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“Meng Yao.” Xue Yang is calling his name across the apartment for the third time, and Meng Yao, feeling petty, turns the volume of his headphones up and ignores him. “Meng Yao. Can you come here.” Xue Yang bites. At last, Meng Yao turns to look at him, arching one eyebrow as though challenging Xue Yang to make it worth his time. Xue Yang is laying in the hallway, legs stretched halfway into his own bedroom, one hand flung over his eyes. He lets out a long, frustrated groan, rising in pitch until its almost a yell. And then, his voice quiet: “Can you come help me.” A pause. “Please.” Meng Yao can count on one hand the amount of times that Xue Yang has outright asked him for help. They’ve been living together for a handful of years, and Meng Yao couldn’t remember if he’s ever heard Xue Yang say please. Much less in the half-wrecked tone of voice he used now. Meng Yao doesn’t consider himself to be easily frightened. But hearing Xue Yang like this--he stands up immediately, shutting his laptop and throwing aside his headphones. He walks the few feet from the living room to the hallway, slowly and intentionally casual so that Xue Yang can’t tell that he’s nervous. Xue Yang can probably tell anyway. It’s only a moment before Meng Yao is crouching at his side, face carefully neutral.
“A-Mei?”
“Hey.” Xue Yang smiles, looking miserable.
“Tell me,” Meng Yao says, all at once letting his calm facade shatter.
“I feel like shit,” Xue Yang says. “Wanna fucking--burn a building down. Or get in a fight and lose. Or something, I don’t know.” Meng Yao can hear a dozen worse thoughts in that “or something.”
“But you’re not going to do any of that,” Meng Yao tells him. It isn’t really a question.
“You know my impulse control is shit.” Xue Yang won’t ask for help, not again. But Meng Yao hears what he’s trying to say anyway.
“Okay.” Things fall quiet for a moment as Meng Yao thinks. “Okay. With me, A-Mei.” A hand wraps around Xue Yang’s bicep, pulling him up until he’s standing. He slumps a little against Meng Yao, and Meng Yao lets him. As Meng Yao starts to move through the apartment, Xue Yang stays, leaning against him as Meng Yao hands him a glass of water, and a small bag of hard candies, and the switch console that Meng Yao bought but that only really gets used by Xue Yang. They end up in Meng Yao’s room, because it’s cleaner, and he always steals the soft blankets for himself. Meng Yao pushes on Xue Yang’s shoulder until he sits on the bed, nudges the hand with the glass of water and waits until he drinks half of it. He gives a nod, gives him something like approval, and takes the glass from him to set it on the nightstand. It’s plain from the look on Xue Yang’s face that he doesn’t know what to make of any of this, but he lets it happen regardless.
“Is touch okay?” Meng Yao asks him. Xue Yang smirks, but it’s without the bite it usually has.
“Why, A-Yao, how forward!”
“You asked me for help,” Meng Yao reminds him. Xue Yang’s mouth snaps shut with a sharp click. He sighs, collapsing forward until his face is tucked against Meng Yao’s neck.
“Yes, it’s okay,” he says, nearly a whisper. He sees something that might almost be a smile on Meng Yao, and then he’s being shoved gently over to lay on his back on the bed. One of Meng Yao’s fancy, soft blankets gets tugged over him, and then there’s a sudden pressure as Meng Yao lays himself diagonally across Xue Yang. He slots one of his legs between both of Xue Yang’s, and tucks his chin over Xue Yang’s shoulder. The little bag of candies is still in Xue Yang’s hand; Meng Yao pries his fingers off of it, presses his fingers and a piece of candy against Xue Yang’s lips and waits until Xue Yang takes it. The sweet candy is some kind of comfort, gentling the howling energy inside Xue Yang’s chest. The weight of Meng Yao on his chest soothes him further. Though he curls and uncurls his fingers, unable to be quite still, there’s less fierce restlessness inside him.
“Better?” Meng Yao asks. “Should I move?” Xue Yang’s eyes open slowly--he hadn’t realized he had closed them.
“Stay,” he says, and then: “It’s better.”
“Mm,” Meng Yao hums, an acquiescence. “The switch is in case you get bored. You can bully the Animal Crossing villagers, or something. Or you can bother me, or sleep. Whatever…” Meng Yao trails off. Xue Yang looks at him, sideways, and he has the twist to his mouth that he gets when he’s having an emotion other than cool rage. “Whatever you need,” he says, finally. Xue Yang has to take several slow, deep breaths, until he’s able to stop himself from either teasing Meng Yao for being soft, or revealing an even worse, softer feeling. Xue Yang casts his eyes around the room, looking anywhere but Meng Yao’s face.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice clipped. One of Meng Yao’s hands fumbles against his nightstand until he finds a pair of earbuds. He offers one to Xue Yang.
“Want to listen to a podcast?”
“Is it boring?”
“By your standards?” Meng Yao asks. Xue Yang grins back. “Probably.” Xue Yang laughs, quiet in contrast to his normal cackling. He snatches the earbud from Meng Yao and lets him put on a podcast, something about some weird science nonsense that neither of them know enough about to understand fully. The sound is enough to keep Xue Yang tethered, but he doesn’t have to focus on it, either. After several soft minutes, Meng Yao reaches a hand to cup the back of Xue Yang’s head and scratches his fingers against the nape of his neck, where Xue Yang’s undercut is the shortest. He’d shaved it himself at some ungodly hour the night before, needing the change and the sharp buzzing feeling of the clippers against his scalp. He’d spent all day subconsciously running his own hands over it, but something about it being Meng Yao is even better. Xue Yang tries not to think too much about what that might mean. Instead he focuses on the feeling--how Meng Yao’s hand in his hair makes him feel like a purring cat. It makes him feel like he could bare his throat and not end up with a knife pressed against it, but instead get Meng Yao’s gentle hands holding him. His eyes drift shut and lets the sounds of the podcast and Meng Yao’s breathing and his own heartbeat wash over him. Falling asleep is so gentle that he doesn’t even notice it happening.
When he wakes, Xue Yang has no idea how long he slept. His whole body feels achy, but pleasantly so--enough sensation to remind him that he belongs to this body without being painful. The memory of the afternoon comes back to him slowly, in pieces. Meng Yao is no longer directly on top of him, but curled on his side, still with one of his legs between Xue Yang’s and his head tucked against his neck. Meng Yao might be asleep, but Xue Yang can never tell with him. He reaches out to play with a strand of Meng Yao’s hair, anyway. It gets him a contented sigh from Meng Yao beside him, and his eyes open slowly.
“Mmm. Morning, A-Mei.” His voice sounds heavy with sleep, so maybe he had been napping after all.
“It’s--” Xue Yang slides a glance over to the clock on the nightstand. “Four thirty in the afternoon.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Meng Yao mutters. There’s no anger to it, just the sleepy grumpiness that always happens with him, no matter when he wakes up or how long he’s slept for. It makes Xue Yang smile, soft and affectionate.
“Hey.”
“What.” A flat grumble.
“Thanks, A-Yao.” Xue Yang has to force the words out. Meng Yao gives a soft, affirmative mumble and pulls himself closer to Xue Yang. The blanket that Meng Yao had draped over him earlier is still only tucked over Xue Yang, so he pulls at the corner of it and tugs it around Meng Yao’s shoulder. It draws a happy little noise out of Meng Yao, who looks like he could fall back asleep at any moment.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah,” he admits. Meng Yao nods, his nose brushing against Xue Yang’s jaw as he does.
“Mmm..okay, good,” he says. “Will you wake me up if you need me?” Xue Yang thinks about it for a moment.
“Probably.”
“Good enough. Goodnight, A-Mei.”
“It’s still four thirty in the afternoon, babe.” Meng Yao smiles at him, eyes closed, looking exasperated and endeared. He pushes himself up and brushes his mouth against the corner of Xue Yang’s lips.
“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart.” He tucks himself back against Xue Yang’s side, pulling one of Xue Yang’s arms around his waist and taking his other hand in his own. Xue Yang smiles, and kisses his forehead, and shuts the fuck up.