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a concept: wwx and lwj were friends in high school, but drifted apart when wwx went abroad for his studies. five years later they meet again in a supermarket.
wwx remembers lwj as quiet, lovely, endlessly amusing to be around, though stern and a little too studious, long hair tied back and his white shirts always pressed and neat. there was something hushed and rigid to the way he held himself, as if making sure he fit into the slot—
—the world had made for him. he had been amusing to tease, good to ask for study advice, and in general, wwx had found himself strangely drawn to him despite their apparent lack of common ground.
it’s lwj who notices wwx, this time. wwx is weighing two squashes in his hands when a voice behind him says “wei ying—?”
he turns, and oh. lan zhan is still lovely. but he is different.
he turns, and oh. lan zhan is still lovely. but he is different.
he’s wearing an oversized black t-shirt, seemingly of one of those supersoft materials. his pants are dark too, loose and comfortable. he has a side shave, hair hanging loose off his shoulder. one droplet pearl earring shines on the shaved side. he looks at ease, and happy.
“wei ying. it is good to see you,” he says, and a faint snowmelt-smile curls across his lips; the kind that wwx used to spend hours coaxing out of him. and now he’s given it freely, in supermarket fluorescent lights.
wwx can’t speak. he’s vaguely aware that he’s staring, staring—but this lan zhan, this relaxed, settled, beautiful lan zhan, is stealing the air from his lungs in surprise and joy and a strange, sentimental sense of loss—of missing out, forgetting, when he shouldn’t have.
and wwx is wearing his old big red hoodie—oh god, had he owned this when lwj last knew him? and his hair has grown longer but it’s still in its messy ponytail and wwx suddenly feels eighteen again, facing this grown, gorgeous version of lan zhan
“hi,” he whispers, and gently sets one squash down. “lan zhan.”
lwj smiles a little, /again/. “after groceries. a coffee?”
wwx hides the way he is blinking back tears, and nods.
lwj smiles a little, /again/. “after groceries. a coffee?”
wwx hides the way he is blinking back tears, and nods.
(I was thinking about identity, growth at different paces & queerness today)
they go for coffee. lwj pays effortlessly as they order, leaving wwx with a hand half raised and his mouth open. wwx grins, looking down as lwj hands him his cup. somehow, this feels both comfortable and nerve-inducing; familiar and so, so strange.
lwj watches him as he sips his chai. as always, his silences fills spaces, substantial and as real as any conversation. lwj is curious, wwx knows. glad to see him.
wwx is dizzy with the vertigo of feeling suddenly far behind.
wwx is dizzy with the vertigo of feeling suddenly far behind.
he swallows, watches as the heart on his cappuccino twists into nonsensical foam. has he grown?
“ahh, lan zhan, you’ve gotten so /hot/,” is the first thing wwx manages to get out through a laugh. “how have you been?”
lwj’s face does something complicated again—complicated, but /nice/. a thousand small expressions that tell of joys and disappointments. “good,” he says.
lwj’s face does something complicated again—complicated, but /nice/. a thousand small expressions that tell of joys and disappointments. “good,” he says.
lwj tells him about his family. about his work within youth health—last time wwx had heard from him, he had been on the path to become a doctor. lwj shakes his head when he asks, not a speck of sorrow in his eyes. “I found the things I cared about,” he says, “and stayed.”
when he returns the question to wwx, he laughs, sips his drink, wonders how best to lie or how gracefully he could be truthful. oh, how badly he wants to impress lwj. to show him how he, too, has grown and blossomed and found himself, become something different than the—
—loud, messy, conflicted wreck that he had felt himself becoming over and over ever since he could remember. but he was still the same, wasn’t he? yes, he’d had some jobs, a couple of girlfriends, had thought a lot, gone to a pride parade by himself, gone home alone to stare—
—at the tv, whole body buzzing, wondering how he would find the nice little place meant for him, where everything would quiet and fall into order.
but lwj is looking at him so expectantly, so full of love, as if he thinks what wwx is right here by the coffee-cup-stained table is a good thing.
“oh, I don’t know,” wwx says, which feels pretty honest, actually. “I’ve been... a little all over. trying out things. being confused. you know, the usual.”
lwj gently accepts his sheepish laugh, as he always does.
lwj gently accepts his sheepish laugh, as he always does.
wwx’s gaze falls to the rainbow enamel ring on lwj’s hand. he always liked lwj’s hands. how they held a pencil, how they played an instrument, how they tightened in emotion.
“you’ve been figuring things out, huh?” he asks, voice a little hoarser than he thought.
“yes,” lwj answers. easy, plain. “and you?”
it’s a fair question. wwx remembers well how he’d kissed lwj on a sleepover in high school, then giggled and hid the entire happening behind—
“yes,” lwj answers. easy, plain. “and you?”
it’s a fair question. wwx remembers well how he’d kissed lwj on a sleepover in high school, then giggled and hid the entire happening behind—
—so many layers of jokes that he was convinced not one of them knew how he was really feeling about it.
“I’ve tried to put a name to it, I really have,” wwx says, ducking his head. “I don’t mean to—you don’t need to feel—I, too—“ he can’t go on. this is where everything gets—
“I’ve tried to put a name to it, I really have,” wwx says, ducking his head. “I don’t mean to—you don’t need to feel—I, too—“ he can’t go on. this is where everything gets—
—a little more crooked and confusing and frightening. still, he feels a plunge in his belly that feels more like excitement than fear, knowing lwj is already on the other side of it all.
and lwj is taking his hand, across the table. looking very genuine.
and lwj is taking his hand, across the table. looking very genuine.
“labels are overrated,” lwj says, the corner of his lips curling slightly. “they have meaning when you choose for them to do so. but they are labels, still. not paths. you can move freely, wei ying.”
simple words, but wwx feels himself blinking hard again. simple, but hearing them from someone across he table and not only from your own desperate self-soothing voice and distanced webpages feels very different. it sinks into him like words onto stone. a declaration.
“right, yeah,” wwx chuckles, squeezing lwj’s hand beside the salt and pepper stand. “of course. I’m a free spirit, like always, hah.”
“yes,” lwj agrees. “you always were.”
“yes,” lwj agrees. “you always were.”
***
lwj helps wwx find a community. wwx shows lwj all the ways he has, in fact, grown, without him noticing himself (it doesn’t need to be a surface thing, though it can be—perhaps wwx decides he wants it to be). and at some point, they find themselves on a date.
the end
lwj helps wwx find a community. wwx shows lwj all the ways he has, in fact, grown, without him noticing himself (it doesn’t need to be a surface thing, though it can be—perhaps wwx decides he wants it to be). and at some point, they find themselves on a date.
the end
