Wangji walks through the crowded buzz of the ally. The food stalls and restaurants on either side ranged from small generational ones to fancy ones aimed at tourism, giving off the inviting aroma of homey spices regardless; he inhales it in as if it's a guilty pleasure. He has not been in Shanghai since the one time he visited for a trip when he was twelve, but being back in his home country had him comfortable enough to navigate through the streets trusting the map on his phone.

The wedding is to be held in the afternoon day after. He flew the night before to be sure that he wouldn't be jet lagged during the event, but ended up sleeping through the whole morning because the alarm didn't ring on time. (He forgot to change the time zone on his phone). It's not that bad, Wangji thinks. He can't remember the last time he was tired enough to pass out like that.

He spent the day checking a few boxes on his bucket list of places to photograph, and he was just around the corner of Nanjing Road, camera ready, giddy at the colors existing in front of him.

He lines up a few shots. A landscape of the vivid billboards on both sides of the road, a portrait of one side—maybe he can get some shots of reflections if he can visit late on a rainy night. Position change. A person with the hood up lighting up a smoke, a few more close-ups on a billboard, a coffee cup steaming in a stranger's hand.

He sets the camera down and rolls through the photos. His phone gives a buzz.

It's cold here, gege. The weather ain't helping my libido.

Wangji's shoulders quiver in a giggle. He's never known how far Wei Ying actually meant of these texts. His sense of humor was questionable, but it worked. Questionably, maybe.

Just last week Wei Ying opened up to him about a past relationship, crowding his phone with incoherent texts of one trail of thoughts flowing to the other, seeming to be in the middle of a breakdown.

Wangji was, reasonably, shocked.

But it seemed to be something Wei Ying wanted to let out for a long while but didn't know how to. Or even who to. Wangji definitely wasn't expecting to be the one to be confided with such vulnerable details; honest confessions that seem so precious to be only bided to god. But there he was, listening—fascinated even. And it left him feeling the exact relief that bubbled in his chest after the talk about his insomnia.

Wangji thinks, maybe it's a different sort of intimacy. And then he pushes the thought away.

His lock screen read 9:16. He has to meet Xichen tomorrow before the wedding begins. And he'll have to clean his equipment before that. There's the charging to take care of—he should have dinner and head back to the hotel soon.

Wangji plugs his earbuds and drowns the buzz of the streets with the soft piano notes of April Showers from where it stopped the last time. The streets were vivid and home-like, touched with a sense of familiarity. He breathes in—his night is cold too.

He lets out his breath, walking into the night, layered in relief and ease. And maybe some edge of longing.

***

Having a hotel room for himself, turns out, feels free than Wangji has ever been. The change of environment did magic he didn't expect it to, holding his spirits high. The tension and stress that's been knotting up in his chest disentangle by a notch—it's comforting after the five months of constant adapting and fitting in. Breaking and putting back together.

Wangji takes half an hour to edit his photos. They've turned out better than he expected after so long being out of touch with landscape photography. With a little spike of excitement, he loads Tumblr on his laptop and arranges a few clicks for a post. On a new tab, a translation of the song he was listening to.

There gleams the beauty of the hazy sky. The place I missed has changed.

That's it. So vague yet so clear.

He hits post.

A shower was exactly what he needed. He was overstuffed after stomaching his dinner—one portion was too much for a person as always—and the relaxing warmth of the water left him pleasantly tired. He was changing into his pajamas when his phone starts buzzing violently on the wooden table top; a series of texts going off one after the other.

He pulls up his pants and hangs the towel around his neck to check the screen. Two texts from Xuanyu, but the ongoing ones are from Wei Ying. Of course.

Lan Zhan
Lan Zhaaan. Please tell me you can text me.
Oh god I'm freaking out.
What the fuck?? What the fuuuck?

It's followed by a screenshot of the photos he posted just a while ago.

THIS!

Some more texts appear below that as he watched.

Are you here? Physically here? Physically close by?

Wangji's brain starts running at miles per hour. He gulps. And types, Yes, I'm here currently. His fingers shiver over the screen, watching Wei Ying's typing dots.

Let's meet

What?

I'm not kidding.
This is where I live.

Wangji stares at the two sentences; a part of his brain muttering that he's only joking, the other part pointing out he's not.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god
I fucking can't believe this.

He didn't expect it this soon. He didn't realize before that he's been expecting it to begin with.

Don't ghost me now okay?

I'm not going to.

Can we really meet?
Do you live here? No don't answer that. Can we just meet?

Inside Wangji's brain is a workshop, rationalizing and de-rationalizing the same facts over and over. We can. He types and clears. I don't have much time. But we can try—clears again.

I'll be back again in a month, maybe then. But he's not sure. Maybe not now—

Oh my god I'm just too happy.
Is this fate gege?

His ribs spasm, breath hitching in an unsettling gasp.

I really want to meet you in person. We can right?

I'm not sure.

And there's nothing. His text stays at the bottom of the screen for a full long minute. After that, even Wei Ying's green dot disappears.

I'm sorry, he sends, attempting something he doesn't quite know what. But then it's another long minute of that text at the bottom. Nothing happens. Nothing at all

Being left like this . . . wasn't a good feeling.

He lies awake for very long, very unnerving minutes. He's tired but his mind is protesting again, desperately trying to grasp what put him off this much. Saying no is easy; it's one thing he's never had trouble with. But this left him disturbed; guilty; with the twists in his guts like he did something he never should. He doesn't even know where to start.

On the nightstand, his phone finally gives a buzz, almost reluctantly. There's a tug, a hope. It's hiccuping. Ask me again, his mind mutters to no one.

It's okay.
Sorry for intruding

-------

Apologies about the late update >< 

The song metioned: April Showers by Aimer.
It's a Japanese song, and there are a few versions of translations out there, each one diferent. 
Here's the original version

どこか綺麗で
懐かしい場所に変わって

Credits: yuyu_finale on Twitter