Chapter Text
Lan Zhan hadn't expected much walking into the dive bar on 6th street. He was more intent on escaping the noise of the street than expecting solace in what seemed to be the world's foremost insult to jazz. Still, his eye twitched when he saw the sign for open mic night, and he'd considered leaving before the next act changed.
The awful lighting was only outdone by the atrocious sound design and the bar was only half filled. Most of the patrons swayed not in rhythm but from the effects of a few too many drinks. He was one foot off the barstool and about to head to the door when he saw him.
A pair of green eyes blinked at him, then wrinkled at the edges with the slow spread of a grin. The man wasn't his type, nothing he'd ever wanted before, but something about the way he looked at him with a curious hunger resonated in a forgotten space inside his long neglected soul.
Because it reminded him.
He'd been looked at like that before in his youth, by a wild haired boy with an evil grin and had almost forgotten how good it felt. He lifted his eyebrow in invitation and settled back into his seat. Not even five seconds passed before the man walked over with a swagger to his step.
A woman had taken the stage with a voice that was as weak as it was passionate. The worst combination to have, in his opinion. No one cared when she started to sing but because there was music, because there was a beat, several of them nodded along.
Tonight you're mine, completely. You give your love, so sweetly.
"You're not supposed to be here," Green Eyes said, and the way he slid into the seat beside him with ease told Lan Zhan it wasn't his first time. He had an infectious kind of grin and his attention woke something dormant. Lan Zhan liked the feeling of being wanted and it was even better more addictive when given by someone with something to offer.
"But I'm glad you are," he finished, taking his time dragging his eyes up Lan Zhan's body.
"Where am I supposed to be?"
Lan Zhan didn't play coy or even try to withhold the flirtation from his voice. And in return, those green eyes lit up in satisfaction. He savored it. He could have made it harder, could have made the man work for it, but it was approaching last call and both knew they didn't have time for that.
Can I believe the magic of your sighs? Will you still love me tomorrow?
"In the bathroom with your cock down my throat, preferably."
Not even an ounce of hesitation lurked in his voice. He knew what he wanted and he wasn't scared to ask for it. It just so happened to provide what Lan Zhan needed in that moment as well— someone willing to take everything pent up inside of him.
"What about in my bed with my cock up your ass?" he countered, unwilling to stay in the bar any longer than he had to.
"Even better," Green Eyes chuckled. He slammed down a 20 for the drinks they didn't finish. "Name's Adam," he introduced himself, sliding a hand up Lan Zhan's chest.
"Wangji," he replied. Entranced as he was, he never gave his birth name to hookups. He didn't need to hear it in anyone else's voice.
Adam took his dicking like a man. He liked the bruises, and he loved the biting. He didn't hold back, not his screams and not the nails down his spine when Lan Zhan flipped him over to stare into those green eyes as he drilled deep inside him. And for the first time since his youth, it was a new name falling from his lips as he came.
He thought it was a one time thing like all the others before him, but Adam didn't slip out the door the next morning when Lan Zhan showered. He stayed for breakfast and made Lan Zhan laugh as he made a pot of congee. He sucked him off afterward right there at table, making a big deal of how he'd never tasted anything better.
Then he put his number in his phone, and told him he better text him or else he'd haunt him the next three lifetimes. So Lan Zhan did. He had to. Adam was so full of the life Lan Zhan had grown devoid of. He kept wanting to see him one more time.
And one more time. And one more time. They started seeing each other exclusively because Adam stubbornly refused to fuck anyone else— it would simply be a waste, he said.
"You won't either, right gege?" he asked, batting those mesmerizing green eyes at him. And of course Lan Zhan complied. Adam wanted him, and just him.
At long last, he'd found a cure. The obsession he'd harbored since his teenage years could be packed away and he could finally move on. Green eyes settling over the gray in his heart. Surely, it was happiness. Surely, it was end game.
They had their happy moments. They ate brunches with bottomless mimosas and perused the Sunday art festivals with their pinky fingers entwined. When Adam looked at him, it was as if he'd hung the moon. He laughed at the things he said as if they were jokes just like.. well, just like others had done. Nameless others he didn't think about anymore because he'd been cured.
Farmers markets and jazz bars, grocery stores and nightclubs. It was new and exciting. He'd had hookups before and he'd a best friend before. In Adam, he had both. He'd been happy, so overwhelmingly happy that he hadn't looked too closely at the package he'd arrived in. Lan Zhan was willing to gloss over the rough edges.
Even as the edges got rougher.
About six months after they started dating, Adam started filming their lives for his YouTube channel. Lan Zhan never knew about the channel, and Adam was only slightly miffed he had no idea who he was before they met. He teased him about it, being a luddite, an old man, a fuddy duddy. It was an affectionate teasing, and it came drenched in nostalgia.
He said he wanted to share their life by introducing Lan Zhan to his followers. They were official; everyone should know. Lan Zhan didn't disagree though he liked his privacy and enjoyed his low profile. How could he, when this was something he could do for Adam? Apart from sex, the man had asked so little of him.
To his credit, Adam had been brilliant at the game. In a few short months, they had their first viral video. Adam planned an elaborate dinner for the both of them, and while the sentiment was sweet, the food had been completely horrible. Burnt beyond repair horrible. So bad, it had to have taken effort in Lan Zhan's opinion. But he hadn't wanted to discourage his boyfriend, so he tried to eat as much as he could, and when he'd choked the last bite down, he thanked him profusely for the effort.
Adam had recorded the whole thing and uploaded it to his channel for likes and views. The moment tarnished in his hands because it's wasn't sweet and he'd been right— it had taken effort to cook so badly.
In the end, his boyfriend had gotten what he wanted. They love you, Wangji, just like I do. You're amazing. You're wonderful. You're the absolute best boyfriend a guy could hope to have.
And Lan Zhan believed him. He brushed off his feelings and figured he was just being overly sensitive. He'd made his boyfriend happy, wasn't that enough?
Their viewership took off. They both had their roles to play: Lan Zhan that of the supportive boyfriend and Adam of the bumbling innocent naive young fool, just wanting to make his spouse happy. It was a recipe their fans loved, and eventually Lan Zhan found peace with it. Adam was happy, and if Adam was happy everything would be okay.
The brand deals Adam thirsted after came. The money went from trickling in to pouring, so much that neither had to work— though Lan Zhan still did. Their relationship, his first real realtionship, became a business. Of course it bothered him, but Adam dealt with all the details. From Lan Zhan's perspective, he just had to appear in some videos and some livestreams, and Adam would handle the rest.
They moved into a nice, downtown apartment with a gorgeous view of the city. He got his own piano, his own studio. He had room to compose again. It was nice.
Right up until it wasn't.
Fame crept in. It slipped under the doors and oozed through the cracks. Adam became obsessed with numbers and stats and view counts and subscribers. Dinner became conversations about ad revenue and sponsored apparel. Everything they did had to be monetized and if something wasn't profitable it simply didn't happen. Every kiss was calculated. Every touch planned out.
And there were cameras everywhere.
Money replaced everything they lost. Even the privacy in their own home was non-existent, as Adam hired a personal assistant who practically lived with them. Wven when the cameras weren't rolling, there were another set of eyes on him. The life he once loved he began to loathe, but he wasn't sure he was ready for the alternative. It meant leaving behind the first serious sexual relationship he'd ever had. It would mean returning to meaningless hookups and an empty apartment.
So he stayed, but he withdrew. The man he'd fallen in love with might still be there but he was hidden behind a paywall now. Lan Zhan had been living in his office anyway, so he moved a bed in and started sleeping there as well. It felt safe. The only place in the apartment where cameras weren't installed. He felt like a caged beast in a zoo, but it was the life he agreed to.
And then one day he came home early, remembering halfway down the block he'd left his cellphone on the charger. He found Adam's assistant balls deep inside him and just stood there speechless. It wasn't attractive, by any means. It was clumsy. Embarrassing. They looked ridiculous. A sweaty mix of limbs and erratic thrusting and it didn't even seem like good sex from the outside.
It only humiliated him more.
Adam begged him to stay. It was Lan Zhan's fault, of course, for withdrawing. Leaving him needy. We haven't had sex in months, what was I supposed to do?
It was over. They both knew it was over. But he promised to stay so Adam could still support himself after. They'd just live on opposite sides of the apartment and Lan Zhan would give him 15 minutes of footage a week. Seeing him so happy after the compromise had gutted him, but it also cured him of whatever delusion he had of them working through it. When January came, they'd break the news to the fans and Lan Zhan would let him have everything. The apartment, the channel, and the life they'd built together.
So when his brother called him early one April morning and begged him to come home for the summer, it wasn't a hard decision to make.
"I need you Wangji. We're down a piano teacher, and I've got a roster full of kids that are going to be heartbroken. Plus, we miss you. It's been years since you've been back and Uncle is getting too old to travel. Just one summer."
His brother gave him a million reasons why, but he hadn't needed any of them. Xichen could have just asked him and he'd have said yes. He wondered that night when he hung up the phone how they'd become so separated. How it got to the point where Xichen felt begging was a necessity.
It wasn't like he wanted to stay away, but it had been hard to make the trip home without enduring the hardship of Adam's complaints. He hated when Lan Zhan traveled, and didn't like to leave the city himself. One postponed trip became another, as Lan Zhan gave into Adam's excuses to avoid an argument.
He never should have placated him to begin with.
"Of course I'll come and help in any capacity you need," he'd assured Xichen. His brother had let out a sigh of relief and thanked him profusely.
Adam had not been so thrilled.
"You're leaving? To go back to Gusu? What the fuck, Wangji?! We have plans. We have sponsorships. We have quotas. You can't just leave all of this on me."
Adam droned on and on about their responsibilities to the public, to the sponsors, to the "fans". It meant something to him. He used to think becoming internet famous had changed him by turning him from the man (he thought) he loved into a fame obsessed zombie that did anything he could for one more "like and follow". He learned the truth. Adam had always been like that, and he'd been too blind to see it.
"I signed nothing. I have no obligation. My brother needs my help and I will be going."
"But Wangji. You promised."
"Any promise I made was voided when you fucked your assistant in our bed," he pointed out, and his soon to be ex looked like he'd been slapped.
"You could have walked away then," Adam said, his voice cold. Tense. "I fucked up, and I'm paying the price. You don't have to shove it in my face to win an argument."
Adam wasn't wrong. He could have walked away, and probably should have. But he loved the apartment. Loved the view of the city and the peace it provided him. He didn't want anything to change. Even as he gradually began to loathe the man he lived with, he still wanted to keep what was left of his life— as pathetic as that made him feel.
"It's only six weeks. I'll send some footage you can edit in."
And that's all it took; Adam was fine again. Chipper. Excited even. Happy to see him go because it had never been about Lan Zhan at all, but what he could get on film. What he could sell on the channel for one more subscriber, one more dollar of ad revenue. That was all he wanted from Lan Zhan, which happened to be all he had left to offer.
Now
It takes him more than a glance to recognize the man standing at baggage claim to be his uncle. The years have changed him. Lan Qiren isn't as tall as he remembers— his posture slumps where he used to stand proudly. His eyes are tired and they don't seem to have the energy to judge him anymore. Silver and gray pepper his hairline and Lan Zhan wonders when he grew this old. Had it really been that long since his last trip to Gusu?
It had only been… six years.
He hadn't counted the years before this moment, swept away in the doldrums of his city life. Now he sees every year in his uncle's countenance and the guilt churns in his stomach. He should have come sooner.
"Wangji, you're alone." His tone isn't one of disappointment. "I worried you might bring along the sack of flour."
He nearly chokes, but manages to recover in time to speak. "Mmh. You probably won't be seeing Adam again, uncle."
Qiren does nothing to mask his satisfaction at the news. "Just as well. Now come along, we shouldn't keep the driver waiting." He pauses to look Lan Zhan over with a keener eye. "Just the one suitcase then?"
"It's only six weeks, uncle." He doesn't expect a response and his uncle doesn't oblige him on as they head out the doors. It's a slower pace than he's used to and he has to restrain his natural stride so that his uncle can take the lead.
The fresh mountain air invades his lungs and it feels like he can breathe again for the first time in years. He drinks it in while his uncle walks to the car, turning slightly to ensure he keeps up. "We don't have all day, Wangji." Lan Qiren mumbles something else under his breath but he can't quite make it out. He seems to be enjoying having something to fuss about, so Lan Zhan lets him.
The ride is smooth and the two men sit side by side. They each have their own windows and their own scenery to pass the time, but Lan Zhan feels himself being studied instead. He notices a slight tremble to his uncle's hand and wonders if he should set his own over it. He decides against it— physical affection had never been the cornerstone of their family.
They talk about very little of substance. His uncle asks no questions about his personal life, and why should he? It's there on the internet for all to see. He knows his family watches the channel; Xichen has admitted as much. It's embarrassing, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Instead, Qiren asks about his hobbies. If he's still composing. If he's got any special plans for the summer.
"Xichen arranged your room how you like it. I assume you'll be staying with us? The accommodations might not be as nice as what you're accustomed to, of course."
"Of course I'll be staying with you, uncle. I've been looking forward to it." It is a small bit of honesty, but it goes a long way to relaxing the lines on his uncle's forehead. He smiles as some of the tension fades from the man's shoulders and realized they're both equally as nervous.
"Then I'll have to trouble my chef for an additional plate at dinner. I assume we'll be feeding you as well," his uncle gruffs, now feeling allowed to be a little cantankerous.
"I would appreciate that."
He stares ahead, but he can still see Qiren's reflection in the glass and the small smile of his own the old man doesn't seem to be able or willing to hold back.
The sense of home overwhelms him as he crosses the threshold to his uncle's house. It's by no means a small house, but far smaller than the sprawling estate he'd spent his youth in. His uncle had walked away from the family shortly after Lan Zhan's mother passed away, preferring to live a modest existence. Not to say he wasn't wealthy, but he channeled the money into the school and the community rather than hoarding it away in real estate. Lan Zhan had always been proud of that choice and never once missed the cold mansion of his earliest years.
His room stayed the same. The sheets have been washed and the surfaces wiped down, the windows opened to allow the room a chance to breathe, but everything else is as it used to be. Old sports equipment leans against the wall, directly underneath shelves containing his trophies. So many of them, across as many different areas. Music, sports, writing. Anything he put his mind to, he excelled. Not because he was naturally gifted, but because he knew it was his uncle's expectation. "Anything worth doing is worth doing well, Wangji," his uncle would always say. "Never start anything you don't plan on seeing through to the end."
There had been only one exception to that rule. Only one thing he'd left incomplete. Paused in time. An unfinished sweater, with a trail of yarn hanging off the end. It had surely unraveled by now, tugged at by the hands of time.
And he sees reminders of that exception even now. There are still empty spaces on the walls where pictures used to be taped, and he knows if he opened the top drawer of his desk he'd find them there, neatly bundled. He doesn't look. He's not here to wade that far into the past, especially with his future so uncertain.
He unpacks and it takes him all of ten minutes. Perhaps he should have bought more, but his needs are simple. If it comes down to it, he'll take a day to go shopping. He hasn't updated his wardrobe in far too long, not seeing the necessity. Adam preferred they wear the same outfits more often than not to make editing easier and it's a habit he'd grown used to.
Three small knocks at the door announce his brother's presence.
"Wangi," he coos, holding his arms out for Lan Zhan collapse into. Their family might not have been affectionate, but his older brother always maintained those rules don't apply to them. He'd never withheld a warm hug or a comforting hand over his, and now Lan Zhan's desperately thankful.
Xichen pats his back a little too hard, but he doesn't complain. It's just nice to be held again in any capacity. It hits him hard how touch starved he's become, and Xichen lets him stay a little longer than he normally would.
His gaze seems knowing when Lan Zhan pulls away.
"You haven't been sleeping, didi."
It's not judgmental, it's full of concern and he looks away guiltily. Sleep has been hard to come by. So much so that at one point he'd resorted to taking pills, but it became too much of a habit and he had to phase it out. Now he just deals with the constant bags under his eyes and a branded eye cream that doesn't hide them.
"You're still with him?" Xichen's tentative when he asks, like he's worried the answer might have changed since he'd broken the news.
"Mmh. Breakup is scheduled for January. I believe it's sponsored by BetterHealth," he remarks, dryly.
Xichen looks over his sparse belongings before turning back with a small frown. "Just 6 more months? Why not just stay here until then? I worry about what you're putting yourself through, didi."
He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it. Many times, actually, staring at the ceiling of his office/bedroom. It was attractive, the thought of going back to his roots to mend his broken heart, like a poorly written Hallmark movie. His eyes flick down to the drawer the photos are stored in and he's reminded why he can't. There are memories to be avoided here, too. Sure, these are faded with time and not as fresh, but the wounds he suffered here somehow cut deeper. He'd been unguarded back then. At least with Adam, he hadn't been naive to the possibility of being hurt.
"I can handle six months, ge," he says with as much politeness as he can muster. "But thank you, I appreciate the offer."
Xichen eyes him, and Lan Zhan wonders what he must see to make that expression. But it's over quickly and he changes the topic smoothly enough. "Come down once you're settled and I'll make some introductions."
He turns to leave, stalling by the door. He doesn't turn back, just simply says, "I'm glad you're back, Wangji."
He's glad too, but it still hurts the way Xichen says it.
A woman (far more beautiful than her fierce stare should allow) stands over the stove, stirring a pot with disinterest and looking at him as if he were a half eaten something the cat had left on her pillow.
"Wen Qing," she offers, without extending either a hand or a bow. He returns his name in kind as if she didn't already know it.
"Wen Qing takes care of Shifu. Cooking, arranging his schedule, maintaining his health. She's been an excellent addition to the home. I honestly don't know what we'd do without her."
She seems happy to hear the praise, but her smile fades quickly when she turns back to Lan Zhan. "I work for your uncle. You, I don't know. Cook for yourself, and try not to leave the kitchen in disarray." Her warning glare frightens him. He gives a worried look at Xichen, but his brother is too busy smiling at her fondly.
He's not opposed to making his own meals, prefers it actually. The stove is big enough for the two of them, and Wen Qing's so tiny their hips never brush. He debates making small talk but decides it's not needed.
She hums to herself, keeping her hands busy and paying him no mind. It's a surprising change of pace from where he's been. He might as well be invisible. It's… almost refreshing to be ignored.
Dinner ends up a low key affair. He's tired after a day of traveling and Qiren seems exhausted as well, so they eat their meals silently. After, Xichen holds the conversation as they sip herbal tea, keeping it flowing between the three of them. He explains the summer program to Lan Zhan, though it doesn't seem to have changed much since his youth.
"We're improving the end of summer showcase. Each teacher will have the usual ensemble, but we're adding a solo performance. You'll get to pick a student from each class to personally mentor," Xichen explains, excitedly.
"That sounds… intensive." He'd been assigned three classes, and fully expected that commitment to take the majority of his time. With the addition of three mentees, he'd be stretched thin.
"It's nothing you can't handle. The other teachers are beyond excited. Perhaps their enthusiasm will rub off on you," Xichen says, smiling a little too broadly for the conversation at hand.
"Are there many new teachers? I don't remember enthusiasm ranking highly among their traits." His uncle scowls at him but he doesn't care. The school was known for propriety and serious nature, as evidenced by its mountain of rules and stern leadership. Xichen is giving a much more relaxed view that conflicts with his memories.
"We've brought in some new blood over the last several years. It's been quite refreshing, wouldn't you say, uncle?"
"Indeed. Quite refreshing."
"Mmh. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to have an early night. Thank you both for a lovely evening." He bows respectfully and steps away, noting how quickly Wen Qing rushes to his uncle's side to help him up. He rather likes her, he thinks, but if she's indicative of the school's new hires, he's not entirely sure what level of enthusiasm awaits him.
He expects to stare at the ceiling a while before sleep takes him. He turns on his side and stares at the window, almost hearing the sharp cracking sound of rocks hitting the glass. It comes to him through the haze of years, and his heart beats grow heavy with the memory of a wild haired boy staring up at him with a grin brighter than the light of the moon.
"Lan Zhan!" he hears him call, somewhere in the back of his mind.
His shoves his hands over his head, sinking them in between the bed and the wall to grip onto— a motion that he'd developed during his most anxious times. Stimming, his therapist had told him once.
His hand hits something it shouldn't. Something… stretchy? He pulls it out, and blinks in confusion at the object in his hand. A red hair tie, just like one Wei Ying used to wear. He'd never known anyone else to wear that color, and it was certainly something he'd never buy himself. The reminder alone— he couldn't fathom.
So why is it here?
Why was it in his bed?