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.

“I would still like to be kissed,” Wangji says, and his hand is very hot on Lan Xichen’s cheek. Perhaps one of them has a fever, or they both do. He opens his mouth to ask if they should open the window for some cool air. His brother kisses him as if that is what Lan Xichen had intended. He will not be sure, later, whether it was.