"You don't have to do this."
"No I want to! For you!"
"It's just-"
"What, Lan Zhan, think I will be too much for all the old people there?" Wei Ying smirks and gives a twirl, his black tuxedo jacket fanning out to reveal the bright red satin lining that Lan Zhan definitely thought was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen.
"Promise me, you'll be on your best behaviour. The donors will be there and the program could use the funding."
"I, Wei Wuxian," he starts, raising his right hand, "promise to be on my best behaviour so my husband can get more money."
Lan Wangji is about to nod in acceptance when the other man drops his voice low and sultry, "and if I'm not, the great Hanguang Jun will do his very best to punish me, isn't that right, Lan Zhan."
An undignified squeak escapes the tight lips and he has to turn away to avoid the intense gaze. "We have to go or we will be late."
The smile never leaves Wei Ying's face as Lan Wangji pulls him out the apartment door.
Orchestra Hall is a huge soaring building, all trimmed with gold and marble. The interior screams 'easily broken' which are words that should never be paired with Wei Wuxian's name. It's immediately too stuffy and he has to fight the urge to loosen his collar the second he steps in. No, I promised Lan Zhan I'd be good tonight. And if that means having to suffer through this horrible tuxedo then so be it.
The university had splurged on this evening and purchased an entire opera box in the theatre, situated just off-centre. A number of tuxedo-clad catering staff amble between groups of people, offering them finicky little hors d'oeuvres that Wei Ying is sure he would need to eat an entire platter of in order to feel even a little full. Lan Wangji detaches himself from his husband's side for a minute, returning with two drinks in fancy crystal glasses. The whole air is dripping heavy with decorum and Wei Wuxian is suddenly very aware that he does not belong.
There's an older man, dressed in deep purple who stands off to the side by himself. They meander over to them, carefully making it seem like they weren't directly making a beeline for him (which they definitely were). Wei Ying recognised the man from somewhere but Lan Zhan had just too many coworkers for him to keep them all straight.
"Good evening Qiao Boshi. I'd like to introduce you to my husband Wei Wuxian. He is a teacher at a primary school in the city. And Wuxian, this is Qiao Boshi, the head of the Department of Music and an excellent zhonghu player."
"A pleasure to meet you, Qiao Boshi." Wei Ying gives a small polite bow, deferring to the other man's position. "I attended the faculty concert last year and I must agree with my husband's judgement. Your performance of On the Grassland made me cry."
"Good to meet you as well, Wei Wuxian." Qiao Boshi narrows his eyes and the younger man feels his stomach plummet. His brain runs through every lesson of etiquette Madam Yu ever taught him. What did I do wrong? I greeted him, I bowed, I complimented him… But instead of disgust, the man simply smiles, "Hmm, let me guess, you play the dizi."
Wei Ying's mouth falls open, shock completely wiping away all traces of propriety.
"How did you know that? Lan Zhan, he's incredible!"
The older man laughs, high and cheerful, and Wei Wuxian can already feel their friendship forming. "Not at all. Your husband often tells us of your musical talents. He says you're an excellent composer, which coming from him is very high praise indeed. I would love to hear you play some time."
If anyone could have read the expression on Lan Wangji's face at that moment, it would have screamed embarrassment. There was no hint of rosy colour on his cheeks but Wei Wuxian knew it must be there, hiding beneath the surface.
"You talk about me at work? Oh Lan Zhan, I love you."
Lan Wangji just fixed him with his best shut-up-this-instant glare before gracefully leading the conversation to a different topic. From there, Wei Wuxian is tugged around from group to group being introduced to what seems like an endless stream of people. It's a welcome relief when a staff member crisply announces that the concert will be beginning and that they should take their seats. They settle down in the velvet seats, hands intertwining on the armrest separating them.
The two hours of music pass in a blur, each man too invested in the sounds and sights to do anything but watch. Lan Wangji can feel his husband's pulse thrumming in his hand, quickening to echo the tempo on stage. He allows himself a smile, tiny and sweet, wondering just how he had been so lucky to marry this man. The chaotic, caring enigma of a man sitting next to him in a suit jacket lined with rebellious red satin.
After the concert, there's another hour of schmoozing with rich donors and regents of the university. It's nearing eleven now and Wei Wuxian can see his husband's eyes growing weary. Alright people, it's time to wrap it up. My husband needs his beauty sleep. The man is in bed by 9:00 every night.
Delicately interjecting himself into the conversation, Wei Wuxian excuses himself and Lan Wangji from the event.
"Thank you." The gratitude in his husband's voice is clear and he hangs on Wei Ying's arm as they make their way back through the lobby to the cloakroom. After helping Lan Zhan with his coat, they step out the front doors and into the cool night.
Rain is drizzling down steadily and the marquee lights glisten against the wet pavement casting the street in a gold-hued brilliance.
"Are you hungry?" Lan Wangji asks, breath fogging the air as he opens their umbrella.
"Ahh Lan Zhan, you know I always am." He pats his stomach which gives a responding growl.
"Should we find somewhere to eat?"
"Are you sure? It's late and I know you're probably tired. We can just head home."
"I'd prefer to not listen to your stomach all night."
"Aiya, you know it's not that bad! Come on, I smell something good."
Down a narrow street, there's a lone roujiamo vendor, the smell of pork and warm bread thick. The woman in the stand greets them with soft eyes and a grisled voice. Lan Wangji reaches into his pocket for a few yuan and passes them over. Two steaming hot parcels wrapped in paper are passed back and they sit down on a nearby bench.
The night perseveres on, as steady as the rain. Their sandwiches are long finished, only the smell of cardamon on their breath a reminder. Wei Ying wraps his arms around his husband, snuggling his face into the man's warm neck. Together, beneath their shared umbrella, they watch the people and vehicles hustle past.
And Lan Zhan can't imagine anything more romantic than this moment.
Footnotes:
1) 博士 (Bóshì): means literally "PhD" but is also a honorific meaning 'doctor' as in a doctor of academia
2) 中胡 (Zhōnghú): a low-pitch bowed string instrument
3) 肉夹馍 (Ròujiāmó): a delicious and commonly-found street food made from warm bread stuffed with spiced meat (usually pork)