Chapter Text
Song Lan walks through the door of their apartment at almost exactly half-past six as Xingchen is desperately stalling on leaving the house for his— book tour? Blog tour? Xue Yang isn’t clear. It’s been explained to him multiple times, but it’s all sort of bullshit, so he doesn’t really bother to retain much of the details. Whatever it is, he’s never seen Xingchen this on edge before, so it’s a relief that Song Lan is home. He’s so much more soothing than Xue Yang is.
“Really? You had to run late today of all days,” Xingchen says. “I thought you weren’t going to get here before I had to leave.”
“Sorry, love. You know how traffic gets at rush hour.” Song Lan sets his briefcase down and goes in to kiss Xingchen, and Xingchen— dodges.
Xue Yang’s stomach drops. This is the moment when he knows.
Song Lan looks at Xingchen, confused.
“You couldn’t leave early today? Rush hour doesn’t change from day to day, you know.”
Song Lan says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Look, I know you’re stressed about this trip, but please don’t take it out on me.”
Xingchen looks at him, going first red and then—very pale. He says in a rush, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving.”
“Of course you’re leaving. You have a flight to catch,” Song Lan says. He rubs Xingchen’s upper arm.
“No—I—no. Not just—” Xingchen shuts his eyes.
Xue Yang waits for him to finish the thought. To put them out of their misery. And then just to say something. Anything. The silence stretches out, unbreaking, until—
“He’s dumping us,” Xue Yang says because someone has to.
“What the fuck?” Song Lan snaps at Xue Yang. Then, when Xingchen doesn’t immediately disagree, he repeats himself in a soft, small voice, “What the fuck?”
“I don’t want to date two people who don’t want to be with each other. It’s—exhausting. Lately, I feel like you’re not even trying to get along anymore. I’m tired of feeling like I’m your parent instead of your boyfriend. So I’m done. It’s over.” Xingchen’s knuckles are white on the handle of his suitcase.
“Xingchen, we can try harder. I mean, I’ve been busy at work, so maybe I haven’t been the most patient—”
Xue Yang snorts.
“You’re not really helping our case here,” Song Lan says.
“Sorry that I don’t think we’re going to argue Xingchen out of dumping us when he’s clearly had this all planned out.”
“But—the Montreal trip?” Song Lan says, bewildered.
Xingchen smiles, thin and terrible. “Don’t worry. I never bought the tickets.”
Song Lan stares at him. “Then why—?”
“Because I didn’t want to have this exact argument with you.” Xingchen starts to drag his suitcase toward the door. “I have to leave right now, or I’ll miss my flight. A-Qing will be by to get my things next week. Don’t do anything stupid.” He shuts the door behind him. Locks it from the outside before he goes.
And just like that he’s gone.
Xue Yang and Song Lan stand in the front hall together. Song Lan hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet. They’re silent, staring at the front door. What is there to say?
Eventually, Xue Yang says, “Yeah, I always thought he’d pick you, too.”
Song Lan makes a soft strangled noise. “Fuck.” He crosses the hallway and grabs Xue Yang.
He tenses because he assumes Song Lan’s about to throw him across the apartment or maybe out a window, but instead—instead, Song Lan hugs him. Clings to him, really, wrapping around him like a friendly blanket. Xue Yang shoves his face into Song Lan’s chest and lets himself cry onto Song Lan’s nice, crisp button-down. If nothing else, he knows that’ll really piss off Song Lan later. They’ll need the distraction.
When he can’t cry anymore, Xue Yang pushes Song Lan away. “We should order takeout and, like, ice cream? Can you get ice cream delivered? And maybe cheesecake.”
“What, are you gonna watch The Notebook too?”
“No, bitch, we’re watching Legally Blonde. Has no one ever dumped you before?”
Song Lan ruffles Xue Yang’s hair, but doesn’t actually answer. Doesn’t seem quite present. Like he’s the one who got in a cab to the airport, not Xingchen. He takes off his shoes and his coat. Once he puts on a pair of house slippers, he says, “Fine. Pho or burgers?”
“What if we got both?”
“Xue Yang.”
“No, I’m serious. Get one order of pho and one burger, and we’ll split them. Also I want a milkshake.”
“You can’t have ice cream and a milkshake,” Song Lan says automatically, fiddling with his phone. He’s almost certainly texting Xiao Xingchen, begging him to take him back.
“Xiao Xingchen just dumped us, so yes, I fucking can.”
“Fine. Okay.” Song Lan rolls his eyes. “Enjoy your milk shits. Do I also need to order us rosé or something?”
“Nah, we have half a handle of tequila somewhere and we’ll drink all of Xingchen’s craft beers in vengeance.”
Song Lan opens his mouth, and Xue Yang just knows he’s going to say they shouldn’t drink Xingchen’s craft beers.
“He dumped us because we’re too much work. We’re legally allowed to drink his fucking beers. Morally obliged, even.”
“Fine! Fine. But I’m only getting us pho.”
“Cool, get us the biggest saddest sundae from the fanciest ice cream place you can find. See if they can add cheesecake bites or whatever. I’m gonna pour shots for us.” Xue Yang heads for the kitchen. He pulls out six shot glasses and fills each one with the shitty tequila they bought for their housewarming party over a year ago and never touched again. Then, he takes a slug straight from the bottle, just for good measure.
Song Lan wrenches it away from him, spilling tequila over his chin. “No. I’m not taking you to the emergency room while I’m busy grieving the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Xue Yang smirks at him. “So is this better or worse than when you dumped Xingchen?”
“When I dumped Xingchen—I broke it off with Xingchen the first time because he wouldn’t get rid of you. If he had, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
It’s been a long, long time since they’ve had this argument—years probably—but Xue Yang doesn’t miss it. Doesn’t miss the early days when Song Lan would glare at him constantly and treat him like some kind of homewrecker who had destroyed his and Xingchen’s paradise. As if he’d seduced Xiao Xingchen away from Song Lan. As if Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been on hookup apps long after he’d started seeing Song Lan anyway.
Xue Yang remembers lying next to Xingchen on their third date, curled up together on Xingchen’s mattress, tucked under the eaves of the attic room he’d lived in at the time. Xingchen was petting Xue Yang’s hair, running his fingers through it. Comforting. It had been a long time since Xue Yang had fucked anyone who was kind to him.
And then Xingchen said, “So I’m kind of seeing this guy,” and the bottom dropped out of Xue Yang’s stomach. He was so sure he was about to get the brush off. But Xingchen said, “Is that okay? If we’re not exclusive?”
“Yes,” Xue Yang said, more a sigh of relief than a word. “That’s fine.”
“Not—totally open or anything. Just the two of you.”
Xue Yang nodded against Xingchen’s chest. And then: “Does he know about me?”
Xingchen faltered. Hesitated. “Not yet. I—I really like him.”
It sent a thrill down Xue Yang’s spine: Xingchen told him first.
After a moment, Xingchen hurriedly added, “Not that I don’t like you too.”
But Xue Yang already knew what he meant. The stakes were different for Xingchen with the other guy, the other guy who would turn out to be Song Lan. Song Lan was serious. Song Lan mattered. Xue Yang was the one Xingchen asked to compromise. And if Xue Yang had said no, he wasn’t willing to share? What would Xingchen have done? Xue Yang always suspected that would have been the end of it. Suspected Song Lan would never have found out.
At least not till someone else said yes.
So they shared. They shared until Xingchen worked up the nerve to tell Song Lan he was sharing. That they weren’t exclusive. And Song Lan told Xingchen to get lost.
After a week of Xingchen sulking, sniffly and clinging to Xue Yang, Song Lan came crawling back. They went on weird three-person dates where Xue Yang and Song Lan tried to get along and mostly failed. From the start, they both knew the entire experiment was doomed and Xingchen would’ve been better off dating them separately, instead of trying to force them to all be one big happy family.
And then Xingchen dragged Xue Yang back to Song Lan’s meticulous studio apartment, even though Xue Yang said repeatedly that he had no interest in watching Song Lan fuck his boyfriend. Xingchen promised him that was not what was going to happen. And it wasn’t.
Song Lan fucked Xue Yang instead.
After that, it went okay. They tolerated each other—if barely—for Xingchen. And for the sex. He and Song Lan have always had great sex. They managed to tolerate each other well enough to date for years in their weird stalemate. Even managed to live together.
Until now. Until Xingchen got sick of them.
But that’s Song Lan’s fault. Xue Yang was happy with what he had: Xingchen and occasional angry sex with Xingchen’s shitty boyfriend. It was Song Lan who kept sniping at Xue Yang, starting fights, complaining about his habits—
Xue Yang sneers. “Maybe I wasn’t the one he wanted to get rid of.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Xue Yang pushes three shots toward Song Lan and picks up the first of his own. “Bottoms up, bitch.” And he knocks it back. It burns. It has the same vile, stomach-curdling taste that it did when he last drank it (and swore never to drink it again). “Fuck. Fuck, that’s gross.”
Song Lan is staring at him over the tequila shot delicately poised in his hand. He looks like he’s about to decide to back out.
“Don’t you dare pussy out on me,” Xue Yang says, picking up his second shot. “Knock it back. Now.”
To Xue Yang’s surprise, Song Lan does as he’s told. After the first shot, he shakes his head like a dog shaking off water and grabs another one and does that shot too, so Xue Yang has to rush to catch up. Song Lan holds up the last shot like he’s proposing a toast. “To Xiao Xingchen: fuck him and his gorgeous ass.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Xue Yang says and does the final shot. He feels awful, but whether it’s from getting dumped or drinking too much shitty tequila, there’s no way to know. He wanders into the living room and turns on the TV. It’s still logged into Xingchen’s Netflix account. Fuck. Xue Yang decides to use it anyway and not tell Song Lan, who would probably have moral qualms or something. Legally Blonde isn’t even on Netflix, though, which is almost disappointing. He opens Prime Video and rents Legally Blonde using Song Lan’s credit card. He gets the HD version for the joy of spending an extra dollar of Song Lan’s money.
From the kitchen, Song Lan shouts, “Amazon has just informed me that someone purchased Legally Blonde on my account.”
“No, I rented it,” Xue Yang yells back.
“You could’ve asked first,” Song Lan says, coming in with two cans of Xingchen’s weird beer.
“Oh, shit, are we drinking straight from the can? Are we being bad?” Xue Yang laughs. Xiao Xingchen has always insisted that the flavor is fuller if you pour them into one of his douchey glasses, which are apparently beer-specific, although Xue Yang can’t tell them apart.
Song Lan settles next to him on the couch. “I’ll let you break his beer glasses later if you don’t act like an asshole all night.”
“Zichen, are you trying to seduce me?” Xue Yang takes a swig of the beer. It’s gross. He takes another swig. He looks over at Song Lan, who should have said something cutting back by now. He looks… tense? Definitely weird. Xue Yang plays what he just said in his head. Oh shit.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Cool.” Xue Yang sips his beer.
Song Lan is staring at him.
“What, dude?”
“You’re not gonna argue?”
Xue Yang shrugs. “Call me sweetheart and I’ll stab you, motherfucker.”
Song Lan nods once. Returns to his beer. Keeps peeking at his phone from time to time. Xue Yang pretends that Song Lan’s just checking on their delivery orders, not transparently hoping that Xingchen has texted him back. Xue Yang would bet good money that Xingchen has his phone turned off. Hell, he probably printed out his boarding pass just so he could keep it shut off until his flight landed. The absolute fucker.
Xue Yang nurses his beer, feeling the tequila dragging him down into a pleasantly drunken stupor. He’s well and truly drunk by the time their delivery order arrives, just as on screen Elle is finishing her disastrous first day at Harvard Law.
Song Lan, who is probably slightly less drunk because there’s so much more of him (and what is all that extra Song Lan for? Who needs that much Song Lan? Fuck), doesn’t move to get it.
Xue Yang says, “Go get the food.”
Song Lan glares at him. Xue Yang kicks him in the side, which just results in beer splashing across Song Lan’s lap. Song Lan raises an eyebrow.
“I’m drunk. You can’t make me go out there. I’ll probably forget to tip.”
“I already tipped on the app,” Song Lan says. “Go get the food.”
Xue Yang doesn’t. He does, however, slide his foot into Song Lan’s lap, rubbing his heel over Song Lan’s dick.
Song Lan slaps his foot away as his phone starts ringing in his hand. “Hello? Yes, yes, I’ll be right down. Uh huh. Yeah, I’m wearing—” Song Lan gives Xue Yang the once-over. “The world’s saddest sweatpants and a Hawaiian print shirt. Probably sandals with socks on. High ponytail. Bad attitude. Yup, see you soon.” Song Lan hangs up.
“My sweatpants aren’t sad,” Xue Yang says. Song Lan snorts. Okay, they are maybe—slightly stained. Could use a wash. But the stains give them character and also, hey, Xue Yang’s boyfriend just dumped him, so he’s never doing laundry again.
“You’re not getting up, are you,” Song Lan says after Xue Yang continues to sit on the couch, watching his movie.
“Nope.”
Song Lan sighs. Xue Yang thinks he’s won the argument until Song Lan pauses the movie—over Xue Yang’s incredibly loud protests that he was watching that—and bodily picks him up. This time, Song Lan does throw him out of the apartment, although he has the decency to do it through the front door, so at least Xue Yang doesn’t have a four-story fall to worry about. Song Lan tosses some flip flops out after him and slams the door. And locks it. And, if sound is anything to go by, puts the chain on the door.
Xue Yang bangs on the door. “Motherfucker!”
“Go get the food,” Song Lan says, his voice muffled through the door. Xue Yang glares at him through the peephole and then, well, heads down to get their fucking food.
The delivery person is a college aged kid with a shitty excuse for a mustache. He looks weirdly nervous. “Are you Song Lan?”
“Yup,” Xue Yang says.
“Oh, uh. Cool, I have your, um, dinner.”
Xue Yang grabs the bags from him before he finishes the sentence and heads back to the elevator.
“Have a good night?”
He doesn’t respond, just mashes the close-door button savagely, trying to get away from this idiot having a normal evening as quickly as possible. Song Lan, that fucker, had better be waiting at the goddamn door for him. He leans on their doorbell for a full half-minute until he hears footsteps in the hallway.
Song Lan throws the door open. “Fuck you.”
“Hey, baby, I’m home.” He puckers up and leans in for a kiss he knows he isn’t going to get.
Song Lan shoves his face away and takes one of the bags. “Take your shoes off.”
“What’s that? I’ve never been in a house before. I don’t know.”
He can practically hear Song Lan rolling his eyes. Xue Yang does take off his shoes, though, because he’s not an animal. He drags himself into the kitchen and unpacks the bag of food that he’s still holding. He’s pretty sure opening a bag usually involves less squinting and balancing than this.
The ice cream sundae is melting, so he decides to start with that. He sticks two spoons in it because he is generous and returns to the living room.
Song Lan gives him a look.
“It’s melting, okay? I can’t eat it once it’s melted.”
Song Lan sighs. Slurps his noodles, disappointment oozing out of him.
“Fuck you, I’m eating all the cheesecake bites.” Xue Yang turns the movie back on. He eats all the cheesecake bites as Elle befriends Paulette. Somewhere around Paulette confronting her shitty ex, his stomach starts complaining. He wills it into submission and keeps going. Eats the entire sundae. He feels disgusting and triumphant. He sips at his warm shitty beer. He considers. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Well, do it in the bathroom.”
“Nah, I’m gonna aim for your lap. C’mon, spread.” Xue Yang crawls over and starts pawing at Song Lan because honestly he deserves a lap full of vomit, the fucker.
Song Lan cups Xue Yang’s face in his enormous hands. “Go throw up in the toilet, or I will make you regret not doing it.”
Which: fine. Fine.
Xue Yang goes and pukes his guts up. The cheesecake is mostly undigested, so that’s kind of cool. If Xingchen were here, he’d pet Xue Yang’s hair, bring him a glass of water, tut at him. Xue Yang rinses his mouth out and then wanders back into the living room.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“No.”
“Gross.”
“Fuck off.” Xue Yang curls up on the opposite side of the couch.
“Why are they hiring first year law students for a murder trial?”
“Oh, live a little.”
Song Lan frowns deeply at him. He can see Song Lan thinking harder about how this is going to go off the rails.
“You need more alcohol.”
“No, I don’t,” Song Lan snaps. “Not all of us need to drink until we vomit.”
Xue Yang glares at him. “Fuck you, Xingchen dumped us. I can drink as much as I want.”
They finish watching the movie in tense silence. Song Lan doesn’t touch him even once.
*
Xue Yang sleeps alone that night, face buried in Xingchen’s pillow.
The bed is too big.
He hates it.
*
He’s miraculously not hung over the next morning, but Song Lan is. He flinches whenever Xue Yang makes a noise louder than a whisper. It’s a fucking delight. Xue Yang makes the loudest eggs anyone has ever made: slamming cupboards, clattering saucepans. He is being extravagantly obnoxious, and he watches Song Lan get progressively more irritated with him, simmering rage ratcheting up to a rolling boil, as he waits for the coffee maker to do its job.
The second Song Lan finishes pouring himself a mugful and doctoring it to his exacting standards (precisely half a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of lactose-free skim milk—like a fucking heathen), before Song Lan can take that first blessed sip, Xue Yang says, “What, you’re not gonna make me a cup?”
He can practically hear Song Lan grinding his teeth.
Song Lan, a dutiful polite boy who was raised well, makes Xue Yang a cup, glaring all the while. It is exactly as sweet and milky as Xue Yang likes it. Xue Yang sips it as he scrambles the eggs. As he finishes, he adds the hot sauce to the pan, rather than just to his portion. Song Lan calls him a motherfucker, but he eats the eggs anyway.
*
He’s long finished with dinner by the time Song Lan gets home from work. It’s past nine. Xue Yang says, “Big case?”
Song Lan shrugs. “Did my time sheets for last month.” He goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of wine. Xue Yang expects him to sit down on the couch with him, force him to stop shooting zombies, and watch some stupid TV show. He doesn’t. Song Lan just walks right past him. Into his bedroom. Shuts the door.
Xue Yang drinks too many of Xingchen’s stupid beers. Goes to bed alone.
Again.
*
He’s woken up by the door opening, shuddering from deep sleep to blistering consciousness in moments. He sits bolt upright and gropes instinctively for the knife that Xingchen won’t let him keep under his pillow. Fuck. See, Xingchen? Xue Yang’s gonna die and it’s gonna be your fucking fault. Xue Yang says, “I have a knife.”
“You do not have a fucking knife,” Song Lan says, shutting the door behind him.
“What the fuck!” Xue Yang snaps. “I could’ve killed you.”
“No, you couldn’t. You don’t have a knife.” Song Lan skulks around the bed and lifts the covers on Xingchen’s side.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m getting in bed with my boyfriend,” Song Lan snarls.
Xue Yang stares at him in the darkness, barely able to make anything out. Can’t read his expression at all. Can’t tell if he’s serious. He burrows back under the covers and watches Song Lan put his head on Xingchen’s pillow. It’ll smell like Song Lan in the morning. Xue Yang’s chest goes tight, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“No cuddling,” Song Lan says.
“Fine.”
Song Lan shoves his cold toes under Xue Yang’s legs.
Xue Yang squeaks and kicks out at him. “Keep those blocks of ice to yourself.”
Xue Yang isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees Song Lan smile.
*
He wakes up with his legs tangled up with Song Lan’s. It’s warm and comfortable and completely different from waking up with Xiao Xingchen, human octopus. Xingchen would be wrapped around him, face tucked into Xue Yang’s chest or shoulder or neck. Close enough to kiss.
But at least Song Lan is touching him. He’ll take it. Song Lan doesn’t like touching. Hates sharing a bed by all accounts. Xue Yang rolls over to give him shit for it, and Song Lan is lying there, fiddling with his phone. Still in bed. Still on Xingchen’s side.
Although—maybe Song Lan thinks of that as his side. On the few occasions when he deigned to sleep in the bed with them after fucking, Xingchen always scooted into the middle and let Song Lan take his side.
Most mornings, Xingchen used to lurk in bed for hours on his phone. Song Lan brought him coffee in bed if he didn’t have an early start.
Xue Yang practically throws himself out of bed and into the shower.
*
Xue Yang works the lunch rush, so he’s home in time to cook dinner. Makes enough for all three of them out of habit. Eats alone. Song Lan hasn’t come home late from work in months. Maybe a year. And now twice in as many days? Xingchen would’ve murdered him.
Xue Yang sticks the leftovers in the fridge. Tries to pick something to watch on Xingchen’s fucking Netflix account. Switches to Song Lan’s Amazon Prime. Hates that as well. He ends up half-heartedly getting his ass kicked by NPCs in Assassin’s Creed, but at least it keeps him busy.
Song Lan gets home at ten.
“What the fuck?” Xue Yang shouts at him, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Song Lan doesn’t answer. Pads into the living room and curls up next to Xue Yang on the couch.
Xue Yang pauses the game and looks at Song Lan. He’s been crying.
Tucking his face into Xue Yang’s shoulder, Song Lan says, “I got a text from A-Qing.”
Oh.
Xue Yang puts a hand on Song Lan’s shoulder and squeezes.
“She wants to come pick up his things. Said she’ll pack them and everything.”
“Oh, fuck her.”
Song Lan makes a little noise like he can’t actually bring himself to agree out loud, but Xue Yang knows he does.
“When’s she coming over? You want me to drive her off?”
“You can’t be mean to Xingchen’s little sister.”
“Fine, I’ll barricade the door. You wanna keep his shit, you get to keep his shit.”
Song Lan looks up at Xue Yang, confused. “You don’t?”
Xue Yang sighs. Doesn’t know how to explain this to Song Lan. Nice boys like Xiao Xingchen don’t stick around with dipshits like Xue Yang. He cups Song Lan’s cheek. “I’m keeping you, aren’t I?”
Song Lan surges up and kisses him. It’s not a nice kiss, hard and desperate, but it fills Xue Yang’s belly with warmth. He tangles his hands in Song Lan’s hair and scritches at his scalp. Song Lan is heavy on top of him. He pulls back, and Xue Yang whines, embarrassing and too loud. They stare at each other for a moment before Song Lan starts fumbling at Xue Yang’s sweatpants, dragging them down far enough to free his dick, as Xue Yang desperately tries to get Song Lan’s belt and fly open.
“Why do you have to be all buttoned up? What the fuck?”
And Song Lan licks his own palm and kisses Xue Yang again to shut him up, wrapping his stupidly big hand around both of them and making Xue Yang hiss. The spit’s not quite enough to take the edge off, but Song Lan has soft, smooth hands because he works in an office and he moisturizes and sometimes he even gets extremely masculine manicures that Xue Yang loves to tease him about. Xue Yang bucks up with his hips a little, so Song Lan will pin him down with his other hand.
Song Lan does. Xue Yang pretends to fight it but barely tries. It’s nice to push back and know he can’t go anywhere. Know he’s held down. Kept in place. He doesn’t have to worry about what will happen.
He lets Song Lan stroke them off, quick and fervent, gasping against Xue Yang’s mouth. His dick is slick velvet against Xue Yang’s. He pants against Song Lan’s mouth, hands wrapped tight around Song Lan’s forearms, digging in with his nails. Leaving a mark.
Song Lan bites into Xue Yang’s lower lip, mean and unyielding, and Xue Yang whimpers. Then, Song Lan shifts to kiss Xue Yang’s jaw, then the spot in front of his ear. Pulls Xue Yang’s earlobe into his mouth and sucks on it, nibbling gently.
Biting into his own lower lip to stifle the noise he wants to make, Xue Yang comes hard. Song Lan keeps stroking him through it, too much, far too much, and Xue Yang tries to squirm away. But he’s held fast. Song Lan’s hand is slick and easy with Xue Yang’s cum and it should be disgusting, but it isn’t, it isn’t at all.
“Please, Song Lan,” he begs. “Please, please.”
Song Lan says, “Oh fuck,” and comes all over Xue Yang’s t-shirt.
Then he lets himself flop down on top of Xue Yang, sticky and too heavy, tucking his face into Xue Yang’s neck. He ruffles Song Lan’s hair, warm and sated. They’ve always been good at fucking. Xue Yang isn’t going to say no to Song Lan and his stupidly big dick after all, even if it means sharing Xiao Xingchen.
Meant.
Xue Yang kisses Song Lan’s sweaty temple. “We got jizz all over your dress shirt.”
Song Lan groans.
“Do you think we got it on your suit jacket? I hope we did.” Xue Yang grins at the ceiling. “Then, you’ll have to explain it to auntie Iris at the dry cleaners.”
Song Lan clamps a hand over Xue Yang’s mouth. It’s also covered in cum. He licks it clean, and Song Lan squawks. Xue Yang smiles to himself, pleased.
*
After Song Lan carefully extricates himself from his cum-splattered clothes—it is on the suit jacket—he warms up the dinner leftovers and eats moodily while Xue Yang murders some NPCs, explores some temples, and deals with local wildlife. (Hippos are terrifying, it turns out.) Xue Yang tries to roll straight from couch to bed, but Song Lan shouts at him about how he is still covered in dried cum and forces him to take a shower.
It’s not even a sexy shower.
Afterward, clean and dried off, Xue Yang putters into the bedroom and discovers Song Lan sitting on Xingchen’s side of the bed, reading something on his iPad. He looks up at Xue Yang and smiles, soft. Xue Yang’s stomach flips over.
“Took you long enough,” Song Lan says.
“Oh, fuck off.” Xue Yang climbs into bed.
*
They settle into a routine. Song Lan stops skipping dinner if he knows Xue Yang will be home. They share the bed most nights, although occasionally Song Lan will sheepishly sneak off to his own in the middle of the night.
Xue Yang hates that. Hates waking up alone after going to bed with Song Lan. Every fucking time, he ends up peeking into the living room, afraid that Song Lan won’t be grumpily sipping his coffee in the big armchair.
He always is, though.
*
Xue Yang leaves it to Song Lan to arrange for A-Qing to come over. Trusts Song Lan to schedule it for a time when at least one of them can supervise her as she combs through their shit with her grubby little paws. It turns out: he shouldn’t have trusted Song Lan. A-Qing turns up when he’s already five minutes late for work. She doesn’t even ring the doorbell. Just lets herself in with what Xue Yang fucking hopes are Xingchen’s keys and not her own set.
He glares at her across the entryway, and she makes the face she always saves for him, the one that makes him feel like a piece of shit she just stepped in. “Song Lan’s in the living room,” Xue Yang says, shrugging his coat on and glaring at her.
She doesn’t say hello to him. Doesn’t even take her shoes off like the little brat she is. Just walks into the living room and tells Song Lan she needs help bringing in some boxes from the UHaul she rented. They troop out together past Xue Yang, and Song Lan squeezes his shoulder as Xue Yang glowers at him.
This was a set-up. Song Lan knows how much Xue Yang hates A-Qing, so he made a point to ensure that Xue Yang wouldn’t bump into her while he was here. Fucking bullshit. Even with Xingchen gone, Song Lan is still trying to protect A-Qing from Xue Yang. Like he’s some kind of monster.
*
As he’s finishing a soup with beet foam in the middle of the dinner rush, it occurs to him that Song Lan may actually have been trying to protect him from the annoyance of dealing with A-Qing.
The soup has turned a brilliant red before he notices he’s still dumping beet foam into it.
*
He gets home late, a little drunk, a little high. Song Lan is sprawled across the sofa, drooling in his sleep. Netflix wants to know if he’s still watching Brooklyn 99. Xue Yang shucks off his shoes, drops his bag, and shuffles into the apartment. It’s emptier. Xue Yang can’t even pick out all the little things that are missing, but—he can feel it. He can feel that Xingchen isn’t there anymore.
Fuck.
He grabs himself a glass of water before Song Lan can yell at him. Chugs the entire thing. Sticks it in the sink. He goes over to Song Lan and does his best to curl up next to him on the couch. It’s not easy, and he wakes Song Lan up as he flops over him.
Song Lan blinks awake, grumbles at him, struggles to get his arms out from under the blanket. “You smell like shitty vodka.”
“Whatever, cheap beer breath. How’d it go with A-Qing?”
Song Lan wraps an arm around him. “She took everything.”
Xue Yang smirks, kisses Song Lan’s temple. “Nah, not everything.”
“What?”
“I stashed some of Xingchen’s shit in the sex toy box. I figured she wouldn’t go digging through a box of butt plugs just to be thorough.”
Song Lan stares at him.
“You know the little book of poetry that you got him for your first anniversary? The framed photo of him and A-Qing that lives on the mantle? The lucky charm he took to all his college exams?”
“Fuck.”
Xue Yang beams. “I figure he’ll notice after his stupid book tour and get in touch.”
Song Lan squeezes him tight. “Can’t believe you put a rabbit’s foot in with our dildos.”
“I mean, we can try using it as a butt plug, but I’m not sure how that’ll go.”
Song Lan laughs, a little hysterical, until he’s crying a little. Xue Yang freezes, panicked. Dealing with a crying Song Lan is most certainly a job for Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang presses a quick kiss to Song Lan’s cheek. Experimentally licks at the tears there.
“No, stop, that’s gross.” Song Lan tries to brush him off, so Xue Yang just intensifies, slobbering all over Song Lan’s cheek. It works. He stops crying and tries to wrestle Xue Yang off him, succeeding only in knocking them both onto the floor. The bulk of Song Lan landing on him knocks the breath out of him. Song Lan smiles down at him. And grinds their hips together.
Xue Yang coughs pointedly. “Um.”
Song Lan grumbles and tugs on Xue Yang’s earlobe, mouthing at it.
“What the fuck! You were just crying. How are you horny?”
“ ’M grieving here,” Song Lan says. “My emotions don’t have to make sense.”
“Grief does not equate to humping my leg!”
Song Lan frowns at him. Says very seriously, “I can hump other parts of you.”
Xue Yang laughs. Can’t help it. “Well, if you must.”
Song Lan scoops him up and carries him to bed.
*
In the bleary morning, it takes him less time than he expects to remember that he’s not in bed with Xingchen after he wakes up with Song Lan plastered to his back. Xue Yang shoves down the feeling of panicky dread that rises in him—the thought that he will never wake up in bed with Xingchen again—and gets up. Walks into the bathroom for a piss.
All of Xingchen’s toiletries are gone.
Xue Yang shouldn’t cry over shampoo. He shouldn’t. But he is. He’s leaning against the vanity and sniffling, trying to shove the sobs back down his throat before he wakes Song Lan. He can’t bear to have Song Lan know he’s crying over Xingchen’s stupid shampoo.
Shit.
He stumbles out of the bathroom, still naked, and takes himself into the kitchen. Starts up the coffee maker, even though that’s Song Lan’s job and he’s probably doing it all wrong anyway. He snuffles a bit, dabbing at his nose with a paper towel. He shivers in the cold kitchen and lets himself feel miserable and alone. Xingchen is gone. He’s not coming back.
And then it occurs to him: how the fuck are they going to pay rent?
They’ve always split rent evenly between the three of them because he and Xingchen had insisted. Song Lan had predictably argued that it should be proportionate to their earnings, but Xingchen didn’t want to do math. Or, Xue Yang suspected, admit how little he earned and how much of his portion of the rent might be coming out of his savings from before he quit his day job.
Xue Yang probably should’ve talked to him about that.
The coffee maker makes a long sad hissing noise and then a little burble. Xue Yang sighs, pats the top of it. “Me too, buddy, me too.”
He grabs the kitchen notepad off the fridge and starts scribbling, trying to figure out how many hours he needs to pick up if he’s gonna pay half of their rent. They’re not moving. Xue Yang has already moved enough times in his life. This is a problem that he can solve without having to move. He swallows hard, double checking his math.
So he probably needs a second job.
He slips back into the bedroom and grabs his cell phone off the dresser where it’s charging. He texts Meng Yao and then goes and pours himself a cup of coffee, adding even more sugar than usual. He sips at it while playing a dumb mobile game and obsessively checking his texts.
Song Lan finds him like that, coffee cup long empty, when he wanders out of the bedroom two hours later. He frowns. “You’re up early.”
“Mm.”
Song Lan gives him a look, grabs his mug, and refills it, returning with his own. “Why is there long division on the kitchen table?”
Shit. “Uh. Hang on, I’m in the middle of this game.”
“Xue Yang, I can see you’re scrolling Instagram.”
Xue Yang glares at him.
Song Lan sits down next to him on the couch, very close. He runs a hand through Xue Yang’s hair. “What’s up?”
Xue Yang doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m thinking of getting a second job.”
“Why? They already run you ragged at the place you work now.” Song Lan’s hand is warm against the back of Xue Yang’s neck. He looks genuinely concerned.
“Because we need to pay our rent,” Xue Yang snaps. “Since we’re splitting it half and half now, my current job doesn’t give me enough hours.”
“We’re not splitting it half and half.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who’s gonna pay Xingchen’s third, Xingchen?”
“No, I am.”
No, fuck that. Just because Xue Yang doesn’t have a fancy office job— “Fuck you.”
“Xue Yang—”
“No, fuck you, I can pull my own weight, thank you very much.”
Song Lan puts down his coffee on the side table. Cups Xue Yang’s face in his stupidly enormous hands. Xue Yang shivers. Song Lan forces him to meet his gaze. “I can afford to pay our entire rent, you stupid stubborn man.”
“Fuck you.”
“You don’t want to work anymore? You don’t have to. You can sit here and play your video games and stew all day long. You can start an underwater basket weaving business. You can sell your panties on the internet.” He kisses Xue Yang’s forehead. “Whatever you want.”
Xue Yang makes a croaking noise and shuts his eyes. He’s crying again. Shit, twice in one morning. “I can pay—”
“I know you can. You don’t have to. I’ve got you.”
Xue Yang lets Song Lan hold him. He sniffles against his chest a little. “I want to try.”
“Okay.”
Xue Yang frowns. He’d expected more of a fight than that. “What?”
“Okay. Take a second job. If you’re miserable after a month, you have to quit and let me cover Xingchen’s share.”
“Deal.”
*
It turns out that Meng Yao does have a job for him. Admittedly, it’s tending bar at the horrible hotel bar Meng Yao’s father has just opened, which Xue Yang will fucking hate. What can he say? He’s shitty at customer service. He doesn’t want to be charming to drunk strangers who come on to him. He certainly doesn’t want to watch them do the same to his coworkers.
But he needs the money.
He’s not going to let Song Lan pay Xingchen’s third. Xue Yang is a big boy; he can pay his own way. Even if he has to do it by wearing tight tees with the sleeves cut off. At least he can wear leggings to work and feel like he’s not just professional; he’s doing the customers a fucking favor.
His first night goes about as expected.
He barely manages to catch the late night bus home, and he’s cranky and furious when he gets back, stomping around the apartment so loudly that he wakes Song Lan up. Song Lan wanders into the bathroom and wraps his arms around Xue Yang’s waist.
“Fuck off, I’m trying to brush my teeth,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of toothpaste.
“No.” Song Lan kisses his shoulder. “How was work?”
“Awful. I had to call an ambulance.”
Song Lan makes a sympathetic noise and trails hot, wet kisses down Xue Yang’s neck. “You want me to suck you off?”
Xue Yang spits toothpaste into the sink. “Nah, just bed.”
“Okay.”
They crawl into bed together. Song Lan lets him be, lets him lie on his own side and fume. Tangles their feet together, so Xue Yang knows he’s there. Xue Yang shuts his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and sleeps.
*
He’s still cranky when he wakes up. He regrets not taking Song Lan up on the late night blowjob; an orgasm sounds awesome right about now. It’s not so early that Xue Yang can’t wake him the fuck up for it, though, so he creeps across the bed and curls up against Song Lan’s side, wrapping a hand around his dick, already half hard in his sleep. He strokes him slowly, watching the expressions flitting across his face. He squirms and gasps a little bit as Xue Yang really puts his wrist into it. Xue Yang smiles at him. Kisses his slack lips.
Grabs the lube.
Xue Yang slicks Song Lan up perfunctorily. Doesn’t bother with himself. He’s not working till late tonight; he can ache with it all day. When he climbs on top of Song Lan to straddle him, Song Lan wakes up, peering groggily at Xue Yang.
“Good morning.” Song Lan smiles at him.
“I should’ve taken you up on your offer last night.”
“Yeah, you should’ve. Then you wouldn’t be doing all the work.”
Xue Yang glares at him as Song Lan pets his thighs. “I’m not doing all the work.”
Song Lan raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, fuck off.” He wraps his hand around Song Lan’s dick and shifts his hips back, lining himself up. He goes slow, biting into his lip when it’s instantly too much. He should’ve opened himself up, should’ve woken Song Lan and made him do it. He groans as he sinks down, feeling the burn of it stretching him open. He gasps as he reaches the thickest point of the head, hips stuttering. Murmurs Song Lan’s name.
Song Lan wraps his hands around Xue Yang’s hips and pulls him down.
It’s absolute agony, tearing across his skin, across his nerves. He keens. Song Lan stills him, strokes the inside of his thighs. Xue Yang must feel so tight around him. He pries his eyes open and clenches around him, watching Song Lan’s expression. His pupils are blown wide, his expression gentle. Awed.
They move together, slowly settling Xue Yang flush against Song Lan’s hips. His breath comes in stuttering gasps. Song Lan is so big, too big like this, when Xue Yang’s taking him so deep and unprepared. Eventually, after what feels like forever, he bottoms out. His thighs are burning already from trying to keep himself still, keep himself from taking too much too fast.
Song Lan is still staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.” A little smile.
Xue Yang wipes it off his face with a rock of his hips.
“Shit.”
Xue Yang sighs and shuts his eyes again. Feels himself settle back into his own skin. He braces his hands on Song Lan’s chest and gives a little experimental bounce. Song Lan hisses. Oh, that’s good. Xue Yang rides him with an agonizing fury, scraping his nerves raw, feeling his entire body light up with it. Taking Song Lan too deep too fast and not letting himself adjust. He wants to keep feeling this full, this stretched open.
He’s all aching limbs and the throbbing in his groin and he wants to come. He’s so close. Song Lan scrapes his nails down the long length of Xue Yang’s thighs and gets a hand around his dick.
“No.” Xue Yang bats his hand away.
“Okay.” Song Lan wraps his hands around Xue Yang’s ass instead, taking control, bouncing him in his lap. The slap of their skin together is so loud in the room and Xue Yang gasps each time their hips connect.
“Come on, come on, baby,” Song Lan croons. “You can come like this, I know you can.”
Xue Yang sobs, throws his head back, lets Song Lan fuck up into him with short little thrusts that hit so deep. He cants his hips back, tilting himself just right, so on the next thrust Song Lan hits the spot inside him that makes his skin sing. “Fuck!”
“There we go.”
They move in tandem, meeting halfway in the middle, rhythm ragged and messy. Xue Yang yelps every time Song Lan hits his prostate, every time it’s too fucking much. He doesn’t bother to keep it down, even though it’s not yet eight on a Saturday morning. Fuck the neighbors.
Song Lan groans. “You need to come now, baby. I’m not gonna last.”
Xue Yang nods. “Want you to come inside me.”
“Mmhm.”
“Don’t leave,” Xue Yang gasps out. “Please don’t leave.”
Song Lan squeezes Xue Yang’s ass. “Never gonna leave.”
Xue Yang sobs and grinds down on Song Lan’s dick and then he’s coming hard across his stomach with a gasp. It hurts it hurts it hurts. He lets himself flop down on Song Lan’s chest and keen as Song Lan fucks him through the aftershocks, slow and steady in spite of everything.
Song Lan whispers, “I love you,” and then Xue Yang feels him coming, can feel him lose all rhythm with quick rabbiting thrusts.
They lie there in silence as their sweat dries. Xue Yang doesn’t move until he’s cold and sick of the feeling of Song Lan’s cum dribbling out of him. Xingchen would’ve licked him clean. Xue Yang shivers, and then he’s sobbing again, bone-tired, and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Song Lan strokes his hair and shushes him and peppers him with kisses until Xue Yang settles again. Song Lan says softly, “Too much?”
Xue Yang takes a shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay.”
“You don’t have to be.” Song Lan pauses. “Baby.”
Xue Yang grumbles.
“Baby baby baby.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“Naaah,” Song Lan says, “you can’t live without this good dick.”
“I can find other dick, you vain motherfucker.”
He can hear Song Lan’s smirk without even looking at him. Xue Yang lies on his chest, gross and sweaty-sticky, dozing. Even though it must be making Song Lan crazy, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to kick Xue Yang off.
Eventually, he carries Xue Yang into the bathroom, props him up, and runs them both a hot shower. He slips in behind Xue Yang and wraps his arms around him. Holds him close as the water heats him up until his skin aches.
“Can I wash your hair?”
“What?”
Song Lan snorts and doesn’t ask again. Just grabs his own shampoo, which costs at least twice as much as Xue Yang’s drugstore stuff, and starts to massage some into Xue Yang’s scalp. It smells nice. Like cedar. Like Song Lan. He hums softly and pushes his head against Song Lan’s hands like a happy cat, and Song Lan laughs and kisses his sudsy cheek. He keeps massaging his head long after the shampoo is gone, rubbing little circles into the base of his neck.
He conditions Xue Yang’s hair and then moves on to soaping Xue Yang up with body wash when Xue Yang has to stop him. “I can wash myself.”
“I know.”
Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If you do it, we’re just gonna fuck in the shower.”
Song Lan snorts. “Why would you say that?” Then, he sticks two fingers up Xue Yang’s ass.
“Fuck!” He’s sore and it hurts and it’s too much and he instinctively melts into Song Lan’s arms. “See?”
“Yeah, you make a good point.” Song Lan pumps his fingers in and out, long slow strokes, only body wash and his own cum to ease the way. “Wouldn’t want that.”
“What the fuck.”
“I’m just cleaning you up.” Song Lan kisses Xue Yang’s temple. “Gotta clean up the mess I made.”
Xue Yang groans. “I cannot go a second round.” Only he can. He can feel himself getting hard agonizingly fast because that’s just how his body responds to Song Lan touching him. He can’t help it. “Song Lan, please.”
Song Lan wraps his other hand around his dick, stroking him off as he fucks him with his fingers.
Xue Yang whimpers the entire time until he comes, hard and painful. He feels wrung out. “Fuck you.”
“Mm.” Song Lan kisses his forehead and finishes washing him clean.
*
Halfway through a horror movie that Xue Yang isn’t really watching, head pillowed on Song Lan’s chest, Song Lan says, “I meant it, you know.”
“Huh?”
Xue Yang can feel Song Lan take a deep breath. Feels his lungs fill.
Song Lan says, “I do love you.”
“Oh.”
Someone on screen gets their head cut off with a machete, and like. Yeah. Xue Yang feels that right about now.
Song Lan kisses the top of his head. “Don’t cut my head off.”
“Okay.”