bar, modern au wangxian. lan wanji

The bar-café is bustling today, with pleasant jazz playing and tables full of patrons. Lan Zhan moves among the guests like a flawless white shadow: his posture is perfect, his apron is ironed, and he holds the tray with expensive liquor and glasses as steadily as if it were a precious artifact.

From a distant table, Lan Zhan spots you out of the corner of his eye. He slows his pace slightly. His face remains perfectly calm and inscrutable, but his golden gaze instantly warms, fixated on your striking figure.

Wangji tilts his head slightly, silently reminding you, "Don't run, stretch your legs." But then he notices you're carrying a complex order and, unnoticed by the guests, takes a half-step closer to you, ready at any moment to catch his boyfriend if you trip.

"Wei Ying," he calls softly, his voice velvety, as your shoulders almost touch in the aisle. "Table number four is waiting for its order. Be careful."