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The Art of Confession

Fandom: Mo Dao Zu Shi Pairing: Wangxian (Lan Wangji | Lan Zhan/ Wei Wuxian | Wei Ying)

Rating: G

Disclaimers: First draft was beta-read by Lorilanda on AO3. I went ahead and just published my second/third draft raw. I'm not familiar with Chinese culture, and I'm very new to this fandom, so please bear with me as I did my best with this. Summary: Sometimes confessing someone's feelings to one another takes persistence and a work of art. AO3

“Lan Zhan!”

The flash of a photo snapped caught Lan Zhan unawares. His usual, focused expression morphed into unbridled annoyance as Wei Wuxian set his camera down with a bright grin. His silver-eyes crinkling at the corners, as he looked down at the camera’s screen to see the photo that he just took. Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine it being a good photo. He had just been caught reading about Hanguang-kun and the Yiling Patriarch and how Hanguang-jun was being coerced into telling him how he was so easy to identify. Lan Zhan resonated deeply with Hanguang-jun, for it should have been quite clear how his mask easily slipped off when it came to music. The best music teacher in the world knew their students by name just from the way that they handled their instrument, and if Hangang-jun paid as close attention to the Yiling Patriarch, then there was no question about it. He would know him from the moment he pressed his fingers to the holes of his flute. There was no way a photo was going to capture all that nuance or his thoughts. Even if Wei Ying was a talented photographer.

That being said, he was deeply annoyed that he was dragged out of the book when this was probably the most shaking head-worthy and deeply amusing part of the story. Indeed, why was the Yiling Patriarch’s memory so bad? Why did Wei Ying insist on a photo now of all times?

“You always look so good, Lan Zhan. You’re so photogenic. There’s not a bad shot of you, even when you’re reading!” Wei Ying said proudly, looking up from the screen as if he had some sort of revelation.

Lan Zhan wished that class were about to begin or something. He couldn’t handle the flattery. Wei Ying didn’t even mean it; he flirted like this with anyone, no matter how they looked.

As of right now, there was no one who was going to save him from this. Professor Kennedy had yet to arrive, and there were only a few students scattered around, none of whom were close to Lan Zhan or Wei Ying to stop this madness. Most of them were in a caffeinated coma or daze anyway. There were pllenty had styrofoam cups of coffee, tea, and other beverages to wake up the body and, hopefully, the mind as well. Lan Zhan’s portion of the long table was the only one blissfully empty of such stimulants. His side was neat and tidy, with his textbook, notebook, and pencil case resting neatly on the corner of the long table, ready for him to grab at a moment’s notice. He didn’t try to bring drinks to class as Wei Ying was a hazard on a good day, and he was already at risk when Wei Ying brought his own.

Lan Zhan looked away from him and tried to re-focus on his book. To be frank, he should be well used to this by now. Wei Ying’s habit of photography was something he had to deal with constantly, even before this morning. Wei Ying was never without his camera, and no one ever knew what he would point at next, though Lan Zhan noticed he seemed to be a favorite subject of his. This wasn’t the first time he had been called, and he would have his picture taken without his consent. The first time that had happened, Lan Zhan had stalked off and tried to avoid Wei Ying for a few weeks. He had succeeded until they were thrown into the same classroom. Wei Ying had stayed away from him, then they had a fated group project…

Lan Zhan would like to think that they were a bit more amicable now. That meant he was once more the focus of his camera and had no heart to stop it. Wei Ying said he had only ever liked to photograph his favorite things. He still didn’t know what that meant in regard to him, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to push down that rabbit hole, so to speak. All he could do was let him photograph him and hope that it meant that he was a favorite of some kind. Favorite person to annoy and flirt with was right up there. Lan Zhan was dead certain of that much.

He noticed more students trickling into the classroom, all carrying a hot beverage and cozy outfits, as if to say they weren’t willing to wake up early for this class. Some started a conversation in muted murmurs. Some gave up on wakefulness, threw a hood or an arm over their head, and buried themselves in comfort, trying desperately to snatch a few extra minutes of sleep or rest before the professor walked in and demanded their unremitting focus.

He felt something shift on his side and then a fall of limbs. Lan Zhan turned around quickly to see that Wei Ying had thrown himself into the chair next to him and upset the chair’s balance. Lan Zhan reached out with lightning reflexes to steady the chair and push him back upright. Wei Ying laughed, clearly unharmed and not at all embarrassed from his near fall. “Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, were you about to try to catch this damsel?” He asked, fluttering his eyes at him, placing a hand over his chest as if the very thought that Lan Zhan didn’t want to see a bruise on him was touching somehow. “Er-gege, you’re making me blush!”

Well, that was the last time he was going to help him. Next time, Lan Zhan was willing to let him fall and hit his head on the table behind him if he didn’t catch himself in time. He looked away pointedly and tried to refocus on his book. “Frivolous.” Lan Zhan muttered, trying to steady himself. He should be used to Wei Ying’s flirtatious manner, but every time he caught himself up and thought just for a second that perhaps this time he’d be a little serious in his teasing, and every time he left himself disappointed. He shouldn’t expect anything. They just got closer since the fallout of the group project, and Lan Zhan was trying his best to be a little more open, a little more flexible, since clearly everyone else agreed with Wei Ying about his rough edges. It wasn’t easy, but he was trying.

Not to mention, the professor was due to arrive any second, and he wanted to finish this chapter. The Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun had just entered Yi City. The tale was getting good.

“Lan Zhan.” Focus. “Lan-gege.” Nope, he was not going to-

“Your loss, Lan-er-gege!~”

Another click of a camera caught his attention, and Lan Zhan looked over at Wei Ying, unamused. Really? Another picture? He was going to get tired of taking the same picture over and over again. He couldn’t count how many times this exact scene has played out.

“Beautiful.” Lan Zhan froze, about to turn to ask Wei Ying what was beautiful, when the door opened, and the professor strode in.

He placed it in the back of his mind, where all things went when it wasn’t important or education-based.

(So why did it feel wrong to call this unimportant?) ——————————————————-

There were perks to being a favorite student of Professor Zhu’s, and one of them was unlimited access to the music room, which housed a free-standing grand piano that was never locked away. If Lan Zhan had another instrument he wished to play or practice, there was a back closet locked with a code he could access with little trouble. All he had to do was send an email to let him know he had been the one to enter, in case his phone went off in his classroom or wherever he was.

The other perk about being the favorite was the guaranteed alone time and the soundproofed walls. He could easily go into the practice hall, but he couldn’t be sure if he would be alone, and the song that he was working on was only meant for one person to hear. Lan Zhan has thrown away countless drafts of it, trying to catch the feeling that beat in his chest and died on his fingertips when he tried to translate it into sound. Sometimes the song came out too fast, with stuttering keys and wrong notes. Sometimes it was too slow a ballad for the person it was meant to be for. There had to be a balance of the two, less of a seduction and more raw. Less of a heart being cut out and more of a heart being given open. Sometimes, Lan Zhan hated the song. He hated it because it couldn’t begin to transcribe his feelings properly, and sometimes he loved it so much he thought of it as his golden egg.

But what he felt about the song mattered little in the grand scheme of things. The person this song was for needed to hear and understand his feelings without a hitch. He needed to make sure that his cords sounded like Wei Ying, and he had to make sure that his notes weren’t so simple as to cause unintentional insult because he wanted this song to be unique in it’s melody. No, he needed to gather this person into his vision, write it, and make him see it in perfect clarity.

It wouldn’t do for him to write this song only for its meaning to be misunderstood. Wei Ying was a wildfire, a snowstorm, the noise in the night's silence. He was the synthwave of comfort, and Lan Zhan couldn’t afford the electronic harmony louder than the piano of his heart. Lan Zhan wanted the piano part to be pure, to be exactly how he needed to be, and if he needed to add electronics to match the beat of Wei Ying’s footsteps, then he would, but he would much rather just have this piece be exactly as it was, piano pure and simple.

He just needed it to be perfect because he was perfect, and he couldn’t do himself a disservice to think otherwise. Wei Ying deserved his best, and Lan Zhan played tirelessly, threw rough drafts unceasingly, and hoped that there would come a moment where something would click and pour out.

Music was never about force, but about unbridled restraint. Control and freedom harmonize with emotion and soul.

Lan Zhan’s fingers stilled on the piano at the thought. His eyes stared at the ivory keys as if he was now just aware of what he had been pressing. Wei Ying was noisy, it was true, and he focused so much of his vibrancy on himself that he forgot the nuances. Control and freedom. Wei Ying controlled freedom. He threw himself into chairs, he slouched, he laughed without a care for what it sounded like to others. He threw his arms around people, he passed around compliments to bring blushes to cheeks and smiles to faces. Endearingly, breakingly kind.

Kind in giving generously without expectation, but paying back others. Kind in listening when Lan Zhan didn’t speak, hearing his words in the unspoken between them. Kind in the way that he took snapshots of their lives, and Lan Zhan didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish with his candid photography; besides that, it was a photo showing a moment in real time. Wei Ying didn’t pose his models; he let them live, and he photographed their lives without them looking into the lens.

The song spilled forth from his fingers, with unrestrained affection and admiration.

The notes played loudly in his mind, and his heartbeats served as his metronome, keeping him in time. Controlled freedom at the purest of formation.

I see you, I see you, I see you.

—————————————————

It starts with a poem, someone’s idea of a joke. There are three people in the classroom before him, all zombified with caffeinated drinks and a thread of a degree that made them even think about waking up this morning. All of them had their phones out, staring at the screens and not bothering with the world around them. Dead-eyed and praying for this class to already be over so they could either get to a more exciting class, or go back into the dorms and sleep for three hours. If Wei Ying was in the room, Lan Zhan would give him the benefit of sleeping til noon. There had to be a reason why this was his only morning class, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the professor and the extensive waiting list that he had.

However, Wei Ying wasn’t there. There were three culprits in the room, and Lan Zhan looked down at the little piece of paper that had handwriting on it. The penmanship had something to be desired; there were more frilly loops and barely dotted I’s and crossed T’s that made it nearly illegible. Lan Zhan didn’t know who taught the person cursive, but the poem's stylistic choices made it hard for him to read.

A swan’s gracefulness reminds me of your steadfast heart

Compared to mine, whose unthered spirit is a hummingbird’s flight

You glide through my life, a dancer caught in his art

You chase away my darkness with your beautiful light.

“I’m not interested.” Lan Zhan said as he sat down and pushed the poem away.

Barely anyone looked up to care what he was saying. Lan Zhan couldn’t help but feel relieved that there was no drama behind what he said, no random dramatic confession that he needed to run away from or sit through awkwardness. Someone shot their shot, and it didn’t work.

Wei Ying barged through the doors, looking hapazard and half-awake. His long hair was messily tied into something that looked like a bun but was falling apart everywhere. Strands of hair kept getting into his eyes, and the hairstick that he had placed into the bun was barely holding anything together. His shirt was turned around, and when he got closer to Lan Zhan, he noticed the red-shot rimmed eyes.

A scent of alcohol wafted through, and Lan Zhan understood immediately. Nightclub. Probably the Burial Mounds.

“Aiyah! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, how do you do this every morning?” Wei Ying complained as he melted into his seat, his arms outstretched across the desk as his bag fell to the ground with a thud. Lan Zhan mentally winced at the poor camera that undoubtedly fell alongside any textbooks Wei Ying remembered to bring with him. “I’m so dead. I didn’t stop to get coffee along the way.” There was a pause as Wei Ying seemed to melt into a puddle before he suddenly shot up. “What’s that?!” He grabbed the poem.

“No need to worry about it,” Lan Zhan said to Wei Ying. “I already told them I wasn’t interested.” “Already told…” Wei Ying blinked at him for a moment before grinning. “Ah, Lan Zhan. I hope you let them down gently.” “I was fair.” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying looked at the poem curiously, his eyes scanning the message before setting it down and pushing it towards Lan Zhan. “You should keep it.” “Why?” Wei Ying shrugged. “Maybe they’ll be a famous poet one day, and you could reminisce that you managed to get a poem from someone famous before they made their big hit.” He looked at the poem again. “I thought you liked poetry.” “I do.” Lan Zhan said. He did. He had a collection of poetry back at the dorm, and his bedroom had plenty of shelves filled with well-known poets from all over the world. Including the languages he was studying and was fluent in. “But I like pictures more.”

Wei Ying made a sound akin to a tea kettle left to overbrew. “Lan Zhan, you can’t say that this early in the morning! Think of my heart and what you’re doing to it! It’s too fragile!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said as he took the poem and placed it into his bag at Wei Ying’s insistence. For whatever reason, it was important to him, and therefore, he would keep it. “Wei Ying will endure.” “Wei Ying is going to die.” “Wei Ying needs to shut up.” Someone in the back said.

Wei Ying threw a finger at the person behind him as Lan Zhan turned around to glare at the student who spoke up. “Ignore it, Lan Zhan, it’s early, and we’re all dead.” He paused, “Save for you.” Lan Zhan opened his book and waited for the students to pour in and for the professor to begin.

——————————————

For the first time in a long time, Wei Ying beat Lan Zhan to the classroom in the dreaded early morning. He didn’t look quite put together; his hair was tied in the messiest ponytail that he had ever seen, and his eyes looked bloodshot. There was a can of some sort of energy drink that was in front of him, and his laptop was open and bright. His clothes didn’t look as if they had been slept in, but they didn’t look like they had been changed either from yesterday. Worry crept into Lan Zhan’s stomach as he slowly approached the desk, a rabbit cautiously approaching a kitten.

“Wei Ying?” “AH!” Wei Ying screamed, nearly throwing himself backwards. “My heart!” He wheezed as his chair rocked forward, causing him to slump over the laptop and desk, clutching his heart with a wheezed laugh. Lan Zhan also jumped back in shock. “Lan Zhan, don’t scare me like that! What if I had a heart attack and died on you?!” Lan Zhan’s eyes immediately darted to the can of energy drink, and then he noticed a Sterofyoam cup.

“You did not,” Lan Zhan said, his voice turning ice with fear, “make a suicide.” “I’m still alive. Where did your head go for you to think I-“ Wei Ying picked his head up and noticed the chaos in front of him. Well, his usual chaos, but the crime that Lan Zhan swore he committed. “Oh. No. Oh! Shit! Yes!” He grabbed the cup and held it out towards Lan Zhan. “I was waiting to give this to you.” Lan Zhan stared.

“It’s hot chocolate. I didn’t know what kind of tea you liked, and I’m pretty sure you’d actually murder me if I got you coffee.” Wei Ying said, shaking the cup a little. “Do you want me to taste it to prove to you that I’m not making it up?” “I trust you.”

Wei Ying stared at him, and Lan Zhan shifted on his feet. There must have been an impression somewhere throughout their complicated history that he hadn’t. He supposed the fallout from the group project was enough of an indication, given the backlash, but Lan Zhan never thought it was Wei Ying’s fault. He was a gossip, yes, but he wasn’t cruel. Their classmates, on the other hand, well…

They already said a few times that they weren’t exactly trying to rub elbows with someone filthy rich who was pretending to be a commener, so… there was that.

“Thank you.” Lan Zhan said, hoping to end whatever this staring contest was about. He took the cup from Wei Ying, careful to avoid his fingers as he brought it close to him. Wei Ying’s hand remained outstretched for a few more moments before he placed it down slowly as if he couldn’t believe for a second that Lan Zhan would accept. Just like that.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan; it was nothing.” Wei Ying said.

“You risked your life,” Lan Zhan said dryly, nodding to the fact that he had indeed given Wei Ying’s heart an adrenaline pump it certainly didn’t need due to the extra caffeine and energy he was consuming. “And your sleep.” “My sleep was already compromised,” Wei Ying said, waving it off. “This stupid thing just doesn’t want to come out right.” Lan Zhan moved to go around the table to get to the seat next to him, and as he did so, he noticed that Wei Ying was hurriedly clicking on his mouse to hide something. He tried to put it out of his mind. He doubted it was anything bad. An essay gone wrong, another group project that was falling through the cracks, it seemed to be a common happenstance here. He set his bag down gently and began taking out his things, putting them in the neat piles that he normally had them in when he first arrived. His textbook, notebook, laptop, and then a book.

He could feel Wei Ying’s gaze on him for every move that he made, and finally, he looked over. Wei Ying’s lips jutted into a pout. “I didn’t bring my camera.” “Mm.” “You can’t be so pretty when I can’t take a picture of you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan shot him a look before he opened the page. “Don’t you have plenty of pictures of me by now?” “What if I forget your pretty face? Your gorgeous smile?” Lan Zhan huffed softly. When has he ever smiled for a picture? Wei Ying brightened as if he told the greatest joke. “Lan Zhan, don’t you know? You’re my favorite subject.” He couldn’t see how. He barely did anything interesting.

The hot chocolate was sweet against his tongue, and the creamy aftertaste lingered like the words Wei Ying said playing on repeat in his mind like a song.

————————————————

Lan Zhan rarely recorded his music. He didn’t like the idea of putting himself out there on social media. He watched too many YouTube videos when he was younger, of rising fame and falling stars, to think that he was willing to risk his privacy for a moment’s attention. Not to mention that it was all the same things, all by different people. It was difficult to wade through the posts of too-aesthetic pictures and stolen snapshots from a blog site that practically lived on a prayer anymore. Wei Ying had a phone filled with social media apps designed to get a person noticed. He knew he had posted on some of them, if only for fun and to showcase his pictures, but on others, he knew little. He did follow him on a picture-sharing app, but, much to Lan Zhan’s regret, he had only just begun to pay attention to what Wei Ying was posting.

His pictures could be so edited and photoshopped, not to the people inside, but to brighten colors to make something more neon or retro, to give vibrancy to the background, to do something magical with the artwork itself to make it captivating. He had a woman with beautifully rainbow-dyed hair, and he asked her for permission to make it glow and look more vibrant. With the background, he made sure the beauty of the gardens was captured, as if she were giving color back to the life around her rather than taking it away.

He was talented, artistically so. Too many would abuse Photoshop to the point of disrespecting the models and the scenery. They would blend people into their ideas of beauty, doing nothing to give them a flair of their own or a voice, or they’d focus on the outfits and the idea behind the attractiveness and think that’s what the male gaze was for when Lan Zhan’s eye wanted them to be happy in their own skin. Wei Ying made people feel amazing, and Lan Zhan didn’t doubt that any model who saw their picture on Instagram would leave with a sour taste, but with deep gratitude that they were seen, loved, and considered beautiful on their own.

Lan Zhan wished his music would capture the same beauty Wei Ying had tried so hard to capture in his candid photos and posed shots. He wanted Wei Ying to feel every heartbeat in the keys that he touched, and he hoped and hoped that Wei Ying heard the melody for what it was. The taste of chocolate and cream, the expectation of a flash from a camera, and the whisper of “beautiful” when there was no one to hear it or understand what it could be.

He practiced, practiced, practiced until he was dead certain that Wei Ying wouldn’t leave without knowing something about the song or him. He practiced until he was certain that Wei Ying could hear his name in the notes, and his laughter in the bars, and his vibrancy in the tempo, and his kindness in the rests, and his generosity in the skill. He practiced until he got up to record.

Recording, Lan Zhan found, was a difficult thing to do. He’d recorded himself before, hands on the keys and the song playing. Now, things were different. He was recording not for himself, or for the people who came on every once in a while to see if he dared to update a small channel that might as well be dead or deleted. He was doing this for Wei Ying, and he wanted it to be perfect.

He needed to be perfect. He replayed his recordings, replayed the songs, re-recorded again and again until he was tired, and he couldn’t think straight. Until he was certain that everything he wished to convey was said, and the song couldn’t do more than that.

He didn’t edit the thing further. He posted it raw without any flourishes, bells and whistles, title cards, or hints that he would drop something big on his channel.

He grabbed the link and sent it to Wei Ying, then, for the first time in a long time, skipped class from sheer tiredness.

He saw dawn on the wrong side.

———————————————

The next time he’s in class, he notices that he’s the first one to arrive. It wasn’t too much of a surprise, given that he is always up so early in the morning to use the school’s gym. No one was ever up before dawn besides the poor receptionist, who either had too much of a night owl streak or was as much of an early worm as he was. It makes it easier for him, given his introverted tendencies. While no one ever approached him in the afternoon (when there were maintenance delays that forced him to wait until then), he still preferred not to be around people who might see him and then start a competition in their minds. He had enough of that to last him a lifetime. What he always had to skip was the yoga that he did after working out, if that happened, and bring it home. He understood why girls did that too; the gazes lingered a bit too much for comfort and a little too telling in their silent thoughts.

Which was why Lan Zhan was the only one in the classroom, typically during this hour, besides maybe a handful of students. It was baffling there was a white square where he normally sat was scrawled with cursive writing, and no culprit unlike the first time. Lan Zhan at first was just going to ignore it, pick it up, and toss it, but when he noticed that all it begged for was to be turned.

He was the first one up in the mornings; the classroom was empty, and he had been at the gym. He was the first one up. The gym was empty, but there was something on his desk. Specifically, where he sat, that begged him to turn the paper over. His heart thudded a few times in his chest before taking a breath.

He was being stupid.

He turned the paper.

The paper was actually a photograph. Of him. The shot was captured perfectly, the angle tilted just so to show off the small hill that the tree was planted on, and how long his legs were outstretched before him. His head was turned away from the camera, the black of his hair catching sunshine, and his mother’s white ribbon that had been tied into his hair was falling gracefully down his back from the thick braid that had just been done. White flowers were placed in the braid. Behind the tree and blurred in the photograph was the campus courtyard, where some of the people were milling about. It hadn’t been a clean, clear shot, but it showed so much life. It could easily be used in the campus catalogue or on flyers to draw attention to new students.

Only one person could take a photo so cleanly, and only one person was there last spring. Lan Zhan’s favorite spot was the Lonely Tree that stood in front of the campus courtyard, just a ways from the small garden that the Botany Club took care of alongside the Environmental Science community and the Geology Club. The tree was dubbed lonely for not being part of the landscaping when the campus was built. Instead of building a garden around it, they had elected to build one away from it, not realizing how the campus would grow and how it would be excluded from any future planning. There were many who tried to ask the Dean to make another garden, but so far there wasn’t any plans to change that, or to plant another tree.

It was also a favored spot because, even with everyone clamoring to make it not so lonely, very few people ever sat underneath it. Lan Zhan wasn’t exactly sure why; he heard there were rumors about the tree, but he never listened to them seriously, or at all, for that matter. Wei Ying, on the other hand, took the superstitions seriously. If he saw Lan Zhan under the tree, no matter what he was doing, he would sit next to him.

Baffling, annoying, that turned endearingly welcoming.

Which made him wonder why this picture was on his desk. Some students were starting to walk in, the very few that found coffee and decided to brave the quiet for a moment longer before more came in. Judging by that, he had a handful of minutes left and decided to see if instinct proved right.

He left.

——————————

“Lan Zhan! Why aren’t you in class?” Wei Ying was standing underneath the Lonely Tree. Lan Zhan’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Did someone break up with you?” He asked. The conversation, Lan Zhan noted to himself, was repeating itself from a long time ago when Wei Ying saw him underneath the tree for the very first time.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened before laughing, “I would have to be dating for that to happen! Lan Zhan, did you think that I was trying to bring bad luck to myself?” He asked, leaving the comfort of the tree to get into Lan Zhan’s space.

He could smell alcohol and wildflowers and a spiced musk that should have been headache-inducing, but instead did nothing more than tell him that Wei Ying had been DJing at a nightclub again last night, that he had spent his hours in the garden that he was helping the school cultivate, and that he had put on his favorite cologne for the day.

Which circled back to the question at hand, in Lan Zhan’s mind. “Then why are you here?” “Lan Zhan, so cruel! Did you forget how you met me?” Wei Ying pouted at him as he pulled away from Lan Zhan’s space. “You met me right here! This spot is so special because this is where I met you, Lan Zhan.” “I remember.” Lan Zhan said, unpreturbed. “I also remember Wei Ying’s warning.” “Ah, the rumors of broken hearts and rejection. The cruelness of terrible bad luck.” Wei Ying nodded sagely. “And you didn’t listen to me. You still stayed under here all this time.” “I don’t believe in bad luck.” Lan Zhan said, “Just terrible fates.” “Wasn’t meeting me a terrible fate?” Lan Zhan thought back to what Wei Ying might be alluding to, and the only incident he could recall was the group project. They were two different personalities that clashed at the slightest provocation. Lan Zhan didn’t know how to work with others; he didn’t know how to delegate the work evenly because every time he worked in a group, they never pulled their weight, and he had been burned countless times for it. Wei Ying, on the other hand, struggled with him, delegating the group project efficiently and then arriving late to face-to-face meetings he had planned from the get-go. Not only that, but when Lan Zhan would ask, tiredly, about his side of the project, Wei Ying finally snapped at him to give him a little trust, and that he would get it done when it was done.

It had been one of the best projects Lan Zhan had been a part of.

But in the end, the teachers were hesitant to bring Lan Zhan into any group project since then. When there were group projects, if a student was close to Wei Ying’s circle of friends, they would loudly and harshly reject him. Several groups who were told to grin and bear it did grin and bear it. One did to the point that his work was stolen, and they got away with it multiple times; he had to be punished for not doing his part, even with proof.

Wei Ying had approached him, hearing about one of those incidents through the grapevine.

It had been an uneven truce, and Lan Zhan was starting to think it was healing. If Wei Ying was bringing this up, he wondered if the matter really didn’t die. Group projects were still a no-go for him, though some of his classmates who heard about him were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Lan Zhan didn’t necessarily consider it a loss; he was grateful that, in the end, he was likely to be able to complete his project alone.

He could say that meeting Wei Ying was terrible if that was the only thing that he was basing their whole connection on. But lying was forbidden for a reason, and Lan Zhan wasn’t about to make it a habit now. “Meeting Wei Ying was good luck.” Lan Zhan said. “Even when he was difficult.” “Ah Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re too kind.” Wei Ying said, his smile wavering. “How did I ever think you hated me?” “I never gave you reason not to think that.”

“You saw the photo on your desk,” Wei Ying said, “I think you gave me plenty of reasons not to think that.” “That was before,” Lan Zhan said. “We were okay last spring.”

“We were, weren’t we?” Wei Ying’s eyes crinkled. His smile faded quickly, and he looked down at the ground for a long moment. Enough for Lan Zhan’s worry to come back with a tumbled heart. Something had happened, superstition aside. Wei Ying was under the Lonely Tree, and he looked every bit as terrified as he did when he first saw Lan Zhan under it. “Lan Zhan, who was the song for?” Lan Zhan’s world stuttered to a stop. His focus could narrow no further than Wei Ying. He picked up his head to look at Lan Zhan, silver-hued eyes rimmed with a bit of red. Easy to say it was from lack of sleep, but Lan Zhan could see the water that gathered in the corners. Lan Zhan was not in the habit of lying. He wasn’t going to back away when he was so brave a few days ago. “For you.” Wei Ying watched him for a moment, searching for something. Then he reached down to the bag that was by his feet and rummaged through it. Lan Zhan waited patiently as he took out his camera bag and opened it up. He watched in silence as Wei Ying seemed to be going through the pictures on the tiny screen, looking for something. “Lan Zhan, do you remember what I said about my photos?” “Mn.”

Wei Ying handed the camera over, and Lan Zhan noted that his fingers were shaking. He took the camera and peered at the screen. He didn’t recognize this photo, more like he couldn’t remember Wei Ying ever giving up his camera to anyone before. But this photo was of them, before the group project turned disastrous. They were sitting side by side. Lan Zhan was looking down at his notebook, ears tinted crimson, and his hair down to his waist as he tried to hide them and focus on his work before him. Wei Ying was sprawled on the desk, elbow propped up as his cheek rested against his hand. His long ponytail spread against the desk and spilled into a black waterfall as he stared at him openly, his eyes hooded and his smile…

Lan Zhan picked his head up from the photo, looking at Wei Ying, who was staring at him with determination. “Lan Zhan,” he said clearly, “I know we joked around, or well, I joked around, about being in love with you. I know you don’t take my words seriously when I say them, so I’m saying them again. This time, I’m not kidding. I’m not just joking around. This isn’t me being flirtatious.”

Lan Zhan stared at him, his heart stopping in his chest as he felt himself lean forward subconsciously. He couldn’t be saying what he was thinking, was he? “Lan Zhan, I think you were really great. No, you are great. I like you…no I love you. I fancy you.” He took a shuddering breath. “I whatever you, and I think…I think I couldn’t spend another day being alone without you with me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His mind screeched to a halt.

“Wei Ying.” His voice cracked. He shoved the camera into Wei Ying’s hands, afraid of breaking the precious treasure that Wei Ying held dear. The moment it was safe, he dragged Wei Ying into a mindless kiss, teeth clacking against themselves. Wei Ying made a startled noise, but Lan Zhan drowned it out, adjusting the kiss.

He tasted of coffee and artificial sweetness. It made Lan Zhan’s mouth water, and he wanted to taste it again and again until he could only taste Wei Ying. Until his senses were dulled by the scent of spice and musk, and further into his own personal scent of comfort and safety. He dragged him closer, stumbling in their footing as they tried to keep their balance as they kissed again and again, barely breathing through their noses or their mouths when they parted for only seconds before diving again, dizzy with relief and unbridled love and desire.

Later, much later, Lan Zhan would drag him into the music room with no one around, using the privileges that he had, and sit at the baby grand piano, giving him a live performance of the piece, which would end in loud discord of keys smashing together as Wei Ying climbed into his lap to kiss him breathless, senseless. Later, much later, Wei Ying will rest his head on Lan Zhan’s chest and admit that the poem was his, and that he had gone to the bathroom and therefore missed Lan Zhan’s reaction to it. Sleep deprivation had convinced him it was a great idea at the time. When he had come into the classroom and Lan Zhan had rejected the poem, he couldn’t blame him. He just found it a bit amusing that Lan Zhan said it aloud to a classroom of maybe three people, but didn’t tell Wei Ying to his face. It gave him a smidgen of hope.

Later, much later, Wei Ying would put the song on his phone and hum it when he couldn’t pester Lan Zhan to play it for him. He confessed to Lan Zhan that he hummed it when Lan Zhan had to leave to visit his family. As much as Lan Zhan wanted to drag him to Caiyi, Wei Ying refused to go on the principle that his family a) deserved some time with him and a proper introduction and b) his sister just had his nephew, and there was no way in three hells he was going to miss that.

Later, much later, his sister will tease him mercilessly for being on the phone while he was face-timing Lan Zhan, showing off his new family member. Lan Zhan listened to the back-and-forth while he looked at Jin Ling and wondered how fast was too fast to marry and adopt.

Later, much, much later, Wei Ying would remix it with a flute and turn a confession into a duet of requited love. He also opted out of remixing it with electronica, leaving it as pure as Lan Zhan had written it. Lan Zhan would play it during a dinner, a languid make-out session, and an accidental proposal that had no reason to slip out so quickly when he had bigger plans than their apartment and their rabbits.

Later, much later, Wei Ying would confess that he had plans too.

Later, much, much later, it would take an idiot to think that they wouldn’t use it as their wedding song.

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