Fixing

“I went to the pharmacy.” It is Friday, which means that it is also Lan Wangji’s turn to cook. He leaves his shoes by the door and heads for the kitchen.

Wei Wuxian follows him. “Okay,” he says, a question in the word that follows aloud without pause. “Was there a problem with the refill? I thought they left you one of those comforting automated messages that it was ready.” A half-empty sack of potatoes sits in the first cupboard that Lan Wangji opens, so he removes it to the counter. The cutting boards are where they belong, tucked beside the microwave. “Yes. That was for the needles and syringes, apparently. They contacted the wrong doctor for the testosterone renewal.”