Rating:

Mature

Category:

F/F

Fandom:

MDZS/CQL

Relationship:

Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Tags:

college/university, genderswap, lgbt organizations, modern au, nonbinary character, nonbinary nhs, trans girl character, trans girl jin zixuan, yuletide 2020

Stats:

Posted on:

2021-01-01

Words:

5,067

Lan Zhan lifts her cup when the door to the café opens, the bell rings, and she swallows her hot tea down too quick.

Standing in the doorway of the café—a little out of the way place that has a reputation around town—is Wei Ying, long flowing black hair tied haphazardly in a ponytail, smiling bright and perhaps a bit nervous as she looks around the shop. She’s got high-waisted shorts on, knee-length socks with little black birds on them, and a navy-purple-magenta cropped sweater.

Lan Zhan’s throat is burning, but it’s no match for the stunned buzzing in her ears.

Nie Huaisang takes one look at her, another at the figure in the doorway, and says, “Oh boy.”

Their table has a little sign that says LGBT CLUB MEETINGS; stuck to the table, it’s laminated and worn, peeled off tape still visible through the reapplied layers. It’s no question when Wei Ying spots it and bounds over, smiling at Nie Huaisang who’s holding the clipboard that contains their contact information. Nie Huaisang is the official club leader, but when you’re actually in the club, you know it’s Lan Zhan who does most of the behind-the-scenes work.

“Hi!” Wei Ying chirps. “I’m Wei Ying. This is for the club meeting?”

“Uh huh,” Nie Huaisang says. Lan Zhan is glad they don’t say something like, I know who you are already because my club vice president showed me pictures of you the one time we got drunk together two years ago. They don’t talk about drinking together anymore, and Nie Huaisang is generally kind enough to not bring up Wei Ying—but now, after this, after now, Lan Zhan is pretty sure she’s in for a ribbing over dinner.

“Cool,” Wei Ying says cheerfully, and Nie Huaisang hands her the clipboard for her to scribble her information on. When she hands it back, she looks around the table—and her eye finally catches on Lan Zhan, sitting next to Nie Huaisang.

Her eyes widen. “Are you—Is this Lan Zhan?” she says gleefully, and runs around the table, taking the seat that is usually vacated beside her. Lan Zhan sits at the far end of the table, next to the wall; the last seat tends to be reserved for everyone’s coats and bags.

But Wei Ying barrels into the chair, grinning from ear to ear. “I haven’t seen you since—Gusu, was it?” she says. Lan Zhan can’t think of anything to say. “Oh my god, it’s been so long. I didn’t even know you were LGBT! Unless you’re here as an ally, which is also totally cool—”

“No, I.” Lan Zhan coughs. Her throat feels dry. “I am a lesbian.”

“Oh, that’s cool too!” Wei Ying beams. “You know, I usually don’t remember most people from high school—high schools,” she amends, with a little roll of her eyes, “but Lan Zhan is unforgettable. I wouldn’t have taken you for a lesbian!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, because her mind is failing her. Her words are failing her. What is she supposed to say to that? How can Wei Ying just barrel back into her life and expect her to know how to respond, a life force of bright and bubbly?

“Trust me,” Huaisang pipes up from Lan Zhan’s side. Lan Zhan shoots him a warning glare, but Huaisang blithely ignores her. “She’s very lesbian.”

Wei Ying laughs. “I trust you, I trust you,” she says, and turns her smile back at Lan Zhan, eyes crinkling. “I’m glad to see you again.”

*

The LGBT club always meets at the same café on Thursdays; once a month, they do events at the drag bar down the street, usually the last Saturday. Since it’s the beginning of the semester it takes a while for people to get settled in—freshmen tentatively exploring their identities, kids who were in their GSA in high school finding new ways to help out in college, and sometimes transfers, older students, who’ve always been out, who’ve never been out, finding a home in this new town, too.

Lan Zhan hadn’t expected to become such a core part of her school’s LGBT club, but she thinks she wouldn’t be as comfortable with herself as she is now if she hadn’t.

She discovers, after the first meeting and a half (because Wei Ying trails Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang to dinner, and then she’s saying she’s hungry too, and neither Lan Zhan or Nie Huaisang have the heart to tell her off because Lan Zhan is pretty sure Huaisang wants to vet her anyway), that Wei Ying is a new transfer this semester—“College sucks, you know?” Wei Ying says with a roll of her eyes, over her noodles. “I took like, two years of a break, and then Jiang-shushu sat me down and was like, at least go to community college. So then I did and got my Associate’s and ended up here.”

She slurps noisily at a noodle. Only she would make transferring to one of the top schools in the country after two gap years and community college sound like the easiest thing in the world.

“What are you studying?” Nie Huaisang asks with interest.

“Oh! Right, the newbie questions.” Wei Ying places her chopsticks down with a grin. “Engineering. Computer science, specifically. But don’t worry, I’m a useless bisexual in every other aspect except school.”

“If I recall,” Lan Zhan can’t help but speaking up, “your track record was not great in high school.”

Surprised laughter bubbles out of Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan, your memory! God, Gusu was one of the strictest high schools I attended when Jiang-shushu made us move around so much. No offense,” Wei Ying adds to Lan Zhan, who merely picks at a bean sprout. “But could you blame me? The rules, the discipline… Of course, I’m sure Lan Zhan has a flawless academic career.”

Lan Zhan cannot disagree, because Wei Ying is right. She delicately places a mushroom in her mouth.

“What are you guys studying?” Wei Ying asks curiously, after a moment. “Especially you, Lan Zhan, I want to know what you’ve been up to all these years.”

“She’s a music composition major,” Nie Huaisang says, before Lan Zhan can reply—or think of a way to deflect, because Wei Ying had always been obsessed with her in high school and it drove her crazy. “With a focus on… something, I can’t remember. But I’m a fine arts major with an emphasis in painting.”

“Ooh, art!” Wei Ying says, latching onto Huaisang’s last bit. Lan Zhan doesn’t know if she should be disappointed that Wei Ying’s grown up. “Can you—”

“Draw you?” Nie Huaisang says dryly.

Wei Ying laughs. “How’d you know? No, I mean, if you want to—I draw too, as a hobby of course, so I’d be totally interested in looking at your stuff if you were up to it.”

Nie Huaisang lights up. Lan Zhan knows it’s rare for someone to be interested in their drawings rather than that they’re the younger sibling of the school’s former, now professional star athlete. “After dinner?” they say.

Wei Ying nods. “I’m down, I have no homework,” she says, then turns thoughtful. “I think. But Lan Zhan, you’re coming too, right?”

Lan Zhan feels hopeless. Here she is, in the first week of the new semester, and Wei Ying’s already tugging her away from normalcy, land, a ship out at sea. “If Wei Ying would like,” she says quietly, and Nie Huaisang smirks, and Wei Ying cheers.

*

Huaisang shows Wei Ying their drawings; Lan Zhan has seen them all before, has nothing to say. And Wei Ying attends the café meetings, runs into Lan Zhan in line at H-Mart, brings her a pen on the third week of the semester, a sky blue one with little clouds on it, and says, “I bought this at Kinokuniya last weekend! It made me think of you.” Lan Zhan’s face heats because she has an identical one at home, but can’t bring herself to tell Wei Ying; she accepts it, and tucks it gingerly in her backpack, bringing it out during her classes to take notes.

It’s her second to last semester and last year of college—she doesn’t have time for this, for her past to crash back into her life and beam bright on her days like it’s always been there. She has compositions to work, advisors to meet with, school to think about—and yet, as Wei Ying smiles at her at another club meeting, and Lan Zhan can think of nothing else for the rest of the night.

There are grad students who used to be a part of the LGBT club and still crash their meetings every once in a while, because the club’s schedule hasn’t changed in apparently the past seven years. It’s in the middle of one when the café door dings open, and from where they’re talking about the best dining halls on campus, Lan Zhan sees Wei Ying’s eyes dart toward the door, and narrow.

Lan Zhan looks to the door as well. It’s Jin Zixuan—hair sleek like she’d gotten it professionally done this morning, which is likely, decked in a gold bomber jacket and leather pants. She doesn’t pay Wei Ying any attention as she bounds over to their table with a smile on her face. “I thought I’d find my baby gays here.”

“You’re a baby gay,” says Mianmian, who’s a math major, grumbling when Jin Zixuan ruffles her hair.

Jin Zixuan smirks. “You’re all babyer gays to me,” she says, and looks up and down the table. “Especially the new faces. Hello, babiest of baby gays, don’t mind me, just thought I’d drop by and say hi.”

“Jin Zixuan,” Wei Ying says loudly, and the entire table turns to look at her.

Wei Ying’s face is stormy. When Lan Zhan looks back at Jin Zixuan, she sees her expression flicker—shock, confusion, then something neutral.

“Wei Ying,” she says. “It’s been a while.”

“Still a peacock then?” Wei Ying sneers.

Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Ying’s arm. “Wei Ying,” she says. “Now is not the time, Jin Zixuan is—”

“Not as much as I used to be,” Jin Zixuan says, with a brief wave of her hand. It’s quick, not obvious—but her professionally manicured nails are painted pink and magenta and sunset orange, spelling out DYKE on four of her five fingers on each hand.

Lan Zhan sees Wei Ying catch this, Wei Ying’s eyes widening.

“I don’t know about that,” Wei Ying says, though her tone takes a less antagonistic edge. “Takes a while to unlearn all that peacockiness, don’t you think?”

“It also takes a while to learn how to control your temper,” Jin Zixuan says airily. “But I see you haven’t done much better yourself.”

“Ohhh!” says someone down the table, and Jin Zixuan laughs and bends down to say something to them.

At Lan Zhan’s side, Wei Ying is fuming a bit; but there’s a bit of a regretful twist to her mouth, too.

“I didn’t expect to see Jin Zixuan here,” she says quietly, when Lan Zhan leans close to check on her. “H—She shouldn’t have, it was—”

“One of your high schools,” Lan Zhan guesses, and Wei Ying nods.

“Before I came to Gusu,” Wei Ying says. “It was the school beforehand, a-jie was still a senior. And she liked Jin Zixuan, back when,” she hesitates, “she was also in high school. And kind of a prick to my sister.”

Lan Zhan nods. She can see that; Jin Zixuan is perfectly polite now, but also filthy rich, and that’s never a good combination when you’re a teenager.

“Are you friends with Zixuan?” Wei Ying asks her.

Lan Zhan thinks. She’d been a freshman when Jin Zixuan was still an undergrad. “I think I still have her number in my phone when I first joined the club,” she says. “But I do not think either of us would say that we were friends.”

“Oh, phew,” Wei Ying says with overdramatic relief. “That’s good. Because if I had to make nice with Jin Zixuan to be Lan Zhan’s friend again—” She considers. “Well, I probably could. But I wouldn’t like it.”

Lan Zhan, however, stops at Wei Ying’s words. “Did you consider me a friend in high school?” she asks.

“What? Oh.” Wei Ying giggles, the way she does when she’s embarrassed. “I mean, I guess! I don’t think Lan Zhan considered me a friend in high school, though. Why would you? I kept bothering you, talking to you… I must’ve been really annoying.” She giggles again, but this time more light-hearted, carefree.

But Lan Zhan shakes her head, says, “No.” Wei Ying was maybe annoying for the first week, but for the rest of it… How do you tell someone that their presence in your life, as strong as a summer breeze and gone the next season, upended how you viewed the world, and yourself? “Wei Ying was my friend too,” she says, and hope that her whole heart doesn’t show at her words.

Wei Ying beams at her. “And we’re friends again now,” she says, and laces her hand with Lan Zhan’s.

*

Today’s club meeting mostly covers plans for the weekend—this month’s Saturday event at the drag bar, which they’re all encouraged to go to let off some steam after the start of the semester.

Lan Zhan only goes because Huaisang usually goes, even though by the end of it she ends up driving home alone while Huaisang hangs off the shoulder of some twink, reminding Lan Zhan to text when she gets home. This time, however, at the end of the meeting in the café, they’re packing up their bags when Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan, you’re going right?”

Lan Zhan nods, delicately resting her teaspoon on the café saucer.

“Then you have to dance with me!” Wei Ying stands up and does a little twirl. Her ponytail flies, parts like wings behind her. “I’m a great dancer, I’m sure we’d look so good together.”

Huaisang snorts. “I don’t think Lan Zhan dances.”

“Shut up, Huaisang,” Wei Ying says, but good-naturedly—Lan Zhan is almost envious how after only a month of friendship and they’ve already established such a natural banter. “Lan Zhan is good at everything, of course she’d be good at dancing.”

“She’s not good at everything,” Huaisang says.

Lan Zhan glares, daring Huaisang to mention the thing about the alcohol.

Huaisang hums and goes back to their conversation with Mo Xuanyu.

“You’re good at dancing,” Wei Ying says, turning back to Lan Zhan again. “Aren’t you?”

Lan Zhan shifts her shoulders; one might even call it shrugging. “I have not had many opportunities to try,” she says. “There have been few times where strangers have asked me to dance, but—” She cuts herself off, because aside from moving awkwardly on her feet with Huaisang, she’s always said no.

There had been no reason to agree, when none of them were Wei Ying.

Wei Ying who is here now, nodding sagely. “Right, because they were probably drunk and sweaty,” she says, and Lan Zhan doesn’t bother correcting her. “Ah, but of course the beautiful and talented Lan Zhan has had strangers asking to dance with her… I’ve only been on two dates on my life,” she says with a pout. “Both of them were boys.”

This surprises Lan Zhan—did Wei Ying not take a gap year off? What was she doing, if not partying?

But she doesn’t get a chance to ask, because as the group disperses, in their own conversations, saying goodbye and leaving the café, Jin Zixuan comes up to them.

Wei Ying stops dead in her tracks.

Jin Zixuan glances between her and Lan Zhan. “Uh, hi,” she says, mostly to Wei Ying. “Do you mind if we—can I talk to you?”

“Sure, if Lan Zhan can stick around,” Wei Ying says easily. “Lan Zhan, you don’t mind that we were so suddenly interrupted, do you?”

Lan Zhan shakes her head, diminutively.

“Uh, okay,” Jin Zixuan says.

She takes a deep breath. “Look, Wei Ying, I know I was rude to your sister in high school. A dick.”

“I like what I’m hearing so far,” Wei Ying says, nodding. “Go on.”

“But I’ve, um. I’ve changed. And realized some things,” Jin Zixuan says, and her gaze flickers to her nails. “And I really—your sister was too kind to me when I didn’t deserve it, and when she confessed, everything about that, I—and I’ve been thinking a lot lately—”

“I’m not going to give her your number, if that’s what you’re asking,” Wei Ying says.

“No,” Jin Zixuan says quickly. “No, I mean… If you can, if you want, can you give an apology to her? From me? You don’t have to tell her about any of my—” She gestures. “Any of this. Or you can, I don’t care. Just tell her that I’m sorry.”

Wei Ying squints at her. But Jin Zixuan seems genuine—and if Lan Zhan is being honest, she thinks Jin Zixuan kind of deserves it. Time changes and people change. There’s no way to go back and make up for your teenage mistakes—to turn your sharp comments into something softer, to turn your scowls into something fonder, bathing in the attention of something far too beautiful for you.

To realize that all it took for you to realize you liked women was one girl, in your life one year and gone the next, in laughter and illicit Playboy magazines and sunshine.

“I’ll think about it,” Wei Ying decides. “But you better mean it, Zixuan, because no one in the world is ever going to be good enough for my a-jie.”

Jin Zixuan nods fervently.

Wei Ying pauses, and considers. “But you should know that she’s bi, too,” she says, before stalking away.

Lan Zhan follows her, past Jin Zixuan, out the café. The streets are filled with the college students bustling in and out of bookstores, restaurants, smoke shops; the sky is blue, and Wei Ying stands out in the middle of them all.

Lan Zhan says, “I think you made a good decision.”

Wei Ying scoffs. “What, forgiving Jin Zixuan? I did the bare minimum.” She hitches her purse up her shoulder and puffs out a breath. “She made a-jie cry in high school though, so she better keep groveling at my feet if she wants her number.”

“You’d give it to her?” Lan Zhan asks, with some surprise.

“If she grovels well enough.” But Wei Ying’s tone turns lighter now. “A-jie would be happy, too, I don’t think she’s ever stopped holding a torch for Jin Zixuan, even if Zixuan’s different now. A girl,” she amends thoughtfully. “I get it, though. Sometimes you like someone so much that their gender doesn’t matter to you. Or, if it does,” she shrugs. “You can’t help who you are or who you like.”

Once upon a time, Lan Zhan might’ve disagreed—when she was younger, when her mind was still swimming, with this newness, with Wei Ying. She might’ve felt furious at Wei Ying’s words, wishes she could help who she was or who she liked—felt far more comfortable assuming she didn’t care for such trivial things, relationships, other people. That this was the reason they didn’t come easy to her, boys or kissing or dating, and that one day a boy would like her enough, she would like him enough, and that would be the end of it.

But now, here—as an out lesbian, the vice president of her school’s LGBT club, Lan Zhan thinks she’s happier than she ever would’ve been if she’d never known. If Wei Ying hadn’t crashed into her life with the power, the devastation of a natural disaster.

“Indeed,” she says, smiling.

Wei Ying’s mouth falls open. “Lan Zhan, you’re smiling!” She reaches up to touch Lan Zhan’s face—small fingers, soft on her lips, and Lan Zhan feels heat creep up her skin. “You have such a good smile, Lan Zhan. You should smile more!”

“I make no promises,” Lan Zhan says, batting Wei Ying away and covering her mouth with her hand.

Wei Ying laughs.

*

Lan Zhan does not have skimpy clothing. However, Wei Ying does, which is something Lan Zhan quickly discovers when she meets the rest of the club at the bar on Saturday evening.

In the dim lighting of the club, it should be hard to see—but it’s not, when Wei Ying has black fishnet stockings crawling up her legs. She’s wearing disastrously short jean shorts, barely covering her thighs, accentuating her ass which basically has a room to itself on a normal day. Or maybe Lan Zhan’s stuck in such a daze of lust that it’s nearly all she can think about, if not that Wei Ying were also wearing a red, bare-shouldered crop top, baring her stomach on display, and her breasts—

She is definitely not wearing a bra under there. Lan Zhan refuses to let herself think about it anymore.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says with delight when Lan Zhan and Huaisang arrive. “And Nie Huaisang—ooh, someone looks ready to get laid tonight!”

“Speak for yourself,” Nie Huaisang says, looking Wei Ying up and down. “If I was into girls—”

“That’s funny,” Lan Zhan says sharply, throwing Nie Huaisang a glare.

But Wei Ying laughs. “Don’t say stuff like that, Huaisang, I’m taken!” she says, and throws her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. Her sizable breasts—average-sized, objectively, but heat surges into Lan Zhan’s core anyway because they’re Wei Ying’s—press into Lan Zhan’s arm. Lan Zhan’s brain whites out.

“By Lan Zhan, then?” Nie Huaisang says with some amusement, glancing between them.

Wei Ying rubs her cheeks with Lan Zhan’s. “Of course! My wlw-in-crime,” she says. She pronounces it like wuh-luh-wuh. “Like sexy spy partners, or something.”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang echoes, and gives a significant look to Lan Zhan. Even though Lan Zhan is pretty sure that the night they accidentally got drunk together and Lan Zhan confessed that a girl named Wei Ying in high school made her realize she was a raging lesbian—even if that hadn’t happened, it probably wouldn’t change anything about the situation right now. But it’s easier to think about it, regret it, curse Nie Huaisang and their ancestors for having a better alcohol tolerance than Lan Zhan, than to think about Wei Ying wearing so little clothing, pressed against her.

“Well, I’m gonna go dance,” Huaisang says, and goes to the dancefloor, presumably to end up in the arms of another twink.

Wei Ying lets go of Lan Zhan, finally. “That sounds like a good idea,” she says, eyeing where the bass rattles the walls, rainbow colors flashing everywhere. “Let’s dance, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan tries to protest—but then she thinks of other people, strangers, anyone else seeing Wei Ying like this. The hot envy that burns through her veins is hotter than any embarrassment she ends up getting from her own attempts at dancing.

Wei Ying laughs as she pulls Lan Zhan by the wrist, properly into the middle of the dance floor, bouncing to the beat. “We’re popping your club dancing virginity, Lan Zhan!” she shouts, and Lan Zhan tries not to think of what she’d like to reply to that.

She imitates Wei Ying, bouncing on her feet. All around them, other bodies jumping, shaking along with the music blasting from the wall—“What’s your opinion of this song?” Wei Ying asks over the music. Lan Zhan has to duck her head down to hear her. “Be honest!”

Lan Zhan thinks. Or rather, tries to think: she can barely hear her own thoughts, much less the words to the song.

“It could use some work,” she replies loudly, and Wei Ying laughs.

Wei Ying grabs her hand and twirls her; Lan Zhan slowly feels less like she’s merely jumping up and down to the beat, and actually feels the music, running across her skin, flowing through her body. She grinds her shoulders and her hips; she remembers ballet lessons when she was twelve, the sight of kids dancing on her TV over a bowl of butterless, saltless popcorn.

Wei Ying beams, watching her. “I told you you’re a natural,” she says, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss her under the colorful lights.

She doesn’t; and after a bit of dancing, Wei Ying begs away to take a break at the bar. She asks Lan Zhan if she wants anything, but Lan Zhan says no and Wei Ying doesn’t press further; already in this space, breathless and sweating, their skin touching for the past half hour, Lan Zhan doesn’t want to let her guard down further. Especially since it takes less than a shot to get her drunk—she watches as Wei Ying orders a beer and knocks it back, throat long and bitable as she swallows.

Lan Zhan blinks when Wei Ying turns to look at her. “I’m having a good time,” Wei Ying says. “I never thought I’d end up here, with you… if I told high school me.” She laughs. “Life is so unpredictable, don’t you think?”

Indeed: and yet Lan Zhan’s heart still rattles when Wei Ying turns her smile onto her, full beam. “We should dance again,” Lan Zhan says, because she needs something as a distraction.

Wei Ying jumps off the bar stool and eagerly follows.

*

And it’s—it’s not the drinking, the dancing, the fingers and wrists and breasts and skin brushing hot as the night goes on. But a culmination of it all, and the past weeks of talking, learning each other again, catching each other between the music and engineering sides of campuses, exchanging smiles, glances—

And it’s not in the club, either. It’s as the night goes on and Lan Zhan begins to feels sleep in her shoulders when Wei Ying turns to her and goes, “Wanna get a coffee or something at mine?” Lan Zhan nods, joins her on her motorbike, feels Wei Ying’s stomach beneath her hands.

Wants and feels and feels—

It’s up in Wei Ying’s apartment, when Wei Ying is going into her kitchen. “How do you take your coffee?” Wei Ying asks, and Lan Zhan follows her and grabs her by the wrist and kisses her.

Wei Ying makes a muffled noise against her mouth—but then she’s kissing back, sweat and that weird unsavory taste of alcohol but more than that, sweetness, Wei Ying. Lan Zhan wants to taste her, wants to taste all of her, wants to crawl inside and take her apart and ruin her—

Wei Ying is making another noise, between their lips. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” she’s saying, Lan Zhan realizes. Her hands have snuck underneath Wei Ying’s tiny shorts, playing with the gaps in her fishnets, stroking her thighs. “Lan Zhan, I—” she giggles. “Wasn’t I going to make coffee?”

Lan Zhan breathes between them, thinks of all the things she wants to do, has been wanting to do, fantasized about since she was sixteen—“I don’t drink coffee,” she murmurs, kissing, biting at Wei Ying’s lips again.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, when they break apart a moment later. “Oh, right, at the café, you only ever ordered tea, duh—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, looking her in the face now. Wei Ying is breathing hard, loud; Lan Zhan’s holding her up against her kitchen counter. Wei Ying’s thighs are trembling against her. “Would you like me to fuck you or not?”

Wei Ying’s mouth falls open but no sound comes out—then, “Yes, yes, a million times yes,” she babbles. “Oh my god, Lan Zhan, fuck me, please, fuck me so hard—”

“Then I shall,” Lan Zhan says, and hoists Wei Ying’s legs up.

Wei Ying shrieks, then laughs when she realizes that Lan Zhan has wrapped her legs around her waist, holding her up effortlessly. “Lan Zhan, Lan-jiejie, you beast,” she teases, kissing around Lan Zhan’s face as Lan Zhan looks for at least a couch in the living room. “You’ve probably ruined so many girls before, huh? Vice president of the LGBT club—”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, shaking her head.

Wei Ying raises her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me Lan-jiejie is a virgin,” she says, but something sparkles in her eyes at the prospect.

Lan Zhan lays her down on a plush couch in the living room. Wei Ying’s hair splays all around her, her head and her neck. “There has only ever been Wei Ying,” she says, crowding over her body, bending down and kissing her.

Wei Ying kisses back. But then—“You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan replies.

Because she remembers when Wei Ying had entered that classroom in Gusu the first day—loud and annoying and wouldn’t stop whispering in the back; then when the teacher called on her, she answered every question correctly. She had bound up to Lan Zhan at lunch later and said that she noticed that they had every class together so they should be buddies and tangled their fingers together, and Lan Zhan had thrown her off, away like it had burned her, snapped that she didn’t associate with mindless miscreants like Wei Ying.

And Wei Ying had laughed her off anyway and aced every exam in every class and sat next to her at the library a week later and Lan Zhan did not have the heart to move away.

And then a week later Lan Zhan was Googling hot feeling in chest and wetness in vagina when looking at girl.

And then over the summer she was masturbating to lesbian porn every day, fingering herself furiously and wondering what it would be like to touch Wei Ying down there, stroke her clit, tease and taste and fuck her until she came.

And now Wei Ying’s here now, smiling up at Lan Zhan, the best thing in the world.

“Fuck me up, Lan-jiejie,” she says, looping her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck.

Lan Zhan tears off her fishnet stockings and does.