy the machine, Wei Wuxian has no qualms about throwing him under the bus. 

Dr. Baoshan makes a noise of acknowledgment and drifts back toward her office. “I don’t think we have one of those.”

“You should probably tell Zizhen that,” Wei Wuxian calls, but Dr. Baoshan is already out of sight.

Wei Wuxian gives the machine another glance and then decides no one really needs coffee that badly, probably, so he returns to his desk instead. 

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see,” Nie Huaisang says, looking up. “How do I sign into my email?”

Wei Wuxian objectively does not get paid enough for this. “I imagine the same way you do every day.”

Nie Huaisang nods like he’s been given some sage advice. “I’ll try that.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to audibly sigh as he checks his texts, straightening up in his seat when he sees he has one from an unknown number.

Hello, Wei Wuxian. This is Lan Wangji. Your sister, Jiang Yanli, contacted me about setting up a meeting to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement. Please let me know your availability for this week at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Lan Wangji

It’s possible Wei Wuxian has a mild stroke while reading the message. It’s also possible that Lan Wangji has been a sixty-year-old man this whole time and Wei Wuxian just didn’t realize until now. Does he have to respond with proper grammar too, or should he just show Lan Wangji right from the start what he’s getting himself into? And what does Lan Wangji mean by “mutually beneficial”? What has Jiang Yanli told him?

hi ya that’s me and im free any day after 5, Wei Wuxian texts back, and then wonders if it sounds pathetic to say he’s free any day. Maybe he should’ve played harder to get.

Or maybe not, because this is the incipient stage of an arrangement, not a relationship, and he needs to keep it straight in his head. 

“Wei-xiong, I tried to make some copies, but the copy machine is smoking for some reason? It is supposed to do that?”

Wei Wuxian lets his head bang against his desk just once, as a treat.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian skitters into the restaurant Lan Wangji had suggested approximately seven minutes after their agreed meeting time (somehow his oven clock is now running slow. Possibly he should seek out a better method of time-keeping, but he knows he will not). With a bit of luck, Lan Wangji won’t even notice he’s late. 

“You’re late,” Lan Wangji says immediately upon sighting him. He looks, most unfortunately, even hotter than the last time Wei Wuxian saw him. Drat. 

“Or,” Wei Wuxian says, running a hand through his hair as he catches his breath (he truly doesn’t know what he was thinking, sprinting the last few minutes), “maybe you’re just early?” 

Lan Wangji’s face seems to have remarkably little range of motion, so his expression is a bit hard to read, but if Wei Wuxian had to guess he would say his fake date is not amused. “I was on time. You were late.”

“Well, sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, even though he’s not that sorry. He did intend to be on time, but if this means seven minutes less of the most awkward dinner ever, he can’t find it in himself to be contrite. “Shall I sit?” He’s already pulling out the chair across from Lan Wangji. 

“Unless you have another engagement.”

Unsure if that’s a joke and unwilling to find out, Wei Wuxian slides hastily into his seat and picks up a menu from the table. 

“Tardiness disrespects other people’s time, you know,” Lan Wangji says.

Christ, are they still on that? Wei Wuxian gives an insincere little laugh that Lan Wangji can interpret as agreement or not, he doesn’t really care, then scans the food options, looking for a way to change the subject. “Wow,” he says after a moment of scrutiny, “who would pay that much for a side salad?” Not that he would order one, anyway, but it’s really the principle of the matter, isn’t it?

A small crease has formed between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. Wei Wuxian half-suspects this is the Lan Wangji equivalent of scowling. “It is not your concern. I will pay.”

“Hang on,” Wei Wuxian protests. “I can pay. I’m the reason we’re even here.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth falls open, just slightly. “You can’t just say no.”

“Yes, I can. I chose the restaurant, and I will pay.”

Under normal circumstances, at dinner with a person he was actually friends with—or, in the case of Jiang Cheng, related to—Wei Wuxian would almost certainly be trying to con them into paying. Alas. “But—”

“I would not have brought you here expecting you to pay,” Lan Wangji interrupts. Wei Wuxian wants to make a petty comment asking why Lan Wangji doesn’t regard interruptions with the same disdain he does tardiness, but he bravely resists. “I know you work with dung beetles, and I can’t imagine that is a lucrative profession.”

“I don’t work with them. I work for them.” Wei Wuxian flounders, unsure that working for dung beetles is any better, then adds, “I mean, I work for their preservation.” 

Lan Wangji’s expression does not change. “And that pays well?”

“Well . . . no.”

“Then I will pay.” 

Wei Wuxian sighs dramatically, just because he can, and tries to concentrate on the menu, but he immediately gets bored. “Did you know that without dung beetles we’d all starve to death?” 

“I did not.” Lan Wangji’s posture is terrifyingly straight, now that Wei Wuxian examines it. He probably doesn’t have premature back pain, that bastard. 

“Yeah, they’re super ecologically important, actually, and if they went extinct we’d all be here for a good time, not a long time, you know what I mean? Well, probably not a good time, since we’d be starving, but—”

Lan Wangji cuts him off with: “Have you chosen what you will order?” 

Thank god. Without intervention there’s no telling how far down the subject of dung beetles Wei Wuxian would have spiraled. “Uh, no?”

“If you are unsure what you want, I would be happy to order for you.”

Wei Wuxian eyes him suspiciously, having seen no evidence thus far that Lan Wangji is capable of reaching emotional extremes like happiness. But he really doesn’t want to have to go back to staring at the unreasonably fancy menu—he can’t pronounce half those things—so he might as well take a leap here. “Oh, well, sure. If you’d like.”

“Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“Yeah, I’m a raw vegan,” Wei Wuxian quips. He should’ve known better, though, because Lan Wangji just nods, a quick dip of his head, and flips open the menu in front of him. “Wait, no, I—that was a joke. I’m not a raw vegan. Or any type of vegan.”

The little crease returns. “Veganism is a joke to you?”

“No?” Wei Wuxian tries.

“I am a vegetarian,” Lan Wangji says.

“That’s great!” Lan Wangji continues to stare at him, so he continues, against all good judgment, “I think that’s—great. So cool. I’m a huge fan of vegetarians. And vegans. Can’t get enough of them. But not—not in, like, a weird way; it’s not like I have a vegetable kink or something. I like vegetarians a very normal amou—”

“So you eat meat?” 

Is this a trick question? Wei Wuxian merely nods his assent, hoping they can just leave this entire piece of the conversation here before he passes away from sheer discomfort. It just seems like anyone, specifically named Jiang Yanli, could have predicted that the two of them wouldn’t mesh well and averted this calamity entirely. 

“Should I order any wine for the table?” Lan Wangji asks all his questions in a terribly measured way, but Wei Wuxian still feels caught by this one, like he’s being tested.

“Do . . . you want wine?”

“No. I don’t drink.”

“Great. Me neither.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrow twitches. “Was that another joke?”

It occurs to Wei Wuxian that the last time they saw each other, Wei Wuxian was significantly under the influence. Not even to mention any of the drunken scandals that Lan Wangji could’ve read about online. 

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian laughs, but it comes out sounding nervous. “Not a joke, just . . . aspirational.” 

“I see.”

Does he, though? “Just to be clear,” Wei Wuxian says, fiddling with the candle at the center of the table, “I’m not an alcoholic. Or a sexoholic. Or a drug addict. I don’t know what you might’ve read about m—”

Lan Wangji drags the candle away from him, which is probably a wise move. “I wasn’t aware I was required to do any research prior to this meeting.” 

Wei Wuxian feels a bit wrong-footed as his hand seeks something else to fiddle with and settles on his straw wrapper. “Well, no, of course not, I just—but—so you haven’t read up on me?”

“I don’t follow pop culture,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian cannot in any good faith be surprised by this statement. 

“Perfect,” he says. “In that case, I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Don’t fact-check me on that. We probably shouldn’t get any wine, though; I need to remain on my best behavior.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrow actually arches slightly this time. Wei Wuxian takes this to mean: This is your best behavior?  

“The service here sure is slow, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian diverts, trying to avoid taking the bait. But his slander of the waiting staff comes at quite an inopportune moment as the waitress materializes next to him just then, making him jump in his seat and smile sheepishly at her. 

“An eel sandwich?” Wei Wuxian echoes after the waitress leaves, their orders scribbled down. “Did my sister tell you I like seafood?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. Figures. Jiang Yanli is a snitch.

“Wait a second,” Wei Wuxian says. “Eel is meat.”

Lan Wangji clasps his hands in front of him on the table. “Indeed.”

“But”—he really doesn’t want to return to the topic after he fucked it up so badly the first time, but he’s gone for it now, so oh well—“you’re a vegetarian.”

“I was ordering for you.” Lan Wangji’s voice has just enough inflection in it to be mildly quizzical. “I am a vegetarian because I can no longer ethically justify consuming meat. I do not expect you to share my principles.”

Wei Wuxian spends a good few seconds trying to decide how offended he should be and settles on medium. “So you’re saying I’m not ethical.” 

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “You’re saying that.”

“Only because you implied it first!”

“Would you rather I had ordered you a sandwich without meat?”

“God, no.” He needs meat to be happy; there’s no way he could live without it. “Not that I’m a meataholic,” he tacks on, just to cover all his bases. 

Lan Wangji splays his hands, point made. Damn him and his principles and his logic and his extremely hot face and muscular arms and— Okay, he has no idea where that came from. He’s definitely not attracted to Lan Wangji; he’s just reacting very naturally to being in the presence of an objectively good-looking man, especially after such a long dry spell. 

Wei Wuxian ransacks his brain and his very minimal knowledge of Lan Wangji that doesn’t involve how perfectly symmetrical his face is, trying to find another subject because the silence is excruciating. 

“So, my sister tells me you’re some kind of lawyer?”

“Yes. I work in criminal defense.” If Wei Wuxian wasn’t becoming so attuned to Lan Wangji’s microexpressions, he might have missed the way his mouth tightens. “You might as well get it over with.” 

“Huh?”

“The question that everyone asks when you tell them you’re a defense attorney.”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, gripped by the sudden panic of failing an exam, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Have you ever slept with the judge?” Lan Wangji stares at him for long enough that he starts to suspect he asked the wrong question, so he tries again. “Or opposing counsel?” Still no response. “Uh . . . would you represent me if I committed a crime?” 

That finally snaps Lan Wangji out of his blank confusion. “Are you planning to commit one?”

“Well, no, but . . . I don’t know. Sometimes they just come up.” Maybe Wei Wuxian should stop making jokes. Lan Wangji’s face does not seem to suggest he is experiencing any mirth. “You know, you’re being awfully judgy for a defense attorney.”

Wei Wuxian has in fact had perhaps slightly more than his fair share of legal troubles. Breaking and entering, minor vandalism, underage drinking, petty theft (in his defense, he wasn’t expecting Jiang Cheng to call the police on him), and any number of other youthful indiscretions. His teen rebel phase lasted well into his early twenties, and it was only wealth and charm that kept most of it off his permanent record. But he will not be sharing any of this with Lan Wangji at this time. Or ever.

“The question that most people ask,” Lan Wangji says, “is how I live with myself when my job sets murderers and rapists free onto the streets.” 

What a stupid question. Wei Wuxian personally feels that the ones he came up with were way better, but whatever. “Are you going to answer it, then? You seem so eager to.” 

Another brow twitch. “I am ideologically committed to the principle that everyone deserves a zealous legal defense.”

“Well, duh,” Wei Wuxian says, taking care not to spill any water as he takes a sip from his glass. “An adversarial justice system isn’t perfect, but we don’t have a better alternative right now. Do you only associate with half-wits, or what?” Wei Wuxian remembers belatedly that people don’t tend to like when he gets smart with them, and indeed Lan Wangji looks a bit shell-shocked, if one can do so without actually moving any muscles in their face. “But never mind that,” he says, tacking on a laugh so he sounds casual. He swivels in his seat to check if the waitress is back and instead almost knocks over the tray she’s holding, fortunately tucking his arm in just in time. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says urgently. 

Wei Wuxian grimaces, more than familiar with being scolded like a small child, but it’s only after the waitress has set down their appetizers and departed again that he registers what Lan Wangji said. “Wei Ying?” he repeats. Jiang Yanli must have told him that name. 

“Apologies. Is that not what you prefer to be called?”

“I mean,” he says, then stops. He’s never really thought about it before—no one has called him that since his parents died—but now that he ruminates on it, all he can think is how much he wants Lan Wangji to say it again. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sure it’ll help our credibility as a fake couple if we have special names for each other. But if we’re going to be so informal, what should I call you?”

Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches as he seems to realize he has invited this informality, but he plays along. “Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian grins and finally reaches for one of the appetizers, because he can no longer pretend he isn’t starving. “Well, Lan Zhan, now that we’re so well acquainted, do you want to discuss what we came here for?”

A nod. “Yes. I believe we can help each other.”

“Just to clarify,” Wei Wuxian says through a mouthful of something with a lot of cheese, “by ‘help’—oh my god this is good—anyway, you don’t mean in a sexual way, right?” He doesn’t know what possibly could have possessed him to ask that question, but it’s too late now. And isn’t it good to set clear boundaries?

“Of course not.” The brow crease has reappeared, much deeper this time. “I prefer to reserve that intimacy for people I actually like.”

Ouch. But, also, fair enough. “Great,” Wei Wuxian says brightly. “We’re on the same page then. I need someone to make me look good in public so my family thinks I have my life on track, and you need . . . ?” He trails off, expectant.

“As it happens,” Lan Wangji says, “I have a family event next month that would be facilitated by the pretense of having a partner. My uncle can be . . . difficult.”

“Even better,” Wei Wuxian says, and when Lan Wangji continues to look at him, the hint of bemusement just about visible, he clarifies, “I speak dysfunctional family fluently. I’m sure it’ll be a blast.”

Lan Wangji does not look comforted by this assurance. “We will discuss it further when the time comes. How do you plan to put on a show for your family?”

Wei Wuxian taps his chin with one finger. “Well, we’ll need to attend at least one dinner with my adoptive parents. Have you ever been slowly boiled alive? I imagine that experience will feel similar.” 

“I have not.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.” Lan Wangji will probably fare much better than Wei Wuxian ever did at these dinners, if only because he actually knows how to compose himself, but Wei Wuxian imagines Mrs. Yu will be on her worst behavior and Wei Wuxian will be, if he has any say in it, at least mildly wine-drunk. It’s a recipe for disaster, but some things simply have to be done. “I also have a work event I can take you to,” he says, thinking of the Beetle Drive he would be much further ahead in planning if he had even slightly more competent colleagues. “And then maybe we can just manufacture some outings.”

A sane person would back out of this immediately, so the fact that Lan Wangji seems on board is probably a red flag. But Wei Wuxian’s entire life is a red flag, so he can’t afford to be picky. And, he will admit, he is slightly fascinated by the concept of learning what kind of family produced this stoic vegetarian lawyer. It’ll be like a fun little investigation.

At the root of it, he has to believe that concocting a scheme like this is the best way to guard himself. Lan Wangji doesn’t want anything from him beyond playacting, and Wei Wuxian is hopefully not foolish enough to develop any romantic feelings for a man who has explicitly stated he doesn’t like Wei Wuxian, no matter how gorgeous the man in question is. 

The other option is admitting defeat at the hands of the woman who has resented him for a good majority of his life, and he’s not that jaded. Yet. Nor is he willing to get saddled with whatever manner of nightmare Mrs. Yu deems a suitable match for him. 

They thank the waitress as she brings out the main course, and then Wei Wuxian lifts his eyebrows. “So do we have a deal?”

“I believe so. We should set up another appointment to iron out the details. Are you free for brunch on Sunday?”

Appointment makes it sound so clinical, but Wei Wuxian supposes that makes sense, given who he’s dealing with. “Sure.”

And then they commence with eating their entrees, having finally exhausted most of their conversational resources. 

Wei Wuxian is wolfing down his sandwich with vigor, faintly annoyed that Lan Wangji has such good taste, when he glances up to see the other man watching him, face inscrutable. “What?” he asks through a mouthful of eel, provoking an infinitesimal flinch in Lan Wangji.

“I hope you are enjoying what I selected for you.”

Wei Wuxian swallows the food in his mouth before speaking again. He can be well-mannered. “Yeah, it’s dope.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to know how to respond to the word dope. “This is my favorite restaurant,” he says after a moment. “I enjoy introducing people to it. Would you like me to order dessert as well?”

Wei Wuxian nods, slightly suspicious that Jiang Yanli told him about Wei Wuxian’s sweet tooth, and takes another bite of his sandwich, content to have a reason not to talk again and ruin things as Lan Wangji flags down the waitress.

By the time they finish their main courses, Wei Wuxian struggling not to make any more needling comments about Lan Wangji watching Wei Wuxian violate his ethical anti-meat principles, dessert has thankfully already arrived.

Lan Wangji has ordered a slice of pie and a slice of cake. Without stopping to inquire about the flavors—he’s not picky when it comes to getting his sugar fix—Wei Wuxian tugs the cake toward him, already on his way to salivating, and sticks a forkful of it into his mouth.

He would describe what happened next as something akin to a religious experience.

“Holy shit,” he breathes as he feels the silky lemon flavor melt onto his tongue, because holy shit.

“Do you like it?” Lan Wangji asks.

“‘Like’ is far too tame a word to describe how I feel. I want to make love to this cake.”

“I would prefer if you did not.”

Wei Wuxian squints at him, trying to discern if he’s making a joke, and is utterly shocked to witness the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth lifting. What his mouth is not doing, however, is inhaling either of the desserts, and that is a crime. “Lan Zhan,” he complains. He skewers another bit of cake with his fork and swirls it in front of Lan Wangji’s face like he’s trying to entice a toddler. “Why aren’t you having any?”

Uncertainty scores some wrinkles in his brow. “I . . . should not indulge.” 

“Why not?” Wei Wuxian demands. “You just had a salad.” He thinks, anyway. He honestly wasn’t able to focus terribly much on anything beyond his sandwich, but he’s about forty percent sure, which is good enough for him. “Why would you order dessert to not eat any?”

“I ordered it for you,” Lan Wangji insists, but he’s looking closer and closer to succumbing to peer pressure the longer Wei Wuxian holds his arm out, until finally he picks up his own fork and scoops up a piece for himself. 

Wei Wuxian withdraws his fork, definitely not disappointed that Lan Wangji didn’t want to be fed by him, and sets it down so he can give a round of exaggerated applause. He wonders if this is what Mrs. Yu means when she says Wei Wuxian makes the people around him worse, but Lan Wangji looks so blissed out—well, Wei Wuxian assumes that’s what his extremely muted expression indicates—that Wei Wuxian doesn’t actually care. He just slides the plate of cake closer to the center of the table. 

Together they finish both the cake and the pie, and by the end of it Lan Wangji looks as close to pleased as Wei Wuxian imagines he gets. 

“Tell me honestly,” Wei Wuxian says as they get up to leave the restaurant, Lan Wangji having covered the bill as he said he would. “Is this the worst date you have ever been on?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian whips his head around to look at Lan Wangji, utterly delighted. “Really? You’ve had worse?”

“This was not a real date, so the stakes were fairly low,” Lan Wangji points out. “But, yes, I have had worse.”

Wow. Wei Wuxian takes this to mean he is already killing it as a fake boyfriend. Or, at least, clearing the bar, however low that bar is set. He may be completely undateable in any real setting, but he’s not unfakedateable, and that’s what really matters.

“Did you have an unpleasant time?” Lan Wangji asks after they’ve exited the restaurant.

Wei Wuxian thinks back on the evening. He can name numerous points at which he was having an unpleasant time, but with Lan Wangji looking at him so earnestly now, his inclination toward honesty abandons him entirely. “Nope. I think we’ll make great partners in crime, Lan Zhan.”

“There will be no crime,” Lan Wangji says gravely.

“Well, maybe just a little.” Wei Wuxian’s impish grin dissolves into a pout in the face of Lan Wangji’s impassive stare. “Fine,” he concedes, “no crime.”

Maybe, he thinks in a rare fit of optimism in no way substantiated by the events of tonight, this fake relationship won’t be that bad. 

Chapter Text

“Where does a waitress with only one leg work?”

One of the charms of working at an organization like CRAAP is that all the computers are so old and dysfunctional that Wei Wuxian gets a delightful twenty minutes of free time while he waits for his to start up every morning. He has chosen, for better or worse, to fill this time by telling Nie Huaisang jokes. Mostly for worse.

Nie Huaisang blinks owlishly back at him. “There’s a restaurant that only employs one-legged waitresses? That’s niche.”

“No, it doesn’t only—”

“What’s it called? I’ll have to check it out sometime.”

“No—the joke is—” Wei Wuxian sighs. “You have to guess the name of the restaurant.”

“How should I know where this waitress works?” Nie Huaisang asks. “What’s her name?”

Wei Wuxian’s computer is still barely fluttering to life. “How would that help? Do you know many one-legged waitresses?”

Nie Huaisang thinks about it for a moment. “No,” he decides. “But I don’t always check to see that my waitress has both legs.”

“I’m sure they’re grateful for your discretion,” Wei Wuxian deadpans. “The answer to the joke is IHOP.”

The creases in Nie Huaisang’s forehead do not dissipate. “IHOP? Never heard of it. How did you come upon this waitress?”

“There is no waitress,” Wei Wuxian starts, and then decides it’s useless, especially once Ouyang Zizhen chimes in with: “IHOP has great steak!”

“That cannot be right,” he mutters. He shakes his computer mouse a few times with great impatience, but the loading screen does not change. Fortunately, with the assistance of Jiang Yanli’s divine timing, his phone starts buzzing with an incoming call. Leaving his coworkers musing about the merits of IHOP cuisine, whatever that may entail, Wei Wuxian walks briskly toward the corner that doubles as the break room. “A-jie, thank god. Are you calling to airlift me from this godforsaken place?”

“I thought you liked your job!” his sister says. She sounds put out at the implication that anyone would do a job they didn’t like, likely because she loves her own job as a restaurant chef so much. 

“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

“But—” Jiang Yanli stops, seeming to remember what she called for. “A-Xian, I waited all night, and you never told me how your date went!”

Oops. It’s not that Wei Wuxian forgot; it’s that he went home last night and tried very hard not to think about the date—or the man—in question. But he does feel a little bad for keeping his sister waiting after she went through so much trouble to set them up. “It was great!”

There’s a suspicious pause on the other end before she says, “Really?”

Wei Wuxian would be offended if this reaction weren’t entirely warranted. “Okay, well, not great. But it was civil. Mostly. We insulted each other a few times, but I think that was mostly by accident.”

“He insulted you?” 

“No, I would say the problem was mostly me. As usual.” 

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, so softly he almost wants to cry. “You’re not a problem, and you never have been.”

How has Wei Wuxian managed to upset his sister so many times in the span of a minute? His skillset truly is vast. 

He tries to laugh, but it must come out somewhat strangled, because Nie Huaisang cranes his neck to identify the source of the noise. Wei Wuxian turns away, still clutching his phone to his ear. “Don’t worry; it was fine. He agreed to be my fake boyfriend.”

“Fake boyfriend?” Jiang Yanli echoes. She sounds disappointed. 

“That was the whole point!”

“I know,” she says, “but I just thought—”

“That we’d have dinner once and fall madly in love? A-jie, I asked him if he’d represent me in court.”

Jiang Yanli makes a noise of alarm. “Why did you do that?” she demands. “Are you in some kind of legal trouble?”

“No, I was just—look, my point was that we’re fundamentally incompatible. He doesn’t understand my jokes, and I don’t understand his—anything. We’re just going to put on a little show for our families. That’s all. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jiang Yanli agrees, but it’s clearly reluctant. She’s always worrying about him far more than he wants her to. “You know I’ll support you through anything.” 

“Even if I murdered someone?” Wei Wuxian jokes.

“Yes,” she says immediately.

“I think you’re supposed to hesitate a little more,” he says, but he’s smiling embarrassingly wide as they exchange goodbyes and hang up. 

In his sudden good mood, he decides to text Lan Wangji as he settles back at his desk. 

hi fake boyfriend, he types. how is the law 2day

He’s not actually sure if Lan Wangji will respond. Are they the kind of fake boyfriends who text? He supposes this is the kind of ground they will cover at brunch this weekend. 

About twenty minutes after he sends the message, though, when he’s in the middle of the terribly arduous task of answering emails from donors, his phone lights up with a new message, and he eagerly picks it up.

That is an incoherent question.

It’s not the most exciting message he’s ever gotten, nor is it really a conversation starter, but Wei Wuxian mostly just feels gratified that Lan Wangji saw fit to reply at all. 

He’s mentally drafting a friendly follow-up message when his phone vibrates again.

Also, for the sake of verisimilitude, please do not use the word “fake” in writing. 

Wei Wuxian snorts. Who uses “verisimilitude” in casual conversation at ten a.m. on a Friday? 

are u expecting these texts to get subpoenaed, Wei Wuxian sends back. 

Lan Wangji takes over an hour to respond, perhaps because unlike Wei Wuxian his job requires him to actually focus on what he’s doing. 

That is an eventuality everyone should prepare for, just in case. I would not want either of us to be embarrassed by the revelation that we are merely engaging in pretense. 

Wei Wuxian finds himself snickering—and subsequently ignoring a curious look from Ouyang Zizhen. Nie Huaisang has disappeared to who knows where.  

oh should i also prepare by canceling the cybercrimes i was going to commit? 

Lan Wangji responds quickly this time: I assume that is a joke, but please do not tell me about any crimes you plan to commit. 

fine fine have ur plausible deniability ig

He’s grinning at his phone when the next text comes and wipes the smile off his face.

I am looking forward to brunch on Sunday. 

What a complete nonsequitur. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if Lan Wangji is being sarcastic (has Lan Wangji even learned what sarcasm is? He’d have to ask Jiang Yanli for her insight there) or just polite, but either way Wei Wuxian feels terribly wrong-footed.

ya me 2 seems to be the safest response, so he sends it as is and then drops his phone into the nearest drawer and slams it shut. That’s enough communication for one day. 

On Sunday morning, Wei Wuxian has been trying to decide on a brunch outfit for forty-five minutes when Jiang Yanli calls him. Perhaps she has psychically divined that he is in grave need of assistance, as she often does.

But when he picks up, he hears a sniffle on the other end of the phone.

“A-jie,” he says urgently, making no effort to disguise the alarm in his voice, “what’s wrong? What happened?” 

“Can you come over?” she says tearfully. 

Wei Wuxian’s hand curls tighter around his phone. “Right now?” There’s no way he’ll make it in time for brunch even if it’s just a short visit to his sister’s—and it doesn’t sound like it’s going to be short.

“Please,” Jiang Yanli says, and that’s all Wei Wuxian needs to hear to tell her he’s on his way.

can’t make it + can’t explain why, he texts Lan Wangji. enjoy brunch!

It’s not a sufficient text, and he knows it’s not, but he can’t focus on anything except his sister right now, so he just turns his phone off entirely after the message delivers. 

Some number of minutes later he finds himself knocking frantically on Jiang Yanli’s door until she opens it, face streaked with tears. 

“What is it? What happened? Who do I need to kill?” Wei Wuxian demands. “I’ll do it; I have a good lawyer.” 

“Come in,” his sister says, tugging him across the threshold and ignoring all his questions. “A-Cheng is here too.”

“Jiang Cheng is here? Why?”

“Be nice to him,” Jiang Yanli warns in a low voice as she leads him down the hall. “He’s upset.”

“Upset? He’s always upset. Did he break his favorite punching bag or someth—?” Wei Wuxian stops short as they reach the living room. Jiang Cheng is indeed there, slouched in his usual armchair wearing his usual scowl. What’s not usual is the red rimming his eyes. “Have you been crying too?” 

Jiang Cheng’s face becomes several shades more thunderous. “What are you doing here?” 

“I called him,” Jiang Yanli says, perching gracefully on one side of the couch and pulling Wei Wuxian down next to her. “We all need to talk.” 

Many of Wei Wuxian’s most hated conversations have started that way. On the bright side, at least Jiang Yanli’s husband is nowhere to be seen. 

“This doesn’t involve him,” Jiang Cheng mutters. 

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli says patiently, “A-Xian is part of this family too and—”

“A-niang doesn’t even like him,” Jiang Cheng spits, so venomous that Wei Wuxian is almost too taken aback to be hurt by it.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli says again, and this time it isn’t remotely patient. “Don’t be cruel just because you’re hurting right now.” 

Normally their sister’s censure would prompt immediate compliance, but Jiang Cheng seems to be in a fouler mood today than normal, which makes sense, given his red eyes. Crying provokes in Jiang Cheng a unique kind of rage, as if his tear ducts’ betrayal exacerbates all the rest. 

“This doesn’t concern him,” Jiang Cheng insists again. 

“Can someone please just tell me what’s going on?” Wei Wuxian cuts in. His siblings both turn to look at him, Jiang Yanli apologetic and Jiang Cheng apoplectic. 

“Of course,” Jiang Yanli says when Jiang Cheng doesn’t say anything. “This morning we met our parents for breakfast.” 

Wei Wuxian can’t imagine anything more awful than seeing Mrs. Yu before noon for any reason, and yet he also can’t escape the twinge of hurt that he wasn’t invited. It’s not news to him that he’s only considered part of the family on the most inconvenient occasions, but time doesn’t temper a sting like that—or at least it hasn’t, yet. 

“A-niang had some news,” Jiang Yanli continues, and then hesitates. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how Mrs. Yu being in a new movie or something would inspire this kind of reaction. “She’s a little worried . . . well, she thinks maybe—”

“She’s dying,” Jiang Cheng says, straight to the point as ever, except this time his bluntness feels like a physical blow.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks. His voice comes out unsteady. 

Jiang Yanli shoots Jiang Cheng a look, but Wei Wuxian can’t tell at first what it means. “That’s not what she said. She’s worried she may have cancer, so she has scheduled a doctor’s appointment.” 

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. 

“‘Oh’?” Jiang Cheng repeats nastily. “That’s all you have to say about your mother—”

“She’s not my mother,” Wei Wuxian says, sharper than he intends, knowing full well that he’s not charting the right course if he doesn’t want Jiang Cheng to erupt. “But that’s . . . that’s. I don’t know. Bad?”

Jiang Cheng looks a few seconds away from launching out of his seat to strangle Wei Wuxian, who is trying not to take it personally, because he knows Jiang Cheng was just born unreasonable, but he is still . . . taking it personally.

“‘Bad ’?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Wei Wuxian asks snidely.

Jiang Yanli is looking between both of them anxiously. “This is a difficult situation for everyone. Let’s just—”

“How is it difficult for everyone? A-niang is going to die and Wei Wuxian doesn’t even care! Of course not; why would he? He’s never given a fuck about anything or anyone a single day in his entire li—” 

“That’s enough,” Jiang Yanli says firmly, but Wei Wuxian has already shot to his feet.

“Well, excuse me for not knowing how to react to the news that a woman who has always hated me may or may not have cancer. What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“You’re so ungrateful—”

“What’s it to you, anyway? It’s not like she treats you much better than m—”

Wei Wuxian never knows when to shut his mouth, and Jiang Cheng never knows when to let it go, if the way he lunges out of his seat is any indication. Jiang Yanli moves to stand between them, begging for them to stop, but Wei Wuxian is already striding down the hallway, desperate to get away.

Jiang Yanli follows him to the door, but for once he’s utterly unmoved by her pleas to stay; he can barely even hear them.

“He’s just upset; he doesn’t mean it. Don’t go—we can talk about this—A-Xian—”

“A-jie,” he says gently as he opens the door, “I love you, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stick around right now. I’ll call you later.” 

Her face is sad but resigned as he turns and walks away; it makes him feel like the worst person in the entire world.

And if he thought turning his phone on would improve things in any way, he must’ve been quite delusional.

Waiting for him are the notifications for both a missed call and a voicemail from Lan Wangji. 

Gritting his teeth, Wei Wuxian opens the latter and holds the phone up to his ear as he ambles home. 

“Wei Ying,” comes Lan Wangji’s smooth, deep voice, as reproving as Wei Wuxian has ever heard it. “I do not think this arrangement is going to work out. If in future—not that there will be any future—you decide to stand me up again, please have the courtesy to at least invent a credible excuse. This may all just be a joke to you, but I expected better from you.”

Wei Wuxian laughs somewhat hysterically as he lowers his phone. Who would expect better from him? That seems like Lan Wangji’s fault, really. No one asked him to have high expectations for a broke 28-year-old screwup with mommy issues and intimacy issues and— Well, the point is, Lan Wangji should have known better. 

Wei Wuxian can’t even summon sympathy for his adoptive mother who might have cancer; how is he supposed to be a good boyfriend?

Fake boyfriend, he corrects himself mentally, which leads him back to the reason why he and Lan Wangji struck up this plot in the first place. 

Oh, fuck. He’s going to have to swallow his pride, isn’t he?

A good hour and a great deal of moping later, Wei Wuxian finds himself outside Lan Wangji’s door. His fake boyfriend (fake ex-boyfriend? Ex-fake boyfriend?) had conveniently sent Wei Wuxian his address before Wei Wuxian imploded their entire fake relationship.

He holds down Lan Wangji’s doorbell for long enough that the Lan Wangji who answers the door is distinctly irked.

“Wei Ying,” he says in a strained voice. “What is wrong with you?”

“That’s really a loaded question,” Wei Wuxian drawls, and then remembers what he’s here for and schools his face into a look of contrition. “Can I come in?”

Lan Wangji’s face is not expressive enough to actually be wary, but his vibes certainly are. “Why?”

“To . . . apologize?” he tries. 

Lan Wangji continues to study him. “Have you been crying?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian lies. It’s unfortunately not a very good lie, but at least Lan Wangji seems to take pity on him.

“Fine. Come in.”

Wei Wuxian follows Lan Wangji into his apartment, which is even more pristine than he had been anticipating. He’s afraid to touch anything and even more so to sit on the white couch, lest he sully it, but when Lan Wangji takes a seat on it Wei Wuxian has no choice but to sit down next to him. 

“I do not understand you,” Lan Wangji says after an uncomfortable moment of silence. 

“Heard that before,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. Well, with the roughest approximation of cheer he can summon at this time.

Lan Wangji grows, if possible, even more unimpressed. “You canceled brunch with nothing more than a text, and then you just show up here when a phone call would have been far more appropriate.”

“I . . . wanted to apologize,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Wangji remains silent, watching him, which probably means Wei Wuxian actually has to apologize. Damn. “Look, I’m sorry. I had a family emergency. But I still want—I mean, I still need this whole situation we have going on here, so can we just . . . start over?”

“I recognize that this relationship is fake,” Lan Wangji says, “but I still expect respect.”

Ah, Lan Wangji and all his expectations. “I do respect you! Really! I—there were just extenuating circumstances—but I’ll do better, I swear.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t soften at all. “How can I trust you to do better next time if you will not explain what happened this time?”

Wei Wuxian scrunches his face because this is already awful. He loathes having to discuss things that are actually important. He deals in nonsense and trifles; anything else is significantly above his pay grade. “It was just . . . family shit. It’s really not important.”

“If it were not important, you would not have canceled.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m terribly flaky, you know.” He remembers, once again, that he’s supposed to be fixing things. “I mean—just kidding. It’s just, uh . . .”

“Wei Ying. Please just tell me what is going on.”

“My mother has cancer,” Wei Wuxian blurts out. “Fuck, no, I mean not my mother—she’s dead—but my adoptive mother, she might . . . uh. Yeah.”

Lan Wangji’s brows are furrowed. “I am sorry to hear that. Of course you needed to be with her today.”

“Oh, no,” Wei Wuxian says, shaking his head. “No, she wasn’t there. Thank god. But my sister called me and said something was wrong, so I had to go to her, but I didn’t want you to think it was weird.”

“That . . . you love your sister?”

“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Wei Wuxian complains. “But—yeah, everything is kind of a mess, I guess. Sorry. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Lan Wangji says solemnly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian chides. “You could at least pretend you’re surprised by me being a disaster. To be polite!”

The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches. “My apologies.”

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, relieved he’s not angry. “I really am sorry about today, I swear. Next time I’ll keep you apprised of any family drama.” 

Lan Wangji nods, just a slight incline of his head, and Wei Wuxian considers himself forgiven. He’s feeling quite pleased with himself for averting this particular crisis until Lan Wangji says, “May I ask about your adoptive mother? Is there anything I can do?”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says, “you can never ask about her again.”

Lan Wangji’s head dips again. “Of course. I apologize for intruding on a family matter.”

Ugh. Lan Wangji is far too noble for his own good. And for Wei Wuxian’s.

“It’s not that. It’s just that our relationship is . . . bad?”

“Bad,” Lan Wangji repeats, without the inflection of a question but definitely with the implication of one.

“Bad,” Wei Wuxian confirms. “You’ve heard of her, right? Yu Ziyuan? Actress? Loves playing a mom on TV but not in real life?” 

“I see,” Lan Wangji says in a way that suggests he does not, in fact, see. “But she is your adoptive mother, and she has cancer.”

“She might have cancer,” Wei Wuxian corrects. “What she definitely does have is complete disdain for my existence, so the cancer situation is not really my problem.”

It feels weird to discuss something like this with a man he’s only met a handful of times, but it’s not as terrible as he thought it might be, if only because Lan Wangji barely reacts enough to show any real judgment. 

“You were crying before you arrived here,” Lan Wangji observes.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to bad vibes,” Wei Wuxian says petulantly. Lan Wangji does not respond to this; silence is far too easy for him. It only takes a moment for Wei Wuxian to crack. “I just had a bit of an argument with my brother, that’s all. He’s . . . difficult.”

Wei Wuxian can tell without him saying it that Lan Wangji is wondering how a person can exist that Wei Wuxian of all people finds difficult. A fair enough question.

“Look, if we’re going to delve into the shitstorm that is my family, we at least need some food.” Wei Wuxian casts a hopeful but perhaps overly optimistic look in the direction of the kitchen.

Lan Wangji stands gracefully. “It is not too late for brunch. I will prepare it.”

Score. Wei Wuxian grins and gets up to follow him. Maybe this whole thing is salvageable after all.

Chapter Text

If Wei Wuxian felt out of place in Lan Wangji’s living room, it’s nothing compared to the feeling his fake boyfriend’s kitchen provokes. 

Wei Wuxian can’t identify even half of these stainless steel appliances, nor does he understand how someone who clearly makes use of their kitchen can keep it spotless like this. If it were anyone else, Wei Wuxian would assume they had furiously cleaned before his arrival, but somehow he knows that Lan Wangji’s kitchen just always looks like this.

His eyes fall to the beautifully arranged fruit platter and assorted pastries on the kitchen island, along with a spread of ingredients on the counter, and he feels like a monster. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, dismayed, “you went to all this trouble to prepare brunch and I bailed? Oh, my god, you have every right to hate me. I should just—”

“I do not hate you,” Lan Wangji interrupts, not looking up from cracking eggs into a bowl. “What would you like in your omelet?”

“Lan Zhan,” he tries again, desperate to alleviate the guilt somehow. “I’m so sorry I canceled on you!”

“You are here now,” Lan Wangji says, like it’s simple. Maybe for him it is, which leaves Wei Wuxian scrutinizing him with a new kind of puzzlement. 

Is he really over it? Is he going to harbor a secret grudge forever? Wei Wuxian’s family is big into holding secret judges, so he’s more than familiar with them, but Lan Wangji’s face is too stoic to provide any direction in this matter. 

“What would you like in your omelet?” Lan Wangji prompts again, and Wei Wuxian snaps out of his daze to sidle up beside him and examine the options.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Wei Wuxian asks after he’s made his choice and Lan Wangji has set about pouring everything into a pan. Normally when he asks this question—usually to Jiang Yanli—he’s secretly hoping the answer will be no, because he hates cooking, but he feels a sincere urge to offer culinary assistance to atone for his behavior.

“Sit,” Lan Wangji orders, and, well, that Wei Wuxian can do. 

He obediently drops into one of the chairs surrounding the island, his elbows resting on the counter and his chin on both palms. “Do you like to cook?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian muses, “you really are the perfect man.” 

Lan Wangji’s head half-turns warily toward Wei Wuxian, as if assessing whether he’d just made a joke, but Wei Wuxian is perfectly serious. 

“I assure you I am not.” 

Wei Wuxian pulls a disbelieving face even though Lan Wangji has already refocused his attention on the stove. “You’re hot and intelligent, you have a great job, you refuse to eat little baby animals”—the look Lan Wangji gives him at that is rather baleful, but Wei Wuxian just continues to tick items off on his fingers—“you have an incredible apartment that doesn’t look like a madman’s den, and you like to cook. What’s not to like?” 

“Perhaps your standards are just low.”

Wei Wuxian makes an attempt to laugh, but it kind of hurts. “Ouch.”

Lan Wangji turns again, his face a minimalist re-creation of stricken, and says, “I did not mean it like that. I apologize. I was being self-deprecating.” 

Well, that Wei Wuxian can understand; he’s intimately familiar with the concept.

“I have been told . . .” Lan Wangji seems to hesitate as he flips the omelet in front of him. “I can be quite rigid.” 

“Oh, is that all?” Wei Wuxian asks. This revelation would perhaps be more surprising if it weren’t coming from a sentient mound of granite. “I thought you were going to say you collect human teeth or something.” 

Lan Wangji whisks something in a bowl rather vigorously. “No. But I . . .” Wei Wuxian waits again. “I am not the most emotionally available person.”

Wei Wuxian nods even though Lan Wangji isn’t looking at him. “Sure, of course. Join the club. I haven’t even had a relationship in—oh, I don’t know. Several years, at least.” 

“Yes. Your sister mentioned this,” Lan Wangji says, which leaves Wei Wuxian feeling a bit cold, wondering what else his sister might have said about him and his relationship history. But Lan Wangji chooses that moment to place an omelet right in front of him, and Wei Wuxian’s attention is instantly diverted.

“This smells so good,” he sighs. “Lan Zhan, do you have any chili oil?”

A tiny crease appears between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. “Chili . . . oil?”

“For flavor!”

“It has flavor.”

Wei Wuxian takes a bite to confirm, and it does indeed have lovely flavor, but no amount of spice, and that’s unconscionable. “I like to eat all my food so spicy my soul sorta leaves my body,” he explains after making sufficient noises to express his appreciation for the food. 

“Your sister did not inform me of this,” Lan Wangji says, the crease still intact. He sounds mildly agonized, if that’s even a feeling Lan Wangji is capable of unlocking, and it makes Wei Wuxian chuckle.

“Ah, don’t worry. This is still the best omelet I’ve ever had.” He doesn’t feel guilty saying that, because he can’t recall Jiang Yanli making him an omelet any time recently. 

“There are also pancakes.” Lan Wangji pours some batter into the pan, and Wei Wuxian squints at him.

“Where’s your omelet?” 

“I have already eaten.” 

Wei Wuxian’s mouth scrunches as he is once again reminded that he ruined their morning. “I’m s—”

“Please stop apologizing,” Lan Wangji says briskly, prodding one of the pancakes with a spatula. “It is already forgotten.”

“And forgiven?” Wei Wuxian asks hopefully. In his family, forgetting is all they really do, except saying they’ve forgotten doesn’t make any of them actually forget, and then everything just festers. Indefinitely.

Lan Wangji neatly flips a pancake. He’s almost smiling. “Yes.” 

Wei Wuxian is actually smiling as he shoves another bite of omelet into his mouth—it really is god-tier, even without chili oil—because his face actually has a full range of motion. 

When Lan Wangji is satisfied with the stack of pancakes he has created, he sets them on the island in front of Wei Wuxian—along with a slew of toppings and syrups—and takes a seat perpendicular to him. 

He seems content to just watch Wei Wuxian eat the magnificent brunch spread before him, but Wei Wuxian quickly grows uneasy with the silence and figures he might as well try to be more open with Lan Wangji after his fake boyfriend went to all this trouble for him.  

“So,” he says, anxiously stabbing a piece of pancake, “I guess I should explain that my brother and I aren’t on great terms.”

“I gathered.”

Wei Wuxian twirls his pancake-bearing fork at Lan Wangji. “Of course you did, you genius lawyer. But, yeah, I mean—I love him; don’t get me wrong. I would do anything for him, except . . .” He trails off and, in a moment of indecision, sticks the bite of pancake into his mouth.

“Except?” Lan Wangji prompts after Wei Wuxian finishes chewing. 

“Okay, the basic synopsis is that Jiang Fengmian—that’s a-jie and Jiang Cheng’s dad—was friends with my parents, so when they died, he took me in, but his wife didn’t exactly consider it a mutual decision—”

“It is not right to take that out on a child,” Lan Wangji says gravely. 

“Yeah, so imagine how pleased she is now that she can take it out on me as an adult!” Lan Wangji’s continued aura of displeasure seems to suggest the joke didn’t really land. “Ah, you didn’t know me as a kid. I was really obnoxious—just loud, and always getting into trouble, and I always had to be the best at everything; it drove Jiang Cheng insane. So you can see why she didn’t want m—”

“That is not right,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly. He’s a tough crowd, isn’t he? He’s supposed to laugh and say he doesn’t see how that description of Wei Wuxian as a child is any different from him now; that’s what most people do. 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says uncertainly, “anyway, she was always pushing Jiang Cheng to do better than me in everything and then when he didn’t, she got upset with him, so he got upset with me, and now we’re just in a colossal mess. My fault, really,” he adds with a little laugh. It sounds fake even to him; he really needs to workshop it. “At least I was spared Jiang Cheng’s daddy issues.”

Lan Wangji stares at him for a moment, perhaps trying to work through the expression “daddy issues,” before he just says, “I see.” 

“Not to mention, like, he has an even more complicated relationship with his mom than I do, so after the news that she . . . Well, he needed someone to take his feelings out on today and I probably shouldn’t have lashed out in return. I know better. Theoretically.” Wei Wuxian stops, abruptly aware of how much he’s been talking, and feels mildly humiliated by all his oversharing. “Sorry, that’s all boring. Let’s talk about something else!” 

Lan Wangji gives him an assessing look, but whether he’s respecting Wei Wuxian’s desire to change the subject or just relieved they’ve left such an unwieldy subject behind, he complies. “Very well. What would you like to talk about?”

He’s so serious in asking that Wei Wuxian almost wants to check him for any wires or buttons that may prove he is, in fact, a droid. “Well, now that we’ve weathered our first fight as a fake couple and fake broken up once already, we should probably know some stuff about each other that a real couple would know. I’ve told you about my shitstorm of a family. What about yours?”

Lan Wangji considers this and then nods once. “I have one brother. My uncle raised the two of us.” 

Wei Wuxian waits, but Lan Wangji seems quite finished. “That’s all I get after trauma dumping on you? What are they like? Are you close? Have you ever gotten into a fight at family dinner and been asked to leave the restaurant?”

“My brother Xichen and I are close. We talk at least once per month.” 

“Once a month?” Wei Wuxian squawks. If he went more than two days without contacting his sister she would hire a private investigator to find him. 

“Yes. He is currently abroad with Doctors Without Borders, so once per month is sufficient given his lack of reliable service.” Wei Wuxian supposes this is fair, and he’s also wholly unsurprised that ethical vegetarian lawyer Lan Wangji has a humanitarian doctor brother.

“Are you going to tell him about me?” Wei Wuxian asks, amused at the concept of Lan Wangji calling to update his brother on his latest social interaction. 

Lan Wangji gives him an odd look. “That is one of the purposes of this ruse, yes.” Oh, right. Wei Wuxian had almost forgotten about that for a second. “He will be home next month for my uncle’s birthday celebration. My uncle and I are cordial. We have never been thrown out of a restaurant.” Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow slightly at that, no doubt perturbed at the implication that the latter occasion may have occurred to Wei Wuxian’s family (and it has. More than once, in fact). 

“Great,” Wei Wuxian says sarcastically when Lan Wangji does not continue. “Now I know everything.”

“Yes.” 

“Lan Zhan,” he complains. “That was a joke. You’ve told me literally nothing.”

“I have told you more than I normally tell someone on the second date.” 

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, but Lan Wangji doesn’t notice it as he rises from his seat, collecting dishes as he goes. Wei Wuxian tries to help with the dish-washing process but soon has to acknowledge he’s doing more harm than good and simply lets Lan Wangji hand him plates to dry and stack on the counter.

“Do you have any pets?” Wei Wuxian asks when the dishes are done, having taken that long to think of an appropriate question. He realizes almost immediately that it’s not a very good one because surely Lan Wangji does not.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian would have fallen out of his chair at that moment had Lan Wangji not stretched out an arm to steady him. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that? Where are they?” 

Wei Wuxian has opted not to adopt a cat or any smaller pets since the plants Jiang Yanli gave him shriveled and died under his care. Since then he has been hoping that the day he becomes functional enough to care for another creature would arise, but so far he’s been out of luck.

Lan Wangji stands gracefully, fortunately unable to bear witness to Wei Wuxian’s own failure to get up without banging his leg on the chair because he has already turned away to stride down the hallway to what looks like an office.

Unlike most offices, however, this one is equipped with a large cage on the floor, filled with—

Wei Wuxian gasps. “Bunnies?” 

“Yes.” 

Wei Wuxian throws himself into a cross-legged position and peers eagerly into the cage at the three white bunnies that reside inside. 

Lan Wangji lowers himself to a kneeling position, still looking far more elegant than anyone has a right to on a Sunday afternoon. 

“Do you like rabbits?” Lan Wangji asks, his voice softer than usual.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says cheekily, “they’re delicious.” The glare Lan Wangji turns on him then is frostier than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him. “That was a joke! I’m just kidding! I don’t even like rabbit meat; it’s far too—”

“Please stop.”

Wei Wuxian halts abruptly and mimes zipping his mouth shut and discarding the key, which seems to help restore Lan Wangji to his usual poker face. 

“What are their names?” he asks, sticking his fingers through the cage bars. Lan Wangji reaches out to remove said fingers and then returns his own hand to his lap.

“I do not believe you are on a first-name basis with them yet,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian pouts. “Is this because I made a joke about eating them?”

“Yes.” 

“You know . . . that’s fair.”

Lan Wangji’s lips curve up a little. “I always wanted rabbits, but my uncle did not allow us to have pets growing up.”

“Poor baby Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian muses, picturing a sad, rabbitless little Lan Wangji. He won’t lie: it’s a pretty charming mental image. “We didn’t have any pets either when I was kid after we had to rehome Jiang Cheng’s dogs because I was scared of them. Problem child, am I right?” Wei Wuxian does little jazz hands after he says this, feeling absolutely stupid for saying too much once again. He really needs to stop doing that if he wants this fake relationship to last (and, honestly, if he doesn’t want to end up publicly humiliated again. He trusts Lan Wangji mostly not to go to anyone with this information, but not completely). 

“Do you want to hold one of them?” Lan Wangji asks, neatly sidestepping the subject, thank god. 

Wei Wuxian eagerly holds his palms out, and Lan Wangji gently scoops up a rabbit and places it in Wei Wuxian’s hands. 

Wei Wuxian curls the bunny into his chest so he can use one hand to pet its soft fur, momentarily overtaken by a warm glow that’s only worsened by how fond Lan Wangji clearly is of his pets. 

“What else should fake boyfriends know about each other?” Lan Wangji asks, pensive. 

Wei Wuxian shrugs, taking care not to jostle the bunny. “I don’t know. Do you want me to think of questions? How about . . . what’s the craziest thing you’ve done while drunk?” Wei Wuxian remembers belatedly that Lan Wangji said he doesn’t drink and winces; he’s apparently going for some kind of award in being a terrible fake boyfriend. He’s about to apologize with a “Never mind!” when Lan Wangji presses his lips together like he has an answer but doesn’t want to say it, so Wei Wuxian just regards him with fascination instead.

“That is not the kind of question I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of birthdays.” 

“Mine’s Halloween,” Wei Wuxian says helpfully. This fact pairs well with his almost entirely black wardrobe and it is, if he does say so himself, pretty death metal of him. “You can tell me yours, but I’m going to forget immediately, so don’t be mad!”

“I will not be mad,” Lan Wangji says seriously. “Mine is January 23.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to sigh in relief that the date has already passed so he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting his fake boyfriend’s birthday. They’ll be long over by the time it rolls around again. 

“Good to know,” he says. “For verisimilitude.” He grins at Lan Wangji, but the joke is clearly lost on the man who uses the word in everyday texts. 

“Yes.”

“What about, uh, hobbies?” Wei Wuxian asks after a moment of contemplation and absently stroking the rabbit. “What do you do when you’re not working?”

“I usually am working. The law is a demanding profession.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him, waiting to see if he’s being ironic. He’s not. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just say stuff like that.” 

Lan Wangji frowns minutely. “Why not?” 

“It’s so . . . lawyery!”

“I am a lawyer.”

“Yes, but you’re not just a lawyer. Surely you have hobbies.”

Lan Wangji is still sort of frowning as he carefully retrieves the bunny from Wei Wuxian’s arms and puts it back inside the cage. “I exercise. Sometimes I meditate or read.”

Wei Wuxian is, in a word, appalled. “Those aren’t hobbies. They sound like uninventive torture methods! What do you do that’s fun?”

“What do you do that’s fun?” Lan Wangji counters. 

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, about to deliver an impressive list of examples, when it dawns on him that he doesn’t even know anymore. He just sort of goes to work, complains about work, deals with his family, complains about his family, and . . . that’s about it. “Well, I—I definitely used to be fun. Just read any tabloid from a few years ago and I’m sure there would be photos of me having a blast!” 

“Those photos were taken without your consent,” Lan Wangji says. It’s not a question, but Wei Wuxian nods uncertainly anyway. “I am sorry. That must be difficult.” 

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a beat longer, awaiting a punchline that isn’t coming because Lan Wangji hasn’t learned that sincerity is illegal during daylight hours. “Ah, it’s—well, it’s not that big of a deal, really. Some of the photos are funny, even!”

“I do not wish to see any of them. Come.” Lan Wangji stands then, holding out a hand to pull Wei Wuxian up with him. “The rabbits need to rest” is all he says by way of explanation, so Wei Wuxian follows him back to the living room, still feeling more than a little wrong-footed. At least Lan Wangji isn’t making him dwell on the sad state of his life or asking any follow-up questions that send Wei Wuxian over the edge. 

“We still have some logistics to discuss,” Lan Wangji says once they’ve both settled back on the couch, just far enough apart that it feels a little awkward but not too awkward. 

“Sexy,” Wei Wuxian says, the deadpan effect perhaps slightly undermined by his exaggerated eyebrow waggle.

Lan Wangji’s face turns stern—if it wasn’t already. “Behave,” he says.

Wei Wuxian definitely does not find that attractive. Nope. Not at all. 

“What logistics?” he asks weakly. “Don’t we just . . . tell everyone we’re dating?”

“Do we tell everyone?”

Wei Wuxian thinks about it. “Well, not my sister, obviously. She already knows.”

Lan Wangji nods. “So everyone except Jiang Yanli.”

“Oh, and my coworker. Nie Huaisang. But he might’ve already forgotten we ever had a conversation about faking a relationship.” Could go either way, honestly.

“So everyone except Jiang Yanli and this Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji says.

“Oh, and—well, actually my whole friend group kinda knows I was hatching a plot like this, so not them either, probably.”

Lan Wangji’s tiny exhale may very well be a sigh. “You do understand that the point of falsifying this relationship is to be believable, yes?”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian says quickly. “They won’t tell anyone.” Probably. Honestly, he doesn’t trust some of them (named Jin Zixuan) at all, but it most likely won’t come out in a way that will shatter the mirage for their families and/or the press. “Everyone else, we’ll definitely, uh . . . convince?” 

“And how do you plan to be convincing?” 

Damn. Wei Wuxian was really hoping he wouldn’t press any further. “By . . . telling people we’re in a relationship?”

Maybe that’s not a sufficient answer.

“If we do not want this to blow up in our faces, we need to take this seriously.” 

Wei Wuxian tries not to wince at yet another reprimand. He wants to take it seriously; he just doesn’t know how to make a fake relationship work when he couldn’t even manage a real one. “I am! I do! How about we—uh—what about kissing?” Kissing would make them very credible. Also, and totally inconsequentially, he thinks he would not mind kissing Lan Wangji. 

Horror instantly colors Lan Wangji’s face. “I thought we agreed on no—”

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot you said you only do that with people you like.” Wei Wuxian has probably kissed far more people he doesn’t like than the other way around, so he’s a little unfamiliar with the concept, but that’s okay. 

“Wei Ying—”

“Anyway,” he interrupts, “what do you suggest?”

Lan Wangji’s face is still rather pinched, but he says, “It would be prudent to get comfortable in each other’s presence. You are welcome to stay for a while today so we may do this.” 

Wei Wuxian tactfully does not say he will need more than a day to get used to someone like Lan Wangji for a variety of reasons that definitely only have to do with how incompatible they are and not at all how symmetrical and perfect his face is.

“I must warn you that I need to do some work,” Lan Wangji continues, which makes Wei Wuxian snort, which makes Lan Wangji side-eye him.

“Can I help?” Wei Wuxian offers. He’s not big into helping, generally, but if he stays, he may as well make himself useful. He’s certainly not going to go back to his own apartment right now and wallow.

Lan Wangji looks mildly pained at the thought. “That will not be necessary.”

“Come on,” he needles, “it could be fun!”

“These documents are confidential, and you are not qualified,” Lan Wangji says. “Also”—his expression warms a couple degrees—“I saw the mess you made of the dishes.”

“At least I didn’t break any of them!”

“That is quite a low bar,” Lan Wangji says. “You may turn on the TV or do whatever else you wish. It will not bother me.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “That’s probably what I’d be doing at home anyway, just in a nicer apartment with more clothes on.”

The pained look is back. “Please keep all of your clothes on.”

“Killjoy,” Wei Wuxian says merrily, putting his feet up on the coffee table and then immediately bringing them back down to the floor when Lan Wangji glares at him. 

The very dignified Lan Wangji still somehow manages to look very dignified when he relocates to the floor, surrounded by a spread of papers with a laptop balanced on one knee. Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to sprawl out on the couch and turn the TV on, because he refuses to just sit here without something to distract him and he wants to dispel some of the awkwardness that still lingers between them. Things are definitely improving, but they’re nowhere near achieving comfortable silence.

Wei Wuxian flips through Netflix absently, as if he has no idea what he’s going to select, but his fingers usually betray him in the end. Today they eventually land on Purple Spider—one of Mrs. Yu’s most popular movies. Of course. 

What’s worse is that Wei Wuxian has already seen it before—many times, in fact, so he already knows all the parts he wants to heckle. 

Mrs. Yu plays a ruthless assassin who gives up her life of murdering rich people to embrace the joys of motherhood. It makes Wei Wuxian want to retch every time, seeing her speak softly to a child and push him on the swings.

She has never spoken like that to him—not even when he first arrived in their family after his parents died. She’d acted as if he had deliberately schemed to intrude on her life.

He also thinks hell will freeze over before he ever sees Mrs. Yu push a child on a swing in real life. He has the uncharitable thought, as he has before, that she’d sooner have pushed Wei Wuxian off a swing (and still would like to).

Wei Wuxian makes quite a lot of reproachful noises over the course of the movie that make Lan Wangji glance up from his work, but when Wei Wuxian gets to a scene where Mrs. Yu gives a speech about the joys of motherhood or whatever the fuck, he starts hysterically laughing. And he must sound as insane as he feels because Lan Wangji’s face is nothing short of alarmed when he asks, “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” Wei Wuxian says, the words laden with obviously false cheer. 

“If you would like to talk ab—”

“No!” Wei Wuxian says immediately. He has divulged more than enough on what is essentially their second date. Lan Wangji doesn’t need to see any further down the rabbit hole of Wei Wuxian’s instability today, for both their sakes. “I mean, shhh. Don’t interrupt the movie.”

Lan Wangji’s cute little eyebrow crease returns in full force, but Wei Wuxian pretends not to see it in favor of gluing his eyes to the screen.

He feels a headache coming on, which is unsurprising for any number of reasons, and the more he tries to focus on the TV the worse it seems to get. He tells himself he’ll close his eyes just for a minute and when he wake up, things will be slightly less fucked. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian wakes with a start, faceplanted on a couch that is notably much more expensive than his own. It takes him several seconds of blinking through his confusion to realize he’s still in Lan Wangji’s apartment, and then he sits up with a suddenness that makes his head spin.

“You’re awake,” Lan Wangji observes, still sitting on the floor. His papers are now arranged in neat stacks, and his laptop is closed. 

“Wha—Lan Zhan, what time is it?”

“Ten.”

“At night?”

One of Lan Wangji’s eyebrows lifts. “Yes.”

“But—oh, god, why did you let me just sleep this whole time?” Wei Wuxian doesn’t want Lan Wangji to think he’s the kind of person who just passes out in front of the TV every night, but he’s not not that person.

“You had a long day.” Lan Wangji watches him for a moment longer, gaze far too intense for comfort, and then he reaches out a tentative hand to unstick a piece of hair plastered over Wei Wuxian’s brow. Wei Wuxian stares back at him, mind completely emptied of thought.

“Ugh,” he says when some semblance of brain power has been restored. “I can’t believe I stood you up for brunch, showed up here without warning to badger you into continuing to fake date me, complained about my mommy issues, threatened to eat your rabbits, and then passed out on your couch and disrupted your entire night.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, “you did do all those things.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head as he runs a hand through his hair, dragging it away from his forehead. “You should really dump me.”

“If you recall, I tried that already.” A lip twitch. “It did not work.” 

“Seriously,” Wei Wuxian says, now rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “if you want out, I’ll be reasonable. This time.”

“I do not want out,” Lan Wangji says, so firmly that Wei Wuxian has no real choice but to believe him. 

But . . . “What’s wrong with you?” Wei Wuxian demands in a bout of what is very probably self-sabotage but also, in another sense, conscience. This whole deal can’t possibly be worth it for Lan Wangji; it’s Wei Wuxian’s humanitarian duty to at least offer him an exit before he gets in too deep.

Unbothered, Lan Wangji begins neatly filing his papers into a briefcase. “We already covered this. I am boring and difficult to get along with.”

They did cover this, in fact, but Lan Wangji says it so matter-of-factly that Wei Wuxian wants to argue. “But—you make really good omelets! And you have cute rabbits! You could do so much better than me. Are you s—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says evenly, “if you want out of this arrangement, just tell me now instead of inventing excuses.”

His excuses are not invented, thank you very much. They’re perfectly legitimate, but if Lan Wangji doesn’t want to save himself from disaster, far be it from Wei Wuxian to intervene. He needs this to work. He also needs to stop sabotaging this, so that’s his goal starting now. “Of course I don’t. I just don’t want you to regret this. Well, any more than you may already regret it. But fine! Great! We both want this fake relationship! Now that that’s sorted, I should . . . probably go home.” Maybe his apartment will have magically cleaned itself in his absence and he won’t have to be completely depressed by it when he returns. One can only hope.

Lan Wangji checks his watch (because of course he has a watch; put-together people always do. Maybe that’s their secret to being functional and on time to things). “It may be too late to catch a train. I can call you a cab, if you’d like.”

Wei Wuxian waves a hand to shoot down that idea. Who calls a cab in this day and age? “I’ll just get an Uber. It’s fine.”

This must be the wrong thing to say, because Lan Wangji’s little eyebrow crease makes its appearance. “I would prefer you didn’t. Their business model is unethical.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Do you have to be so principled all the time?”

Lan Wangji does not seem to understand that the question is rhetorical. “Yes.”

“All consumption under capitalism is unethical, Lan Zhan. We plebs are just trying our best.”

“Please allow me to call you a cab.”

“You can’t just keep paying for things,” Wei Wuxian protests, shaking his head. “You’re not my sugar daddy!”

God does he wish in that moment that he possessed more of a brain-to-mouth filter. 

Lan Wangji’s eyebrow crease is much deeper now. “I do not consider myself . . . that. I am merely trying to devise a solution that aligns with my values. But”—he looks a bit earnest now—“if you are opposed to me paying for a taxi, there is another option.”

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms to stop his hands from fidgeting. “Oh?” 

“You can stay here tonight. It is no trouble.”

Wei Wuxian thought Lan Wangji was going to offer an obscure map of bus routes—not that someone as posh as Lan Wangji probably has one of those—or something. But . . . what? “What?”

“You can sleep in my bed. I will take the couch.”

“I can’t let you sleep on the couch!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, unsure why he is even entertaining this hypothetical. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He’s even more unsure why he’s now apparently committing to it.

“I can’t let you do that either,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian is just about to suggest that Uber can’t really be that bad—although it almost certainly is. Stupid fake boyfriend and his stupid ethics, ruining everything—when Lan Wangji continues, “We will both sleep in my bed then.”

Lan Wangji has lost it. He has actually lost his mind, and Wei Wuxian must be the one to suffer the consequences. “Wh—why—what—why would y—”

“For verisimilitude.”

Of course. Verisimilitude. “Do you think your bedroom is being surveilled by an intelligence agency?”

“No. I was thinking of paparazzi.”

Oh. Well, it’s true that over the years they have found him a few times sneaking out of people’s houses in the morning for a walk of shame, but it’s not exactly likely. Still . . . for verisimilitude. “Yeah, yeah, good point, maybe we . . . But still, in the same bed?”

“We are adults. We are capable of sharing a bed without incident.”

Maybe Lan Wangji is capable of that, but Wei Wuxian has no idea what he’s capable of. What if he accidentally rolls over on top of Lan Wangji or reveals all his darkest secrets while asleep? 

But the alternative is going home to a bed covered in clothes he’s probably never going to get around to washing, and maybe this way he’ll get to see what Lan Wangji looks like shirtless. 

Not that he’s been imagining what he might look like shirtless, but—

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji prompts, which makes Wei Wuxian realize he’s just been staring blankly at his fake boyfriend instead of responding. “It is not my intention to pressure y—”

“Not at all! Let’s sleep together! I mean—” Fuck, why do these things leave his mouth? Lan Wangji’s eyes have widened slightly. “I mean, let’s share a bed. Platonically. Very platonically. We’ll build a pillow barrier. I’m a certified pillow architec—”

“We should get ready for bed,” Lan Wangji interrupts, getting to his feet. 

Relieved, Wei Wuxian pads down the hall after him, unsurprised to find in Lan Wangji’s room a perfectly made king-sized bed, not a wrinkle in sight on the duvet. The last time Wei Wuxian made his own bed was, if he had to guess, probably sometime circa 2012. He also finds it suspicious that Lan Wangji doesn’t just dump his dirty clothes on the floor and leave them there for weeks, but to each their own.

“You’ll need nightwear,” Lan Wangji says briskly, pulling open a drawer of his wardrobe.

Nightwear? Wei Wuxian mouths to himself, the shape of the word unfamiliar in his mouth. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I normally just sleep naked.” Lan Wangji gives him a muted look of horror. “I didn’t mean I’d do that tonight! I just—I meant—look, do you just have a shirt or something I can borrow?” 

“Alright.” Lan Wangji opens another drawer, having procured pristine silk pajamas for himself, and pulls out the most expensive-looking T-shirt Wei Wuxian has ever seen.

“What is this?” Wei Wuxian asks, holding a corner of it pinched between two fingers. 

“A shirt.”

“But—it’s so—where are the holes?” Another mildly horrified look, which is fair. “I mean, thank you. I’m gonna—” And Wei Wuxian slides into the adjoining bathroom and slams the door shut before he can dig any more of a grave for this fake relationship. 

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the bottom drawer,” Lan Wangji says through the door. 

Wei Wuxian gives a thumbs up, then realizes Lan Wangji can’t see it. “Okay! Thanks!” 

In the safety of the bathroom, he slips off his black jeans, more than a little disappointed to note that of all the underwear he owns—and he owns quite a bit of sexy underwear from his more promiscuous days—this morning he apparently saw fit to select his shabbiest pair. He remembers thinking something along the lines of: It’s not like anyone is going to see them. What a fool he was, this morning. No foresight at all. 

Not that he thinks Lan Wangji will care what underwear he’s wearing, but still—it’s the principle of the matter, isn’t it? The principle of wearing a shirt this nice paired with too-small boxers that say Release the Kraken across the butt and feature a bunch of little octopi. 

They were a gag gift he got years ago, and they’re pretty comfy, so he’s never seen fit to get rid of them—until, of course, this very moment. 

But he can’t just stand in the bathroom regretting his choices forever, so after brushing his teeth and splashing some water on his face he makes his way back into the bedroom. 

Lan Wangji is dressed in a light blue silk pajama set, sitting primly on the bed reading a book. 

Reading? Before bed? Yet another unsettlingly well-adjusted habit. Lan Wangji has far too many of those. Wei Wuxian’s pre-sleep routine includes staring at his phone and scrolling aimlessly until the blue light makes it impossible to fall asleep at a reasonable time. Foolproof. 

Lan Wangji sets the book down in acknowledgment of Wei Wuxian’s return and glides into the bathroom. If he has any comment on Wei Wuxian’s attire, he thankfully does not communicate it beyond a brief onceover.

This gives Wei Wuxian time to climb onto the other side of the bed, feeling extremely awkward. At least it’s large enough that they won’t be in danger of accidentally coming into contact during the night. Probably. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he tosses and turns a lot when he sleeps, but . . . frankly, he’s been alone for so long that he can’t be sure he doesn’t.

“Lan Zhan,” he says when Lan Wangji emerges from the bathroom. “You’re wearing those wrong.”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing as he glances down at his pajamas and then back up at Wei Wuxian, who grins impishly at him. 

“You’re supposed to wear your pajama bottoms all low on your hips to show off your chiseled V-cut. And definitely no shirt. Duh,” Wei Wuxian jokes, as if that sight alone wouldn’t very literally stop his heart and kill him.

“That is not necessary,” Lan Wangji says, continuing over to his side of the bed.

Wei Wuxian throws an arm down on Lan Wangji’s side to stop him from getting in. “Are you saying you have a chiseled V-cut?” he demands.

“I do not see how that’s any of your business.” Lan Wangji removes his arm and sits down on the bed anyway. 

“I can’t think of anything more my business. I have to know! For verisimilitude!” Wei Wuxian reaches over again to lift the bottom of Lan Wangji’s shirt and is once again unceremoniously rebuffed, so he takes the loss, collapsing into (somewhat nervous) giggles at Lan Wangji’s stern expression. “You’re a terrible fake boyfriend, you know that?” 

“I am building fake anticipation,” Lan Wangji says, picking his book back up, which makes Wei Wuxian laugh harder. 

When he finally collects himself, rolling onto his side, he proceeds to ask Lan Wangji a series of increasingly abstract questions about the book he’s reading until his fake boyfriend finally just snaps it closed and sets it on the nightstand. 

“You are being very talkative,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if it’s a mere observation or some form of censure.

“You’re being very not talkative,” Wei Wuxian says. He intends it as a complaint. 

“It is late. We should sleep.”

Before Wei Wuxian can protest that eleven o’clock is not remotely late—what is Lan Wangji’s normal bedtime?—his fake boyfriend has switched off the bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.

Wei Wuxian rolls onto his back and then, after deciding that position is insufficient, over toward the wall, where he spends a while examining the shadows cast by the moonlight. By the time he settles onto his back again, he’s all but resigned to a sleepless night, probably because of that stupid nap he took on Lan Wangji’s couch.

Or maybe it’s because he’s not doing as good a job blocking out his thoughts as he wants to be. They’re still managing to slip through cracks and take up space in his brain, entirely without his permission, and none of his usual stopgap measures of getting rid of them are having any effect.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers into the darkness. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Lan Wangji turned off the light, or if he’s already asleep. “Do you think my brother hates me?”

Wei Wuxian isn’t expecting a response (except maybe a scolding to go to sleep, since they both have work in the morning), and more importantly he isn’t sure he even wants one, but—not for the first time, admittedly—Lan Wangji surprises him.

“I don’t know your brother,” Lan Wangji says quietly, “but nothing you’ve told me suggests that he does.”

Wei Wuxian takes the words in, lets his brain turn them over a few times. “Mrs. Yu has cancer.”

“Yes.” 

Lan Wangji is so straightforward. It’s kind of nice, when it’s not annoying. 

“I don’t know how to react to that like a normal person.”

There’s enough of a pause, like Lan Wangji is measuring his words, that Wei Wuxian wants to turn over and watch him think, but he refrains. “You have a very complicated relationship. I can’t imagine there is a normal way to react.” 

“Does it make me a bad person if I’m not sad?”

There’s rustling beside him, as if Lan Wangji has shifted to look at him. Wei Wuxian keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “No.”

He says it with such conviction, such simplicity, that Wei Wuxian has to take a moment before replying again. “Thank you. For saying that.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a shuddering breath. “Lan Zhan.”

“Go to sleep. It will be okay.”

“Okay,” he whispers. As a matter of principle, he doesn’t tend to believe people when they say things like that, but something about Lan Wangji’s voice—or maybe just something about lying here in the dark—makes him feel like it could be true. 

The morning brings the rather curious spectacle of Lan Wangji’s morning routine. Wei Wuxian misses a good portion of it as he drifts in and out of sleep, refusing to fully commit to consciousness, but he definitely glimpses what looks like meditating at some point, and that alone is absurd enough.

By the time Lan Wangji jolts him awake with a deep “Wei Ying,” his fake boyfriend is impeccably dressed and seems ready for the day.

“You look like a lawyer,” Wei Wuxian says stupidly. He has somehow ended up sprawled across Lan Wangji’s side of the bed and has to wonder if that invasion occurred when Lan Wangji was still in the bed. 

“I am a lawyer,” Lan Wangji says, unfazed. “There is breakfast. Come.” And then he’s gone, leaving Wei Wuxian to gaze blearily at a clock until the numbers make sense—7:12 a.m., what in the fuck—and clumsily pull on his clothes from yesterday so he’s all ready for his walk of shame home. The one perk of Lan Wangji being awake at ungodly hours is that Wei Wuxian has time to return home before work and change into a fresh outfit. (Or, well, depending on how many of his work clothes are actually clean, perhaps just an outfit scrounged from the floor of his bedroom.)

There is in fact breakfast—not as elaborate as yesterday’s brunch, but far more than Wei Wuxian would ever expect on a Monday morning, which he communicates to Lan Wangji through profuse thanks.

Lan Wangji is even less talkative in the morning than at any other time, but, briefcase in hand, he walks Wei Wuxian to the nearest subway station, and it’s when they part ways there that Wei Wuxian inconveniently remembers he needs to turn his phone back on.

As soon as it blinks back to life he’s inundated with, unsurprisingly, a series of missed-call notifications from Jiang Yanli and, perhaps slightly more surprisingly, Jiang Cheng. There are also a slew of texts he doesn’t read because that’s too much work, but from what he skims neither of his siblings is too impressed by his somewhat inadvertent disappearing act.

His first instinct is to call Jiang Yanli, because that’s always his first instinct, but she doesn’t deserve to be awoken at such an hour—not when she primarily works nights. 

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, likely does deserve to be torn from sleep at eight in the morning, but he’s definitely already awake, so either way he should probably be Wei Wuxian’s first call.

It only takes two rings for him to pick up. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Wei Wuxian wonders vaguely if Jiang Cheng always sounds this shrill or if the quality of the phone call is exacerbating it. “We thought you were dead!”

“Unfortunately not,” Wei Wuxian deadpans, which he immediately knows is a mistake. Jiang Cheng has no appreciation for his humor; it’s such a shame. 

“Don’t say shit like that!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” Wei Wuxian starts, but Jiang Cheng steamrolls ahead.

“A-jie told me to apologize.”

Wei Wuxian waits, but nothing else seems to be coming. “So?”

“So what?”

“So are you going to apologize?”

An angry huff sounds through the phone. “I am . . . sorry . . . that I took my . . . feelings out on . . . you.” The words are so stilted Wei Wuxian is half-convinced Jiang Yanli is there holding up cue cards. Or maybe she just left the cue cards with Jiang Cheng for reference. 

“Ah, well, no worries,” Wei Wuxian says breezily, even though he does not feel particularly breezy.

There’s a tense silence for long enough that Wei Wuxian kind of hopes Jiang Cheng will just hang up, but then his brother continues, “It’s possible I was being slightly unfair. To you. Yesterday. I did not take a-niang’s news . . . well.” 

Wei Wuxian feels disproportionately tired considering how much he slept yesterday. “No one would take news like that well. It’s fine, Jiang Cheng.” 

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, and then stops. Wei Wuxian is positively dreading what he’ll say next. “A-niang wants to have a family dinner this week. She said to bring your boyfriend so she can see if he’s suitable.” 

“Oh, good. Sounds like absolute hell.”

“You have to come,” Jiang Cheng insists, as if there were any real chance of Wei Wuxian declining. “If you don’t, you’re going to stress her out, and she’s si—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He’s not going to listen to Jiang Cheng play the cancer card right now. “Text me the details. I’ll see if Lan Zhan is free.”

“Lan Zhan?” Jiang Cheng repeats suspiciously. “Since when are you two so familiar? Is that where you were last ni—?”

“Well, this has been fun, but oh, no, I’m losing connection! Can’t hear you gotta go bye!” 

“Wei Wu—!”

Family fucking dinner. God help him. And Lan Wangji, for that matter. 

Chapter Text

“Why was the calendar factory employee fired?” 

Nie Huaisang’s brows draw together in concern. “Wei-xiong, we don’t work in a calendar factory.”

Wei Wuxian sighs exaggeratedly. “No, I know this isn’t—”

“This is a law firm.”

“That is wildly incorrect, but sure.” 

Nie Huaisang drums his fingers against his desk, not appearing to register Wei Wuxian’s words. “Which calendar factory is it?”

“It’s hypothetical.”

“I don’t think I’m familiar with that one. Would I have heard about this employee in the news?”

“Do you read the news?”

“No, can’t say I do.”

“Right. Well, the employee is also hypothetical, so that shouldn’t pose a problem.”

“Were they fired for accidentally posting the company’s private financial information online? That’s done me in before.”

“I can honestly say that’s not the answer,” Wei Wuxian tells his coworker, leaning back in his chair to get comfortable. He assumes this will take a while, and his computer seems to be having a more difficult time than usual flickering to life. 

“Did they accidentally drive a car into the factory?”

“You keep saying ‘accidentally,’ but—?”

“If they were wrongfully fired, they should file a labor grievance.” Wei Wuxian stares at Nie Huaisang, mildly astonished by the turn this has apparently taken into workers’ rights advocacy, but then Nie Huaisang continues, “I’m sure someone here could take that case.” 

“Huaisang, no one here is a lawyer.” 

“Really? Are you sure?” Nie Huaisang looks around for evidence, like he might find a stray law degree suddenly hanging on the wall. 

“The calendar factory employee,” Wei Wuxian says patiently, “was fired for taking a day off.” 

Nie Huaisang gasps. “That does call for a labor grievance! I’ll contact my brother immediately.” 

“No, please don’t—”

“Oh, speaking of my brother,” Nie Huaisang says, already switching gears; Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether to be grateful or not. “He wants you to give him a call to discuss my progress here. As my boss and all.”

Wei Wuxian glances up from his computer’s blue error screen and its passive-aggressive sad-face emoticon. “But I’m not your boss?” 

For all he has to constantly redo Nie Huaisang’s work, though, he might as well be. Come to think of it, if Nie Huaisang has thought this place was a law firm this whole time, that does explain a few things. 

“You’re not?” Nie Huaisang blinks several times in confusion. “Then why did I give you my Social Security number?”

Wei Wuxian leans over until he’s just barely within reach to clap a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. “I wondered that too, bro.”

“Well, regardless, just answer when he calls later this week and tell him I’m the best employee you’ve ever had.” Wei Wuxian summons the terrifying mental image of Nie Mingjue, even though he’s never met the man in person, and is about to decline the request to lie to him when Nie Huaisang adds, “To repay you, I’ll even graciously agree to be your fake boyfriend.” 

Now, hold on a moment. “That will not be necessary. I already have a fake boyfriend, thank you.” 

Nie Huaisang claps his hands. “Oh, good! Thank god, honestly; I don’t think I’m ready to commit to a new relationship right now.” Wei Wuxian gives him a mock-thumbs up, expecting to just leave it there, but his coworker continues on. “But that’s lovely. I’ll have to take you both out for a night on the town.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary either,” Wei Wuxian says delicately. 

“Nonsense! My treat. When are you free?” 

“I . . . would have to ask.” 

The more Wei Wuxian thinks about it after sending Lan Wangji a text probing his availability (he’d suggest skipping family dinner for this, but he can’t afford to be eviscerated by his family), the more it actually seems like a decent idea. Nie Huaisang’s tales of nights out always seem to feature the rich and famous—which generally means the paparazzi are close behind. Perhaps Wei Wuxian can use this as an opportunity to flaunt Lan Wangji in the press and clear his good name. (Well, his decent name. Or, just . . . his name.) 

He’s staring at his phone, willing a response from his fake boyfriend, when Ouyang Zizhen drifts over. “We have seventeen followers on our TikTok!” the intern says proudly. 

“Oh, lovely.” This is the first Wei Wuxian is hearing about CRAPP having a TikTok account. It definitely sounds like something that should be under extensive supervision, but an endeavor such as this falls neatly into the category “Things Wei Wuxian does not get paid enough to deal with and thus will be avoiding at all costs.” 

“I think most of them are bots, but still cool, right?”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says absently, his eyes trained on his own phone lying motionless on the desk. A few seconds later, he almost falls out of his chair trying to grab the device when it lights up.

Regretfully, the message is just from Jiang Cheng, and all it says is Thursday. 

monday, Wei Wuxian counters, which prompts Jiang Cheng to send a series of question marks in response. srry i thought the game was just naming random days of the week

Dinner is on Thursday. You better be there or else

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, entirely unmoved by his brother’s dramatics. chill a-jie already told me, he texts back. and i said i’d be there didnt i

I AM chill, Jiang Cheng replies, not sounding remotely chill. But his lack of a follow-up message after that probably means he acknowledges Wei Wuxian’s commitment to come, even if he doesn’t necessarily trust it. 

Impatiently, Wei Wuxian opens his text thread with Lan Wangji to manifest a response from him. His fake boyfriend is either in court or deliberately ignoring Wei Wuxian after he requested a visual update on Lan Wangji’s V-cut and then followed up by asking if his bunnies are named after the Powerpuff Girls. (Since Lan Wangji hasn’t yet disclosed their names, Wei Wuxian has taken to submitting what he thinks are very reasonable guesses. Naming rabbits Liberté, Fraternité, and Egalité just sounds like something Lan Wangji would do. And sure, maybe “the Jonas brothers” and “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” were slightly more off-base as far as theories go, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be too reductive in his guessing.) 

It’s only Tuesday—he thinks. He’d have to check a calendar to confirm, which he will not do. What is he, some kind of calendar factory employee?—but so far since brunch on Sunday he and Lan Wangji have been fake texting incessantly. (Or perhaps just real texting. The difference is becoming increasingly obscure.)

The sudden and continuous buzzing of his phone to signal an incoming call startles Wei Wuxian so severely he drops the device, pitches forward out of his chair to try to grab it, stumbles over the corner of his desk, and ends up sprawled on the floor.

“This is not a hostel,” Dr. Baoshan says icily as she walks by. Wei Wuxian gives her a pained thumbs up, and as soon as she’s back in her office he picks up his fake boyfriend’s call. 

“Lan Zhan! Are you going to cover my hospital fees?” Wei Wuxian asks, rubbing the side of his leg where he will very probably develop a bruise. 

“What?” Lan Wangji asks, voice sharp. 

“Ah, nothing. I’m just kidding,” Wei Wuxian assures him, climbing back into his chair. His coworkers, thankfully, equipped with the observational skills of goldfish, do not appear to have noticed anything amiss. “I fell out of my chair. What’s up?” 

“Is now a bad time?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says quickly. “No, no, no. It’s a great time. I mean, I kind of assumed you had just butt-dialed me from a courtroom, but no, this is—yep, fine.” 

Is it fine that Lan Wangji has called him mid-morning without forewarning, leaving him totally unprepared? Hard to say. Wei Wuxian finds himself trying to smooth out the top of his hair before he remembers Lan Wangji can’t actually see him, so he withdraws his hand, feeling like an idiot—and even more so when he turns to see Nie Huaisang watching him curiously. 

“I did not . . .” Wei Wuxian wants to hear the term butt-dial in Lan Wangji’s elegant voice terribly badly, but his fake boyfriend fails him. “. . . do that. I called because—” Lan Wangji stops so abruptly Wei Wuxian actually checks to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. 

“Because?” 

“My morning has been suboptimal. It seemed prudent to call the person I’m supposed to be dating.” 

“For verisimilitude?” Wei Wuxian asks, deliberately cheeky. Lan Wangji makes a begrudging noise of assent. “So you think people are monitoring our phones, but not carefully enough to hear you say ‘supposed to be dating’?”

Lan Wangji is silent again for a long moment while Wei Wuxian tries not to laugh. “I thought you might like to hear an anecdote.” 

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says sagely, slightly relieved that’s all this is. He’s not particularly cut out for providing comfort to people in distress, but if Lan Wangji just needs someone to vent to, he’ll happily listen and provide colorful commentary. And laugh at Lan Wangji’s expense only if the situation calls for it. “Go on, then. I love anecdotes.” He casually rises from his chair to slip out into the hallway and hide in the bathroom to take this call, lest his coworkers get any ideas about eavesdropping (well, more than Nie Huaisang might already have). 

“Are you certain it will not be burdensome?”

“Lan Zhan!” he needles. “Don’t make me beg.” 

“Alright.” Wei Wuxian likes to imagine Lan Wangji is flustered as he clears his throat on the other end of the line. “Sometimes people refuse to help themselves,” Lan Wangji says cryptically, the edge of frustration in his voice perhaps the most expressive he’s been since they met. 

Wei Wuxian tries to wait for the rest, but he quickly grows impatient with the quiet. “Telling a story only works if you actually tell it, you know?”

Lan Wangji takes what seems to be a calming breath. “Occasionally, defendants alter their stories, which can present a problem in court. Today my client was under scrutiny for claiming in the initial police interrogation regarding a recent robbery that he was with an associate of his.” 

Wei Wuxian is trying his best to focus, but he is also being led astray by how sexy Lan Wangji’s voice is, and that’s really not his fault; it’s rare that the other man speaks this much in one go, so Wei Wuxian hasn’t yet been inoculated to the sound of it. 

“For the sake of this anecdote, I will call the associate Person B,” Lan Wangji continues, which is so utterly ridiculous in the context of a conversation Wei Wuxian is conducting from the office bathroom that he inadvertently lets a laugh escape. “I haven’t said anything funny yet,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian can’t tell whether he’s affronted or just perplexed. 

But then he registers what Lan Wangji said, and his laughter gives way to a gasp. “‘Yet’?” he repeats, delighted at the prospect of Lan Wangji being deliberately humorous. 

“My client was asked why he had previously claimed to be with Person B when he was now saying he was in fact alone at the time,” Lan Wangji continues, resistant to Wei Wuxian’s attempts at sidetracking. He’s not a particularly effusive storyteller, but Wei Wuxian finds himself enraptured nonetheless. “My client said he got confused. The prosecutor sought to know the cause for this confusion, and . . .” Lan Wangji inhales again, and Wei Wuxian is now convinced it’s an attempt to dispel his vexation. “My client told the court—and I quote—‘I just got mixed up because me and Person B get arrested together all the time.’” 

Wei Wuxian bursts into such genuine laughter he forgets he’s in the office bathroom and his coworkers can definitely probably hear him through the walls. But what else is he supposed to do when confronted with the mental image of a besuited Lan Wangji watching in horror as his client incriminates himself in front of an entire courtroom? It would crack much stronger people than Wei Wuxian. “What did you—” He breaks off with another cackle, and then tries again. “What did you say after that?”

“I told the jury my client is ‘a man so honest he voluntarily introduces prior arrests not in evidence.’” Lan Wangji’s tone is almost wry now. 

That sets Wei Wuxian off again, and he’s practically gasping for breath trying to collect himself so he can speak. “You should’ve shouted ‘Objection!’” He’s only seen that in movies, but it seems like a fun thing to do.

“To what end?” Lan Wangji asks. “‘Objection, my client is an imbecile’?” 

“I hadn’t gotten that far, honestly, but I think that would work.” Wei Wuxian flicks his eyes toward the mirror and finds himself grinning. “Lan Zhan,” he says, feeling suddenly very warm, “thank you for this anecdote. I will treasure it always.” 

“At least someone could get some enjoyment out of it.”

“Frankly, I don’t know how you didn’t die laughing in the courtroom. I wouldn’t have been able to contain myself.”

“Perhaps that is why you are not in the legal profession.”

Well, he might as well be, according to Nie Huaisang. “Yep,” he says blithely, “that’s the only reason.” 

“I do not enjoy losing,” Lan Wangji muses after a moment. “Particularly in such an ignominious manner.”

Wei Wuxian will have to google that word later. “Totally. Yeah. Can’t stand an ignominious manner.” 

“I should let you get back to work. But I . . . appreciate your time. This conversation has been productive.”

“Has it?” Wei Wuxian asks, genuinely surprised. “In what way, exactly?”

Lan Wangji ignores his question. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?” 

“So forward,” Wei Wuxian teases. “Yeah, I’m free, but—oh, my coworker wants to take us ‘out on the town,’ whatever that means. We don’t have to go, but it could generate some press if we—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“We will go ‘out’ with your coworker.” Wei Wuxian can practically hear the air quotes. “A real boyfriend would presumably meet your colleagues, so this makes sense.”

In truth, if Wei Wuxian were dating someone for real, he wouldn’t let them within ten miles of any of the people in his workplace until they had been in a serious relationship for several thousand decades. But if this outing can generate some positive media attention that finds its way into Mrs. Yu’s periphery, it will hopefully be worth the hassle of an evening among Nie Huaisang’s social circles. 

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Okay. See you later, then!”

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?” he asks, sounding weirdly breathless. He doesn’t want to say it’s because of how sexy Lan Wangji sounds when he says that name, but he also doesn’t want to lie. 

“You will need to send me the logistics.”

“Right! Yes. Will do.”

Wei Wuxian hangs up feeling a bit dazed. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting from a night out with Nie Huaisang—it’s not something he’s ever taken it upon himself to imagine, nor something he thought he would ever agree to, but . . . desperate times? 

The next order of business to complete on company time before he leaves this bathroom is getting in touch with Mrs. Yu. It is a quest undertaken not willingly, but rather under immense duress. Last night Jiang Yanli had passed on the message that Mrs. Yu had demanded to speak to him, and as much as he would like to ignore such a directive, he doesn’t want his sister—or himself—to face her mother’s wrath if he doesn’t call.

What Jiang Yanli doesn’t know is that Wei Wuxian is, as of many years ago, under express orders not to use Mrs. Yu’s personal number for any reason barring mortal peril (of her actual children or her career; if Wei Wuxian were the one dying, that certainly wouldn’t qualify). Wei Wuxian knows it’s just one of her many unnecessary power plays, making him contact her through one of her assistants, but that doesn’t make it grate any less. 

She could’ve just called him—as she’s wont to do at the times she’s miraculously divined to be the most inopportune—but then she’d miss out on a fun little mind game. 

“Yu Ziyuan’s office,” a pleasant voice says. Well, a voice that would be pleasant were it not associated with Mrs. Yu. “Yinzhu speaking. How may I help you?” 

“This is Wei Wuxian.” 

Her inflection doesn’t change. “How may I help you?” 

“Uh . . . can I speak with Mrs. Yu?”

“Regarding?”

What an insane question. It would be far too easy if Wei Wuxian had any idea what this call was regarding. “Personal matters?”

“She’s not taking any personal calls right now.”

“Then . . . business?”

“And what business matter might that be?” 

Yinzhu is really playing hardball, isn’t she? “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Then I’m not at liberty to put you through.”

“Really, Yinzhu? After all we’ve been through together?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Wei.”

“Wait!” He wracks his brain, trying to think of what Mrs. Yu might want to discuss. “Wait, wait. It’s about . . . my new boyfriend. She wants information before she meets him, right?”

There’s the sound of brisk typing for a few seconds before Yinzhu says, “I’ll transfer you.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to sigh audibly, if only because it would be inconvenient to piss off Yinzhu, but being transferred means he’ll be on hold for at minimum ten minutes, even if Mrs. Yu is free right now. Luckily this bathroom has a weird little waiting area with a chair where he can sit and contemplate the choices in his life that led him to this moment. 

After thirteen minutes of mild static and great regret, he’s treated to Mrs. Yu’s dulcet tones crackling through the phone. “You’re interrupting my work day,” she says tersely.

“And my own,” Wei Wuxian replies, voice lacquered with feigned cheer. “A-jie—” He pauses to break into a fit of fake coughing to hide his mistake. “Yanli said you wanted to talk to me?”

“‘Want’ is not the correct word,” Mrs. Yu says. “I need the name and profession of your . . . that man.”

Ah, his that man. Of course. “Lan Wangji. He’s a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Wei Wuxian has little to no experience with Mrs. Yu sounding impressed, so he could be wrong, but he almost thinks she’s on the verge of it right now.

“Yeah, he’s a defense attorney.” 

“A defense attorney?” This time the emphasis is familiar—because it’s abject disgust. “So he gallivants with criminals?”

Wei Wuxian frankly can’t imagine Lan Wangji gallivanting with anyone for any reason. “Uh . . . no?”

“Leave it to you to consort with riffraff.” Mrs. Yu’s huff is sardonic. “After everything I’ve done for you, you still have no regard for this family’s reputation.”

Wei Wuxian would love to hear an exhaustive list of everything Mrs. Yu thinks she’s done for him, but he’s not self-loathing enough to open that door. No one, not even Jiang Yanli, would have the kind of patience it would require to not explode. “He’s really . . .” Wei Wuxian tries to think of an appropriate adjective to describe Lan Wangji and settles on “gentlemanly.” 

Mrs. Yu’s snort, by contrast, isn’t terribly gentlemanly—but then, if a tree falls in a forest and only Wei Wuxian is around to bear witness, in Mrs. Yu’s book it never happened. So as long as no one but him hears such ungracious noises, there’s no problem. “We’ll see. Was there anything else you needed?” 

Wei Wuxian represses a disbelieving laugh. “No?”

“You’re not even going to pretend to be concerned about my health?” 

Wei Wuxian stills, only just now realizing what dangerous territory he’s treading. Had he managed to erase from memory the fact that Mrs. Yu might have cancer? Yes, and once he finally overcame that hurdle he had a very pleasant twenty-four or so hours. “I didn’t want to intrude on such a personal matter,” he settles on after a moment of tactical calculation, trying to keep his tone as diplomatic as possible. He’s not really sure what answer she’s looking for, but that feels safe enough.

“‘Personal matter’? So my ungrateful children saw fit to divulge to you private information about my health?”

Oh, good, another unexpected minefield. They’re almost more fun when he doesn’t prepare for them at all. “I—they—no?” 

“So they didn’t think it was important enough to inform you?” Mrs. Yu’s voice is sharp, but an uncharitable part of Wei Wuxian suspects that edge conceals a vicious sort of pleasure. (An annoying part of Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, experiences an odd sympathy toward her. It must be kind of a drag, feeling such impotence in her own life that the only way she knows how to regain control is by toying with her unwanted adoptive son.) “They don’t care that my life is at risk?”

“Of course they care,” Wei Wuxian says quickly. “I thought you meant something else, at first. But the—yes, the life-at-risk thing, yeah, they’re very worried.” He drops his head against the wall behind him, then jerks it forward as he remembers to add, “And me too, obviously. Very worried.” 

“Hmph.” Mrs. Yu at least sounds somewhat appeased now, and relief guides Wei Wuxian’s head back to rest against the wall. He feels unnaturally aged by this conversation. “I’ll be looking into this Lan Wangji’s background. You’re not bringing any criminals into my home.”

“He’s not a crim—” Wei Wuxian inaudibly sighs. “Never mind. Go for it.”

After a few more of Mrs. Yu’s jabs that he doesn’t quite manage to parry, he’s finally free of the call.

There’s really no chance that she’ll find anything egregious about Lan Wangji, so she can run wild for all he cares—though he makes a mental note to give Lan Wangji a heads up about the background check, as well as a full rundown on Mrs. Yu and the Jiang family, in advance of dinner. It’s the humane thing to do.

But first, he has an outing with Nie Huaisang to look forward to.

And by look forward to, he definitely means approach with a healthy mixture of dread and morbid curiosity. There’s really no other way.

tonight is gonna be soooooooooo fun, he texts Lan Wangji as he heads back to his desk. 

He’s not really expecting a reply, but less than a minute later he has received a new message: In future, please disclose whether a message contains sarcasm. I cannot tell. 

ok full disclosure: i have never been sarcastic ever, not once in my entire life

I sense you may be mocking me, but once again you should know the effect is not being fully realized over text message. 

nooo don’t feel mocked ur so sexy aha

Please do not call me sexy when I am at work.

wait does that mean i can call u sexy at other times???????

I think this conversation has reached its natural endpoint. I will see you tonight. Please forward me the details. Goodbye. 

noooo don’t leave ur so sexy aha

[Read at 10:23 a.m.] 

Fair enough, Wei Wuxian thinks as he locks his phone and props his legs up on his desk, his grin frighteningly wide even after this emotional rollercoaster of a morning. Fair enough. 

Chapter Text

This night is not going according to plan.

Well, it’s certainly possible it’s going according to someone’s plan—Nie Huaisang’s, for example—but nevertheless the evening is not progressing as Wei Wuxian had envisioned. 

The critical piece that’s missing is solidarity.

Lan Wangji is not supposed to know Nie Huaisang’s family, nor are they supposed to be reminiscing about grand holiday parties at the Nie manor or croquet tournaments at their neighboring summer mansions or whatever it is they’re talking about (truthfully, Wei Wuxian’s attention wandered sometime in the first five minutes, so he couldn’t say for sure). 

It doesn’t help that Nie Huaisang has chosen possibly the most ridiculously bougie bar in this entire city; the mocktail prices almost sent him into cardiac arrest when he first saw them, but everyone else is just acting like this is normal. 

Having drained his goblet of overpriced juice and contemplated (but discarded) the idea of making a run for it, Wei Wuxian makes a valiant attempt to tune back in.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji is saying, “this fiscal quarter does have lots of stocks, because the economy.”

Okay, so maybe that’s not verbatim what Lan Wangji just said, but who can blame Wei Wuxian for failing miserably in his quest to concentrate? Whatever they’re talking about now sounds ghastly. He doesn’t know how Nie Huaisang is even holding his own in this conversation, since Nie Huaisang knows quite literally nothing about anything. 

“Yes, my brother knows lots about all that, I’m sure. He wants me to take over the business someday, you know?”

Lan Wangji dips his head in a polite nod. “I see. Do you feel . . . prepared for that?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but snort at that, drawing a very slow and unimpressed head turn from his fake boyfriend. “What? Anyone with eyes can see that he’s not remotely qualified to run a business. He can barely send an email without inciting an international incident.” Though it has been a few days since the last one, at least.

It’s possible that Wei Wuxian’s aggravation at being denied Lan Wangji’s undivided attention is making him a little mean. Idly he wishes his drink were of the alcoholic variety so he could at least blame that for his shortcomings tonight. 

Nie Huaisang raises his drink in a salute. “So true, dude. Be sure to tell my brother that when he calls.”

Lan Wangji continues to stare. “You are being impolite,” he says in a low voice.

“Hey, if I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that, I could actually afford these drink prices.” 

“I will cover your drinks, if that is what is troubling you.”

“You know ‘sugar daddy’ isn’t actually listed in your job description for this role, right?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” He knows it comes out mocking. He doesn’t even really mean to be so contrary, but if he only did things he explicitly intended to do his life would’ve turned out much different. Something ugly lives within Wei Wuxian at times like these and makes damn sure his bitter feelings sour everything around him. 

“Nie Huaisang!” his colleague chimes in. He looks rather nervous about the whole exchange. 

“Now that we’ve established our names, can we talk about something that won’t make me want to kill myself out of boredom?”

“What is your problem?” Lan Wangji demands. Wei Wuxian decidedly does not feel his heart flutter a little at how sexy Lan Wangji sounds when he’s being assertive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian says with false cheer, “maybe it’s just that I don’t find any of this relatable because I didn’t take fencing classes from the age of three or spend my summers in a European villa. Or maybe it’s because I’m here with my fake boyfriend and my colleague and they can’t come up with a single topic of conversation that doesn’t put in stark contrast how woefully inferior I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to piss.”

Lan Wangji’s intent gaze sharpens at the vulgar expression Wei Wuxian chooses to end his humiliating little tirade with, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to look at it anymore once he abruptly stands and walks away from their table.

He immediately gets lost, of course, because why wouldn’t that happen, and has to ask the bartender for directions, and then another bartender because he forgot what the first one said. He then ends up having to walk past the very table he just abandoned, studiously avoiding eye contact in case Nie Huaisang or Lan Wangji sees him, because he went the wrong way to start with.

God, what is wrong with him tonight? He’s not going to pretend that he can’t be childish and petty at times, but he’s not usually so insistent on putting his raging immaturity and insecurities on blast in front of other people. Even people he doesn’t particularly care to impress.

Wei Wuxian feels awkward just standing in the bathroom frowning at himself in the mirror so he ducks into a stall instead and draws out his phone.

how do i stop being so...myself, he texts Jiang Yanli, as is his instinct in most times of turbulence.

??? she sends back within seconds. I’m out with A-Xuan right now but I can call you? What’s going on?

Ugh. Wei Wuxian knows better than to clue Jiang Yanli in to any of his self-deprecation spirals. He must be really out of it tonight. 

no no no no don’t worry, he writes. i was just making a joke lol

Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny? :( 

ok sick burn a-jie no need to come for me like that

Are you sure you’re alright? Aren’t you out with Wangji? Is it not going well?

Wei Wuxian silently curses his lack of foresight in activating Protective Older Sister Mode. omg chill it’s allllllllllllll good i was just referring to making some cringey jokes lol it was not that deep

It definitely was that deep, but the less Jiang Yanli knows about Wei Wuxian’s general headspace the better, in his opinion. No one else needs insight into what’s going on up there. In fact, most of the time, Wei Wuxian would prefer if he didn’t know either.

Okay, if you’re sure! Jiang Yanli replies, suspiciously acquiescent. 

The reason why becomes clear mere seconds later when his phone lights up with a text message from Jiang Cheng. A-jie says you’re being weird and to check on you

she’s just being dramatic lol when am i not being weird 

That’s literally what I said. So?

so what

So stop being weird so I can enjoy my evening

well when u put it like that it makes me even more motivated to ruin ur evening of sitting alone and having no life

UGH I’m telling a-jie that the only thing wrong with you is your exceptional personality defects GOODBYE

Wei Wuxian chuckles to himself, wincing a little at the way even quiet sounds seem to echo in this fancy bathroom. He’s surprised (but grateful) there isn’t a bathroom attendant here or something ridiculous. 

Eventually he decides the time has come to emerge from his hiding place and face the awkwardness he has created. But first he justifies spending a solid few minutes washing his hands over and over again. 

A couple people come and go while he’s doing this, but it’s around when his fingers are starting to prune that someone actually speaks to him.

“Hey,” a man standing a few sinks away says testily, “aren’t you the scoundrel who ruined my daughter’s birthday gala?”

Anyone who refers to a birthday party as a gala deserves to have it ruined, in Wei Wuxian’s esteemed opinion, but nothing about this man strikes him as particularly familiar. (He does feel that it’s a shame bars don’t ID-check people over the age of sixty, but then Wei Wuxian supposes this venue is an alarmingly posh one, so this guy is probably more of the target audience than Wei Wuxian is.)

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Wei Wuxian lies, putting on his most affable grin as he finally turns off the faucet. He sends out a silent apology to the environment (and to Lan Wangji, probably) for wasting so much water in his moment of personal crisis.

The man’s face takes on an even more pinched look, somehow. “You’re Yu Ziyuan’s kid, aren’t you?”

“‘Kid’ is such a strong word. Too strong, in fact. I would say we’re passingly acquainted.”

“It is you,” the old guy accuses. “You fell into the cake and knocked over my daughter’s ice sculpture!”

Now that he mentions it, the memory is rather quickly unspooling in Wei Wuxian’s brain. That was a godawful ice sculpture; the daughter should actually be grateful that it met its obliteration at the hands of a drunken Wei Wuxian. (Also, if his adoptive family hadn’t dragged him to such a lifeless event in the first place, none of that would’ve ever transpired, so whose fault is it really? Check and mate.)

Wei Wuxian dials his smile several notches up to “never done anything wrong in his life” and drawls, “Ah, yes, the ice sculpture. Luckily it was so hideous anyway, am I right?”

“So you admit it was you!”

“No, definitely not. I’d never do such a thing.”

The old man wears an impressively deep scowl. “How dare you show your face here again?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like that party was at this very bar,” Wei Wuxian reasons.

“Yes, it was!”

“Really?” Being here hasn’t rung many bells, but then he supposes he was completely hammered the last time he set foot here, if memory serves. “You couldn’t find a better venue for the gala?”

“You—” 

Deciding now is the most opportune time to duck out of sight of the stranger and his rageful finger wag, Wei Wuxian makes a hasty break for it. But as he exits the bathroom and starts to draw closer to the table he recently deserted, the night’s newest obstacle comes into focus. This one takes the form of his brother sitting across from Nie Huaisang, which begs no shortage of queries.

“A-jie sent you all the way here?” Wei Wuxian glances around in search of his fake boyfriend, but Lan Wangji is currently nowhere in sight. 

Jiang Cheng looks even less happy to see him than usual, which is already a low bar. “Eh? What the fuck are you doing here?”

That must be a no, then, to any potential machinations on Jiang Yanli’s part. 

“I happen to be enjoying an evening with my coworker and my—Lan Zhan.” Jiang Cheng knows the relationship is fake, of course, but Wei Wuxian and his fake boyfriend have agreed to stop admitting this fact aloud where others could potentially overhear. “What are you doing here?”

Scowling, Jiang Cheng inclines his head toward the coworker in question. “Huaisang invited me.”

Wei Wuxian swivels to face Nie Huaisang. “Did you invite my brother?”

“No, definitely not.” But before Wei Wuxian can turn a smug look on his antisocial pest of a brother, his coworker continues, “I did invite Jiang Cheng here, though. Have you met him?”

Wei Wuxian merely sighs, muttering a plaintive “Why?” that’s truthfully directed more at some ambiguous higher power than at either of the people at this table.

“I thought he’d liven things up,” Nie Huaisang says cheerfully.

No one has ever thought that about inviting Jiang Cheng anywhere. Nie Huaisang must be terribly confused. “Impossible. The saying goes ‘The more, the merrier, unless one of the more is Jiang Cheng.’”

Jiang Cheng moves to shove him, but Wei Wuxian dances out of the way with well-practiced footwork. “Huaisang and I know each other from college, and I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Jiang Cheng? Having a social life? Absurd concept. Does not compute.

“Where’s Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks in lieu of pressing any further, mostly because he is genuinely uncertain as to where Lan Wangji might have disappeared to. 

“Oh, he’s off looking for you.”

Wei Wuxian stares at Nie Huaisang. “But I’m here?” He must’ve missed Lan Wangji somehow while weaving through the tables on his way back here. 

Nie Huaisang blinks several times as he takes this in. “Oh, so you are. Well, maybe you should go look for him, then.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “then you’ll both be lost, and I can enjoy my evening in peace.”

Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his brother, before retrieving his phone from his pocket to send his fake boyfriend a request for proof of life. Before he can do so, though, the missing person in question materializes before them and takes the seat next to Wei Wuxian, since his previous one has since been claimed by Jiang Cheng.

“Oh good,” Wei Wuxian says, “you survived.”

Lan Wangji raises his eyebrows but does not ask for further clarification. “There is a man in the bathroom looking for you.”

“In a sexy way?”

The shadow of a frown passes over Lan Wangji’s face. It’s a little exhilarating, if only because Wei Wuxian likes to play with fire. “I should hope not.” 

“Ah. Is he about yay high? Blue suit? Ratlike face?” Wei Wuxian waits for Lan Wangji’s stiff nod. “Weird. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Never heard of him either.”

“The man said you owe him for an ice sculpture.”

“That must be a metaphor.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs, apparently growing too impatient to continue merely frowning at Lan Wangji. “Or he’s talking about the literal sculpture of ice that you shattered.”

Wei Wuxian feels Lan Wangji’s eyes on him, a silent question in the stare, but chooses not to engage. “Ah, well—youthful indiscretions, am I right?”

“I am not familiar with the concept,” Lan Wangji says.

Of course not. 

“So,” Nie Huaisang offers after a brief but unbearably awkward lull, “have you met Wei-xiong’s fake husband yet?” He claps a good-humored hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder that the other man immediately shakes off. (It is so difficult to imagine them becoming friends in college or really at any time, but Wei Wuxian is kind of fascinated. It’s like a happening upon an unexpected zoo exhibit.)

“That is not what we are,” Lan Wangji says calmly. He’s very brave, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion, for not immediately keeling over at the very thought of their hypothetical (but no doubt unholy) matrimony. 

Nie Huaisang pops a fruit skewer that he’s procured somehow from somewhere into his mouth. “So it’s real now?” 

“No, it’s very much fake, but we’re definitely not married,” Wei Wuxian says. 

“Right, right, you’re just fake married. What was it for, again? Tax fraud?”

The way Lan Wangji’s eyebrows twitch at these words makes it very hard for Wei Wuxian to believe that Nie Huaisang isn’t some kind of evil comedic mastermind whose sole function in this world is to drive everyone at this table to premature insanity. That said, he has witnessed Nie Huaisang stapling his own jacket to his desk by accident, so it’s not necessarily a likely scenario. But if this was somehow just an elaborate ruse of uselessness, Wei Wuxian would almost have to admire it.

“What? He’s got you committing tax fraud now?” an outraged Jiang Cheng splutters. For a second Wei Wuxian thinks his brother is addressing Lan Wangji, as would be reasonable, but instead Jiang Cheng seems to be awaiting a response from Wei Wuxian. 

“Excuse me,” Lan Wangji says, his voice now several shades too cold to sound genuinely polite. “I am unsure what has led you to believe that I would willingly commit a federal offense, but I can assure you our arrangement has nothing to do with taxes or marriage.” A pause, and then for good measure: “Or criminal activity.” 

It’s not like Wei Wuxian wants to marry him—of course not, what an insane thought—but a tiny part of him may or may not be irrationally offended by how repelled Lan Wangji seems by the concept. 

“No marriage here,” Wei Wuxian confirms. “Only pretense. And a healthy sprinkling of gratuitous sexual tension, am I right?” 

Fucking hell, why did he say that? And why did he just elbow Lan Wangji in the ribs as if his fake boyfriend might agree? Wei Wuxian almost just places his head facedown on the table and prays for his timely demise. 

“I can’t believe you invited me here for this,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his lip curling as he addresses Nie Huaisang. “I thought this was supposed to be a normal night out.”

“Yes, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“I’m having so much fun.” Wei Wuxian layers the sarcasm on thick, which only serves to remind him of his texts with Lan Wangji earlier today. Was that mere hours ago? It feels like months. Eons, even. They were so happy and carefree back then, before Wei Wuxian arrived at this bar and for whatever reason just opted to go off the rails. 

“Wangji and I were just discussing how our brothers are business partners,” Nie Huaisang tells Jiang Cheng. “And now I find out you’re Wei-xiong’s brother? What a small world we live in.”

“Business partners?” Wei Wuxian echoes. “What? Since when?”

He idly watches as Lan Wangji’s politely clasped hands draw tighter together. “I have mentioned this particular fact several times tonight.”

“No way,” Wei Wuxian protests. He really wants to believe he’d remember something like that, but . . . he’s not exactly surprised. Oops.

“Mn. Perhaps you would know if you had been listening to the conversation at any point,” Lan Wangji says frostily.

Wei Wuxian squints at him, torn between taking accountability for his unnecessarily foul mood and simply continuing to behave like a child. 

“Is this how you’re going to be at family dinner this week?” Jiang Cheng eyes them both skeptically. 

“Thanks so much, Jiang Cheng, for the reminder of my impending—shit, is he coming over here?” 

The man from the bathroom—whose name Wei Wuxian does not and indeed will not recall—is making a beeline for this table, his face set in a determined frown that does not bode well for Wei Wuxian. He’s supposed to be generating positive press, not stirring up old mishaps in public. 

Lan Wangji turns to look too, but Wei Wuxian intercepts his gaze by securing his fake boyfriend’s face between his hands. 

“Quick, punch me! Or—pretend like we’re making out!”

Someone—definitely Jiang Cheng—makes an exaggerated retching sound. 

Lan Wangji’s brow wrinkles. “We have not agreed upon—” 

“Shhhh,” he hisses. At this point it’s too late for him to come up with anything except burying his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder—and, unfortunately, that is precisely what he chooses to do. “Pretend I’m dead, okay? Maybe shed a couple tears so it’s believable.”

Immediately, he can recognize this was a mistake. For one thing, it has forced him to realize that Lan Wangji smells really good. This fact—which he absolutely didn’t need to know—escaped his notice amid the chaos of their bed-sharing venture, but it’s now all Wei Wuxian can think about as he waits for the danger to pass. 

Stupid lawyers and their stupid ability to afford expensive shampoos and colognes and whatever else. Wei Wuxian is definitely only thinking these things out of envy and not any other reason. 

The seconds seem to stretch into infinity—made infinitely more awkward by the silence of their other companions—before Lan Wangji says quietly, “He is gone.” 

“He’s been gone for the last thirty seconds. You didn’t see fit to separate any sooner?” 

Who made Jiang Cheng some kind of Lord Timekeeper? Wei Wuxian scrunches his face at his brother as he resumes his upright, not-clinging-to-Lan-Wangji position. 

“I did not want to be . . . premature,” Lan Wangji says. 

His voice is much calmer than his heartbeat was when they were pressed together, Wei Wuxian notes. Probably because Lan Wangji isn’t terribly comfortable with physical contact—and now, in retrospect, Wei Wuxian feels a little bad for accosting him like that. It was for a good cause, sure, but he should’ve just hidden under the table instead. As mature adults do when they want to avoid the consequences of their past actions. 

Jiang Cheng is still staring at the two of them. “You know a-niang is going to eat you alive on Thursday, right?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any worse—what with Wei Wuxian sabotaging the outing and possibly his entire fake relationship because he apparently cannot handle not being the center of attention for five seconds, not to mention any bathroom quarrels or the absolute jump scare that was Jiang Cheng’s sudden arrival—now Wei Wuxian has been reminded of even more disaster looming on the horizon.

There’s nothing else to do, really, except drop his head onto the table with a muffled groan.

Chapter Text

After at least one eternity—possibly even several—Wei Wuxian is finally set free from the bar as they all agree to part ways.

(In fact, Nie Huaisang insisted they should go bar hopping “for old time’s sake”—which makes Wei Wuxian shudder imagining a 20-year-old Jiang Cheng gone wild—but Wei Wuxian firmly declined the invitation and Lan Wangji followed his lead, thank god.) 

Wei Wuxian feels a prickling of something other than dread for the first time this evening, at the mere thought of going home, diving onto his mattress (or, more accurately, onto the piles of random clothes and other junk adorning his mattress), and remaining motionless for the foreseeable future.

But, of course, nothing can go that smoothly. There have to be obstacles, for the pizzazz of it all. And thus upon exiting the bar the four of them are besieged by flashing cameras and invasive questions. 

Wei Wuxian is initially tempted to indulge his survival instincts to flee or fight or something untoward of that nature before he recalls that the entire point of this evening was to be seen. Or, more accurately, to be photographed and plastered across some low-rent site that barely qualifies as journalism, just so he has some proof of his new, allegedly more respectable lifestyle.

This level of paparazzi attention isn’t entirely foreign to him, of course—in his youth he was dragged along to certain events with actual celebrities that doubled as family functions until Mrs. Yu decided that she no longer wished to be publicly associated with him and his many character failings. (Wei Wuxian would’ve preferred to have faded into mild obscurity at that point, but the years that followed were far less pleasant than that.)

Still, considering recent mishaps and subsequent threats from Mrs. Yu, Wei Wuxian finds himself getting a bit panicky amid the expanse of cameras. His vision blurs a bit, and the potential allies around him suddenly seem so far away.

He can vaguely hear the queries being flung out, demands to know who Nie Huaisang is wearing and what Jiang Cheng thinks of his brother’s “lifestyle,” but it’s not until his brain seizes on the mocking inquisition directed specifically at him that he truly begins to lose all sense of reality. Wei Wuxian! Have you been drinking? Are you turning over a new leaf? Are you coked up right now?

“No comment,” he tries, echoing what he hears Jiang Cheng grumbling, but his voice comes out feeble, the words barely making their way out of his suddenly parched throat. If only he had some water, if only he could just—

And then, like a miracle, an arm wraps around his waist, anchoring him back to the situation at hand. Lan Wangji tucks Wei Wuxian into his side, bodily shielding him from the prying eyes, and Wei Wuxian is so grateful he could almost cry (if that were something his emotionally repressed self were still capable of doing). 

Who’s your boyfriend, Wei Wuxian?

“My name is Lan Wangji,” the man in question says calmly. “I am a lawyer. Please get out of our way unless you wish to become personally acquainted with my work.”

His very presence seems to part the sea—or maybe it was the thinly veiled threat that did it. It doesn’t stop the assortment of photographers and lowlifes from throwing out more inquiries, aimed at gauging whether they’ll last as a couple or ascertaining the nature of their sex life. From the safety underneath Lan Wangji’s arm, Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to face or respond to any of it.

It’s kind of nice, even as the rest of the circumstances are so horrible.

By the time they’ve achieved sufficient distance from the club exit and the accompanying mob, Wei Wuxian can almost breathe normally again. He also realizes, with no small degree of embarrassment, that he’s maintained a viselike grip on Lan Wangji’s forearm for however long. He tries to detach himself, but Lan Wangji’s arm around his waist doesn’t budge. If anything, he pulls Wei Wuxian closer still.

“You can let go now,” Jiang Cheng says rather sourly from the other side of Lan Wangji, making Wei Wuxian jump. He’d completely forgotten about Jiang Cheng’s existence for a few minutes there—and Nie Huaisang’s too, except his coworker is nowhere to be seen until Wei Wuxian spots him still in the crowd, showing off his ornate fan to all the paparazzi and adoring fans.

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond to Jiang Cheng, leaving Wei Wuxian to laugh a bit awkwardly and say, “Lan Zhan, I think we’re good now.”

“Mn.” The arm releases, and Wei Wuxian tries not to telegraph any disappointment about it, lest Jiang Cheng—or, worse, Lan Wangji—should pick up on it.

“Well, that was fun,” Wei Wuxian remarks, for lack of anything truthful to say. “Shall we go find the subway?”

“You seem unwell. We will take a taxi.”

“‘We’?” Jiang Cheng repeats. “My brother and I can get home just fine without you, thanks.”

Wei Wuxian is also a little shaken by Lan Wangji’s use of “we” but he manages to scoff all the same. “We live in opposite directions. Get your own taxi, Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng looks unreasonably betrayed by a very reasonable statement. “Fine,” he snaps. “See if I care if you get home.” And then he stalks off down the street, taking care to bump his shoulder against Lan Wangji’s before he goes.

Wei Wuxian still feels like his entire vertebrae has been replaced with something made of gelatin, but he makes an effort to stand up straight. “I suppose I should—”

“We will take a taxi,” Lan Wangji repeats. 

“But—”

“We should not be seen arguing.”

Wei Wuxian swallows down his protests at this rather compelling point. “Alright. We’ll argue in the car, then,” he quips. Lan Wangji ignores him in favor of stepping closer to the street, Wei Wuxian in tow beside him. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he’s ever successfully flagged down a taxi, but of course his fake boyfriend does it not only with ease but with an unfair elegance too. 

They climb inside the cab, and Lan Wangji stares Wei Wuxian down until he reluctantly gives his address to the driver. And then he stares at Wei Wuxian some more until Wei Wuxian fastens his seatbelt. Conscientious bastard.

“Well, you’re definitely not coming up to my apartment,” Wei Wuxian says conversationally. 

“That seems unreasonable.”

“Your face seems unreasonable.”

“That is childish.”

“Your face is ch—”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“I have welcomed you into my home.”

It seems like a nonsequitur, but Wei Wuxian suspects it’s about to be used against him. “That was a totally different situation.”

“So, if I want to receive an invitation, I should show up uninvited on your doorstep?”

Drat. Wei Wuxian was kind of hoping he’d forgotten about the specific circumstances. “I mean . . .”

“We are supposed to be in a relationship, and yet I know nothing about where you live.”

Goddamn Lan Wangji and his never-ending commitment to verisimilitude. “What if we just attribute that to you being a better and more functional person than me?”

“I will not agree to that. But, since you’ve brought it up—”

“Brought what up?” Wei Wuxian interrupts. “My inherent moral failings?”

“—your behavior tonight was perplexing to me.”

Wei Wuxian squirms in his seat, almost wishing he hadn’t fastened his stupid seatbelt so he had free rein to fling himself out the window. “I was perhaps a bit”—what’s a way to say “upset” without admitting to being upset?—“discomposed.”

The glow cast by a passing streetlight illuminates the small crease in Lan Wangji’s brow for a brief moment. “Did something happen to discompose you?”

Wei Wuxian mumbles his response, so faint it’s practically inaudible. Lan Wangji makes a questioning sound. “You were ignoring me,” he tries again, just loud enough this time to be heard over the hum of the radio.

“That was not my intention,” Lan Wangji says. The little crease appears again, slightly deeper this time. “I hoped to make an acceptable first impression on your colleague tonight.”

“Well, you did that, for sure.” Wei Wuxian tries not to sound sullen, but it’s pretty much his default state when he’s in Lan Wangji’s company. 

Lan Wangji goes silent for long enough to make Wei Wuxian’s thoughts race, wondering whether he’s driven his fake boyfriend away for good with his immature defense mechanisms. He opens his mouth to either apologize or make everything worse—he’ll see where the next few sentences take him.

“I just thought that tonight would be, like, me and you bonding over what an insane character Nie Huaisang is, not the two of you getting all chummy about all these memories I’m not part of. I wanted . . .” He trails off, unsure where to go from there, but before he has to figure it out, Lan Wangji speaks up.

“I apologize for making you feel excluded.”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw falls slightly open, the hinges apparently malfunctioning in the wake of his surprise. He has plenty of practice giving apologies, both of the sincere and hollow varieties, but rarely is he on the receiving end, and he has no idea how to be. “Oh.”

“I failed as your boyfriend tonight. Please accept my apology.”

“I . . . it’s fine?” Lan Wangji does not seem particularly appeased by this response. “I mean, I failed too, by being . . . you know. Awful.”

“Let’s hope we learn to facilitate conversation better before your family gathering.”

“Yeah, let’s . . . hope.” Wei Wuxian’s expression scrunches. The ensuing quiet starts to make him uncomfortable again, so he fills it with some unnecessary babble for the rest of the drive.

Due to an extreme lapse of judgment and also having no real choice, Wei Wuxian allows Lan Wangji to enter his apartment. And, to the other man’s credit, he doesn’t immediately drop dead or place a call to the health department to report numerous violations, so Wei Wuxian counts that as a victory.

Wei Wuxian did force Lan Wangji to stand in the outside hallway while he made a few hasty attempts to shove some of the garbage littering his living room into a plastic bag, but it does little to hide the fact that he lives in relative filth, so he quickly gives up.

“I do not take pleasure in being judgmental,” Lan Wangji begins, which sounds like a lie if Wei Wuxian’s ever heard one.

“Then you can stop right there,” he says blithely.

“—but this apartment is not suitable for habitation.”

“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian says, deliberately obtuse. “I habitate here all the time.”

“Yes, and that is deeply concerning to me.”

“Well, no one asked you to be concerned,” he points out. “I did try to save you from this fate, but you insisted on coming up.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t seem like a man to regret much, so Wei Wuxian is taking a little sadistic pleasure in the regret he is clearly feeling in this moment. “I did not expect . . . but I should have.” He squares his shoulders, apparently steeling himself to venture further into the apartment.

“The bedroom is probably worse,” Wei Wuxian says by way of warning.

Lan Wangji blinks several times more than normal. “Worse?”

Wei Wuxian just grins, stomping down the embarrassment and dread he’s feeling deep down in favor of projecting a false sense of cheer. “Legally, you can’t dump me after you’ve seen it.”

“There is no such legal contract binding us.”

“A pity.”

“Legal contracts are not to be taken lightly.”

“I probably should stop signing them without reading them then,” Wei Wuxian says, just to see what evidence of disapproval he can bait Lan Wangji into displaying. 

“Wei Ying—”

“And here’s the last stop on our tour,” he narrates, adopting his best tour guide impression. “To the left you’ll find the 17 million empty water bottles the tenant has been building a collection of on the floor—”

“Plastic water bottles are extremely harmful to the environment.”

“—and if you look to your right you’ll even catch a glimpse of some very sexy underwear belonging to the tenant.”

Lan Wangji does not in fact turn his head to the right—not that he’d see much except some haphazardly tossed boxers—but the tips of his ears do turn red, and that feels like a win to Wei Wuxian. 

“This is worse,” Lan Wangji murmurs, perhaps only to himself, as he surveys the natural disaster that is Wei Wuxian’s bedroom. “Are you not ashamed to live this way?” The worst part is that it sounds like a genuine question rather than a barb.

Wei Wuxian laughs, a bit uneasy now that they’re venturing into the territory of potential psychoanalysis. “People without self-respect need not feel shame, my dear Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji does not seem placated by this reply—in fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect—but luckily Wei Wuxian is an expert in deflection. “Anyway, if you fake break up with me over this, you can’t use any of the bunny name ideas I gave you.”

“I will not be using any of those. But I also do not intend to end our arrangement over this. I will . . . acclimate, to this environment, if necessary.” He does not look happy about the prospect.

“You can leave, you know.”

“No. If we are to pull off this ruse in front of your family, we need to determine how to be around each other in public.” This is starting to sound like Lan Wangji wants Wei Wuxian to summon actual thoughts and have an actual conversation instead of just collapsing onto his bed, so Wei Wuxian already hates where this is going. “For example, do you think we should hold hands?”

“Right now?”

Lan Wangji gives him an odd look. “No. Obviously, I meant when we are around other people.”

Right, right. Duh. “I don’t know. Do you think we should hold hands?”

“I asked you first.” 

One quality Wei Wuxian can appreciate in his fake boyfriend is his ability to be just as petty as Wei Wuxian at times. 

“Sure, I guess.”

Lan Wangji extends a hand then, and Wei Wuxian suddenly becomes aware of how awkward it is to have this conversation while standing around the entrance to his bedroom. “I thought you said you didn’t mean we should hold hands right now,” Wei Wuxian says, regarding the proffered hand as if it’s some kind of explosive device.

“It occurs to me we will need some practice so it doesn’t seem forced.”

“Sexy,” Wei Wuxian deadpans, but he takes Lan Wangji’s hand all the same. If he’s expecting some kind of magic to strike when their hands touch, he’s sorely mistaken. They both adjust their grip a few times, trying to find the right fit, but it seems rather hopeless. 

Lan Wangji is practically frowning with concentration, and that makes the whole situation much funnier. “Perhaps we should not hold hands. Try taking my arm instead.”

Wei Wuxian presses his lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping, but after they’ve linked arms there’s no repressing his giggles. “I feel like an escort.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t sigh, but Wei Wuxian can vividly imagine him doing so in this moment. “I see. Maybe we should just avoid physical contact in public.”

“But I don’t want to,” Wei Wuxian blurts out, his mouth as usual moving faster than his brain. “Because—my family is never going to believe us if we don’t do something.” Pissing Jiang Cheng off with PDA would just be an added bonus. 

“Well, then I suggest we devise a way to do so without coming across as insincere.”

Wei Wuxian tries to summon a coherent thought, but his neurons stopped properly firing long ago. “We could have sex,” he suggests. It doesn’t take more than a millisecond for regret to consume him, but it’s too late to backtrack. “Like, now.”

Lan Wangji is staring at him. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m just thinking outside the box!” Wei Wuxian says defensively, unsure why he is defending what he also knows is a terrible idea. “You asked how we could get comfortable touching each other and that’s, you know, one way. Like ripping off the band-aid, if you think ab—”

“We are not having sex.”

“Well, not with that attitude.” Despite knowing it was a ridiculous thing to say in the first place, Wei Wuxian is trying very hard and quite unsuccessfully not to feel stung by being rejected by Lan Wangji once again. 

“It would take more to convince me to engage in such an intimate activity than ‘We could have sex, like, now.’”

Wei Wuxian can’t believe he wants to have sex with someone who refers to sex as an “intimate activity.” How did he end up here? Why is life so cruel? Many questions abound. “So if I’d worded it differently, you’d be all in?”

Wei Wuxian watches as practically Lan Wangji’s entire face twitches. “Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but I do not believe in having sex just for convenience.”

“I can’t imagine what other reason there is,” Wei Wuxian says for the sake of levity, but he realizes after saying it how sad it sounds and tries to backpedal. “Just kidding. Let’s stop talking about how much you don’t want to have sex with me. I got the message loud and clear the first time.”

“The first time,” Lan Wangji repeats, a clear question in it.

“At a-jie’s work party. I propositioned you, and you clearly weren’t into it.” Wei Wuxian aims for a carefree laugh but it probably lands somewhere around “forced and pathetic.”

He gets almost a full brow furrow from Lan Wangji for his troubles. “You were highly intoxicated at that party.” 

“Yeah?” He certainly doesn’t need reminding of how embarrassing he definitely was.

“No sexual encounter with you would have been consensual. I had your sister take you home.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian feels some complicated concoction of emotions stirring in his chest, but he fights to push them back down. “That’s not—what? I’ve had plenty of drunk sex. It would’ve been—you—it would’ve been fine.” He doesn’t even really know what he’s saying anymore.

Lan Wangji’s expression softens, which only makes Wei Wuxian feel even more detestably pitiable. “You don’t have to accept ‘fine,’ Wei Ying.” Ugh, he’s so insufferable when he’s saying borderline philosophical things. And attractive, but that’s mostly secondary. “As I said, I may be old-fashioned, but I desire a connection. And I would want you—that is to say, my partner—to desire the intimacy just as much as I do.”

Is it suddenly extremely hot in here, or is Wei Wuxian just feeling the effects of Lan Wangji uttering one of the sexiest things Wei Wuxian has ever heard him—or possibly anyone—say?

“Um,” he says intelligently. “I think maybe I only know how to do ‘fine.’” Curse his nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter; he feels its absence most intensely in moments such as this. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t reply for far, far too long, but for once Wei Wuxian feels too wrong-footed to fill in the empty space. “Well,” Lan Wangji finally says, “I suppose it’s for the best that this relationship is merely for show, then.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says faintly. “Definitely.”

They’re both quiet again for another agonizingly long period of time, until suddenly Wei Wuxian finds himself being tucked into Lan Wangji’s side, in a half-embrace similar to how Lan Wangji oriented them outside the club earlier.

“How’s this?”

“It’s—great,” Wei Wuxian splutters. “Good. For—why?”

“For touching in public.”

Wei Wuxian had unsurprisingly already forgotten that entire conversation. “Oh, right. Yeah, that’s . . . that’s good.” He shrugs himself out from under Lan Wangji’s arm, not wanting to linger too long and be forced to acknowledge just how pleasant that position really is. “So what now? There’s no shot you really want to stay the night here.” He gestures to his bed, which seems to get worse every time he looks at it. Is the mess multiplying somehow?

“The state of your apartment does trouble me,” Lan Wangji admits. “But I imagine if I were to suddenly leave in the middle of the night, it might invite speculation that we have broken up.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the disbelieving noise he lets out. “Have you ever half-assed anything in your entire life?”

Lan Wangji seems to consider the question with far more thought than it requires. “No.” And then: “Have you ever changed your sheets?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. It’s probably untrue, but he can’t completely recall when he last did, so it’s as good as truth, really.

“Wei Ying,” he says gravely, “you must change your sheets.”

“Lan Zhan,” he replies, matching Lan Wangji’s tone, “in order to do that, I’d need to do laundry. How much time do you have?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh at the flicker of horror that passes over Lan Wangji’s face. “It is not too late to take a taxi to my apartment.” 

“Why? Aren’t you loving it here?” 

“How do you not feel miserable living here?”

Wei Wuxian laughs again, but it’s far less good-natured now, veering more into the territory of self-loathing. “My apologies,” he says, “if I’ve misled you into thinking I’m anything other than miserable.” Lan Wangji purses his lips, clearly not satisfied with this answer, but Wei Wuxian continues, “Your apartment is spotless and you’re not happy either, so what’s your excuse?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have a response to that, it seems, so Wei Wuxian mentally tallies a point in his favor, and then feels stupid for counting an admission of their mutual misery as any kind of victory. 

“Right,” he says, “well. What now? Wanna get undressed?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji admonishes, once again barely repressing his alarm, “I already told you—”

“Get your mind of the gutter! I meant, like, get undressed for bed. Unless you plan to sleep in a three-piece suit.” Wei Wuxian remembers somewhat belatedly that Lan Wangji hasn’t actually agreed to sleep in this hovel. “I think I have some clean sheets I bought one time because I remembered I didn’t have any clean sheets,” he says by way of reassurance.

“That is acceptable, I suppose.” Lan Wangji shrugs off his jacket rather gracefully, and Wei Wuxian feels a bit disappointed that he has to go track down those sheets in lieu of ogling.

He finds them some time later, in the cupboard above the fridge of all places, and makes his triumphant return to the bedroom, where Lan Wangji has unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, in terms of Wei Wuxian’s sanity—finished undressing as much as he plans to. If he wants to sleep in slacks and a button-up shirt, Wei Wuxian probably doesn’t have a solid enough case to convince him otherwise. 

After sweeping the piles of stuff onto the floor, to Lan Wangji's great displeasure, Wei Wuxian puts the new fitted sheet on his bed—by which he means he tries to put the fitted sheet on, fails almost immediately, suggests they each just sleep on a semiclean towel instead, and Lan Wangji takes over the housekeeping process. In a matter of minutes (which Lan Wangji put to good use smoothing out the creases and even putting on a new duvet cover, something Wei Wuxian has certainly never done), the bed looks like something you’d find in a hotel. Or, like, a linens catalogue. 

“It’s not too late to flash your V-cut at me,” Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji as they climb into bed, careful not to touch each other. It only makes Wei Wuxian’s imagination run wild about what it would be like to touch Lan Wangji. 

“We are going to sleep now,” Lan Wangji says. 

Wei Wuxian isn’t sure at first if it’s intended as an order or a prediction, but he knows for sure it can’t be the latter some minutes later when he finds himself staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering which impulsive thought is going to win and disturb the peace.

“Does it bother you that you have to pretend we’re dating even though you’re hot and a good person and I’m not?” Ah, there it is.

“If it bothered me, I would not have agreed to it.” Well. That’s absolutely not the reassurance Lan Wangji might think it is. “And I don’t believe there’s such thing as ‘bad’ people.”

That statement is intriguing enough to make Wei Wuxian sit up in bed. “None at all? Murderers everywhere are flattered you think so, I’m sure.” Wei Wuxian spends the time until Lan Wangji’s response trying to work out if he just compared his own moral character to that of literal murderers.

“The vast majority of murderers murder one person and experience regret for the rest of their lives or have a reason you would likely sympathize with,” Lan Wangji says. “Bad deeds are not the exclusive province of bad people.”

Lan Wangji is so hot when he’s idealistic.

“That is a confusing thing for you to say.”

Fuck, did Wei Wuxian really say that aloud? The exhaustion of the day is really getting to him. 

“But since you mention it, your assertion that you are not, as you say, ‘hot’ is inaccurate.” 

Wei Wuxian gasps mockingly, hoping Lan Wangji won’t detect any of the sincerity in his reaction. “Lan Zhan, are you hitting on me? I thought you were a gentleman.”

“That is not an accurate characterization of wh—”

“So you’re not a gentleman? I’m not gonna lie, that’s hot too.”

“We are going to sleep now.”

“I can’t believe you just implied that you think I’m hot. That’s so embarrassing for you.”

“I was merely responding to—”

“Should we cuddle now?”

“No.”

“Why not? How else are we going to get comfortable with each other?” Wei Wuxian waits through several seconds of silence before setting his cackles free. “You were considering it, weren’t you?”

“Just go to sleep. We have work in the morning.”

“Weird that you know my work schedule,” Wei Wuxian says, because he is deriving a very pure joy from teasing Lan Wangji under the cover of night. “Is it because you’re obsessed with me?” He laughs softly as he hears Lan Wangji turn over onto his side, facing away from Wei Wuxian in an attempt to end the conversation once and for all. 

It’s a little less funny once Wei Wuxian realizes he has to find a way to fall asleep now without succumbing to a spiral of negative thoughts or, worse, more mental images of a scantily clad Lan Wangji. 

He turns onto his side, then onto his stomach, before flipping onto his back again, deciding his original position has the greatest chance of success. He’s about to turn over again, probably to no avail, when Lan Wangji’s hand settles on his arm, gently keeping him in place. 

“Sleep, Wei Ying,” his fake boyfriend says quietly.

Wei Wuxian wants to ridicule him for saying it as though he can just fall asleep on command, but—annoyingly—the light pressure of Lan Wangji’s hand actually does feel weirdly soothing. It’s just like Lan Wangji to be so efficiently minimalist even with something like cuddling. 

“Good night, Lan Zhan,” he whispers back, grateful that his little smile is undetectable in the dark.

Chapter Text

“Sorry about last night,” Wei Wuxian says. Nie Huaisang just blinks at him. “Since I was, y’know, a little rude. Potentially.” His coworker just continues to stare, head cocked to one side. Wei Wuxian doesn’t really know what else Nie Huaisang wants him to say. “I mean, you guys kinda sucked too, but I could’ve handled it better, so . . . apologies?”

Wei Wuxian is now starting to recognize Nie Huaisang’s expression as less expectant and more just blank, so he stops talking, figuring he’s done his part. 

“I don’t get it,” Nie Huaisang says. 

“Well!” Wei Wuxian spins back around in his chair. 

“Not to criticize, but that wasn’t a very good joke,” his coworker adds. “Maybe workshop it a bit and come back to me?”

Wei Wuxian contemplates explaining that it wasn’t a joke and discards the idea as pointless. “Thanks for the feedback.” 

He focuses his attention back on his computer. The actual work he has to do, in the form of donor spreadsheets and infinite unread emails, is too boring to tackle before he’s downed at least another cup of coffee. Instead, he opens an incognito browser (not that he really thinks anyone around here cares what he’s up to on this ancient device) to check some of the day’s gossip rags. 

Happily, he barely features in them at all, shielded as he was by Lan Wangji during his brief appearance outside the bar last night. Even better, the paparazzi seemed much more interested in Nie Huaisang and his designer suit than Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji combined, so most of the coverage focuses on that. It’s always for the best when the media cares more about your attire than your actions, as Wei Wuxian has learned. Maybe he should take a page out of Nie Huaisang’s book and wear something fancy the next time he goes out to give them all something positive to talk about. 

Feeling pleased by this outcome, Wei Wuxian chugs another cup of coffee and bravely prepares to face his email. 

“Oh no,” he says aloud when his inbox dings with a new email from Mr. Yao. The office manager oversees all the minutiae of CRAAP’s budget and supplies; he also happens to be exceptionally petty. No correspondence from Mr. Yao has ever been pleasant or useful.

This one is subject-lined “Regarding a recent incident of delinquency.” 

To whom it may concern, the email begins. Given that Mr. Yao had to type Wei Wuxian’s name into the To field, surely he must know whom this concerns. 

A thorough review has identified you as the perpetrator of water cooler vandalism. 

Regretfully, Wei Wuxian has to assume that whatever Mr. Yao is referring to is way less exciting than he makes it sound. Wei Wuxian would also like to know what constitutes a “thorough review.” He reads on. 

On the ninth of March, you were seen breaking off the blue handle of the water cooler and thus impairing the function of the contraption. 

Wei Wuxian has no recollection of this incident—March must’ve been several millennia ago, or at least a few months—but he suspects Mr. Yao is right that he did it on purpose, if he even did it at all (his coworkers all make much more plausible suspects, in his opinion, given their general incompetence). If he had to guess, he would say he was so bored that he wanted to see if he would be able to put it back on—and likely gave up without actually trying.

To reimburse the labor cost of repairing the handle, please mail a check written in the amount of $5.00 to the company immediately to avoid further disciplinary action. 

Wei Wuxian has no intention of doing any such thing, but he is amused by the request. He swiftly deletes the email without reading further. 

But, by the divine force of Mr. Yao’s power trip, another email pops up in his inbox not a minute later. Heaving a sigh, he clicks on that one too.

Due to the nature of this transgression, if sufficient recompense is not submitted—

Deleting that one as well, Wei Wuxian opens a new email draft and types in Mr. Yao’s email address. In a fit of inspiration, he writes in the subject line, “Regarding a recent incident of electronic threats.”

To whom it definitely concerns,

I am writing to alert you to a concerning set of emails I received from your account this morning accusing me of destroying company property. While I may have both means and motive to do so, I reject the allegation on the grounds of insufficient evidence. If there were any witnesses — which there can’t be, on account of my innocence — they would have been conducting illegal surveillance on me and are potentially guilty themselves. Henceforth you should consider investigating anyone who claims to have seen me do anything wrong. 

Before going to the authorities, I thought it best to report to you that someone sent such an egregious and extortionary email in your name. Fortunately I’m well versed in recognizing scams and did not fall prey to their ransom demands. However, as the victim of this cyberattack, wherein someone hacked your account, you should aim to tighten up your security in future. 

I do not believe in the use of checks, but I will accept a Venmo or Cashapp payment of $5.00 from the company to compensate for the psychological damage this hacker inflicted upon me by making such an outrageous accusation. 

Thank you for your hard work as office manager. I’m sure you will do everything in your power to ensure this doesn’t happen again.

Sincerely,

Wei Wuxian

It gives him no small amount of delight to press send. 

He truly can’t wait for Mr. Yao to file a complaint about him to Dr. Baoshan, since they don’t have an actual human resources department. Dr. Baoshan’s primary method of fielding complaints is pretending not to see them so she can avoid wasting time on tasks that are not related to beetle research. Mr. Yao, who works exclusively from home for reasons Wei Wuxian cannot fathom, has no way to stop her from archiving every email he sends after responding with a halfhearted thumbs-up emoji. 

Wei Wuxian is daydreaming about Mr. Yao getting fired when his phone lights up with a text from Lan Wangji that just says, I have bad news.

Wei Wuxian stares at his phone. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is Lan Wangji gravely ill? Has he somehow encountered Mrs. Yu in the wild and realized that he can’t possibly fake a relationship with Wei Wuxian anymore? Did one of his bunnies die? 

All of the many infinite possibilities for bad news are tap-dancing around Wei Wuxian’s head and he doesn’t enjoy the sensation terribly much, so he drops his phone into the nearest drawer and slams it shut. At some point he imagines he will have to contend with whatever this bad news is, but there’s no law saying he has to deal with it right now if he can put it off for as long as possible. 

“Does anyone want some coffee?” he asks brightly. 

“Oh, that’d be lovely,” Nie Huaisang says. “I’ll have an affogato.”

“Okay. I can offer you . . . regular coffee from the machine.”

Nie Huaisang sighs and shakes his head. “The customer service here is really lacking.”

“Noted. Anyone else?” 

Ouyang Zizhen perks up at the acknowledgment. “Oh, please! I think the coffee maker can sense fear, so I haven’t managed to make any for myself.”

Wei Wuxian generously asks Dr. Baoshan as well. She looks at him like they’ve never met before and asks him for his thoughts on something something taxonomic dung beetle diversity. Wei Wuxian fakes sudden chest pain and removes himself from her office immediately.

In his quest to avoid anything undesirable that Lan Wangji might have said to him, Wei Wuxian even sends a taunting email to Mr. Yao asking if he would like some coffee. He is sure to add that of course in order to acquire the coffee Wei Wuxian made for him he’d have to actually come into the office, and he receives a terse no. Wei Wuxian sidesteps the many outraged replies the officer manager has sent to his previous email regarding the water cooler and gets to work making some more coffee.

By the time he has exhausted this activity and given Ouyang Zizhen a thorough tutorial on how to operate the machine that he knows for sure will not stick, Wei Wuxian feels like it is probably time to be an adult and check his phone, if only so he can avoid looking at spreadsheets for a while longer. (He’s not a perfect person, okay?) 

The awaiting message from Lan Wangji is as follows:

I will unfortunately have to be around 15 minutes late for dinner with your family tomorrow night. I am sorry for the inconvenience. One of my appointments in court got moved slightly later than I was expecting, so the matter is out of my hands. 

is that all??? i was planning to be an hour late at least, Wei Wuxian replies. 

btw in future i would recommend not prefacing neutral information like that with “bad news” bc i am too young and pretty to get stress lines, he adds. 

Understood. I will endeavor to deliver information more appropriately in future to keep you “young and pretty,” as you say. Also, I do not think we should be an hour late to dinner. As discussed, I think lateness is unbecoming. It is bad enough that we will get there at least 15 minutes past the requested arrival time. 

Wei Wuxian tries mightily not to feel some type of way about Lan Wangji calling him pretty, even if it’s in quotation marks. He also tries not to roll his eyes at Lan Wangji’s feelings about punctuality. 

trust me, the more we miss of dinner, the better. but fine 15 mins late it is then

Alright. I will keep you updated about my time in court tomorrow. 

slay

Wei Wuxian thinks that’s the end of the conversation, until Lan Wangji asks, How is your day going?

gr8! i got accused of vandalizing the water cooler so that was kinda funny

I see. I am sure you are capable of handling the situation, but if you need a defense attorney I am at your disposal.

wow boyfriend perks??? u should’ve pitched that before i started a cold war with the office manager

Yes, although defending my own partner in court could pose some ethical concerns that I haven’t navigated before. 

very generous of u to offer despite the ~ethical concerns~ lan zhan! my hero fr. how is ur day

My day has been busy so far. One of my colleagues has a rather disorganized desk and it made me think of you. 

Wei Wuxian’s heart is fluttering so insistently he swears he can feel it rising up into his throat. Sure, he doesn’t necessarily want to be associated with generalized mess that Lan Wangji sees in his day to day, but being thought about by Lan Wangji at all seems rather like a privilege nonetheless. 

i’ll have u know my desk at work is actually very clean. i just put all my disorganized papers and garbage onto my coworkers’ desks! works like a charm

That is certainly an interesting method of keeping it tidy. 

hey btw are ur rabbits named after alvin and the chipmunks

No. Why would they be named after chipmunks? They are rabbits. Furthermore, who is Alvin?

that’s for me to know and for u to be haunted at night by not knowing, i’m afraid

Very well. I have to get to court now, but I hope you have a good day, Wei Ying. I will see you tomorrow.

brace urself dinner is gonna be awful!!!!! have a gr8 day go kick some ass in court 

If there is one thing Wei Wuxian knows with certainty, it’s that no one is going to enjoy the family gathering tomorrow. With a stab of guilt, he recalls that he hasn’t exactly prepared Lan Wangji for just how vicious Mrs. Yu can be—or how ornery Jiang Cheng can be—but he’s holding on to the barest glimmer of desperate hope that his family’s sharp edges will be somewhat dulled by the presence of a witness. 

actually can i call u tonight to give u a little background on my family? it might help avoid some landmines tomorrow lol 

He’s not respecting an immediate response since Lan Wangji is probably on his way into a courtroom, but one arrives nevertheless: Yes. I will be available for a call at 8 p.m. this evening.

ok cool

“Mrs. Yu is . . . a difficult woman to get along with,” Wei Wuxian says, idly twirling a strand of his hair with the hand that isn’t holding his phone to his ear. He’s sprawled across his bed now that it’s not covered in junk (a clean bed, as it turns out, is kind of a nifty contraption). “Specifically if you’re me. I know I’ve already given you a little summary of the family dynamic, but I feel like I would be throwing you to the sharks if I didn’t emphasize in advance just how difficult she can be.”

“I am prepared to handle whatever she might throw at me.”

“Well, ideally she won’t throw anything at you,” Wei Wuxian says with false cheer. “Physical violence isn’t really her thing, luckily!”

Lan Wangji makes a displeased noise on the other end of the phone. “From what you have described to me, I have the impression that she can be rather emotionally abusive. I will—”

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath. “I don’t know if I would say abusive . . .” His laugh sounds nervous even to him. “That seems a bit dramatic, right? She’s just . . . Like, she’s mean, yeah, but . . .”

“I apologize if I overstepped,” Lan Wangji says. “I merely wished to say that I will stand between you and her as necessary. Metaphorically, of course. But if she says anything mean to you, I will be your shield.”

Wei Wuxian listens to this plan with a slack jaw. He wants to laugh again and call Lan Wangji dramatic, but he’s stilled by the mental image of someone standing up to Mrs. Yu. It’s somewhat chilling, but also kind of amazing. “What if she’s mean to you too, though?”

“I’m a lawyer. I assure you I can handle it.”

“Lan Zhan, your lawyer confidence is really sexy sometimes,” Wei Wuxian says without thinking too much about it. It’s probably safe, since Lan Wangji will just interpret it as dedication to the cause of fake-boyfriending in case their phones are being tapped or something. 

“Noted. Was there anything else you wanted to share before tomorrow?”

“Oh, just . . . you’ve met Jiang Cheng, right?”

“A couple times, yes.”

“Okay, then you know he’s a bit grouchy.”

“He has been civil when we interacted, but yes, I am somewhat familiar with his temper.” 

“Just . . . if it’s him, I don’t need you to be my shield or anything. Our relationship is pretty complicated, but we’re okay. We just bring out the worst in each other sometimes, so if it gets a little tense, don’t worry too much about it.”

“I will worry if you seem upset.”

It’s unfortunate that Lan Wangji bore witness to the aftermath of his recent fight with Jiang Cheng, because Wei Wuxian is rather uncomfortable with their sibling dynamic being perceived from the outside. He knows it must look pretty unhealthy and even combative at times, but he also thinks they’ve been doing the best they can after how they were raised. Well, maybe not the best, because they do have a long way to go, but the fact that they have any relationship at all is kind of a miracle. 

“Well . . . let’s just focus on dealing with Mrs. Yu. Jiang Cheng is too emotionally stunted to do any real damage, but she has a sharp enough tongue to cut steel when she’s feeling spiteful. Let’s just hope and pray that she’s in a good mood tomorrow.”

“And your adoptive father? What is he like?”

“Oh, no need to worry about him. He’s completely checked out. Lights on, nobody’s home, you know? I’d probably be the same if I were married to someone like Mrs. Yu for decades.” 

“I see. So he’s emotionally absent?”

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue and half-sits up. “Lan Zhan, where is all this therapy speak coming from? You sound wise beyond your years.”

“I am sorry if I have overstepped again in trying to analyze the situation. I have spent time in therapy in the past, so perhaps that is why.” 

God, his emotional maturity makes Wei Wuxian feel about twelve years old in comparison. “It’s fine. Just try not to throw any of those terms around tomorrow. Mrs. Yu hates therapists; she says they’re all con artists. Actually, while we’re on the subject of things she hates, there’s a few other topics you might want to avoid . . .”

Wei Wuxian lays down again, soothed by Lan Wangji’s acknowledging “Mn”s as he continues to talk, and fervently hopes that tomorrow something will just go right in his life for once. He’s not particularly hopeful, but at least if it all blows up in his face Lan Wangji will be there to absorb some of the impact. That’s the most comforting thought of all, far more than any naive optimism about the night would be. 

Of course, it’s not really fair to Lan Wangji that’s he gotten all tangled up in this mess but—well, life never is, is it? 

Chapter Text

“It’s really not too late to pack it all up and flee to Antarctica.” Wei Wuxian pauses with his fist an inch away from the door and turns back to give Lan Wangji a hopeful look. 

“Traveling to Antarctica would be highly irresponsible.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I have to confront my problems like a grown-up and take personal responsibility?” 

“No. I think tourism in Antarctica is unethical.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him a few times. “Oh. Well. That’s a good point, maybe. Save the polar bears or whatever.”

“Polar bears live in the Arctic.”

“Penguins, then.” Wei Wuxian spins back around to face the door, slightly heartened by the absurdity of the conversation. He’s just a percentage point away from being ready to actually knock when the door is thrust open from the other side. 

“Wei Wuxian! You’re late!”

“And you, my dear brother, are as chipper as ever!” Wei Wuxian tries to tap Jiang Cheng’s nose and gets smacked for his trouble, so he switches gears and claps Jiang Cheng on the shoulder instead. “Were you watching us from the window or did your spidey senses alert you to our arrival?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs off Wei Wuxian’s hand and rolls his eyes. “I could feel a malignant presence outside.” 

“Must be Lan Zhan, then—I’m an angel.” He turns to his fake boyfriend, seeking agreement as he shucks off his shoes in the entryway, and Lan Wangji merely lifts his eyebrows the tiniest amount as he follows suit with slightly more elegance. 

“Well, hurry up. Everyone’s already waiting.”

More ominous words have never been uttered, but luckily Jiang Yanli bursts through the kitchen door to greet them with far more enthusiasm than his brother had shown. 

“A-Xian, Wangji, you made it! I’m so glad you both could be here. I hope you liked what I cooked—”

“A-jie, don’t be ridiculous,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, detaching himself from her hug. She latches on to Lan Wangji next, and he looks quite startled about it but to his credit doesn’t shove her away. “How could we be anything less than utterly delighted by your food?”

She tsks, but he can tell she’s pleased by the compliment. “Oh, hush. I’ll take you through to the living room where a-niang and a-die are waiting.”

“Joy,” Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, low enough that only Lan Wangji seems to catch it. He gives Wei Wuxian a small but encouraging nod.

Mrs. Yu is sitting primly on one end of the couch, while Jiang Fengmian slouches on the other side, as far away as he can reasonably get. 

“You’re late,” she says sharply as soon as she spots them. 

Wei Wuxian silently weighs his options. He could say, Yes, because I didn’t want to come, but that probably wouldn’t be a hit with this crowd. He could also try bullshitting some excuse about traffic, but there’s probably not much point in bothering. 

He has just arrived at the unfortunate conclusion that he’ll have to just apologize outright and see what happens when Lan Wangji says, “Apologies. It is my fault. I had an appointment in court that ran late.”

Mrs. Yu doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with this response at first, because she’d clearly been gearing up to blame Wei Wuxian. “I see. Well, a heads-up would’ve been considerate, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, A-Xian did text me to let me know,” Jiang Yanli says, popping her head in from the kitchen. “It must’ve slipped my mind while I was making dinner.”

Wei Wuxian wishes he could just tell her not to worry about intervening on his behalf, perhaps with an efficient throat-slashing motion, but he knows Mrs. Yu is scrutinizing his every move right now. “Well. Sorry. We’re here now.”

“And are you going to introduce your . . . friend?”

“Right, right.” Wei Wuxian gives a brief introduction of Lan Wangji to his adoptive parents and vice versa, and Lan Wangji gives a polite little bow in greeting. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lan Wangji says. It’s good of him to lie like that.

“You as well,” Jiang Fengmian says. 

They wade through some supremely awkward small talk about the weather or whatever the fuck until Jiang Yanli announces that dinner is ready. Jiang Cheng has been hiding in the kitchen under the guise of setting the table, which is kind of a genius move. 

When all six of them are seated at the table—Lan Wangji on his left, his two siblings across the table, and the parents at each end—the tension is immediately palpable. A sword probably couldn’t even cut through it.

“So,” Jiang Fengmian says to Lan Wangji, “I hear you’re a lawyer?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. “Yes. I’m a defense attorney.”

“Ah, that must be quite an interesting field. I—”

Mrs. Yu scoffs loudly. “Yes, I wonder if it is interesting, releasing rabble back onto the streets every day.”

Wei Wuxian wants to just bang his head against the table at this point, but Lan Wangji meets her gaze impassively. “Some might characterize it that way. But I believe that everyone is entitled to a fair trial, and that means having a defense attorney. Do you not agree?”

Across the table, Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows at Wei Wuxian, no doubt wondering how this is going to go, and Wei Wuxian gives a tiny shrug in response. 

“That sounds reasonable,” Jiang Fengmian starts, but he gets interrupted again.

“And what if I don’t think we should be wasting public resources on despicable criminals?”

“I’d ask how you plan to determine whether someone is deserving of a defense without going through the process of a trial to see what the evidence suggests,” Lan Wangji says calmly.

“Dinner is really good, a-jie,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Yeah, it’s delicious,” Wei Wuxian agrees readily.

“Yes, very good,” Jiang Fengmian adds.

“How do you sleep at night, knowing the kinds of people you defend?” Mrs. Yu is evidently not prepared to drop the matter however uncomfortable it makes the rest of the table, or perhaps even because of how uncomfortable it is. 

“I sleep just fine knowing I am helping our justice system run as intended to maintain a functioning society.” 

“And you don’t worry at all about the murderers and rapists you’ve helped free?”

“If anyone I defended is now free, it is because a jury of their peers did not think there was sufficient evidence to convict them.”

“Hm.” Mrs. Yu has become accustomed to cleaving her way through every conversation, which is much easier to do with her husband or children than with Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian tries not to let his fascination show on his face while watching this exchange. 

Jiang Fengmian clears his throat. “Must we really get into debates about the legal system while we’re trying to have dinner?” 

“Who asked you?” she snaps back at him. “I’m merely trying to assess the moral character of this person Wei Wuxian has brought into our home. Perhaps you should be a little more concerned.”

Wei Wuxian takes this moment of distraction to lean over to Lan Wangji and whispers, “Sorry about all this.” 

Lan Wangji takes his hand under the table and squeezes it. Wei Wuxian thinks he’ll let go after a second, but he doesn’t, and it feels weirdly comforting in a way he didn’t expect. He doesn’t want to come to rely on that sort of comfort when it’s not actually real, but he tells himself it won’t do any harm if he just holds on a little bit longer.

“So, where’s Jin Zixuan tonight?” Wei Wuxian asks, hoping to change the subject. He’d never claim to miss Jiang Yanli’s husband, but having another potential human shield could’ve been useful.

“Ah, he’s away at a conference for a few days,” Jiang Yanli says with a slight smile. 

“At least he actually has a real job, unlike my useless children.”

Jiang Cheng gives his mother a wounded look. “I have a real job, a-niang.” 

Jiang Cheng has a boring job, that much Wei Wuxian knows. He’s vice president of something for some company doing . . . something. 

Mrs. Yu may not show her children as much hostility as she does Wei Wuxian, but she’s not particularly kind or motherly with them either. Wei Wuxian tries not to wince as he watches the disapproving look she shoots in Jiang Cheng’s direction, and the way it makes his brother shrivel. “Are you in charge of a company? As far as I recall, you’re a measly underling. I didn’t raise you to be second best, and yet you’ve been losing to others your entire life.” Her glare finds Wei Wuxian, as it always does in the end. 

He used to be just as eager to impress her as Jiang Cheng was, but any success he had in school or sports or anything really just seemed to enrage her. To Mrs. Yu, every achievement of his was an attack on Jiang Cheng, and his brother could only hold his ground for so long before he started seeing things that way too. It’s been a long time since Wei Wuxian really tried to succeed at anything, but that silent competition has never let up.

No matter how small he makes himself, in Mrs. Yu’s eyes he’s always taking up too much space. 

“A-niang, I’m on track to get promoted when the company president steps down! It’s just not—he’s not that old; it may be a few years before he reti—”

“And what about your love life? You don’t think it’s concerning at your age to still be single? Even Wei Wuxian managed to find someone—God only knows how. What’s wrong with you that you can’t find a partner?”

“I’m—I’m just really focused on my career right now,” Jiang Cheng says quietly.

Wei Wuxian eyes him warily. He knows what a sore subject this is, but he can’t decide whether his attempt to intervene would make things better or worse for Jiang Cheng, considering how Mrs. Yu likes to compare the two of them.

“A-Cheng is really thriving at work,” Jiang Yanli says. “He’s very busy with th—”

“And you—why haven’t you given me a grandchild yet? Do you think I’m getting any younger? What if I don’t even live to see your children, as long as you’re taking?” Jiang Yanli’s face is utterly stricken as she faces her mother, but Mrs. Yu isn’t done. “And what is all this?” She gestures at the spread of food on the table. “Cooking, as if you’re the help? That’s what we have servants for.” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows are nearly climbing off his face. “Oh, that's not—” 

“You have no idea how difficult it is, raising children, only to watch them flounder in mediocrity.” 

Wei Wuxian manages not to snort at that, but it’s a near thing. It’s not really funny, except it is a little funny, only because Yu Ziyuan’s children are anything but ordinary. Jiang Cheng is the youngest VP his company has ever had, and Jiang Yanli is the sous chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant; it’s a miracle she’d managed to get tonight off at all. 

“I think they’re doing pretty well, actually,” Wei Wuxian offers, because he’s bitten his tongue far too much tonight. “If that’s mediocrity, the rest of us are doomed.”

If he’d had any wine tonight, he’d be giggling by now at the daggers in her eyes. “Well, since you brought it up, let’s talk about your career, then. Do you know how embarrassing it is for me when people find out you work with dung beetles? Have you no regard for this family’s reputation?”

“Technically, I work for dung beetles,” Wei Wuxian corrects, almost amused at the memory of saying the same thing to Lan Wangji on their first date.

“They are extremely ecologically important,” Lan Wangji adds in his classic deadpan tone. “Wei Ying is doing vital work for our planet. I would not consider that mediocre.”

“That’s nice,” Jiang Fengmian says absently. 

“I think that’s lovely,” Jiang Yanli says.

Mrs. Yu gives a magnificent eye roll. “You would, you silly girl.”

“Ziyuan, your food is getting cold. Yanli worked hard to make it. Why don’t you just—?”

“How can you eat at a time like this?” she demands.

“Well . . .” Jiang Fengmian looks a bit nonplussed. “It’s good food.”

Jiang Yanli whispers a quiet thanks as Mrs. Yu goes on another tirade about everything she hates about her husband and his priorities. She seems to be in a particularly foul mood tonight. Wei Wuxian isn’t necessarily surprised by how cruel she’s being, but he did think most of it would be focused on him. He honestly would prefer it that way if it didn’t mean Lan Wangji getting caught in the crossfire this time. He doesn’t know if she’s in some kind of pain that’s making her more bloodthirsty than normal or if she just woke up today and chose equal-opportunity violence, but either way no one is having a good time right now.

Maybe he should just be grateful that she seems to have lost interest in Lan Wangji upon realizing she couldn’t gain the upper hand. Or maybe he should be worried about what else she might have up her sleeve.

Wei Wuxian suddenly becomes very aware that his hand is still clasped in Lan Wangji’s, and he gives it an experimental squeeze. Lan Wangji squeezes back, and a quiet thrill runs through him, as if they’re having a secret conversation. 

Jiang Fengmian tries to strike up another discussion with Lan Wangji, but Mrs. Yu takes over like a professional hijacker. 

“How did you two meet, anyway? Was Wei Wuxian a client of yours?” she asks.

At this, Wei Wuxian cannot suppress a snort. “No, but that would make for an exciting story.”

“I introduced them, actually,” Jiang Yanli pipes up. “His family knows Zixuan’s.” 

“Ah, yes, the Lan family. I heard your mother served time for manslaughter. Is that where your inclination to defend criminals stems from?”

An eerie silence settles over the table—or maybe it just feels that way because Wei Wuxian is so taken aback by the words. It takes him a moment to return to his senses, but when he does he realizes he’s squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand tightly enough to bruise. He loosens his hold a little but doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t know anything about Lan Wangji’s family—he’s only mentioned his uncle, never his mother. Frankly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be in possession of any information that Lan Wangji has not disclosed on his own, and he wishes there was something he could’ve done to keep Mrs. Yu out of Lan Wangji’s business, but she’s like a bulldozer. No stone in her path is ever left undisturbed. 

“A-niang,” Jiang Yanli entreats.

“Is that entirely appropriate?” Jiang Fengmian is frowning at his wife.

Jiang Cheng is staring at Wei Wuxian, his mouth downturned in a grimace. Wei Wuxian gives him a tiny, confused head shake. He’s trying to come up with something to say that could derail this whole mess, but Lan Wangji beats him to it.

“My mother’s choices do not have any bearing on my own.” His voice is perhaps slightly stiffer than normal, but otherwise you could hardly tell he’s bothered by that nuclear bomb of a question. “But I suppose you could say we are all affected by our parents in one way or another.”

“Hmph.” Mrs. Yu sits back in her chair, her food hardly touched. “Well, yes. Just look at Wei Wuxian. A good-for-nothing, just like his parents.”

Wei Wuxian can’t even spare any hurt or outrage about this statement, because it’s hardly a surprise what Mrs. Yu thinks of him or his parents. 

“Wei Ying is not a ‘good-for-nothing.’” 

This may not be appropriate for the moment at hand, but Lan Wangji sounds kinda sexy when he’s displeased.

“Ziyuan, that’s quite enough.” Jiang Fengmian’s voice is firm in a rare display of backbone. 

“Of course that’s what gets you riled up,” Mrs. Yu says, her acidic voice by contrast. “Not a word against your precious Cangse Sanren—”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says mildly. If the pressure of Lan Wangji’s hand weren’t anchoring him to this mortal plane, he’d probably have tried to astral project to another dimension or something by now. “Let’s maybe not go there! What if we talked about literally anything else instead? The weather, anyone?”

“It’s been really warm recently,” Jiang Yanli says helpfully.

“I don’t like it,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Fine,” Mrs. Yu says, rising dramatically out of her chair. “I can sense when I’m not wanted. I feel ill, anyway, so I’ll take my leave.” 

Jiang Cheng shoots to his feet, too, instantly alarmed. “A-niang, are you okay? Are you sick?” He follows her out of the room, hovering anxiously around her as he goes. He’ll probably get a verbal lashing for his troubles, but Wei Wuxian has no interest in interfering, and Jiang Yanli looks reluctant to move either. 

Jiang Fengmian heaves a sigh that’s pretty characteristic of someone who has been married to Yu Ziyuan for decades. “I’m going for a drive. It was nice to meet you, young man. I hope the two of you will make each other happy.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. “The pleasure is mine.”

“I apologize for”—Jiang Fengmian waves a hand, then rubs his chin—“all of this. Wuxian, Yanli, it was good to see you.” 

Wei Wuxian and his sister both give him a slight bow and some halfhearted words of farewell, and then he’s gone too.

“I’ll just—I’ll clean this up.” Jiang Yanli starts gathering plates until Wei Wuxian reaches over and slides them out of her hands.

“You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

“I’ll help,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian tries to protest, because he’s already subjected Lan Wangji to this dumpster fire of a family dinner in this lion’s den, but Lan Wangji won’t take no for an answer and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the mental fortitude to argue. 

“Thank you both. I’ll just go check on A-Cheng.” Jiang Yanli leaves with a worried look that’s probably warranted. If Wei Wuxian had to guess, he’d say Mrs. Yu had gotten irked by Jiang Cheng’s fussing and thrown him out of her room, so he’s probably sulking in one of the guest rooms right about now.

“That was . . . a lot,” Lan Wangji says in a low voice as they bring stacks of dishes into the kitchen. 

“Honestly, that went better than I expected,” Wei Wuxian says flippantly.

Lan Wangji carefully sets some plates down on the counter and turns to him with a mildly furrowed brow. “Wei Ying. There is no need to make light of this.”

“Me? Making light of a serious and borderline traumatizing situation? That doesn’t sound like me at all, Lan Zhan.” He offers a cheeky grin, hoping this will convince Lan Wangji to move on, but he’s not so lucky. Lan Wangji’s hard stare does not let up. Wei Wuxian can feel it on him as they go to gather some of the glasses and cutlery still on the table. “Look, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this,” he says once they’re back in the kitchen, sorting various items into the dishwasher. “I didn’t know she’d bring up your family; that was way over the line, so I won’t blame you at all if you want to fake break up with me over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I will not.”

“And you won’t run screaming to the nearest journalist to tell them what a horrifying mess we are?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well . . . good. Hopefully your family gatherings are just as fucked up so we can be even.”

“Is it always like this?” 

“Yeah, kinda. I dunno—she’s probably in a better mood when I’m not around, but I doubt it’s by much.” 

“I am sorry you have to deal with this. It must be difficult.”

Wei Wuxian almost drops the glass he’s about to put in the dishwasher, but he saves it just in time. Quite a relief—the last thing he needs is to make a mess of the kitchen after the way tonight has gone. At least for once he can say it was mostly not his fault—he’d hardly said anything at all to provoke her this time. 

“Ah, thanks, Lan Zhan. We really don’t have to talk about it, though. Once the dishes are done we can just slip out of here and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Will your siblings be alright if we just leave?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “A-jie is a trooper, and Jiang Cheng is, like, the patron saint of mommy issues. Surely he’s used to it by now.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” another voice says from behind them. Wei Wuxian was expecting his brother to be in a fiery rage right about now, as he often is after his mother lashes out like that, but instead he just seems thoroughly defeated. 

Wei Wuxian closes the dishwasher with a snap. “Where’s a-jie?”

He doesn’t have to wonder long, because his sister pops into the doorway behind Jiang Cheng. “A-niang is resting now,” she says. “She wanted to thank you for coming, though.”

Wei Wuxian bites down on a mocking laugh. “I’m sure she did.”

Jiang Yanli’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t confirm or deny. Jiang Cheng looks far less mirthful, but then again he’s practically allergic to mirth of any variety these days. 

“She’s not usually like that,” Jiang Cheng says, watching Lan Wangji tidy up some crumbs on the counter. “She’s just under a lot of stress right now.”

Wei Wuxian wants to sincerely ask Jiang Cheng what family he’s been part of for the last few decades if he thinks this is out of character for Mrs. Yu—but he suspects Jiang Cheng is comforted by his delusions of a once-normal family, so he doesn’t bother. 

They’ve never been anything close to a normal or functional family, as long as Wei Wuxian has been part of it. Mrs. Yu was at least absent for a lot of it, as busy as she was with her acting career, but that meant Jiang Yanli as the oldest was forced to grow up far faster than she should have. He still doesn’t know how to ever repay her for that, but it’s a constant ache in him that he has no way to give his sister her childhood back. She swears she never minded taking care of them, but her selfless nature does nothing to appease Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji gives a faint hum of acknowledgment as he inspects the now-spotless counter.

“We should go get a drink,” Wei Wuxian says, which draws a trio of stares. “I meant, like, milkshakes!”

“I wouldn’t want to impose if you three would prefer some time together just as family,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian pokes his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re practically trauma-bonded with us now.” 

He’s a little wary that saying that might set Jiang Cheng off—it’s always hard to tell with him—but his brother just rolls his eyes. “Please. He hasn’t seen anything yet.” 

A short while later finds the four of them tucked into a booth at an ice cream shop. 

Wei Wuxian’s go-to flavor is chocolate, of course, but he has opted for a lemon milkshake this time so he could tempt Lan Wangji to have some, since his fake boyfriend declined to order one for himself; he had seemed really into that lemon dessert on their date. Lan Wangji may be rather angsty about his sugar intake, but he deserves some after a night like this. Wei Wuxian had worn him down with an extra straw and a winning smile—not to mention sheer force of will.

Jiang Cheng is squinting at them as he sips his Oreo milkshake, ever the skeptic. Jiang Yanli has her usual strawberry in front of her—they’re all creatures of habit, really. 

“Too bad Jin Zixuan couldn’t come,” Wei Wuxian says. “Was he scared off by your mother asking about his sperm count last time?” 

Jiang Cheng snickers into his cup, while Jiang Yanli just shakes her head in good-natured exasperation. “He really is away on business. I’m sure he would’ve loved—well, maybe not loved, but he would’ve come!”

“Don’t worry.” Wei Wuxian nudges Lan Wangji, sliding their shared milkshake over to him again. “She won’t ask you about your reproductive abilities. She definitely doesn’t want me procreating.” He chuckles at his own joke, but Lan Wangji still looks bemused. 

“She wants me to procreate,” Jiang Cheng says gloomily. “I don’t even want kids. They’re so sticky.”

“They’re cute, though.” Jiang Yanli stirs her drink with her straw. “If I had a baby, it could take the pressure off of you, A-Cheng, but it’s just . . .”

“Well, don’t do it for my sake,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “I’ve dodged her complaints for this long; I’ll be fine.”

Jiang Yanli sighs. “I do want kids. I just wish the timing were better. With my job, it’s just—I can’t right now.”

“I’m with Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian announces, trying to bring back some levity even though saying those particular words feels wrong on some cosmic level. “Children are icky and make no sense.”

“They can be difficult to reason with,” Lan Wangji agrees. 

“Well, now I’m picturing you going all lawyer mode on an innocent toddler, so that’s kind of amazing.”

“You’re never too young to learn the basic principles of logic.”

“I’m sure you knew them straight out of the womb, Lan Zhan.” Laughing, Wei Wuxian pulls his gaze away from Lan Wangji only to find both his siblings watching him. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” His sister gives him an enigmatic smile. “You just make a good couple, that’s all.”

“Well—” Wei Wuxian cuts himself off with an awkward huff of laughter. “Good that we’re convincing, then.”

“Yes,” his fake boyfriend echoes. “That is good.”

“You’re convincing enough to give me the ick,” Jiang Cheng offers. He’s either being reassuring or scathing. Both options are equally likely. 

“Hey, hey. We could be so much worse. You should be grateful we’re not sharing a straw and playing footsie under the table.”

Lan Wangji’s brow wrinkles slightly at the thought. “We will not be doing that.”

Right, of course, because they’re not really dating and that would push beyond the bounds of what’s necessary for verisimilitude. Well, that’s fine, because Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to do gross couple things anyway, and his inner self is definitely not giggling and kicking his feet at the thought. 

Jiang Yanli reaches out to pat Lan Wangji’s hand. “Wangji, I’m sorry your introduction to our family wasn’t more pleasant. I hope this won’t discourage you from continuing to pursue a relationship with A-Xian.”

“A fake relationship, you mean,” Wei Wuxian says before Lan Wangji has a chance to. He finds it stings less if he’s the one to bring it up.

“I am not discouraged. I suspect meeting my family will not be seamless for Wei Ying either, so there’s no need to apologize.”

Wei Wuxian sets down the milkshake with a sour expression that’s not from the lemon flavor. “Oh, god. Is it too late to bail on that and only get the fun parts of fake dating you?”

“Typical Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng mutters. Wei Wuxian wants to dispute that but, well . . . yeah. Pretty much. 

He turns his head and just barely catches the frosty look Lan Wangji is sending Jiang Cheng. His brother scowls back, but the effect is diminished by the hot pink milkshake cup in his hand. 

“It is too late for that, yes.”

Wei Wuxian likes the thought of that far too much—of being in too deep to stop now. He can tell himself over and over that this is all a mirage and he can’t get attached, but that doesn’t extinguish the buzz that settles over him every time it feels real. It’s a million times more addicting than alcohol ever could be, and he doesn’t really know at this point how he’s going to give it up when the time comes for this arrangement to end. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian does his due diligence by following up with Lan Wangji no less than eight times the next day to confirm he hasn’t been permanently traumatized by his encounter with Mrs. Yu. Lan Wangji assures him no less than eight times that he hasn’t been.

Of course, he also works hard in the name of verisimilitude, bombarding Lan Wangji’s phone with random thoughts and memes throughout the day. Lan Wangji doesn’t always respond immediately, given the whole “job” thing and all, but he does always respond eventually, and Wei Wuxian finds himself quite pleased by this fact. 

should i get a cat, Wei Wuxian asks after Lan Wangji responds,  That is humorous. to a cat video Wei Wuxian had sent. 

No.

Wei Wuxian pouts at his phone, careful to angle his face away from his coworkers lest they try to involve themselves. 

why not!!!

He’s expecting Lan Wangji to come up with something boring and unnecessarily candid, like “You’re not responsible enough to own a cat,” for example. But instead, Lan Wangji replies, Cats eat rabbits. 

hm good point ig

Wei Wuxian leans back in his chair, wincing at the thought of a cat eating Lan Wangji’s pets, but then another thought occurs to him. 

but wait lan zhan it’s not like we’re ever gonna live tg lol so does that matter??? 

Maybe Lan Wangji just dislikes the predators of rabbits on principle. Wei Wuxian doesn’t get any answers, though, because Lan Wangji just says, I have to go to court now. Goodbye. 

ok but when u get back can u tell me if ur rabbits are named electron, proton, and neutron and if so which of them did u decide has negative energy

Those are obviously not their names.

Wei Wuxian snickers to himself at the reply.

That night, when Wei Wuxian receives a package in the mail, he snaps a picture and sends it to his fake boyfriend. Surely these are the kinds of mundane life updates that people in relationships share. 

He gets a single question mark back.

it’s a pack of bubble wands! he explains. i don’t even remember ordering them so they’re basically free

If he had to guess, he’d say the purchase happened one day when he was at work and one or more of his coworkers were pestering him about being bored and he’d googled “ways to distract annoying children” or something. He’s not sure if Ouyang Zizhen will appreciate a bubble wand, but it’s worth a shot. He’ll save another one for Jin Ling just because he knows it’ll send the younger man into a tantrum. 

It’s not free simply because you don’t remember paying for it.

is that true??? that can’t be true

A grin unfurls across Wei Wuxian’s face as he imagines Lan Wangji giving his phone a stern look right now. 

Yes, it is true. Why did you purchase these? 

for emergencies of course 

That earns him another question mark.

u haven’t ever been in a sticky situation where u thought “gee if only i had a bubble wand right now this could all be resolved”????

No. 

u gotta get out of the house more lan zhan

Is this your way of inviting me over?

Wei Wuxian’s brows climb higher on his forehead as he reads this message. That Lan Wangji is so slippery sometimes, isn’t he? 

no bc i know ur too traumatized by the state of my apartment to ever return

I would brave it if necessary.

Wei Wuxian shifts his phone to his other hand, chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplates. 

hm...i’ll get back to u on this matter in 5-7 business days

If it’ll take that long, you could just come here. 

Admittedly, it’s a bit of an effort not to let his jaw drop at the invitation. He would consider it if he hadn’t just glanced around his living room and been struck with the sudden revelation that perhaps all his problems could be solved if he just cleaned his apartment. 

u drive a hard bargain! 1-3 business days then

Alright. 

Wei Wuxian pulls himself out of his deep slouch on the sofa and into a standing position to survey the room. He tosses his phone back down onto the couch, then thinks it’s probably not a great start to his cleaning mission to just be throwing his belongings around, so he hastily picks it back up and slides it into his pocket. 

Or at least he’s about to do so, when he’s suddenly confronted with it buzzing. 

He sends up a silent prayer to no one in particular that this call will be someone pleasant, like Jiang Yanli calling to chat or Lan Wangji deciding to confess his deep attraction to and admiration of Wei Wuxian. Or, you know, something more realistic than that last one. 

Unfortunately, the prayer seems to be received by a spiteful deity. 

Mrs. Yu, the screen says. Wei Wuxian has on many occasions contemplated changing her contact name to something more befitting their dynamic—Satan, perhaps?—but if Jiang Cheng ever saw it he’d probably be dramatic enough about it that the idea loses some of its allure. 

Wei Wuxian answers the call gingerly, the way one might attempt to defuse a bomb, and holds it a couple inches away from his ear, in case she’s calling to yell about something. 

It’s silent. He waits for her to speak first. And just when he’s starting to think she called him by mistake, she says, “Are you trying to turn my children against me?”

Well, at least it’s a somewhat fresh spin on a common allegation of Wei Wuxian ruining their family. “No?”

There’s an odd quality to her voice that makes Wei Wuxian think this won’t be a typical conversation with Mrs. Yu. He walks over to kitchen counter to lean against it for a bit of support. 

“They won’t pick up my calls. How is it you’re the only one who picks up?”

“You just got unlucky, I guess,” Wei Wuxian says blithely. “They’re probably just busy.”

There’s silence again, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t think it’s because Mrs. Yu is pondering his words.

“I know you think I’m a terrible mother.” 

To Wei Wuxian, this serves as pretty compelling evidence that Mrs. Yu is calling him in a less-than-sober state right now. He’s only encountered her like this once before, but that was enough of an experience for it to be memorable. 

He also has no clue what to say to that, but she’s probably not expecting much in the way of actual conversation. If he were to answer honestly, he’d tell her she definitely won’t be winning any awards for her parenting. He can excuse the way she has always treated him, because he knows what his presence in the Jiang family represents to her. But he can’t really find it in him to applaud her parenting skills when she has given both her children mommy issues probably for life. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she murmurs. The sharp edges of her voice have been sawed off, presumably by whatever she’s been drinking, and there’s a strange melancholy in her words instead. “If you don’t toughen them up, the world will. They were always such sensitive children . . . I knew they wouldn’t stand a chance if I coddled them.” 

“You probably didn’t have to actively traumatize them, though,” Wei Wuxian says in a low enough voice that she won’t actually hear it. He knows it’s not his place to defend his siblings to their mother; they wouldn’t want him to. 

“But even now, I know they’re not strong enough. What more can I do?” 

“I think you’ve probably done enough, actually,” Wei Wuxian says, a little louder this time. Mrs. Yu seems content to monologue by herself, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. 

“You’re the only one who could actually survive in this industry,” she muses. “How could I not resent you for that?”

Wei Wuxian drums his fingers on the counters and tries not to sigh too loud.

“I hate worrying about you and feeling obligated to you as if you were my own child. You’re not.”

His fingers still. She probably just means worrying about him fucking things up all the time, but been still, the thought of her worrying about him at all makes his throat tighten. She may not consider him her child, but Wei Wuxian can’t say he never formed any attachment to her when he was young and his own parents had just died. Even now, as awful as he finds her, he thinks he’d probably still jump at the chance for a scrap of her affection or approval. 

“Believe me, I know.”

“Why is it—why do I—?” She doesn’t finish her question, and Wei Wuxian certainly isn’t going to press further into destabilizing territory. He knows a minefield when he sees one. “They won’t answer. Why won’t they answer?” He hears her take a sip of something. “They don’t understand everything I’ve done for them. They don’t know.”

Wei Wuxian senses this conversation taking a steep turn downhill. “I’m sure they will call you as soon as they can.” 

“If their father weren’t so useless, it wouldn’t always have to be up to me.” She clicks her tongue. “Never trust a man. Are you listening to me?”

“Mhm. Sound advice, yep. I’ll be sure to stop trusting my boyfriend immediately.”

My boyfriend rolls off the tongue much more smoothly than my fake boyfriend, Wei Wuxian thinks. Not that it’s relevant. 

“Hm. Your boyfriend . . .” He really can’t tell what she might be thinking. “You really disappoint me, you know that?”

He can’t help but snort at that—and just hope she’s a bit too drunk to register it. “Well, can’t win ’em all.”

The phone goes silent, and it only takes a few beats to realize it’s because Mrs. Yu hung up. Wei Wuxian shakes his head as if that might clear it, but he’s not even sure there’s much to clear. If he were still in the habit of trying to decode Mrs. Yu, he’d be approximately a million times more miserable and confused than he already is on a daily basis. 

Instead, he texts Jiang Cheng: being flaky and avoidant is my thing stop trying to encroach on my territory!!! 

Idk what you’re talking about but shut the fuck up

answering my text right away...suspicious...it’s almost like...ur avoiding ur mom’s calls...

Did she call you?

ya we had a long, touching heart-to-heart

Lol. As if

u know it sends a chill down my spine when u say lol!!!! 

I’m not avoiding her. I’m just busy.

busy...avoiding ur mother...

You of all people should understand.

damn if ur admitting we share a common understanding things must be dire!

I just need a break today. Is that not allowed? 

dude if she called me to ask about my love life and career as often as she calls u i’d be on the ledge rn

Yeah well

personally i think ur on the right track! if u keep picking up less frequently she won’t freak out as much every single time u don’t answer 

You think that would actually work? 

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows at his phone. If Jiang Cheng is soliciting advice from Wei Wuxian, he must be practically at rock bottom. He’s half-expecting his brother to come to his senses at any moment and snap at Wei Wuxian, but he’s definitely not going to turn down a free pass to come between Jiang Cheng and Mrs. Yu. That’s his philanthropic duty of the day. 

distance can be good 👍 just pretend to be busier! or actually be busier. btw can u come be busy at my apartment i need u to sit there and be judgmental so i feel inspired to clean it

You? Cleaning? Don’t make me laugh

hey hey hey i am a man of many depths and capabilities

Why are you cleaning all of a sudden anyway

no reason, just felt like it! spring cleaning and all

Is this because of Lan Wangji?

who??

I’m not coming over tonight.

ok tomorrow then

No!!

i will rally the cavalry

You can’t make me. 

who said anything about me making u? i’m gonna get a-jie to make u come

Fuck

Rallying the cavalry is slightly easier said than done, of course. Jiang Yanli agrees immediately, but she also tries to invite Jin Zixuan, which automatically ruins the entire occasion. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to dissuade her. 

Jin Ling says he won’t come, because Jin Ling is a brat, but then he shows up anyway claiming he just happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to see what a disaster Wei Wuxian’s apartment is. It’s too bad that Wei Wuxian probably can’t lightly kick him in the shin with Jiang Yanli around. 

Wen Qing and Mianmian agree to attend as spectators, but based on their expressions when they see Wei Wuxian’s apartment, he’s pretty sure they’ll be horrified into action with just a slight nudge. 

The only other helpful person here besides Jiang Yanli is Wen Ning, though Wei Wuxian does suspect his enthusiasm will vastly outweigh his skill at domestic tasks. Wei Wuxian loves the kid, but he does seem a little bit useless (not that he would ever say that in front of Wen Qing).

Once the last person—a scowling Jiang Cheng—arrives, Wei Wuxian is about to give a rousing motivational speech that will have them all tripping over themselves to help him clean his apartment (or something like that) when there’s a knock on the door. 

Wei Wuxian grimaces, assuming it’s his neighbor who is so anti-gathering that she has called the police on him just for watching a TV show in which the characters had a party. She has probably psychically divined that there’s technically enough people at his apartment right now to constitute a party—or perhaps she was just watching from the window as they all arrived. 

But when he opens the door, it’s Nie Huaisang standing there with a smile. “I’m here!”

“Sorry, were you invited?” Wei Wuxian asks, not really caring how rude that might come across as he turns to give Jiang Cheng a bemused look. The last he checked, Nie Huaisang is not in their group chat, and the only other person he knows here is Jiang Cheng. 

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t invite him,” his brother says.

“Oh, really? I could’ve sworn you did!” And with no more explanation than that, Nie Huaisang strolls in and perches on one arm of the couch while some of the others politely introduce themselves.

“A wild card, that one,” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. He claps his hands then to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, greetings, brethren. Thank you f—”

Wen Qing wrinkles her nose. “Brethren? Doesn’t that imply some of us are men?”

“Ew,” Mianmian says supportively. 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Comrades, then! Thanks for gathering here today t—”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Jin Ling interrupts. Jiang Cheng fist-bumps him. 

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus your shirt is ugly,” Wei Wuxian says breezily. “Just so we’re clear, if anyone interrupts me again I’m going to kill myself in front of you and forever change the trajectory of your lives.”

He sees Jiang Yanli typing something on her phone, which is suspicious, especially when his phone buzzes in his hand with a new text. 

Not funny!! Also this doesn’t count as an interruption because I didn’t say it out loud!!!

Making a heroic effort not to sigh again, Wei Wuxian puts his phone in his pocket and claps his hands again. At least a few of them stop chatting amongst themselves, which is good enough, probably. 

“Listen, our mission today is very simple. We just need to make my apartment seem less like a hazardous waste dump and more like an apartment that Lan Zhan would reasonably want to come to.” 

Nie Huaisang raises his hand. “Why does he need to come here if you’re not actually dating?”

Wei Wuxian takes a second to clear his throat before replying. “For verisimilitude.”

Nie Huaisang, that bastard, raises his hand again. Wei Wuxian tries to ignore it, but of course he speaks anyway. “And what will you be doing in this apartment for veri-whatever you said?”

“Wh—? Just normal apartment things!” Wei Wuxian says hastily. It’s deeply, deeply unfortunate that at that moment the question takes his mind slightly off track and he can feel his face start to grow hot. 

Jiang Cheng makes a helpful retching noise. “Eugh! I’m not cleaning your apartment so you can have sex with Lan Wangji here!”

“No one was talking about sex!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, scrambling to defend himself. “Trust me, Lan Zhan super, super does not want to have sex with me. But the success of our fake relationship hinges on me having a clean apartment! I won’t be taking any more questions at this time. Now, does anyone have any cleaning supplies?”

Jin Zixuan scoffs. “We were supposed to bring supplies to clean your apartment? Why don’t you have them?”

“I used them all up,” Wei Wuxian lies. “What are you, some kind of lawyer?”

“No, but your boyfriend is,” Nie Huaisang says helpfully.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Oh no, did you break up?”

Wei Wuxian feels his eye twitch slightly as he stares down Nie Huaisang’s unconvincingly affable expression. Surely the only explanation is that his coworker is 100 percent fully evil, right? 

“I brought cleaning supplies!” Jiang Yanli, his savior, holds up a bag. 

Wei Wuxian could weep with relief. “Great! Let’s go with those!” And then he remembers something, so he grabs two bubble wands out of the box still on the table before handing them to Jin Ling and Wen Ning. “Special cleaning supplies for the babies in the group!”

“I’m not a baby,” Jin Ling grouses. “What am I even supposed to do with this?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Just blow bubbles at stuff. There’s soap in there. I think.”

Wen Ning actually looks excited at this prospect, but Jin Ling’s face expectedly scrunches with aggravation. Wei Wuxian can see other members of the group poorly concealing their laughter. 

“Cool,” Nie Huaisang says. “Where’s mine?”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian had been hoping—well, in his usual pessimistic, halfhearted way—that once he overcame the barrier of beginning to clean, the rest would come naturally. Unfortunately, his apartment will have to get much worse before it can get better, or at least that’s how it seems as he and his companions work on excavating all the garbage.

Having a group of friends at his disposal does work somewhat to make it feel less overwhelming, but being perceived at his lowest is rather excruciating. Especially because Jin Zixuan is here. Wei Wuxian gives him an extra scowl for good measure. 

Jiang Yanli has set them up with a tidying system that Wei Wuxian does not fully understand but is doing his best to follow nonetheless. Jiang Cheng’s self-chosen method of helping is just to pick up random objects and demand to know why they’re on the floor or buried under a pile of seven jackets instead of in the garbage or in a drawer somewhere. 

“Is that not where those go?” Wei Wuxian drawls when Jiang Cheng finds a box of Shrek band-aids underneath the shoe rack. 

Wen Qing is markedly more helpful than Jiang Cheng, but her assistance is punctuated by sarcastically asking whether Wei Wuxian really wants to part with this beloved item she’s about to throw in the trash—the item in question of course being an empty Pringles tube or a single pink sock that at this point has become more hole than sock. Mianmian finds this devastatingly funny every time. 

Wen Ning may be rather clueless, but he’s remarkable at following orders, so Jiang Yanli takes him and a grumpy Jin Ling under her tutelage.

That just leaves Jin Zixuan, who is sitting judgmentally on the couch since Wei Wuxian declined his help—not that he would’ve helped clean either way, Wei Wuxian is quite sure—and Nie Huaisang, who has perched himself on a cleared bit of kitchen counter. He’s wearing a plastic red cowboy hat he must’ve pilfered from one of the piles of rubbish and filing his nails. Why he’s even here remains a mystery. 

Even with so many people (of varying skillsets), it takes a few hours before Wei Wuxian can look around his apartment and feel able to breathe again. 

“Damn,” Jin Ling says, “this would be a nice apartment if not for you living in it.”

Wei Wuxian gives him a half-affectionate punch in the arm. “From now on it’s going to be a nice apartment with me living in it.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jiang Cheng mutters. Louder, he adds, “Is this why you never invited me over? Now you’ll have no excuse.”

“I never invite you over because all you do is argue with me!”

“I do NOT!”

Wei Wuxian sweeps a hand in front of him. “See?”

Jiang Yanli manages a gentle tsking through her evident exhaustion. The tired slump of her shoulders is wholly relatable. “How do you two still have the energy to fight?”

“I keep a special reserve of it just for this purpose.” 

Jiang Yanli’s admonishing expression wavers as she tries not to laugh. “Alright, alright,” she says hurriedly before Jiang Cheng has time to reply, “we should celebrate! Look what we’ve just accomplished.”

Wei Wuxian gives the living room another onceover and nods. “Yeah, that is pretty sick, actually. Thanks, everyone, or whatever. Turns out seven is better than one, I guess!”

“There are nine of us here,” Wen Qing points out.

“Not functionally!” He’ll leave them to work out who he’s discounting. “Shall we order takeout?”

Jin Ling crosses his arms. “It better be on you.” 

“Yes, yes, it’s my treat, you little brat.”

“That sounds lovely!” Nie Huaisang says with an enthusiastic nod. What he feels he did to earn this dinner after doing nothing for hours, Wei Wuxian supposes he can’t hope to understand. 

There’s a chorus of assent to the idea of Wei Wuxian buying dinner, though Jiang Yanli apologizes for not having had the foresight to bring a picnic with her, as if she didn’t hard-carry this whole cleaning operation. 

“Well, you couldn’t have known if it would be safe to eat here,” Nie Huaisang reasons, as if Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen him try to eat weeks-old leftovers in the work fridge on more than one occasion. 

“Oh! Should we invite Lan Wangji?” 

Wei Wuxian physically recoils at his sister’s idea. “Absolutely not!”

“Wasn’t the whole point of cleaning it so you could impress him?” Wen Qing asks. 

“Yes, and that’s exactly why he can’t see it yet. I have to, like—I don’t know, put some finishing touches or something!”

His apartment has been restored to an impressive state considering where they started today, but Wei Wuxian wants Lan Wangji to be dazzled by how pristine it is. Also, inviting his fake boyfriend over to his apartment again will necessitate at least an hour of trying not to freak out about it, and he can’t comfortably do that in the presence of others. 

“Oh no,” Nie Huaisang says, “should I not have texted him inviting him over then?”

Wei Wuxian pinches the bridge of his nose so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it left a mark. “Why,” he says in a deliberately measured voice, “would you do that?”

His coworker shrugs. “Just felt right.” No matter how long Wei Wuxian squints at him, he won’t be able to tell if Nie Huaisang is playing chess or just knocking over pieces on the board at random. 

“Well, uninvite him, then!” 

“But he said he was really looking forward to it!” 

“No way he—really? What did he say, exactly? Give me that!” he says, about to lunge after Nie Huaisang’s phone when a calming hand settles on his shoulder and stills him. 

“It would be rude not to see him if he’s already coming over,” Jiang Yanli says. She actually looks way too pleased about this.

“If you don’t want him coming here, just meet him at a restaurant or something,” Mianmian suggests. At least someone here is trying to be helpful. 

“Do any of you know any good vegan restaurants?” 

“God, no,” Jiang Cheng says.

Jin Ling wrinkles his nose in similar fashion. “Ew.”

“Is vegan the one where you can eat fish?” Wen Ning asks. 

“I know a bunch!” Jiang Yanli says. “One of my friends just opened one, actually, if you want me to send you the link.”

“Sure, thanks.” Just to check, he adds, “And the food’s edible? Despite being vegan and all?”

That earns him a reproving huff of a laugh. “Yes, I should think so.”

“Well, good. I’ll call Lan Zhan.”

His fake boyfriend picks up after only two rings. Wei Wuxian likes to imagine Lan Wangji sitting by the phone awaiting him, because Wei Wuxian delights in being delusional. 

“Oh, good, you picked up!” Wei Wuxian ignores several pleas for him to put the phone on speaker and continues, “Change of plans—I was thinking—”

“Plans?” Lan Wangji echoes. “Did we make plans for tonight? I apologize if I have forgotten.”

“Wh—?” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes find his evil coworker, who says in a low voice, “Oops, I think I texted the wrong number.” 

“Actually, never mind, it seems I’m the mistaken one! Very sorry to bother y—”

“I wouldn’t mind having plans.”

Wei Wuxian’s neurons stop firing for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like. “What? With me?”

“Yes. Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, there’s this restaurant I was thinking we could try, if you wanted to.”

“I’d like to.”

“Oh. Well, good. I’d like to too.” Wei Wuxian becomes increasingly aware of the celebratory whoops and other inappropriate noise coming from the heathens in his apartment. “Can you shut up—sorry, Lan Zhan, not you.”

“Are you with company?”

“Yeah, and unfortunately they haven’t yet encountered the concept of manners—don’t mind them.” 

“Will they be joining us? I would like to meet your friends.” 

“For verisimilitude?” Wei Wuxian teases, only belatedly realizing what this request entails. “Actually, no, horrible idea—they’re terrible. Can’t take them anywhere.” The jeers and protests intensify. 

“If you would rather not introduce them to me, I understand.”

Well, fuck. Wei Wuxian can’t let Lan Wangji think he’s embarrassed of him or something crazy. He’s already met half of these people anyway. 

“Fine, fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

In the end, despite Wei Wuxian’s attempts to dissuade at least some of them from coming—and some of their own protests that they don’t want to eat vegan food with Wei Wuxian and his fake boyfriend—they all end up piling into the restaurant an hour later. 

They got here a whole three minutes early, but of course Lan Wangji is already seated and waiting for them. 

He stands to greet them, and Wei Wuxian panics about what the appropriate greeting gesture is for a guy you’re pretending to date in front of all your friends and siblings who know you’re only pretending to date the guy. (It also occurs to Wei Wuxian in this moment that he has no idea if Lan Wangji knows that his friend group knows their relationship is a pretense—he vaguely recalls discussing the subject of Jiang Yanli knowing, but the rest of that conversation from however long ago is lost to him. This dinner seems like a weird time to bring it up, though, so he’ll just go with the flow.) 

Lan Wangji solves Wei Wuxian’s crisis by offering him a hug that he gladly accepts even though the physical contact makes him feel a little insane. After they all take their seats, Wei Wuxian stumbles through introductions with the rest of this far-too-large group. His brain starts glitching approximately two seconds into this responsibility, to the point where he can’t actually recall who here knows Lan Wangji already, so he just tries his best.

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Lan Wangji says politely. He’s sitting to Wei Wuxian’s right, and their chairs are extremely close together as the table struggles to accommodate such a big party. “Wei Ying has told me a lot about you.”

“What did he say?” Jin Ling asks, immediately suspicious.

In truth, if Wei Wuxian had told Lan Wangji anything about Jin Ling, it was probably that he was a grumpy little gremlin. Wei Wuxian takes a sip of his water and fakes a coughing fit on the hopes of diverting attention from the question. 

Lan Wangji is, of course, far too attentive, and the steadying hand he places on Wei Wuxian’s back is almost enough to make Wei Wuxian start choking for real. “Wei Ying,” he says urgently. 

“Can you pull it together?” Jiang Cheng snaps. “We’re in public.”

Wei Wuxian gets one glimpse of the poisonous look Lan Wangji is sending his brother’s way and has to disguise his laughter as a final few coughs. 

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian insists, taking another sip of water. “Shall we look at the menu? A-jie, what do you think is good here?” To Lan Wangji, he adds, “It’s all vegan. Like you!”

“I’m a vegetarian, not a vegan,” Lan Wangji corrects. On Wei Wuxian’s other side, Wen Qing is snickering, because she is unhelpful and unkind. 

“Are they that different?” Wei Wuxian says breezily, knowing it’s a mistake even before the words have left his mouth. 

Everyone at the table is treated to a short lecture on the difference between vegetarianism and veganism, but Wei Wuxian does feel mollified when Lan Wangji ends it with: “I do enjoy vegan food. I look forward to trying it here.” 

“Totally.” Wei Wuxian opens his menu and tries not to recoil at the words chickpea “meat”-loaf. There are way too many vegetables on this menu for his comfort. He flicks his eyes back to Lan Wangji, only to find him still looking at Wei Wuxian. He might even venture to say Lan Wangji’s lips are slightly more upturned than usual. “This all looks very . . . yum.”

Jiang Yanli is too loyal to her restaurateur friend—or maybe just has too high an opinion of vegan cuisine—not to chime in, “I really think it’ll all be delicious. Do you want me to give you some suggestions?” 

“Eh, it’s fine. Lan Zhan will order for me, won’t you?” Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure if that was a plea or a declaration. Lan Wangji had ordered for them on their first date—“date”—but that doesn’t necessarily mean he will now. But it’s too late to take it back anyway. “I’m sure you know this stuff better than I do.”

“Are you sure?” he says, with the grave tone of someone who’s just been asked to make a decision that could change the course of history. “I haven’t dined here before, so I’m not personally familiar with the offerings.”

Wei Wuxian waves a careless hand and closes his menu. “I trust you.”

He sees Jiang Cheng roll his eyes, and then he makes the mistake of making eye contact with Mianmian, who looks like she’s watching a fascinating science experiment bubble over in its beaker. Hastily, Wei Wuxian slides his gaze away to Wen Ning, who seems even more bewildered by the menu than Wei Wuxian had been. 

It’s lucky for all of them that Jiang Yanli takes the initiative to make some small talk, engaging Lan Wangji with some innocuous questions about his work. 

“Oh, you’re a defense attorney?” Wen Qing says. 

Wei Wuxian is paying far too close attention, so he notices Lan Wangji shifting beside him as he tenses up. The subtle reaction brings Wei Wuxian back to that first dinner, when Lan Wangji had been openly preparing himself for reproach, and then to the nightmarish family dinner this week when he’d indeed received it. 

Wei Wuxian tries to envision a way to dispel the tension, but he’s just not very good at this stuff. 

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says stiffly.

“And before you ask, he hasn’t slept with any judges,” Wei Wuxian says helpfully, figuring that trivializing the subject might at least discourage any serious questions or, god forbid, debates. 

Lan Wangji’s lips give the slightest twitch. “Yes, that is true.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Wen Qing presses on. Wei Wuxian pinches her arm under the table, but she just pinches him back harder. “I just wanted to know if you’d be able to defend this idiot if he ended up in jail. That’d be kind of a convenient boyfriend perk.”

Honestly, Wei Wuxian has the worst friends. They deserve the ensuing lecture about conflicts of interest or whatever unsexy lawyer things Lan Wangji is saying that Wei Wuxian tunes out because he’s thinking of sexy lawyer things, such as Lan Wangji yelling, “Objection!” on his behalf in a courtroom. (Is that what lawyers do, or is that only on TV? And would Lan Wangji even yell it, or would he just say it in his regular disapproving voice?) 

A waitress comes over, then, and Lan Wangji orders some type of spicy noodle dish for Wei Wuxian that he is prematurely very pleased at the idea of. He hopes it’s actually spicy—he should’ve brought some chili oil with him. Actually, he should probably just start carrying chili oil in his pocket at all times, now that he thinks of it. 

“Does that sound alright?” Lan Wangji murmurs as the waitress moves on to the others. 

“It sounds perfect.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says some time later, as a thought occurs to him. They’ve fallen into a fairly comfortable rhythm—Lan Wangji may not be the most chatty guy in the world, but he fits in easily enough. “Where is Nie Huaisang?” 

They all look around. 

“I haven’t seen him since we left your apartment.” Jiang Cheng shrugs. 

“Did he not even come to dinner, after all that?” Wei Wuxian says incredulously. That little snake. 

Jiang Yanli’s forehead creases as she thinks. “I think he said he would meet us here?”

Wei Wuxian pulls out his phone to text his coworker. dude where tf did u go why aren’t u here?

where, Nie Huaisang responds immediately. 

dinner?

no thanks im not hungry!

the dinner u literally caused!!

the what?

the vegan restaurant?!

is this the one u told me about that only hires waitresses w 1 leg? 

Wei Wuxian puts his phone back in his pocket so he can use both hands to massage his temples. 

“Everything alright?” Lan Wangji asks. 

Wei Wuxian lets a long, harried sigh escape as he turns to look at his fake boyfriend. “I work with the worst people on earth.” 

“Many people would say the same about me.” Lan Wangji’s lips twitch again in what Wei Wuxian is beginning to recognize as a slight attempt to smile. Was that a joke? 

“I’d take yours over mine,” Wei Wuxian jokes back with an exasperated shake of his head. 

As if that weren’t surprising enough, when the food arrives, Lan Wangji asks the waitress if they have any chili oil or hot sauce, and she brings over a couple options. 

“Lan Zhan, I could kiss you,” Wei Wuxian says through a mouthful of noodles after he has slathered them with sauce to his heart’s content. “This is so good.” Lan Wangji turns his head to stare, probably in disapproval of the whole talking-while-eating thing, so Wei Wuxian refocuses his attention on chewing as politely as possible. 

“You should probably save that for the privacy of your home,” Wen Qing teases, like the evil person she is. 

Wei Wuxian is just considering faking another coughing fit or perhaps knocking over his glass of water when Lan Wangji says, “Yes, probably,” and then Wei Wuxian is too stunned to enact either of those diversions. 

“Don’t talk about kissing while I’m trying to eat,” Jin Ling grouses in solidarity with Jiang Cheng, who has suddenly become a professional mime just to pretend to gag. 

“No one was talking about kissing!” Wei Wuxian can hear the slightly hysterical edge to his voice as he insists this. “It was metaphorical!”

“Is that really what a metaphor is?” Mianmian asks, because she’s evil as her girlfriend. 

“I think we should all eat in silence. It’s actually rude to talk while eating. That’s probably a law, right, Lan Zhan?”

“It is not,” the traitorous fake boyfriend says. “But it is a social convention.” 

“Couldn’t agree more. The next person who speaks gets to take a shot of hot sauce, how about that?”

That actually does get everyone focused on their food for a short duration, until their server comes back to ask if they want to order dessert. 

“No, no. We’ll just get the bill, thanks.” After she leaves, he says to Lan Wangji, “After this, we could go get some ice cream, just the two of us?” 

“Going for dessert just the two of you? That’s kind of romantic,” Mianmian says. 

“It’s because of nosy comments like that that you’re not invited!”

“I’m just saying what I observe!”

“Well, stop observing!”

“Stop bullying my girlfriend,” Wen Qing counters. 

“Lan Zhan, is there a law against being accused of bullying by the people who are bullying you?”

Lan Wangji is spared from answering by the return of the server, at which point Wei Wuxian just holds out his credit card to her before Lan Wangji can get any thoughts in his silly gorgeous head about arguing over the bill. 

“It’s on me,” Wei Wuxian says with confidence that belies the state of his bank account. (This is the last time he agrees to buy dinner for so many people.) He’s not gonna go broke, but he should probably limit his random impulse purchases such as bubble wands until the next credit card cycle. “I invited you here, and I owe all these fiends a meal for their help.”

“Help with what?”

Wei Wuxian belatedly recalls his plan to surprise Lan Wangji with a spotless apartment, and the truth gets stuck in his throat. “I can’t tell you.” Seeing Lan Wangji’s mildly creased brow he adds, “Because it’s . . . about crime.” The crease deepens. “Just kidding. There was no crime. I’ll tell you later. Shall we go?”

“Aren’t you going to wait to get your card back?” Jin Zixuan asks. 

Sitting on Wen Qing’s other side, he’s been out of Wei Wuxian’s sight line, and thus Wei Wuxian had become blissfully unaware of his continued presence here. It was better that way. “None of your business.”

(He does wait for his card to come back. Under duress. But Lan Wangji thanks him sincerely for bringing him to this restaurant, and that does help ease the annoyance. Just a bit)

Chapter Text

“So,” Lan Wangji says in his measured way, “those were your friends.” 

Wei Wuxian isn’t entirely sure if he’s stating a bland fact for the sake of conversation or if there’s a question in it, such as Why would any of them be friends with you? or even Why would you be friends with them?

Judgmental as he’s always assumed Lan Wangji to be, Wei Wuxian would’ve previously suspected a skeptical intent, but now he thinks Lan Wangji might just be trying to do small talk. 

“‘Friends’ is such a strong word. Most of them are more like feral animals I consort with on occasion.” He imbues the words with as much fondness as he thinks it’ll take to clue Lan Wangji in on the joke, and it seems to work. 

“And you’re not?” 

Wei Wuxian listens for a barb in the riposte, but as far as he can tell there isn’t one. Maybe dinner hasn’t been such a disaster after all. “Well, I didn’t say that. Like calls to like, I hear.” 

“Sometimes,” Lan Wangji muses. 

They’re ambling along the sidewalk, neither having bothered to look up whether there are actually any dessert shops nearby. Wei Wuxian is starting to wonder whether he should’ve come up with a better plan than just wandering indefinitely when he spots a sign in the window and gasps, halting in his tracks. “Lan Zhan, I’ve been struck by inspiration.” 

Lan Wangji has come to a stop next to him. He doesn’t look nearly as apprehensive as he probably should upon this declaration, given Wei Wuxian’s general life track record, but then he never looks much of anything, so it could be well disguised. “Yes?”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head meaningfully toward the door they’re standing in front of, awaiting follow-up questions, but Lan Wangji just reaches for the door and holds it open. Wei Wuxian is so taken aback by the chivalry of it all—which probably says a lot about him and his relationship history—that he just gapes for a second too long and has to scramble to walk through the door before Lan Wangji starts to regret it. 

“Welcome to Axe-ceptional Adventures,” says the woman sitting behind the desk. Wei Wuxian can recognize in her the mind-numbing boredom cultivated by unfulfilling employment, mainly because he experiences it near-daily. Surely an axe throwing bar must be slightly more interesting than a dung beetle nonprofit—though, now that he thinks about it, monitoring tipsy and incompetent people with weaponry must present its own set of challenges. 

She tells them a walk-in axe throwing session is sixty minutes and Wei Wuxian tries not to wince at the cost she recites, remembering the vow he made about a half-hour ago to be more intentional with his spending. But he dragged Lan Wangji in here, so it should probably be his treat—and he’s about to say so, when he processes Lan Wangji already tapping his card on the machine. 

“Wha—? Lan Zhan!” he tries to protest.

“You paid for dinner,” Lan Wangji says, and this is at least an explanation Wei Wuxian can accept. (The alternative is that his fake boyfriend is becoming his real sugar daddy, and while an intriguing prospect he’s not sure that’s really the direction things should be going.) 

The employee stares vacantly at them like her mind is somewhere else entirely as she rattles off a rather minimal safety lecture. Wei Wuxian has gone axe throwing before, so he’s pretty sure it’s standard to say more than “Don’t hold the axe by the pointy end” and “Don’t throw the axe at anyone.” But between his experience and Lan Wangji’s particular brand of cautious competence, he thinks they’re in decent shape anyway. 

There’s no one else here, so she doesn’t bother assigning them a lane, nor does she seem inclined to leave the desk to provide any further instruction, which is just as well. Wei Wuxian finds himself quite taken with the idea of teaching Lan Wangji something. In this one very specific area, he can demonstrate impressive skill. (Exceptional skill, even. Axeceptional?)

“Is it not protocol to supervise the patrons here?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It probably should be, but I won’t complain about not having someone in our business. Have you thrown axes before? Here, I’ll show you!”

Their lane is caged in by chain-link fencing on either side to contain any stray axes. There are two wooden boards at the end with targets painted on, each of the concentric circles worth a different amount of points if you're playing a game. Wei Wuxian would rather focus on getting Lan Wangji to learn and enjoy the sport rather than throwing them into any kind of competition. Sometimes it’s nice just to do something with another person rather than against them.

Someone (Wei Wuxian) has the brilliant (stupid) idea of manually adjusting Lan Wangji’s grip on the axe, rather than just showing him how to hold it, which inevitably results in him getting distracted by the skin contact. It might take longer than it should, but in the end he does manage to coach Lan Wangji into the right stance.

“And then you’ll just lunge, like this, and make sure you let go at the right moment—about here-ish—to hit the center of the target. Do you want to tr—?”

Lan Wangji brings the axe back behind his head with both arms as Wei Wuxian has shown him, and then he’s whipping it at the target before Wei Wuxian even completes his question. He watches the axe strike the wood hard, embedding itself in the very center of the target, and tries not to gape. It is, unfortunately, devastatingly sexy. (Wei Wuxian doesn’t have enough data to conclude whether this principle would apply to anyone else’s axe throwing prowess, since he has mainly done this activity with his siblings, but he rather suspects his attraction to Lan Wangji is in a category all of its own.) 

“Wh—? Lan Zhan, what was that!”

Lan Wangji turns stiffly toward him. “Was that not right?”

Wei Wuxian squints at him. “Were you just toying with me? Did you know how to throw axes all along?”

“No.”

The bastard is probably even telling the truth, given all his integrity or whatever. “So you just hit the bullseye on your first try? This is ridiculous. You were supposed to be terrible so I could offer my vast wisdom and dazzle you with my talent!”

“I see,” Lan Wangji says, in the nonplussed tone of someone who does not see at all. “So I should aim . . . worse?”

“Yes, exactly,” Wei Wuxian says, with a solemn nod. “That’d be lovely.”

He’s being entirely unserious, but he actually does want to see what Lan Wangji will do with that instruction. His fake boyfriend retrieves his axe from the board—it’s wedged in there deep enough to take a few seconds to remove—and sets himself up in exactly the same position as before. It’s identical down to the exact angle of his arms. 

He throws the axe again, and it once again lands right in the bullseye, maybe a centimeter away from where he’d first hit. Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing at the tiny crease that has appeared in Lan Wangji’s brow.

“I was not aiming for the center this time.”

“What, your posture is just so perfect the axe can’t help it?”

Lan Wangji flicks him a look that feels rather wry. “I had a competent instructor.”

“So true, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian claps his hands a few times. “That’s a good point; I should be taking credit for all of your skill. Here,” he says after Lan Wangji gets his axe back again, “you see the two green dots?” He points to the small green circles at the top left and right of the board, outside of the actual target. “Those are the hardest to hit, so you get the most points for them. Since you’re aiming higher, you’ll want to release a little earlier.” 

Lan Wangji sets up again, becoming deadly still with concentration, coiled for a strike, and then the axe sails right into the center of the board again. 

The mild consternation on his face as he glares at his axe sends Wei Wuxian into another fit of laughter. “I think your form really might be too perfect to hit anywhere but the bullseye. That’s a curse you may have to bear, I fear.” 

“No,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly. He makes several more attempts only to achieve the same result again and again, as though his body had developed muscle memory for the original form Wei Wuxian taught him and is unable to deviate from it even one inch. 

He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone fail so successfully. He’s also not sure he’s ever been so entertained by someone’s vexation, not even Jiang Cheng’s. 

Lan Wangji turns sharply toward where he’s sitting on the table, swinging his legs. “There are two axes.”

“What, you think you’re ready for a double throw? I love the confidence, but maybe—”

“You’re not throwing.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian startles a bit at the realization that he hasn’t even thought about picking up the other axe, amused as Lan Wangji has been keeping him. “Well, I didn’t want to discourage you, but you asked for it!”

The axe is a comfortable weight in his hands as it always is.

Wei Wuxian was never one for team sports. Not that he hasn’t tried to be a team player, but it always seems to end with someone accusing him of showing off to spite the group, and his temperament isn’t really equipped to convince people otherwise. 

He does have an interest in individual athletic pursuits, however, and a natural inclination toward those involving weapons—fencing, archery, axe throwing, and so on. But where his adoptive parents were usually willing to spend money on his hobbies if Jiang Cheng shared them, now of course it’s up to Wei Wuxian to afford them on his own, and he’s not exactly rolling in cash. He allows himself the occasional indulgence, usually as a social outing, and tries to walk a fine line between impressing and demoralizing his axe throwing companions. 

Wei Wuxian finds himself wanting Lan Wangji to admire him, an impulse he’s spent much of his life trying to stamp down into nonexistence. Lan Wangji’s praise seems difficult to earn but worth more than most people’s, and now might be Wei Wuxian’s only chance to try to be worthy of it.

He takes a lazy stance, holding the axe in his right hand, and aims true.

Lan Wangji stares intently at the green dot that now appears cleaved in two by Wei Wuxian’s axe sticking out of the board. “You only used one hand,” he says, not quite petulant, but certainly in the same realm, enough so that Wei Wuxian has to hide his smile by walking up to the board to pull his axe out.

“I’ll show you how, if you want. It’s not really harder than two-handed, just different. Some people tend to prefer one over the other.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a particular preference, because he can throw just as well with either hand as with both, but it’s perhaps overly boastful to say so aloud.

“No. I will master the two-handed throw first.”

Typical. (And unfortunately more endearing than anticipated.) So Wei Wuxian demonstrates a two-handed throw next, hitting each green dot and then other places on the target as Lan Wangji requests. 

Wei Wuxian shifts his stance a little each time, enough for Lan Wangji’s mouth to purse slightly. He wants axe throwing to be a science, Wei Wuxian can tell—and in many ways it is a matter of physics—but there’s also an art to it, not to mention a mental component to master. 

Lan Wangji catalogs every throw. He asks much more in-depth questions than Wei Wuxian expects, and he expects even less to find himself enjoying the interrogations about rotations and velocity. He doesn’t think anyone has ever taken such an interest in one of his hobbies before.

Jiang Yanli is a passable thrower and always game to join if he invites her, but she clearly doesn’t enjoy it much beyond knowing it makes Wei Wuxian happy. Jiang Cheng treats it as a form of stress relief that also stresses him out; he regularly splinters the wood target with the power of his throws. (Of course, he often enters a loop where he gets mad if he’s not throwing well, but anger only makes his aim worse. The fact that finesse matters more than force has not endeared him to the sport in general.) His other friends have rarely been, but their participation has certainly never been so avid. 

Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be surprised to find his skin genuinely starting to glow under the weight of Lan Wangji’s attention. He’s not so effusive in praise as Jiang Yanli, but every tiny twitch of his face feels meaningful, and there’s something rewarding in trying to figure out what each meaning is. Wei Wuxian has been immensely fortunate to receive Jiang Yanli’s unconditional affection in this life, but he hasn’t had many opportunities to successfully earn someone’s approval. 

“Your skill is remarkable,” Lan Wangji says, watching impassively as Wei Wuxian coaxes his axe out of the board for the millionth time. He has already collected his own. “Have you trained for a long time?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t really call it ‘trained.’ Or a ‘long time.’ I go maybe a couple times a year if I can convince someone else to join me.” The rather exorbitant cost for an hour of axe throwing is easier to justify to himself if it serves a dual purpose of socializing.

Something about this has lifted Lan Wangji’s eyebrows fractionally. “It’s only a casual interest, then?”

Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens around the axe. “I guess you could call it that.”

If there’s criticism in Lan Wangji’s assessment, Wei Wuxian supposes he can’t dispute it. Maybe serious, consistent interests are for people with stable minds and lives, and Wei Wuxian is too flaky and broke to understand commitment. It wouldn’t be the first time someone suggested that to him.

“I am even more impressed then,” Lan Wangji continues in his toneless way, as if he’s not uttering words that make Wei Wuxian’s chest tighten. His hand unclenches, adjusting to a more comfortable grip. 

“Surely by now you should know about my boundless wealth of obscure and largely useless talents.” Wei Wuxian grins and gestures for him to set up so they can throw again. He likes the synchronicity of it, how Lan Wangji always matches his timing exactly. 

“This is not useless,” Lan Wangji says after a minute.

“Hm? Oh, in case I ever see fit to kill someone by axe one day? Would you defend me if I did?” Wei Wuxian laughs at Lan Wangji’s expression. “Oh, right, conflict of interest.”

“It is not useless to do something you enjoy.”

Wei Wuxian’s head snaps toward him, too fast to disguise his surprise. That’s not the kind of sentiment he would expect from the stoic and seemingly joyless Lan Wangji. It sounds like a hard-earned lesson, certainly not one that has ever been part of Wei Wuxian’s upbringing. It’s the kind of sentiment Wei Wuxian wants to believe, if it means he isn’t fundamentally lazy and unmotivated for wanting to seek what enjoyment he can in life rather than advance for the sake of advancing.

“I like that,” he decides, offering Lan Wangji a softer smile than he normally dares employ. “I wish I could just throw axes all day, every day.”

“You wouldn’t work?”

Wei Wuxian is starting to think he has some kind of mild trauma response to being asked questions about the direction of his life. He’s had to defend it enough that now the defensiveness flares up before he even takes the time to read Lan Wangji’s actual body language. He takes a breath and restrains it. The question seems to be nothing more than curiosity, really. Wei Wuxian’s survival instincts are screaming at him to treat every conversation like a trap, but lately they’re receiving a fair amount of pushback from the part of him that is against all good sense starting to trust Lan Wangji and the safety he might find in him if he lets himself.

“I don’t dream of labor,” Wei Wuxian says flippantly. “But . . ."

“But?” Lan Wangji prompts. They’re both resting their axes on the table behind them, watching each other. Wei Wuxian moves his axe to swing it idly at his side—carefully out of reach of any limbs—and continues, “Well, as I’m sure I’ve made abundantly clear, I don’t particularly like my job most days, though it’s definitely possible to make the case that I wouldn’t enjoy any kind of work under the nightmare of late-stage capitalism.” 

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch, perhaps reaching for a smile he won’t allow to actually take form. 

“But I suppose there’s something to be said for working on something that could make a genuine positive impact, however small, even if other people don’t think it’s meaningful.” Mrs. Yu’s face appears and is subsequently banished from his mind so he can get through the rest of this horrifically sincere thought. “I don’t think I’d be any happier idle, anyway. What’s the saying—idle hands are the devil’s workshop?” He huffs a laugh.

Lan Wangji is looking at Wei Wuxian as though he’s never seen him before. Wei Wuxian has no idea what he’s supposed to read from his expression.

“What? That’s the saying, isn’t it? I don’t actually agree with it—sounds like pro-capitalist drivel to me, frankly—but it probably does actually apply to me. I have a deep, deep aversion to boredom.”

Whatever Lan Wangji is thinking, his face clears and locks it away. “That sounds reasonable. Finding your own meaning is difficult, but necessary.”

Lan Wangji understands, Wei Wuxian realizes. He may not be the family underachiever or a depressed layabout, but he’s indicated before that he constantly has to justify his work as a defense lawyer to people who think he’s making the world worse by advocating for people who often have no one else in the world to do it for them. 

“If it helps”—Wei Wuxian’s not sure it really would, coming from him, but he would want someone to tell him this—“the meaning in your work is very clear to me, at least. You help people, Lan Zhan. No one should make you feel bad about that.”

“And you help . . . dung beetles,” Lan Wangji says, startling Wei Wuxian into another laugh. He sees Lan Wangji’s lips curve up. “And in doing so you are ensuring the world stays livable for all of us.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him for an embarrassingly long moment. He feels his lips part slightly in surprise or gratitude or even desire—maybe some heady artisan cocktail of them all.

He’s spared finding a way to express any of them by the distraction of a man striding toward the lane next to them. He seems strangely familiar somehow. 

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says before he can stop himself. “Are you Nie Huaisang’s brother, by any chance?” He looks just like the picture on his coworker’s desk.

The man stops short, brow creased deeply as he studies Wei Wuxian. He offers a terse nod. “Nie Mingjue. And you are?”

“Wei Wuxian. I’m your brother’s—” He hesitates. “We work together.”

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue says, evidently recognizing his name. Wei Wuxian sends out a silent curse into the universe, hoping it finds Nie Huaisang and whatever nonsense he may have been feeding his brother without keeping Wei Wuxian in the loop. “You’re his boss, yes?” His gaze is intense, but that seems to be more a function of his general demeanor than any specific grievance with or suspicion of Wei Wuxian—not that this really sets Wei Wuxian at ease.

“Y—” He coughs. “—es.” He can feel Lan Wangji’s questioning look at him. “In a sense.” In the sense that Nie Huaisang never knows what’s going on, so Wei Wuxian often does tell him what to do and fixes all of his work.

“In a sense?” Nie Mingjue says sharply. Or maybe it’s just that everything he says sounds like a blade.

“Well, you know how it is in the modern workplace,” Wei Wuxian says, keeping his tone blithe to obscure the hurried way he’s speaking. “If our subordinates can teach us as much as we teach them in their own ways, the hierarchy is really more of a theoretical construct than a formal structure we need constrain ourselves with. You know?”

Nie Mingjue clearly does not know. Wei Wuxian does not know either; he’s just hoping to say enough of little substance to turn Nie Mingjue off the matter.

“No. That made no sense. I just wanted to discuss Huaisang’s progress with you.”

“Oh, yes, that. Well, he is certainly progressing every day.” Or at least he’s escalating in new and distressing ways. “Our workplace is fortunate to be uniquely blessed with his work ethic and competence.” Unique in the sense that it’s actually a curse, maybe. “Do you come here often?”

There’s a stifled noise behind him that surely can’t be Lan Wangji suppressing a laugh at Wei Wuxian’s absurd and very unintentional use of that pickup line.

“Yes, I come to hone my axe throwing abilities every week.”

“That’s cool!” Wei Wuxian will never be returning to this place, not ever. There are other axe throwing bars in the city. 

“While I have you here, I would like to know more ab— 

“Hey, you know Lan Zhan, right?” Wei Wuxian gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and Nie Mingjue’s single-minded focus splinters enough to finally register there’s another person there.

“Wangji?” Nie Mingjue says blankly. “What are you doing here?”

Lan Wangji steps forward with a respectful nod and a belated greeting. “I am on a date,” he says, surprising Wei Wuxian, who had forgotten than he was allowed to consider this a date (well, a fake date, anyway). “With my boyfriend.”

Wei Wuxian nods vigorously. Nie Mingjue watches them impassively. “That’s nice. How is your brother?”

Wei Wuxian drifts away to throw his axe a couple more times while the two of them limp through some small talk. When they finally seem to be winding down, Wei Wuxian decides he cannot let Nie Mingjue get in any more questions about Nie Huaisang’s work. “Well,” he says, putting his axe back in the bucket it came from, then Lan Wangji’s axe, “this has been lovely, but our time is actually up here so we’d better get going to our dinner reservation!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees.

Nie Mingjue seems like he wants to protest, but perhaps he notices he’s cutting into his own axe time, because he lets them go with some stilted farewells.

“Have you become Nie Huaisang’s superior in the last few days?” Lan Wangji asks. Despite his straight face, Wei Wuxian highly suspects his fake boyfriend is fucking with him. 

“No, and thank god for that. The little rat told his brother that I’m his boss so I could give him a glowing performance review! As if he deserves anything other than a formal warning for ruining all the formulas in my most recent spreadsheet. I didn’t even share the spreadsheet with him!”

“That sounds like Huaisang,” Lan Wangji says. 

Wei Wuxian realizes they’re now standing purposelessly on the sidewalk and is trying to think of what to say when all of a sudden Lan Wangji’s arm wraps around his waist and tugs him forward so they're barely an inch apart. It’s so unexpected that Wei Wuxian feels like his short-circuiting. He can’t even form words to ask what he’s doing before he notices a veritable pack of roller skaters flying past them on the sidewalk. 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says. He is rather hoping Lan Wangji will ascribe his unsteady voice to the fear of getting trampled rather than the intimacy of their sudden embrace. “Thanks for saving me from death by roller skater.”

There’s a faint pink flush to Lan Wangji’s ears. “I apologize,” he says stiffly. “I did not mean to overstep any boundaries, but I did not know if there was time for a verbal warning.” 

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I’m totally fine with this.” He is totally not fine with this. He is so close to Lan Wangji that they’re sharing body heat, even if they’re not fully touching. He can’t even tell if he wants to step away so he can breathe properly or step closer and do something much, much worse. “I mean, we’re supposed to be getting more comfortable with each other for—for verisimilitude, anyway, right?”

Lan Wangji’s head dips in a small nod. “Yes, that’s true, but I should have asked first. This was inappropriate.”

Yes. So inappropriate. Wei Wuxian wants him to do it again. Wei Wuxian also realizes that the hazard has passed—why do those roller skaters travel in a pack, anyway?—so he doesn’t actually have a reason to be standing this close anymore. Feeling far more reluctant than he should, he takes a step back. “No, really, I don’t mind.”

They stare at each other for a few beats longer before Lan Wangji nods again, then says, “Thank you for bringing me to throw axes. I enjoyed it.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, stupidly. “I’m glad! That’s good—that’s really good. I had a lot of fun too, of course. You’re a good axe throwing partner.”

He thinks Lan Wangji is a little pleased by the compliment. “If you ever need a companion for this activity, I am available.” Wei Wuxian’s inhale of breath at that sounds too loud in his own ears. “Unless I am in court, in which case I am not available.”

“You should bring the local judges axe throwing,” Wei Wuxian says. “Some companies use it for corporate bonding, so maybe it would work for law people too.” He has tried before to convince his own workplace that axe throwing would be team-building but has not yet been successful. 

“Are you suggesting I bribe the judges with the chance to throw axes?” 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t, but now he thinks it would be fun to double down on. “Yeah, why not? Show them a good time so they’re nicer to your clients.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t look as annoyed as Wei Wuxian thought he might. “That is a terrible idea. I will not be doing that.” There’s a pause before he adds, “I would prefer to throw axes with people I like.”

Wei Wuxian cannot believe he’s celebrating the fact that his fake boyfriend is implying he doesn’t dislike his company, but that is indeed what he’s thinking about as he says, “Well, that’s . . . fair enough! Me too. Axe throwing is a sacred sport. One should only throw dangerous objects with those they don’t want to maim, otherwise the temptation may be too great to resist.” 

“Please do not tell me if you’re planning to maim anyone with an axe.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to legally represent me?”

“I am certain my stake in the matter would be too personal for me to carry out my duties professionally.”

“Or is it because you think I would be too distracting in court?” Wei Wuxian offers his cheekiest grin.

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says solemnly. “You are distracting.”

And Wei Wuxian doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

Chapter Text

“Why is it hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs?”

Nie Huaisang idly spins in his desk chair. He has somehow managed to break the lifting mechanism so he now sits less than a foot above the floor. “Is this a philosophical question?”

“Not that I am aware.”

“It feels kind of discriminatory toward kleptomaniacs, maybe. Are you saying they don’t deserve to laugh?”

“No, that’s really not what I’m saying.” Wei Wuxian sighs, more for dramatic effect than any real frustration. 

“Are you saying they’re stupid? Surely it requires a certain amount of smarts, to be a kleptomaniac.”

“The reason it’s hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs is that they always take things literally.”

Nie Huaisang’s unconvincing attempt at looking thoughtful melts into a quizzical expression. “I don’t get it.”

“You know, because kleptomaniacs steal things.”

“Well, that’s definitely discriminatory.”

“No, that’s the definition of a kleptomaniac.”

“I really didn’t think you were a prejudiced person, Wei-xiong.”

“No, that’s not—”

“My cousin is a kleptomaniac,” Ouyang Zizhen cuts in helpfully. 

“See!” Nie Huaisang waves an emphatic arm toward their younger colleague. “These are people’s family members you’re stereotyping!”

“She has stolen a lot of cars,” Ouyang Zizhen adds.

Nie Huaisang’s arm lowers. “Well. Tell your cousin she’s not really helping the cause.”

Wei Wuxian is saved from wading further into this deeply pointless conversation for the sake of boredom by a notification on his phone.

One of my colleagues is having a dinner party in two weeks that I plan to attend. Please review the picture I have attached of the invitation and let me know if you will be available to accompany me. [photo]

Wei Wuxian is frankly shocked to learn that people still send out fancy invitations like this to dinner parties—and also that Lan Wangji desires his company at a fancy dinner party. On the other hand, he’s been pondering the rather lopsided nature of their arrangement recently and wondering when he’ll get a chance to reciprocate. He imagines his efforts will be poor at best, but Lan Wangji can’t be the only one fielding invasive questions from their fake partner’s friends and family; it’s time for Wei Wuxian to step up to the plate as well.

lan zhan i’m flattered u think i’m well-socialized enough to attend such an event on ur arm

I believe I never said you were “well-socialized.” 

Wei Wuxian has become somewhat immunized to the shock of Lan Wangji making jokes, but it still makes him a little giddy every time.

touché!! i am available unless i have to wear a tie in which case i am super not available

You will have to wear a tie, per the dress code on the invitation.

oh man its too bad im super booked and busy doing important things on this exact night

I look forward to you accompanying me to this event. 

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, as impressed as he is amused. Lan Wangji’s ability to cut through his bullshit grows more effortless every day. 

fine but if there’s not dessert i’m going to cause a scene

I will inform the hosts of your specifications. 

Wei Wuxian thinks the conversation has drifted to an end when he receives another message: Additionally, I will help you tie your tie. 

god lan zhan stop trying to seduce me with ur skills when u KNOW i have a competence kink

I was not aware of that, in fact. Are you saying I have permission to seduce you with other methods?

Wei Wuxian stares open-mouthed at his phone, long enough that Ouyang Zizhen asks him if he’s having some kind of medical emergency. He impatiently waves his colleague away.

surely there’s a law somewhere against seducing people while lawyering

No.

i can’t believe u said i would distract u at work when ur literally trying to seduce me while im on company time!!!

My apologies. Should I resume after the workday? 

Lan Wangji should resume right now. He should never resume again. He should just come here and kiss Wei Wuxian already. He should fake-break up with Wei Wuxian right now so Wei Wuxian can stop having utterly insane thoughts on a near-constant basis. 

has anyone ever told u ur a menace

No.

first time for everything!!!

As Wei Wuxian remembers something he’d meant to send Lan Wangji earlier, he adds: btw btw btw did u see the fruits of our success???? [link]

They’d been photographed outside the axe throwing bar last week, and for once Wei Wuxian had inadvertently managed to incur some non-negative press; he and Lan Wangji had already exchanged their hurrahs when they first saw the coverage. But a new article today follows up on the photos, saying what a handsome couple they make (true) and reporting that business has been booming at the axe place since Wei Wuxian graced it with his deeply secondhand minor fame (sick).

That is a nice article, Lan Wangji agrees. I have to go to court now. I hope you have a pleasant day at work.

what i cherish most about u is ur unfounded optimism

He imagines Lan Wangji’s tiny frown when he considers the implication of that message after he turns his phone back on later and feels the need to add, not that it’s going badly today or anything, just that trying to explain kleptomania to nie huaisang is a little bit like trying to explain calculus to an orca. maybe the orca understands and is just fucking with u, but u would literally never be able to tell

Satisfied with his explanation, Wei Wuxian sets his phone down and clicks through some emails. He often daydreams about just deleting his entire inbox without reading any of it, but unfortunately CRAPP’s major fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks, so he has even more incoming emails to monitor than usual, and they’re often time-sensitive and actually important for once. 

The Beetle Drive is a thrilling annual event where Wei Wuxian begs rich donors to spare some pennies for dung beetles while trying to keep Dr. Baoshan away from all human conversation, lest she reveal to the potential donors that she considers them many levels below dung beetles in her esteem. 

The other delightful part of organizing the fundraiser is the constant back-and-forth with the office manager, who does not see a need for literally any expenses related to hosting an event. There’s an unread email from a few minutes ago subject-lined “Regarding reckless expenditure.”

To whom it may concern,

I have reviewed the expense report you submitted for the Beetle Drive and do not see the need to pay for the hotel, as it is a large expense. Please see the attached denial.

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

Wei Wuxian grits his teeth and begins to type.

To whom it actually doesn’t really concern so you should just approve the expenses and let me get on with my job,

The need to pay for the hotel is that it is the venue where we are hosting the event. Please see the attached denial of your denial.

Insincerely, 

Wei Wuxian

He puts the entire greeting as well as the “In” in Insincerely in a white font so Mr. Yao won’t actually be able to see it. This is a tactic he uses in many such exchanges with Mr. Yao to vent frustration, and he will be doing it for the rest of this conversation. It’s somewhat therapeutic. 

To whom it may concern,

It would be more cost-effective and efficient to host a virtual event. Have you heard of Zoom? 

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

Wei Wuxian cannot imagine a single more horrifying prospect than hosting the Beetle Drive on Zoom.

To whom it may come as a surprise that efficiency is not the main goal of holding a FUNDRAISER,

No, I’ve never heard of it, but thank you for the idea. Unfortunately, we have already sent out invitations that advertise the Beetle Drive as a “dinner and dance,” not a “stay at home and become increasingly uncomfortable on an awkward Zoom call.” 

Once you actually read the budget projections I have sent you multiple times, you will be overjoyed to know that the cost of the hotel should be more than covered by the ticket price.

Insincerely,

Wei Wuxian

***

To whom it may concern,

If you are unwilling to see reason on this matter, at the very least can you pick a cheaper hotel?

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

***

To whom it may not yet be obvious that we are HOSTING a FUNDRAISER as we have done LITERALLY EVERY YEAR you have worked here,

No.

Insincerely,

Wei Wuxian

***

To whom it may concern,

Your last email was, in my opinion, inappropriately curt. If we had a Human Resources Department, rest assured I would be reporting you immediately. 

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

P.S. I have received your requisition request for a new stapler. This requisition request has been denied.

***

To whom I sincerely wish it did not concern,

I’ve just thought of a radical idea: If the office manager scrounged up the funds to hire a Human Resources Department, maybe I could borrow a stapler from them.

Insincerely,

Wei Wuxian

***

To whom it may concern,

Facetiousness has no place in the workplace. Please refer to last month’s memo on the new paper-fastening policy. To be more eco-friendly, employees are required to use recycled paper clips to bind documents. We expect these to be reused where possible.

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

***

To whom I’d like to put inside a recycling compactor, 

Kindly pay the hotel; I have received a call from the hotel manager and we are at risk of losing our reservation. Thank you very much.

Insincerely,

Wei Wuxian

P.S. We have run out of paper clips.

***

To whom it may concern,

If you have run out of paper clips, please submit a requisition request.

Sincerely,

Office Manager Yao

***

Wei Wuxian emerges from the email exchange feeling like he’s lived through a war before realizing it’s not even the most pressing issue in his inbox. He’d overlooked an email from Jin Guangshan, a potential donor they’ve been trying to court. He skims through it with mounting displeasure once it becomes apparent he’ll have to make a phone call for some unspecified purpose.

“Ah, yes, thank you for reaching out,” Jin Guangshan says when he gets through. “I wanted to discuss a point of concern regarding your organization.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to talk through whatever you need,” Wei Wuxian says in his best approximation of a customer service voice.

“When I’m considering where to allocate my philanthropic resources, I like to take into account the people behind the cause, not just the cause itself. You understand?”

Not particularly. “Yes, that seems very wise.”

“So you can imagine my concern when I encountered some negative press about one of the employees at your organization,” Jin Guangshan continues.

Wei Wuxian taps his fingers on his desk in a rhythm that increases in speed with the growing magnitude of his apprehension. “Oh?”

“I’m of course referring to you, Mr. Wei Wuxian, and the coverage I have stumbled across of your various misdeeds.”

“I see.” He’s barely listening now, too busy mentally scratching Jin Guangshan’s name off the list of donors who are maybes. 

“I could perhaps overlook certain aspects of your past as youthful indiscretions, but truly what concerns me is the negative portrayal of your relationship with your mother.”

“My mother,” Wei Wuxian repeats dully. My mother is dead, actually. 

“I’m a family man, you see, so I just don’t know if I want to associate myself with such a—”

“That’s too bad.”

Really, it is too bad that Wei Wuxian won’t be able to shake any money for the beetles out of such an enormous asshole. The guy is loaded and apparently also mildly evil, according to the path this conversation has taken, so it would’ve been a satisfying victory if it had worked out.

“Now, of course I do understand that sometimes the media can manipulate such things,” Jin Guangshan says generously. “Perhaps if I could sit down with you and Yu Ziyuan to understand the nature of your relationship, I might feel more comfortable moving forward as a partner to your organization.”

Wei Wuxian politely doesn’t say that he doesn’t consider their donors partners but rather a means to an end. He also politely doesn’t say that he would rather be slowly boiled alive in an active volcano than facilitate such a meeting. Instead, he tries to think about the benefits of donations.

“I see. Well, I appreciate you bringing this concern to my attention.” Lie. “We’d never want you to do anything against your conscience.” Lie. “My . . . mother—” Lie. “—is a very busy person, so I’d have to get a sense of her schedule first to see if that would be possible. Why don’t I call you back once I have more information on that front?”

“Good, good,” Jin Guangshan says dismissively and hangs up without further ceremony.

Wei Wuxian sits staring daggers at his phone unblinkingly for at least a minute before Dr. Baoshan startles him with a disinterested “Was that a donor on the phone?”

Dr. Baoshan talking to any of them at all is always somewhat of a jumpscare, mainly because she so rarely deigns to come out of her office at all and openly disdains human company. 

“That was a . . . potential one. It may not work out,” he adds hastily. “The situation is precarious.”

Dr. Baoshan nods once and starts to head back into her office, apparently just passing by. “Unsurprising. Humankind is fickle.”

“So true,” he says, waiting for her office door to shut before he unlocks his phone again and opens his messages.

His first instinct is to text Jiang Yanli, who would probably be very sympathetic, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to. He’s definitely not going to text Jiang Cheng, and the idea of texting Mrs. Yu right now to ask her to sit down and chat with a random guy about their nonexistent mother-son relationship is so horrific he has to stifle a giggle at the thought.

It feels natural now to open his chat with Lan Wangji instead. The fact that it comes so easily is a bit spooky, but he forges ahead past the urge to question it. 

when ur out of court can u maybe call me

He frowns at the message after it’s already sent, then adds, not for like a bad reason or anything

well it is a bad reason but it’s not bad related to u so u don’t have to worry abt that

not that i think u would necessarily worry but just in case u were gonna for some reason

anyway it’s just a small emotional crisis

tiny really

miniscule

so actually if u dont have time to give me advice thats cool too it’ll probably resolve itself even

but if u can call me that’d be lit

Wei Wuxian emerges from the haze that apparently overtook him while he was sending a million embarrassing texts and stares at them. He’ll probably look more insane if he tries to unsend like ten different messages, so it’s better to just leave them and hope Lan Wangji is kind enough to overlook their slightly manic nature. 

He hesitates, then adds: btw are ur rabbits named tall, grande, venti?

He feels better after sending that last unrelated text, as he always does when he starts to get too real with someone. It feels less heavy when he punctuates it with something frivolous, offering the other person the opportunity to follow his lead into a meaningless conversation rather than address the topics that actually mean something. There’s probably some therapy term to describe that impulse, but Wei Wuxian wouldn’t know because he hasn’t yet worked up the courage to see a therapist. It’s a can he has been kicking down the road for about a decade, give or take.

The workday passes sluggishly with the dark cloud of anxiety hanging over him. Nie Huaisang very helpfully breaks the printer and gives Wei Wuxian a welcome distraction, especially when it becomes clear that Nie Huaisang has no idea where the printer is and what he’s broken is instead what appears to be a fax machine. Wei Wuxian is in the process of asking where and how he found this mysterious contraption, let alone why he broke it, when his phone rings and sends his heart leaping in his chest.

He snatches it up off the desk and tells Nie Huaisang to ask Ouyang Zizhen about the actual printer (not that he thinks Ouyang Zizhen will really be of much help, but it’ll give them both something to do for a short duration other than mess up actually important things). 

Wei Wuxian makes a hasty exit to hide in the bathroom, which is apparently now his go-to place for personal phone calls on work time. Glamorous. Once he’s safely sequestered inside he picks up Lan Wangji’s call. 

“Hi,” he says with the unfortunate breathlessness of someone who just sprinted down a hallway. Maybe Lan Wangji will think it’s sexy. “Hello. Greetings.”

“Hello. Have you been exercising?” Lan Wangji asks.

“No, of course not,” Wei Wuxian says. “I was just—making haste. You get it. Anyway, what’s up?”

“I have finished in court and am calling you per your request.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to wince. Earlier, he had wanted nothing more than to hear Lan Wangji’s calming voice, but now he just feels embarrassed. “Oh. Right. That. Well.”

“Did something upset you?” 

“I mean . . . it’s stupid, really—”

“It is not stupid if you were upset by it.”

Damn Lan Wangji and his emotional intelligence. Of course he has been to therapy. “I mean, I guess. It’s just a call I had with one of our maybe-donors for the Beetle Drive. You know, the—”

“Yes, your annual fundraiser.”

Wei Wuxian hates what a good listener Lan Wangji is. And by hates he means feels deeply inadequate about because his own listening skills so often waver along with his ability to focus. “Right, right, that. So, basically, this guy wanted to discuss a ‘concern,’ which was apparently that I’m not enough of a ‘family man’ like he is and somehow I’m some representative of CRAPP’s values as an organization or something so, long story short, he wants me to set up a meeting with me, him, and Mrs. Yu to chat about how harmonious we are as mother and son. So I guess I am a little on edge about having to do that.”

“Do you have to do that?” Lan Wangji asks. Wei Wuxian can’t read his tone well enough to know if it’s an actual question or an implication that maybe he doesn’t.

“Well . . . yes. Don’t I?”

“Surely your boss doesn’t expect you to put yourself in a such a detrimental position just to keep a donor.”

Wei Wuxian actually rather thinks Dr. Baoshan would have no problem with that as long as it benefited the dung beetles. 

“I mean . . .”

“Wei Ying, are you asking me for my opinion or would you prefer I just listen while you work through it?”

The question has him utterly flummoxed for a good few moments. “I . . .” No one’s asked him that before, so he’s never had to consider what he wanted out of a conversation when he’s feeling upset. “I guess I want your opinion, please.” Clearly Lan Wangji is better at all this interpersonal stuff than he is. 

“Very well. I think you should not do it.”

“Not do what?”

“Not set up this meeting.”

“But . . . the donor . . . ?” he says uncertainly.

“The donor is egregiously overstepping professional boundaries, to the point where I suspect he has an ulterior motive.” 

“An ulterior motive,” Wei Wuxian echoes, turning the phrase over in his mind.

“Yes. Since your mother is a person of public interest”—what an endearingly and thoroughly Lan Wangji way to say celebrity—“I am inclined to think he wants to meet her for reasons unrelated to you.”

“Well, that’s . . . possible, I guess.” It would not be the first time someone had tried to get to Mrs. Yu through him, though they didn’t normally use the excuse of needing to rectify his extensive mommy issues. 

“Regardless of his intent, however, I feel obligated to point out that meeting with Mrs. Yu would be unpleasant for you.”

“Understatement.”

“And I find it unlikely that she would express a positive view of your relationship, so even if you went through the trouble, you might not keep the donor anyway.”

“That’s true,” Wei Wuxian says rather faintly, torn between ruminating on the situation at hand and ruminating on how sexy Lan Wangji sounds when he’s giving advice. If he had ever come across a therapist who looked like Lan Wangji, maybe he would’ve actually be tempted to finally make an appointment. 

“Furthermore, you can find other donors to replace this one. I can help.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian says, eyebrows lifting at the prospect. Was Lan Wangji planning to go door-to-door canvassing to ask people to donate money to beetles, or—?

“Yes. You may recall that I am acquainted with many lawyers.”

“Yes?”

“Some of whom work for private firms.”

“Okay?”

“And make a fair amount of money.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says as understanding dawns, “you want me to shake down your lawyer friends for money!”

“I would not say ‘shake down,’ precisely—”

“What are you going to do, host a Take Your Fake Boyfriend to Work Day? Though I guess you don’t actually work with some of these people, so maybe we would have to take some field trips. I’m not opposed to intracity travel, but I draw the line at taking any Ubers. I’ve heard from a semi-reliable source that they have an unethical business model.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian feels like his chest is being squeezed by some unseen force when he detects Lan Wangji’s soft smile in the words. “You may recall I have invited you to a dinner party with colleagues. There will also be former colleagues who have since moved on to prestigious firms.”

“Oh, right. Well, then perfect.”

This conversation doesn’t feel remotely real. The tight knot of anxiety that’s been making it hard to swallow all day is temporarily dispelled, just like that. He didn’t realize how badly he needed someone to tell him that it was okay and even reasonable not to comply with Jin Guangshan’s request. He’s not obligated to pander to a total dickhead of a donor who probably doesn’t really want to donate anyway, nor to grovel at Mrs. Yu’s feet for a favor she almost certainly wouldn’t grant. The idea that he could just say no is so freeing and so simple he feels stupid that he couldn’t just come to this conclusion himself. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again. 

“Lan Zhan.”

“I am glad you asked me to call you.”

“Because you get a kick out of dealing with emotional disasters?”

“Because I care about you and don’t want to see you harmed.”

“That’s—” Totally unreasonable. Foul play. Illegal. Why would he say that? “—nice of you.” God, what an idiotic response. “I care about you too,” he tries again.

“I have to get back to work now, but I won’t be in court the rest of the day, should you wish to discuss this matter again.”

“Thanks, Lan Zhan. I really needed this, so . . . thank you.”

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian thinks he’s going to hang up, but then he says, “Also, I did not understand the rabbit names you sent to me. Two of them seemed to be in Italian, and I do not know why I would use the name ‘Tall’ when rabbits are not, in my experience, ever particularly tall.”

Wei Wuxian is startled into a burst of laughter. He feels lighter than he has all day. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Please never change.”

Chapter Text

When Jiang Yanli invites Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji over for lunch on Saturday, Wei Wuxian senses an ulterior motive as soon as they arrive. 

She smiles sweetly as she puts a pot of vegetarian lotus root soup on the table. The delicious aroma wafting from it is not enough to distract Wei Wuxian from his suspicion, but he very helpfully dishes it out to the three of them. 

“Thank you for inviting us,” Lan Wangji says. “This soup is delicious.”

“What’d I tell you?” Wei Wuxian says, putting a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder for emphasis. “A-jie makes the best soup in the entire world, probably.”

Jiang Yanli beams at both of them from across the table. “Thank you! You’re too kind. So,” his sister says pleasantly, “how have the two of you been getting along?”

Wei Wuxian drops his hand and focuses intently on his soup.

“Very well,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian tries for a casual laugh. “What is this, a-jie, fake couples counseling?”

A tiny crease appears between her brows. “Do you need couples counseling?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says firmly.

Wei Wuxian flicks him a look and suppresses his smile before it gives him away. “Of course not. We’re thriving.”

“Really?” Jiang Yanli says. “I’ve never been in a fake relationship before. Is it just like being in a real one?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow at her, but before he can ask any of his many suspicious follow-up questions, Lan Wangji says, “In many respects, yes.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Mutual respect and fondness, for example.”

This time, Wei Wuxian can’t actually stop his jaw from dropping, and he knows Jiang Yanli clocks it. “Would you agree, A-Xian?”

“I—” Wei Wuxian shoves some lotus root in his mouth. “What?” he says with his mouth half-full.

“You shouldn’t talk while eating. You could choke,” Lan Wangji says seriously.

“Okay, thank you, Dr. Lan.”

“That would be my brother, actually.” Lan Wangji gives him a tiny smile.

Jiang Yanli is watching the two of them like a a tennis match; it’s too bad there’s soup in front of her instead of popcorn. “I can definitely see the mutual respect and fondness.”

“A-jie, did you ask us here just to interrogate us?”

“No,” she says, blinking innocently. “I invited you here for soup!”

Oh, she’s good. A veritable criminal mastermind. “Have I mentioned the soup is great?” he tries.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you. Of course, I also just wanted to check in on you two, since I know you both had some reservations about starting this arrangement initially. But it’s going well?”

The worst part is that he knows she’s totally sincere in wanting to make sure they’re both happy with whatever they have going on right now. Her concern makes it so much harder to dodge her. Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Wangji, wondering if he’ll take the lead again, but he’s looking back at Wei Wuxian, waiting for an answer. Damn.

“Well . . . I would say so, yeah. I’m happy. I mean, I’m happy with the whole situation. It feels very real.” He coughs. “Looks. It looks very real, which is good! It means we’re succeeding. Yay!” He offers Lan Wangji his hand for a low-five, but Lan Wangji just looks at his hand, perplexed, before raising his own hand and lacing their fingers together.

Now it’s Jiang Yanli’s turn to feign a cough, but Wei Wuxian can’t even turn to look at her because he’s staring at their intertwined hands. He feels he has brought this upon himself; perhaps Lan Wangji has never seen a low-five because he wasn’t on any elementary school sports teams where you had to exchange them with a monotone “Good game,” at the end of a game. This was an oversight on Wei Wuxian’s part. He should’ve gone for a high-five! Does Lan Wangji know what a high-five is?

Lan Wangji gives his hand a squeeze and lets go so he can pick up his chopsticks. He doesn’t look fazed at all, so Wei Wuxian tries not to gape at him. He turns back toward his sister instead, and she looks delighted. 

“Definitely succeeding,” she agrees, as if it’s totally reasonable and normal to just pick the thread of conversation back up after such an event. “It looks very real to me,” she adds sweetly. “If that helps.”

“Thank you, a-jie,” Wei Wuxian grits out. “How lovely of you to say. I’ve actually heard there’s a social convention against talking while eating, and also you could choke and die, so we should probably all just finish our soup in silence.”

He allows himself a little peek at Lan Wangji and just catches his upturned lips. He doesn’t dare look at his sister again.

Wei Wuxian has been trying for many days now to think of a way to facilitate the grand reveal of his newly clean apartment, and he has talked himself out of every idea he’s come up with, mostly because it would probably just be setting himself up for humiliation if Lan Wangji doesn’t have any reaction at all to his great efforts.

So it’s probably for the best that Jiang Yanli helpfully suggests they go back to Wei Wuxian’s apartment for dessert. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to tell her that he does not have anything resembling dessert in his apartment. (Or at least not anything he could ethically feed to a Victorian child or Lan Wangji without traumatizing them. He doesn’t think Lan Wangji is ready to discover Atomic FireBall candy.) But if there’s one thing his sister’s good at, it’s predicting him, so she sends them on their way with a platter of cakes and an insistence that she has plans so she can’t possibly join them for dessert.

Wei Wuxian unlocks his apartment door and pauses before he actually opens it. “So, do you remember that thing I mentioned at dinner with my friends about them helping me, and I said I’d tell you later?”

“Yes. You also said it was about crime,” Lan Wangji says pointedly.

“That was a joke! You’ll like this way more than crime. Probably. I mean, I don’t know how much you like crime, since it kinda keeps you employed, but—”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s tone is patient, but he reaches for the door handle and opens the door before Wei Wuxian can change his mind about this whole thing and stop him.

As they enter the apartment and take off their shoes, Lan Wangji glances around, his face slowly opening with surprise. “You cleaned?”

“Ta-da!” Wei Wuxian says stupidly, throwing in jazz hands for extra effect. 

“You cleaned,” Lan Wangji repeats, not a question this time. 

“Well, yes,” Wei Wuxian says. “I had a certain . . . inspiration, I guess you could say. So I rallied the troops and we made great efforts to make this place habitable!”

“You could have asked me, too.”

“Well, no. That would defeat the whole goal of surprising you!” Lan Wangji has moved past surprised to something else: at this point his gaze on Wei Wuxian is intense but entirely unreadable. “Lan Zhan, what do you thi—?”

“You did this for me?” Lan Wangji asks quietly. 

Wei Wuxian takes a small step toward him. “I mean . . . I guess I should probably say it was for me, too, but—yeah, of course it was for you. I want you to be comfortable here, and to want to be here. With me. Or, not with, maybe, but like—”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s eyes are still boring into him, but there’s no telling what he’s thinking. Wei Wuxian tracks each movement carefully as Lan Wangji steps forward, and he feels like he can’t even breathe by the time they’re mere inches apart. 

“Lan Zhan, wh—?”

“I would like to kiss you now, if you are amenable.”

Every part of Wei Wuxian’s body is frozen—he wouldn’t even be surprised if his internal functions had stopped. “If I’m—? You want to what?” If Lan Wangji had told him he wanted to run naked down the street singing Christmas carols, Wei Wuxian would be less startled. Has he lost his entire damn mind? “But you only kiss people you like!”

The eyebrow raise Lan Wangji gives him is almost comical. “Correct.”

“But—” Wei Wuxian feels like his mind is running millions of calculations a second and at the same time it’s unable to do anything at all. “Lan Zhan, you’re not making any sense.”

“I do not know how to be any clearer,” Lan Wangji says, but apparently he does know, because a second later he’s cupping Wei Wuxian’s chin with one hand. “May I?”

Wei Wuxian may be terribly perplexed by what has changed here, but he’s certainly not going to say no—not when he’s wanted this for longer than he’d even care to admit. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Of course. I—”

He doesn’t know what nonsense he was planning to babble now, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because Lan Wangji cuts him off with a searing kiss.

Wei Wuxian is appalled and entirely unsurprised to discover that it’s far, far better than he imagined.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, some ambiguous amount of time later, as they’re sitting on the couch, eating the cakes Jiang Yanli prepared, “when I said you only kiss people you like and you said, ‘Correct,’ all exasperated and sexy, what did you mean by that?”

His legs are sprawled across Lan Wangji’s lap, and Lan Wangji doesn’t even look aggrieved about it. He does, however, lift his eyebrows again at the question. “Wei Ying, I know you are capable of deductive reasoning. What do you think?”

Wei Wuxian gapes at having the question volleyed back at him. “But surely you’re not saying you like me?”

“Yes, I am. I do like you.”

“But—why?” he demands.

“Why not?” Lan Wangji counters. He’s a slippery one, that Lan Wangji. 

“We’ve established so many reasons throughout this fake relationship why I am not boyfriend material.”

“That is not what I’ve established.”

Wei Wuxian feels incredibly wrong-footed by Lan Wangji suddenly going rogue. He can’t just decide all on his own that Wei Wuxian is worthy of liking. That’s crazy! It’s madness!

“But, then—what if I like you back?” Wei Wuxian says, not sure how he thinks that’s going to work as a counter, but it turns out kissing Lan Wangji is very detrimental to cognition. Someone should probably conduct a scientific study of this phenomenon.

“That would be ideal,” Lan Wangji says, his mouth twitching as if he might be amused.

“Lan Zhan! I’m having an emotional crisis and you’re laughing at me?” Wei Wuxian exclaims, with not a drop of real indignation in the words. 

“I’m not laughing,” Lan Wangji says. “Why are you having an emotional crisis?”

As if he doesn’t know why! As if it isn’t entirely his fault for swooping in here all hot and serious and vegetarian and lawyer-y and making Wei Wuxian feel extremely real things about a supposedly fake relationship! 

“Because I like you!” 

“That’s good.”

“No, it’s—” Wei Wuxian tries to think of a reason why it’s not good. Lan Wangji said he likes him back, after all. But maybe Lan Wangji hasn’t encountered the concept of temporary insanity yet in his lawyering, so he doesn’t know that’s what might be afflicting him currently. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if he can trust that Lan Wangji’s affection will last in the long run. “Doesn’t that just complicate things?”

“Maybe,” Lan Wangji says. “Maybe it makes them less complicated.”

Wei Wuxian squints at him. “Hm.”

“Nothing needs to change right now,” Lan Wangji says. 

Wei Wuxian lets out a relieved breath and says, “Well, maybe one thing does.”

“Yes?”

“We should add a kissing clause to our fake dating contract.” He gives Lan Wangji a hopeful look.

“There is no written contract,” Lan Wangji says, which earns him an eye roll from Wei Wuxian. “But we can add it to the metaphorical contract that is not legally binding, because it is metaphorical.”

And then what is Wei Wuxian supposed to do except laugh and test out that new clause of their metaphorical, non-legally-binding contract?

Chapter Text

It feels pretty true to the general trajectory of Wei Wuxian’s life that things take a turn so quickly. And, as with most disasters he encounters, this one is at least partly self-inflicted.

He really needs to turn off the Google alert for his name. It’s always been a stupid idea, and getting those emails has never brought him anything except misery, really. But it’s too late for that consideration once he decides to check it as he’s brushing his teeth, with Lan Wangji presumably in his bedroom waiting for him to return. Wei Wuxian’s recent bout of neutral to mildly positive or downright nonexistent press has lulled him into a false sense of security, to the point where it takes him several seconds of squinting at his phone to process the headline he’s seeing.

Wei Wuxian and the Curse of Secondhand Celebrity by Jin Guangyao.

Well, that can’t be good. No thinkpiece titled like a fucking Harry Potter novel ever is.

Wei Wuxian isn’t famous. (True. Not a bad start.) His name is not worth knowing on any of his own merits, and yet it has been routinely dragged into the public consciousness for more than a decade by a near-constant string of youthful indiscretions. (Wei Wuxian greatly objects to the idea that he is part of any public consciousness, whatever the hell that means. It must be a high-brow way of saying “got maligned by random tabloids on slow news days.”)

The amorphous haze of secondhand fame that clings to him is a byproduct of his adoptive mother’s very real celebrity: Yu Ziyuan, the ice queen of modern cinema, whose once-illustrious acting career continues to plummet with each year she ages. She may be typecast as a mother on the silver screen nowadays, but is she capable of playing that role in real life? When it comes to her supposed son, the answer seems obvious. (Wei Wuxian really can’t dispute that, at least.)

When I first saw Wei Wuxian wearing a pair of bunny ears and a empty smile at a dimly lit party last month, (okay, conveniently neglecting to mention that it was a costume party, thank you) he didn’t look like much. I wouldn’t have known from looking at him that he was supposed to be someone, not until the person next to me leaned over and muttered, “That’s Yu Ziyuan’s kid. Well, sort of.” It was like they’d spotted a rare, slightly tragic animal in the wild—though perhaps describing him as an abandoned cub surrounded by vultures would be too on the nose. Curious despite myself, I dared approach, wondering if he was still capable of holding it together after spending so many years being publicly dissected.

What I found was a man steeped in the kind of cynical, self-involved paranoia that can only arise from the center of a yearslong media storm. The headlines he has inspired speak for themselves: “Yu Ziyuan’s Adopted Son Caught in Club Scuffle.” “Wei Wuxian’s Weekend Spiral, Explained.” “Sources Call Wei Wuxian a ‘Walking Red Flag.’” “Anonymous Insider Says Yu Ziyuan Regrets Adoption.” Unlike Yu Ziyuan’s two biological children, who seem to have stable enough lives to incur minimal press beyond family fluff pieces, Wei Wuxian has become infamous for his various scandals and seemingly aimless life. (Who’s he calling aimless? What is Jin Guangyao doing to save the dung beetles, hm?) There’s practically no iteration of drunken mishap or minor legal incident that hasn’t managed to attach itself to his name. (The man doth praise too much; surely there must be one or two sins Wei Wuxian still has yet to encounter.) And with all of that swirling around him, what’s really left of the person inside? (No comment.)

Someone like that, as I learned, can’t maintain a pleasant conversation for long before devolving into suspicions and wild accusations about the other person’s motives. (And exactly how wrong were his instincts about Jin Guangyao, considering what he’s currently reading?) Such behavior must come with the territory of being adopted by a famous actress—begrudgingly, if the rumors are to be believed—who refuses to acknowledge you in public unless absolutely necessary. “‘Mom’ is such a strong word,” Wei Wuxian said to me when I asked about Yu Ziyuan, the words dripping with resentment from growing up without a mother’s love. (Unprovoked?)

Wei Wuxian exists in some pitiful space between family accessory and PR liability. He hasn’t followed in Yu Ziyuan’s acting footsteps, nor has he tried to launch a music career or a fashion brand. (Well, maybe he should, if it would inspire Jin Guangyao so much!) He’s become infamous merely by proximity to a woman who by all accounts doesn’t even seem to like him, and he’s done nothing to convince us that he’s even worth our time to gawk at. Perhaps that’s the real story here—how little it takes to become a story. In our vapid, celebrity-obsessed culture, we can’t help but invest in the minutiae of the stars, even if that means spotlighting side characters in their lives who have no business taking center stage. (At least he and Jin Guangyao can agree on that.)

Here’s the thing about Wei Wuxian: He’s a mirror. We can look at him and see whatever we expect to. A bad boy. (Feels untrue.) A cautionary tale. (Probably true.) A failed nepo baby. (Can that be true if he hasn’t wanted or tried to capitalize on her fame?) A mess of mommy issues. (Unfortunately true.) A sad little prince of wasted potential. (He’s not even going to touch this one with a hundred-foot pole.) He can be all those things to us, and yet in a way he’s also nothing at all. (Ouch?)

Until he actually does something, Wei Wuxian remains exactly what the culture made him: a cautionary footnote in someone else’s legacy. He’s just a tragic supporting character in a script he didn’t write.

And yet, somehow, we still can’t stop watching.

So, it’s not great.

And Wei Wuxian means that both in terms of the article quality and also the immense psychic damage it has dealt him in the last five or so minutes. Distantly, he becomes aware of someone laughing and idly thinks it must be himself. His toothbrush has been discarded haphazardly on the sink counter, and he barely remembers to scrub the toothpaste foam from the corners of his mouth before he strides out of the bathroom.

There’s some external force controlling every motion as he pulls on his shoes and shrugs on a jacket. The fact that he’s wearing pajamas has not struck him as a concern.

“Wei Ying?”

The low voice is a sudden stream of ice water rushing over his head. Wei Wuxian freezes with his hand on the doorknob and looks back. “Lan Zhan, I . . .” He doesn’t know how to explain. “I have to go,” he says nonsensically.

“Go?” Lan Wangji bestows upon him the honor of actually frowning, with full use of his facial muscles and everything. It’s a pity Wei Wuxian can’t appreciate it at present. “Where are you going so late?”

That’s an interesting question. It’s especially interesting, in fact, because Wei Wuxian does not have an answer for either of their sakes. He just needs to go, to try and outrun his own thoughts. “I don’t know. I just can’t . . . be here.”

“With me?” Lan Wangji supplies, and it’s not until he says it that Wei Wuxian realizes that is in fact where his train of thought was headed, even if he hadn’t consciously arrived there yet. He has this sudden conviction that he can’t be around Lan Wangji right now, not when that stupid thinkpiece has flayed off several layers of skin, threatening to expose the absolute nothingness underneath. Maybe Lan Wangji won’t look at him and see a mirror, even, but just an empty frame with nothing worth putting inside. 

It’s clearly not Wei Wuxian’s first taste of bad press, nor should it matter any more than any other silly article by people who don’t really know him. If Wei Wuxian had any good sense, he would banish it to the furthest recesses of his mind and just climb into bed next to his fake-ish boyfriend with real benefits.

No one has ever accused Wei Wuxian of possessing good sense.

“Lan Zhan, I think this was all a mistake. I need to—I need some space. From everything, I guess.”

Lan Wangji continues to stare at him with that discerning look, but Wei Wuxian can’t imagine what he would able to glean. “Wei Ying, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Wrong?” Wei Wuxian echoes with a high, fake laugh. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great! I just suddenly thought . . . this isn’t going to work. I’m not sure what we were thinking, but it’s not too late to just cut our losses and part ways before this whole thing blows up in our faces. Doesn’t that sound better? Wouldn’t that—?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?”

“That does not sound better. I believe this will work.”

The quiet confidence in Lan Wangji’s voice fills him with some burning sensation that could be affection, desolation or just plain horror. Wei Wuxian can’t possibly diagnose it under these circumstances. 

“Well, unfortunately it takes two to tango, so your belief isn’t really enough.” Lan Wangji takes a step forward, and it only makes him grip the doorknob more tightly. “Really, seriously, Lan Zhan, it’s not worth it. It’s not—you just have to trust me, okay, that this is for the best. There’s no reason to end up regretting this later when we could just save ourselves the trouble now.”

“Whether I will or will not regret this one day, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

“That’s because your regrets can just be private, sad little affairs over a cup of tea. When I regret something, it becomes this monumental disaster that makes a mediocre story for page eight of a tabloid, and that doesn’t just affect me.”

“I’m aware this is a concern for you,” Lan Wangji says patiently.

“It’s more than just a concern, Lan Zhan. This is my life! You have no idea what it’s like—and I’m glad you don’t. Every stupid decision I’ve ever made—or even decisions I didn’t make, that other people just assumed I must have because of some misleading photo or a fake insider quote or whatever the fuck—that’s all public interest, somehow. And it’s not even the kind that makes a proper, worthwhile story. It’s just meaningless gossip that people barely even read, and yet somehow it still follows me around everywhere and it ruins every good thing it finds. I don’t want to wait and watch as it ruins this too.”

“Wei Ying, what has happened?”

He shrugs, avoiding Lan Wangji’s intent gaze. “Nothing has happened. Except—you’ve happened, and somehow I’ve started to think that things could be different, but I know better. They’re never going to be different. That’s how this ends.”

Lan Wangji is silent for an excruciatingly long time before he says, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I think we should talk about it more.”

So Wei Wuxian can once again become bewitched by Lan Wangji’s calm voice and perfect face and lawyerly wiles? Absolutely not. He has to get out of here before he goes insane and puts Lan Wangji in his blast radius. 

“No, I think I should leave.”

“Wei Ying, this is your apartment.”

Yeah, that does make this kind of awkward, doesn’t it? 

“Well, I’m going to get a change of scenery. You can stay the night, so you don’t have to worry about getting an unethical rideshare, and then tomorrow you can just go home and forget I ever existed.” And I will utterly fail to forget about you for the rest of my miserable life, he thinks. Yay!

Lan Wangji looks as though he’s on the verge of just grabbing Wei Wuxian by the scruff and forcing him to sit on the couch to talk, so Wei Wuxian yanks open his front door, slams it behind him, and runs.

It’s not his best moment, but unfortunately he doesn’t even think it would crack the top five of his worst.

The thing about abandoning his own apartment in the middle of the night is that it’s the middle of the night and he has no idea where he’s going to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s quite reached the rock bottom of sleeping on a bench—though no doubt that could make for an exciting story after Wei Wuxian has failed to offer the paparazzi much of interest recently.

His first thought is Jiang Yanli, but he already knows she would have so many questions he does not want to answer, and he’s not sure he can hold up to her scrutiny, nor does he want to wake her up if she’s already gone to bed. Besides, she lives with Jin Zixuan, and he’ll sooner die than reveal any weaknesses in front of that peacock.

It’s a dark day when his best bet is to request shelter from Jiang Cheng. His brother may be ornery, but a skilled interrogator he is not, nor does he have the emotional insight to ask the right questions. The only slight problem will be . . .

“No,” Jiang Cheng says immediately upon opening the door. 

“I haven’t said anything yet!”

“You’ve shown up on my doorstep with no warning at god knows what time. What if I was sleeping?”

“Were you?”

“No, but I could’ve been. What could you possibly want? Obviously, you’re up to no good. I’m not helping you bury any bodies.”

Wei Wuxian genuinely can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a metaphor or not.

“There are no bodies! Well, just one: mine. A body that is in need of borrowing your guest room for the night.”

Jiang Cheng eyes him with great suspicion. “Why? What’s wrong with your apartment?”

“There’s a gas leak,” Wei Wuxian lies. “Won’t you grant your poor brother some temporary asylum?”

Jiang Cheng’s expression now suggests he’s wondering if a gas leak may somehow be contagious, but he at least opens the door wider and steps back in begrudging invitation. 

“I called your landlord. There’s no gas leak in your apartment.”

After a terrible night’s sleep, Wei Wuxian has to fight to scrounge up the wherewithal to contend with Jiang Cheng’s accusatory glare at the breakfast table. He takes another large gulp of coffee, then says, “How do you have my landlord’s number? I don’t think I even have it saved.”

“Why would you lie about there being a gas leak?” 

“Because I needed a place to stay, and that seemed like a good reason.”

“Why would you not just tell me the actual reason?”

“Didn’t seem relevant.”

“Didn’t seem—Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian makes a vague wave with one hand that’s half-placating, half-begging Jiang Cheng to dial it down. “It was just a long, boring story about how I freaked out on my fake boyfriend and fled my own apartment in disgrace.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Typical.” He waits, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t offer anything else. “Why did you freak out on him, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such a gossipy heart, Jiang Cheng.”

“Oh, shut up,” his brother says, with surprisingly little bite to his voice. “You’re the one leeching off my hospitality. The least you could do is explain why.”

With a sigh, Wei Wuxian capitulates to the undercurrent of concern in Jiang Cheng’s tone. “There was . . . an article.” (Luckily, with his phone off, he can live in a state of blissful ignorance about whether Mrs. Yu has seen it yet. Did Schrödinger have any thought experiments about adoptive mothers?)

Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows deeply. He too knows that nothing good starts with that line.

“The whole thing is honestly so stupid. I met this guy at—you remember that dumb costume party a while ago? When I was looking for you and a-jie and the rest, this guy started talking to me, and I thought he was flirting at first but then it got weird.”

“Weird how?” Jiang Cheng prompts.

“Like . . . I don’t know, he suddenly started asking about Mrs. Yu, and I shut that down immediately, and he had mentioned he’s like a wannabe journalist, so I got bad vibes about the whole thing, and I did not extract myself very gracefully, so I guess I left a lasting enough impression for him to write a hit piece in the Journal about my inherited infamy and mommy issues and shit.” Wei Wuxian feels slightly out of breath after running through the explanation, and he watches with apprehension as Jiang Cheng takes all this in. 

His brother pinches the bridge of his nose. “You should know better than to get involved with a journalist. What the hell?”

“I didn’t know he was a journalist when he came up to me!”

“That should’ve been the first red flag!”

“What, you don’t think people like to chat with me at parties for my dashing good looks and winning personality?”

Jiang Cheng is still making that scrunched expression at him. “You need to be more responsible. When you do stuff like this, it could bring more scrutiny on all of us!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“It doesn’t,” he insists. “I’ve made sure of that!”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow, and it alerts Wei Wuxian to his misstep. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing!”

“No, you obviously did mean something by that. What did you make sure of?”

“Really, it’s nothing. I was just saying the media vastly prefers whatever mess I’ve got going on, so if anything it draws attention away from the rest of you.”

“You mean me?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. He doesn’t know how to get this conversation back on track or get rid of it entirely. “I don’t mean anything in particular.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not!”

“Wei Wuxian, if you think I can’t tell when you’re lying—”

“It’s nothing!”

“What did you do?”

“Jiang Cheng, I really don’t think—”

“Surely you’re not saying you do it on purpose. You’re a mess all on your own.”

“Right, that’s very true. So—”

“Or are you? Are you saying you’ve fanned the flames against yourself on purpose?”

“When did I say that?” Wei Wuxian protests.

But Jiang Cheng can’t let go once he smells blood. It’s one of his most vexing traits. “When was it? What was it?”

“When was what?”

“Whenever you martyred yourself to draw attention from the rest of us. Surely it wasn’t right from the beginning?”

“No, of course not,” Wei Wuxian says weakly. 

“You’re lying!”

“Look, we really don’t need to get into any of this. You’re just fishing! It’s not—”

“Was it those photos?” Jiang Cheng says suddenly. 

Wei Wuxian feels ice sliding all the way down his spine. “What photos?” 

Jiang Cheng is still scrutinizing his face. “It was, wasn’t it? I always wondered how the media got hold of those when they were so private. But why—?” He cuts himself off, and then his entire face is wrinkling even more with some combination of anger and confusion. “Was that when—?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know. Was that when what?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! It was just a coincidence.”

“What was a coincidence?”

Fuck. “I don’t know. Whatever you’re thinking of. There are no dots to connect, really.”

“How do you know there aren’t dots to connect unless you know what I’m thinking of?”

“I don’t. I’m just speaking generally.”

Wei Wuxian can tell this is not going according to plan, and he’s increasingly sure that his escape hatch is being nailed shut. 

“When we were in college,” Jiang Cheng says slowly, “and the media got hold of those compromising photos of you, who did they deflect attention away from?”

Jiang Cheng used to be a lot easier to fool, Wei Wuxian thinks. It’s a shame that’s no longer the case.

“How do you know they deflected attention away from anyone?” he asks. 

Jiang Cheng’s jaw tightens. “Because I—”

He doesn’t finish. Wei Wuxian doesn’t say anything either. They just stare at each other for much longer than is comfortable for either of them. 

“Jiang Cheng, we really don’t have to get into all this,” Wei Wuxian says entreatingly. “There’s nothing to even talk about, anyway.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says, stubborn as ever. “I want you to tell me why and how those photos got out. I always assumed someone leaked them without your consent, or you were just careless or something. Is that not what happened?”

“I am careless. Very, very careless. Let’s just leave it at that!”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says again. “Tell me.”

“What good will come from that?” Wei Wuxian says before he can really think it through; the words make Jiang Cheng’s whole body tense up even more. 

“Just tell me already. What are you hiding? What did you do?”

“It was nothing, really,” Wei Wuxian protests weakly. “I just—” Fucking hell, is he really going to do this? Is there not a way to avoid it entirely? Will a meteor not just land on this place right now? “Look, don’t get upset, okay?”

“I’m not upset!” Jiang Cheng snaps, sounding very upset. “I just want you to tell me whatever you’ve been keeping from me!”

“I haven’t been keeping it,” Wei Wuxian lies. “It just hasn’t come up!”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“Okay! Chill! It really is not as big a deal as you’re making it sound. Back in college I found out that a tabloid had been sent some pictures—”

“Of you?”

“No, of . . . you, actually.” Jiang Cheng pales, but waves him on. “I don’t know how they got them, either; I guess another student wanted the payout for them, or something, and I didn’t have the money to buy them out, obviously, but I didn’t think you would want them getting released—also obviously—so I just made a . . . trade, of sorts.”

“A trade,” Jiang Cheng echoes in a flat voice. As Wei Wuxian was talking, his expression had started to fade to blankness. 

“It was noth—”

“If you say it was nothing again, I’m going to kill you,” he says woodenly. “You gave them those pictures of yourself instead, didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, closes it as he tries to envision the right thing to say, and then tries again. “Like I said, it’s really not a big deal. I just—”

“How can you say that?” Jiang Cheng explodes, his hands balled in fists at his side. “Of course it’s a big deal. Why would you ever give them something like that on purpose? Why would you betray your own privacy like that?”

“Because it doesn’t matter as much to me as it does to you!” Wei Wuxian takes a sharp breath to steel himself before continuing. “My reputation was in shambles as is, so it’s not like I particularly cared how much more Mrs. Yu would hate me, or how much anyone else would scorn me. It wouldn’t even really make a difference at that point! But it wasn’t like that for you, and I knew that, and I had a chance to stop it, so I did. And I didn’t want you to know, because I knew you’d overreact!”

“I’M NOT OVERREACTING!” It’s practically a yell. He makes at least some effort to modulate his volume when he adds, “I’m not. That’s a huge fucking deal! That’s—that’s an egregious violation of privacy. How could you not care?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t care,” Wei Wuxian mutters. “I just minimized the damage the only way I knew how. Those photos of you were—I know you were going through something and, like, trying to figure yourself out, and I didn’t know if you would be able to bounce back from having your drunken exploits exposed to the whole world.”

“When you say drunken exploits, you mean—?”

“I mean there are things that would be more upsetting to you than to me if they were leaked,” Wei Wuxian says carefully. This is not a subject the two of them have ever broached, but then, there are many personal topics they’ve never been willing to discuss with each other.

Jiang Cheng rakes a rough hand through his hair. “How do you—what do you know?”

“I’m not saying I know anything,” Wei Wuxian protests, “except that some things seem to make you uncomfortable, and that’s your business.”

They’re treading very dangerous territory. This whole conversation has been dangerous. Wei Wuxian really feels it’s not one they ever needed to have.

“So you know I’m—?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, not sure what else to do. “You don’t have to tell me anything, if there’s even anything to tell.”

“It’s not some secret,” Jiang Cheng says. The way his entire body is still pulled taut seems to negate that statement, at least in part. “I’m just not interested in any of that stuff—”

“You mean, like, sex?” Wei Wuxian clarifies.

“Sex, romance, whatever. Any of it. And I already know that makes me some kind of freak, but I don’t need you to coddle me and—”

“It doesn’t make you a freak,” Wei Wuxian says, trying not to panic about having to have a serious and emotionally charged conversation about his brother’s sexuality. Where is that meteor when you need one? “Plenty of people feel that way. It’s not—I mean, asexuality is not as common as being straight, I guess, but neither is being gay, or bi, or any of that.” 

“Asexuality,” Jiang Cheng repeats, slowly enough that Wei Wuxian starts to fear he’s misinterpreted something. “You’re saying I’m . . . that.”

“I’m not saying anything!” Wei Wuxian waves his hands rather frantically. “If that’s not how you identify, that’s fine too. I don’t know! Sexuality is weird! And fluid, anyway! And who cares!” He avoids Jiang Cheng’s intense stare to glance out the window instead. There are so many people walking by, and none of them seem to be having horrifically personal conversations like this one. God, they’re so lucky.

“I can’t be asexual. A-niang is expecting me to get married and continue the family line or whatever the fuck. I can’t—that’s not . . .”

“If parental expectations could change something like that, there’d be far fewer queer people walking around out there,” Wei Wuxian says with a nod toward the window. “I think asexual people still could get married anyway, if they wanted, although the procreating situation might be a little logistically difficult. But if you’re aromantic too, then I don’t know about the marrying situation either, but it’s not like the world will end if you disappoint your parents. But if you’re not asexual, that’s fine too. Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet—”

“That’s not it.” Jiang Cheng sounds so certain it almost makes Wei Wuxian feel a little proud of him. He would love to borrow some of that certainty for many aspects of his life. 

“Well, okay, that’s fine. If you’re worried about your mom, then just—I don’t know, keep deflecting her questions indefinitely. Maybe she’ll get bored and give up.” Jiang Cheng snorts, and Wei Wuxian half-laughs as well. “Well, probably not. But you shouldn’t marry someone just because your parents want you too; that’ll just make you and your spouse miserable.” Wei Wuxian cannot believe he is resorting to giving marital advice. “Or—hey, you could get a fake partner! A fake spouse, even! Find someone who only wants to marry for the tax benefits.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “I’m not following in your footsteps, thanks.”

“For your information, I happen to no longer have a fake boyfriend, on account of we broke up.”

“You fake broke up with your fake boyfriend?”

“No, I think we really broke up, actually.” Wei Wuxian thinks wistfully about the hand Lan Wangji stretched toward him as he ran away. 

“How did you really break up if you weren’t even together?” Jiang Cheng demands. 

Wei Wuxian sighs dramatically to cover up how real his heartache feels. “I’d like to know that too. I guess we weren’t very good at being fake boyfriends.” The kissing is probably evidence of that. God, he cannot start thinking about kissing Lan Wangji again.

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms over his chest with an exasperated huff. “Well, I’m not your relationship counselor, and all of that gives me the ick anyway. But you should probably sort that out. Unless it’s his fault, in which case he can go fuck himself.”

Wei Wuxian has whiplash from the various turns this conversation has taken before culminating in Jiang Cheng giving him advice. Maybe the world really is ending.

“No, it’s my fault, actually. I freaked out on him because of the article.”

Jiang Cheng’s brow creases again. “Why?”

“Because—I don’t know. I don’t get why he wants to deal with such a mess when he could find anyone who actually has their life together and won’t get him publicly dragged through the mud. Isn’t it better if we just go our separate ways?”

Wei Wuxian thinks he’s being very reasonable and Jiang Cheng should probably sympathize with Lan Wangji about how difficult it is to deal with a human catastrophe like Wei Wuxian. Surely Wei Wuxian is doing the selfless thing right now?

Instead, though, Jiang Cheng does what he does best and gets mad. “That is so typical of you. You can’t just make decisions for other people and not even tell them!” Call him a psychic, but Wei Wuxian is sensing this isn’t really about Lan Wangji. “It’s not up to you to martyr yourself without even consulting anyone on what they actually want.”

Jiang Cheng spends so much of his time being so unreasonable that Wei Wuxian hates it when he actually makes a good point. 

“If you really did what you did for me, then I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude that I never even asked for—”

“No, you don’t!” Wei Wuxian insists. “That was the whole point of me never telling you! It’s not because I wanted something to hold over your head or that I wanted to operate in secret behind your back. I just don’t see how it would’ve helped if I told you, because then you’d just feel grateful to me or guilty about it, and I don’t want that! I made the decision, and the consequences are mine alone.”

“But they’re not!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “You are not the only person who’s affected by those consequences.”

“Well, obviously Mrs. Yu has made that very clear to m—”

“I’m not talking about her, you imbecile. Do you think I wasn’t worried about you when those photos came out? Do you think I haven’t been worried about you since then? Do you think a-jie hasn’t been upset for you all these years? You don’t live in a vacuum where your actions don’t mean anything to other people. We’re all in here with you! And I never asked you to sacrifice yourself for me!”

The idea of Jiang Yanli being upset is of course upsetting, but the idea of Jiang Cheng being worried about him is mildly horrifying. 

“Well—” Wei Wuxian feels too flustered to make a good argument right now. “Isn’t that what you do when you care about someone and have a way to help them?”

Jiang Cheng stares at him like Wei Wuxian has just professed an interest in autocannibalism. “Wha—that’s not—! You’re the worst. Get out of my house.” Wei Wuxian does actually need to get home, so he downs the rest of his now-lukewarm coffee and shuffles out the door. Jiang Cheng pauses on the threshold and mutters, “We’re not done talking about this,” before he slams the door shut. 

Wei Wuxian feels surprisingly optimistic about how that whole thing went. For Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, that was practically a gentle, loving conversation. 

Then he remembers Lan Wangji, and the small smile slides off his face. It’s maybe possible he has some groveling to do.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian arrives home to an empty apartment and tells himself that he’s relieved about it.

Unfortunately, as gifted as he usually is at banishing negative feelings from conscious thought, he can’t seem to ignore the sensation of some phantom emotion dragging its claws along his skin as he sits on the couch staring at the wall.

He considers and discards at least seventeen potential distractions until he’s finally antsy enough to admit that he doesn’t have the power to exorcise this dread from within the comfort of his living room. He swears he used to be so much better at repressing these things, but all his usual tactics can’t even make a dent in the steadily thrumming anxiety. 

With a sigh, he excavates himself from the couch, lest he sink even deeper into a slouch, and puts his shoes back on.

If he had any courtesy, he would turn his phone back on and give Lan Wangji a heads-up that he’s coming over—but then, if he did have any courtesy, he probably wouldn’t have behaved how he did last night, so it’s rather moot, isn’t it? For all he knows, Lan Wangji has blocked him already anyway, and besides, plugging himself back in to the virtual world just means Mrs. Yu will be able to reach him. 

So it’s with absolutely zero warning (once again) that Wei Wuxian finds himself ringing Lan Wangji’s doorbell. That steady flow of apprehension begins to well up inside him with urgency, but he has no way of knowing whether he’s more afraid of facing Lan Wangji or finding out that Lan Wangji refuses to face him at all.

He’s in the middle of a very poor attempt at taking a deep breath, as he assumes Jiang Yanli would tell him to do in this situation, when the door opens, startling him into a minor coughing fit.

He briefly possesses enough audacity to wonder whether Lan Wangji’s pinched expression is concern or anger before he catches himself.

Lan Wangji does have some courtesy, so he waits until Wei Wuxian collects himself to say, “Hello, Wei Ying.”

“Surprise?” Wei Wuxian tries. How is it possible he’s had the entire way here to think about what to say and didn’t come up with a single thing that won’t end in a slammed door? Wei Wuxian presses a panicked hand against it, just in case. “Wait, wait, I mean—I’m sorry!”

“For showing up here unannounced after trying to break up with me?” The killing blow comes when Lan Wangji adds, “Again.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it makes me sound like a real jerk,” Wei Wuxian jokes. “Which I am, of course! A huge jerk. A very apologetic huge jerk, in fact, so—look, can we maybe talk about this inside?”

If Lan Wangji’s neighbors overhear this exchange, the shame of them knowing he has a personal life may send Lan Wangji into an early grave. (Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to find out whether Lan Wangji is petty enough to leave him something spiteful in his will as penance for being a bad fake boyfriend. Like . . . a mean parrot that’ll live for eighty years. Surely Lan Wangji wouldn’t go out of his way to acquire one just for that purpose, but Wei Wuxian had rather lost any threads of rational thought when he started picturing Lan Wangji trying to discipline a rowdy parrot, and now he’s very inappropriately trying not to laugh. It takes herculean effort, possibly because he is borderline hysterical. Who can say?)

Lan Wangji does in fact allow Wei Wuxian into his home, but Wei Wuxian is not confident that the next phase will be so successful, since it won’t hinge on Lan Wangji’s distaste for causing a public spectacle. 

As they perch on opposite ends of Lan Wangji’s pristine couch, and the memory of the first time they’d done this washes over Wei Wuxian. He would say it’s eerie, how similar the scene is now, but really it just makes sense. Wei Wuxian keeps causing the same problems and then trying to fix them the same way. Like a crazy person, probably.

“So,” he says, “how are Snap, Crackle, and Pop?” 

He’s rewarded with a slight crease between Lan Wangji’s brows. “What?”

“You know, the—” Wei Wuxian uses his hands to make bunny ears over his head (they probably just ends up looking like devil horns, which might actually be apt). Then he has a war flashback to the bunny ears he wore at the costume party that resulted in yesterday’s article and abruptly snatches the smile back off his face.

“Wei Ying, you did not come here to discuss my rabbits.” A pause. “And you must know those are not their names.”

The latter comment brings a slight trace of amusement back to Wei Wuxian’s face. “Yeah, I should’ve guessed that was too whimsical. Um—yeah, right. I came here to apologize for yesterday. Because I am very sorry. Obviously I have some—some issues, I guess you could say, which I assume you gathered when I had an emotional crisis after we kissed. I did warn you I’m not boyfriend material. That’s why I’m not exactly the poster child for successful relationships.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze is as intent as ever. He never does anything by halves, not even the mere act of looking at Wei Wuxian. “Are you saying your past relationships were unsuccessful because you lack certain innate qualities of a romantic partner, or did the failure of your past relationships convince you that you are not ‘boyfriend material’?” Lan Wangji asks, air quotes and all.

Wei Wuxian is so flummoxed he can’t even speak for a moment. He’d been prepared for Lan Wangji to yell at him (read: say hurtful but true things in a slightly raised voice) or ice him out completely, but somehow he wasn’t at all ready for a therapy-style interrogation.

“I—what?” He tries to laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat, so it comes out more like a cough. “Aren’t those the same thing?”

“No.”

“Well, I . . . don’t know.” But the question has smashed a lid on something inside Wei Wuxian’s brain—one he has tried to keep tightly screwed on to avoid ever stumbling across a thought about his romantic history. “I think I’m just not cut out for it. I mean, you’re the one who has been dealing with me. Don’t you think so?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says, which is a pretty bold statement coming from the person who has been fake-or-possibly-real broken up with twice now by Wei Wuxian. 

“It’s not like I want to be a total lost cause,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice quieter than he intended. “But it just never works. Doesn’t that make me the common denominator?”

“If that’s the case, I am just as ill suited to relationships. All my past attempts have been failures too. But I am not willing to accept defeat.” Lan Wangji’s tone grows softer as he says, “Would you like to tell me how any of them ended?” 

Wei Wuxian idly wonders if Lan Wangji is this nice to his clients when they’re confessing their crimes to him. Or is he letting down a wall in this conversation that he doesn’t usually let anyone see past?

He tries not to squirm with discomfort and settles for crossing and uncrossing his ankles in a frenzied pattern. “Just the usual stuff, probably. I’m a lot to handle, I know that. I don’t really blame people for not wanting to stick around to deal with it once it’s not fun anymore.” 

He thinks about his college years, his early adulthood, all the youthful indiscretions and attempts to hold on to people who just slipped away like water in the end. He thinks about how he used to beg for scraps of attention until one day he finally learned that even if he got it, it wouldn’t be enough. And he wouldn’t ever be enough, either.

Lan Wangji’s forehead has developed a couple wrinkles. “Fun?” he echoes.

It’s a little amusing, that this is the word he fixates on. If there were anyone on Earth who hadn’t yet encountered the concept of fun, it would most definitely be Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian feels a soft smile curling up his lips.

“Yeah, you know. Fun,” he says emphatically. “Like . . . I guess for some people there’s a thrill in it, the idea that you’re dating someone only one step removed from an A-lister, and you could get your name memorialized in those ridiculous tabloid stories, or you could—well, benefit in certain other ways.” 

“What other ways?” Lan Wangji says, with a sharp edge to the words. 

God, dealing with a lawyer is almost as bothersome as dealing with Jiang Cheng.

“Access to stuff—parties, famous people, whatever—or . . . I mean, it can be profitable, or so I’m told.” This time, Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait for Lan Wangji to repeat his words in a question. “To, like, sell information.”

“Wei Ying, look at me.”

With effort, Wei Wuxian drags his eyes from the depressingly ascetic walls of Lan Wangji’s living room to meet his gaze. 

“Have your previous romantic partners sold information about you to the press?” 

“Not all of them,” Wei Wuxian says. Even he can hear how stupid that sounds. “But—some, yeah. I don’t really blame them. Might as well get something useful out of a lackluster relationship, right?”

“Not right,” Lan Wangji says, with so much vehemence that Wei Wuxian is once again taken aback. “That’s despicable.”

“Well, it’s—sure, it’s not great, but I probably wasn’t a great boyfriend either.” 

“Did you violate their privacy and betray their trust in you for financial gain?”

“Uh . . . no?”

“Then why are you justifying it?”

“Because—” Wei Wuxian tries to think about it this time, before he says something that’s going to make Lan Wangji frown harder. Because I could handle it just fine. Because I did the same thing to myself, for Jiang Cheng’s sake, so isn’t that hypocritical? Because I never actually thought I could rely on them or anyone else. Because I treated my entire life like such a joke I’m not sure they even knew they had the power to hurt me. Because if I say I’m fine with it, maybe everything will stop feeling so terrible all the time. 

Any of those responses will probably land him in a straitjacket as Lan Wangji makes him a hostage in a therapist’s office. 

“I don’t know, Lan Zhan. It was a long time ago. People do stupid things. I was constantly fucking up too.”

“I am sorry they were so unworthy of your trust. No matter what mistakes you think you made, you did not deserve that.” 

Lan Wangji’s voice is so sure, so comforting, that it makes Wei Wuxian really, really want to believe him. 

“I understand it will take time for me to earn your trust, but if it will help, I can explain the practical reasons why I would not betray you.”

Wei Wuxian swallows down his first thought, which is that he finds Lan Wangji very attractive when he’s talking about practical matters. (Actually, he just finds Lan Wangji very attractive in general. And water is wet. What else is new?)

He nods to signal he’s listening.

“First, I do not need the money, as I have a stable career, nor would I be willing to use money procured unethically, so it would be a pointless transaction.”

That is such a Lan Wangji concern, really. Wei Wuxian smiles.

“Second, my career relies on my reputation for discretion. I would not compromise that for any reason to speak to the media.” These are very true points. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to say, so he’s stupidly contemplating just giving Lan Wangji a thumbs up when the man continues, “There are also sentimental reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says, as if he has any idea what Lan Wangji is talking about.

“Such as . . . I hold you in high regard and do not want to hurt you.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him. Lan Wangji gazes back.

“Oh. Why would—even after last night?”

“Yes. On that subject, can we discuss what happened last night?”

Wei Wuxian recalls belatedly that in the midst of all that spiraling yesterday he never actually told Lan Wangji about the article. With a grimace, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, reconsiders, and shoves it back in. “I’ll—I can show you. Can I borrow your phone? I’m sorta off the grid right now.”

Once he has Lan Wangji’s phone in hand, he searches for the firestarter in question and tosses the phone back to him, only belatedly worrying that his hasty attempt to get that article as far away from himself as possible may result in Lan Wangji getting smacked in the head with his own phone. Luckily, though, Lan Wangji is graceful and coordinated enough to catch it with ease.

Hours seem to pass as Lan Wangji reads it in silence, his slight frown deepening as he goes. Wei Wuxian fiddles with a thread on his shirt and tries not to wonder what Lan Wangji is thinking. But there’s not nearly enough stimulation around him right now to distract him, so he just ends up engaging in some light catastrophizing instead.

Perhaps Lan Wangji is wondering how he ended up stuck in a fake relationship with someone too unstable to even have a normal reaction to some bullshit clickbait tabloid journalism by someone who doesn’t even know him. 

The dread rising within him has nearly reached full capacity when Lan Wangji sets the phone down on the coffee table and says, “This article is what upset you yesterday?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t ask why, but Wei Wuxian hurries to explain. “Um, yeah, I guess. Well—I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid to be upset.”

Did Lan Wangji’s therapist ever give him an A-plus? Surely if anyone was able to earn a top therapy grade, it would be him.

“Right. That’s nice of you to say even though I flipped out and tried to dump you over some nonsense.”

“It must be difficult to tolerate people frequently writing nonsense about you.” Lan Wangji’s face is serious, but not severe. He looks rather sympathetic, even, which is far more than Wei Wuxian deserves, considering the circumstances.

“It’s . . . not great, but it’s not like I’m not used to it,” Wei Wuxian says. He sees Lan Wangji starting to frown again and hurriedly continues, “I’m really sorry that I let it get into my head and that I . . . hurt you. I didn’t want to do that either. I didn’t even want to push you away or to storm out like I did—that was so melodramatic—but in the moment I just felt a little teeny bit insane and it seemed like the only thing I could do. I’m sorry I suck so bad at being a fake boyfriend that I’ve ended up on your doorstep begging for forgiveness twice now.”

Lan Wangji gives a slight nod, and Wei Wuxian takes it as permission to keep rambling into oblivion.

“I don’t know why I had such an intense reaction to it. I didn’t even really know the guy who wrote it. I mean, we met at a party, like he said, but I torpedoed that interaction almost immediately, as I do—or maybe he did, with his weird journalist vibes, actually. And normally I wouldn’t even get upset by some rando pontificating about me in the news—that’s just a regular Tuesday, probably—but it’s . . . different, now, because you’re here.” Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath as stealthily as possible. “And I want this to work. And I guess I don’t see any way it could. And I thought I could just get a head start on its inevitable failure so it wouldn’t hurt as much as you one day deciding I’m too much to handle.”

He doesn’t dare to look at Lan Wangji anymore. The air feels fragile, like even turning his head could shatter something.

“I appreciate you sharing this,” Lan Wangji says. “I understand why you feel that way, given your past experiences, but I do not accept that failure is inevitable.” 

“Oh. Why not?”

“Because you came back.” Lan Wangji must be crazy; that’s the only explanation for these things he says. “And as long as we’re both here, we can make it work.”

It sounds so easy. Wei Wuxian knows it’s never that easy, and yet . . .

“Lan Zhan, you are a very persuasive speaker. What are you, some kind of lawyer or something?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji deadpans. The expression on his face makes Wei Wuxian snicker.

“I hear what you’re saying. I don’t know if I can trust that it’ll work out, but I really do want it to,” Wei Wuxian says. 

“That is a good place to start.”

“Is it really enough, though? Aren’t you worried that I’ll never be good at this and you’ll have invested all this faith in me for nothing?”

Lan Wangji levers himself to his feet. For some reason Wei Wuxian thinks he’s going to leave, but he just sits down on the cushion next to Wei Wuxian and takes one of his hands. 

“You’re not an investment, Wei Ying; you’re a person.”

His hands are warm, and when Wei Wuxian looks at him, it’s as if he can see through to that stubborn, unyielding core inside Lan Wangji. Maybe it’s not that he’s crazy—it’s that he’s so obstinate he refuses to acknowledge a lost cause when he sees one. Maybe that’s a kind of craziness in itself, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t really care right now. 

“Well, then . . . I’ll try to be a better one?”

“So you agree to continue this relationship?”

Lan Wangji says it as though he’s proffering a verbal contract—which, knowing him, he probably is.

“Do you mean the fake one, or are you saying . . . ?”

“Is it necessary to call it fake, if it feels real to us both?”

Yes, actually, because it sounds way easier to fuck up if they admit it’s real. Although . . . even while it’s been fake, Wei Wuxian has done practically everything possible to fuck it up, so he’s not sure how much weight to give this theory. 

He puts his right hand on top of the hands cradling his left hand. It looks ridiculous—are they about to do a team cheer before a game?—but he leaves it there anyway. 

“Let’s not get too crazy, Lan Zhan. I am a flight risk, after all.”

“You didn’t fly very far,” Lan Wangji says dryly. 

“The perfect boyfriend robot’s got jokes, huh?” 

Lan Wangji gives a slight frown. Wei Wuxian assumes he’s objecting to being called a robot until he says, “I am not a perfect boyfriend. I told you all of my past relationships failed. Many of them cited my ‘emotional unavailability.’” He uses air quotes again. Does he ever use those in court when he’s quoting someone? 

“Yeah, you mentioned that, but you seem so much better at this than me, so . . .” 

“I am not perfect,” Lan Wangji says again. “I have tried to work on myself in the interim years, but I know I am not the easiest person to get along with.” His tone is even, but there’s a tautness to his jaw. 

“It’s easy for me. To be with you, I mean.” Wei Wuxian shrugs at Lan Wangji’s skeptical look. “Hey, I may not be good at managing my emotions or—anything, really, and I didn’t understand you at all the first few times we met—remember the raw vegan joke?” Lan Wangji’s terse nod suggests he does and still doesn’t think it was funny, which makes Wei Wuxian chuckle. “But recently, when it’s just the two of us, without anything else getting in the way—yeah, it feels pretty easy to me. I may not do a great job showing it, but I really . . .” The words keep sticking in his throat. “I hold you in very high regard too,” he finally says. 

The person he stole those words from nods decisively. “Then this will work.” 

Is it a statement of fact? An aspiration? A prophecy? 

That’s not for Wei Wuxian to know right now. In this moment, the only option really left to him is to jump, even without being sure what’s on the other side.

So he does.

“Okay,” he says. “You’ve worn me down, Lan Zhan.” He grins. “We’ll make it work.” 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is playing a high-stakes game of real-relationship chicken with his maybe-real-or-maybe-not-real boyfriend. What makes the game interesting is that the boyfriend in question is not aware that they’re playing, and Wei Wuxian has no idea how to win.

It goes like this: for every gesture Lan Wangji makes toward him that feels dangerously close to genuine romantic affection, Wei Wuxian reciprocates with something equally potentially romantic. The slight flaw in this approach is that Lan Wangji is not intimidated by his countermoves; rather, he just seems pleased when Wei Wuxian gives him a back hug in the kitchen or plays with his hair. 

Suspiciously enough, Wei Wuxian hasn’t yet broken out in hives or anything, which is how he was kind of assuming this game of chicken would end. Instead, he finds himself enjoying this haze of Sunday domesticity that they’ve been caught up in since they set aside the heavier topics.

They’d made breakfast together—by which Wei Wuxian of course means that Lan Wangji had made breakfast and Wei Wuxian had added extremely helpful and lively commentary. He’d insisted the food tasted even better because of his contributions to morale, and Lan Wangji had agreed with a dry nod. Wei Wuxian quite enjoys getting Lan Wangji to agree to ridiculous statements. It’s quickly becoming a beloved hobby of his. 

He eyes Lan Wangji, who is sitting across the table from him now, reading a literal newspaper. This is surely the first time Wei Wuxian has encountered anyone under the age of sixty reading a newspaper in print, but it’s such a Lan Wangji thing to do that he can’t help but gaze admiringly at the scene before him. He wants to ruin it by asking whether Lan Wangji thinks the environmental destruction of trees is worth supporting local journalism, just to see what he’ll say, but Wei Wuxian has more important matters to attend to.

Their one-sided, entirely imaginary game, for example.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, chin propped up in his palm, “when do I get to see my stepchildren?”

Lan Wangji folds his newspaper rather primly and sets it down on the table. The only other indication that he has heard Wei Wuxian is the mild lift of his eyebrows.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian continues, “the little furballs. Do I have to correctly intuit their names before I’m initiated as their stepfather figure?”

Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches. “Are you close to intuiting that?”

“Did you name them after Shrek’s triplets?” 

“What are the names of Shrek’s triplets?” Lan Wangji asks, as if he might have somehow done it accidentally.

Wei Wuxian had googled their names specifically for the purposes of one day asking Lan Wangji this. “Fergus, Farkle, and Felicia.” 

“No.”

“What about the mermaids from ‘H2O’?” Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji’s question before it’s even spoken aloud, so he laughs and says, “Cleo, Emma, Rikki.”

“No.”

“Then, no, I’m not close.”

“Why would I have named them after mermaids? They’re rabbits. They don’t swim.”

“How do you know? Have you taught them?”

Wei Wuxian envisions Lan Wangji giving his bunnies a swimming lesson in the bathtub. It’s such an incredible mental image he suddenly can’t remember why he’s ever thought that life isn’t worth living. 

Judging by his slightly furrowed brow, Lan Wangji is taking the question extremely seriously, which is also incredible. Wei Wuxian is not accustomed to his words holding any weight, and he’s never given people much reason to think what he says matters; it gives him a strange pleasure to watch Lan Wangji hang on to even the most nonsensical bits of conversation and let them take up space. 

“No, but swimming would be stressful for them. They are not naturally built to swim.” 

“Humans weren’t built to go to space, and yet here we are, pushing boundaries,” Wei Wuxian says, watching with increasing amusement as Lan Wangji’s tiny frown grows. 

“Yes, and now we must contend with the ramifications of commercial space exploration.”

Wei Wuxian brushes a finger against the side of his nose, pretending to be deep in thought. “Let me guess . . . ethical issue?”

“Yes. I—” Lan Wangji stops. Wei Wuxian affects an innocent look. “Are you deliberately provoking me?”

How adorable of him to notice.

“Who, me? Why, I’d never,” Wei Wuxian says solemnly. “Are you saying it’s unethical for billionaires to go on little jaunts to space just to sightsee? What’s next, you condemn colonizing other celestial bodies and recklessly mining their resources?”

Wei Wuxian enjoys the feel of Lan Wangji’s exasperated stare. “So you agree with me?”

“Okay, you got me. Of course I agree space is the next frontier of corporate greed galloping ahead of any ethical considerations. We’re cooked.”

Lan Wangji nods his approval, and Wei Wuxian smiles wider at how earnest he looks. 

“What would stress your rabbits out more, swimming or going to space?”

The approval evaporates. “They’re not adapted to either activity.”

“No time like the present to adapt them!”

“You are rapidly losing stepfather privileges.”

Wei Wuxian gasps, and it’s only half theatrical. Lan Wangji playing along with the stepdad joke is absolutely evil. “Lan Zhan, maybe your rabbits are Olympic swimmers, and you just wouldn’t even know. Do they have an Olympics for animals?” 

“I am unsure, but I find it unlikely they would have any natural aptitude for an activity they are not built for.”

“Well, let’s go see them and ask their opinions on extreme sports, then.”

“Alright.” Lan Wangji smooths out the already perfectly smooth newspaper and rises from his chair. 

Wei Wuxian follows, naturally. 

“What about Socrates, Plato, Aristotle?” 

Lan Wangji pauses in front of the rabbit room with his hand on the doorknob. “The Greek philosophers?”

“I was talking about these cartoon horses I saw on TV once, but it’s a wild coincidence that some Greek dudes had the same names.” 

Lan Wangji stares at him, but Wei Wuxian maintains his poker face. “No,” he says finally, “they’re not named after Greek ‘dudes’ or cartoon horses.”

Wei Wuxian erupts into laughter, and there are clear traces of amusement on Lan Wangji’s face as he turns away to open the door.

The rabbits are not immediately jazzed to see Wei Wuxian, which is offensive, but he can’t swear he really knows how to read rabbit emotions anyway. Maybe, like Lan Wangji, they just keep those reactions under lock and key, in a high-security vault ten miles underground. 

This time, he doesn’t stick his fingers in the bars of their enclosure, but the weight of Lan Wangji’s cautious gaze on his hands makes him want to laugh again. 

“Is it time for the big reveal? Should I do a drum roll?”

“I do not imagine they like drumming.”

“You’re starting to make me think your rabbits don’t like anything. Do they like me, at least?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, with such conviction that Wei Wuxian’s grin slides right off. 

Diabolical, he thinks as he pastes it back on with feigned nonchalance.

“What great taste they have. So, no drum roll?”

“That will not be necessary,” Lan Wangji affirms. He points to the one lounging in the far left corner. “Wolfgang.” Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shoot up at this, but Lan Wangji just moves his index finger toward the bunny nibbling at whatever’s in their food bowl. “Amadeus.” And, finally, he singles out the one who has come up to the front of the cage to peer at them. “Mozart.”

Wei Wuxian gives a delighted clap of his hands that makes Mozart spring back in alarm; Lan Wangji was probably right about their feelings on drumming. “Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,” he repeats, putting the composer’s full name together. “That is so Lan Zhan of you.”

“So Lan Zhan of me?” Lan Wangji repeats.

“Yes, precisely. You Lan Zhan’ed hard with those names.” Lan Wangji’s nonplussed expression has no right to be as cute as it is. “Are you a big Mozart stan then?”

“I am a fan of his work, among others.”

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian says, his brain catching on an idea, “do you play any instruments?” 

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t lead with that on day one? That’s criminal. Why haven’t you serenaded me yet? Wait, is serenading only for vocal performances? I have no idea. Also, I don’t care. What instrument?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes are slightly wide as he takes in this stream of consciousness. “Several. My favorite is the guqin.”

“Oh, sick. What are you waiting for, then? Don’t you want to seduce me with your musical talents?”

Lan Wangji apparently does, because he gets up without another word and leaves the room. (Well, either he’s planning a musical seduction, or he’s just fleeing.)

Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to scoop Wolfgang from her home and settle her in his lap. Stroking her soft white fur is quite soothing. 

“Wolfgang, huh?” he says to her. “Do you ever feel an urge to eat your siblings?”

Unfortunately, Lan Wangji chooses this moment to return with his guqin. “Wolfgang is not a cannibal,” he says rather sternly as he sets up the instrument on a table across the room. 

“Is it against her nature as a rabbit?” 

Lan Wangji is suspiciously silent, so Wei Wuxian makes a mental note he will definitely forget to research rabbit cannibalism later. 

“Well, don’t play anything that’ll rile her up into a cannibalistic frenzy.”

“What should I play for you?” Lan Wangji asks, ignoring this warning. 

Wei Wuxian’s mind goes completely blank at the question. “Do you ever compose songs yourself?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian waits for more, but Lan Wangji is stubbornly reticent. “Play me one of yours then. Wolfgang and I are all ears.”

Wolfgang looks asleep, actually, which is a little bit rude, but Wei Wuxian abruptly loses this train of criticism when the music starts playing. 

And . . . oh. He doesn’t even have words to describe it.

“That was . . .” Wei Wuxian shakes his head, feeling a bit dazed when the song finally drifts to an end. “I’m going to get a rival trio of rabbits and name them Lan, Wang, and Ji.” 

Lan Wangji mutters, “Ridiculous,” but he abandons the guqin to take a seat at Wei Wuxian’s side on the floor. 

“Does the song have a name?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer, his focus instead on the bunny enclosure, where Amadeus and Mozart have been lulled to sleep by the music. Wei Wuxian wonders if Lan Wangji ever comes in here to play to them. 

“Let me guess: I’m not on a first-name basis with your song yet? That’s fine. I’m happy to torment you with my guesses for eternity.” 

Lan Wangji’s eyes find his again, and they’re somehow warmer than he’s ever seen them. “Eternity,” he echoes.

Wei Wuxian tries not to blanch at what he’s just implied; he very bravely chuckles instead. “I don’t think your children liked the song very much, Lan Zhan. It put them right to sleep. Kids today are so disrespectful.”

“Your stepchildren are tired.”

Now he’s just being unfair and unreasonable. Wei Wuxian squints at him. Lan Wangji doesn’t react. Wei Wuxian cannot let him win.

“We should let our children rest, then, shouldn’t we?” 

He smiles victoriously, but Lan Wangji doesn’t look like he has lost at all.

“Have you ever tried therapy?” Lan Wangji asks quietly. 

Their lazy morning has turned into a lazy afternoon on the couch, with Wei Wuxian’s head resting on Lan Wangji’s lap. The intimacy feels as good as it does terrifying. 

Wei Wuxian resolves not to take the question as a slight, mainly because over the course of this fake-or-maybe-not-fake relationship he has demonstrated approximately eight thousand reasons why he needs therapy. 

“Not really. I mean—there was—” He hesitates, because there’s something he’s never admitted to anyone that he could say right now, if he dared. 

“There was . . . ?” Lan Wangji prompts. 

Since they met, Wei Wuxian has seen so many flavors of judgment painted across his beautiful face, but somehow he feels sure Lan Wangji won’t turn any of them on him now.

“I did make an appointment once, when I was like . . . eighteen-ish, probably, but I only went to one session before I quit.” 

“What happened?”

“It was just phenomenally unpleasant. Sort of like a sitcom, actually, in the sheer absurdity. The guy diagnosed me with ADHD about five minutes in after not even letting me get a word in edgewise, which, fine, whatever”—that door has stayed firmly closed since, because Wei Wuxian doesn’t have time to ponder it—“but then he just monologued a lot about hunters and gatherers and other weird shit, I don’t even know what he was on about for most of it. Then he asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told him some of my vague teenage ambitions or whatever I had back then, and out of nowhere he said I should join the military, to which I said definitely not, and then he told me I was lazy and would never amount to anything. Which he was right about, I guess, but I can’t really give him credit for it.”

Wei Wuxian takes a breath at the conclusion of his slightly unhinged monologue.

Lan Wangji looks flummoxed. Wei Wuxian had been kind of hoping he’d just take it as a funny story, even though he doesn’t find it particularly funny even in retrospect, and Lan Wangji is not renowned for his sense of humor. But if Lan Wangji laughed—well, smiled slightly—then it wouldn’t feel so heavy, right? And that would be way less awkward.

“He should be stripped of his license,” Lan Wangji says finally. “He is not equipped to counsel others.” 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t really expecting that reaction, and he doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah, a ray of sunshine, that dude. So I decided the whole therapy thing wasn’t really for me, and I kinda just put it off indefinitely. I don’t need someone to tell me things I already know.”

“Nothing he said was right.” Lan Wangji’s voice is firm, but his fingers are gentle as they start to comb through Wei Wuxian’s hair. 

Wei Wuxian smiles up at him. Even from this angle, his face looks like it was painstakingly chiseled from marble. “Well, yeah, you probably have ethical quandaries about the military, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji admits, “but I was referring more to the assertion that you wouldn’t amount to anything. You already have.”

Nothing good, Wei Wuxian thinks, but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud when Lan Wangji is being so earnest. 

“You’re too kind,” he says blithely. 

“I’m being serious.”

“Yes, you always are. It’s positively darling.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian stops smiling and finds he can breathe a little easier for doing so. It was requiring effort he couldn’t afford to keep it in place. “Lan Zhan.”

“I’m sorry you had such a negative experience. He did not even try to know you before saying untrue, hurtful things.” 

Even if he had tried to know Wei Wuxian, though, what if he still drew the same conclusions? What if Wei Wuxian is just as much of a failure deep down as he seems at first glance? 

“I hope, if you decide to try again, you can find someone who helps you see the truth of yourself that I can see.” 

Lan Wangji doesn’t say much, but he sure knows how to launch a fucking verbal missile when he needs to. How is he so effortlessly winning the game he doesn’t even know they’re playing? It’s awfully unfair. 

“Lan Zhan, that’s a crazy thing to say. Do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Yes.”

Well, Wei Wuxian walked right into that one. 

“That’s . . . even crazier. You’re a crazy person.”

Lan Wangji gives a tiny shrug. “At least I’m not advising my clients to join the military.”

“Which is too bad, since your clients don’t seem lazy at all, so it’d be a great option, probably. You know, since they’re such hardworking criminals and everything.” Lan Wangji frowns down at him, and Wei Wuxian feels a smile curling his lips anew; this one doesn’t seem to take any effort at all. “Allegedly.”

Sadly, after such a peaceful day, there’s only so long Wei Wuxian can avoid reality. He decides in a burst of either emotional intelligence or sheer madness that it will be easier to face it at Lan Wangji’s side, so he turns his phone on that evening. He and Lan Wangji have just finished another meal, and now they’re sitting on the living room floor.

He has some worried texts from Jiang Yanli that he responds to first, as well as some classic bitchy texts from Jiang Cheng he doesn’t need to reply to. The group chat with their friends has a lot of messages he doesn’t have the energy to read right now, and for some reason Nie Huaisang has texted him asking if Wei Wuxian has a laminator he can borrow (no, and also why?). All the other notifications are largely irrelevant, save for the impressive number of missed calls from Mrs. Yu.

He deletes all her voicemails without listening to them, gives Lan Wangji a meaningful look that earns him a nod in return, and calls her back. 

“Wei Wuxian!” she snaps as soon as she picks up. How wonderful, to reach her directly on this fine night. “I hope you’re calling with an explanation for this article.” She makes it sound like a swear word.

“What article?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Should I be flattered you think I’m only playing?”

Her harassed inhale on the other end does not signal a productive direction for this conversation, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t really care. “Your behavior is, as usual, utterly unacceptable. How dare you—”

Wei Wuxian stares blankly at nothing in particular as she gets going on her tirade, but his attention is drawn back by the motion of Lan Wangji reaching out a hand. After a split second of deliberation, Wei Wuxian pries the phone away from his ear and hands it to him.

“Hello. This is Lan Wangji.” Wei Wuxian can vaguely hear fury on the other end, but can’t make out what she’s actually saying from here. “Your anger about this article is misplaced. Wei Ying is not responsible for this despicable piece of writing.” Lan Wangji listens for a while longer. “Please do not call again until you are capable of speaking to him in a civil manner.” 

Working hard not to lose control of the hinge of his jaw, Wei Wuxian offers a casual thumbs up, and Lan Wangji nods at him before just hanging up in the middle of whatever Mrs. Yu is saying.

Wei Wuxian presses a hand over his mouth, in theory to keep his astonishment in check, but after a moment he realizes it’s muffling laughter. Lan Wangji watches him with a tender if somewhat concerned gaze, then hands his phone back. 

Without a single conscious thought, Wei Wuxian tosses it out of the way, not bothering to watch where it lands, and launches himself at Lan Wangji to kiss him. 

It only occurs to him belatedly to wonder which of them won the game. Are they even still playing?

Chapter Text

“Why are dung beetles so patient?”

Nie Huaisang nods like he understands perfectly, which is immediately belied by him saying, “And what is a dung beetle?”

Wei Wuxian waits for Dr. Baoshan to come bursting through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man, but nothing happens. “They’re a species of beetle we invented to steal money from donors.”

Nie Huaisang nods again. “So they’re patient because they’ve been trained to lie in wait to rob people?”

“That sounds right,” Wei Wuxian says encouragingly.

Dr. Baoshan suddenly sticks her head out of her office. “Are you discussing scarabaeoidea?”

“Bless you,” Ouyang Zizhen says helpfully.

Wei Wuxian weighs his options. On the one hand, if he says yes, she will proceed to monologue about beetles for perhaps the rest of eternity, and they might all die in the meantime. On the other hand, if he says no, she may become incensed that they would dare to discuss any other subject and monologue at them anyway.

“We’re discussing stealing,” Nie Huaisang explains.

Now Dr. Baoshan nods like she understands perfectly. “Ah, kleptocopry. Are you delving into its effects on soil morphology?”

Has anyone in the world ever been discussing that, ever?

“We were delving into the patience required for stealing,” Nie Huaisang says. 

Dr. Baoshan’s brow wrinkles. “I would think the work of telocoprids requires more patience than that of kleptocoprids.” 

Nie Huaisang leans forward in his chair. “And would you say they take things literally?”

Wei Wuxian is having visceral war flashbacks to the kleptomaniac joke he’d told Nie Huaisang last week. He squints suspiciously at his coworker.

“I suppose it depends what you mean by ‘take literally.’ Some kleptocoprids do of course steal the balls of dung from other beetles, but some may lay their eggs on another beetle’s dung as a form of reproductive parasitism. I suppose that does require a fair amount of patience, in fact.” 

Wei Wuxian is brainstorming how to create an urgent beetle-related emergency when the phone starts ringing in Dr. Baoshan’s office.

“Ah, that might be the press,” she says, and disappears from the doorway.

At his desk, Wei Wuxian takes a second to feel relieved before he fully processes the words. The last time Dr. Baoshan spoke to the press, a reporter asked her why donors should support dung beetles over other causes such as homeless shelters, and she said that human beings are ecologically insignificant at best and detrimental at worst, unlike dung beetles, which are irreplaceable. It’s best for all involved if she analyzes the scientific data and he handles public relations, so he hurries after her to stop whatever she might be about to say. 

But first he takes the time to say to Nie Huaisang, “Dung beetles are patient because they’re used to dealing with so much shit.” 

On the night of the dinner party Wei Wuxian has been roped into attending, he receives an inauspicious phone call from Mrs. Yu while he’s getting ready. Well, while he stares blankly into the mirror and fumbles unsuccessfully with his tie. (Why is he wearing a tie, anyway?)

The sensible voice in his head—the one that sounds suspiciously like Lan Wangji, actually—tells him not to pick up. 

He doesn’t particularly want to answer her call, of course, but another part of him is curious in a way that infamously kills cats and convinces him to make bad decisions. They haven’t spoken since Lan Wangji unceremoniously hung up on her, and Wei Wuxian is quite surprised he hasn’t received a barrage of calls demanding an apology for his boyfriend’s rudeness. 

So, hey, what the hell. She’s shown restraint for this long; he may as well see what she wants to yell about now.

“Yeah?” he says, after placing the call on speaker and setting his phone on his dresser so he can resume tying his tie into increasingly complex shapes that do not at all resemble the desired knot. 

“Wei Wuxian,” she says stiffly. If anything, she sounds calm, which is far outside the realm of his expectations.

“What’d I do now?” He papers over his insecurity with a touch of good humor in his voice.

“I am calling to discuss some personal matters,” she says, as if that makes everything clearer. It does not. 

“And what might those be?” Has he ruined any career opportunities for her lately by existing?

There is an excruciatingly long silence. The discomfort is definitely mutual. 

“You may be aware of my recent . . . health concerns.”

Actually, he had almost completely forgotten about them, but he did vaguely recall his siblings mentioning her having some mysterious form of cancer. “I guess.”

“I don’t know how long I might have left, which has given me the opportunity to reflect on certain things, shall we say.”

“Okay?” He wonders if he’s supposed to say something sympathetic, like Sorry you might be dying, but it seems a bit uncouth to blatantly lie to a potentially dying person. He feels mostly numb to that information, except for a tiny, potentially evil part of him that sighs with relief at the idea of being free from her once and for all. 

“I may not always have done right by you, but it’s too late to apologize for that now.” She pauses, and he’s not sure if she’s waiting for him to say she doesn’t need to apologize, but he’s not going to say that. “Do you still recall the promise you made?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to rack his brain to remember it. Even if it’s been around a decade, how could he forget Mrs. Yu frantically demanding that protect Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli? At the time, he’d had no idea what she thought they needed protecting from, but it did start to make more sense in the following years, and especially when he found out about those photos of Jiang Cheng. Life under a media microscope is not exactly kind or sane. 

That phone call was one of the only sincere interactions they’ve had to date, if only because Mrs. Yu seemed genuinely desperate at the time. He doesn’t know what stirred such fear in her then, but she managed to extract a promise from him that he would do anything he could to shield her actual children from harm.

As much as he would hate to see anything happen to Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng, the reminder of that conversation brings a sour taste to his mouth. She saw her supposed goodwill in allowing him to live under her roof for a decade as a transaction that she could cash in on, and he hadn’t yet found a way to pay it back. Maybe it’s not something that even should be repaid, but his concept of normal familial obligations is slightly skewed. 

“I remember,” he says.

There’s a slight exhale from the phone. “Good.”

“Good,” Wei Wuxian echoes tonelessly. “Anything else?”

Whether she did have anything else to say, he’ll never know (or at least not anytime soon), because there’s a knock at the door then that gives him an excuse to hang up with a quick “Gotta go, bye!”

Lan Wangji looks faintly pleased to see him, but his expression quickly creases as he takes in the mess Wei Wuxian has made of his tie.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head. “Do what?”

Lan Wangji stares at it. “Your tie.”

“Is it not supposed to look like this?” Wei Wuxian thinks he might’ve invented a whole new tie shape, actually. 

“No,” Lan Wangji says, so subtly aghast that Wei Wuxian can’t help but blow his cover by laughing. “May I?”

Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly sure what he just agreed to by nodding—not until Lan Wangji walks into his apartment, closes the door, and reaches for him.

“Oh,” he says stupidly, as Lan Wangji undoes all his hard work. “Careful, Lan Zhan. First it’s tying someone’s tie, and then next thing you know you’re walking down the aisle. It’s a slippery slope.”

He has truly no idea what possessed him to say such a thing.

Lan Wangji’s gaze doesn’t flicker in the slightest. All his concentration is on correcting Wei Wuxian’s tie. “Mn.”

“Don’t agree to that!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, scandalized.

Lan Wangji’s slight frown of concentration takes on a confused edge. “Agree to what?”

“To—never mind.” He certainly can’t be tricked into bringing up marriage a second time. Once was crazy enough. “How are you such an expert at this?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh, right.” Wei Wuxian is absolutely hitting it out of the park today with his conversational skills. These party guests are really in for a treat. “Occupational hazard, then.”

“If you say so.” Lan Wangji still seems perplexed, but the utter inanity of this back-and-forth has at least temporarily distracted Wei Wuxian from his proximity. 

Wei Wuxian becomes uncomfortably aware of his own breathing, and that mental tangent about whether it sounds normal or not occupies him until Lan Wangji smooths a hand over the tie and says, “Done.”

“Hot,” Wei Wuxian says. “I mean, cool. And also hot, actually.”

Lan Wangji’s quizzical brow says he’s not sure whether he’s being made fun of, and Wei Wuxian finds it too cute to resist. He wraps a hand around Lan Wangji’s own tie and gently tugs him in for a kiss that leaves them both smiling.

“Shall we go?” Wei Wuxian asks, suddenly buoyed with confidence.

“Mn.”

The confidence fades steadily along the way, and by the time they arrive, Wei Wuxian feels rather apprehensive at the prospect of meeting a bunch of lawyers who are presumably important to Lan Wangji. 

When they arrive at the fancy dinner party in question, there’s a group of maybe ten people standing around the living room and kitchen mingling. Lan Wangji begins a round of polite introductions, starting with the host, Xiao Xingchen, and his partner, Song Lan. They’re both lawyers, which unfortunately makes Wei Wuxian wonder if they ever use legalese as dirty talk, but for once he has the good sense not to ask this aloud. 

Wei Wuxian recognizes the guest called Xue Yang merely by the description Lan Wangji had given him on the way here—essentially, dirty corporate lawyer, very rich—before Lan Wangji officially introduces him. Xue Yang has the smile of a madman and the demeanor of a corporate shark, so he must be pretty good at his job. Wei Wuxian very much plans to circle back later to coerce a donation out of him, but for now they move on to another group.

After several more introductions with people whose names Wei Wuxian has already forgotten, they happen upon two young men chatting in one corner of the room; they look too young to be real members of adult society, so they must be the interns. 

“Wei Ying, these are our interns, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi,” Lan Wangji says. He turns slightly toward Wei Wuxian. “And this is my partner, Wei Wuxian.” 

“Partner in crime, yes,” Wei Wuxian says, offering a hand to the kid standing nearest him and then immediately retracting it in surprise. “A-Yuan?”

Lan Sizhui looks even more gobsmacked. “Mei qian-gege?” He claps a hand over his mouth as soon as he says it, and Wei Wuxian erupts in a fit of laughter. He’d forgotten the kid used to call him that. 

The young man next to him, Lan Jingyi, elbows his fellow intern. “Why are you calling our boss’s partner poor?” he hisses, just loud enough that they can all hear it.

Lan Sizhui’s face is reddening, and Wei Wuxian is becoming more entertained by the minute. Suddenly, this dinner party seems like a great idea.

“I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry!” 

“Don’t be.” Wei Wuxian waves an amused hand. He looks at Lan Wangji to explain: “I used to babysit this brat a long time ago. He had a lot of snarky commentary on my financial situation, all because I refused to buy him ice cream one time! Kids these days never learn discipline.”

It was probably more than once, since Wei Wuxian never had much spending money as a young teenager and could hardly accept any payment from the kid’s grandmother for taking him to the park every so often. By the time he got a real part-time job, he had every intention of buying A-Yuan all the ice cream he could possibly stomach whenever he wanted it, but his grandmother died, so he moved away to live with other relatives. Just looking at him now as a college intern sends a wave of nostalgia crashing over Wei Wuxian. He smiles at Lan Wangji, whose confused brow softens. 

“Wow, that’s random as hell,” Lan Jingyi says. “I mean, heck.” He sneaks a glance at Lan Wangji, who very bravely doesn’t sigh. 

Lan Sizhui’s eyes are practically glittering with delight. Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh again and clap a hand on his shoulder. “Look at you, all grown up! It was all those vegetables I made you eat, right?”

“I don’t remember you giving me any vegetables,” Lan Sizhui protests halfheartedly.

“Stop implying that he’s poor and miserly,” Lan Jingyi whispers, once again far too loud. 

“Luckily, now I’ve found me a lawyer and embraced the gold-digging lifestyle, right, Lan Zhan?” 

“Not right.” Lan Wangji seems to be drawing closer and closer to the brink of sighing, which is excellent. 

Lan Jingyi is watching them both with curiosity. “I feel like the first rule of gold digging is, like, not telling anyone that’s what you’re doing.”

“Oh, got it.” Wei Wuxian nods. “I’ll take that advice for next time.”

“What next time?” Lan Wangji says flatly. Well, he says most things flatly, but this has a particularly unimpressed quality to it.

“Oh, you know.” Wei Wuxian affects an innocent expression. “Enough about me, though! What’s it like working for Lan Zhan? Is he scary?”

Lan Jingyi’s eyes dart nervously to Lan Wangji and back to Wei Wuxian. “No,” he says unconvincingly. “He’s super chill.”

Lan Sizhui gives a suspicious cough and briefly presses a hand to his mouth to hide his reaction. “He’s a wonderful mentor,” he says earnestly once he has composed himself. “I hope one day I’ll know even a fraction as much about the law as he does.”

Lan Wangji’s demeanor doesn’t so much as twitch, but Wei Wuxian bets he’s feeling secretly pleased by the acknowledgment. As well he should. 

“Well, of course. Lan Zhan is a legal genius.” Wei Wuxian nudges his arm affectionately, which somehow encourages Lan Wangji to grab his hand and interlock their fingers as the interns watch, wide-eyed, and try to pretend they’re not scandalized by their boss having a personal life. 

“It’s so—oh, look, they’re here!” Lan Jingyi says suddenly, as another two guests join their group. 

These new additions are quite unexpected, though not as much so as meeting Lan Sizhui here. “I’m beginning to suspect that the world is very small.” He scans his surroundings just in case Nie Huaisang is hiding behind a plant or something, but the area seems to be clear for now.

“Wei-xiong?” Ouyang Zizhen beams at him in greeting, just as Jin Ling says, “What are you doing here?” which earns him a disproportionately vexed look from Lan Wangji that nearly makes Wei Wuxian start chuckling again.

“Don’t tell me you’re moonlighting as a legal intern,” Wei Wuxian tells Ouyang Zizhen. “Are the beetles not enough for you?”

“I’m just here as a plus-one!” he explains, gesturing to the real legal interns. “We heard the food would be good.”

“How do you all know each other?”

“We live in the same dorm,” Lan Sizhui says. 

“Even this little twerp?” Wei Wuxian juts his chin at Jin Ling, who scowls. 

“Unfortunately,” Lan Jingyi says. Jin Ling’s scowl deepens. 

“Why are you here?” Jin Ling asks Wei Wuxian again. “Is it because of the whole fake b—”

Wei Wuxian claps a hand over Jin Ling’s mouth. “No, none of that! Why don’t we go find you some nonalcoholic punch and discuss how spreading rumors is bad.” He winks at Lan Wangji and drags Jin Ling away to find some refreshments, leaving a mostly confused group in his wake. He’s sure Lan Wangji will smooth it over with some scintillating conversation—or, actually, they’ll probably just continue to stand there in confused silence. Good luck to them.

Jin Ling shoves his arm off as soon as he gets the chance. “What was that for?” he demands.

“I can’t have you yapping about Lan Wangji having a fake relationship for all his legal colleagues to hear,” Wei Wuxian says, careful to keep his voice too low for anyone besides Jin Ling to hear, since he, unlike Lan Jingyi, understands volume control. “Besides, it’s not fake anymore.”

Jin Ling squints at him. “You broke up?”

“No, you little gossip, I meant it’s real now.” He doesn’t even flinch when he says it. He’s so brave.

“How the hell did you manage that?”

“With my good looks and lovely personality, obviously.”

“Ew.”

“What about you? You finally made some friends?”

“They’re not my friends. They’re my roommates.”

It’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to look skeptical. “No one in their right mind would attend their roommates’ colleague’s dinner party as a guest.” He picks up a pitcher labeled lemonade and pours a glass.

Jin Ling’s face scrunches; he obviously hadn’t considered that he might be accused of being friends with them all because he wanted some free food. 

Wei Wuxian hands him the glass, ruffles his hair to antagonize him further, and heads back to Lan Wangji and the others with a satisfied smile.

Things aren’t looking too bad.