Archive of Our Own

The train station was crowded.

Not as crowded as it could be on other days, but crowded enough for the platform to feel alive. Crowded enough for voices to overlap beneath the speakers, for footsteps to echo against the concrete, for the air to carry the smell of coffee and metal warmed by the afternoon sun.

Twenty-seven-year-old Wei Wuxian had been sitting there since noon, settled on one of the benches near the far end of the platform.

He wore a black shirt with the first three buttons undone, skinny jeans, a pair of worn Converse, and a denim jacket that matched the faded blue of his pants. In one hand, he held a small bouquet of peonies. In the other, his phone, the screen already dim from how many times he had woken it just to read the last messages his beloved had sent him.

Saturday, September 14th, 2013.

Wei Ying, I will arrive tomorrow on the three o’clock train.
Rest.
I love you.

Wei Wuxian, as usual, was there.

How could he not be?

It had been five months since they had last seen each other. Five months of calls cut short by distance, of messages read too many times, of waking up reaching for a body that was not there. Five months of telling himself he was patient enough to wait one more day, one more week, one more month.

But today, he was not patient enough to wait a single hour more.

Wei Wuxian read the messages again and smiled, helpless and foolish and bright.

Not long now.

Less and less with every passing minute.

To kill time, he watched the people passing by. Some passengers nodded at him as they walked past. Others smiled. The younger ones waved. Now and then, one of the regular travelers—the ones who never seemed to be in quite as much of a hurry—stopped to ask him about his day.

And Wei Wuxian answered them with that same perpetual smile on his lips, his eyes bright, the faint lines at their corners deepening every time he laughed. Deepening, too, with the slow and torturous passing of the days.

But he smiled. He smiled every time. 

That Sunday in particular, Wei Wuxian was in a very good mood.

He had seen so many maple trees on his way to the station that morning. September had painted them gold, each crown full and heavy with leaves. The cool breeze shook the branches every time the wind blew, and sunlight slipped through the foliage in broken pieces, scattering patterns across the pavement.

Like mosaics.

Golden mosaics stretching along the streets of Caiyi, spilling over the sidewalks, gathering around the entrance to the station as if the whole city had dressed itself for Lan Zhan’s return.

He liked sitting at the far end of the platform because he could see them from there. 

He loved them. And he knew Lan Zhan loved them too. 

Wei Wuxian checked his watch and let out an impatient sigh.

Three o’clock.

His grey eyes drifted across the platform again, carefully gathering every detail and keeping it for himself.

Bright signs advertising strange brands. Phones he did not know how to use. Products that looked like they had come out of science fiction novels. Screens flashing with colors too sharp, too clean and new.

Honestly? He had never cared for any of that.

Wei Wuxian was much simpler than people seemed to think. He liked books. Acoustic music. Painting. Ghost stories. Sunsets. The quiet scrape of Lan Zhan’s thumb against the inside of his wrist. The particular silence that settled between them when words were unnecessary.

So he had never been interested in keeping up with technology.

What for?

He was fine like this.

He was perfectly happy like this.

He let out another sigh and looked at his watch again.

Three o’clock.

This time, his eyes lit up with renewed excitement.

In the distance, he heard the long, familiar whistle of the afternoon train. Then the low rumble of it, the steady clatter of wheels against the tracks. Around him, the station began to stir again, filling little by little as the train approached.

And Wei Wuxian’s heart clattered too. It beat hard. So hard he felt, for one ridiculous second, that it might jump straight out of his chest and run down the platform ahead of him.

With fingers trembling slightly from anticipation, he adjusted his hair and cleared his throat. A few grey strands caught the afternoon sunlight as he smoothed his long hair back. He had made sure to comb it into a high ponytail that morning, because he knew his lover liked it that way.

Lan Zhan loved it that way.

And Wei Wuxian loved Lan Zhan enough to grant him any wish, any small indulgence, any foolish little preference.

Anything at all, if it meant seeing that serene, patient face again. Those golden eyes. That quiet mouth, softening for him and for him only. 

The station clock struck three in the afternoon just as the train came to a stop beside the platform.

The doors opened.

Wei Wuxian smiled with his eyes full of yesterday and hurried toward the first carriage.

He would be here.

Just as he had promised. 

Before the maple leaves fell. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan! We were supposed to make breakfast together today!”

Lan Zhan couldn't stop the helpless smile from curving his lips the moment Wei Ying's soft, surprised laughter filled the room.

He sat at the foot of the bed and carefully placed the tray between Wei Ying and himself. A bowl of congee, scallion pancakes, steamed buns, fresh fruit, and a small dish of chili oil Lan Zhan had clearly placed there for Wei Ying rather than himself.

“You don't turn twenty-seven every day,” Lan Zhan replied, his tone gentle and attentive as usual. 

“I know that, I know.” Wei Ying chuckled. “But I really wanted to do it this time.”

He grabbed one of the scallion pancakes and took a bite, his eyes widening in delight. Usually, he complained about Lan Zhan's plain-flavored meals just to be annoying, but this time, his husband had prepared everything exactly the way he liked it.

“It's delicious!” Wei Ying beamed and took another bite.

“I'm glad,” Lan Zhan said with a small nod.

“I know you are,” Wei Ying replied. “But this time you have to really promise that we will cook breakfast together for my birthday next year. Deal?”

Lan Zhan let out a soft exhale that almost passed for a chuckle.

“Mn,” he said, serene and patient.

“No backpedaling this time. We've had this conversation probably six times before.”

Lan Zhan only looked at him, his pale lips still curved into that ghost of a smile only Wei Ying really knew how to decipher.

Though, to be fair, it was not only that small curve of his mouth that gave him away.

It was the way his golden eyes lit up. The way his gaze softened when it settled on Wei Ying. The way he looked at him as if there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to keep looking.

It made Wei Ying feel special, and wanted. Seen in a way he had not known he needed until Lan Zhan had given it to him.

It made him feel loved for who he was.

They had been like this since they were teenagers, back when Lan Zhan still pretended Wei Ying annoyed him and Wei Ying had spent most of his free time trying to prove otherwise. Fourteen when they met. Seventeen when they finally stopped pretending. Nineteen when they married, because waiting had seemed ridiculous after that.

And not once had they been separated or broken up. Not once had they looked at other people the way they looked at each other.

Every first time they had, they had had it together. Their first kiss. Their first time making love. Their first real argument. Their first reconciliation, clumsy and tearful—impossible to forget.

They had never left each other's side.

Well, not until Lan Zhan started working as the international project director for a company that seemed determined to become more important than their marriage.

At first, it had come as a low blow for both of them. They had told Lan Zhan he would have to travel every once in a while, usually for a couple of weeks at a time, and even though Lan Zhan had not been entirely sure about that part of the deal, Wei Ying had told him to go for it.

He had said it would be fine.

It would only be every once in a while.

The opportunity was too big to miss. It could give them the chance to live abroad at some point. To travel. To breathe a little easier. Lan Zhan wanted to give Wei Ying the opportunity to focus solely on his career as a painter, and this job would let them do that.

This job would help Wei Ying leave the shitty receptionist position he kept only so he could bring some money back home.

They were not rich, but they managed.

Though barely.

So Lan Zhan had taken the position.

At first, he had to leave for a week or two.

Then for a month.

And then for two.

It had been going on for two years already, and even though Wei Ying could now focus solely on his career, the fact that they had more money did nothing to ease the sting every time he had to say goodbye to his husband at the train station.

“So, what are our plans for today? Did Lan Zhan prepare something special for me?” Wei Ying asked teasingly, winking at him.

Lan Zhan nodded once and began naming the plans for the day.

Take a shower together. Go for a boat ride. Have lunch at Wei Ying's favorite restaurant. Visit a museum, then go see that play Wei Ying had been talking about nonstop for the last couple of months. Dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Then come back home…

And then…

The phone.

Once again, Lan Zhan’s stupid work phone interrupting their plans.

Wei Ying sighed and tried to hide his useless annoyance by taking another bite from his breakfast. He wanted to tell Lan Zhan not to answer, but he knew better than to pick that fight on his birthday. He knew better than to ask for something Lan Zhan might actually try to give him.

So he stayed quiet.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Lan Zhan stood, walked toward the dresser where he had left his phone, and picked it up.

The smile was gone. But there was something else in his golden eyes now. Something steady and decided that Wei Ying had not seen there in the last few months.

He couldn't hide his curiosity.

“Lan Zhan? What are you—?”

Before he could finish the question, Lan Zhan ended the call and turned off the phone before anyone else could interrupt them.

“I asked for a day off today,” Lan Zhan said, his tone plain and matter-of-fact. “They approved it. They should not be calling.”

Then he set the phone back on the dresser and returned to the bed as if he had done nothing more remarkable than close a window.

As if he had not just handed Wei Ying the whole day.

Wei Ying stared at him for a second, and then his face broke into a smile so bright, so full of helpless hope and gratitude, that Lan Zhan’s expression softened all over again.

“A whole day?” Wei Ying asked, his voice quieter now.

“A whole day,” Lan Zhan confirmed.

Wei Ying bit his lip, still smiling.

“Then get back here, husband,” he said, patting the bed beside him. “Your birthday boy requires attention.”

Lan Zhan let out a soft chuckle and, without another word, he obeyed.

Sunday.

Wei Wuxian sighed and looked at his watch.

Three o’clock.

He was here again, sitting silently near the far end of the platform, his heart beating fast with anticipation.

From where he sat, he could see the maple trees beyond the station. Their foliage had turned red and gold, swaying softly in the chill autumn breeze every time the wind slipped between the buildings. A few leaves had already fallen onto the pavement outside, scattered bright against the grey concrete, but most of them were still holding on, just like him. 

Still there.

Still waiting.

The station was just as busy as usual. People came and went around him, dragging suitcases, adjusting coats, checking their phones, buying coffee from the little stand near the stairs. Their voices rose and faded beneath the speakers, merging with the distant hum of the tracks.

Wei Wuxian paid them little attention.

He was wearing his black shirt, as usual. His worn-out Converse. His denim jacket. His blue jeans.

The small bouquet of peonies in his hand looked radiant—as it always did—the petals bright and soft despite the cold. His phone screen had already gone dim with Lan Zhan’s last messages.

Sunday train.

Three o’clock.

A few regular passengers nodded at him as they walked by. Wei Wuxian nodded back, beaming, fidgeting in his seat, smiling helplessly every time he glanced at his watch.

Not long now.

Less and less with every passing minute.

The bright new screens announcing the reopening of a store Wei Wuxian did not remember ever closing did not catch his attention this time. Neither did the unfamiliar ad beneath it. Nor the new line painted along the edge of the platform, nor the fact that the old coffee stand had changed its name again.

None of it mattered.

Lan Zhan was coming back today.

The train whistled in the distance, and Wei Wuxian checked his watch again.

Three o’clock.

His fingers tightened around the peonies. For a moment, he looked down at them, smoothing one thumb carefully over the ribbon tied around the stems. He had chosen the nicest ones this time. 

He knew Lan Zhan would notice. Lan Zhan always noticed things like that, even when he said nothing.

Especially when he said nothing.

Wei Wuxian stood and hurried toward the first carriage at the beginning of the platform.

And once again, as he always did when the doors opened, he beamed.

“You forgot to take the laundry out of the fucking washing machine,” Jiang Cheng complained, rolling his eyes as he carried a whole load of wet laundry in his arms. “Again.”

Wei Wuxian lifted his face from his painting, his lips parting slightly until they formed a juvenile little “o.”

“Damn, you're right,” he admitted, shaking his head as he moved to stand. “Let me finish that.”

“No need,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “Finish your painting. I’ll take care of it.”

Wei Wuxian stared at his brother’s retreating figure for a moment, chuckling under his breath and biting his lip before glancing down at his painting again.

It was almost done.

He was sure Lan Zhan would love it once he saw it.

Jiang Cheng came back a few minutes later and sat on the sofa near him. He checked his phone for a while before glancing up. Then he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if fighting the urge to speak and losing badly.

Wei Wuxian caught it from the corner of his eye.

“What is it, A-Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng frowned and rolled his eyes, immediately focusing on his phone again. He stared a little too intently at an Instagram post that had not been interesting enough to deserve a full minute of his attention.

“Stop frowning so much,” Wei Wuxian continued. “I told you you'd get wrinkles way too soon, and look at you now.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and tightened his grip on his phone. Without noticing, he touched his forehead, then the skin near the corners of his mouth.

Wrinkles.

He hated them.

“Stop mentioning them,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “You have wrinkles too.”

He seemed to regret his words almost immediately and shot his brother a nervous glance. 

But Wei Wuxian only snorted.

“Absolutely not. Lan Zhan would’ve told me otherwise.” He mixed yellow and red on his palette, then brushed the color gently over the canvas. “He would still love me, of course.”

Jiang Cheng placed his phone face down on his lap and bit the inside of his cheek.

He knew he should be used to this by now. But no matter how many times he heard his brother say things like that, it still landed wrong.

It still hurt.

“So, what did you want to say?” Wei Wuxian looked at his brother with those grey eyes, peeking over the canvas. “I know you, come on.”

Jiang Cheng’s throat felt a little too tight when he spoke.

“There’s…” He cleared his throat. “There’s an exhibition this Sunday. At the art gallery. I thought you might like it. Maybe we could go together? Take A-Ling with us. He’s got to write an essay about the artist anyway. He’s just realized his last year of middle school is more demanding than he thought.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled and immediately shook his head. He changed brushes, dipped the tip of the new one into the yellow paint, and tapped it lightly against the canvas.

“Can’t make it, A-Cheng. Lan Zhan will come back this Sunday. Did you forget?”

Yeah.

No.

Jiang Cheng looked at his brother for a second too long. Then his eyes fell on one of the paintings hanging on the wall.

Maple trees.

Of course.

He sighed and looked away.

“Maybe some other day?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng replied, voice rough with a pain too bitter to swallow. “Maybe some other day.”

The maple trees had looked a little less brilliant today.

Not because there were fewer leaves on them. They were still there, clinging stubbornly to the branches beyond the station, red and gold and rust-colored beneath the dull afternoon sky. But the rain had softened their edges. It had turned everything colder somehow, blurring the world beyond the platform into wet glass and grey light.

That tended to happen whenever winter afternoons turned leaden and rainy.

No big deal.

Harsh weather had never stopped Wei Wuxian from coming back to the station whenever Lan Zhan returned from one of his trips. Rain, wind, cold, it hardly mattered. Lan Zhan would step off the train at three, just like he always did, and Wei Wuxian would be there waiting for him.

As he always was.

It was almost three o’clock.

Wei Wuxian sat near the far end of the platform, just as excited as he always was. Black shirt beneath his denim jacket. Worn Converse. Dark hair tied back neatly, with a few loose strands brushing against his face whenever the wind slipped beneath the roof.

Peonies in hand, because he knew his Lan Zhan loved them.

He was watching the tracks when someone sat beside him on the little black bench.

At first, he barely noticed. The station was busy enough for bodies to come and go around him, for people to sit down for a minute and leave as soon as the speakers announced the next departure. But then the person beside him settled too carefully. Too quietly and so familiar it made Wei Wuxian turn his head.

“Ah, Lan-ge,” Wei Wuxian beamed. “I didn’t know you were coming to wait for Lan Zhan this time, too.”

Lan Xichen smiled at him, serene and patient in that quiet way of his.

“Yes,” he said. “I decided to come this time.”

There was something tired around his eyes. Not enough for Wei Wuxian to point it out. But enough that he noticed, briefly, before Lan Xichen handed him a cup of coffee and smoothed a few invisible wrinkles from his raincoat.

Wei Wuxian took the cup with a small nod and an easy smile.

“Thank you,” he murmured before taking a sip.

The coffee was warm enough to sting his cold fingers through the cardboard cup. Too bitter, maybe, but that was fine. Lan Zhan liked bitter things. Tea without sugar. Dark coffee. Silence. Rules. Wei Wuxian smiled faintly at the thought and held the cup closer with both hands.

There was a brief pause that Wei Wuxian didn't let last.

“Lan Zhan said he would arrive on the three o’clock train,” he commented. “He will be here soon.”

Lan Xichen let out a small exhale, a little louder than it should have been. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then tried to pass it off as a soft chuckle.

Luckily, Wei Wuxian believed him.

“He always…” Lan Xichen paused, his fingers tightening slightly around his own cup. “He always tries to be punctual, doesn’t he?”

“He is always punctual,” Wei Wuxian corrected at once, shrugging and beaming with joyful certainty. “Always. Since we started dating.”

Lan Xichen looked at him.

For a moment, the rain seemed louder than the station. Louder than the footsteps passing in front of them, louder than the train that had not yet arrived.

Then Lan Xichen nodded.

“Of course,” he said softly. “Wangji would not make you wait on purpose.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile gentled at that, pleased and fond. 

Lan Xichen looked down at his coffee again and forced his smile to stay. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Wei Wuxian said. “He knows I get impatient.”

The train whistled in the distance.

Wei Wuxian stood immediately, coffee forgotten on the bench beside him.

A moment later, Lan Xichen stood too.

“He’s always in the first carriage, Lan-ge,” Wei Wuxian said, motioning for him to hurry. “Let’s go.”

Lan Xichen followed him.

They walked along the platform together as the train came in, rain streaking down the windows, brakes shrieking softly against the tracks. Wei Wuxian held the peonies close to his chest so the petals would not get crushed in the crowd. His eyes were bright, fixed on the first carriage, his whole face opening with helpless joy as soon as the doors began to part.

And just as he always did, Wei Wuxian beamed.

Lan Xichen did not smile.

But his eyes softened as he looked at the open door nonetheless.

For one impossible second, he felt tempted to smile, too.

Then the passengers began to step out.

“Five months?”

Lan Zhan's jaw tensed as he looked down, his work phone still in hand. For a second, it looked as if he wanted to smash it against the floor. As if he wanted to break it into pieces and pretend the call had never happened.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, his voice already too thin. “Five months? Really?”

He had tried to hold back the tears with all his might. He had tried to act normal when he realized it was another call from HR, another call telling his husband he would have to travel again.

At first, Wei Ying had not thought much of it.

It would probably be a couple of weeks. Maybe less, if they were lucky. Lan Zhan had only come back not too long ago, and surely even that company had to understand there was only so much they could ask from him.

But then the call kept going.

And going.

And the longer it lasted, the tighter Wei Ying’s chest became.

By the time Lan Zhan hung up, his face had gone somber. Guilty, too. Pained and restrained, as if someone had handed him terrible news and asked him to deliver it gently.

Five months.

He would have to be outside the country for five whole months.

Wei Ying could not go with him because he was helping his sister take care of newborn Jin Ling. Lan Zhan would not be able to come visit either, because his schedule would be hell and his company had apparently decided that marriage was a cute little hobby people could tend to in their free time.

Five months.

“When are you leaving?” Wei Ying asked, voice shaking despite his best efforts.

“April,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “I will come back on September 15th.”

Wei Ying sat on the couch and hid his face in his hands.

He did not want to cry.

But he was crying now.

Lan Zhan sat beside him and placed a gentle hand on his knee. Careful and reassuring. That gesture alone was warm enough to make Wei Ying sob harder, because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Lan Zhan was warm.

Lan Zhan was here.

And in two weeks, he would not be.

“I will come back before the maple leaves start falling,” Lan Zhan said. “I promise.”

But this time, Wei Ying shook his head.

He lowered his hands and lifted his face, watery eyes locking with Lan Zhan’s concerned stare.

He knew this was selfish.

That was precisely why he had never done it before. Every time Lan Zhan packed his bags, every time he stood with him at the train station, every time he waved goodbye with a smile sharp enough to cut his own mouth open, Wei Ying swallowed it down.

Be good.

Be supportive.

Be grateful they were doing better.

Be grateful Lan Zhan loved him enough to work himself hollow for the life they were trying to build.

But Lan Zhan had come back only a month ago.

A month.

And now he would have to leave again in… what? Two more weeks?

“Don’t go.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened.

“Wei Ying…”

“Don’t go.”

Wei Ying let the tears fall freely. There was no point in hiding them anymore. Maybe hiding them had been selfish too. Maybe pretending it did not hurt had only made it easier for both of them to keep pretending this was something they could bear.

“Wei Ying…”

“I’ve barely seen you this year,” Wei Ying said. “You were away for a whole month already. And now you have to leave for five?”

“We could make arrangements to see each other.”

Wei Ying cried harder at that, because it sounded reasonable, and reasonable things were always the hardest to fight.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to beg. He wanted to be selfish enough to keep Lan Zhan home and good enough to let him go, and he had no idea how to be both.

He did not want to push Lan Zhan into making a decision they would both regret once their lives went back to what they used to be.

Back when they had to count every bill, when Wei Ying picked up extra shifts and came home smelling like printer ink, cheap coffee, and exhaustion, or when Lan Zhan looked at their bank account in silence and Wei Ying pretended not to notice.

For the same reason, Wei Ying panicked the moment he noticed Lan Zhan unlock his work phone.

“What are you doing?”

Wei Ying’s voice left his lips before his brain even registered the question.

“I am calling HR,” Lan Zhan said, his voice calm but full of determination. “I am quitting.”

Wei Ying’s heart turned frantic at once.

He reached for the phone with quick, firm hands and snatched it from his husband’s grip.

“No, wait.” Wei Ying held the phone as far away from Lan Zhan as he could. “I’m—no. You cannot quit. I was just…”

“We will find a way,” Lan Zhan replied. “I have enough money saved for us to pay for everything while I find another job.”

“I will look for one too,” Wei Ying retorted immediately.

“No.” Lan Zhan’s voice was gentle, but firm. “I want you to focus on your career.”

“My career can wait!”

Wei Ying stood up.

Lan Zhan reached for his arm, but his hand stopped halfway before falling back to his lap and curling into a tight fist.

“I can work,” Wei Ying continued, already pacing, his fingers catching in the dark strands of his hair. “I will find something to do and—”

“Your sister needs help with the baby, does she not?”

Wei Ying shut his mouth immediately.

Lan Zhan looked up at him.

“We can manage with my savings,” he said. “I will find another job.”

“No, no.” Wei Ying shook his head, pacing harder now. “No. I’m sorry. I will—It’s okay. That was just selfish of me. Please.”

“I am being serious, Wei Ying.”

“And I’m being serious too!” He rubbed both hands over his face and let out a heavy, uneven breath. “Just go, okay? We will sort it out.”

“But—”

“Lan Zhan, please.”

This time, his voice came out thin. Almost begging.

“If you quit, you will have to start from zero again. You cannot lose this job. It’s important. You’re settled there. This is an opportunity people don’t get twice.”

“But I do not want to see you crying and—”

“Please, don’t quit.”

Wei Ying’s voice sounded firmer this time.

There were no more tears falling, and his eyes no longer looked as clouded by emotion. If anything, he looked like someone forcing himself to think too clearly, too coldly, because the alternative would be asking for too much.

And he could not do that.

He could not let a moment of selfishness cut down the career Lan Zhan had been building for years. He was not supposed to be the reason Lan Zhan gave everything up, no matter how desperately some ugly little part of him wanted to be chosen over the whole world.

Especially because Wei Ying knew Lan Zhan would choose him.

That was the worst part.

“Please,” Wei Ying said again.

Lan Zhan exhaled softly.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he stood and walked toward him.

Carefully, gently, he wrapped his arms around Wei Ying and pulled him close, letting him hide his face between his neck and shoulder.

Wei Ying went without resistance. His fingers curled into the back of Lan Zhan’s shirt as if holding tight enough could make five months shorter.

“It will pass quickly,” Lan Zhan whispered. “I will come back before the maple leaves fall.”

“You promise?” Wei Ying asked, latching onto him for dear life.

“I promise.” Lan Zhan’s hand settled against the back of his head. “And on my next business trip, I will be taking you with me.”

Wei Ying managed a weak, hopeful little chuckle.

“Can’t wait.”

Wei Ying stared at the small bouquet of peonies in his hand and chuckled.

This was it.

Five months had gone by, slow and torturous, but they had gone by at last. Nothing could erase the wide smile from his lips, or the way he kept raising his head to look up and down the platform, his heart hammering frantically in his chest every time he checked the station clock.

Two o’clock.

Another train arrived at the station and left. Another wave of passengers spilled onto the platform for a short while, filling the air with voices, footsteps, luggage wheels dragging over concrete, until the rhythm settled into routine once again.

Wei Ying looked up and saw flashes of red and gold swaying in the maple trees beyond the station. Autumn had not quite started yet.

Just as Lan Zhan had promised.

He had said he would be there before the maple leaves fell.

Two thirty.

Lan Zhan had also said he would arrive on the three o’clock train. Wei Ying had thought that getting to the station at two thirty would be a perfectly respectable time to show up, but he had not been able to wait that long in the small apartment they shared.

So he had been waiting there since noon.

And each passing train made his heart flutter. Each minute ticking by made his eyes water with anticipation. He had missed Lan Zhan dearly. He had waited for him patiently. And now that the wait was almost over, he could barely hold his excitement together.

He could already feel the thrill of hugging him again. Of kissing him. Of sleeping next to him after staying up too late, reacquainting himself with every familiar inch of him, losing himself in the warmth of Lan Zhan’s body and the quiet sounds he only ever made for Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan had promised in their latest video call that there would be no more traveling abroad until next year. Which meant Wei Ying would not have to say goodbye again for months.

They would have time now, time to be themselves again. And maybe, maybe, Wei Ying would be able to go with him next time.

That sounded good.

Two fifty.

Wei Ying bit his lower lip and, for what must have been the tenth time, carefully rubbed his thumb against the ribbon tied around the little bouquet of peonies he had brought. They had become Lan Zhan’s favorites after Wei Ying, fifteen and terrible at being subtle, had left a single peony inside one of Lan Zhan’s notebooks.

Lan Zhan had kept that peony until now.

Of course he had.

Just as he had kept every new one Wei Ying brought him whenever he came to find him at the station after one of his business trips.

This time would be no different.

Three o’clock.

In the distance, the three o’clock train whistled, announcing its arrival at the station.

Announcing Lan Zhan’s arrival.

Wei Ying’s heart turned frantic, and his smile widened so much he had to bite his lower lip not to look like a maniac to the rest of the people waiting around.

The train was already pulling into the station when he stood.

He smoothed down his black shirt, adjusted his denim jacket, and checked that nothing looked out of place. His jeans were fine. The brand-new Converse he had bought for Lan Zhan's return were tied and clean. He looked neat, but casual. This was not a fancy dinner, no, but it was still a reunion, and he had tried to look good.

He knew Lan Zhan would notice, just as he always did.

Wei Ying caught his reflection in one of the paned windows and smiled at himself as the train entered the station.

This was it.

Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan, was finally here.

Wei Ying hurried forward and reached the beginning of the platform before the doors could open. He wanted to make sure he would be the first thing Lan Zhan saw once he stepped off the train: Wei Ying, standing there, his long black hair tied into the ponytail Lan Zhan liked so much. Wei Ying, holding a small bouquet of flowers with both hands, looking so happy and radiant that the sun itself would be jealous.

The doors opened at last.

Wei Ying smiled.

And waited.

The passengers began to descend slowly at first. Five, then ten, then more, hurrying out of the first carriage and pouring onto the platform in small waves. Wei Ying watched each of them step down in quick succession, tilting his head from one side to the other, standing on tiptoe as he tried to find Lan Zhan among the crowd.

But no matter how much he searched, no matter how his eyes moved from one face to the next, from one dark-haired man to another, he could not find the person he had been waiting for.

Slowly, his smile began to fade, and he stopped looking at the first carriage.

What was the point? No one else was getting off.

His confusion, such a sharp contradiction to the joy that had been on his face no more than a minute ago, darkened little by little as he noticed the platform emptying around him. People moved toward the exits. They followed their routines without looking up, without turning back, without searching the platform for someone who should have been there.

“Lan Zhan?” he murmured.

He took a step forward, pushing carefully through the remaining crowd.

There was still a chance.

Of course there was.

Lan Zhan was probably standing somewhere nearby with his phone in hand, already typing some plain little I arrived at the station message, the way he always did whenever he got off the train and did not see Wei Ying right away.

It had happened before a couple times.

It really had.

Wei Ying pulled out his phone and unlocked it.

His heart was still beating hard in his chest, but not from excitement anymore. This time, it was from worry. From the cold, unpleasant feeling beginning to gather beneath his ribs.

Lan Zhan was never late.

Never.

And if something happened, if anything changed, if even the smallest thing went differently from what they had planned, Lan Zhan always let him know.

Always.

“Where are you?” Wei Ying whispered when the minutes kept passing.

There was no notification. No new message or missed call.

His husband was not there.

His husband was not at the station.

Anxiously, Wei Ying rubbed his temples and kept walking down the platform, still hoping to see Lan Zhan somewhere. His eyes moved too quickly from place to place, searching every face, every coat, every figure standing near the doors or walking toward the exit.

He ignored the sting in his eyes. He knew better than to start crying for no reason. There had to be a logical explanation for this.

There had to be.

Maybe he had misunderstood Lan Zhan’s message. Maybe Lan Zhan had meant he would be boarding the three o’clock train, which meant he would arrive on the six o’clock one. Or maybe he had run into some trouble at the airport and could not contact him because of bad signal. Maybe his phone had died. Maybe his work phone had died too. Maybe—

Wei Ying swallowed and unlocked his phone again.

He read the last message Lan Zhan had sent him one more time.

Saturday, September 14th, 2013.

Wei Ying, I will arrive tomorrow on the three o’clock train.
Rest.
I love you.

I will arrive tomorrow on the three o’clock train.

Yes.

Yes, that could have a double meaning, couldn’t it?

Three o’clock train could mean Lan Zhan would be leaving from his starting station at three in the afternoon. Which meant he would be arriving at six.

That had to be it.

With his spirits somewhat renewed, Wei Ying returned to his usual bench at the far end of the platform and sat down to wait.

He waited for three hours.

He watched more trains come and go.

Every time one arrived, he lifted his head before he could stop himself. Almost by instinct, he stood and started walking toward the beginning of the platform, where he knew Lan Zhan would be. But every time the doors closed, every time the station emptied again, he found himself facing the same desolate sight.

His husband, his Lan Zhan, had not arrived yet.

Not on the four o’clock train.

Not on the five.

Not on the six.

Not on the seven or the eight either.

Patiently, Wei Ying had stopped himself from calling Lan Zhan. He had said he would arrive on September 15th, and Wei Ying knew there was no mistake in the date or the time. He had checked at least thirty times. And he trusted his husband.

He trusted his Lan Zhan.

But by nine o’clock at night, he could not hold back anymore.

So he called once, against his better judgment, and was sent straight to voicemail.

He called twice.

Voicemail again.

Three times, with the same result.

He tried calling Lan Zhan’s work number too. But again and again, the same thing happened.

Voicemail every time.

With every call he made, with every unanswered ring, Wei Ying felt his heart twist tighter and tighter. His stomach clenched, empty and heavy all at once. Every voicemail drained something out of him. Hope. Happiness. The anxiety of waiting. The anticipation. All of it began to collapse into a shapeless mess of doubt, worry, and confusion. That stupid, joyous hope began to seep slowly out of him, leaving nothing but a hollow space where the thrill of seeing Lan Zhan, his beloved Lan Zhan, had been.

The ten-fifteen train was pulling into the station when Wei Ying stood up for the last time.

He was no longer sitting at the far end of the platform. He was near the beginning now. He had been there since six in the evening, eyes red from holding back tears, the bouquet of peonies looking weaker and more wilted between the desperate grip of his fingers.

With his vision blurred, he searched the small crowd one more time.

The platform was not so full anymore. It did not feel so alive. Few people arrived at Caiyi’s train station this late, so it only took him a few seconds to scan every tired face walking toward the exit stairs. None of those faces belonged to his husband. None of them turned to look at him.

No one wondered what a young man was doing there, anguished and silent, looking from one side to the other with a crushed bouquet in his hands.

The platform emptied.

No more trains would come.

But he, stubbornly, remained there.

“Sir, we are closing.”

Wei Wuxian lifted his gaze from the dim screen of his phone.

The battery was almost gone. He could probably make a couple more calls and still get home with a miserable two percent left. For a moment, he thought about asking the guard if he had a charger, but the man looked tired. Tired and maybe a little annoyed at having to remove some stubborn straggler from the platform when it was more than clear no other train would arrive.

“I’m…” Wei Ying swallowed, gripping his phone a little tighter. “I’m waiting for my partner,” he explained, his voice trembling into something far too small. “He said he would arrive today, and…”

“Well, clearly he didn’t,” the man replied, too sharply.

Then his expression shifted.

Only a little.

His tone softened when he saw the way Wei Ying’s eyes filled with tears.

“Or maybe you missed him,” the guard added. “Maybe he’s already home. Or maybe something came up.”

Wei Ying’s throat clicked as he swallowed. He pressed his fingers against his eyes to stop the tears from falling and shook his head, stubborn even now.

“He would have told me,” he whispered.

“Have you called him?”

Almost ashamed, Wei Wuxian nodded. He had called more times than he could count.

The guard sighed. There was a faint trace of pity in his expression, one Wei Ying managed to register through his exhausted eyes. Somehow, that only made him feel smaller. More miserable.

“You need to leave, kid,” the guard insisted. “We have to—”

But the man’s sentence died on his lips when Wei Ying’s phone began to vibrate in his hand. The ringtone echoed across the empty platform for the single second it took Wei Ying to answer.

He barely looked at the screen. He only saw the word Lan, and his smile returned at once, foolish and fragile.

“Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, I was waiting for you,” he said, his voice shaking. “What happened? Where—?”

The faint sound of a heavy exhale from the other side of the line interrupted him.

“A-Xian.”

No.

That was not Lan Zhan’s voice.

It was a man’s voice, yes. A usually serene voice that, for one brief second, seemed to break before gathering itself again.

But it was also a voice that had never, not once, called him anything other than Wei Wuxian.

“Lan-ge?”

Wei Ying turned, giving his back to the guard, who remained there in patient silence.

Another breath came through the line.

Wei Ying’s heart sped up. His stomach twisted, the way it might if he were standing at the edge of a drop too deep to see the bottom. 

And little by little, the ground was beginning to give way beneath his feet.

“Lan-ge?” Wei Ying asked in a weak whisper. “Do you… do you know where Lan Zhan is? He said he would arrive at three, and…”

“A-Xian.”

Lan Xichen’s voice was soft, trembling, barely restrained. 

It cut him off all the same.

“Didi is not coming.”

Wei Ying’s lips parted. Then closed.

He had so many questions. So many reasons to tell Lan Xichen he was wrong. He wanted to sit down and list every single reason why that sentence could not be true.

Because it could not be true.

“What do you mean?” he finally managed.

There was a pause that felt endless.

And then the ground beneath his feet began to crack. Reality started to crumble.

The wind blew.

But the leaves in the maple trees did not sway this time.

“There was an accident on his way to the airport.”

The ground shook.

“The car crashed.”

And Wei Ying began to fall.

Slowly at first. Slowly, like the words landing syllable after syllable in his mind. Slowly, like the dawning realization settling inside his ribcage, making his heart beat so fast and so loud he could have sworn he heard it echoing across the entire station.

Then he fell faster.

“He didn’t make it,” Lan Xichen continued. “Didi didn’t make it.”

The peonies slipped from Wei Ying’s hand and fell to the ground.

“He didn’t make it to the airport, you mean,” Wei Ying hurried to say. “That’s what you mean, right? He…”

A small breath came through the line, something close to a sob.

“He is gone, A-Xian.”

No.

“My didi is gone.”

No.

No, no.

This had to be a mistake.

“He can’t be gone,” Wei Ying insisted. “He… he said he would be back today. He said…”

Lan Xichen sobbed.

This time, he sobbed.

“A-Xian.”

No. No. No. No. No. No. 

No. No. No. 

No. 

No. 

“Wangji is dead.”

No. 

No. 

No.

“He can’t.” Wei Ying’s voice broke around the words. “No. He can’t be dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

No.

No.

Please, no.

He had said…

He had promised.

He had promised he would be back before the maple leaves fell.

“I’m so sorry,” Xichen said again.

The platform faded, the train station became a blur. The maple leaves fell with the wind, and the peonies lay forgotten on the platform floor.

Wei Ying was falling.

Reality was fading.

Lan Zhan was gone.

His husband. The love of his life. The same man Wei Ying himself had sent off on the business trip that had sealed their fate was no longer here.

He was not at the station. He was not holding his hand. He was not smiling with that knowing, warm, patient smile of his.

He was nowhere to be found.

His Lan Zhan.

His Lan Zhan.

He had promised.

Before the maple leaves began to fall.

But they were falling now.

Red and gold, drifting past the platform lights, landing softly on the concrete as if nothing had happened. As if the world had not just split open beneath his feet.

As if Lan Zhan had not promised.

As if Wei Ying had not believed him.

But the leaves started falling.

They were falling anyway.

Repatriating Lan Wangji’s body took five days.

The wake began that Friday.

The burial took place on Sunday.

The cemetery was full. Family, friends, acquaintances. Some coworkers had even traveled from abroad just to say goodbye to their colleague.

A responsible colleague. Professional. Admirable.

A serene friend. Attentive, patient, always willing to listen even when he had very little to say.

An exceptional brother. Strong, steady, supportive in that quiet way of his. A man who spoke his mind when it mattered and offered reassurance not through pretty words, but through presence. Through action. Through the simple, unwavering certainty that if Lan Wangji stood beside someone, he would not move.

Lan Xichen stood near the front, hands clasped tightly in front of him. His knuckles had gone pale a while ago, though no one seemed brave enough to point it out. His face remained composed, serene in the same way Lan Xichens had always been, but there was something wrong with that serenity now. Something thin and stretched almost to the point of breaking.

Every now and then, someone approached him. They bowed their heads, offered condolences, said what people always said when words had already failed before leaving the mouth, and Lan Xichen thanked every single one of them. He thanked them softly and correctly.

As if courtesy was the only thing keeping him upright.

Jiang Cheng stood a few steps away, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He looked like he had not slept in days.

Because he had not.

He had spent that week beside his brother, barely closing his eyes, afraid that if he looked away for too long, Wei Wuxian would disappear too. Afraid that if he slept, even for an hour, he would wake up to an empty room and the horrible certainty that whatever was left of his brother had slipped through his fingers. 

Many people had come to say goodbye.

Everyone was there.

Everyone, except…

“Where is Wei Wuxian?”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw tightened when he heard the question behind him. He did not know who had asked. He did not recognize the voice.

And for the same reason, he did not turn around to answer either, even though he knew.

Of course he knew.

His brother was at the station.

Waiting.

Sitting on the last bench of the platform, wearing his black shirt, his Converse, his denim jacket. Looking at the maple trees from a distance, holding the small bouquet of peonies in his left hand, his phone in the other.

Waiting for a train that had already come and gone. Waiting for a man lying beneath flowers and incense and polished wood.

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes.

Wei Wuxian was at the station.

Always, always the station.

Forty-year-old Wei Wuxian arrived at the train station at noon that Sunday, the chill breeze brushing against his smiling, pale, weathered face.

He wore his black shirt, his blue jeans, and his worn-out Converse. His denim jacket was neat and smelled faintly of perfume, as if someone had washed it carefully and helped him put it on before he left.

In his left hand, he held a small bouquet of peonies.

In his right, his phone. Old-fashioned, of course. An old Android that had been a great novelty back in 2013.

Lan Zhan had given it to him, and Wei Wuxian had never wanted to replace it.

With his usual quiet smile, he walked down the platform until he reached the bench at the very end. His grey eyes caught the golden sunlight, and with it the glimmer of the maple leaves beyond the station.

As he did every Sunday, he sat down to wait.

He nodded at the regular passengers. The ones who had seen him often enough to know what had happened to him thirteen years ago. The ones who had seen him there every week, wearing the same clothes, the same smile, carrying the same bouquet and the same old phone.

The ones who had seen him grow pale and thin and wrinkled. The ones who had watched his once-black, once-bright hair turn grey far too soon for a man his age.

To those who played along, he was still a twenty-seven-year-old man, joyfully waiting for his lover to arrive.

To the rest, he was a sick-looking forty-year-old man, uselessly waiting for someone who would never come back.

Too sick to be there, too thin to be standing, too stubborn to stay home and let the three o’clock Sunday train arrive without him waiting for Lan Zhan.

His Lan Zhan.

He looked at his watch.

Three o’clock.

The train whistled in the distance, and Wei Wuxian smiled. He stood and walked quickly toward the beginning of the platform, hurrying, beaming.

His heart beat fast as the train screeched softly to a stop, as he clutched the peonies closer and bit his lip.

The moment the doors opened, his face lit up with something too joyous, too painfully alive and young.

“Lan Zhan!”

He laughed and ran toward the open doors.

And there he was.

His husband, standing inside the carriage, his smile serene and loving just as Wei Wuxian remembered it. Golden eyes soft. White shirt immaculate. Hair black and bright, untouched by time, untouched by the thirteen years that had taken everything else from him.

“Wei Ying.”

And Wei Ying ran into his arms without even waiting for him to step off the train.

He kissed him, not caring what anyone might say. Not caring who could see. He only laughed against Lan Zhan’s mouth and let his husband hold him, let him caress his long, bright black hair and press their foreheads together.

“I am sorry I made you wait,” Lan Zhan murmured, stroking Wei Ying’s cheek with his thumb. “I am here.”

“I knew you would come.” Wei Ying chuckled, brushing the tip of his nose against Lan Zhan’s. “You promised.”

“I did.”

When he handed Lan Zhan the peonies, the man let out a small huff and took them carefully, a soft, helpless smile curving his lips. He stared at them, golden eyes full of yesterday, then kissed Wei Ying’s forehead so sweetly it made him chuckle again, as if any of this had never hurt.

As if any of this had only meant five months and nothing else.

The doors closed, but neither of them left the train.

They did not come back to the station either. What for? They did not need to anymore.

Wei Ying held on to him, and this time, Lan Zhan held on too.

This time, neither of them let go.

The train began to move slowly as they kissed again.

Somewhere behind the platform, people were shouting. Someone screamed for help.

But Wei Ying did not look back.

There was nothing for him there anymore.

Outside the station, the maple trees swayed with the wind.

The leaves did not fall.

They stayed and waited.

Because Lan Zhan had promised.

He would come back before the maple leaves fell.

And so he had.