[Completed]
BOOK 2 OF WHERE I BELONG
-A Modern AU-
Seven years after the painful separation from his former lover, Wei Wuxian had determined to leave his past behind, except that the life he settled for wasn't really perfect. He had made up his mind...
Hereby I declare, I experienced divinity here on Earth, and he belongs to me.
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Lan Zhan
"Be careful Lan Zhan, that tux looks fucking good, I might rip it off any minute." Wei Ying groans, looking at me through the mirror, sitting on the bed while I fasten my watch on my wrist.
"That's contradicting," I comment, receiving a chuckle.
"It's supposed to be?"
"That doesn't make sense."
Wei Ying smirks. "Oh, so it doesn't?" He stands up from the bed. I spare a glance, just a glance, at his full black attire—a turtle neck and a matching suit. He stands in front of me and with one hand cradling my nape, hooking the fingers of the other between the buttons of my shirt, his face just an inch away from mine. "I can show you how it makes sense, Mr. Lan."
"I should wear this tonight."
We were dressing up to attend a gala held by the G-group. Not that I liked attending such events. But keeping a good relationship with them was essential, especially due to a partnership we'll be having in a few months.
"But I don't want to go." He gives a nip on his lower lip.
Saying no words, I grab his hand on my shirt and hold his neck with the other; Wei Ying grins at the turn of the events—only that it didn't. I lean in and kiss him till he's breathless. "You promised me you would," I whisper before I get out of his arms and walk away, leaving him flustered.
"Hey, hey, I'm not done with you yet," I hear him say when I walk out of the room.
"We're running late," I yell back, ignoring the all suggestive comments that followed.
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"So, we are actually doing this." Wei Ying mutters, continuously tapping his fingers on his knee, glancing at the crowd through the car window.
A few days ago both of us received invitations for this separately. After giving it a lot of thought, we decided to make an appearance together, before visiting Uncle. Now, upon our arrival at the venue, the weight began to feel more real.
"Are you nervous?" I ask, softly.
"I am." He sighs. "But I really, really, want to do this."
I reach out and take his hand in my own nervous ones, giving them a squeeze. "It'll be okay."
"I know," He smiles, despite himself. "I know," he repeats, leaning in to kiss me long, reassuringly. He pulls away but rests his forehead against mine, it was our own way of comforting ourselves. He squeezes my hand back, and whispers, "Let's give 'em hell."
We present our invitations and walk into a party that was already alive—the liquor was already flowing and live music was going on. As soon as we enter, a few prying eyes fall on us, first on one, then on the other, then realizing what it meant. I read almost a half of those expressions to be neutral, some confused, some commenting among each other, and a few of disgust.
