Chapter Text
“He’s going to be there.” Jiang Cheng says, drawing his attention from where he is fiddling under the car.
He is actually fiddling. It’s a sugardaddy’s (not his sugar daddy, but A sugardaddy) joyride that he occasionally brought in for Wei Ying to fiddle with, meaning to do whatever he wanted to make it even more of a joyride than it is.
Partially, he knows it’s because the man has a massive crush on him. He indulges it to some degree, as he did in many other clients - men and women alike - who shows a weakness for his smile. It’s good for business. His garage is doing well enough now and he didn’t really have to pimp out his smile, but his smile is habit. And habits are hard to kill at his age, which is pushing 30 in a few months.
“Who?” he asks, sliding out from under the car.
“Your ex-husband.”
He hits his head on the edge of the metal and curses.
Jiang Cheng is sitting on a stool off to the side and looks at him in concern. Although when his brother sees that he is alright, Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Can’t you be more careful?”
“Well, then stop mentioning my ex-husband when I am under something that weighs a fucking ton!” He replies in annoyance.
“I just thought I would give you fair warning. Sorry for looking out!” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.
“We were married for barely a year and have been divorced for 10. What is there to look out for?” he asks, pulling off his grimy work gloves.
He wonders if he can skip out on the event.
And then closes his eyes and gives himself a mental shake. He should heed what he told Jiang Cheng. It’s been ten years. No need to skip out on events at this point.
Even though he did not attend too many sect gatherings in general, given his family, family by marriage, and his choice of friends, he still ran into Lan Wangji from time to time. They have done it cordially and civilly for the better part of ten years, there is no reason to be anything else now.
He had heard that time made everything better. He wonders why that hasn’t worked for him. Oh sure, things were better than they were in the immediate aftermath. And even those first two, three years. But he doesn’t feel like there has been any substantial improvement in the moving-on department in the last six years.
Was he just not getting enough play?
“Do… I need to bring a +1?” he asks, holding his breath.
It’s Jin Zixuan’s little sister’s engagement.
And given that Zixuan was married to their sister, well…
But still, what level of effort does he realistically have to put in?
He runs through the list of people whom he can ask at the last minute to be his plus one.
There is no one he really wants to take, but he can think of two who would not mind helping him out. Especially given that it’s a Jin family thing, which meant the venue and food were guaranteed to be bougie as fuck.
“Can’t hurt.” Jiang Cheng says. Which means, Lan Wangji is bringing someone.
He feels a headache coming on.
“You have something to wear?” Jiang Cheng asks.
He looks at his brother.
It is an inane question, as he knows that jiejie has sent a suit over with Jiang Cheng. It’s likely hanging in the backseat of Jiang Cheng’s Range Rover.
His siblings took no chance with him. Especially because Madame Yu would be there and would expect not even a shadow of Wei Ying’s chosen profession or socio-economic status - which admittedly has risen to the middle class in recent years, but still, reputations died a slow death - to mar his position as the Jiang’s once-foster child. He's glad that they had never formally adopted him and had, instead, simply fostered him until 18, when he had thanked them dearly and moved out. Literally, the day after his birthday.
He would have never darkened her doors again, but… life had had other plans.
He had always made fun of Huaisang and MianMian for their obsession with Korean dramas, but as if the Universe had wanted to punish him with a superb sense of irony, his life had unraveled like one of the more egregious over-the-top make-viewers-want-to-jump-off-a-cliff kdramas.
It was a classic. Very tropey. So tropey that he could not even believe it was real life.
The Jiangs had taken him in when he was four, after his father (their friend from med school) had been sent to prison for over-prescribing pain medications that had led to someone’s fatal overdose. His mother had been long dead by then and he had had no immediate family in the US to take him in. Rather than let the state assume custody, the Jiangs had offered to foster him. The whole thing had become quite the story in their not-so-little Chinese community in Boston. Everyone with a newspaper or television or internet had found out. And while no one had held it against him to his face, he knew his place. In many subtle, and sometimes not so subtle ways, it had been made clear.
And so, he had always known that everything that were options to his friends and family were not always feasible options for him.
Lan Wangji had been one of them.
Growing up, seemingly everyone and their mother had had a crush on Lan Wangji. And while he had always found Lan Wangji to be a hot-only-in looks-but-cold-in-everything-else gege, he had never entertained a serious crush. Even without Lan Wangji’s looks, the Lan family were the top of the tier in their community. Wealthy for generations and a family of surgeons, to boot. Lan Wangji and his brother, Lan Xichen, were clearly intended for the same path.
Even if social status was not an issue, Wei Ying wouldn’t have ever pegged the two of them to be a match. Their personalities were polar opposites, and contrary to popular preferences, he did not like the excessively gorgeous, Tsundere types. He generally liked people like himself. Open, friendly, approachable, mostly humble but with a splash of arrogance if needed. He liked himself. He would not like himself if he changed to appeal to someone else. And he imagined that he would have to change himself quite a bit to appeal to someone like Lan Wangji.
And so, he had always given Lan Wangji a wide berth. Never attempted to infiltrate his cadre of admirers and significant-other-hopefuls.
But the Universe had had other ideas.
Because, at the tender age of 17, when he had been a freshman and Lan Wangji a senior in college, during a party at Jin Zixuan’s off-campus apartment, Wen Chao had publicly dared him to ask Lan Wangji out. A bit of senior-on-freshman hazing.
It was a dare. And all he had to do was ask the intimidating senior out. Wen Chao hadn’t said the answer needed to be yes.
And so, Wei Ying had... he had done it as publicly as possible to avoid embarrassment by calling direct attention to the farce that it was.
Had simply said, “Will you go out with me, gege?”
He had smiled his beatific smile so as to preemptively buffer the rejection that would be coming.
Except, Lan Wangji had said yes. Not only that, the senior had dispassionately made Wei Ying key in his phone number into Lan Wangji’s phone with everyone watching, aghast, mouths wide open.
And the day after, he had gotten a text with e-tickets to a spy thriller playing in the local cinemas.
He had shown up there half expecting to be pranked.
But, no, Lan Wangji had been there, waiting, a medium sized buttered popcorn and Sprite in hand. When they took their seats, Lan Wangji had passed him both the popcorn and the Sprite, and he had looked at the senior in question.
“I don’t eat popcorn or drink Sprite.”
Okay…
When the movie had ended (he couldn’t remember a single frame of it afterwards), they had walked out of the theater and at the exit, Wei Ying had made an awkward little bow and with a “Thank you,” had walked away.
It had been a strange date and he had wondered if Lan Wangji had been following through with a bet as well.
He had never expected to hear from the senior again, but the next weekend, he had gotten a similar text with e-tickets to a museum exhibit.
It was to the Museum of Bad Art in Somerville, which - from his internet research - had the tagline “Art too bad to be ignored.”
He had bitten the inside of his cheek to not laugh out loud.
Was the infamously aloof senior really hiding a wicked sense of humor under that iceberg of inscrutability.
They had walked through almost the entire exhibit in relative silence before Wei Ying had suddenly pulled himself into an alcove and given into the laughter that had been smothering his throat. He had covered his mouth as he laughed and Lan Wangji had watched him with a look of amusement.
He had tried to make his laugh as soundless as possible, although he had clutched his belly as his efforts at containing his laugh had only made it more strenuous.
When tears had started to leak out of the corner of his eye and he had wiped them away, trying to quiet himself down, Lan Wangji had abruptly pulled him up and kissed him, shocking a kidney out of him.
It lasted only a moment before Lan Wangji had pulled back.
Looked at him with those intense eyes.
His heart had pounded and there had been butterflies in the pit of his belly. All things he had only read about in corny books.
When Lan Wangji had kissed him again, Wei Ying had kissed back.
And things had changed instantly.
Instantly.
He had been unable to handle how his entire body had gone up in flames.
They had chemistry. Touch chemistry. Body chemistry. Sex chemistry.
Hindsight would tell him that it had been too much. That amount of sex pleasure would fuck with anyone’s head. It had certainly fucked with theirs.
The sex had been so addicting that he had fallen head over heels in love.
The sex had swindled his brain.
It had swindled it so much that when he turned 19, they had eloped. Fucking stupid thing to do in hindsight, but back then, it had seemed vital. As if he could simply not live without Lan Wangji. He wanted to be with him all the time, missed him with his whole body when they weren’t together, wanted to sleep together every night. All the shit that were good fucking stuff, in hindsight. In fact, the anticipation and the yearning were the best parts. He should have just enjoyed that life. And not tried to make it into a marriage.
Once they eloped, Lan Wangji’s uncle had cut him off. Financially. Medical school dreams had gone poof, just like that.
And he had realized that while he could hack it in the regular life, his husband, not so much. Lan Wangji was used to the finer things in life.
Wei Ying had been a sophomore in college when they eloped. He had had student loans paying for his tuition. Lan Wangji had already graduated and had put his surgeon dreams on a permanent hold and had accepted the first job he could find. Which was not much, given that he had been in pre-med and sociology until then. Not the most practical subjects for advanced employment.
Wei Ying had worked two jobs while simultaneously being a full-time student.
He had been okay, but being cut off from everything he had grown up with, he could see his husband start to fall into a low-grade depression of sorts.
It had been hell.
Lan Xichen had come to visit them as much as possible, but it was an odd sort of thing. Lan Wangji did not seem particularly keen on even seeing his brother after a while.
Finally, after nine months of that, after waking up every day thinking it would be the day that Lan Wangji would finally come to his senses and walk out of their marriage, Wei Ying had been unable to tolerate living in such perpetual fear.
He had met with Lan Qiren and asked - begged - to let Lan Wangji return. To his family’s fold. To medical school. To all the things he had before Wei Ying had happened to him.
In hindsight, he wondered which drama playbook he had taken that meeting from. Because it had gone exactly as anyone could have predicted.
Lan Qiren had agreed, but only if Wei Ying would agree to divorce Lan Wangji.
He had been prepared for that, of course.
He had agreed.
He had gone home that evening and planned. That weekend, over dinner, he had asked Lan Wangji for a divorce.
He had not been prepared for Lan Wangji to simply refuse.
“I have heard of this.” Lan Wangji had said, “It is a popular trope called noble idiocy. Are you an idiot, Wei Ying?”
“Noble… what?” he had sputtered. “I really don’t think we are well matched in life. We are opposites in practically everything. The only thing we got really going for us is sex, which let’s face it, you are not too interested in, lately. So, I’m only being realistic. We made a mistake, Lan Zhan. You don’t need to suffer for the rest of your life for it.”
“I?” Lan Wangji had asked, lifting an eyebrow coldly.
“We.” he had corrected. “We both. We don’t need to suffer for all of life.”
“I am not suffering.” Lan Wangij had said, stubbornly.
“Wh… Why are you being so stubborn about this? You’re so miserable in this little shithole that we call home.”
Lan Wangji had blinked, those eyes widening slightly. “You… think this is a shithole?”
On a good day, it’s cozy, and on a bad day, like today, it is an absolute shithole.
They had called the plumber two days ago for a steady leak under the sink, which the landlord seemed in no rush to fix. Each time Lan Zhan entered the kitchen, he could see the almost physical pain his husband felt at the rust-colored water leaking out of the door under the sink.
Their toilet flush had needed three different steps to activate properly and he had wasted many precious minutes waiting for the water to fill up in the tank so that he could adjust the stupid lever accordingly. The landlord was of the opinion that it was not such a big deal, certainly nothing that needed to be replaced. Wei Ying had finally taken the whole thing apart and fixed it himself. As he had fixed the shower and exhaust fan and their poorly insulated bedroom windows. At this point, he could likely be the building’s handyman with the amount of experience he had accumulated. Plumbing, though, that was… evidently something he will need to learn about if his husband didn’t agree to divorce him.
“It’s a fucking shithole.” he had answered, looking around. “Even for me, so I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”
“Are you… unhappy?” Lan Wangji had asked after a moment. “Or are you only doing this because you think I’m unhappy.”
He had sighed. Put his spoon down. And had taken a deep breath to gather the energy to give up the love of his life. To let him return to where he belonged.
What had Lan Wangji called it?
Noble idiocy.
Hm.
“Yes.” He had answered, quietly.
“And you think… divorcing me would… make you happy again?” Lan Wangji had asked, just as quietly.
What was happiness anyways?
At age 20, he was sure of what happiness was not. It was not watching your better half wither away because they had made an impulsive choice to follow their hearts (and dicks) at the expense of their brains.
“I think it would make us both less miserable.” he had answered.
Lan Wangji had been quiet for the rest of dinner.
And he had thought that was it.
Lan Wangji had silently agreed.
Except, at the end of dinner, Lan Wangji had looked at the rusty water leaking out again from under the sink and had whispered, “I would rather be miserable with you for all of life than be happy and away from you.”
Well, fuck.
And they had fucked.
Oh, how they had fucked that night.
He had been so needy that he had been crying by the time Lan Zhan had come inside him. And he had clutched onto his husband and whimpered, “I love you” so many fucking times, laying to waste all the work that he had done over dinner.
He had not brought it up again. And somehow, as if that dinner had released a dam, they had become happy again. Lan Zhan had seen him watch videos upon videos of plumbing on YouTube instead of studying for the test for his non-conventional energy class. When he had come home from school the next day, tired and convinced that he had barely passed the exam, he had found his husband in the kitchen, half his torso under the sink.
“What??” he had started, rushing over.
Lan Wangji had pulled out, his coveralls, gloves, and mask covered in brown and green, and had nodded.
“Did you seriously…” he has asked, pulling off Lan Wangji’s mask.
“Plumbers are… worth what they cost.” Lan Wangji had said seriously.
He had leaned over and whispered, “Baby, if you really fixed this, I’m going to blow you until you pass out.”
Lan Wangji had tilted his head. “Promise?”
He had laughed and dropped a noisy kiss on his husband’s lips.
“Fuck yes. Fuck fuck fuck yes.”
And he had.
And had felt smug, as his husband lifted him up afterwards to fuck him against their little closet, that even if he had failed, his husband had not yielded to the noble idiocy trope, that the Universe had not defeated them with some trite scheme.
Well, he should have known not to provoke the Universe thusly.
Because two days later, on the way to work, Lan Wangji had been hit by a truck.
It had been a white one.
He would have laughed if he hadn’t blacked out.
The rest of the story did not bear retelling. Really, because he could not bear to retell it.
Lan Wangji had needed 8 hours of surgery and extended post-op care and then another three more surgeries over the course of the next year to be on course to a full recovery. Lan Wangji’s health insurance had not been a particularly good one and Wei Ying had had to go beg Madame Yu to cover the deductible and co-insurance on the first one. By then, the Lans had made arrangements to move Lan Wangji to a far superior facility with top of the line care.
And he had realized that while love didn’t cost a thing, everything else did.
When Lan Qiren had approached him six months in - six months since the accident and five months since he had last seen Lan Wangi - requesting that he sign the divorce papers, he had done so, tired of fighting the inevitable.
And that had been that.