Never knew I missed you this much,
Never knew how empty I felt,
But now the feelings flow like never before,
Because I remember how good it could taste.

-------------------------------------------

Holding onto Lan Zhan's hand, I smile, recognizing his face. "It's really you," I chuckle. "Hell, you were acting like you don't know me." He keeps looking at me with an unreadably small expression. "Wait you remember me, don't you?"

"Mn. Wei Ying," he says, revealing a deep bottomless voice; nothing like it used to be.

I scrub a hand on my eyes. "Oh god, why did you pretend you—" I pause remembering that the only reaction he got from me is an expression of a mummified moron. "Never mind, forget it," I mutter. "How long have you been coming here? I don't remember seeing you before."

"Today is the first." He replies. So he's still one-worded like he used to be. He looks behind, I follow his gaze to a black Mercedes parked on the other side of the road. "I . . . should go now. Sorry."

Of course, I can't just spring out of nowhere and expect him to hang out with me, he does look like he's in a hurry. Still, despite that, some stubborn voice tells me that we shouldn't be strangers again just like this. "Do you have time tomorrow? Wanna grab a coffee with me?" He looks surprised. "Come on, for the old times' sake?"

After a totally bleak moment, he says, "Okay."

"Cool!" I chirp, like a literal chirp. "I'll meet you here at . . . four?"

Lan Zhan hums, unlike back then, it's a mezzo staccato in the first octave. It's . . . uh, it's deep.

"I'll leave for now," he says and looks down at—at our hands. A stabbing realization—I was still holding his. Fuck me.

"Oh." I couldn't stop the nervous chuckle that springs out of my mouth as I let go of the hand. "Sorry, I didn't—"

His gaze follows my hand. The second stabbing realization—I'm still wearing that wristband. Now I'm trying to—casually—put it behind my back. The god-forsaken odds are never in my favor.

"See you tomorrow," I attempt.

Another hum. It's deep.

He turns around and crosses the road. I think I might die before I do see him tomorrow.

When I walk into the living room, I had two pairs of eyes staring at me. "He looks okay," Shijie comments from the couch. "Better, maybe."

Cheng takes a good look at me and says, "He was pretty out of it before."

I stare at them dumbfounded. "What's going on?"

"Cheng tells me you were acting weird? Are you okay?"

A quick recap of the day reminds him that I asked him about the existence of Lan Zhan, "Don't mind him. I'm perfectly fine." Noticing the smell of vanilla I ask, "Are you baking something?"

"Oh god, I forgot the cake!" Shijie says, running to the kitchen.

Cheng glares at me. "Perfectly fine? You asked me if I can see a human!"

"So?" I flop on the sofa next to him.

Cheng groans. "There's no point talking to you."

I give a devilish grin to him, enough to make him let out a repulsed grunt. "Where did you disappear to?"

"I just . . . ran into someone I know," I reply, carefully. "Hey by the way, do you know anyone called Lan Zhan by any chance? He's a transfer. Our department."

"Lan? You mean Lan Corporation Lan?" he asks like I'm supposed to know what it is.

"What's that?"

"Pay attention when dad talks about business, idiot. They were highlights on business news a few months back. They changed CEOs I think. Top in China for sure." Cheng pulls his phone out. "Let me check."

"You follow business news on your phone?"

"Some of us work for the future." He says, holding his phone in his comical way of reading without glasses. "The former CEO was Lan Qiren, he's continuing as the chairman from London. New one Xichen . . . his nephew? And there's a Lan Wangji, the younger brother. I don't see a Zhan."

"Those are formal names, aren't they? What about birth names?"

"They don't post them on media."

"Yeah, probably." I pout. "Do they have a picture?"

Cheng nods turning his screen towards me, and there he is, next to who's said to be Lan Xichen, looking even better in a deep blue suit. "Found who you're looking—what the hell are you smiling about?"

"I'm not smiling." I snap.

"You clearly are!"

I snatch his phone and take a quick look through the screen, "I knew it. You follow all the gossip topics."

"Fucking give it back!"

I'm standing across the school gate, surprisingly fifteen minutes early, I think this is the earliest I've ever arrived for anything. So, the problem is, I'm not really sure if Lan Zhan wanted to hang out with me. Sure, he agreed. But that totally blank face of his didn't let me get even a hint of emotion. Maybe he only agreed because he didn't want to be rude. I mean, he did ignore me earlier.

And now I wonder when I started to worry about such small things.

At sharp four, Lan Zhan appears around the corner of the intersection, as if he's walking straight out from some urban fantasy movie set, fresh in casuals and early evening light. He's always had this charm. Like, objectively. I mean, it's a fact.

"Hey," I say, deciding to not make any connections about my accelerated heartbeat.

"Hello."

"So uh, what about Muds?" He stares at me without giving any answers, I assume he's confused. "The coffee shop?"

"I don't know. I haven't been here for some time," he says.

"Oh." So he wasn't in China? "Well, they have some decent coffee. You could try that."

As expected, I get an "Mn," as a reply. Seriously, what's with the way he hums?

After silent, awkward-trying-to-walk-straight transportation, we get a table at the café. I mean, it's fair that I'm nervous right? From spending every evening together to springing a gift to evaporating to appearing again like a stranger, it's natural that I'm a bit . . . out of normal function? "What do you want to drink?"

"Anything is fine," he replies.

"Still not much of a talker huh?" I chuckle.

He suddenly looks stiff. "Does that bother you?"

"Nope. I can talk for two." I grin. "Well, for three or four maybe." That gets a reaction out of him. Small, but, was it a smile? Reminding myself to stay on track—should I be reminding myself to stay on track?—"Well," I say, "I'll go order then." I stand up. "Don't worry. On me."

We settle with our coffees; I got him what I usually drink. He smells his and takes the most polite sip I've ever seen. Well, from that to the way he held the cup to the way he kept it back on the table, he had a practiced elegance I thought didn't exist after the 1800s. Like fucking royalty.

"So, you're from a business family, Lan Wangji?" Lan Zhan looks up from his mug, with a silent question of you stalked me. "Well, my foster parents are too. My brother happened to show me an article about the company. Saw you there." Grinning, I continue, "Plus, I'm gonna get to know you enough so I can haunt you if you disappear again."

A tiny chortle. "Fair enough."

"Honestly, I never imagined you're into business. You don't look like it," I comment. "Didn't look like it, I guess."

"What did I look like?"

"Hmm . . . someone in the literature line? Or a painter maybe. You used to look like you could write pages just about stars."

"I never thought that was a possibility." Lan Zhan replies after a bit of thought.

"Come on, you must've imagined yourself being something else at least once."

"No. This is what I'm meant to be."

"Okay, like, imagined?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

I blink. "Interesting."

"What about you," he asks after another sip.

"I'm not much of a planner. What comes, that's what I get." Well, that's the lightest way to put it. "You said you weren't around? Where were you?"

"In England," Lan Zhan replies, I press my mouth shut before it asks, in Buckingham perhaps? "I had to leave the country with my Uncle."

"That scary old guy you used to talk about?" I tease.

Okay, I admit, I have a zipless mouth. Maybe it was a bit too much to straight-up joke about his uncle. But anyway, he hums, I take it as a neutralizing sign. "That's why I . . . left," he says, giving me a glance of a second, like he's guilty.

"Oh." Now I can't even remember how I was angry about it. "It's all in the past anyway." I feel my lips stretch to a reassuring smile. For some reason, that softens whatever tension he had.

His gaze shifts to my hand, and he says, "You still have it."

He's looking at the faded wristband. Well, honestly, I don't know what I'm doing either. After few repetitions of removing it and wearing it again before coming here, I decided to keep it on. Anyone could see it creeping out of my sleeve. I still can't figure out what I'm trying to provoke here.

"Yeah,' I smile. "Sort of became a habit." Looking at that, I realize I want to feel that weird connection we had when we shared the endless sky. "How have you been?" the question just comes out of my mouth.

He answers in a way I did not expect him to, "Alive."

I chuckle. "Me too. Alive."

About the name system: I've used the 'birth name' as a sort of an affectionate name.