Lan Xichen stares at his brother, pure and untouched. His brother, who has never panted with want and come undone under anyone’s hands, not even his own. His brother, who is asking so sweetly and innocently, to be taught.

Wei Ying’s gaze is so intent on his face, Lan Wangji can feel it, even without looking him in the eye. Wei Ying can read him so well. Almost as well as . . . Lan Wangji swallows. Even thinking the name feels like a dishonor in this moment, as his body is humming and pulsing at the familiar, much-trodden path his thoughts are slipping down.