Fluffy WangXian Oneshots Book Two

Perfect Chemis-Tea

When they moved in together, Lan Zhan wasn't sure he was ready for a roommate.

He liked his space, he preferred peace and quiet, and he enjoyed his own company. He thought Wei Ying would be like that, too. Calm, considerate and kind.

Wei Ying was the equivalent of a mentos mint, if Lan Zhan was the bottle of Pepsi.

He was messy, he was loud, and he was everywhere.

About a month after he moved in, he called a Home meeting.

Lan Zhan was surprised at this because until now, Wei Ying was chaos personified, and actually asking for a meeting like this showed responsibility, a word he was sure Wei Ying did not know the meaning of.

It's Friday night.

Lan Zhan sits on the couch after removing a pile of books. Wei Ying is studying for his masters, and Lan Zhan knows this. He can be understanding about it, right? He remembers what it was like, cramming and writing essays after essays, crunching deadlines and trying to stay afloat.

Wei Ying bursts out of the bathroom, dripping all over the place with his wet hair, trying to towel it dry with one hand whilst clutching the other towel barely hanging onto his hips.

"Oh my fucking God, I'm late to my own meeting, aren't I?"

Lan Zhan hopes he's not expecting actual words to leave his lips because there's nothing up there. Just white noise. Static.

Why is he so beautiful?

Lan Zhan hates himself, hates the way he feels, hates even more that Wei Ying makes him feel like this, all hot and bothered, that even if anything flammable came anywhere near him, it would burst into flames as easily as a cigarette next to petrol.

His skin feels hot, blood blistering underneath it with how much Lan Zhan wishes he could kiss him. This attraction has come out of nowhere, suddenly flaring up like a hot geyser blowing up steam and frothing into the air unexpectedly. He doesn't understand it, not even when Wei Ying stares at him, all intense and fiery silver, a question in his gorgeous eyes.

"I'll be two secs!" he shouts, scooting into his room and closing his door with a bang.

It's the noise of wood hitting more wood that jolts Lan Zhan out of his fantasy. Great. That's just great. His borderline fascination with his innocent roommate has just escalated into imagining what his skin would taste like, with every drop of water rolling down that lovely chest, following its progress with his tongue.

Would Wei Ying make a noise? Would he be silent?

Lan Zhan sits on his hands and forces himself to recite the rules that his uncle used to make them recite when he and his brother were youngsters.

Alcohol is prohibited.
Running is prohibited.
Fighting without permission is prohibited.
Causing noise is prohibited.
Sitting improperly is prohibited.
Arrogance is forbidden.
Do not be picky with foo-

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Wei Ying takes a flying leap over the couch and plants himself on it, wearing a pair of black sweatpants that look worn and ever so soft, with a red t-shirt that says "Blow me!" with a deflated balloon depicted on a mug. It's faded as if Wei Ying has washed it far too many times.

Lan Zhan is immediately tense.

Wei Ying is warily watching him back, fidgeting with his fingers and twisting them into knots.

"The meeting?" Lan Zhan says, fixing his vision on Wei Ying's knee because that seems so much safer than the image of blowing on a hot beverage, which of course, is the meaning on his t-shirt. Like, duh! How could it be anything else?