Lan Wangji leaned forward to lick the sweat off of Wei Wuxian’s neck. “I am fucking you,” he said as Wei Wuxian started to whine. He took his hand away, blinking his way back into the jingshi. Lan Wangji was laying there as unruffled as ever. “You really like the begging, huh?” Wei Wuxian said weakly. Lan Wangji’s smile was so warm, his eyes so soft. He said, “Wei Ying’s voice is pleasing to me.” --- Wei Wuxian can read Lan Wangji's mind. He's surprised by what he finds there.

The single faceless, anonymous photograph on the profile that catches his eye is shot in elegant black-and-white, and there’s something about the crispness of the focus and the markedly off-center composition that says art, for once, rather than mugshot. The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.” (Or: Meng Yao gets wrecked by that Good Lan Dick. Lan Xichen gets wrecked by Meng Yao's Whole Deal.)

He doesn’t look up when Baiyi passes. Probably doesn’t even remember him. So what. You don't need a rosebush to remember you, you just enjoy catching sight of it here and there.