“It’s Friday night,” Yanli says, a warm teasing note in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be doing something more fun than studying chemistry?” “What are you doing?” Wen Qing asks, stung. “You’re just hanging out in your dorm, right?” “Mm,” Yanli says, the warmth still in her voice. Wen Qing can almost imagine her stretching like a cat as she says it, one of those long dancer’s legs lifting high. It’s a hot night; maybe she’s wearing those tiny grey stretch shorts she wears when she comes right from dance class to the dining hall, barely peeking out under a long t-shirt. Wen Qing has thought about those shorts a lot.

“Really? Right now?” Wei Ying whispered, and Lan Zhan could only nod, a reckless pulse throbbing in his veins.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, gentle, the words like knives on his tongue. He holds Lan Zhan steady as he leans away, with a sense that he’s shaping fire with his hands, a great force bending to his will. They could burn down the world together, he thinks, and then where would they be.