Archive of Our Own ^beta

Their egg baby, with its dot eyes and wide sharpie marker smile, sits in its little egg carton cradle on the nightstand between the twin hotel beds. A kleenex is tucked around it like a blanket, corners clean and careful. 

One of Wei Wuxian’s airpods pokes out from somewhere near the crown of their egg baby’s smooth bald head, slightly askew, playing something tinny and soft from its dying speakers. Lan Wangji insisted they leave some music on while they were out, and had sacrificed his own phone for the bluetooth connection: their egg baby would get lonely otherwise, with the whole class in the concert hall and nobody left back at the hotel to babysit. Wei Wuxian agrees, of course. This is their child. 

From his perch in the corner armchair, Wei Wuxian snaps his flute case shut and stretches his legs out in front of him, one knee popping. Lan Wangji has just finished putting his shoes on; he stands by the door, tall and lovely in his concert blacks.

“Well, come on, Lan Zhan, let’s not be late,” Wei Wuxian says brightly, fishing one of his own shoes out from under the armchair and stuffing it on his foot. 

“...” says Lan Wangji, gamely ignoring the fact that he’s been ready to go for the past five minutes, and that it was Wei Wuxian who had been wasting time learning Super Mario Bros. music by ear. Shoes on, Wei Wuxian tiptoes to the nightstand and leans over their egg baby.

“Good night, baby,” he whispers, and presses a little kiss to its cool eggshell forehead. The hotel clock blinks 3:14. They have six minutes to be downstairs in the lobby to meet their bus. “Sleep well,” he says, and in a moment, links arms with Lan Wangji as they head to the elevator.

The thing about orchestra class trips is that Lan Wangji kind of hates how much he loves them. They’re always a series of events he doesn’t like: crowded bus trips with too much noise, chain restaurants with 10 page menus and nothing for him to eat, hotel rooms split with randomly assigned classmates that have him praying theirs doesn’t become the party room after the competition is over. He wants to sleep at 9:00, and rises at 6:00. Most of his peers… don’t.

But on the other hand, there is Wei Ying, falling asleep on Lan Wangji’s shoulder on the bus, one airpod in his ear and the other in Lan Wangji’s. There is Wei Ying, scouring the restaurant menu for the one vegetarian item he knows he’ll be able to find if he just keeps looking for another minute. Wei Ying, dragging Lan Wangji by the hand down the hallway to his own hotel room at 8:45, when he notices Lan Wangji starting to wilt.

Wei Ying, who this week is also his husband, and the father to his egg child, their union ordained by their 4th period Health class for the assignment that is ruining Lan Wangji’s life.

Lan Wangji is a good and responsible student, and he would never complain about this aloud, but this week has, quite honestly, been his living hell. There is a certain amount of Wei Ying’s presence per day that he feels comfortable absorbing. This week has been far, far beyond that comfortable level. This week, Lan Wangji thinks he might not survive.

It started on Monday, just after lunch, when Wei Ying came racing into 4th period just moments before the bell, dropping with a clatter into the seat Lan Wangji always reserved for him at the front of the class. “Pair up,” their teacher said a minute later. “We’re working in pairs for our project this week.”

Wei Ying raised his hand. “What’s the project?” he asked, before the teacher even had a chance to call on him.

“Are you volunteering first?” the teacher said.

“Sure,” said Wei Ying. “For what? Lan Zhan is my partner, right Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji nodded, somewhat concerned he had no clue what Wei Ying had just volunteered him for, but not concerned enough to reject it.

“Good,” their teacher said, and wrote their names down on the white board. “Congratulations. You’re our class’s first parents. Say hello to your baby.”

The teacher reached into their desk and pulled out an egg.

An egg baby, as it turned out. THEIR egg baby. The egg baby Lan Wangji would have to raise and keep safe, for an entire week, with his class-assigned husband, who was also his tragic and absurd and desperate and pathetic crush, Wei Wuxian.

On their way home from school that afternoon, Wei Wuxian began an excruciating conversation during which he rattled off possible names for their egg child, and Lan Wangji tried his best to look like his brain wasn’t melting out of his ears. Wei Wuxian delicately cradled the egg in its egg-carton bed, a single tissue wrapped around it for a blanket, walking carefully so as not to jostle it. Him. Lan Wangji was pretty sure they had decided their child was a son.

“How about Sonic,” Wei Wuxian tried.

“. . .”

“Ok, not Sonic. Bowser? No, definitely not Bowser, our kid is a hero. Did you hear that, kiddo? You’re going to grow up so big and strong! Your dads would never name you after a villain! Oh shit, Sephiroth would be so cool though. No, you’re right, you’re right of course. We want to set our kid up for greatness! Cloud? Agh, that’s not quite it either…”

He monologued for another couple of minutes.

Finally, desperate, Lan Wangji interrupted: “Wei Ying. Do you like Yuan.”

It was the first thing that had popped into his head, and the simplest name so far. He hoped it would divert Wei Wuxian from the way he was currently debating with himself over calling their egg Goku. As a distraction tactic, luckily, it worked. But for Lan Wangji’s sanity…

“Yuan? Yuan-er? Yuan! I like it! Ah, Lan Zhan! You’re soooo smart, of course you would come up with a good name for our baby. A good, strong name, A-Yuan, Lan Yuan!”

Lan Wangji choked.

“Lan Yuan?” he asked, when he had his breath back. “Not Wei Yuan?”

“Obviously you’re the dad,” Wei Wuxian said, as if it really was obvious. “And obviously I’m the mom. Hey, Lan Zhan, are we married? Or did you father a kid with me out of wedlock????”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were huge. He thought about it for a second, then continued matter-of-factly: “No, of course we’re married. Lan Zhan loves me! What a responsible father, huh, baby? Right, Yuan-er? You’re going to have the happiest childhood any baby has ever had, right Lan Zhan?”

If I survive it, Lan Wangji thought, and did not stumble over his own feet when Wei Wuxian grinned at him.

That had been Monday. It’s Thursday evening now, and Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and the rest of their 2nd period orchestra class are two cities away for a competition. His agonies have only multiplied over the course of the week. 

As it turns out, co-parenting an egg with the love of his life, who does not know he is the love of Lan Wangji’s life, is an insurmountable challenge. Wei Wuxian keeps saying things like “my husband, Lan Zhan,” and “now that we’re married, Lan Zhan,” and “happy three-day anniversary, Lan Zhan.” He holds their egg like it’s precious, like it’s a real baby; he gives it little kisses and smiles at it and tucks its tissue blanket around it whenever it comes loose. On the bus to the orchestra competition, he nestled it between them so gently, with so much tenderness, that Lan Wangji had to look away. Absurd to be near tears because of an egg. Lan Wangji’s life is one long torment.

Their class is playing two pieces for competition, but Lan Wangji plays in only one of them. He spends the other mostly looking at Wei Wuxian, attentive and focused on his music half a stage away. Wei Wuxian’s hands are so lovely when he plays, long-fingered, steady and sure. Plus, looking at Wei Wuxian’s hands means that Lan Wangji can’t look at his face, which is good, because his face also includes his mouth, red and wet, a perfect little O.

Afterwards, Wei Wuxian packs his flute away and bounds to the piano, nudging Lan Wangji to one side of the bench and plopping down beside him. A spare inch of space between their hips, Lan Wangji goes hot all over. He can’t turn his head, instead staring hard at the piano keys, holding himself as still as he’s ever been. Next to him Wei Wuxian is a live wire, vibrating with post-concert energy.

“That was soooo great, Lan Zhan! Don’t you think? Wasn’t that the best we’ve ever played? If we don’t get gold I’ll drink a cup of valve spit next time we have rehearsal, I really will!” 

Wei Wuxian makes a face, wrinkling his nose. Lan Wangji keeps staring straight ahead. 

“Actually I won’t do that, don’t worry Lan Zhan, I see the gross face you just made. But I think we’ll probably win, so it won’t matter anyway! Wowwwwww…” he breathes. “I love music.”

Wei Wuxian knocks his shoulder against Lan Wangji’s, his smile now a little soft thing.

“You played really well, Lan Zhan,” he says, quieter. “I heard every note. You’re so talented, you practice so hard.”

Lan Wangji swallows. “You played really well too, Wei Ying,” he says. “This orchestra is lucky to have you in it.”

“Aaahhhhhhhh….!!! Lan Zhan! Don’t say that, my head will get too big and I’ll float away,” Wei Wuxian says. 

He presses his shoulder harder against Lan Wangji. He’s quiet for another moment, then says, “I wish our little Yuan-er could come hear us play, don’t you? Our little baby, watching his handsome daddy play piano on stage like a pro…”

The piano bench squeaks before Lan Wangji even realizes he’s standing up. Wei Wuxian looks up at him, still seated, eyes enormous.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, helpless. Wei Wuxian keeps watching him, expectant, but Lan Wangji doesn’t have anything else to say. He just… he… 

He needs to pack up his music and go. The rest of their class is already halfway out the door.

They go to dinner with their classmates. It’s fine. Lan Wangji is planning to save his crisis for later that night, under cover of darkness, when Wei Wuxian can’t see his face. He’s not very excited to have to share a room with him, given everything, but at least they have two separate twin beds.

When they get back to the room, Wei Wuxian kicks off his shoes, sets his flute case down, and stretches, arms above his head. Lan Wangji moves past him to the little table by the windowsill and picks up one of the two bottles of water there. He cracks the top, takes a sip, takes a breath, and looks out the window. He can do this. It’s one hotel room, sure, but it’s also just one night. They’ve done this before.

They’ve never done this before as husbands, but the point stands.

Lan Wangji turns back around, uncapped water bottle in his hand, and then it all goes to shit. Because: Wei Wuxian is starfished over the bed closest to Lan Wangji. Because: during the moment Lan Wangji took to collect himself, Wei Wuxian somehow completely silently removed his shirt and pants. Because: Wei Wuxian holds little Lan Yuan to his bare chest, smiling down at it.

Because: Lan Wangji’s hand clenches, hard and involuntary. Flimsy plastic crunches in his grip. 16 full ounces of water geyser from the bottle’s open mouth, a wave, a full tide, and hover in the air for one interminable second, before splashing down with a smack onto Wei Wuxian’s bare belly.

Time, for the next short while, seems to slow. Lan Wangji watches, frozen, as Wei Wuxian yelps, and flails into a sitting position, abs flexing. The force of his body slingshots the egg. Wei Wuxian rockets forward, hand outstretched. He’s too late; he doesn’t catch it. He bats the egg — their egg baby, their baby — out of the air, sending it directly onto the white hotel duvet, and overbalances, momentum and gravity both working against him. 

There’s a horrible crunch, then a long, shocked silence. Between Wei Wuxian’s hand and the blanket, where his already-outstretched arm had saved him from faceplanting, a yellow splatter seeps around his fingers. Wei Wuxian freezes.

“Oh,” he says, voice smaller than Lan Wangji has ever heard it. “Oh, I,” he starts, then shuts his mouth with a click, devastation crumpling his pretty face.

The moment stretches between them, agonizing, suffocating. Lan Wangji has to say something, do something — his hand flexes around the plastic bottle he’s still holding. The thin crackle of plastic might as well be a gunshot, for the way it makes Wei Wuxian flinch.

Lan Wangji swallows. “Wei Ying,” he says, “I’m so…”

Wei Wuxian takes a ragged, wet breath, then tips his face up to look at Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, quiet and low. His eyes are wet. “Lan Zhan, god, oh my god I’m so sorry, I don’t, I didn’t… ah? Ah, yuck, oh no, Lan Zhan, god, what even… I… ugh, fuck. I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry. Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry, I’m, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll buy a new egg, I’ll pay a cleaning fee, I’m so s…” he trails off, sucks in another breath, lets it out on a sob. 

“What do I do,” he says. His eyes spill over.

Lan Wangji has seen Wei Wuxian cry only one other time in the entire duration of their friendship. He was dry-eyed even when he broke his arm playing soccer in 7th grade, walking off the field ash white, with a pinched expression on his face. But he’s crying now, because he smashed an egg that was their baby, even if only for a week, for a grade.

Wei Wuxian unsticks his hand from the mess of eggshell and yolk, then hesitates, still kneeling on the mattress, hand hovering in front of him. 

His indecision unfreezes Lan Wangji. The next thing he knows, he’s by Wei Wuxian’s side, steadying him with a hand to his (bare) (!!!!?) waist as he scrambles off the hotel bed. He leads him to the little ensuite, turning on the tap and testing the water. Wei Wuxian sniffles and leans against him.

“Here,” Lan Wangji says, as calm as he can manage, then steels himself and takes Wei Wuxian’s eggy hand in his own. Wei Wuxian freezes, a split second of live-wire tension, then turns, his wide, shocked eyes intent on Lan Wangji. A fresh pair of tears slide down his cheeks.

It was just an egg; it was just an assignment. Devastation settles heavily over Wei Wuxian, though, and Lan Wangji never wants to see anything like it ever again.

Lan Wangji washes both their hands like that, holding Wei Wuxian’s fingers as gently as he can under the warm water. Sometime as Lan Wangji is sliding soap across Wei Wuxian’s palm, he stops crying outright, taking long shuddery breaths like he’s trying to calm himself down. Lan Wangji lets himself linger far longer than he ordinarily would, tracing down Wei Wuxian’s fingers and across the lines on his palm, and Wei Wuxian lets him, quiet and pliant.

An interminable time later, Lan Wangji unfolds a towel and pats Wei Wuxian’s hands and forearms dry. He’s a little afraid to look him in the eye, not sure what he’ll see there, so he keeps his head down, until Wei Wuxian says “Hey,” and stops him.

Lan Wangji folds the towel into a neat square and places it on the counter.

“Wei Ying,” he says, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What? No. What? I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I broke the egg. I killed our b–” (a hiccuping breath) “Our baby. I’m sorry I ruined our project, Lan Zhan, it’s all my fault. I’ll take responsibility for it in class, don’t worry.”

“I am not worried,” Lan Wangji continues, finally risking a glance at Wei Wuxian’s face. It’s pink and his nose is red from crying, but his eyes are dry again, at least. He looks deeply ashamed. “I am also to blame. I spilled the water. You were only acting on reflex.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, which draws Lan Wangji’s eyes with laser precision. “Maybe,” he says, after a long pause. Then, “Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m so cold, I forgot I wasn’t wearing any clothes,” which he punctuates with an exaggerated shiver, and steps back into Lan Wangji’s space.

Lan Wangji did not forget. 

“Pajamas,” he says, then, an awkward pause later, puts his hand on Wei Wuxian’s naked shoulder and turns him around, towards the open door.

“Right, pajamas,” Wei Wuxian says. “You’re so smart.”

Being back in the main room presents a whole other problem: one of the twin beds is covered in egg and soaked with water.

“The front desk says they have extra blankets, Lan Zhan, but housekeeping can’t come until tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says, hanging up the hotel phone. “Also she says we’ll probably have to pay an extra cleaning fee. She said that nobody has ever smashed an egg on a bed in her entire time working at this hotel. That’s 20 years! She’s been working here for 20 years and we just created a whole new situation for her. That’s kind of impressive, I think, right?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says.

“Also they don’t have any cots left either. Apparently we’re not the only school group staying here.”

They survey their options, which are minimal.

“I will take the floor,” Lan Wangji says. 

“What? No! I’ll sleep in the armchair, that’s fine with me, okay? Hand me my hoodie please?”

“You will not sleep in the armchair. It will hurt your spine.”

“Aiiisshhh, Lan Zhan, you sound like your uncle, I’ll be fine!!”

“Wei Ying ,” Lan Wangji says, pleading. “Please take the bed.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him, and Lan Wangji meets his eyes directly. Wei Wuxian is loudly, obviously stubborn, but what a lot of people don’t know is that Lan Wangji is stubborn, too. It’s part of the reason they get along so well. In any case: Lan Wangji is not going to back down.

He yawns, though, breaking eye contact. He’s resolute, but still… it’s getting late. 

“...Fine,” says Wei Wuxian. “This is stupid. Ugh. I can’t believe you’re making me do this, after I ruined that other bed and everything. This is on you, Lan Zhan!!! Since you’re being so stubborn!!!”

Before Lan Wangji can react, Wei Wuxian is towing him to the clean bed and throwing the duvet back. He pushes Lan Wangji to sit on the edge, then manhandles him, tugging his limbs this way and that, until Lan Wangji is flat on his back, head on the pillow and feet tucked under the blankets, and Wei Wuxian is… climbing over him.

Climbing on top of him, and settling down, chest to chest, face tucked into the dip of Lan Wangji’s neck. One of his hands insinuates itself around the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, to scratch lightly at the place where his hair meets the skin of his nape. Lan Wangji’s heart hammers.

“Hmm!” Wei Wuxian hums, a pleased little exhale. “Wow, this was the best idea ever. You’re so warm, Lan Zhan. And now we BOTH get to sleep in the bed!”

He wiggles, which is the most dangerous thing that has ever happened to Lan Wangji, bar none. Clenching the sheets in his fist, Lan Wangji breathes in, slow, and forces his eyes closed. He’s probably never been more tense in his life. He draws another breath, and another, willing his body to calm down.

“Isn’t this comfortable, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Can you turn out the light?”

Lan Wangji does, trying not to dislodge Wei Wuxian as he reaches. 

Darkness blankets them both, and it makes him bold. He takes Wei Wuxian’s arm and unwinds it from the nape of his neck, catching his narrow wrist in the circle of his own fingers, and draws it flat to the mattress, held straight along his side under the blankets. Wei Wuxian flexes his hand in Lan Wangji’s grip, but he doesn’t pull away, and Lan Wangji doesn’t let go.

Wei Wuxian shifts again, an electric, and clearly unintentional, slide of one leg against Lan Wangji. Agony.

“Uhh,” Wei Wuxian says under his breath, right into Lan Wangji’s ear. “Um.” His breathing hitches, just subtly, but they’re lying so close together that Lan Wangji feels it against his skin, the faltering stutter of it.

“Can you sleep,” Lan Wangji says, meaning it as a genuine question, after Wei Wuxian’s emotionally tumultuous evening. It comes out flat, a little sardonic, like he’s judging Wei Wuxian for fidgeting. He’s dead tired, and his heart is racing, and it’s been a very confusing and emotional evening, all told. It’s no wonder his tone isn’t right.

Wei Wuxian snorts. “I mean, yeah, I’ll try, ” he says. “I haven’t gone to bed this early in years.”

“Try, then,” Lan Wangji says, closing his eyes. He slows his breathing to a steady count of five, in-two-three-four-five, out-two-three-four-five, and lets his thoughts go a little fuzzy. Wei Wuxian really is very warm on top of him, and solid, the best weighted blanket of Lan Wangji’s life. 

He turns his head, mouth against Wei Wuxian’s forehead, just resting. It’s not a kiss, not really, but he could make it one. In-two-three-four-five, out-two-three-four-five, breaths rustling the fine strands of Wei Wuxian’s bangs.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“...”

“Are you sleeping?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry again,” he continues. “I didn’t mean to break our egg baby, I really didn’t. I wanted to keep him safe, and I,” he sucks in a long breath. “I know it’s just for health class. I know that. But I really felt like… I wanted it to work.”

Lan Wangji’s heart pounds. There’s no way Wei Wuxian can’t hear it, feel it.

Another breath. “Us,” Wei Wuxian says, even softer than before. “I wanted us to work. I guess that was dumb. I liked it though. I liked playing house with you. Sorry.”

Lan Wangji, heart racing, but still floating in that half-space between awake and asleep, can’t help the way his hand clenches around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“AH?? You were AWAKE???” Wei Wuxian wriggles his free hand under him, lopsidedly propping himself up as much as he can with his other hand still caught in Lan Wangji’s grip. “Lan Zhan, tell me right now, how much of that did you hear?????”

Blinking slowly up at him, Lan Wangji valiantly tries to wrangle his thoughts in order.

“Do you mean it,” he murmurs.

“That I’m sorry? Of course I mean it.”

Ridiculous. Lan Wangji is pretty sure he loves him. His heart is cracking open to make room for everything he feels.

“Wei Ying,” he says, and knows his face must be doing something interesting, from the way Wei Wuxian looks down at him. “Please stop apologizing. We do work. Together. It’s good.”

It’s not quite enough, not quite everything he wants to say, but he’s so tired. He lets his eyes close.

“Aiyaaaaaa,” Wei Wuxian whines, collapsing on top of him again.

“Talk in the morning,” Lan Wangji says. “Okay?”

A long pause. 

“Okay,” he says, and burrows closer.