“You know, Lan Zhan, you don’t have to eat all of that,” Wei Wuxian said, as he watched his husband swallow bite after bite of the slightly spicy noodle soup Wei Wuxian made.
But Lan Wangji wasn’t deterred, and persevered with the noodle soup without saying a word. But the spice was definitely having an impact on him; you could see the slight sheen of sweat running across his forehead and he wasn’t doing a very good job to disguise his runny nose.
Wei Wuxian just shook his head. His husband was a stubborn one.
Lan Wangji finished and Wei Wuxian was surprised. The man had managed to eat it all— not a drop left in sight. Though, one look at his flushed face said he was paying the price. He reached across the table for some water and took a drink before Wei Wuxian could stop him.
“Ah, you’re only going to make it worse by drinking water, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said.
Lan Wangji swallowed what was in his mouth and put the water down, but the damage was already done if the slight widening of his eyes was anything to go by.
Wei Wuxian shook his head fondly, before sitting right next to his husband.
“Why would you put yourself through that, Lan Zhan? You can’t handle spices.”
“Spices are Wei Ying’s comfort food,” Lan Wangji said.
Wei Wuxian chuckled. Of course that was his husband’s reasoning. “Yes, they’re my comfort food. You don’t have to eat them.”
“I want to,” Lan Wangji said.
“For my sake or yours?” Wei Wuxian said.
“Both.”
Wei Wuxian considered this. “Okay. But if you genuinely want to enjoy spicy foods then you should start small. It’ll be easier that way.”
Lan Wangji nodded. Wei Wuxian grinned; his husband was devoted.