Chapter Text
Wei Ying lifts his head as keys jangle and the door opens, revealing Wen Qing, home after an overnight shift in Zhongshan Hospital’s ICU. He’s up too early—couldn’t sleep again, which is nothing new, but her sudden appearance is a welcome distraction to scrolling through his phone. He tosses it onto the coffee table.
“Hey you,” he calls from the sofa.
“Hey,” she says, stifling a yawn as she toes off her street shoes, places them in the rack near the door, and puts on her slippers.
“Rough night?”
“We had two heart attacks,” she says. “A man in his fifties and a woman in her sixties. Luckily I think they’ll both pull through.”
Wei Ying nods but doesn’t press further. Wen Qing usually doesn’t like to talk about work, especially right after she gets home from a busy shift. He totally gets it, the need to decompress and take your mind off things. She makes a beeline into the adjacent kitchen and emerges a few minutes later with a cold tea egg in a little bowl, then groans when she notices the coffee table, which is covered with mail, video game controllers, and loose pieces of Settlers of Catan from a recent game night.
“You and my brother are such slobs. What have I done to deserve roommates like this?”
“Don’t blame me. I don’t even know how to play that game.”
She flops down at the end of the couch, shoving his legs out of the way as she does. “Make some room for a poor, tired doctor.” He immediately replaces his feet in her lap and wiggles to get comfortable. She picks up her bowl and cracks her egg, and Wei Ying’s stomach grumbles.
“I’m hungry too. Are there any left?”
“This is the last one.”
He whimpers pitifully.
“You should be in bed, Wei Ying. You didn’t want to take your sleep aid?”
“It makes me too tired.”
“So does not sleeping.”
“True. But at least now it’s on my own terms.”
“Don’t you have to teach today?”
He yawns and burrows deeper into the well-loved couch. “Yeah.” It’s the beginning of summer holidays, which means full days of dance camp, and while Wei Ying loves the little gremlins, he hates being a disciplinarian, and he’s not very good at it, either. The kids seem to know this, scenting blood in the water like tiny sharks.
There’s a noise from the other side of the apartment as a door opens and closes. Wen Ning waves sleepily as he emerges from his room in his boxer shorts and then heads straight to the kitchen for coffee, mumbling something along the lines of, “It’s too early to be awake, you guys.”
Wei Ying has been living with Wen Qing and her brother for five years, ever since as a first year Shanghai Ballet Company member, he’d befriended Wen Ning, who works as a stagehand at the dance center. He couldn’t afford to live on his own, and they’d had a room open after their last roommate moved out. Since then, they’ve become close, a pretty good deal compared to the horror stories about roommates Wei Ying has heard from other friends.
“Make me a coffee too,” Wei Ying calls. “Please!”
“Not for me. I’m going to bed.” Wen Qing finishes her egg and shoves off his feet.
“Oh,” Wen Qing says as she stands, “if you’re up for it we’ve got a workshop later. Mianmian will be there of course and a few of the regulars.” Wen Qing smiles when she mentions her girlfriend’s name. The two of them really are too cute; it’s disgusting and also adorable and Wei Ying loves them.
This perks him up. “Oh really? Can I come?”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want you to come, dummy. We’re doing suspensions tonight down at the Lotus. I think it’ll be a fun crowd and guys are welcome too.”
In addition to being a highly skilled doctor, Wen Qing also belongs to an underground rope art community—she doesn’t like the term bondage, but really that’s what it is—and every Friday evening she trades in her scrubs for fishnets and a corset and teaches a group of fetishists and kinksters safe play. Wei Ying has been to a few of the events, first out of curiosity and then with a growing sense of fascination, but he’s never mustered up the courage to participate. Partly because it’s all so public. He can’t imagine being tied up in front of so many people, even if the workshops themselves aren’t overtly sexual.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“I’m happily single, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t dated anyone since, what was her name?”
“Yu Yan.”
“Right, her. Well it’s been six months at least. I’m not saying you’ve got to get into anything serious but, there could be some interesting people there.”
“Hm.” Wei Ying’s last relationship had not ended well, and neither had the one before that. He’s pretty much sworn them off at this point. Tragically, though, he’s a monogamist at heart, and casual sex just doesn’t do it for him. He has to actually like the person. It’s the worst.
“Wei Ying, you’re impossible. We’ll be in the back room, around nine?”
Wei Ying yawns and stretches his whole body, like a cat waking up from a nap. If he gets home from work early, he’ll have plenty of time to rest and shower before heading to the bar. He usually has better luck sleeping during the day, which is one of the reasons he probably can’t sleep at night, he knows.
“All right. I’ll be there.”
She watches him as he gets off the couch, a knowing look in her eye. “I’ll see you later, bunny. Maybe tonight you’ll let me tie you up?”
He wrinkles his nose at her, and she blows him a kiss.
***
By the time he drinks his coffee, grabs some breakfast and heads to the studio, the sky is a hazy gray and people are out in droves commuting. Wei Ying puts on his headphones and zones out on the subway, then emerges a few stops later, rushing a little when he notices he’s going to be late. He enters the building just as the first kids have started to arrive, some familiar and some new faces, and he grins at his boss, Nie Mingjue, through the window of his office, who glares back. He is super scary, but also crazy hot.
They teach classes for all ages, including adults, but during the summer most of their students are kids. The older ones are serious dancers, preparing for professional life, but Wei Ying likes to work with the little ones, even though they’re sometimes hard to control. Two other dancers lead the program, and Wei Ying greets them. Meng Yao gives him a simpering smile and makes a passive-aggressive comment about his lateness, but Wei Ying ignores him—he’s such a kiss-ass. He hurries to change and then meets his group in Studio A, where his assistant is already wrangling the five- and six-year-olds who are starting to arrive.
Eventually, a group of fifteen kids assembles, and all of them are dancing for the first time. Wei Ying goes over the rules—no hitting, no shoving, no screaming—and then puts on some silly music to tire them out. There are two boys, and Wei Ying finds himself stifling his laughter at the littlest, A-Yuan, who has some very interesting moves.
It’s a long day.
After helping with clean up, he makes it back to the apartment at seven, which leaves him just enough time to shower, shovel a bowl of cold noodles down his throat, and take the subway downtown. It’s a warm, humid night, but Wei Ying has always liked the heat. It helps ease the tension in his muscles, and there is something soft and comforting about the humidity, like being wrapped in a swaddling blanket. Two small energy drinks snagged from the nearest convenience store help to give him a second wind, and he lets music drown out the sound of the train and distract him from being jostled by passengers getting on and off.
He arrives at the Lotus a little after 9:30, and the place is already filled with patrons standing around the high-top tables and lounge seating area to the left. Music thumps in the background, and there’s a DJ spinning in the corner, her purple and silver hair spiked and gleaming in the dim lights. The Lotus is a lesbian bar but friendly to all genders, so Wei Ying has been here plenty of times with Wen Qing, even on nights when she’s not doing a workshop.
After ordering a beer at the bar, he makes his way to the back room, which is reserved for private events and parties and tonight is hosting the tie-up. Of course, all of the advertising for the event is word of mouth so that the authorities don’t get wind of it. The underground kink network in Shanghai is close-knit, though growing larger by the year.
The crowd is a mix of around fifty expats and Chinese people, most of them dressed in streetwear but some wearing leather or specialty attire. Wei Ying immediately spots Wen Qing and Mianmian in the center of the room. Wen Qing is completely focused as she loops her rope around Mianmian’s biceps and leans her body weight in, making sure it’s tight but not taut, and Mianmian’s expression as she gazes at Wen Qing can only be described as entirely trusting.
Wen Qing never rushes. She moves with an artist’s consideration, looping the rope and tying until Mianmian’s entire petite frame is encircled with the bindings holding her firmly, so that when she is lifted off the floor on the aerial rig, her weight will be evenly distributed. Wei Ying once asked her if being a doctor helped her to understand what the human body could withstand, and she’d said yes, but then she’d gotten a faraway look in her eyes and tried to explain about the nonverbal communication that happens between a rope top and bottom when they really trust and know each other, and frankly it had sounded less medical and more like something that made Wei Ying a little envious.
And what she is doing really is beautiful. Some people sit in a circle around them, watching the process with interest and talking quietly as the thump of the music from the other room filters in. Wen Qing won’t notice him—she’s too focused—but he catches Mianmian’s eye and gives her a little wave and thumbs-up and then begins a circuit around the room, seeking familiar faces.
He notices one, Song Lan, who’s standing among a small group of people watching another tie-up—this one is two men, which immediately grabs Wei Ying’s interest. The blindfolded rope bottom is being tied on his side with the rigger leaning over him, his long straight hair obscuring his face as he works.
“Hello,” says Song Lan, smiling as Wei Ying approaches. “You’re just in time.”
His attention is drawn to the cushioned mat on the floor where the bottom is lying, and it’s only then that Wei Ying realizes it’s Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan’s boyfriend.
The revelation comes as a bit of a shock, especially because the man tying him up is not Song Lan. Wei Ying has always been a little old-fashioned about relationships, but he’s impressed by how relaxed Song Lan seems to be about the whole thing. Especially because the rigger is—well, he’s hot. The broad muscles of his back shift under his white T-shirt, and as he stretches up to full height, it’s clear that he has at least a couple inches on Wei Ying. He’s wearing tailored black trousers that look expensive, and the hint of a tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of his left arm. Which brings Wei Ying to his arms. He tries not to gawk as the rigger’s biceps flex as he finishes his tie and uses a pulley to hoist Xiao Xingchen into the air.
There is a murmur of appreciation through the crowd at how effortless it is, and Wei Ying’s breath catches in his throat. Song Lan smiles, obviously pleased, and the rigger leans down to speak quietly to Xiao Xingchen, and then, seemingly satisfied, folds his arms over his chest and turns so that Wei Ying can finally see his face.
He almost gasps. The rigger . . . it can’t be. But it is, because never in a million lifetimes would Wei Ying forget him.
It’s Lan Zhan. His first boy crush. First more-than-a-crush, if he’s being honest, but it’s Lan Zhan! Quiet, studious, rule-following Lan Zhan, and he’s here tying up one of Wei Ying’s friends very knowledgeably. And he’s got tattoos! Lan Zhan. The name almost forms on his lips, but then dies there when Lan Zhan notices him; it’s clear even from his micro-expression that he recognizes Wei Ying. His mouth parts slightly in surprise as their eyes meet.
It’s been ten years since they’ve last seen one another. He’d been sixteen, Lan Zhan seventeen. Back before everything had gone to shit. Back when Wei Ying still had a family and Lan Zhan was still in China, before he’d graduated early and gone abroad to study.
The memories come flooding back in a moment, overwhelming him—how he had teased and annoyed Lan Zhan through all of their years of school, how in that final year they had become friends, how Lan Zhan had told Wei Ying that he’d been accepted to Oxford University and was leaving China to study for three years, how the announcement had struck Wei Ying sharply between the ribs, making it impossible to breathe.
Of course Lan Zhan had to go. It had been his only chance to pursue his own love of music and interest in classical history before he would eventually need to take his place at his family’s hotel business. His uncle, who had taken Lan Zhan and his brother in when they were little, after their mother died of cancer and their dad succumbed to his grief, was extremely strict, even more so than the Jiangs, Wei Ying’s own adoptive family. It was a miracle he was even letting Lan Zhan go.
On the day before Lan Zhan left, Wei Ying had gone to his ridiculously expensive apartment and watched him pack his bags. He wasn’t bringing much, only two suitcases and his guqin, which was going to be packed and shipped separately. Wei Ying’s chest hurt watching Lan Zhan fold up all the corners of his life. It was strange knowing that in just twenty-four hours, they’d be on opposite sides of the world.
Wei Ying perched on the edge of Lan Zhan’s desk, feet dangling. It always drove Lan Zhan crazy when he sat on his school papers, so Wei Ying had been careful to push them aside first. Lan Zhan’s room was so neat, everything in order—the exact opposite of Wei Ying’s room at home, which was one of the reasons Wei Ying hardly ever invited him over. The other thing that Lan Zhan had going for his room was his pet bunny, Caomei, an albino with pink eyes and pointy ears, which had been a present for his fifteenth birthday from his brother. Lan Zhan was sad about leaving Caomei, Wei Ying could tell.
Lan Zhan was even quieter than he usually was while Wei Ying filled up the silence with his nervous chatter, trying not to think about what was happening.
Eventually, Lan Zhan finished packing. “Wei Ying. There’s something I want to tell you before I go.”
“What is it?” Something in Lan Zhan’s expression spiked his heartbeat.
Lan Zhan opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he wasn’t sure. Then he said, “You are my best friend.”
“You’re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. Are you going to call me once you get settled in England?”
“Of course I will call you.”
“You’d better.”
Something else seemed to be bothering Lan Zhan. There was a little frown between his beautiful eyes. Wei Ying’s heart hammered in his chest, something in him speaking the name of what it was, unable to put it into words. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, feeling suddenly nervous and excited.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said his name almost like he was breathing the words, his ears going pink, just like the rabbit, and then . . . Lan Zhan was kissing him, stepping between his legs and gripping his shoulders gently. He tasted like fresh minty toothpaste and his lips were so soft. Wei Ying froze for a moment, his mind running on a loop of holy shit, Lan Zhan’s tongue, Lan Zhan’s lips, Lan Zhan – Lan Zhan. And then he was kissing back, pulling him closer. He would have kissed Lan Zhan for hours, but then Lan Zhan’s uncle had knocked on the closed door, and the two of them had sprung apart, guilty and flushed. It was Wei Ying’s first kiss. It had also been a kiss goodbye.
Now, Lan Zhan is here—and here is Wei Ying. Song Lan is saying something to him, but he barely registers it, his brain is so occupied trying to make sense of what is happening. He wonders how he looks to Lan Zhan, if he is just as surprised and astounded to see him in this lesbian bar, at this bondage workshop, in a city of over twenty million people. It’s crazy.
Their gazes hold a beat longer, but then someone taps Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and he nods curtly. He turns his attention back to the scene. The music makes it hard to hear what he’s saying, but he seems to be answering questions from some of the onlookers, and every once in a while he puts his hand on Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder as if to steady him. He moves with confidence and grace, as he always has, and a bit of aloofness. It’s clear that for him at least in this moment, the scene is purely instructional.
Wei Ying can’t tear his eyes away. Xiao Xingchen seems completely relaxed, his body held in a cradle of ropes, and he swings gently when Lan Zhan touches him. Xiao Xingchen is wearing a sleeveless tank top and loose jeans, but Wei Ying can’t help imagining a different, more private scene. Does Lan Zhan do this all the time? He must. And he must fuck. Fuck the people he ties up.
A thousand more questions swirl through Wei Ying’s mind, and the room suddenly feels too warm. His throat is dry. He remembers his beer and drinks a bit of it, licking the foam off of his top lip and trying to act normal, but he must fail because at some point Song Lan gives up trying to have a conversation with him and drifts away. Wei Ying isn’t sure if he wants to stay to the end and try to talk to Lan Zhan, or if that would be a bad idea. He had wondered for a long time if things would have been different if he had just realized it sooner, if whatever fragile, budding thing they felt had been allowed to grow through that whole last year of school.
He is still debating what to do when Wen Qing pokes him in the side. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay, Wei Ying?”
“I’m fine, really,” he says. “You look great tonight.” In her red lipstick and black and red bustier, she could have her pick of anyone in the room, including the straight girls. She smiles at him and just then Mianmian comes over, looking a little tired and dazed.
“Hey sweetheart,” says Wen Qing, putting an arm around her waist. “Are you feeling up to staying out or do you want to go home?”
“I’m good. Let’s stay. Hi, Wei Ying, so glad you could make it. Are you having fun?”
He leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She smells a little like sweat, and a little like Wen Qing’s perfume. “Yeah, you were both great. I have to get another drink, though, if we’re staying.” And for courage. He definitely needs the drink for courage.
Mianmian loops her arm through Wei Ying’s. “Yes! Let’s get drunk!”
While they’re speaking, Wei Ying is hyperaware of the person standing behind him, not ten feet away. He can feel Lan Zhan’s presence as a physical thing, and his stomach squirms as he realizes he’s already made his choice. He can’t leave without at least talking to him, even if it might open up old wounds.
He turns, and Lan Zhan is looking at him again, the corners of his mouth turned down. Why is he the one frowning? Wei Ying feels so dizzy caught in his gaze, watching as he takes a step forward, then stops. Xiao Xingchen is still suspended, so of course he has to be attended to, and Lan Zhan begins the process, lowering Xiao Xingchen gently and efficiently to the floor to be untied.
Wen Qing leans close and whispers in his ear. “Let me know if you want me to make an introduction. He’s one of the most eligible riggers in the scene, but he’s pretty reserved. I’ve heard amazing things from people who’ve played with him, though.”
“He’s definitely getting around, if you know what I mean,” Mianmian adds with a wink. “No one knows much about him, apparently he lived abroad for a while but he’s originally from here. And his family is like, old money, stinking rich. He’s so hot, and I don’t even swing that way.”
“So hot,” Wen Qing echoes. Wei Ying feels his face go warm. Fuck. Lan Zhan is ridiculously hot and he fucks—a lot, by the sound of it.
But then Mianmian starts tugging his arm, and the three of them enter the bar, which is even busier than it was when Wei Ying first arrived. People are dancing, singing along in English and just generally having a good time, and the music has gone ’90s retro. It’s the kind of scene that Wei Ying would normally throw himself into with pleasure; he could dance the whole night with his friends. Wei Ying orders another drink and allows himself to be led onto the tiny, impromptu dance floor, but even though it’s a song he loves, his heart isn’t in it. He feels a little sick. This could be his one chance to get an answer to the question he’s always wanted to ask. But what if he misses Lan Zhan leaving, or what if Lan Zhan has somehow already gone?
He survives through a song and a half before he can’t take it anymore, and then he disentangles himself and makes his way . . . right into Lan Zhan’s chest.
“Wei Ying,” says the deep, familiar voice, and Wei Ying’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s splashed his drink all over the front of Lan Zhan’s white T-shirt.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he says, taking a step back. His eyes track up from the stain to Lan Zhan’s face, which is even more handsome than he remembers it, his baby fat gone and replaced with a strong jaw. His hair is so long, much longer than it was when they were kids. Wei Ying smiles, affecting nonchalance, his only defense. “Lan Zhan! Is it really you, after all this time? I was, ah . . . I’m sorry about that. I’m so clumsy.” He dabs at the spot fretfully with the pads of his fingers, which is absolutely useless for anything but feeling the warmth of Lan Zhan’s skin beneath the wet material. His chest is extremely firm and that is definitely not something Wei Ying needs to think about right now.
“It’s no matter. Don’t concern yourself.” Lan Zhan’s eyes dart down, tracking Wei Ying’s movements, and Wei Ying drops his hand, flushing slightly.
“It’s such a surprise seeing you here. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes.”
“Uh. What are you doing here? Other than the obvious?”
Lan Zhan’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder, probably filled with his ropes. “I was doing a favor for a friend.” His voice is cool. “Do you often come to these?”
“I’ve been to the workshops a few times. I live with Wen Qing. Do you know her?” He gestures behind, to where his roommate and her girlfriend are dancing and doing their best not to gawk at him and Lan Zhan. They’re failing, mostly.
“Yes, we have met.” Lan Zhan’s nostrils flare slightly. He looks like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure what. Wei Ying feels just as unbalanced. He’s still trying to process what’s happening.
“When did you get back to Shanghai? I hadn’t heard.” Anything at all. But then again, the Jiangs and the Lans had run in very different circles, and he and Lan Zhan didn’t share any mutual friends. Lan Zhan had been so dedicated to his studies. Untouchable, most people thought. That was what Wei Ying had thought too until he’d gotten to know him.
“I returned about six months ago,” Lan Zhan says. “My uncle passed away suddenly, and I came back to help my brother.”
The Lans own a chain of luxury hotels that are so expensive, it would take Wei Ying’s weekly paycheck to stay one night. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
“Thank you,” says Lan Zhan. “I heard you were dancing in the Shanghai Ballet.”
Wei Ying is jostled by someone trying to get to the bar, and Lan Zhan steadies his arm. They’re standing closer now, the loud, thumping music making it impossible to carry on a conversation at a normal distance. Lan Zhan looks carefully at him and removes his hand, slowly.
“Um, yeah. I did, for a few years. But I broke my ankle last year and it hasn’t . . . I mean it’s fine now but . . .” He flushes slightly. “It’s complicated.”
Wei Ying had been dancing since he was a toddler, before his parents died. Later, when he was adopted by his father’s friends, the Jiangs, he’d kept it up by saving his allowance and then, once he was older, working odd jobs and practicing on his own. When Wei Ying had told Lan Zhan he wanted to pursue it professionally, he was the only person, other than his adoptive older sister Yanli, who had believed he could. Maybe it was because Lan Zhan was a musician and understood his artistic drive in a way none of Wei Ying’s other friends did.
“I wondered if I would see you,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds pained about it, and that’s a bit too much.
“Why didn’t you ever call me?” Wei Ying blurts out before he can stop himself. He hadn’t even really blamed Lan Zhan. After everything that happened, Wei Ying wasn’t in any place to carry on a relationship with anyone, especially over long distance. He hadn’t even known he liked boys, not really, not until that kiss. But it still hurt, badly.
Lan Zhan’s eyebrows narrow. “What do you mean? I called several times, and I wrote a letter. Did you not receive my messages?”
“What messages?” Wei Ying says weakly, feeling the color drain from his face.
“I spoke with Yu Ziyuan. She said she told you that I’d called, and that you didn’t want to speak to me. I thought—”
“Oh.”
As a teenager, Wei Ying was the only one of his friends who didn’t have a cell phone. Auntie Yu was very strict about paying for frivolities, and all of his extra cash from his small allowance and job earnings had gone to dance. Auntie Yu also hated him.
“Oh,” he says again. “I never got your messages.” It’s obvious that Lan Zhan doesn’t know about the accident. A latent, seething resentment for his adopted mother makes his chest feel tight, but really, it’s pointless. Pointless to be mad now about something he can’t change. “Fuck, and you must have thought—I really didn’t get them.” He shakes his head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan leans close, his voice laced with concern. “Are you all right?”
Wei Ying clears his throat. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . tonight’s been a lot. I always thought you’d forgotten me.”
“Never.”
They look at each other again, and Wei Ying can see it there—the pain in Lan Zhan’s eyes, before it disappears behind an impassive expression.
“This is such a dramatic conversation. I definitely was not prepared.”
Lan Zhan nods, his Adam’s apple working as he swallows. “Would you like to have dinner tomorrow? I think it would be better to catch up somewhere a little quieter. That is, if you would like to, and if you’re free.”
“Yeah. I would like that. Let me get your number?”
They both take out their cell phones and perform the awkward texting ritual exchange. Once the info is secured, Wei Ying feels unaccountably shy. He knows it’s not a date he’s being asked on, just old friends catching up, but he still can’t help the little thrill of happiness that rushes through him at the thought of spending more time with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, who hasn’t forgotten him.
“I’ll text you tomorrow with the location,” Lan Zhan says. “Will you be all right getting home tonight?” He gives a pointed look at Wei Ying’s now empty beer.
“I’m hardly drunk at all, Lan Zhan! And anyway, I’m with my friends.”
Lan Zhan glances back toward the dance floor and nods. “Good. Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“Me too,” Wei Ying says. They stand awkwardly for another moment, and the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth lifts before he turns slowly away.
Wei Ying watches him go, pockets his phone carefully, and sets his glass down on the bar. He’s debating ordering a round of shots when he feels a strong tap on his shoulder. Wen Qing is standing with her hands on her hips.
“Holy shit, did you just exchange numbers with Hanguang-jun?”
Wei Ying gives her a funny look.
“That’s his scene name. But I do know his real one because I’m special like that.” She bats her eyes.
“He’s actually—ah, an old friend.” Wei Ying lets out a little laugh. “Small world.”
“Fuck you, seriously?” She hits his arm. “Why didn't you tell me before? Here I was planning on making an intro like an idiot. How do you know him, anyway? The Lans are practically Shanghai royalty.”
“Um. From school. But I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Were you close?”
He squirms a little. “It’s complicated.”
A knowing expression crosses her features. “One of those.”
“We’re going out to dinner tomorrow, to catch up.” He tries to say it casually, but from the mischievous expression on her face, she isn’t buying it. “It’s not what you think.”
“Hmm, okay, well, whatever you need to tell yourself. But the way he was looking at you, I don’t think he thinks so.”
“What? What way was he looking at me?” With his slim, muscular dancer’s build and long black hair, he’s used to getting attention from strangers, but he didn’t see anything like that in Lan Zhan’s serious eyes tonight.
She laughs and slaps his arm. “Oh man, this is too good. I know you’ve been wanting to do some experimenting with rope, and honestly from what I’ve heard you couldn’t find a better rigger. From what I hear, he’s super discreet, very experienced. You’d be in good hands.”
He can feel the flush burn on his cheeks. Not for the first time, he wishes he didn’t wear his emotions so plainly on his face. “I . . . I don’t know about that.”
“Well, you have time to think about it. I do think you should think about it, though.”