Chapter Text
Thankfully, they make it out of prison with eight minutes to spare.
Jiang Cheng is trying to act casual about it. He merely scoffs when their gamemaster lavishes praise on them for their escape room prowess, but from the way his chest is a little more puffed out than usual, Wei Wuxian can tell that he’s also pleased with their performance. So pleased, in fact, that he even offers to buy them both a meal.
Wen Qing declines, since she already has dinner plans with her girlfriend, but Wei Wuxian certainly isn’t going to say no to a free meal if Jiang Cheng is in a good mood. (Honestly, even if Jiang Cheng were in a bad mood, he would probably still brave it.)
Wei Wuxian hugs Wen Qing goodbye outside the escape room, at which point he notices someone across the street with a camera pointed at them. He gives a sarcastic wave and says a quick goodbye to Wen Qing before grabbing his brother’s arm, and sprinting away.
“Why the fuck are we running?” Jiang Cheng asks when they turn a corner and slow down.
“Paparazzi.” Wei Wuxian nods his head in the direction they just came from and keeps walking briskly.
Jiang Cheng tosses a scowl over his shoulder. “Jesus Christ. They don’t have anything better to do?”
“It seems not. But hey, at least we gave them something exciting to gossip about. They’re welcome.”
“What?” Jiang Cheng sounds disgruntled. “We didn’t give them anything.”
Wei Wuxian clicks his teeth. “That one friendly hug with Wen Qing could spawn an invigorating tabloid story about how I’m cheating on my new boyfriend, recruiting someone for a threesome, or getting involved in a contentious love triangle with my brother.”
“Ew,” Jiang Cheng says. “That’s disgusting! They can’t just—that’s ridiculous! How could they just make up lies like that?”
Wei Wuxian snorts. “Welcome to my world,” he says lightly. Ignoring Jiang Cheng’s assessing look, he smiles and asks, “So, where should we go to eat?”
Jiang Cheng waits until halfway through their dinner at a conveyor-belt sushi bar to throw out this non sequitur: “So, you’re saying all the bad press you’ve had in the past—that’s all fake, somehow?”
Wei Wuxian laughs and sets down the squid he was about to eat. “When did I say that? No, of course it’s not all fake.”
“But—” Jiang Cheng’s brows remain deeply furrowed. Wei Wuxian picks his squid back up, sensing it’ll take some time before Jiang Cheng has decided what he wants to ask. Eventually, Jiang Cheng says, “But a lot of it is just completely made up?”
“Mhm,” Wei Wuxian replies absently, too focused on retrieving a plate of shrimp sashimi from the conveyor belt.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng hisses. Wei Wuxian glances at him, eyebrows raised. “You just—you never clarified any of those incidents. What were we supposed to think?”
“Did I not clarify them, or did you not believe me when I tried to explain?”
Jiang Cheng’s expression grows darker, but he doesn’t respond right away.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says again, less forceful this time, “who are you trying to fool with this self-pitying act?”
“I don’t pity myself, nor do I want your pity,” Wei Wuxian says calmly. “In the beginning, a lot of it was true. I did enough stupid shit then that anything I was accused of doing later was believable.” He shrugs. “That’s just how it is. I’ve accepted it. I started this whole thing with Lan Zhan to deflect some of it, and it’s kinda worked, to a point.”
Jiang Cheng is glaring down at his soda, dragging the straw around in agitated circles. Wei Wuxian decides to take pity on him.
“Look,” he says, “if I were bothered by every little scandal the tabloids invented, I’d have no time to go to an escape room or get swindled by an old woman selling the contents of her garage—”
“Huh?”
“—so you shouldn’t think too much about it either. What’s the point?”
“Don’t you feel wronged?”
“By the paparazzi? Sure. They’ve gotten some very unflattering angles of me. I’m sure I don’t even have any bad sides, yet somehow they manage to find them.”
Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath. “I meant by us.” Wei Wuxian gives him a blank look and eats another piece of sashimi. “Our family. Do you feel we’ve wronged you?”
The food almost gets stuck in Wei Wuxian’s throat when he swallows, startled as he is by the question. It’s the kind of thing Jiang Yanli has asked him before in her soft voice, her eyes big and sad. He never knows what to reply to her either; he doesn’t even have an answer for himself.
Does he feel wronged? The Jiang family gave him a way to survive; that’s always been his focus while swallowing very grievance he encounters as a result of having this tenuous connection to Yu Ziyuan. The Jiangs didn’t actually have any obligation to take him in, Jiang Fengmian’s sentimentality aside. He could’ve done a lot worse, out there in the world on his own.
He could’ve done better, too, probably.
“What’s got you in such a mood?” Wei Wuxian asks instead of giving Jiang Cheng an answer. “Did breaking out of prison take such an emotional toll on you that you want to chat about our feelings now?”
As he expected, Jiang Cheng’s face shutters at the joke. He sucks his teeth in annoyance and shoves a sushi roll in his mouth.
It’s not that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to have a heart-to-heart chat with his brother. It’s just . . . Actually, it is that he doesn’t want to have a heart-to-heart chat with his brother. That seems like a surefire way to guarantee Jiang Cheng starts yelling in this sushi bar, and Wei Wuxian isn’t done eating. He’s waiting for the seared eel to appear on their stretch of the conveyor belt again.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t need Jiang Cheng to achieve any major emotional breakthroughs; he just wants their relationship to become a little smoother, a little less volatile. Avoiding emotional highs and lows is key to that mission.
He redirects the conversation to Jiang Cheng’s work instead, but then Jiang Cheng finds another way to bring them into dangerous territory.
“You know, we’re hiring again. I told you to apply last time, but you never listen to me.”
Wei Wuxian suppresses a sigh. Some conflict, it seems, is unavoidable. “I don’t need a job. I already have one.”
“But your job sucks.”
“Yeah, maybe it kinda sucks, but it’s mine. Isn’t it nice to have something all to yourself?”
Jiang Cheng’s forehead muscles twitch uncertainly. Wei Wuxian can understand why. His brother has always wanted to carve something out for himself, especially given his mother’s relentless tirades comparing him to Wei Wuxian. But Jiang Cheng also can’t seem to let go of something Wei Wuxian promised him when they were younger, not even yet in college: that they could one day work at the same company, rising to the top together.
It’s Wei Wuxian’s fault. He couldn’t keep that promise. He’d tried working a boring corporate internship at a consulting firm in college and nearly lost his mind at the long, unforgiving grind each day. Everyone in that office was like a drone, and most of them seemed to have no problem with the company’s extremely dubious ethics.
At least the people at CRAPP have unique personalities, all their shortcomings aside. And they’re doing something beneficial for humankind and beetlekind alike.
Jiang Cheng goes quiet again, so Wei Wuxian focuses intently on folding his straw wrapper into a tiny star.
“I guess,” Jiang Cheng says after a while. His jaw is still clenched, but that statement is practically a white flag.
“Think of how unhappy you would be if you had to deal with being in the same office building as me forty hours a week. I’m actually doing you a courtesy by walking this single-plank bridge.” With a smile, Wei Wuxian places the paper star in Jiang Cheng’s palm.
Jiang Cheng stares at Wei Wuxian’s lopsided work of art. “This is so ugly. Why did you give it to me?”
“Then give it back.”
Jiang Cheng’s fist closes around the star. “No. If you gave it to me, that means it’s mine. You can’t just take it back.”
Wei Wuxian laughs. “Keep it, then. Make sure you treasure it.”
“Who wants to treasure it?” Jiang Cheng mutters. “I’m going to use it as kindling.”
“For a teeny tiny fire?”
“So what?”
“Okay, then. Have fun.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Wei Wuxian tries his best to hold in another bout of laughter, but he can’t resist. He’s in too good a mood after defusing the bomb Jiang Cheng just tried to foist upon him in the form of an emotionally honest conversation. He sincerely believes that the two of them do not need to bare their hearts to each other; surely they’d both just end up scorched. Instead, it’s much better if they just come to understand each other a little more each time they meet.
“Does your star want a friend? I’ll fold another one. Give me your straw wrapper.”
“What the hell would I want another one for?” Jiang Cheng slides his straw wrapper forward. “Don’t make this one so deformed.”
“Why did the picture go to prison?” Wei Wuxian leans back as far as his desk chair will go and steeples his hands on his chest as he awaits Nie Huaisang’s response.
His coworker spins around in his own chair while he contemplates this question. “Because the prison needed more decor, I assume.”
“Because the picture was framed.”
Nie Huaisang nods. “They generally are. You know, I haven’t been to prison, but I’ve always thought about how scary it would be to be trapped in such a dull, lifeless place.”
Wei Wuxian glances around the office. “Yeah, no idea what that’s like.”
“Even prisoners deserve some art to look at. It’s a basic human right,” Nie Huaisang says seriously.
Wei Wuxian gives him a thumbs up. “You should take up that human rights campaign with the UN. It sounds even more important than addressing the fundamental inequities in penal systems.”
Nie Huaisang nods. “Maybe I’ll write them a letter. Actually, could you do it? You’re better at that stuff.”
“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says. His conscience is not even slightly triggered by this blatant lie. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Have you seen Maurizio Cattelan’s ‘Comedian’? Prisoners would probably love that. It’s really avant-garde.”
Wei Wuxian puts his work computer to good use by searching for that artwork. He stares blankly at the results. “This is a banana taped to a wall.”
Nie Huaisang nods. “Really makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Wei Wuxian slowly turns his head to squint at him. “Does it? Does it really make you think?”
They’re spared from any further conversation by Dr. Baoshan poking her head out of her office to ask how the Beetle Drive preparations are coming along.
“Great,” Wei Wuxian says blithely.
He has won several more email battles with their office manager, but Mr. Yao keeps looking for opportunities to slash the event budget. He’s even more resilient than a cockroach despite Wei Wuxian’s most passive aggressive email techniques.
Wei Wuxian has managed to successfully dodge any more contact with Jin Guangshan, the potential donor who wanted to meet Mrs. Yu. Coming up with excuses not to return his calls has been a time-consuming but vital aspect of his professional responsibilities. As far as Jin Guangshan’s persistent secretary is concerned, Wei Wuxian is not only weathering a case of laryngitis that prevents him from talking on the phone, but he has also broken all his limbs in a recent skydiving accident.
Dr. Baoshan looks around at her staff. By the pinched expression on her face, Wei Wuxian can tell she’s about to attempt some more small talk to pretend she’s interested in their lives.
“Are you all bringing human companions to the event?”
“Sorry, just to clarify: are you planning to bring nonhuman companions?” Wei Wuxian asks. His eyebrows climb higher on his face at the thought of her showing up with a dung beetle perched on her shoulder like a pirate with their trusty parrot.
“No,” she says. “Such an event is unsuitable for them.”
There’s no way she’s concerned that the donors will be freaked out at the sight of the dung beetles and lose interest in donating. (Frankly, a large part of Wei Wuxian’s fundraising strategy hinges upon the donors not seeing any actual beetles.) Wei Wuxian is absolutely sure she’s thinking that the humans would be too noisy and inconsiderate toward her dung beetles.
“Couldn’t agree more. Well, I’m bringing my boyfriend.” After a brief pause, Wei Wuxian feels the need to add, “He’s human.”
“I see,” Dr. Baoshan says, in an unmistakable tone of disappointment.
Ouyang Zizhen sits up eagerly in his chair when she glances at him. “I’m bringing my roommates! They’re also human!”
“Oh.”
They all look at Nie Huaisang, who looks confused. “What’s this about?”
“The Beetle Drive,” Wei Wuxian says patiently. “You may recall that our annual fundraiser is coming up next week.”
“Ah, of course.” Nie Huaisang leans closer to Wei Wuxian and whispers, “I don’t know what that is.”
Wei Wuxian claps a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Dr. Baoshan has already lost interest in them and shut the door to her office, so Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to check his Google alert for his name. He nearly falls out of his chair in his amusement at one of the headlines, so of course he sends the article to Lan Wangji.
the press have discovered ur greatest love rival: wen qing. u should duel her, probably
He responds almost immediately: Ha. Ha.
why do i get the sense that u are not actually laughing?
Because it is not funny.
are u sulking? we could sell them our sex tape to prove our undying bond
Also not funny.
jeez tough crowd! ok fine. at the beetle drive, Event of the Year, the press can bear witness to our sincere love and commitment
OK.
btw can i duct tape a banana to ur wall
?
Then, as if deciding the question mark is insufficient, Lan Wangji sends another message: Is that a euphemism? I do not understand.
no it’s art
?
Wei Wuxian helpfully provides him with a link to an article about the millions of dollars this banana art has sold for. doesn’t this expand the artistic boundaries of ur mind
No. It makes me think the wealth should be redistributed to people who will not spend millions on a certificate for a banana.
tch what do u even know? i bet once i tape some fruit to ur kitchen wall u will be struck by artistic understanding and moved to tears
No. How is work?
thrilling! i feel like i’m right back in that escape room
They hadn’t gotten a chance to see each other this weekend, but Wei Wuxian had regaled Lan Wangji with the whole tale over text. He had started out strong by texting Lan Wangji, i just got out of jail! after finishing lunch with Jiang Cheng. He hadn’t actually expected that Lan Wangji would call him immediately after he sent it, since his boyfriend was supposed to be busy at the time. Wei Wuxian had just as quickly taken pity on him and explained it was just a joking reference to an escape room, and they’d continued their conversation over text.
He still wants to laugh every time he remembers Lan Wangji’s brisk questions about what jail he had been in and what for and what had he said to the police and why he hadn’t called Lan Wangji sooner. If the man could teleport, he probably would’ve materialized at Wei Wuxian’s location in an instant.
Come over tonight?
i’m not saying yes unless u agree to the banana art
...
Wei Wuxian laughs at the ellipsis Lan Wangji sent back. u drive a hard bargain. fine! i’ll see u l8r! we can discuss how excited we both are for the upcoming beetle drive, Event of the Year
Mn.
unless u think the lan family extravaganza will take the cake! is ur family more exciting than dung beetles and stingy donors?
That is a peculiar question.
i’ll have to wait and see for myself i suppose
When he’d asked yesterday, Lan Wangji had confirmed that his uncle’s party is coming up the week after the Beetle Drive, so Wei Wuxian needs to start mentally preparing himself to meet Lan Wangji’s family.
Alright.
“How’s little Wolfy today?” Wei Wuxian holds up one of his boyfriend’s precious rabbits to his face so he can stare into the little guy’s soul.
“Who?” Lan Wangji says.
They’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor of the rabbit room so Wei Wuxian can pay his respects to his stepchildren.
“Don’t play coy with me, Lan Zhan. Isn’t it my god-given right as their stepfather to give them nicknames?”
“No.”
“Your father doesn’t love me, Wolfgang,” he tells the rabbit in his hands.
“That is Amadeus.”
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian sets the rabbit down with a little pat. “Close enough.”
“No. They have distinct personalities.”
“Oh?” Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if he believes that, but he’s certainly intrigued. “Which one is the most like me?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate. “Wolfgang.”
“Aw, Wolfy!” Wei Wuxian reaches out toward another one of the rabbits.
“That is Mozart.”
He retracts his hand and runs it casually through his hair. “I knew that. I was just spiritually drawn to Mozart, because he’s so much like you.”
Amazingly, Wei Wuxian can tell from the subtle shift in Lan Wangji’s expression that he’s pleased by this declaration. Wei Wuxian won’t tell him that he was just making shit up, because he doesn’t want to burst his bubble. Idly, he wonders if the rabbits would be interested in bubbles. Maybe he should’ve brought one of his bubble wands to test out their reaction.
As he looks around for Wolfgang, who must be hiding behind something, Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers something else he should’ve brought tonight. He taps his fingers against his forehead to scold himself. “Lan Zhan, I have a gift for you, but I totally forgot to bring it, so you’ll have to be patient. In fact, why don’t you remember for me that I need to give you something?” He presses his fingers against Lan Wangji’s forehead and gives a satisfied nod. “There. I’ve transferred the responsibility to you.”
Light lines of bemusement appear on Lan Wangji’s forehead. “A gift?”
“Mhm. I’m a great real boyfriend, aren’t I?”
“You are.”
Wei Wuxian can hardly stand to look at Lan Wangji’s solemn expression without breaking out in giddy laughter, so he turns his head away and finally spots Wolfgang. He reaches out to his kindred spirit, but the little devil hops away from him in what must be a deliberate snub. “Also, I’m apparently very susceptible to persuasion. But don’t worry; I didn’t allow that old con artist to trick me into a blind date.”
“Blind date?” Lan Wangji’s voice has sharpened.
Wei Wuxian gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, and Lan Wangji swiftly grabs his hand to hold it between his own. “An old woman wanted to set me up with one of her grandchildren, but I just showed her pictures of you until she cried from envy that her grandkids aren’t as beautiful as you.”
He still looks perturbed, so Wei Wuxian uses his free hand to run his fingers across Lan Wangji’s brow, encouraging those furrows to smooth out.
“The gift is not only a gift but also a symbol of my heroism in the fight against nosy old matchmakers. I bravely shielded you from having another love rival besides Wen Qing, so it’s extra special if you think about it!”
Lan Wangji stares at him with reproach.
“Kidding, kidding. You don’t have a single love rival to worry about. But you will have a gift, at some point in the near future.”
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says softly.
“Well, don’t thank me yet. What if it’s, like, the worst gift you’ve ever received?”
“I will appreciate it no matter what it is.” Lan Wangji seems to hesitate before adding, “I have not received many gifts before, so it will be special to me.”
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s a little taken aback. “Really?”
“Mn.”
“Your family wasn’t really . . . into that?”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian tries to imagine Lan Wangji as a sad, presentless little kid and is momentarily overcome by the urge to buy him everything in the world. Even in the Jiang family, Wei Wuxian still received gifts on his birthday each year, usually from his siblings. Jiang Fengmian was not the sort of man to give thoughtful presents, but he would always sneak a red envelope into Wei Wuxian’s hand when his wife wasn’t around.
Wei Wuxian’s parents probably gave him gifts when he was young, but he can’t quite remember. He wants to ask Lan Wangji what his parents were like, but in that moment he’s struck by a sudden thought that makes the words stick in his throat.
At that awful family dinner, Yu Ziyuan had said that Lan Wangji’s mother was charged with manslaughter.
He’d practically wiped his mind after that hideous event, so it’s not entirely surprising that it’s taken so long for that particular detail to resurface — especially since he could tell back then that Lan Wangji didn’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t interested in touching his fake boyfriend’s reverse scale, but the situation has changed since then, so he’s not sure he should just let it go. Still . . . this relationship feels so new, so fragile; he doesn’t want to carelessly probe at Lan Wangji’s sore spots and risk shattering everything.
“So your uncle’s love language isn’t gift-giving, I take it?”
“My uncle sees gifts as frivolous,” Lan Wangji says.
“Well, he sounds like a killjoy. I’m starting to think you grew up in a cult.” Wei Wuxian laughs, but Lan Wangji remains expressionless. That’s not unusual for Lan Wangji’s face, but something about the atmosphere feels a bit off. Wei Wuxian starts to fiddle with the keys in his pocket to keep from analyzing it too deeply.
“No. We were just raised with strict discipline. My uncle wanted us to become upstanding individuals.”
“. . . Right. Can’t upstanding individuals get gifts, though?”
“One should not covet material goods.”
Lan Wangji sounds like he’s reciting a core tenet of his uncle’s life philosophy, which is doing absolutely nothing to dissuade Wei Wuxian of the notion that he grew up in a cult.
His mind flips through several thoughts until he arrives at his recollection of what Wen Qing had said to him about dysfunctional families.
“Do you ever talk about this strict upbringing of yours in therapy?”
“Not usually.”
“Do you talk about your . . . parents?”
“Sometimes.” Lan Wangji’s face is never especially expressive, but it’s obvious when he shuts down completely. His grip tightens around Wei Wuxian’s hand and then suddenly lets it go. “I should feed the rabbits now.”
Wei Wuxian is pretty sure this is not one of their designated feeding times, but he’s not going to deny Lan Wangji an escape route when he clearly wants one. A sense of unease crawls through him as he watches Lan Wangji get to his feet.
He really hates when Wen Qing is right. What is she, some kind of witch?