Archive of Our Own ^omega

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan takes the first train, bright and early, from Gare de l’Est. Summer is in full force, but this early in the morning, the heat hasn’t yet arrived. With the daylight starting earlier, the station is already busy with people hurrying in and out, but the atmosphere is calmer, more subdued. This is how he likes Paris best, when it hasn’t yet put on a performance.

He finds the seat he booked for — a booth with a table — so he can hopefully get some work done while he’s on the train. Why didn’t you just get a flight, his brother asked, which was a reasonable question. The flight from Paris to Budapest takes two hours. The train will take at least half a day.

I wanted to take a train, he replied, which his brother accepted without further comment. What Lan Zhan didn’t say was that: fifteen years ago, while waiting around the Charles de Gaulle airport and staring out at the sad gray sky over the runways, his mother promised to take him on a train the next time they’d be here.

There was no next time, afterwards. Here he is, fulfilling a promise all on his own.

Moments after the final call for passengers before departing rang out, a person barrels into his train car, panting heavily, face flushed, ponytail ruffled, tattered backpack.

“Fuck,” he mutters in Chinese, which catches Lan Zhan’s attention. “I made it.”

Their eyes meet, and the other man’s eyes widen. Then, he grins so widely that Lan Zhan’s next breath catches somewhere inside his throat, wondering if they have somehow met before, to warrant this kind of warm welcome.

He produces a crumpled paperback, a notebook, and a pencil case, before slinging his backpack up the rack, then dropping himself haphazardly into a lounge on the seat across from Lan Zhan.

“You have no idea how much I miss speaking Chinese to another person,” he says, yawning. “God, why did I choose such an early train? Oh, sorry, how rude of me! I’m Wei Ying, nice to meet you.”

Lan Zhan stares at the hand being offered, brain still trying to process the hurricane of a person in front of him.

“Lan Zhan,” he replies, and shakes the hand once, politely. “Is this your seat?”

He winces silently. The question sounded rude, even though it’s standard courtesy to check. It wasn’t his intention to be, it’s just… strange. Strange that this person acts so familiar with him, as if they have known each other for years. Strange that he looks so comfortable in his body, wild and free and bright like a ray of sun tearing through the gray clouds. Strange that he fits right into this train car with an ease, like he’s been living here for years. Lan Zhan is not good at dealing with things that are unexpected.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem offended by his question.

“I never book a seat,” he shrugs, then tilts his head at Lan Zhan. “Are you expecting someone? Or… I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“It’s fine.”

Wei Ying grins again. “Sweet. If someone booked this seat, I’ll give it back to them later.”

Lan Zhan nods, unsure what to say next. Unsure if he should be saying anything. Making small talk with strangers, another thing that is not part of his arsenal.

Lucky for him, Wei Ying seems content to fill in that gap all on his own. “Where is your adventure taking you, Lan Zhan?”

What a strange way to phrase that question. “Budapest.”

Wei Ying contemplates this. “Huh. I’ve never been to Budapest before.”

“Where are you heading to?” Lan Zhan asks, because it seems a polite thing to do, and because oddly enough, he’s genuinely curious.

Wei Ying laughs, and waves a hand vaguely around. “I’m not sure! That’s the whole point of going on an adventure.”

He flashes a well-used travel card that is fraying apart at the seams. “I bought this interrail pass that lets me travel as much as I want all over Europe. I just hop on a train and let it take me somewhere.” He swings his legs up to take over both seats on his side of the booth and settles into a lounge. “It’s nice to take an early train and have a seat. Once, I had to stand for four hours traveling across Spain because the train was packed to the brim.”

“Don’t do that,” Lan Zhan says, before he can hold himself back. It’s like his entire upbringing compels him to speak up.

Wei Ying frowns. “Do what? Traveling?”

“Putting your shoes on the seat.”

Wei Ying laughs. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re giving the Europeans too much credit for their amenities. You don’t want to know the things I’ve seen people spill and smear on these cushions.”

Lan Zhan levels him a look. Regardless, it’s about the principle.

“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying laughs, and pulls his boots off, before resuming his previous position. “Only because you’re pretty, Lan-gege.”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Zhan mutters, feeling heat creeping up his ears. Wei Ying laughs some more, eyes twinkling with mirth, and Lan Zhan wonders if he’s just naturally flirty with everyone.

He forces himself to tear his gaze away, and glances down at the laptop in front of him. The cursor blinks over a blank page. He has not a faintest idea how to begin his essay.

“Are you a writer or something?” Wei Ying asks, gesturing towards his laptop, and Lan Zhan slightly startles. He does have a draft somewhere in there, but no one in his life knows he writes. It’s his secret — and his mother’s, he supposed. She used to encourage him to write, and now he brings little snippets of stories to read for her at her grave.

“Just an essay, for school,” he answers, which is safe but honest.

“You’re still a student? What for? Where do you study?”

“Teaching, in Shanghai.”

“Teaching, huh? Soon-to-be Teacher Lan? Lan-laoshi?” Wei Ying considers this, and laughs. “You absolutely cannot become a teacher, Lan Zhan. How can any student focus in class when their teacher has such a gorgeous face?”

Lan Zhan sighs.

“What subject are you writing an essay for?” Wei Ying leans forward to peek at the screen.

“Western literature. A study for this book.” He gestures to the hardback of The Catcher in the Rye, sitting neatly on the table.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites!” Wei Ying exclaims, and picks up the book fondly. “This book looks so new, did you even read it?”

“I did,” Lan Zhan says indignantly. The book is crisp, almost brand new, because Lan Zhan keeps his books well, thank you very much, but also because he has only read the book twice, solely for the purpose of writing this essay. And the second time was because he cannot fathom how much he disliked it the first time. What he can fathom even less is the idea that people loved this book so much that they elevated it to classic level.

Apparently, those people do, in fact, exist. One of them is sitting in front of him right now.

“A well-loved book should look like this!” Wei Ying says, waving the paperback he carries. The cover is nearly falling apart, the pages are dog-eared everywhere, their edges curling up, most likely as a result of some water damage. Looking at the stains, it was most likely either a clumsy cup of tea, or coffee. The Drifters, the title says, in faded ink.

“Mn. This book is not well-loved,” he confirms, hoping he doesn’t sound too snarky.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps, then cackles. “Are you dissing my taste in books? Are you saying Holden Caulfield is not one of the most interesting protagonists among the classic novels?”

Lan Zhan tries not to make a face. “He certainly is. Interesting.”

Wei Ying doubles over in laughter. A few people sitting in the same car as them glance over at the commotion.

“That’s worse, Lan Zhan,” he says, brushing a tear from his eyes. “What if I say that I’m exactly like Holden? Will you still be talking to me?”

Lan Zhan looks at him, trying to reconcile how this warm person, full of life, who seems to find humor in everything, can see himself in a boy so full of hate and dejection.

“I’m not kidding,” Wei Ying smiles like he owns a secret, and Lan Zhan cannot peel his eyes away. There are layers behind the curve of his lips, the depth of his eyes, shining almost silver in the sun, that Lan Zhan wants to unravel. It leaves him a little breathless. He never wants to know a stranger like this. He wants to write about him.

“Last year, I was so down and moody all the time that I just snapped and cursed at everyone and everything I saw. My mental state was like, down here,” Wei Ying puts his hand somewhere under the table. “That was when I decided that I needed a break — here I am, I guess. So stereotypical, isn’t it? An American student who is frustrated with his studies, takes a gap year, does a life-changing backpacking trip across Europe. I’m going to be the most annoying person when I return. I’ll start going around campus spouting bullshit about reaching nirvana in a Berlin rave, or something.”

“And this trip, it’s been good for you?” Lan Zhan asks, suddenly desperate to know.

“No, it’s been shit,” Wei Ying says, then cackles at Lan Zhan’s stunned silence. “I mean, it takes my mind off things, but it brings me no answer. I’m running away from my problem, but one of these days, I’m going to run out of steam.”

Tapping his fingers on the cover of his book, Wei Ying says contemplatingly. “Do you ever feel like your entire life, you’re just barreling towards an inevitability, no matter how much you want to fight against it? But once you realize it, you see, there are only two options, really: are you going to resign yourself to what has been decided for you, or are you going to try your damndest to do whatever you want anyway?”

Lan Zhan stares at him, speechless. He’s a notorious early bird, but existentialism is still not a seven a.m. conversation. Strangely enough, he understands what Wei Ying just said perfectly. Lan Zhan’s life has been cherry picked and laid out for him since he was born — which schools he would go to, which hobby he’s supposed to pick up, which career options he could take.

With a pang, he realizes: he’s chosen to resign.

“Sorry, I must not be making any sense,” Wei Ying smiles apologetically. “Just forget it.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says hastily, “I mean yes. What you said — it makes sense.”

He swallows thickly. He’d like to think he can write, but spoken words are awkward. But Wei Ying dimples at that, and there’s a little flush dusting his cheeks. He looks down, a little abashed, and runs his hand through his ponytail.

“Um, so, I’m thinking of checking out the catering car and getting some fuel. Would you like to come with me?” Eyeing the laptop, he teases. “I mean, sitting there and staring at the screen won’t help you. Might as well get a change in scenery.”

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan gathers his belongings, and follows Wei Ying. They find a table with checkerboard pattern lining, and sit down. Wei Ying gets an iced americano and a pastry, and Lan Zhan gets himself a cup of tea. He offers to pay for both.

Wei Ying protests, before reluctantly giving up when Lan Zhan gives the caterer his card and speaks to her in French. “That’s not fair that you know French! These bastards will not listen to me anymore! I’ll buy you lunch later.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan says. “I would like to hear your thoughts on The Catcher in the Rye. Maybe it’ll help me understand the book.”

“So this is a bribe,” Wei Ying laughs. “Are you going to cite me in your essay?”

“I will write an acknowledgement,” Lan Zhan nods solemnly.

Wei Ying snorts into his americano.

“You’re the funniest person I’ve ever talked to,” he says, and Lan Zhan’s heart does a somersault in his chest. Wei Ying should always smile, he thinks, he looks beautiful like this.

It’s easy to listen to Wei Ying talk. Lan Zhan rarely spares his time for other people’s rambling, but he finds Wei Ying endlessly fascinating, the way he looks so animated when he speaks about something he likes, the cadence of his speech fused with raw, unbridled passion.

Begrudgingly, he begins to hate The Catcher in the Rye a little less. Wei Ying goes on a long heated speech about how the education system fails the youth, how expectations of society rarely ever make sense and yet everyone is forced to follow them, to prioritize comfort over genuinity. All the kind of talk that could never happen around the dinner table or at a Lan’s family gathering, unless you want to receive an eyeful of warning.

Lan Zhan tells him this, to which Wei Ying reacts with incredulity.

“Really? Never? You never once fight at the table? That’s like, a daily occurrence when I was living with my foster family.”

Lan Zhan digests this information. Foster family can be difficult, he learns enough in his education degree to know. “How can you fight with your family everyday?”

“Multiple times a day, as a matter of fact,” Wei Ying says, and waves his hand dismissively. “Gotta have some conflicts for good character building.”

Lan Zhan wants to say that humans are not characters, but is interrupted by Wei Ying demanding that he recalls the tensest dinner he’s ever sat through. His mind immediately travels back to a day fifteen years ago, when he and his mother came back from their secret little European getaway, a day when his life turned upside down. But it was too personal a memory, so he settles for a dinner about five years ago, when Huan-ge refused to back down from his plan to go on an overnight trip with his then best friend, now boyfriend.

“What did he do?” Wei Ying leans forward, clearly anticipating some earth shattering drama.

“He only ate white rice for three days and refused any other food.”

Wei Ying blinks at this. “Huh. Is that it?”

Lan Zhan explains the rule against wasting food in his family, and how his brother protested by eating only what was already in his bowl, hence the rice, but nothing else. So technically, he wasn’t breaking any rule, but he was still being defiant. Uncle was livid at his blatant disrespect and mocking.

“And did it work?” Wei Ying asks, nearly in tears from laughing.

“No,” Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Mingjue-ge had to come over and ask for permission, with a written pledge and everything.”

Wei Ying smiles at this, like the silly story about his brother’s rare tantrum was the most endearing thing he’s ever heard.

“How about you, Lan Zhan? Have you ever sneaked out for a scandalous rendezvous? To kiss a girl, maybe?” He glances at Lan Zhan. “Or a boy?”

Lan Zhan feels his heartbeat picking up speed. Is Wei Ying asking what he thinks he is asking? Or is it just out of polite curiosity, following the story of his brother’s dalliance?

Regardless, his answer is equally disappointing. “Never.”

“Never?”

“Not a rule breaker.”

“Hmm.” Wei Ying hums noncommittally, and Lan Zhan suddenly feels nervous. Is he disappointed? Does he think that Lan Zhan is boring? His life certainly has never been particularly exciting, mostly following a well-established routine, which has always been a comfort, a stability. He likes his habits, he likes predictability. It has never been a disfavor to him, before this moment.

Wei Ying tilts his head to observe him. “Have you ever wanted to break one?”

Lan Zhan thinks about it, and answers honestly. “Yes.”

“Good,” Wei Ying grins, and Lan Zhan lets out an exhale he didn’t know he was holding. “As long as the spirit is there.”

“And you? Have you…?” he asks, then trails off.

“Have I what?” Wei Ying tosses back, eyes glinting with amusement. “Sneaking out? Breaking rules? Kissing?”

The image hits Lan Zhan then, clear and devastating with its impact. A younger Wei Ying, perhaps still in his ripped jeans and red T-shirt like he wears today, sneaks out after curfew to meet with Lan Zhan in the garden behind his house. He would have sneaked Wei Ying in through the backgate, where he knew there was a loose bolt on the hinge, but never did anything about it. They would have kissed behind that big tree that obscures the gate no one ever used.

He’s well aware his ear is blushing from the image he conjured in his head, about teenage kissing and fantasies of a life he’s never, and would never have lived.

“Lan-gege, what is going on that brilliant mind of yours?” Wei Ying teases. “What awful, dirty things do you imagine I do?”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, fingers curling around his long empty teacup.

Wei Ying laughs, and Lan Zhan’s traitorous mind supplies the sound into his fantasy, as he imagines the curve of those lips, the huff of breaths as he would laugh into their kiss.

Uncle would’ve hated him. Huan-ge would’ve been amused. Lan Zhan would like to think his mother would’ve loved Wei Ying, just to be contrarian. And because she would see herself in his free spirit.

Seeing that they’ve both finished their beverages, Lan Zhan suggests going back to their car, as an excuse to collect his thoughts. He wishes to keep his mind off his mother, at least not while he’s talking to Wei Ying, because it always brings a sense of melancholy, and he doesn’t want to bring the mood down. But it’s probably inevitable, seeing that he’s on a trip to pay tribute to her memories.

Wei Ying picks the conversation back up immediately after they settle back in their seats. “Why Budapest?”

Directly with a hard hitting question, though Wei Ying couldn’t possibly know this. Lan Zhan refrains from chewing his lips. “I’m going to a concert.”

It’s technically not a lie.

“Oooh, which band?”

“... Liszt. A piano concert. At the opera house.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying scratches his head bashfully, gesturing vaguely at Lan Zhan. “That makes sense, of course, considering…”

“What?” Lan Zhan asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Nothing. You look like someone who would go to classical music concerts regularly. You play any instrument?”

“Mn. Piano and guqin.”

Wei Ying hums with a smile, like he’s enjoying a private joke. Lan Zhan shifts, unsure if he’s being teased, but there is no hint of malice in the smile.

“What else do you plan to do in Budapest?”

Truth be told, Lan Zhan doesn’t have a clear plan, which is a first for him. Normally, he has his plan down meticulously to the minute. But he remembers his previous trip here with his mother, who insisted on going with the flow and just doing whatever their whims told them too. Maybe it was nostalgia, but it was the most fun he’d ever had, maybe ever.

So he forces himself to honor her spontaneity during this trip, to go to this city blind, even if the anticipation is eating at him, tethering on anxiety.

Well, almost blind. He did book a ticket to this concert, allowing himself a clutch, and an excuse.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “I’m flying back home tomorrow from there.”

“So soon?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying observes him, still with a smile. “You’re really going to a new city without any plan? I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone so impulsive.”

“Not my first time.” The words slipped out before Lan Zhan thought better to hold them back. “To the city, I mean.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying’s interest piques at this. “I’ve never been to a city that I wanted to visit twice. Is there something special about Budapest?”

There’s something about Wei Ying that makes Lan Zhan want to tell him everything. Maybe it’s the way he pays such genuine interest in what little Lan Zhan offered him, finding him interesting enough to keep the conversation flowing. Maybe it’s the sensible way he perceives things, the kindness in his empathy with even the more disagreeable characters, fictional notwithstanding. Maybe it’s the way the story of his first trip to Budapest has been gnawing at Lan Zhan’s gut ever since he set foot in Europe, the details of the trip he’s kept secret from even his family for the good part of two decades, bubbling to the surface like an active volcano.

It feels easier to lay it out to a stranger with a willing ear, someone that holds no previous connotation or expectation for who Lan Zhan is and ought to be. What’s the harm in telling someone who he will part ways with soon, who will forget about his story anyway?

Irrationally, the thought of this encounter fading away with time, that they will go separate ways after this, and perhaps Wei Ying will go on to forget about him, sends a twinge of premonitory sadness inside Lan Zhan.

“You seem like you have a story to tell,” Wei Ying points out, giving him the final push. “I’ll listen!”

Lan Zhan gives in.

He tells the story of his mother stealing him away on a trip to Europe, to see all the places she was supposed to travel to, but couldn’t. It was also a summer day, when she woke him up before the sun even came up, and they exited the house in silence, and went to the airport.

They flew to Paris first, before catching a connecting flight to Budapest. His mother was supposed to go there for grad school, but the marriage meant she had to let that dream go. His father’s side of the family didn’t approve of her, and she’d been miserable. An adventurous, rebellious young woman, locked away in a gilded cage. Ten years into her marriage, she found herself besieged by regret, plagued by an alternate universe where she was allowed a different choice.

They only stayed in Budapest for a week. Most of his memory of that time is fuzzy now — if he’d known that would be their first and last trip together, he would’ve paid more attention.

Lan Zhan kept the next part to himself, the bruise still too tender to poke into. The day after they returned to China was a blur. Lan Zhan was kept away in his room for most of the time, but there had been fights. At one point, from up the stair railing, where he was eavesdropping, he heard them accuse her of kidnapping him without permission, putting him in danger, and the next thing he knew, he’d barreled down the stairs to stand between her and his grandparents. He couldn’t remember if he’d cried. There was just a lot of shouting, which never happened before in a Lan household.

His mother stopped living with them, afterwards. They only met once a month. It was, all in all, a confusing time. His father buried himself into work, becoming even more distant. The one who bore the weight of raising him and his brother was uncle, who remained unmarried, shouldering the impossible task of maintaining a fragile equilibrium between his grandparents and his parents, all parties now refusing to communicate with each other.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan wonders if being unhappy and unfulfilled is hereditary to his family.

Then one day, a few years later, he was told that his mother was sick. Had been sick. The monthly meeting switched location to the hospital. Everything happened so fast.

He shares with Wei Ying mostly the good memories of that trip, or what’s left of it that he still remembers. He carefully brushes through the aftermath, but he feels like Wei Ying can read between the lines anyway, being perceptive as he is. He’s been a surprisingly considerate listener, and there has been no sign of pity, nor discomfort.

Lan Zhan has never spoken at length about this trip to anyone, even the people closest to him. He’s never shared this much about himself to anyone, ever, let alone something so dear and carefully kept. Yet, once the story flows, he finds he cannot stop. Maybe all this time, he’s been desperate to be heard, without being judged. Without shame.

At one point, Lan Zhan’s thumbnail digs into his fingers in a nervous tic, and Wei Ying simply reaches over, and taps a finger at his knuckle, the touch light as a feather, but enough to ground him back to reality.

“It’s funny how when memories fail us, it’s the feeling that stays,” Wei Ying says, fingers still tapping lightly against his. Almost a brush, almost a caress. Tentative, sweet. “I don’t remember much about my parents, can’t even picture their faces very well, but I remember being happy. That we were happy.”

Will this moment also become just a fleeting feeling, with the details smudged out at the edge one day?

Lan Zhan wills himself to stop doom thinking. His hands itch to take Wei Ying’s, and he wonders if they are as warm and comforting as he imagines them to be. He clenches the hand that Wei Ying isn’t touching into fist under the table, then releases it, repeating the action a few times, just to shake off that overwhelming urge.

“Do you miss her?” Wei Ying asks.

“Mn.” He says. “Do you miss your parents?”

Wei Ying chuckles. “Can you miss someone you don’t remember?”

Lan Zhan turns his hand up, letting his fingers graze over Wei Ying’s palm for a brief second, before setting it aside, their pinkies touching. “You can.”

You can miss something you’ve never had, he thinks, but doesn’t say, because it feels too close to a confession of a kind. Wei Ying smiles at the point of contact, and doesn’t pull back.

It’s strange, Lan Zhan wonders. He doesn’t like being touched, not even by those who are family. He used to freeze when his grandparents demanded a hug. People at school and university take one look at him, and very reasonably, stay away. And now, here he is, on a train, initiating contact with a stranger, and feels comfort in it. He knows his face is not showing anything, but he can almost hear his brother’s playful tease. You look giddy, A-Zhan.

Lan Zhan doesn’t want to pry further into why, fearing it will shatter the moment, and because deep down, the truth is already lying there, waiting for him to turn it around and face it. He wonders what’s going through Wei Ying’s mind, if he’s also as affected by a simple touch, or if it’s just something casual for him.

Wanting, for Lan Zhan, has always been a nebulous thing. It’s always some surface level of attraction, an acknowledgement of sorts. It has never had a clear object of desire. Lan Zhan thinks, as his eyes stray to where their skin connects, tracing it back up Wei Ying’s lean arms, his shoulders, the line of his exposed neck, a sliver of collarbone peeking out from beneath his dark red T-shirt, that he’s never known wanting like this. It’s palpable. It’s novel, it’s breathtaking, it’s excitement and anxiety squirming and thrashing against his ribcage.

It feels almost like motion sickness, and he might have blamed it on the train, if he didn’t know he never experiences any kind of queasiness on any mode of transportation.

Lunch comes and goes. Wei Ying adamantly refuses to let him pay, and gets each of them a sandwich. He spends the entire time between bites lamenting about bland white people’s food, and laughs when Lan Zhan tells him about the rule against speaking during meals.

“I’m starting to think you grew up in an ascetic monastery, Lan Zhan,” he teases, and Lan Zhan resolutely does not rise to the taunt.

The train pulls into Munich soon after they wrap up lunch, and Wei Ying falls into an odd lap of contemplative silence. He seems fidgety, doodling mindless shapes into the sketchbook he brings, and Lan Zhan experiences a moment of panic, thinking that they’ve fallen prey to awkward silence, and now Wei Ying will find an excuse to sit elsewhere, effectively ending this strange encounter. Maybe his weird, vaguely sad childhood story has made Wei Ying uncomfortable. No one wants to be sad, or burdened with more weight than that they’ve already been carrying. Maybe now that the mystery is gone, and Lan Zhan is revealed to not be this cool, enigmatic stranger anymore, and just a bore who spends too much time thinking about the past, Wei Ying has lost interest.

But then the train pulls out, and as they leave Munich behind, the tension gradually seeps out of Wei Ying. Then, he bursts out laughing.

“Lan Zhan, can I tell you something? And you have to promise not to tell me that I’m crazy.”

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow, but nods his promise. Wei Ying beckons him closer with a finger, like he’s going to whisper a secret.

“I was supposed to get off just then.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen by a fraction. “But you did not.”

“I did not.”

“You’re still here.”

Wei Ying smiles at this, like he’s pleased with the phrasing. “I am here,” he confirms.

“Why?”

“If I say because I want to spend more time with you, will you laugh at me?”

His heart quickens pathetically in his chest, now that he cannot escape what it implies. Wei Ying just upended his plan, because he wants to spend more time with Lan Zhan. He cannot help the tug at the corners of his mouth.

“I will not,” he answers quietly.

“You like that, huh,” Wei Ying teases, eyes lit up with mischief. “You like to hear how helpless I am against your charm, gege?”

There’s no hiding his blush now. He can feel it tingling on his face. “Why?”

He’s not even sure what he’s asking for.

Wei Ying shrugs. “It wasn’t too concrete of a plan, anyway. And you made a convincing case, Lan Zhan. I just have to see this city that has enamored you so.”

Lan Zhan forces himself to breathe. “You’re going to Budapest with me?”

“Where else would I be?” He laughs, and Lan Zhan wants to carve that sentence into his brain, sear it into permanent memory.

Wei Ying looks at him, smile faltering a little. “Is it okay? Am I imposing? Too crazy? I can get off at the next station if you hate it.”

“It is a bit crazy,” Lan Zhan admits. “It’s okay. I think I would appreciate a companion.”

He realizes that this was the truth, when Wei Ying’s smile brightens again, and he feels something lifted in his chest. He didn’t plan for a companion, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? To say yes to the unexpected. To welcome what fate thrusts at him, and go along with it, instead of wrestling for control.

His mother would approve, he thinks.

Somehow, facing down this trip of closure seems less daunting, when there’s someone else next to him, to separate the then and the now, keeping him from spiraling too far in his head and grounding him to reality. The anticipation of Budapest starts to lose the anxious edge, taking on a new color. Something… hopeful.

Wei Ying is almost jittery with relief. Lan Zhan realizes then that he’s been nervous, too. Somehow, knowing that calms him down a little bit.

“I’ll be so good, I’ll be the best companion! I’ll ruin all future travel companionship you’ll ever have! And don’t worry, if you want to get rid of me, we can just part ways. You go on with your concert and your flight, and I’ll just jump on the next train!”

“I won’t,” he reassures, and Wei Ying groans.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re so nice, why are you this nice? Please tell me you’re not like this to every stranger. You’ll get scammed one day if you keep it up — not that I am scamming… Oh God, now I sound like a catfish!”

Lan Zhan huffs an almost laugh at his rambling, and Wei Ying’s head snaps up at the sound.

“Did you—? Lan Zhan!” he bellows with indignation. “I’m looking out for you, and you laughed at me?”

“Why would anyone scam me?”

Lan Zhan knows he was playing into the trap, and lets himself resign to the teasing. Wei Ying grins like a vulture descending upon prey.

“First of all, Lan-gege, you’re rich. I’ve seen the laptop, the card, the—” he waves a hand at Lan Zhan like he’s trying to dissipate a mirage, “everything about you.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan tries to keep a straight face. “So, I need to be careful about where I keep my valuable items.”

Wei Ying nods enthusiastically, playing along. “Yes, exactly! Second, you’re handsome. People will try to seduce you, take advantage of you.”

Keeping a straight face is taking a valiant effort. “Mn. Is that what you’re doing?”

Wei Ying’s face flames. “You—!”

“Me,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“You’re a menace,” Wei Ying shakes his head, but he’s grinning ear to ear. “I can’t believe this. Maybe I’m the one being scammed.”

They settle into something more comfortable, after the matter of their joint destination is sorted. There is still that palpable tension in the space inbetween, but it’s less suffocating now, and more so prickling, thrumming with electricity.

Wei Ying decides to take a nap, bemoaning the lack of sleep he got last night in order to catch this train. But it’s all worth it to meet you, he says with a wink, equally teasing and earnest, and Lan Zhan’s brain briefly short circuits. He spends about ten minutes watching Wei Ying’s sleeping figure, committing his fine features into memory, before snapping out of it and cringing at how creepy he’s being. He directs his focus back to the essay, and before long, he manages to draft out an outline for it, echoing some points they discussed earlier.

His focus is broken by the sound of pen scratching on paper. He looks up, and sees Wei Ying awake, curling on the seat with his sketchbook, gray eyes boring into him.

Any attempt to regain focus after that is futile.

“Something for me to remember you by,” Wei Ying says after a while, and turns the notebook to show him.

Lan Zhan’s breath hitches. It’s him, in his shirt and a slight frown on his face, a laptop in front of him, immortalized in ink — the resemblance is remarkable.

“I tried my best,” Wei Ying says, eyes searching for his approval. “Couldn’t quite capture your beauty, but not a bad job, right?”

Lan Zhan swallows dry, trying to find words to vocalize how he feels and failing miserably. But something in his expression answers for him, and Wei Ying smiles, seemingly satisfied.

“Draw me something,” he says, and Wei Ying replies with an inquiring noise. “I — also want something to remember you by.”

Wei Ying beams. “Sure! What do you want?”

You, Lan Zhan’s brain suggests, which is honestly shameless.

“Anything,” he says, because he will take anything.

Wei Ying asks him about his favorite animal, then aww and teases him relentlessly when he says rabbit. Lan Zhan almost regrets divulging this modicum of personal information, but then Wei Ying draws him two bunnies riding a carousel, one white, one gray, on the first page of The Catcher in the Rye, before signing his name, and all was forgiven. Sort of.

“There, an original by none other than Wei Ying,” he says, smug, pushing the book back at Lan Zhan. “Now you have to cherish this book forever. I don’t want to hear you badmouth it ever again.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says dazedly, completely forgetting to glare at the book he’s supposedly sworn enemies with.

When he looks back up, the expression in Wei Ying’s eyes is soft. Like he can see past the words Lan Zhan hasn’t said. Like he doesn’t mind if they’re never vocalized, and it makes Lan Zhan want to find his voice all the more for it.

The topic of conversation switches towards Wei Ying afterwards. Where did he learn to draw, why he loves art, and if he is an artist. No, he’s not, Lan Zhan learns — it’s just a hobby. He’s self-taught, and he likes sketching with ink instead of pencil, because if he makes mistakes, he cannot erase them. Which is counterintuitive, Lan Zhan points out, and Wei Ying argues that, yes, that’s the point.

The point is to make mistakes, and figure out how to make it work regardless.

It is chaotic, and goes against everything Lan Zhan knows, his notebooks since childhood neat and spotless and not a single mistake allowed. His half-finished drafts, lines rewriting again and again until it’s perfect, which is never.

Which makes even less sense when Wei Ying tells him that his major in university is business.

“I hate it,” Wei Ying says, and his smile is dejected and bitter. “God, that was good to say out loud. Aunt Yu would have had my head if she heard me trash the shiny university I got into.”

His foster situation is peculiar, to say the least. Wei Ying was taken in by a family friend after his parents died in an accident, but never officially adopted, which he jokes as being the Schrodinger’s sibling to the two Jiang children: a family member when it’s convenient, and an outsider when it’s not.

“I’m grateful,” he says, which Lan Zhan silently disagrees that he should. “I’m not starved, I get along with my siblings, and I get to experience the same education as them, which is more than I would’ve gotten otherwise.”

“That’s the bare minimum,” Lan Zhan says frankly, and Wei Ying winces a little, before changing the subject.

“Anyway, Jiang Cheng was supposed to inherit the family business, and I was supposed to be his right hand and help him not run it to the ground — that’s why we both signed up for a business degree. But I just hate it, everything about it. The only course I enjoyed was Advanced Statistics because it was just math.” Wei Ying looks down on the table, and quietly hooks his pinky with Lan Zhan’s, as if searching for comfort. Lan Zhan sucks in a breath, and wills himself to stay as still as possible, afraid to spook him to retreat from the touch.

“The first year of university was hell. I loved studying, learning new things, but for the first time I cannot swallow any knowledge they sprang upon us — just a bunch of hypocritical bullshit. I took to arguing with my professors in class on everything, until Jiang Cheng told me I was being an asshole.”

Wei Ying laughs, a little self-deprecatingly, and Lan Zhan wishes nothing more than to get him back his genuine, heart-stopping laugh he shared with Lan Zhan earlier.

“I really thought so too, and I blame myself for acting out. But then as an experiment, I sneak into random lectures of subjects not related to my degree but I enjoy. It was then that I realized that I don’t hate studying at all. I just hate the degree I have chosen, and then I realized I never really chose it at all. Had a mini crisis about it, and signed up for a gap year to get my thoughts in order.”

“That doesn’t sound like a mini crisis,” Lan Zhan says gently. He doesn’t want Wei Ying to downplay something that clearly affects him so much.

Wei Ying snorts, but when he looks at Lan Zhan, the real smile is back again, and something settles within him at the sight.

He hums, and asks. “What degree would you have chosen, if you could do it differently?”

Wei Ying thinks about it long and carefully, as if no one has ever asked him this before. “I’m not sure. I liked engineering, and I liked some of the art courses too. There is this one physics class…”

He launches into a rant about a class that conducts tactical demonstrations of physical laws, where Wei Ying volunteered to participate in one of the experiments, and when the professor found out that he’s not even supposed to be in his class, he only laughed and said Wei Ying was welcome to return anytime. Lan Zhan is both mildly envious and horrified at the creative educational environment in Western institutions. His courses back in China are much less tactile and very much still the traditional note-taking lectures kind.

Wei Ying asks him about his favorite course in university, and Lan Zhan thinks about it for a while before telling him about the internship elective last year where he chose to volunteer at a middle school in a more rural area, where he learned just how inadequate his education has prepared him for the real thing.

“Middle-schoolers are the worst,” Wei Ying shudders, and Lan Zhan partially agrees with it.

“It’s a delicate time,” he says. “Confusing, and lonely, too, I think.”

“You can handle a room full of mean and unruly middle-school kids, but you can’t understand Holden Caulfield?” Wei Ying teases.

“Irritability does not render one unworthy of kind treatment,” he argues, then stops there, feeling like he’s just fraying himself raw of a secret he doesn’t want to unearth. When he entered middle school, he’d just lost his mother. He’s been quiet, and shut in his own head most of the time. He isn’t sure that he would’ve liked to make friends then, but he was certain he didn’t know how, even if he did want to. Perhaps deep down, he wishes there has been someone who was kinder with him. People often find a child they don’t understand, and label them difficult.

It seems that everything always circles back to this monumental loss, that single thread weaving through his life.

Wei Ying is looking at him with a small smile, and Lan Zhan has a feeling that he understands. He thinks about Wei Ying’s childhood, the little troublemaker, his relationship with his foster family, and considers that perhaps they were both cut from the same cloth, albeit with different patterns. Outliers. Difficult.

“Lan Zhan ah, you… I’ve never met anyone like you. What am I to do?” Wei Ying says, and threads their fingers together, squeezing his hand. It makes little sense. Lan Zhan once again wonders if Wei Ying just says things like this on the regular, and if he’s deluding himself that it means something more.

Tentatively, he squeezes back. Wei Ying’s hand is exactly as warm as he’s imagined, and Lan Zhan doesn’t want to let go.

The announcement on the speaker sends them both jumping a little, too consumed in their little bubble to realize that they’re almost at their destination.

It is a little awkward, to step off the train at Budapest Central Station, and fumble with all the trivial logistics of buying transportation tickets then figuring out the maps and getting to the apartment Lan Zhan rented to deposit the luggage, et cetera, but they manage. He booked a small one bedroom right by the Danube river. It is an old house, with rickety stairs and peeling wallpapers by the entryway, but it is charming and the view from the big window is magnificent. The owner is an old lady who rents the studio to struggling students, but it’s currently summer and it’s unoccupied.

It’s nothing like the fancy hotels his family would’ve booked whenever they travel anywhere. His mother would have adored the place.

“I would die to live in a place like this,” Wei Ying marvels, leaning half of his body out the window to smell the river, and Lan Zhan blinks, his past and present suddenly colliding into one.

“Mn,” he replies, intelligently.

“I wonder if there is any hostel nearby that also has this view,” Wei Ying says, and for a second Lan Zhan frowns, because why would Wei Ying look for a hostel?

Then it occurs to him that he has somehow races ahead of himself and assumes that Wei Ying would just stay with him.

“Stay here,” he blurts out.

Wei Ying turns to him with wide eyes. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose. It is a small place.”

“You aren’t,” Lan Zhan says. “It’s not too small for two. It’s only one night.”

Wei Ying still looks hesitant, so he adds, unsure if he’s making a good case at all. “The sofa pulls out, I believe.”

“Pfft,” Wei Ying snorts. “Alright. But you really should not invite strangers to stay in the same place with you like this, Lan Zhan. What if I’m just waiting for you to be vulnerable in your sleep and rob you, huh?”

Lan Zhan sighs, hopelessly fond. “I’m a light sleeper, and I know martial arts.”

Wei Ying gawks at that, a dust of pink gracing his cheeks, and he grins. “I might just attack you in your sleep just to see how you put me in my place.”

Lan Zhan almost chokes, and wonders again with despair if Wei Ying hears the things that come out of his mouth.

“I’ll pay you later?” Wei Ying suggests, dropping his battered rucksack by the sofa.

“It’s already paid,” Lan Zhan says. “There’s no need.”

“No, no! You have to let me pay!” Wei Ying squawks indignantly. “Otherwise I’m not staying, Lan Zhan.”

“You can pay for dinner,” Lan Zhan says without thinking, then immediately turns away to hide the heat rising to his face. It sounds too much like he’s asking Wei Ying out for a date. Which he is, he supposes, but he’s not sure if Wei Ying wants to, and this feels like Lan Zhan is forcing a date upon him.

He steals a glance at Wei Ying, who is plucking a travel guidebook out of the shelf and flipping through the yellowing pages. He turns the advertisement for a traditional Hungarian restaurant towards Lan Zhan.

“Oldest restaurant in Budapest,” he exclaims triumphantly. “Looks fancy enough to take Lan Zhan there, hmm?”

Lan Zhan nods, mouth dry and heart running wild. Wei Ying laughs and teases him for being a fancy pants, and he doesn’t say that they could be sharing half a baguette on a park bench and he still would’ve been happy.

“What time does your concert end?” Wei Ying asks while stuffing the guidebook into his back pocket.

Oh. The concert. He’s totally forgotten about the concert.

They decide to see if they can get Wei Ying a last-minute ticket as well, and head out into the late afternoon sun. There is some time to spare, so they bypass the public transport and set off on foot.

“Does it feel familiar?” Wei Ying asks, as they make their way towards the opera house.

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, and tries to imagine it through the eyes of a six-year-old, who’s full of wonders and has never traveled anywhere outside of China. The memories come in flashes and strokes, more feelings than actual images.

It is like looking at someone you used to know, but cannot recall anything about that person other than a name and a fleeting emotion about your previous encounter, which render you essentially strangers.

The feeling is painfully familiar: running after elusive memories, always one step out of reach. In the years after his mother died, Lan Zhan had spent a lot of time quiet in his head, trying to recall the exact sound of her laugh, the exact shape of her eyes, the exact feeling of her touch, and feeling like grasping desperately at water. Sometimes, it felt like he was the only one left in this world who bothered to keep her memories alive, and he was doing a terrible job at it.

“Not really,” he answers, because any other responses seem too complicated to put into words.

Wei Ying hums. “I wish I remembered more as well. My parents traveled a lot, and I used to look through the diaries my mom kept of their adventures, look at the faded polaroids they left behind, and try to put together a person from these fragments.”

“Like stained glass,” Lan Zhan says suddenly, a memory making its way back to him, sitting on the wooden pew in a church, watching the light dancing through the colorful windows. To his childish mind, it had felt like proof that magic exists in this world.

“Like stained glass?” Wei Ying asks, amused.

Lan Zhan flushes. “Nothing.”

“No, no, tell me,” Wei Ying teases. “I’d love to hear whatever philosophical connection you have in that brilliant mind of yours. Teach me, Lan-laoshi.”

Lan Zhan clears his throat. “When I saw stained glass windows for the first time, I thought the windows were broken. My mother told me that yes, they’re pieces of glass, broken up, then put back together. And somehow, they’re more beautiful than the unbroken windows.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the strap of his cross-body bag, wondering if it was a silly or inane thing to say. Definitely not anything as profound as Wei Ying possibly expected.

“I like it,” Wei Ying says genuinely, and reaches out to untwist the strap for him. Somehow, they’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk for this conversation. “Your mom sounds like an amazing person.”

“She is,” Lan Zhan says fiercely. He’s very protective of his mother, to the point of recalcitrant. He would walk away from any conversation that mildly disapproved of her, even with the family elders, which offended a lot of them, but he never relented, leaving his brother to smooth out their feathers.

“Your parents too,” he adds, covering his hand atop where Wei Ying lays his on the strap. He tries to intertwine their fingers, and feels a slight flinch, so he drops it. They held hands on the train, so he assumed. Well. He assumed. He swallows, and starts walking again, just to distract himself. “They would love your travel stories.”

“You think so?” Wei Ying says, voice a little strained, and Lan Zhan hums his agreement, while trying to recount his actions, wondering where he has misstepped and made things awkward.

They make it to the opera house without another hiccup, but quickly learn that the show has sold out weeks ago. There is no extra ticket for Wei Ying to buy.

Lan Zhan stares at the ticket in his hand, and cannot remember why he wanted to attend.

“Go, don’t worry about me,” Wei Ying urges him with a dismissive smile that Lan Zhan learns he doesn’t like on him. “I’ll just go around to see things and be back here in two hours, then we’ll go get dinner. Still plenty of time.”

What kind of travel companion would he be, if he just leaves Wei Ying on his own? Wei Ying changed his plans to be here. It is not even a question, really, that Lan Zhan should also change his. Besides, they don’t have ‘plenty of time’, as Wei Ying said. On the contrary, their time is limited, and he wants to spend it with Wei Ying more than anything.

He looks around, then approaches a sad looking girl who is sitting at the bottom steps of the opera house with her violin hugged close to her chest, and offers her his ticket.

The girl gapes at him, holding the ticket with shaking hands like she couldn’t believe her eyes, then bubbling out in broken English about how she’s been busking for weeks to get enough money for this concert but cannot get the ticket in time before it is sold out. She bows in thanks again and again, and tries to pay him with the bag of loose change she has earned. Lan Zhan refuses and reassures her that it is alright.

“Let’s go,” he turns to Wei Ying and signals him to continue. “We still have a few hours of sunlight.”

Wei Ying stares at him, eyes wide, mouth slacked. It takes him a minute to breathe out an incredulous, “Why?”

Lan Zhan shrugs. “She needs it more than me.”

“But it’s your ticket. You wanted to see the show. You go to Budapest specifically for it.”

It is a good seat, and he did pay a small fortune for it. He did want to see the piano soloist. He feels not one bit of remorse to let the ticket go.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “If I say because I want to spend more time with you, will you laugh at me?”

Wei Ying does laugh then, bright and joyous, startling Lan Zhan so much he almost forgets to sulk. He starts walking away without even knowing where he’s heading towards, but Wei Ying catches up and slips their fingers together, holding him in place.

“Wait, don’t be mad! I’m not laughing at you, I swear,” he breathes, but Lan Zhan isn’t really listening, busy staring at where their hands connect.

Perhaps it’s just a reflex and he’s reading too much into it again. But Wei Ying still hasn’t let go yet and Lan Zhan is a greedy man. He’ll not be the first to let go. He’ll take whatever he’s given.

“Lan Zhan ah, you’re so… whatever should I do with you?”

It is not the first time Wei Ying said something along that line, with those same soft gray eyes, and Lan Zhan wonders if all of his heart is on display, vulnerable and obvious, at Wei Ying’s mercy. He wonders if Wei Ying knows how much power he holds.

“Let’s go find the bus,” is what he says, in an effort to rein back a little control.

“The bus?” Wei Ying asks, dazed. His eyes flick to Lan Zhan’s lips for such a brief second it can be counted as a coincidence.

“To the castle. It’s up the hill. You can see the city at sunset.” Lan Zhan says mechanically, and almost bangs his head against the lamp post for getting ahead of himself again. Why does he keep suggesting mildly romantic activities for them to do?

He adds hastily. “My mother and I did that the last day before we returned.”

Which is not a lie. They did do that.

“Alright, castle it is,” Wei Ying agrees easily. Their hands are still intertwined. Lan Zhan tries, and fails, to be normal about it. Flirting is always a social dance that he never quite gets the hang of, nor has a need to before today, but he never resents his ineptitude in the area like so. And the signals he’s been receiving have been mixed, to say the least.

Wei Ying releases his hand only when they need to board the bus.

The ride to the castle is packed to the brim, and they stand almost chest to chest as they make their wobbly way on the cobblestone path up the hill. Lan Zhan grips the handle so tight his knuckles turn white, not because of the bumpy ride, but because Wei Ying is too close. The bus jostles, and Wei Ying’s chest collides against him, his hand slams somewhere next to Lan Zhan’s ear to regain balance. He can feel Wei Ying’s breaths fanning his face. Their legs are almost tangled together. It’s all very. Much.

“I wonder how monarchs used to ride on cobblestone in a carriage,” Wei Ying mutters balefully. “Their livers must enjoy a great jog every time. Maybe that’s why they all die so early despite all the ridiculous wealth.”

All grievances are left behind once they finally make it to their destination. Wei Ying is like a bird let out of its cage, moving constantly around with a speed and intention that is completely mysterious to Lan Zhan. There’s a method to the madness, or something like that. They did a brief circle around the premises of the castle, then one around the Fisherman’s Bastion, punctuated by several intervals where Wei Ying decides that he needs to draw something, and stops to pull out his sketchbook and do just that.

Even though the speed and skills of Wei Ying is astonishing, it is evident that he’s rushing to finish it, oftentimes a scribble than anything else.

“Have you ever considered using a camera?” Lan Zhan asks, thinking it’s a perfectly logical solution.

“Rich-gege, I cannot afford it,” Wei Ying snickers, while Lan Zhan colors with embarrassment. “Besides, I like sketching. I like the challenge. I like that I spend time on it, and it grounds me to the present, forcing me to pay attention. I’d forget about the photo I took immediately, but I’ll always remember a drawing.”

By sunset, they end up perching on one of the arch windows of the Fisherman’s Bastion, looking out towards the panorama. It is a beautiful summer day, the sunset drowning the city in a golden pink hue and the heat is tempered by cool wind from the Danube.

The feeling is both novel, and nostalgic. He’s been here before, sitting in his mother’s lap, both of them quiet as they looked out on the water. He was quiet because he’s always been quiet, and she was quiet because they would go back the day after, a brief taste of freedom to quelch the endless days of longing. He wonders now if she’d known how badly they would have reacted, if she’d known they would forbid her from seeing her children again.

He wonders if in the days afterwards, after she had to move away and he didn’t get to see her, if she’d gone traveling alone. If she’d gone back to Europe by herself. And if she did, did it feel right, without Lan Zhan by her side. He doesn’t indulge in what-ifs beyond that — it would be selfish to ask these one-sided questions.

He still loves Budapest, he realizes, and feels an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t know that he had been afraid it wouldn’t be the case. The city doesn’t feel the same as when he was younger, but it shouldn’t be. The love is not only colored by nostalgia, just as his love for her is not bound by the accuracy of his memory. It doesn’t just exist in the past.

His mother is not here anymore, but he is still able to love the city for both of them. He’s still able to love. A promise fulfilled.

He looks over to his companion, who is sketching the Parliament House furiously, while chewing on his bottom lip. His tan skin is glowing under the sunset, stray hair and messy ponytail swaying a little in the summer breeze. Somewhere in the background, a street musician is playing a jazz medley of iconic love songs on his cello, and there’s a couple taking wedding photos in front of the Matthias Church. It is one of those life-altering moments he knows will live on forever in his mind, immortalized in a single frame he will replay over and over like an old film roll.

Wei Ying glances up, and blushes when he realizes Lan Zhan has been staring at him.

“Do I have ink on my face?” he jokes bashfully.

Lan Zhan shakes his head, then says. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Wei Ying smiles, and Lan Zhan catches a lock of stray hair and tuck it behind his ear, lingering finger tracing the shell of his earlobe. He blinks, shocked at how bold he’s being.

“I’m s—”

Wei Ying catches his hand before he can pull back.

“Don’t say sorry. Lan Zhan, I—”

He licks his lips, and there’s something unsure in his eyes. “I just… I don’t really do this.”

Lan Zhan nods, something lodges in his throat. “It’s okay, I understand—”

“No, listen to me.” Wei Ying touches his face very gently. “Here’s the thing. I know many people think I’m dallying about, sleeping my way through Europe, living a debauched life traipsing from bed to bed. But I’m not. I don’t want you to think of me as an easy body to warm the night, even though I may give that impression — and, um, I might have made my case worse by following you to Budapest. It’s—” he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, “I don’t care if people think so. But I can’t bear it if you think of me that way.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen in horror. “Wei Ying, I don’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying exhales.

“Did I give an impression that I want to take advantage?” Lan Zhan asks, aghast that Wei Ying has assumed that was his intention. Aghast that enough people have behaved like so for Wei Ying to believe it.

“It’s because you don’t give that impression that it scares me more than anything,” Wei Ying replies. “You’re like a— a dream, and I’m afraid that I would break if the wake up call comes.”

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Lan Zhan says, wishing desperately to know how to make Wei Ying feel better, but he’s never been good with words. He cycles through the images in his head, of inviting Wei Ying to stay in the studio, of suggesting dinner, each of those memories skewing a little now that he knows what Wei Ying might be thinking.

“Hey, give me more credits,” Wei Ying laughs, cupping Lan Zhan’s face, breaking him out of his anxious spiral. “I’ve been traveling alone for a while now. I have enough self-preservation skills to know how to say no, okay? I wanted everything I’ve done so far with you, genuinely.”

Lan Zhan searches his face for an indication that he might be lying to placate him.

“Lan Zhan, I really do want to kiss you,” Wei Ying whispers, gaze drops to his lips, and thoughts are cut off from Lan Zhan’s head altogether. “You have no idea how much I’ve been trying to hold back.”

“Why do you hold back?” he asks, trying his best not to sound petulant.

“I told you, I don’t want to be your sexy European one night stand that you’ll bring up as an anecdote in a few years.” He laughs, but it’s more nervous than anything. Tell me I won’t be, his eyes plead silently.

“You aren’t,” Lan Zhan says, heart beating in his throat. “You— you are so much more. Wei Ying. You will be my first kiss.”

Wei Ying’s eyes are blown dark and wild, his mouth slightly opens in bewilderment, and Lan Zhan leans closer. Their noses brush, their exhales mingle into one, but he makes himself stop, allowing Wei Ying to make that last decision.

Wei Ying closes the distance, pressing their lips together, soft and sweet. Almost shy, like a question, then he pulls back. The tip of his tongue sticks out to lick his lips, as if chasing the taste, and Lan Zhan answers by leaning back in again, and kisses with all the certainty he can manage. It’s not graceful, he needs practice, but it’s not a line of thoughts he bothers to follow right now, when Wei Ying opens his mouth to let him in. Their mouths move together desperately, warm and wet and taste like summer on his tongue. Wei Ying makes a small, pleased sound as he slides his hand into Lan Zhan’s hair, pulls him in even closer, and he tucks Wei Ying in by the waist so he sits almost on Lan Zhan’s lap.

They are interrupted by someone letting out a loud hoot and laughing. Followed by a piercing whistle from a guard, who stalks over to them angrily and scolds them in half Hungarian, half English, accompanied by animated hand gestures, something about them potentially falling out the window arch and tumbling to their deaths down the steep hill.

Lan Zhan feels his ears burn at being scolded, and also because he kind of forgot that they were making out in public, making all sorts of indecent sounds. There are children in the parameters. They bow their apologies to the tired guard, then Wei Ying giggles, slipping their hands together and pulling him into a sprint down the road. Like they’re two teenagers getting caught causing trouble. It’s ridiculous. Lan Zhan has never felt so alive, thumping heart threatening to soar from his ribcage.

“Dinner?” Wei Ying turns around to ask, breathless, and Lan Zhan cannot help but reel him in to steal another kiss. Wei Ying laughs into his mouth, just like Lan Zhan’s mini fantasy back on the train, which seems like a lifetime ago, and everything is perfect. He bites Wei Ying’s bottom lip a little, then dashes his tongue over it, and Wei Ying chases after him, loath to part.

“Gege, you’re so good at this, are you sure this is your first kiss? Are you sure you didn’t just say that to trick your innocent Wei Ying into kissing you?” he teases, and Lan Zhan is certain that his ears will just be permanently red now. He will have to wear earmuffs year round.

His abashed look makes Wei Ying laugh again, fondness evident in the sound, and he peppers kisses all over Lan Zhan’s face, like he also cannot get enough. “Good boy, Lan Zhan, you’re so cute. I’m so happy, you have no idea.”

“Mn. I’m glad,” Lan Zhan says, his mouth feels funny, probably because it’s numb from kissing, and also because he’s smiling ear to ear.

Eventually, regretfully, they have to keep their mouths off of each other long enough to take the bus downtown for the dinner they made reservations earlier, and are most certainly late for now. Wei Ying doesn’t let go of his hand this time, even as they get on the bus, and they still stand plastered against each other even though there are many seats available. And if every time the bus jostles, their lips collide in a quick peck, that’s hardly their fault.

It is past nine when they get to the restaurant. The last light of day is gradually retreating as they stroll down the street, replaced by the sight of city lights slowly taking over, roaring Budapest into a new life. They lost the reservation, of course, but it’s late enough that the restaurant managed to seat them a table out on the terrace.

Wei Ying chats merrily with the waiter to ask for recommendations, and Lan Zhan is content to watch him, nodding serenely to whatever he suggests. He’s so naturally, unreasonably charming, it’s hard to believe that a man like him would be into Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan! Are you just agreeing with whatever I say?” Wei Ying asks, amused.

“Mn.”

“What if I order something wildly ostentatious and inedible, hmm?”

Lan Zhan humphed. “You’re paying.”

Wei Ying does an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, you got me there, I must treat Lan Zhan to the best.”

The food comes out rather quickly, along with a bottle of wine. He confesses that he doesn’t drink, and reassures Wei Ying that he can drink to his heart’s content. They trade more stories, as they did on the train, with the addition of Wei Ying’s legs nudging against him under the table. Lan Zhan talks about his summer course on pedagogical practices in Paris, an exchange program with his university in Shanghai, and Wei Ying talks about all the volunteering he does while traveling. He mostly works with orphanages and displaced children, and in return, is given free housing and food at the volunteers’ dorm. In between assignments, he waits at restaurants and bars to save up money for personal trips. Not a fancy life, but a fulfilling one.

“Sometimes, I consider dropping out of university and just do this for the rest of my life.”

But duties beg to differ, goes unsaid. It is perhaps an unspoken thing, for their culture, to have a built-in guilt mechanism, to force them to sacrifice their wishes for something akin to approval. Even someone as rebellious as Wei Ying couldn’t escape its snare. It is exactly like he said on the train: their lives are bound impossibly by expectations, but whether to lay down and accept it, or to defy it by choosing your own path remains a delicate compromise. Perhaps, there will never be a right answer. Wei Ying’s parents defy expectations by traveling the world instead of staying rooted. Lan Zhan’s parents sacrifice their wants for familial duties. Neither story ends well enough to give them a solution.

Despite it all, dinner was a pleasant affair. The waiter clears the dishes away, and they are left with the rest of Wei Ying’s wine.

“Lan Zhan, let’s play a game of telephone.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Telephone?”

“I need to practice this phone call to my brother. Pretend you’re him. Go on, it’ll make sense.”

Wei Ying makes a ring ring sound, and Lan Zhan huffs, pretending to pick up.

“Hello, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying immediately scrunches his face. “God, no, Jiang Cheng would never. He would pick up the phone, and go,” he mimics a scowling face and a whisper-yell so as not to disturb the other restaurant patrons. “‘Wei Ying! Where the fuck are you?’ Something like that.”

Lan Zhan frowns, appalled. “I’m not going to do that. Your brother should be nicer to you.”

Wei Ying laughs. “Oh my God, that’s Jiang Cheng being nice! How do you and your brother greet each other?”

“Exactly like I just did.”

“What if he’s especially mad at you? Like, you’re super late to your meetup or something?”

“I’m never late.”

“Forget I ask,” Wei Ying shakes his head. “First flaw detected: terrible at role-play.”

Lan Zhan harrumphs. “I hope I never have to role-play either of our brothers.”

Wei Ying laughs so hard he bangs his knees into the table, sending the glass of wine sloshing a little.

“All right, fine, let’s assume this call goes to voice mail.”

This Lan Zhan can do. He clears his throat and puts on his most robotic voice. “Hello, you’ve reached Jiang Cheng’s voice mail. I’m currently not available to take a call. Please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll get back to you at the earliest convenience.”

He looks Wei Ying dead in the eyes and says with a straight face. “Beep.”

Wei Ying is beside himself with laughter, and it warms Lan Zhan’s heart. Not many people consider him to be interesting, and certainly no one has ever thought of him as funny before. Possibly not even his brother. Somehow, only Wei Ying is able to bring out this side of him, and it comes surprisingly natural to want to make him laugh.

Wei Ying brushes away a tear from his eyes as he tries to regain composure. He puts his pretend phone-hand next to his ear again, and smiles.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng. Hope your flight was alright. Listen, uh, I just want to let you know that I won’t be able to make it to Munich on time. I’m sorry, I know you traveled all the way from the U.S. for this and I promised I will meet you.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes must be comically wide. Wei Ying did not just upend a silly travel plan to come to Budapest with him. He threw away a plan with his own brother.

“It’s just — I met this amazing guy on the train, who is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen… and I decided to go to Budapest with him instead. I know! It sounds crazy, I’m being impulsive, blah blah, you can scold me all you want later.”

Wei Ying winces a little, like he’s anticipating an actual scolding. “It’s just… He told me about his trip to Budapest when he was a little boy, and that he’s on the way there now to fulfill a promise he made fifteen years ago with his mom. And I just know right then and there that he’s something special. And I want to get to know him better.”

“As the day went on, I couldn’t help but like him more and more. He’s this model young Chinese man that we would both have hated when we were younger because your mom would bring him up all the time for comparison. He follows rules, he’s neat, he’s studious, he plays two instruments. Two, Jiang Cheng! But he’s also funny, and sensitive, and generous, and kind. And did I mention drop dead gorgeous? Yeah, I didn’t stand a chance. I think… I think I might’ve actually fallen in love with him.”

Lan Zhan gasps. He finds Wei Ying’s hand, and holds it tight, unable to find words to say anything in response.

“Which may come as a shock for you, considering you don’t even know I like men,” Wei Ying continues with a small smile, as he squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand back. “So, um, surprise? I hope he likes me, too. I wasn’t sure at first, because he’s not a very expressive man, but then he kissed me and it’s the most magical thing in the world. You know I used to complain with you that I don’t see the deal with kissing and why people like it so much? Yeah, well, I understand now. It is so hard to keep my hands off of him, really.”

He pulls Lan Zhan’s hand closer and places a kiss on his knuckles.

“He’s really intense, but in a good way. I like it when I feel his eyes on me, like I’m the sole focus of his attention. Like we’re in this beautiful city, yet he’d rather be looking at me instead. It makes me feel like I’m wanted.”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth to tell Wei Ying that he is wanted, and that there’s nothing he’d rather be looking at, but Wei Ying puts a finger against his lips and mouths ‘Stay in character’ with a wink.

“It is his last day in Europe though,” Wei Ying continues, his smile dims a little. “He’ll fly back to China tomorrow to become a teacher. Part of me is sad that I’ll have to say goodbye to him soon. I don’t know if we could meet each other again — you know, life is so unpredictable. Part of me is telling me it’s a good thing we only have this one day. That if he knows me for more than that, he wouldn’t have liked me so much. He probably would grow to think that I’m annoying, and he’ll regret giving me his first kiss. That would hurt more than if we say goodbye right now, and keep a good impression of the other. A dream is good because it ends before reality crashes in, right?”

Wei Ying is not meeting his eyes anymore, but he’s still holding tight to his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. He always seems so bright, so confident, that him being so uncertain about Lan Zhan’s affection feels almost shocking.

Wei Ying brightens up again, as if he’s managed to swallow down the moment’s hesitation and is back to his joyful self. “Anyway, sorry for rambling in your voicemail. I’ll return to Munich after I see Lan Zhan off for his flight. Please don’t be too angry with me, didi!”

With that, he makes the motion of hanging up the phone, and grins at Lan Zhan.

“Ah, it was good to get all that rambling off my chest!”

There is so much to unpack, he isn’t sure where to even begin. “You will really talk about me to your brother?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying says, surprised. “My siblings will never have a peaceful day again. I’ll be talking about you all the time!”

“And you meant it?” he asks, ducking his head. Wei Ying understands what he’s asking about anyway.

“I meant everything I said,” he answers gently, genuinely.

Lan Zhan nods, hiding a smile that cannot help but bloom on his face.

“My turn,” he says. “I will also call my brother.”

“Ah, my chance to show off my acting skills!”

Lan Zhan makes the movement of picking up the telephone. Wei Ying follows suit, schooling his face to a stern expression that probably resembles uncle more than his brother.

“Hello, Lan Zhan.”

“My brother will call me A-Zhan,” he corrects.

Wei Ying’s eyes light up with fondness. “Hello, A-Zhan. How’s Budapest?”

“Hello, xiongzhang. Budapest is nice. The city is as charming as I remember. I wish you were here to see it, too.” He takes a deep breath. “There have been a lot of changes to my original plan. I didn’t attend the concert.”

“Did something happen? Are you alright?” Wei Ying asks, and fine. He is better at this role-playing thing than Lan Zhan. His brother would definitely say something along that line.

“Nothing to worry about, I just— met someone. His name is Wei Ying.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying’s smile is sly. “Tell me more.”

“He’s a Chinese American student — I met him by coincidence on the train. Wei Ying… he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, he took my breath away.”

Wei Ying blushes furiously. “Oh my God, Lan Zhan, you can’t just say that! Warn a man before giving him a heart attack, won’t you?”

“Stay in character,” he chides, and earns a sullen pout in return.

“He sounds great. Did you two hit it off?”

“Mn. Surprisingly. You know I don’t make friends quickly. But it’s easy to talk to Wei Ying. He finds me interesting, even though I’m not sure why. I even told him about mother, and he listened, understood. There’s something about him that makes me want to be known.” He looks Wei Ying in the eyes, and smiles. “I think she would’ve loved him. I wish I could’ve introduced him to her.”

Wei Ying gapes at him, eyes glitter with emotions.

“He’s smart, talented, and has a good heart. He’s the best travel companion I could ask for,” he says, and Wei Ying laughs, wetly. “I’ve only met him for a day, but I already knew I would like to be by his side every day onwards.”

“Isn’t that a bit quick?” Wei Ying asks. It is unclear whether he’s still playing Huan-ge, or if he’s just asking as himself.

“Mn, it is. And that’s what I’m scared of.” He let himself a moment to breathe, before continuing. “You know uncle’s highest compliment to someone is ‘having great potential’? That’s Wei Ying. I know he will change the world, wherever he goes next, and I hope he allows himself the freedom to pursue whatever he wants.” He says this seriously, because he wants Wei Ying to really take it to heart.

“I hope so too,” Wei Ying replies, voice small, and a bit shaky with emotions.

“Mn. Even though I know it will take him away from me. His home is an ocean apart and his future is out there, and my world is… small. I will not be our father and tie his ambitions down, just so I can have his heart.”

There. It’s out now. The thing that has been gnawing at him in the back of his mind this entire time. Lan Zhan has spent most of his life resenting his father’s idea of love for his mother: wanting a bird and putting it in a gilded cage while calling it devotion. But for the first time, Lan Zhan thinks he may understand him. He wants nothing more than to bring Wei Ying back to Shanghai, place him in his apartment and take care of him forever. Wei Ying will not have to want for anything again.

But that’s not who Wei Ying is. The man he fell in love with is the one who travels the world, helping in orphanages, curling up on the train with a sketchbook always at the ready. He deserves to fly.

A tear escapes from the corner of Wei Ying’s eye, and he furiously tries to blink it back. “But what about your heart?”

“It will be content, as long as he is happy.”

Wei Ying gives up on the telephone game and buries his face in his hands for a long while. When he looks up, his eyes are wet, but he’s smiling.

“What are we doing here, Lan Zhan? Why are we wasting time maudlin over the future, when we can use it to enjoy ourselves instead?” He stands up, grabs the half drunk bottle of wine with one hand and Lan Zhan’s hand with the other. “Let’s get out of here. I need to kiss you as much as I want while I still can.”

They kiss under every other lamp post as they wander aimlessly down the street, warm and sweet like the summer night air. The gloom of separation trails after them in their shadows, a tangible weight now that they’ve spoken it aloud and given it a voice. Maybe they should talk more about the future, about staying in touch, but instead, they’re deliberately avoiding it, hiding between frantic kisses and roaming hands. Wei Ying tastes like the wine he’s been drinking, and Lan Zhan wonders if he can get drunk from just that, if this lightheaded feeling is any indication.

The city is falling asleep now, and it’s way past Lan Zhan’s usual bedtime, but he’s wide awake, his body high strung with desire and adrenaline. Somehow, they make it to the square in front of the Parliament House. They settle down on a bench to look up at the imposing building. The streets are quiet, but there is a group of young people huddling together in the opposite corner of the square; they have a stereo on, blasting music loudly, as they smoke and laugh. Old hits, like Carpenters and Elvis and Stevie. There’s a nostalgic, liminal feeling about the scenery, like they are wrapped inside of a particular vivid dream, a fragile mirage of bliss, knowing the ending is right around the corner.

“Let’s play another game,” Wei Ying suggests, inching closer so that he’s seated almost entirely snug in between Lan Zhan’s legs. “Questions. I’ll ask you something, and you have to answer truthfully. You can ask me questions, too.”

“Mn. You go first.”

“Who was your sexual awakening?”

Lan Zhan cuts him a look. Only Wei Ying could start the game with such a shameless question.

“No one.”

“No one?” Wei Ying whines. “Gege, I told you that you have to be truthful! There’s no shame, it can be anyone, I won’t judge.”

Lan Zhan was telling the truth. He rarely thinks about his desire in a tangible manner, just vaguely aware of it like any other limb. Not before Wei Ying, anyway.

“No one,” he says again. “I just… know. Know that I don’t like women the way I should. Maybe when xiongzhang had his first boyfriend, that was when I could finally put a name to what I felt.”

Wei Ying hums. “Does your family have anything to say about either of you?”

He never talks to his father other than the occasional greetings. Uncle just wants them both to be happy. He certainly wasn’t thrilled, but he’s supportive enough and never lets anyone make them feel bad about it. His mother definitely wouldn’t have cared. Lan Zhan isn’t concerned about the opinion of any other person.

“No one of any import.” He noses Wei Ying’s cheeks. “That was cheating. You asked two questions.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “All right, you fuddy-duddy. You can ask me two in return.”

“How many people have you kissed before me? Have you ever fallen in love?”

“Getting possessive, hmm?” Wei Ying laughs, and kisses his nose. “I kissed two, before you. But they were terrible. One was at the start of highschool, at a party. It was a truth or dare — and I didn’t want to tell them that it was my first kiss, because everyone else seemed so experienced. But now that I think about it, they must have been bullshitting just like I did.” He huffs a laugh. “It was nothing more than a peck — I can’t even remember who the girl was.”

It is such a cruel thing to say, to not even remember who you gave your first kiss to, but something dark inside Lan Zhan settles, knowing that it wasn’t special to Wei Ying.

“The second one was with my first and only girlfriend, well, if you can even count it as such. We went to prom together, everyone was getting into relationships so I guess I wanted to know what it felt like. But it was really disappointing. I liked her, just perhaps not in that way. Afterwards, I think to myself — I will only kiss someone I feel really special about.”

“And my second question?” Lan Zhan nudges. He’s strangely nervous for no reason, like he’s baring his most vulnerable part of himself, which makes no sense, considering all the conversations they’ve had so far and the things they’ve already done.

Wei Ying narrows his eyes at him. “You’re so vain, gege. You ask that question just to make me say you’re the first person I’ve truly fallen head over heels for, is that it?”

Lan Zhan’s heart races inside his chest. He’s so happy he feels like he could die.

“Am I?”

“Am I, he says,” Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Ridiculous.”

He pulls Wei Ying in for a kiss, longer and more heated than all their other kisses so far. His lips find Wei Ying’s jaw, his neck, and he relishes in every breathy moan he earns in return.

“Am I the same,” Wei Ying asks, breathless, “for you?”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s already said Wei Ying is his first kiss.

“You’ve never said it in plain words,” Wei Ying accuses.

That is true. He must rectify it immediately. “There’s only you. There’s only ever you. My heart has never known another but you.”

And it never will after you, Lan Zhan thinks, but doesn’t say. He doesn’t want Wei Ying to have to carry that burden on his behalf.

Wei Ying groans and buries his reddened face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder. It is cute that he gets so flustered, considering he’s the flirty confident one out of the two of them.

The stereo of the group hanging out on the other side of the square shuffles, and Can’t Help Falling in Love plays.

Wei Ying’s head snaps up, and he stands, tugging him by the hand. “I love this song. Dance with me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan goes willingly, letting his hand wrap around Wei Ying’s waist, while Wei Ying drapes his arms over his shoulder, his face burying into the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck. They sway slowly in place, two half of a whole, fitting perfectly together. It is easy, then, to imagine dancing with Wei Ying at their wedding, a dream so visceral it feels almost forbidden. Would they dress in suits, Western style, or in traditional Chinese red?

♪ Take my hand,

take my whole life too… ♪

Lan Zhan shakes his head slightly. He’s known Wei Ying for not a full twenty four hours, and he’s fantasizing about wedding and growing old. All his life, he’s been taught control and discipline; but here, thousands of miles away from home, he feels wild, unrestraint. In medieval times, they would’ve diagnosed him bewitched. His uncle would tell him it’s just an infatuation, that he should get over it, but he’ll look into Lan Zhan’s eyes and fear the reflection of his brother. Lan Zhan hasn’t sworn off romance entirely, but he’s always been reasonably apprehensive. He certainly hasn’t expected to be so consumed by it, falling as easily as breathing. He isn’t even sure if he’s truly known breathing before this. A fish in a tank wouldn’t know what the ocean feels like. His life has been a white and gray landscape, then suddenly, an explosion of colors.

Compared to him, Wei Ying’s life must have always been filled with vibrancy. He said earlier that he fears Lan Zhan might regret their connections, but the truth would be the opposite. Wei Ying would go on with his adventures, and Lan Zhan would go back to his dull landscape, hoping Wei Ying would think about him whenever he steps on a train. Perhaps with a smile for the fond memories. Wei Ying would never just be an anecdote, but he would be glad if Wei Ying still remembers this one day of summer years down the road. He would be happy with being a paragraph, a sentence, a footnote, in Wei Ying’s book.

The song fades out, but neither of them part, just standing quietly, basking in the shared embrace.

Wei Ying nuzzles into his throat, placing a wet kiss there, and sighs contentedly. “Lan Zhan?”

“Mn?”

“I’ve been thinking really hard about this, and I want to ask for your opinion.”

Lan Zhan pulls back to look at him with concern, but Wei Ying is biting his lips, trying to withhold a mischievous smile. He leans in and whispers in Lan Zhan’s ears. “I think we should have sex.”

Lan Zhan swallows, the words send a heat shooting straight down to his lower stomach, and he tightens his grip on Wei Ying, who notices.

“Oh, so you want it?” he teases. It’s nonsensical. Of course Lan Zhan wants it. There is nothing he’s ever been more sure about in his life.

“Let’s go home,” he says, grabbing Wei Ying’s hand and steering them hurriedly back to the apartment, barely containing himself to not break into a sprint. Wei Ying throws his head back in a laugh, ribbing him for being eager, and Lan Zhan is once again thinking about earmuffs. They catch the late night tram, its bells ringing melodically into the night.

They crash into the apartment unceremoniously, and Lan Zhan kicks the door close, dropping the bag they just got from a nearby night pharmacy to get his hands on Wei Ying, sliding under his red T-shirt. The first touch of skin on skin makes both of them shiver.

“What do you want?” he asks, running his hands up Wei Ying’s sides, his abdomen, brushing over his nipples.

Wei Ying moans. “Anything. Everything.”

“Everything?” he asks, palming over the crotch of Wei Ying’s jeans, where he’s unmistakably hard. “Here?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying groans, throwing his head back, baring a long sinuous column of throat.

Lan Zhan puts his mouth on the pulse, and sucks. His hand travels to the back, slipping beneath the waistband of the jeans, and groping him where he’s wanted to all day long. “Here?”

Wei Ying whimpers, arching back into the touch. “Yes.”

Lan Zhan lets out a low groan, heady at the pliant way Wei Ying yields to his touch. “Are you sure?”

Wei Ying nods, and kisses him again. “With you, anything.” Another kiss, frantic. “Just— say this means something. Even if it’s horrible because it’s our first time and we both don’t know what the hell we’re doing. Promise me it won’t just be a casual thing, to—to get it out of your system or— or…”

I’d marry you tomorrow if I could, Lan Zhan thinks, or perhaps says out loud, because Wei Ying gasps loudly into his mouth, and grinds his hips up. For a second Lan Zhan is scared that he’s gone too far — can he blame it on being sex-drunk when they haven’t even started? — but then Wei Ying drags him down to smash their mouths together, filthy and ravenous. Like he wants it just as much. Lan Zhan feels the last shred of control spiral out of him, the most shameful of his desires taking over, making him want to keep Wei Ying, to pin him in place, to never let him go again. He feels the magnitude of it engulf him.

Just tonight, I’ll keep him. He bargains with himself. He will rein himself back under control tomorrow.

Wei Ying’s T-shirt is promptly discarded, followed by a bit of wiggling as the jeans are tugged down. Wei Ying fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, frustrated, swears, and Lan Zhan assists by pulling it off over his head with one hand.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Wei Ying says with feelings, and kisses him fiercely, before leaning in and sucking on one of his earlobes.

Lan Zhan sinks his hand into the meat of Wei Ying’s bottom, and lifts him clean off the ground. Wei Ying yelps, and quickly wraps his legs around his torso to be carried to the bedroom.

He deposits Wei Ying on the bed and immediately follows, bearing down on him fully to kiss him deep into the mattress.

“Off, off,” Wei Ying paws impatiently at his trousers, and shoves a hand inside to feel him up. Lan Zhan bucks forward into the touch, and Wei Ying looks down with half-lidded eyes, pupils blown dark with hunger. “God, gege, you are truly gifted in every manner of the word, huh?”

Lan Zhan would blush more, if his face can get any hotter than it already is. He’s not talkative on a good day, and now he’s truly at a loss for words against Wei Ying’s incessant teasing and taunting. He can only communicate his feelings on the matter by doubling his effort to mark Wei Ying up in endless bites and bruises.

“Who would’ve known you’d be so fierce in bed, Lan-laoshi— ah!” Wei Ying’s taunt was cut off by a kiss and a frustrated bite on the lips.

“You beast.” Wei Ying licks his lips where he was bitten, and then surges up, flipping Lan Zhan down on the bed. Before he could ask if it was truly too rough, Wei Ying dives back in with enthusiasm, kissing Lan Zhan everywhere his lips can reach, making a reverent path down from his forehead, his face, his lips, his neck, his chest, down his stomach, until he’s kneeling between his legs.

Wei Ying slips his hands beneath Lan Zhan’s briefs and looks up at him raptly. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he says, not entirely sure how he’s still breathing as Wei Ying peels off his last item of clothing, and then they’re both truly, fully bare. “Are you sure?”

“Stop asking,” Wei Ying says, and takes him in his mouth.

He licks a stripe up the length, experimentally, hums at whatever conclusion he’s come to, then looks up at Lan Zhan from below his lashes. “I— um, this is my first time trying this, so— just tell me if it’s awful or something.”

Lan Zhan wants to say there’s absolutely no way it can be awful if just that look alone nearly capitulated him over the edge, but then Wei Ying resumes his ministrations and his head turns into static. Lan Zhan’s hand finds its way into his hair, tightens when he can feel himself hitting the back of Wei Ying’s throat. He hurriedly pats his head in apology, still too overwhelmed for words, and Wei Ying takes a little maneuvering to readjust, finds an angle that works, then doubles his effort into it with diligence. The hand in Wei Ying’s hair involuntarily tightens once more, and this time he moans at the sensation. When Lan Zhan looks down, Wei Ying is staring up at him, eyes dark and hazy with lust. The combination of that look and the sound vibrating through Lan Zhan are enough to make him come undone, brain whites out for an intense, blissful moment.

When he comes back down, Wei Ying has crawled up the length of his body to smile smugly at him, having swallowed everything. There are traces of it in the corner of his bitten red lips.

“Was it good, gege?” he asks, voice drawled, blinking lazily like a sun warmed cat, and Lan Zhan is helpless to do anything else but to pull him into a kiss, tasting himself on Wei Ying’s tongue. He should not be able to get hard instantly again, but his dick is certainly entertaining the idea. Wei Ying returns the kiss hungrily, grinding himself down onto Lan Zhan almost mindlessly to seek relief.

That will not do. Between one breath and the next, Lan Zhan flips their position; Wei Ying is on his back, breathing heavily, legs draping over Lan Zhan’s thighs, open and inviting.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and Wei Ying flushes red from his head to his collarbone.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles as he hides his face, reverting to English as a reflex, and it endears Lan Zhan for no reason.

He reaches for the lube, eyeing Wei Ying for a confirmation and seeing nothing but a wild, hungry look on his face. He coats his fingers, reaches down, teasing at the entrance, and Wei Ying jolts, letting out a moan, spreading his legs a little wider. Lan Zhan runs a soothing hand along his thigh to coax him to relax, and slowly dips in. It’s tight. Wei Ying’s body is a taut string, a bow overly winded.

“Wei Ying, relax,” he says, a little frantic, a little lightheaded at the impossible clench around the tip of his finger.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, his hand a tight grip on Lan Zhan’s arm, “okay, I—I’ll. It’s… I’ve— I’ve never, um. It’s… strange. Not bad. Just… strange.”

Lan Zhan’s mind is unresponsive for a moment. “You’ve never— not even— yourself?”

Wei Ying shakes his head, and pulls Lan Zhan down to kiss him. “Kiss me, gege, kiss me, and I’ll be fine. Keep going, I want you to. Make it good for me, okay?”

So they kiss, and Wei Ying relaxes every time their lips meet, and one knuckle becomes a finger, then two. Wei Ying pants into his mouth, small moans, so sweet, so shy, gray eyes wide and glassy. Relinquishing all control into Lan Zhan’s hand. He watches Wei Ying with breathless adoration, cataloging every hitch of air, every roll of his hips, every crook of fingers that pulls out a sound. He is sensitive, and debauched, he is all of Lan Zhan’s amorphous desire taking shape. It’s obscene.

“Are you— are you hard?” Wei Ying asks, fingers digging red marks into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “I want— I’m close, don’t you want to be inside me?”

Lan Zhan is well on his way again, but that’s beside the point. He adds a third finger, and Wei Ying keens loudly at the sensation.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Lan Zhan says, muffled into the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth.

“You won’t,” Wei Ying babbles nonsensically, writhing against his fingers. “You feel so good, I’m open enough, I want to have all of you, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, don’t you want it, please, give it to me—”

The onslaught of begging leaves him dizzy with lust. Lan Zhan kisses him quiet, and slowly pulls his fingers out. Wei Ying gasps at the sudden loss, and blinks dazedly at the sight of Lan Zhan tearing open a condom and rolling it on himself, adding more lube to ease the way. He’s fully hard again, now, there is no doubt about it.

He guides Wei Ying onto his knees, who goes easily, even though he’s a little wobbly in the legs. I did that, Lan Zhan thinks headily, holding him balanced by the stomach.

He enters Wei Ying slowly, the inexorable drag of it exquisite and torturous. Lan Zhan is adrift, in an ocean of sensation, the tight heat of Wei Ying enveloping him, the devastating curve of his back, his hair a black spool over the bedsheets, his skin dotted with marks, the room smells like Wei Ying, like them, like sex, the sound of their ragged breaths, his pounding heart, Wei Ying moaning into the pillow, moaning his name.

When he’s finally fully seated, Wei Ying’s elbows give out from under him, and the only thing holding him up is Lan Zhan’s grip on his hips.

“Wei Ying. How do you feel?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice ragged and breathless like he’s just ran a marathon. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Hurt,” Wei Ying murmurs. There are tears glistening in the corner of his eyes and a smile tugging his lips. “Good hurt. I feel full. Completed.”

Lan Zhan leans in to kiss him along his spine, and feels the goosebumps blooming on Wei Ying’s skin. He pushes his hips back, and Lan Zhan takes it as the hint to start moving. He thrusts in and out shallowly at first, afraid to hurt, but after a few minutes, Wei Ying starts arching backwards, moaning for more.

“Don’t hold back, Lan Zhan, fuck, more, there— that spot, deeper!”

“Wei Ying,” he warns, his body shakes with control he does not fully grasp.

“Let me see you,” Wei Ying says, and they do a clumsy, artless change of position to be face-to-face, his heels digging into Lan Zhan’s back, guiding him in deeper, tearing a deep growl from his throat.

“You feel so good inside me, gege,” he whispers sweetly, and Lan Zhan loses it in a brutal thrust. Wei Ying hisses, and kisses him, a little wet and sloppy from being overwhelmed. “Yes— there you go, let it go, sweetheart, hold me down, fill me up, make me yours.”

Lan Zhan gives in. He pins both Wei Ying’s wrists onto the bed, angles for that spot that draws a moan out of him, and lets desire move his body at the speed it craves. He leans down to capture Wei Ying’s lips in bruising kisses, swallowing down his punched out breaths and groans. Wei Ying arches up, his erection grinds against the hard planes of Lan Zhan’s abdomen, and he comes with nearly a sob. He clenches around Lan Zhan, mouth slacked open in bliss, nails raking down his shoulder painful enough that he hopes they leave scars. He grunts, chasing his own release in the next few thrusts, and then, white-hot pleasure.

It is a beautiful fall into absolute belongingness, or maybe an ascension, a surrender. In this moment, in each other’s arms, nothing else matters.

Lan Zhan rolls them over so that he doesn’t crush Wei Ying with his weight, who holds tight onto him and refuses to let him pull out.

“Just a minute,” he mumbles, clinging to Lan Zhan, and he mn in response, the hand not trapped below Wei Ying reaching up to brush his long sweaty hair out of his face. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks so open and vulnerable. Lan Zhan wants to hold him like this forever.

“We must be doing quite well for the first time, huh, because, wow,” Wei Ying comments, voice still a little slurred, eyes sliding shut. Lan Zhan kisses him, first on his forehead, then on his lips, the sweetness of it like the most intoxicating nectar.

Eventually, he has to get out of bed to clean them both up. Wei Ying grunts a protest when he pulls out, but lets him go to the bathroom. He lazes languidly in their mess among the bed sheets, dark eyes following Lan Zhan shamelessly, raking up and down his figure.

Lan Zhan returns with a wet towel to wipe him down, and Wei Ying grins, naughty hands immediately start wandering all over his chest, his abs, his back.

“Behave,” Lan Zhan admonishes, with no heat whatsoever.

Wei Ying pouts. “We were too horny earlier for me to properly appreciate all of these muscles. God, who knows you’ve been hiding them beneath that button-up shirt, looking all prim and proper. It’s really unfair that you’re even more perfect naked. A danger to society, honestly.”

Lan Zhan folds the towel and sets it on the bedside table to get back to cuddling Wei Ying, who seems to have regained his wits enough to start running his mouth with nonsense.

“If I had known, I would have straddled you since we were on that train, gege, and caused such a scene they would have to kick us out in the middle of nowhere, and our first time would have been you ravishing me in a roadside bush.”

He pinches Wei Ying’s ass, which is evidently still sensitive, because he yelps in pain.

“If you cannot handle another round, be quiet.”

Wei Ying’s eyes light up at the potential prospect of another round, but he seems to reassess the state of his body and settles down for the moment, snuggling into Lan Zhan’s arms.

“Let’s stay up all night, Lan Zhan,” he says. “We cannot sleep, it would be such a waste of time. Let’s keep talking, I’ll take the lead, I’m very good at making conversation.”

“I can make tea,” Lan Zhan offers.

Wei Ying is indeed very good at talking, and the tea does help keep their eyes open. Naked and vulnerable, he confides in Lan Zhan about the unspoken expectations of him and his siblings as first-gen immigrants to get married and have children, to secure a future for the family, to not fuck up the opportunity they were provided with. How they’ve subtly and unsubtly discouraged him from every act of rebellion, and how he cannot help himself from going against expectations. He talks about his sister’s arranged marriage to a guy he exclusively dubs The Peacock — “seriously, Lan Zhan, it’s the twenty-first century, who even arranges marriage anymore?” — then about the inherent guilt of being resentful of your family when you should be grateful.

“I wonder if a-jie ever resents the decision that has been made for her before she knows what a choice is,” he sighs. “But she’s a saint, she even loves that fucking douche she’s engaged to.”

Lan Zhan thinks about his mother again, and what she used to say to him and his brother, that she regretted a lot of things, but never them.

Wei Ying hides his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder now, as if afraid of judgment. “I used to think that I’m so ungrateful for all of these… complicated feelings towards my family. So I try to go away, get some perspective. You know, distance makes the heart fonder or whatever. I thought by being away I will learn to be grateful for them again. But I just… I just feel worse. I feel relief for my freedom, I dread going back home to that daily stress. I take care of these children and think: I would never treat them the way I was treated. And then I’d get so angry. But I also still feel guilty, because without the Jiang, I would’ve… I don’t know how I would’ve turned out.”

Lan Zhan hums, stroking his hair. They keep the window open, and listen to the river lapping lightly, every sound magnified in the dead of night. It is a while before he gets his thoughts coherent enough to reply.

“I think love should never be given as a debt. You do not owe them your life for a choice they made.”

Then, after a breath, he adds. “Sometimes, I wish my mother hadn’t given up her happiness for us.”

It is, perhaps, an ugly thing to say, to begrudge her of her sacrifice, but lying here, in the darkness, so far from home, with Wei Ying’s soothing hand caressing his cheeks, Lan Zhan allows himself this.

The thought of never having this intimacy again after today suddenly slams into his ribcage like a bag of rocks. Lan Zhan was always reasonable, growing up, but now, he wants to throw a tantrum. He wants to demand to have Wei Ying, to hold on to him forever, and he doesn’t know how to keep this. How can he be so naive to think he could keep on living, knowing the taste of what he could’ve had?

The answer hasn’t changed: he will find a way to survive, because Wei Ying is not his toy, and he cannot — will not be selfish unless Wei Ying asks to be kept, but they keep talking around the point, about everything except the future.

Despite their best efforts, they both drift off to sleep at some point mid-conversation, lulled in by the warmth and safety of each other’s embrace, exhausted by the physical and emotional exertion of the day. A few hours of rest were needed, though Lan Zhan’s reliable biological clock still wakes him up around five, and he spends the next hour drinking in the sight of Wei Ying sleeping securely in his arms, love and despair warring inside him.

What should I do, ma? He asks into the thin air, and receives no answer.

Wei Ying stirs, then jolts awake. “Oh no!” he wails, slapping Lan Zhan half-heartedly on his chest. “You let me fall asleep!”

“Just a few hours,” Lan Zhan says, carding his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair. “You needed rest.”

“I need you more,” Wei Ying sulks sleepily, burying back into his chest. He’s so cute, it’s not doing good things to Lan Zhan’s heart, which is squeezing tightly. They should wake up next to each other like this everyday.

Wei Ying throws one leg over him, and mumbles. “If I keep clinging to you like this, you won’t be able to fly back…”

The last words fade into soft sighs as he drifts back to sleep, and it is unclear if he’s even aware he’s saying them. Lan Zhan’s heart is beating so fast, it is a wonder Wei Ying is still able to sleep with his ear pressed right over the thrumming of it. Lan Zhan tightens his hold, and kisses his longing into the crown of his head. Then keep me. Can I keep you? Won’t you let me keep you?

It must’ve tickled, because Wei Ying giggles awake again. He leans up and juts out his lips to demand kisses, which Lan Zhan happily provides. They make out for a full five minutes before Wei Ying is able to open his eyes, but when he does, it is silver bright and awake.

He rises up to straddle Lan Zhan, then leans in and croons. “Teach me some martial arts, gege.”

Lan Zhan thinks his uncle would cough blood if he sees him call whatever they’re doing martial arts, but alas, uncle is not here. By the third time he lands Wei Ying on the mattress with a bounce and pins his wrists over his head with one hand, it is clear from his blown pupils and the hard length pressing into his thigh that their activities have exited the realm of sports altogether.

Wei Ying rides him as a reward for the demonstration, and then Lan Zhan returns the favor by bringing him to completion with his mouth. Productive morning, all things considered.

“Lan Zhan, I’m exhausted, you’ve worn me out, how are we supposed to go sightseeing now?” Wei Ying complains, entirely spent.

“We’ve seen enough,” he grumbles into Wei Ying’s stomach, and holds him tighter, while he laughs, and calls Lan Zhan a terrible tourist.

It’s not that Lan Zhan doesn’t want to bring up the inevitable conversation, it’s that every time he tries to put it into words, something interrupts. First, Wei Ying’s rumbling stomach reminds them that they cannot live on sex and cuddles alone. Then, in order to go get food, they have to shower, and strip off the beddings and towels for a quick spin in the washing machine. Lan Zhan leaves a short thank you note to the owner, and then they have to check out of the apartment.

Most of all, Lan Zhan doesn’t know how to even begin to convey the sheer depth of his yearning. ‘This cannot be it’ seems defeatist, while ‘Don’t let me go’ feels pathetic, and ‘Come back with me’ is presumptuous and truly insane. What a wannabe writer he is, struggling to put together even a simple speech to explain himself.

Only a few more hours before he has to go to the airport, and the reality is beginning to hit them both, if the way Wei Ying becomes uncharacteristically quiet while they pack up is anything.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the dam is finally broken when they least expect it.

They’ve just grabbed some pastry and coffee at a cafe round the corner, and made it to the nearby park to enjoy the early summer morning air. Wei Ying sits down on a metal bench, and immediately winces.

“Lan Zhan,” he bemoans, “you were too ferocious earlier. I’m so sore, how am I supposed to sit all these hours on the train back to Munich later?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, it’s like an ice bucket was poured over Wei Ying. He puts the coffee down, stares into nothingness for a minute, before burying his face in his hands in hysterics.

Lan Zhan puts his light jacket down on the ground as a makeshift picnic blanket, and tugs him. “Come here. The grass will be softer.”

“How dare you be funny right now, the audacity,” Wei Ying laughs through the tears, but lets himself be seated on the grass. “I can’t even sit right, you have to take responsibility!”

“If you want to, I will,” Lan Zhan says, and hopes Wei Ying understands what he wants to promise.

Wei Ying stares at him with wet eyes, and for a moment, Lan Zhan was sure that he would agree. But then he chuckles, and looks down.

“How can you take responsibility, Lan Zhan? You said it yourself, our lives are an ocean apart. Are you going to leave your family behind? Or should I? We both have duties, different lives, I can’t ask you to… We have to…”

He sighs, and gulps down his coffee like a shot of alcohol. Lan Zhan sets his own cup down, before he could crush it in his grip.

“So, we will never see each other again after today?”

He was meant to let Wei Ying go, if he wanted to go. He was not supposed to sound bitter.

Wei Ying fiddles with a blade of grass. “I mean, we can exchange numbers, emails. Maybe afford a trip or two to see each other. But then what, Lan Zhan? The time zone difference, international phone calls are so expensive, we’ll run out of things to say, it’ll become awkward, contacts will fizzle out, you’ll get tired of me, would that be so depressing? I can’t bear it. Rather rip off the band-aid than let it fester.”

Lan Zhan pulls him into his lap, feeling stubborn like a sullen child. “I will never get tired of you.”

Wei Ying snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, gege. You only know me for a day. Everyone gets tired of me eventually. Even I get tired of myself.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to say to make Wei Ying understand, because he doesn’t even quite understand himself. His possessiveness, his overbearing nature, an endless blackhole he must control, lest it swallow him whole and destroy everything good.

Wei Ying kisses him, the taste of coffee makes it bittersweet. “Maybe it’s not so bad, just having one perfect day together. Something reality cannot touch, cannot ruin.”

Lan Zhan is supposed to say something, to agree, to reassure Wei Ying that what they had is enough, that he’s right, they’ll be fine, that the life ahead without Wei Ying will not be a long and empty existence. But Lan Zhan doesn’t lie, and cannot lie, especially right now, when the painful breaking of his heart is too loud for him to think clearly.

So he holds Wei Ying tighter, and hides his face in his shoulder, because if he looks into those silver eyes right now, his composure will break.

It isn’t like he hasn’t expected this from the start. He was the one who was adamant that he must let Wei Ying go in the first place. Maybe this is just what Budapest is, for both him and his mother: a fantasy, an alternate universe, a what-if.

“Tell me,” he says, terribly selfish and entirely unreasonable. “If we can choose to do whatever we want. If there is no distance, no obstacles. Would you choose to be with me?”

There is no point in indulging things that can never be. Yet he must know.

“I’ve latched onto you the moment our eyes met,” Wei Ying laughs. “A helpless fish hooked on your line, gege. If life is perfect, time would stop, this day will never end, and I’ll just stay here in your arms forever. And you would never let me go.”

“I wouldn’t,” he says, and kisses Wei Ying.

They don’t stop for a long time, as if they can beat the system and cash in all the kisses they could not have in the future.

This will have to be enough.

Wei Ying comes to see him off at the shuttle bus station. In silent tandem, their steps keep getting slower and slower as they reach the point of goodbye, but as with all things, they cannot stretch time to pass at the pace they want.

Holding the ticket in his hand, Lan Zhan takes a deep breath. “This is it.”

Wei Ying nods, looking at his feet. “I guess so.” He tries to smile. “Study well. Be a good teacher. Don’t forget to write my acknowledgement in your essay, okay? You promised. I’ll know.”

“I won’t forget.” Not the acknowledgement. Not you. Not a second of this. “Have a good life, Wei Ying. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He tries to keep his voice even, but still, it breaks a little at the end. Wei Ying dives in and kisses him desperately, and this kiss truly feels like goodbye.

The driver calls for him to hurry up so they can leave on time.

With all his might, he forces himself to step away from Wei Ying, to pry his hands off. They were supposed to let go. Wei Ying was not supposed to make this harder than it already is.

Suddenly, Wei Ying’s grip tightens, and Lan Zhan is reeled back into his embrace.

“Lan Zhan— wait, listen, don’t go, I have to…”

The driver calls again. Lan Zhan politely tells her that he’ll take the next bus.

Wei Ying is so frantic, it feels like he’s actively crawling out of his own skin. “Oh no, are you going to be late? I’m holding you back, fuck— no, maybe you should go.”

Lan Zhan shakes him. “Wei Ying, stop. What do you want to tell me?”

“I want to— okay, first of all, fuck all the bullshit I’ve said earlier, don’t believe a single thing I said! I’m so stupid, I can’t let you go like this!” Wei Ying is physically vibrating in place. “I want you so much, Lan Zhan, fuck, all my life, I’ve never asked for anything. I’m asking for you now, tell me I can have this one thing. Tell me I can have you.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says before he even finishes his sentence. “Yes, Wei Ying, I want you, you have me, I want to see you again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying breathes. “Let’s—We’ll see each other again, and we’ll figure something out.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and grabs Wei Ying’s face to kiss him into oblivion. “Tell me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

Wei Ying laughs, and sobs, absolutely hysterical. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see Paris in the snow. Six months from now, let’s meet in Paris again, yeah? Gare de l’Est, seven in the morning, like our first meeting. I’ll wake up early again just for you.”

“December 20th, seven a.m.,” Lan Zhan repeats. “Let’s spend Christmas together.”

“Yes, Christmas, New Year, whatever you want,” Wei Ying kisses him again. “But no contact from now until then. You have to be absolutely sure about me, about us, okay? Because when we meet again, I’m not taking anything less than forever.”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “No contact?” Lan Zhan doesn’t quite understand, head still spinning from all the emotional roller coaster of the last few minutes. He’s asking for forever.

“If you show up without hearing from me for six months, then I’ll believe you truly want to keep me,” Wei Ying says. “It probably doesn’t make any sense, but… just do it, for me, okay? My stupid brain needs that, if I call you, or email you, I’d feel like it’s cheating, or something. It’s irrational, I know.”

Lan Zhan holds him tightly. Somehow, in the middle of their ridiculous plan, he has lifted Wei Ying off the ground completely, whose legs are now bracketing his hips.

“Okay, whatever Wei Ying wants.”

“And once we see each other again, I’ll reward you with all the contact details then; hell, whatever you want, I’ll give you anything.”

“Anything,” he says. “Everything.”

“Everything,” Wei Ying agrees, and nuzzles into his neck. “You’re too good for me, Lan Zhan.”

“Not too good.”

They stand there with their lips locked in bruising kisses, in the middle of the bus stop, heedless of their surroundings, until the next bus comes. It is easier to part this time, twin hopes mirroring on their faces.

“Six months,” Wei Ying says, and sends him off with a final, lingering kiss.

“Six months,” Lan Zhan whispers to himself, as he watches Wei Ying through the bus window, disappearing slowly from view.

For the first and only time in his life, Lan Zhan nearly misses a flight, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

The plane takes off to bring him home, but his heart has been left behind with a man whose smile is as warm as the sun, a ponytail bouncing in his every step. It is where it will always belong. His first kiss, his first love, and his last.

Just six months, and then they will have forever.