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Chapter Text

It’s 2 PM on a Tuesday and Jin Zixuan is curled up in the corner of a dingy basement laundry room, tears in his eyes as he struggles to understand why the universe— and this washing machine in particular— hates him. 

Zixuan knows that he’s spoiled—objectively speaking—but in his defense, he’s nowhere near as bad as some of his cousins. He’s a rich kid , but not a ‘hit someone’s grandmother while committing a DUI and then laughing at the judge’ rich kid. 

His problem is that he never knows what to say, or how not to say it, or how to walk things back and apologize when people are looking at him. 

His mother gets all weepy at her weekly girls’ night and insists that her poor sweet boy has anxiety , but his father would sooner chew glass than let one of his clan near a licensed therapist. 

But he’s not here to snap at Zixuan about crying, and that he can still afford. 

So he sits and he weeps, and the laundry still isn’t getting done.

And then the door squeaks open, and Zixuan’s only reaction is to stuff his face into his stupid quarter-zip like a cashmere fleece turtle. 

“Is someone in here, or is the laundry room haunted again?” A man’s voice calls, and it’s almost jarring how friendly it is. 

“Again?” Zixuan hiccups. 

Footsteps on the tile, and then there’s a man frowning down at him with open concern. “Aw, bud. Are you crying? Me too sometimes.” And he pops a squat, right there in front of the sad turtle man, and Zixuan gets a close up of the riot of tattoos on his arms and peeking through the gaping rips in his jeans. “I’m Wei Ying.”

“Zixuan.” 

“Cool. You wanna stay down here? You good?”

“I’m human garbage. I belong on the floor.”

“Okay that’s troubling. You wanna walk me through this?”

And ordinarily, Zixuan’s answer would be no, but Wei Ying also sounds like he actually gives a shit. 

So he says, “I don’t know how to do laundry.”

“Yeah, the machines are kind of old and fussy.”

“No.” Zixuan sniffles, popping his face out of his shirt so he can get his point across clearly. “I do not know how to do laundry. I’ve never washed my own clothes. I have no idea how to look after myself. But now I have to figure it out and it turns out I’m so, so bad at this. ”

“Oh. Oof. Life stuff, huh?” And then Wei Ying swings himself around and wedges himself back into the corner next to Zixuan like he is not a strange man weeping on the floor of their shared utility. “It’s hard by yourself.”

“I feel so useless.”

“Nah, man. It’s a point we all have to hit eventually. Here, I’ll help.”

Zixuan watches as the exact sort of man who would make his mother cross herself and then the street hops back up and extends his hand, fingers wiggling, like he’s excited to be doing laundry with Jin Zixuan. 

And the thing is?

He is.

Because that’s Wei Ying. 

He stands there in the muggy laundry room enthusiastically teaching another grown ass man how to separate lights from darks and how fabric softener is a lie even if the mascot on the bottle is cute. And then he takes off his shirt because again— it is muggy as shit —and there are so many more tattoos. 

Zixuan wonders if they could evaporate off of Wei Ying and onto him. Wonders what it’s like to make that sort of choice for yourself. 

Memorizes how to do a complete load of laundry, and also what it feels like to make a friend. 

-

Zixuan wouldn’t say he has a crush on his neighbor. He doesn’t get butterflies around him or anything, but he does blush when Wei Ying teases him. Or when he passes in the hallway after going to the grocery and holds up his detergent like a trophy and Wei Ying woop s at him. 

So he is attached to him. 

At least, enough to get a swell of undeserved confidence when he hears something go bump in the apartment hallway at 3 AM when he’s staring blankly at the ceiling from his mattress on the floor. 

Like every horror movie casualty ever, he makes the command decision to investigate the noise and finds a man roughly his age crouched in front of Wei Ying’s door doing something to the lock. 

And, because nothing bad has ever actually happened in his life, he doesn’t think twice before clearing his throat and asking, “What are you doing?”

And the other man, who somehow looks like a fairy from one of his childhood storybooks with five or more facial piercings, smiles at him. “Small friendly B ‘n E.”

Jin Zixuan learns, later, that B ‘n E means Breaking and Entering, and also that this particular sleep paralysis demon will also be a person who sees through his bullshit recreationally. But for now, he nods like he has a clue what that means. “Okay. Why?”

And the man holds up his bleeding hand and says, “I got a booboo.” Like a five-year-old showing off a lizard to their mother for the sheer thrill of her confused screams. 

But for the duration of this conversation, he hasn’t stopped screwing with the lock. 

“That’s…uh…that’s a big booboo.” Zixuan says, swallowing acid. 

“...You’re a decent guy, huh?”

“I mean, my mom thinks so. But probably not that many other people.”

The man grins at him. “That’s good! Like—if moms and dogs think you’re cool, then you’re cool. Otherwise—fsssh—sociopath. Except Wei Ying. Dogs are dicks to Wei Ying, but Wei Ying is not a dick.”

“Yeah,” Zixuan grins. “He taught me to do laundry.”

“That’s cool! He’s been teaching me how to read.”

It feels like being punched in the chest. Jin Zixuan hates it. So he nods his head and bounces on the balls of his feet the way his father hates, and turns in the doorway to make room. “I have a first aid kit and some old mystery novels. If you want to come in.”

There’s like a solid minute of confused blinking, like the guy’s operating system is trying to onboard this information. “I could be a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo. And for the low, low price of coming inside, you could be a weirdo with a bandaid.” He shrugs. “I’m Zixuan.”

“Xue Yang.” Xue Yang grins, tucking away his lockpicking kit. “As a sign of my eternal gratitude, I probably won’t rob you.” 

“Yeah. I have literally zero things for you to steal.” He laughs and leans back against the door as another new friend saunters into his humble abode. Pauses. Looks at him in a way he knows means oh, you poor sad baby. “What’s mine is yours, I guess.” 

This list includes a refrigerator, the aforementioned stack of mystery novels, a mattress, his cellphone and charger, and a duffle bag full of Zixuan’s most foldable clothes. 

Xue Yang sleeps like a cat at the end of the bed, head pillowed on Zixuan’s calves, and resolves himself to steal as many lawn ornaments and wacky souvenir shirts as it takes to make his new buddy’s place at least 64% less depressing.

Zixuan’s father would literally shit himself. 

-

At 10 AM, Wei Ying knocks on the door. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’ve seen—” 

And then he catches sight of Xue Yang, sitting criss-cross applesauce on Zixuan’s counter with a sleeve of crackers and some spray cheese, a paperback bookmarked open on his knee. 

“Oh, cool. There he is.” He smiles, thinks twice about it, and starts to frown instead. “Did you know he was in here?”

“Yeah, we met last night.”

And Wei Ying visibly relaxes in the and everyone still has their original number of kidneys kind of way. 

“Is that Cheez Whiz?” 

And Xue Yang smiles a closed-eye smile that doesn’t worry Zixuan yet and says, “His fridge has a cucumber in it. For eating.”

Zixuan frowns. “What else would I use a cucumber for?”

It is an act of potentially divine mercy that Xue Yang chooses only to smile at him while Wei Ying grabs Zixuan’s house keys off the hook by the door and orders everyone out. Now.

-

Wei Ying is also kind of broke, but he covers their bus fare.

He gets them to the store in one piece, and he doesn’t even make it weird when Zixuan gapes in terror when the doors slide open and the noise hits him square in the face. 

Just says, “Everybody keeps one hand on the cart!” 

Like Zixuan and Xue Yang are a pair of five-year-olds he’s determined not to misplace. 

(Admittedly, they are a lot like a pair of five-year-olds he’s determined not to misplace.)

And then he gets into a five minute argument with Xue Yang about Peanut Butter : Crunchy vs Smooth. 

“Explain to me why anyone would want obstacles in their nut butter. Explain that to me in a way that makes sense.” Wei Ying sighs. 

“Sometimes you need to bite things.” 

“So, texture?” Zixuan looks up from the nutritional information and watches Xue Yang snapping his teeth demonstratively. “It’s a texture thing?”

“Apex predator shit.” The world’s scariest house cat confirms. “The satisfaction of cracking something open.”

“You should be in jail, that’s how wrong you are.” Wei Ying says, disgusted. 

Both of them make horrible noises at Zixuan when he reaches for the two-in-one peanut butter and jelly jar. 

-

Xue Yang crawls right back onto the counter once Zixuan’s groceries are unpacked and put away, a box of Extra Most Cheeziest Cheezy Mac clutched in his eager talons as he intones with all the seriousness of a monk: “Don’t forget the water. Firemen are judgy. Don’t forget the water. ”

“Counterpoint.” Wei Ying says, pouring milk into Zixuan’s new cup measure like a real, actual adult. “Biceps.”

“Eh, me I like them tall, skinny, and full of issues. Firemen have too much of their shit together. A-Xuan?”

Zixuan has grown up in a household that was, if anything, violently heterosexual but he can see the point. So he says, “A nice butt is a nice butt.” 

And basks in the immediate validation. And the hooting noises.

Chapter Text

Zeng GuiYàn has thought often of divorce, and on a few low occasions of coincidental falls down as many stairs as possible. 

She finds it deeply ironic that her husband has picked now, of all times, to try his hand at instilling moral lessons in their son—which has to be the 4D Chess of Irony . 

The man wouldn’t know social dignity if it gave him herpes.

But it means that her Zixuan is stuck in some dubious hovel while she sits at her weekly book club brunch and talks about absolutely nothing of substance.

And then her phone pings with a notification. 

(Because despite her husband’s best efforts, she knows what a burner phone is, and—)

-

Mama! Look what we made!

Who is 'we', darling?

Before she even processes that her son has texted her. That Zixuan has sent her a message, unprompted, beyond the usual brief reassurance that he is alive. 

And that is exciting! So she adds, It looks very good!

And blinks down at an incoming photo of her son, sandwiched between two tattooed delinquents , holding up bowls full of boxed macaroni with the biggest smiles on their faces. 

These are my friends, Ma. 

She thinks, again, about stairs. 

But she can’t remember the last time she saw her son smile like that, so she reserves judgment. For now. 

-

And it’s a good thing she does, because soon enough she’s getting even more messages from her baby. And it’s like she can read that smile in every little message and every silly photo. 

He tells her that his friend Xue Yang, the one with all of the jewelry in his face, is a little odd, but that is mostly because of trauma and low blood sugar, and so he has begun carrying candy and protein bars when he leaves the house. 

And he tells her this as if it is a perfectly innocuous thing and not her little boy showing genuine care and concern for another person. Which sounds sad, but he never did such things at home surrounded by his father and his snoot cousins. 

She encourages him to try ginseng supplements as well, and gets back: 

Wei Ying says ❤️

And then a photo of the Wei Ying in question—the one with so many tattoos!—pressing his thumb and index finger into a little ‘v’

And look, she’s a married adult woman with a child of her own and an additional cheating infant to put up with, but she can recognize and appreciate a handsome young man when he winks at her. So she likes him. 

-

Zixuan has never particularly liked going to museums. 

Mostly because he has only ever gone as part of some grand gala or charity function which required stiff, expensive suits and more requisite socializing than appreciating any of the actual art. 

But when they shuffle in in their ratty jeans on discount day, he’s astounded at the lack of champagne towers and tablecloths— 

It’s just a bright, open space brimming with different artworks and benches to rest on. Despite being supremely modern, the natural light and minimalist furnishings make the entire place feel sacred. 

Even Xue Yang is on a level of ‘best behavior’ Zixuan didn’t know he had. 

He tucks himself against the golden boy’s side and grasps his hand in normally twitchy fingers in what has become their usual safeguard against getting lost or separated. 

Like otters, A-Yang told him, once. 

So Zixuan relaxes into the cool grip and memorizes the feeling of his friend’s bracelets brushing his wrist. 

People look at them, sure, but they move together and talk quietly, and Xue Yang is Zixuan’s friend who is perfectly content to spend this time with him. 

Giggling about nude paintings. 

They linger in different rooms while Wei Ying camps on the benches, glancing between the artworks and his sketchbook. 

“He doesn’t get to come here a lot. It was a good idea, Baby.”

(Xue Yang calls him this, he says, because he’s small and a little dumb and people should be nice to him. Zixuan rolls his eyes each time.) 

“Is he any good?”

Xue Yang blinks at him. 

“I mean at art. I know he’s, you know, good.”

There’s a moment or two of silence while Xue Yang really looks at him. “Hey,” He says. “Do you care?”

And Zixuan thinks for a second before he says, “I guess not. I mean he looks happy, right?”

“He looks like a doofus. But yeah, he’s happy.” Xue Yang grins and tugs his arm. “Hey, look. Another dick statue.”

He’s so engrossed in it all that he doesn’t even notice when the other man slips the phone out of his pocket and sends his mother a selfie with him baring his teeth at Man, In Motion Perpetua’s junk. 

-

On one of the rare occasions Zeng GuiYàn manages to talk to Zixuan on the phone, he’s out at the park— the park! In public!— with his friends! and she can hear him smiling.

He tells her, “Mama, Wei Ying packed sandwiches and we’ve been people watching for hours.”

“Oh? That sounds very nice.” Which sounds like a meaningless platitude, but she means it . “You aren’t bored?”

“No. I’ve been doing odd jobs around the building, so it’s nice to get some fresh air. Wei Ying’s been fiddling with a sketchbook. He won’t let me see. Mama, do you think maybe he’s terrib— ouch! Okay, I won’t look!”

And for a moment she just basks in the sound of her baby having a friend who will pinch the shit out of him with no malice at all. 

“And where is the other one?” She asks. 

“He heard ice cream truck noises, but he’s on his way back now. I can see him.”

And then, a few minutes later, “Hey, is Mom on the phone? Tell her she looks hot.”

This should upset her, but she finds herself laughing instead. 

Zixuan gags when he conveys her, ‘thank you, sweetie.’

And sends her a photo with the bright-eyed miscreant absolutely destroying a Spongebob popsicle. Another of Wei Ying, sprawled protectively over his sketchbook with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. 

And then, later, another of Wei Ying clinging to Xue Yang’s belt loop as the other man teeters over the edge of the footbridge, trying to hand his sandwich crust to a duck. 

She finds herself maybe, possibly becoming fond of these boys. 

And then they need her. 

-

“This is not an ‘I told you so,’” Wei Ying says, very calmly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel of his coworker’s car. “But maybe—when we said not to go out after dark—?”

“I’m sorry.” Zixuan says, pressing the stupid ducky-print towel to Xue Yang’s side. “I get it. It was stupid.”

And it isn’t a blow-off. He knows now that it was stupid. 

No one needs aspirin bad enough to risk getting mugged. 

Which he was doing—the getting aspirin and the getting mugged—until Xue Yang stepped in and kicked the shit out of the guy. 

And now there’s just—wow. Blood. 

“He took a shortcut through an alleyway .” Xue Yang smiles the unsettling look-at-all-my-teeth smile. “That’s like. Mug Me Bait. Baby’s so dumb.”

But he sounds like he thinks it’s funny that he’s leaking in the back seat and Zixuan is trying not to sob hysterically with his eye swelling shut. “It’s Wednesday.” He breathes, “Who mugs people on a Wednesday? ”

“Criminals.” Wei Ying says. “It’s like a year-round thing, man. I’m sorry. Can you take a deep breath?”

“I’m texting my mom. I’m—we need, like, money, right? For—for stuff. ”

So he takes out his phone with the non-pressure hand and tries not to shake too hard while he taps out the message. 

-

No parent in history ever has been happy to receive, 

Mom help

But Zeng GuiYàn is already on edge without her son’s soothing presence to keep her from drop throttling her lawfully wedded asshole, so she is primed to deal with just about anything with the sort-of burning determination that won wars.

What do you need?

The answer, of course, is money, and while Jin Guangshan has been keeping an eye on their accounts, she can at least manage the funds that Zixuan requests in his brand new Venmo account. 

And then she finds that she’s proud of him again, not by virtue of him being her perfect, precious baby, but because he is becoming a responsible and caring young man. And he has made wonderful friends. 

-

What must be the eighth time Xue Yang wiggles trying to get a look at the wound, Zixuan shoves his phone in his pocket and applies pressure with both hands. He’s maybe four centimeters from losing his shit completely. 

“Hey, Baby. Your eyes are all funny.”

“ Tears, douchebag! I’m crying!”

“Oh! Like, for me?” He beams, legitimately delighted . “That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It really does! But also my head feels weird and I’m super hungry.”

Wei Ying blurts, “Blood loss. That’s the blood loss. We’ll get McDonald’s or something after the— don’t let him puke in the car!”

He succeeds. Barely. 

The rest of the night is scrubbing blood off his arms in a hospital bathroom before sending his mom updates like they’ve taken a particularly bitchy poodle to the vet. 

He got a little snappish when they gave him the tetanus shot, but he’s okay!

And that’s their Wednesday night. 

Big Macs and stitches and Wei Ying hugging the shit out of him.

-

“Hey, Wei Ying?” Zixuan asks on the ride back to the complex. “Are we friends?”

“Wow, Baby. Dumb question.” Xue Yang lisps around a mouthful of Snickers, alone in the backseat solely by virtue of the very secure bandaging and his own occupied hands. 

But Wei Ying looks at Zixuan where he’s collapsed in the passenger seat like he wants to laugh, but he’s too tired. He was scared, too, Zixuan realizes. For both of them. 

“Yeah we’re friends, asshole. You helped me deadlift Xue Yang through a public park. We’re blood brothers.”

That night, they all crash at Wei Ying’s place in an uncoordinated heap, careful of the stitches. 

Careful. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, Wei Ying?” Zixuan asks on the ride back to the complex. “Are we friends?”

“Wow, Baby. Dumb question.” Xue Yang lisps around a mouthful of Snickers, alone in the backseat solely by virtue of the very secure bandaging and his own occupied hands. 

But Wei Ying looks at Zixuan where he’s collapsed in the passenger seat like he wants to laugh, but he’s too tired. He was scared, too, Zixuan realizes. For both of them. 

“Yeah we’re friends, asshole. You helped me deadlift Xue Yang through a public park. We’re blood brothers.”

That night, they all crash at Wei Ying’s place in an uncoordinated heap, careful of the stitches. 

Careful. 

-

The next morning, Zixuan is the first to wake up, and he doesn’t want to be the awkward guy rifling around the place, so he sits on the couch, knees tucked up to his chin, and takes inventory of the things he sees in his head. 

Wei Ying says that this is a technique for soothing anxiety. Zixuan likes the monotony of it, so he practices it every day. 

The coffee table is held up on one side by a milk crate spray painted metallic gold, which Xue Yang says is ‘avant garde’ but Zixuan knows is ‘ aggressively Pinterest. ’ 

There is no reason for that to make him feel safe, and yet. 

The surface is littered with empty mugs, a half-empty bottle of liquor that was once too cheap for Zixuan to recognize, and Wei Ying’s latest sketchbook, stickered to hell. 

Zixuan reaches out to thumb over a peeling edge, and only jumps a little when a burst of cold air hits the back of his neck. He squeaks all the same, scrambling to turn and take in the sight of Wei Ying, shirtless and snickering. 

“Go ahead.” He says, and Zixuan’s tongue halts in the middle of some vague complaint. 

“Go…?”

“Take a look.”

“I can…?”

“Uh- huh.” Wei Ying smiles, leaning on the back of the couch, just by Zixuan’s shoulder. 

“I feel like this is a trap.”

“Nope.” He rests his head on his folded arms, waiting. 

Zixuan keeps his eyes on the other man as he reaches for the corner of the sketchbook, then panics a little at the feeling of something shifting on top. Turns to stop a microwave-safe avalanche, and takes a deep breath before hauling his prize into his lap. 

Wei Ying is laughing at him again, and his face is warm. 

This is probably a Big Thing. It feels like a Big Thing. 

He opens the book carefully, thumb brushing over the edge of each page as he leafs through an assortment of ridiculous doodles and breathtakingly detailed renditions. 

Charcoal and graphite and the light reflecting off of faceted bottles. Xue Yang’s reckless grin. Xue Yang crouched in the basket of a shopping cart, pointing onward. An unnervingly familiar box of instant mac and cheese. 

Zixuan on the laundry room floor. 

A tiny round cartoon of him holding a laundry basket aloft. 

It goes on and on. 

He stops on the latest sketch: a lovingly-rendered portrait of Zixuan and Yang, curled up together in Wei Ying’s bed, safe and sound after an exhausting night. 

Zixuan thinks maybe he should feel self conscious, but all he can manage is a vague sense of accomplishment. To be seen and understood this way, and to still come out beautiful. 

Wei Ying’s chin moves to rest on his shoulder. “Are you thinking some stupid shit again?”

“A little bit.”

“Is it about not ‘ feeling pretty’ ? Because you are, objectively, pretty.” 

Zixuan snorts. 

“Don’t sass me, douchebag. I was just emotionally vulnerable with you.” Long fingers come up to squish his cheeks before falling back to tug at his hair. 

He doesn’t get that often. He never got that before coming here. 

So he catches the offending fingers and turns to lock eyes with Wei Ying. “I want to buy it. The portrait.”

“You’re broke.”

“I can barter.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll make dinner.”

“We already hit the clinic once this week.”

“Ass.”

“Kiss mine.”

“Done.”

“What?” 

And in a moment of monumental and wholly undeserved bravado, Zixuan smacks his mouth into Wei Ying’s in a painful facsimile of every movie kiss he’s ever squirmed awkwardly through. 

“Ow.” Wei Ying says. “ Why ? Ow. ”

“Was that—uh—was that not okay? I uh—”

“ It was so bad. A-Xuan, it was so fucking bad. Who hurt you? ”

The answer is no one, but before Zixuan can defend his complete and total lack of game, it becomes very hard to speak. Wei Ying’s fingers are just shy of bruising on his chin and his lips are surprisingly soft and Zixuan thinks I should probably internalize this but he’s too busy considering the way his face feels like it’s cooking and he would like to never need to breathe again wow. 

And then—

“Uh. Excuse the fuck—” Xue Yang whines, sliding over the back of the couch to stare judgmentally at both of them. “Out of me. But I’m the one who got stabbed , so why is he getting kisses?”

“You get stabbed like twice a month.” Wei Ying sticks his tongue out at their friend, and Zixuan is only a little concerned when a small, shameless part of his brain thinks yes please. 

“It wasn’t a thing I considered.” Zixuan squeaks, burying his face in his hands. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’m sorry I’m bad at it.”

Wei Ying makes a wounded noise even as a new set of spindly fingers grasps his chin. “You were robbed, Baby.” 

And then he’s very warm and his head is fuzzy, and there’s an additional tongue in his mouth. 

Wei Ying gives him the damn portrait. 

It’s the best investment he’s ever made. 

(And the first in a series of sketches pinned to once-bare apartment walls.)

-

Zixuan stares up at the ceiling, out of breath and confused with swollen lips and a Very Different Concept of interpersonal relationships and wheezes, “So best friends , or…?”

Xue Yang hits him in the face with a thrifted throw pillow, and for some reason that makes Zixuan’s heart feel full. 

-

“I kind of always thought Yanli would be my first kiss. Which is stupid. She probably hates me. She’s smart.”

Xue Yang’s lollipop comes out of his mouth with a judgmental pop . “Are we doing the self-hatred thing again? I thought we agreed on self-esteem spankings, going forward.”

Wei Ying snorts. “No one agreed to that. You’re just a sadist.”

“Um, no. Ew. If anything, I’m a masochist. Sadism is work. ”

And Wei Ying soldiers right along, like that’s not at all a concerning thing his accomplice just overshared. “Who’s Yanli?”

Zixuan frowns. 

“...Baby, you held my insides inside. I feel like we’ve unlocked this level of backstory.” Xue Yang levels the lollipop at him in accusation, and Zixuan leans back to avoid getting sticky. 

“I know. It’s uh—it’s just that I don’t know if she’s technically still my fiancée.” 

“ Your who? ” Xue Yang shrieks. 

Which isn’t exactly a surprising reaction. Wei Ying dropping an entire pot on the floor is. “ SAY MORE WORDS. IMMEDIATELY.”

So they’re ordering pizza, and Zixuan is going to confront his problems with a peanut gallery. This is fine. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“So you might have noticed that I had no actual life skills before I met you.” Zixuan begins. 

“You have minimal life skills now . You got fired for dumping soup on a customer.”

“ Yang, cease. ” Wei Ying hisses. 

“It’s because I grew up rich.”

“I mean, duh. You’re a fancy boy. Your skin looks Photoshopped.” Xue Yang pinches his own cheek demonstratively. 

“Thank you. Anyway—she has a brother.” 

“Is he hot?”

“ I cannot tell you how much I need you to shut the fuck up.”

Xue Yang blows a raspberry. 

“Our families were both attending an event, and I’m—I’m expected to speak to her, but you might have guessed that I’m very bad at it. ”

“Oh…” Wei Ying sighs. 

“I think I was trying to pay her a compliment.” 

“ You think .” Xue Yang bites his lip and makes a muffled screaming noise. 

“It did not come out as a compliment. And it…pissed her brother off enough that he came at me.”

…

“And contrary to what Muggergate might have you believe, I did actually take self defense lessons. So I self-defended. And I broke his nose.”

…

“And that’s when my father cut me off.”

“ Yikes, Baby.”

“I think it was probably for the best. I feel like I’m less of an asshole since I met both of you.” 

“You weren’t an asshole in the first place. You just have anxiety.” Wei Ying leans across to brush a bit of hair out of his face, and it reminds him of home in a way that home never really has. 

He smiles. “I really regret not saying anything to her, though.”

“So why don’t you?” Xue Yang asks. 

Zixuan blinks at him. 

“Okay, so if it’s not like—sex or maiming, I have zero ideas. But I feel like you and the emotional regulation braincell can figure it out.” He waves his lollipop at the braincell in question, who actually looks kind of pleased. 

“He’s right! We can practice what you want to say, and you can ask her to meet up.”

“At a secondary location. A nice one!” Xue Yang adds, popping the candy back in his mouth so he can make a little walking motion with both of his hands, thumbs touching like they’re on a date. 

Wei Ying frowns. “That is not the term you should use. But yes, you should ask her to meet you somewhere nice. We can watch from a distance, for moral support.” 

Xue Yang nods, undeterred. “Silent spine.”

“Silent spine.” Zixuan smiles. “Okay. The worst she can do is say no. I can deal with that.”

-

♫

Only it turns out that she does not say no. In fact, she enthusiastically agrees, which does have consequences. 

Zixuan has to find a nice cafe to meet at that won’t also slaughter his meager savings. 

He has to rehearse what he means to say, so that he can subsequently forget it completely as she settles into the chair across from him and smiles like he’s not the worst person on the planet.  

And he has to struggle not to panic as he looks at her sweet, perfect face and forgets how language works. 

“A-Xuan,” She says, “I was so glad to hear from you. How are you doing?”

As if being made to live like a normal person were the worst possible thing that could happen to him. Like he didn’t assault her younger brother after insulting her to her face. 

“Fine.” He chokes. “I’m. Alive.”

Say you’re sorry . He thinks. Apologize. Hell, do anything. Do a magic trick, you stupid asshole. 

She shifts back in her seat, both hands toying with the little purse in her lap. Wei Ying and Xue Yang are only two tables away, listening to this. They must think he’s such a dick. He is such a dick. 

“No. I mean.”

You’re ruining it. 

She smiles a sad little smile and one gentle hand comes up to cover his own where it’s nervously crushing his straw wrapper. “...A-Xuan, our parents have been speaking about ending the engagement.”

You’re a waste of oxygen is what you are. You’re worse than your father—at least he can TALK. 

“But…I wanted to speak to you first.”

It feels like his brain is icing over. 

“I’ve been giving it some thought.”

It’s sharp, and it hurts, and he hates it.  

“I’ve been waiting to marry you since I was a little girl, and I like you very much, but I never want to make you unhappy.”

“ I’m unhappy right now! ” He snaps, and hates himself just a little bit more when she flinches away. “ No. No, I mean— shit. ”

He can’t have screwed this up so badly. He can’t be left in charge of this now . He feels his chest swell and burn with the telltale stirrings of a panic attack and that is beyond not ideal right now —

And then he looks over her shoulder and spots both of his friends, already halfway out of their seats, looks of open concern on their faces and for some reason that opens a hole in his chest for the air to get through. 

Like a gale, he rushes out: “I can’t think of a single thing I want less.”

“What?”

“Miss Jiang, I’m so incredibly bad at talking to other people. And when it’s you, I am literally violently incompetent.”

This startles a giggle out of her, because that is one way to explain the fistfight he started in the middle of the dining hall. She quiets when he flips his hand to hold hers so, so gently. 

“I admire you so much. You’re so kind, and gentle, and you’re—you have to know you’re beautiful. I’m just so awkward, and the men in my family are worms , and when people ask me things, I get so nervous.”

He watches her soften, her red lips pouting with pity and he takes a very deep breath before soldiering on. 

“Miss Jiang, my father makes my mother so incredibly unhappy and I’m terrified that I’m just going to do that to you.”

Her eyes are unreadable as they seem to dart about, taking him in. Considering. Analyzing the onslaught of self-esteem issues he’s poured into her lap. 

And then the corners of her lips turn up, just a little. “I think you’ve expressed yourself pretty well, A-Xuan.”

“I rehearsed this whole conversation with my neighbors.”

“The panic attack was new.” Xue Yang volunteers as the two miscreants give up the facade entirely to slip into the remaining two seats to either side of them. 

“Total emotional breakthrough.” Wei Ying smiles. “He really does like you a lot, he’s just awkward as shit.”

For a moment, Zixuan thinks about just sliding out of his seat and hiding under the table, but Yanli grips his hand tight and starts to laugh. Her eyes are sparkling now as she regards Zixuan and his two batshit friends like this is all delightful and none of them are out of their minds. 

“A-Xuan,” She says, cheeks flushed and perfect , “I can live with awkward!”

It turns out that when Yanli is happy with him, it’s a lot easier to be happy with himself. 

Chapter Text

It’s like he’s entered a liminal space. 

Suddenly the trendy cafe seems infinitely more cozy with all of his favorite people on the planet packed into this tiny table. 

Even as Xue Yang makes a frame with his hands and eyes his fiancée through it. “You’re so tiny! I bet you can fit through windows no problem.” 

Like ‘gee you look like you’d be perfect for a little light robbery’ is not an alarming thing to say to a strange woman in a coffee shop. 

But Yanli beams as if this is terribly exciting and says, “You know, I bet I could!”

And if it were possible to fall any more in love with her, he would have done it right then. 

“Hey, Baby. You should hurry up and marry her before I steal her away.” 

“‘Baby?’”

And Zixuan recites, “I’m small and a little dumb and people should be nice to me.”

And Yanli snorts. 

Snorts!

“You’re not dumb at all. You just need a little support to be brave.”

And he’s got that now, hasn’t he?

He found it all on his own. 

He’s the luckiest bastard on the planet. 

-

Zixuan’s courage wavers a little when Jiang Yanli insists on coming to see his apartment. 

It’s better now, through concerted effort from himself, a collection of artwork from Wei Ying, and a curated collection of things that Xue Yang insisted ‘made me think of you’ like the bedraggled crow he is. 

That doesn’t mean it’s the sort of place Yanli might feel comfortable. 

But she volunteers to cook for all of them, and while he knows that the polite thing to do is to decline her more than generous offer, his newly installed common sense and complete lack of culinary prowess remind him that she’s a genius in the kitchen. 

So he keeps a firm hold of her hand as they all walk to the bus stop. 

Does not immediately fall on his face when she squeezes a little and smiles at him like this is a very exciting adventure. 

And it kind of is—for him, at least. 

Wei Ying and Xue Yang don’t tease him at all when he assists her up onto the bus, pays her fare, and guides her to the only available seat. Or when he stands immediately in front of her, holding the overhead loop and smiling like an absolute doofus while she thanks him so sweetly. 

But they do giggle like schoolchildren when Yanli gives her seat up to an elderly woman two stops in and slots herself right up against Zixuan’s side. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon and his head feels like it’s crammed full of warm, dense clouds. 

Xue Yang swings from his handle strap, and she beams at him, one delicate hand on Zixuan’s chest while Zixuan finally musters the courage to rest his chin atop her head. 

By the time they’re finished the world’s weirdest family shopping trip, he’s decided that this is the best sort of normal he could ever dream of. 

-

“A-Xuan!” Yanli calls while he’s squatting before the fridge, carefully stacking the brightly colored kids’ yogurt that Xue Yang had made goo-eyes over. “This artwork is beautiful! Where did you get it?”

Xue Yang pauses in his heckling. 

Wei Ying stops cutting up plastic six-pack rings. The scissors quiver in his hand a little and his cheeks are flushed. 

Sometimes, Zixuan gets to be a little shit too. 

“Right? I’ve never seen such detailed work! It was a steal, though. The artist is crazy to sell his work so cheaply.” He jacks his thumb at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying throws a wadded up dish cloth at his head. 

“Jiejie, don’t bully me!”

“Oh! A-Ying, it’s amazing!”   She does a happy little bounce in place and Zixuan feels his stupid little heart swell. 

“It’s the best investment I’ve ever made,” He smirks. “Easily.”

“Oh? I would love to purchase some of A-Ying’s work! What do you charge?”

And suddenly everything is very, very quiet. 

“I, uh—” Wei Ying stumbles. “Well.”

More yawning silence.

And then:

“I kissed him. That was…what I paid.”

“Oh.” Yanli blinks. And then marches around the island to seize Zixuan’s face in her long, delicate fingers and place a lingering kiss against his lips. “I hope he’s willing to accept payment through a broker.”

“Jiejie,” Xue Yang whispers. “ How are you so cool? ”

-

So they all sit around Zixuan’s coffee table, Xue Yang on the floor and Wei Ying and Zixuan on each side of the couch. Wei Ying offered Yanli his seat, but she insisted on taking up the armrest and placing her delicate feet in Zixuan’s lap. 

This is either flirtation or a power move and none of them can tell which. 

“I mean it though, Wei Ying.” Yanli insists, stirring the contents of her bowl. “Your artwork is exceptional.”

“Come on, they’re just silly little sketches.” Wei Ying shakes his head. 

“I’m not trying to flatter you.”  She frowns, then glances toward her blushing beau. “You should introduce him to Nie Huaisang, A-Xuan.”

“Oh, yeah. I was actually thinking the same.”  He bobs his head. “But we’ve never really been close. I was thinking of maybe emailing him?”

Yanli giggles at him.

“ E-mailing him. You’re so sweet. I can text him.”

“I didn’t realize you were friends.” 

“He’s one of the only remotely tolerable people our age. We keep each other company at social events. And he very badly wants in my brother’s pants. …in case A-Xuan was worried.”

Xue Yang makes a shrill cackling noise despite knowing none of the people in question. 

“She’s my favorite.” Wei Ying laughs. 

“Yeah. Mine, too.” Zixuan sighs and gets a kiss on the cheek for his trouble. 

 -

This new ability to communicate properly with Jiang Yanli soothes raw nerves Zixuan wasn’t even aware he had. 

And she slots into his life so effortlessly that a part of him doesn’t care about ever going home—he wants to stay with her like this forever. 

Bouquets wrapped in newspaper and the scent of her perfume when she presses close to kiss his cheek. The way she settles in his lap, head on his shoulder as Wei Ying throws popcorn across the coffee table for Xue Yang to catch in his mouth. 

She becomes important to all of them because she is important to Zixuan. 

So exactly no one is put off when she lets herself into Zixuan’s apartment on a Thursday afternoon with a guest in tow and hollers, “I brought fruit!” 

Followed by the sound of an insulted huff. 

And then she’s holding aloft a bag of cherries summoned from her eco-friendly tote as three grown men barrel down upon her because they’re all Fruit Sluts perpetually four inches from scurvy. 

Jin Zixuan places a big, wet, appreciative kiss against her cheek before popping three in his mouth like a heathen.

“Oh shit.” Nie Huaisang says. “He is cute when he’s not a douchebag.”

“Huaithang.” Zixuan lisps, only drooling a little as he tucks the pits and stems into his cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” And then, “Please introduce me to the hot neighbors.” 

So Zixuan does. 

-

Huaisang perches on the couch with all the authority of a king—or a Versace model, whichever was scarier—and pages through Wei Ying’s sketchbook with a pleased little quirk to his lips. 

The stiletto on his heel jiggles now and then. 

Zixuan bets he could run in them. Zixuan bets he could take down an antelope. Huaisang is terrifying when his mother isn’t there to create a diversion. 

“So do you think you’ll become Wei Ying’s patron when everything’s resolved?” Yanli asks, taking Zixuan’s hand into her lap and running the soft pad of her thumb over his knuckles. 

“Define ‘everything’.” Xue Yang tucks his gum into his cheek, refusing to chew while he speaks to Jiejie. It’s odd, but kind of cute. “He’s being rich people spanked, right?”

Yanli chuckles, “You could say so.”

Huaisang rolls his eyes. “His father has been too deep in extramarital tail to remember he cut off his only heir. The itching should bring him back to his senses soon.” 

Zixuan coughs. 

That sounded…a lot like Huaisang was on his side, actually. 

"Okay, but really—I'd love to commission this piece on a larger canvas."

"Wow." Wei Ying chokes.

"Do you think you could transfer enough of these for a proper gallery showing by, say, three months from now? Because I would love to have you. Unironically."

Zixuan watches as his friend squirms in place. It’s obvious by now that honest appreciation and praise knock him off his game. 

“You’re good enough for it.” Zixuan insists, staring his friend down the same way Wei Ying so often does to him. “You’ve got four people telling you you’re good enough for it, and none of them have any reason to lie. Take a few days to psych yourself up and then do it. The worst that can happen is that rich shitheads don’t like your work.”

Yanli’s hand tightens on his, and for a moment he thinks he’s misspoken. 

But Huaisang says, “Okay, the confidence is hot. I see it.”

And Yanli says, “I told you.”

And then he’s red all over again while Xue Yang cackles at his expense. 

-

Do you want to come see an art show?

Always, Darling!

Chapter Text

“Put the butterfly knife away. There’s security here.” Zixuan grunts, one eye on Xue Yang as he helps mount one of Wei Ying’s larger canvases on the wall. 

The miscreant in question smiles, hard candy clenched between his fangs before he tucks it into his cheek to croon, “It’s hot when you boss me around, Baby. Lift more things. Show off those muscles.”

“Eat my ass.” Zixuan blurts automatically. 

“We haven’t negotiated those limits, A-Xuan.” Yanli chirps, clicking through on a pair of thought-provoking heels. She’s in hot pursuit of one of her catering staff, so she can’t stick around to watch the way her fiancé bites his lip. 

“How does it feel to have your balls walking around in Vivienne Westwood?”

“Fantastic. Magical. I love her.” Zixuan sighs, then turns to Wei Ying, who has not quite chewed all the way to his cuticles. “Keep your hands out of your mouth. You are so much cooler than anyone who will come to this.”

Wei Ying pauses in his nervous chewing to blink at him, impressed. “You’re really confident today.” 

“It’s your fault.” He grins back. “You gave me standards and now I’m everybody’s problem. Tonight is your night and I’ll slapfight anyone who’s rude to you.”

“Okay but these people are technically your people.” Xue Yang clicks the candy against his teeth. “Once the spanking is over.”

“Ew.” Zixuan says. “Classist.”

Wei Ying wheezes so hard he ends up coughing. 

-

Zixuan can be a flaming dumpster fire, but when it comes to snooty society bullshit, he tends to know what he’s talking about. So by the time the gallery starts to fill up with people whose names he’s been forced to memorize since he was eight, he’s standing tall and smiling proudly as he tells a host of aunties and uncles about Wei Ying, the visionary of the evening. 

Huaisang stands beside him, champagne flute dangling between lacquer-tipped fingers and an aloof smile on his lips. “Does Wei Ying still need a paper bag to breathe in, or did you blow enough smoke up his ass?”

“He’s good. Do you have one?”

“In my office. Artists come in two flavors: confidence of a middle-aged white man or bursting into hives when asked questions.”

Zixuan snorts. 

Pauses. 

And realizes that he has somehow also become a person who keeps Huaisang company at events. 

He smiles just a little. 

“Thanks for having us.” He says. “It means a lot.”

“Thanks for getting a clue.” Huaisang responds. “I always knew you were secretly tolerable.”

They share a sideways glance. 

“Also I think Lan Zhan noticed your friends. You might want to keep them from getting sprayed with holy water.”

“Shit.” Zixuan says, already moving.

-

As it turns out, a small intervention is necessary, but not for the reasons Zixuan might have anticipated. 

Wei Ying is tense , and for a moment Zixuan worries he isn’t breathing at all. 

Lan Zhan clears his throat, glancing only briefly at Zixuan before returning that cool gaze to the man with the tattoos and the looming paranoia about this entire evening. In short, the worst possible target. 

But he’s shifting on his feet—almost anxiously—which is unusual for a Lan. 

“You are the artist? Wei Ying?”

“Yes, that’s. That is me. Wei Ying.” The most confident man Zixuan has ever met coughs. And also starts shifting his weight. 

Xue Yang looks over at him, eyes widening almost comically. 

Yep. He’s seeing this, too. 

“Your drawings are very technically proficient.”

Under his breath, Xue Yang intones: “Those certainly are hands at the ends of your arms.” 

Neither man hears him, and Zixuan is kind of glad because oh shit . 

Wei Ying frowns. “Um. Thank you?” 

And Lan Zhan nods, turns 180°, and walks off just as primly as he came. 

“Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, hands twitching with nervous energy and a flush on his cheek. “What just happened?”

But in lieu of an immediate answer, Zixuan descends on his friend, taking the shaking fingers of one hand in the warm palm of his own before getting to work uncuffing and rolling up a crisp shirtsleeve. 

“Uh, Zixuan?” Wei Ying asks again. 

“That’s Lan Zhan. He doesn’t express himself well. His whole family is Like That. But he means that he likes your work. Also, he thinks you’re attractive. He’s probably going to have a nervous breakdown at his brother.” 

“Okay, cool. What are you doing?”

“Showing off the artwork.”

“I thought I was supposed to hide the tattoos.” Wei Ying remarks, but does not resist when Zixuan moves to the other sleeve. “For the aunties.”

Xue Yang remains remarkably quiet throughout this process. Mostly because whatever rich people batshittery is going on is his new favorite soap opera. 

“Lan Zhan is not an aunty. He is a red-blooded human man with two working eyeballs, and he stared at your mouth for a full ten seconds. Show him the muscles.” 

“He’s, um, into that?”

Zixuan nods, finally glancing up to smile reassuringly at his friend now that his job is finished. “He and his brother are, in some ways, very alike.” 

“Yeah?” Wei Ying glances off into the crowd, brow creased, like he’s trying to follow along. 

Zixuan helps out by bodily turning him to look at a man built like he fights rhinos for a living. “That’s Nie Mingjue. His brother’s husband.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying says. 

Xue Yang hisses, “Huaisang is related to that? ”

But Wei Ying is already off with a gentle push, disappearing into the well-dressed crowd. Already, the whispers are starting, but most of them are at least reasonably horny, so Zixuan isn’t terribly worried. 

“Ugh,” Xue Yang pouts. “How are all of you so pretty? ” 

“We all have dermatologists.” Zixuan answers, eyes fixed on the disappearing line of Wei Ying’s back, like a mother bird watching her fledglings hop over the edge of the nest. “But also expensive therapy bills.” 

“Ew.” Xue Yang says. “Pass.”

-

Which is total bullshit, by the way. 

Xue Yang is not entirely immune to the charms of the artfully-manicured elite. At least, not the ones with the same petty, vindictive tendencies. 

Because as he wades through the society mavens and the golf-obsessed corporate ferrets, he entertains himself by answering nervous and who are you, dear?s with increasingly unhinged answers—

(Father of the groom.)

(A hitman.)

(A sentient, soul-eating painting.)

(Beowulf himself.)

(Literally just an uncomfortably long moaning noise.)

—and then scattering before security is called. 

And at some point he wonders aloud, purely to entertain himself, what would happen if he slipped something into the foie gras. 

And a smooth, pleasant voice answers, “It has to be something subtle. I’d go with laxatives.”

And Xue Yang turns to find a sweet-faced man with dimples and a smile that is only just faintly homicidal but also like—fashion. 

And at that moment he realizes that there is, in fact, a person on the earth for him. 

“I’m Xue Yang.” He purrs. “And I’m a little obsessed with you.”

“Meng Yao.” The man responds. “You’re friends with my half brother.”

“I could have worse in-laws.”

“You haven’t met the rest of our family, then.”

“Shit happens to irritating people all the time.”

Meng Yao’s pupils dilate.

-

By the time Jin Zixuan goes to check on Xue Yang, who has been out of eyesight for maybe 45 minutes, he’s tucked into a corner by the refreshments, standing very close to Meng Yao. 

He places a hand on Xue Yang’s shoulder and nods politely to his brother. “A-Yao.” He says. 

“A-Xuan.” Meng Yao nods back. “You look…happy?”

He grins. “I got a douchebag-ectomy. Are you all right?”

Xue Yang nearly gasps in delight. “Baby, are you going to give me the shovel talk?”

Zixuan gives him the flattest possible look and pinches his nose. “Honestly, any kind of conflict between you two would just become a really horrifying Spy Vs Spy situation. Just—” He looks back to his relative. “Watch his blood sugar. Give him something to eat if he gets quiet.”

Meng Yao frowns at him, like he’s reevaluating Zixuan in real time before deciding to smile just a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Xue Yang makes a delighted chirping noise, flashing his teeth as Zixuan looks back at him. “If you see my father, just… hiss , all right?”

“How will I know which one’s your dad?”

“They look alarmingly similar, but our father has a distinct aura of sleeze.” Meng Yao drawls. Zixuan laughs, and his smile teases itself just a little wider. More genuine. “Punishment seems to be working for you.” 

“Weird, right?” He sighs, presses a kiss to Xue Yang’s temple, and leaves the two scariest people he knows unattended. 

They’ll probably balance out. 

Anyway, he’s emotionally stable enough now to realize that it’s not his problem. 

He has a fiancée to find, a mother to hug, and canapés to stuff himself with. 

All in all, it’s a pretty good night. 

-

It’s less of a good night for Zixuan’s cousin Zixun, who makes a terribly ill-advised remark about Meng Yao while Xue Yang is standing right there and doesn’t immediately leave the venue when Xue Yang asks what car he drives. 

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat at 11:28 PM, the car won’t start. 

And when he looks up from his pointless, frustrated argument with the ignition, the same man he dismissed is seated in lotus position on the hood of his automobile. 

Holding a small, black column. 

(The starter relay. It’s the starter relay.)

Smiling. 

"Hey, jackass.” He says. “I wanted to have a conversation.❤️"

Xue Yang is an excellent communicator. 

And also definitely sleeping with Meng Yao tonight. 

-

So all things considered, Wei Ying’s first gallery showing is a resounding success. 

...

There is one redeeming factor amidst all of the glittering elite: Zeng GuiYàn, who holds court amidst a modest gaggle of expensively-dressed housewives pretending to be full after one or two hors d'oeuvres so they can get fully wasted on Huaisang’s ethically-sourced wine. 

Xue Yang takes a special sort of delight at the way they part around him and all of the metal in his face. 

“Mom!” He cries. 

And his favorite aunty of all time nearly shrieks, “Is that my A-Yang?! Come here, sweetheart!” 

Xue Yang can’t remember the last time he got a hug like this: warm honey-and-oud, the faintest hints of powder, and warm gold. 

Chapter Text

Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, while not precisely a traditionally affectionate couple, do have a standing agreement to eat breakfast together every morning.

Sometimes the children join them. 

Other times they make room for a modicum of joy in their lives.

Today, Jiang Cheng failed to escape before his mother delivered her emotional ultimatum. 

So Fengmian sits at the table watching his wife consume half a grapefruit with her usual vague contempt and makes a soft, startled ‘oh!’ noise when Yanli saunters through with a floppy hat, an enormous tote bag, and a swimsuit coverup on. 

“Sweetheart?” He asks. 

And she perks up, distracted from her mental inventory of supplies. 

“Good morning, Baba. A-Niang.” She pauses. “A-Cheng, is that all you’re eating?”

“Are you going somewhere?” Ziyuan asks with her usual accusing tone. 

“Ah. Zixuan and his neighbors invited me to the community pool.”

Cheng makes a sour face. “And you didn’t pepper spray him? ”

He winces at the pressure of his mother’s manicured claws on his arm. 

“It is good that you’re back in touch with Zixuan.” Ziyuan sniffs. “But a ‘community pool?’ Why not ask him to the club, A-Li?”

For a moment, Yanli is very still. Then she takes a very deep breath, sets her shoulders and says, “Because I want to have fun.”

Her brother snorts and then yelps at the brief increase in pressure. 

“What fun can’t you have at the spa?”

And Yanli— very wisely, Fengmian thinks—does not say ‘the well-adjusted human kind.’

But she does say, “The kind where several tattooed young men get to relax without anyone calling security.”

Ziyuan makes a noise like a vacuum in reverse, and Cheng very carefully removes her hand from his arm. 

“A-Cheng, I wanted to ask if you’d like to join us.”

“You sure Zixuan is fine with that?”

“We had a discussion about the incident, and I’ve decided to forgive him.”

“Pfft.” Jiang Cheng huffs. “Like the asshole’s ever apologized in his life.”

Yanli giggles. “That’s why I forgave him. He gave a very sincere apology. I wouldn’t have let him off so lightly after he left a mark on my precious didi’s handsome face.”

“And he wants to hang out and make nice now?”

“Huaisang will also be joining us.”

Jiang Cheng goes to change into his swim trunks. 

-

Yanli worries, briefly, that her brother may not mix well with the easy teasing relationship between her fiance and Things Ying and Yang. His mother’s expectations have left him with a shy and sometimes hostile attitude toward new people. 

Thing are awkward for a moment when Zixuan issues a new, heartfelt apology and her brother tries to pretend emotional vulnerability doesn’t give him hives.

But when he gets one look at all of Xue Yang’s piercings and blurts, “Does your face get cable?” things progress rather quickly toward ‘bosom companionship.’

Yanli watches with genuine delight as her little brother dunks Wei Wuxian under the water only to be tackled by her cackling fiance. 

Beside her on the next sun lounger, Huaisang lazes in a designer cover-up, a pair of incomprehensibly expensive sunglasses perched on his nose. “The no mimosas is a definite drawback, jiejie.” He sighs, like he’s not shamelessly eyeballing all of the glistening muscles on display. 

“The no gossiping aunties makes up for it. Also it would only make Lan Zhan uncomfortable.”

“Lan—” Huaisang sits up abruptly. “ Lan Zhan agreed to descend to the mortal plane?! Does he know there will be skin?”

“Rude,” Yanli giggles. “I think he’s counting on it. He likes A-Ying very much.”

“Enough to brave the public?”

“A-Sang, you’re wearing a Christopher Esber wrap in this glass house, so maybe put down the fucking rock.” She plucks a grape from one of the compartments of her carefully-arranged picnic bento and tosses it into Xue Yang’s waiting maw. “I think they’re dating.”

They have to be. 

Because when Lan Zhan makes his way to their little zone, sits at the side of the pool, and pulls an honest to goodness pair of water wingies from his responsibly-sourced eco tote, Wei Ying does not laugh. 

Instead, his whole expression softens and his eyes go all melty and he says, “I’ll be your pool floaty, babe. Don’t worry.”

And he stays very still while Lan Zhan, paragon of grace and social nobility clambers into the pool using his shoulder as a steadying point and then just doesn’t let go. Wei Ying stays there, arms crossed at the lip of the pool, chin resting on his arms while Lan Zhan holds on like a baby koala, head pillowed on his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

Huaisang has never seen the Lan heir stick around for extended conversation before, always dipping out on some excuse when people perceived him for too long. 

But every now and then he’ll hum and duck his face into the other man’s neck, and discussion rolls right along. Easy as. 

And it’s kind of nice?

Huaisang thinks maybe there’s a brand new person to add to his list of the socially tolerable. 

At some point, Zixuan gets tired of playing water war with Xue Yang and Jiang Cheng and leaves the pool to crawl in behind Yanli on her lounger, dampening her dress as he makes a show of burrowing into her presence. 

“Dorks.” Jiang Cheng snorts. “You’re all dorks.”

And Huaisang dips his head to look down upon him from behind his sunnies. “Jiang Cheng, be nice or I’ll make you bark in front of everyone.”

“Uh.”

“‘Uh.’” Huaisang snickers even as he rises from his seat, unlacing the gauzy sarong and tossing his sunglasses atop the puddle of heinously expensive fabric. “If you can’t find anything nice to say, why don’t you play with me for a while?”

Xue Yang hoots . 

And Jiang Cheng chokes . “Wait. Is that— does your brother know you have a tattoo?! ”

Because frankly, Yu Ziyuan would grab a vegetable peeler if one of her kids came home with permanent ink. 

“Do you want to tell my brother?” Huaisang lowers himself into the water with a wide, shameless grin and glides right into the Jiang heir’s personal bubble. “Or do you want to see if I have any more?” 

“I’ll be nice.” Jiang Cheng chokes. “I’ll be so nice.” 

And only coughs a little when Xue Yang nails him with a targeted jet of water. “Just don’t be a bitch to the Baby. He’s sensitive.”

Zixuan, for his part, has mostly tuned them all out in favor of applying sunscreen to the creamy expanse of Jiang Yanli’s back. “Who’s the baby?” He arches a brow at his friend, basking in the absolute safety of their shit-talking community bubble. “I had to buy you lollipops so you’d go the Urgent Care when you needed stitches.”

“There is literally no other motivation not to do that myself?”

“Hepatitis.”

“ Weak , Baby. You are weak. Okay, you can mock—” 

But Xue Yang does not finish, because Lan Zhan, cheeks puffed to a comical degree, tugs him underwater by the ankle.  

Chapter Text

Jin Guangshan is not the sort of man to ever admit fault for a poor decision. 

It was a fair punishment: Zixuan had his toys taken away and lived in some ratty corner until Yu Ziyuan stopped shrieking about his manners. 

Life goes on. 

Jin Guangshan has other shit to do. 

But now the boy’s gotten it in his head that it’s a perfectly liveable rathole, and the Jiang girl has taken it upon herself to move in, which has made her mother’s screeching worse. 

Like it’s his fault her daughter’s sensitive . 

Zeng GuiYàn is of no help. She’s gone from passive aggressive huffing over breakfast and categorically refusing to take his arm in public to chirping happily to her ridiculous book club about how their son is ‘thriving emotionally’. 

‘Thriving emotionally’, of course, means that he insists on making a spectacle of himself: slumming around with hooligans and engaging in ridiculous hipster art shows full of gossiping women. 

Somehow, he’s become the hero in all of this while his father has come off as unreasonable. 

A headache is what it is. 

So when GuiYàn waltzes by with her son on facetime, he sighs and says, “It’s about time he comes out of timeout, isn’t it?”

And she looks at him like he’s the dumbest man on the planet.

But she starts planning the party as soon as he hands over the black card. 

-

It’s a testament to Zixuan’s newfound mingling skills that he makes it through a full hour of their circus of an engagement party without hiding in the cloakroom. 

“Honey,” Yanli says, her eyes still sharp on the back of one of his terrible cousins, but her grip gentle on his arm. “It might be time for a break. I’ll be alright if you need to step away.” 

“No, I’m okay.” He lies. 

And she cuts her eyes at him, warm but critical. 

He amends: “I am less okay than I could be.”

She smiles at him, her lips gloss-slick and inviting. So he kisses them before he goes and only chokes a little when she gives his butt a smack. “I’ll miss you the whole time. Oh! Hello, Aunty…”

He takes off before he can be roped in, basking in the easiness of her touch even as it dissolves against his skin. Laughter is a medicine that will never run low in their home. 

(And they have one, now. With fluffy little throw rugs and warm lamps and a Bluetooth speaker playing a horrible patchwork Spotify playlist, Yanli tucked under his arm while Wei Ying and Xue Yang argue about wedding moodboards.)

And it’s with that thought in mind that he heads first for the bar, where Wei Ying has volunteered himself because, for all that he loves a party, he’s not missing out on this many Rich People Tips.

He hesitates barside as Wei Ying smiles and does a fancy flipping trick with a bottle of Courvoisier that would give Zixuan’s father hives. His hands move with pure, artistic efficiency as he finishes up the drink, hands it off to what is either an influencer or another of Zixuan’s cousins, and grins when she pulls a $20 from between her boobs to slide across the counter. 

“That’s nasty.” Zixuan says as soon as she wobbles off to find her friends. 

“Lan Zhan has one of those little UV sanitizer vaults. I’m decontaminating my tips before I roll around in them. You look a little green, do you want a ginger ale?”

“And a lobotomy.”

“Okay, it sounds like floor time. Come around.”

“Around the bar?”

“It’s furniture, man, not a forcefield. Come bond with me, I have snacks.”

So Zixuan does. He skirts the bar and plops down on the floor by his best friend’s shins, back against a cabinet. He breathes deep and gives Wei Ying a wobbly smile. “You’re great, you know that?”

The noise from the crowd isn’t less here, but it’s infinitely more tolerable as he enjoys not being part of it. Sweetens up a little when Wei Ying hands him a jar of Maraschino cherries and pats the top of his head. 

-

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Meng Yao passes an entire platter of canapes over the bar, drawling, “Give these to my brother if you see him.”

And then does not comment at all as Wei Ying lowers the silver monstrosity behind the counter and into eager fingers without breaking eye contact.  

So Zixuan feels pretty emotionally supported. 

Wei Ying mixes drinks and puts on a show, carrying a meandering conversation every chance he gets, entirely unbothered that his friend is on the floor, wrapping sugar-soaked cherries in pillowy blinis as he laments having more ‘cousins’ than common sense. 

“I wish we could just elope. This entire thing is ridiculous. I love Yanli, I love you, I love our friends—I don’t need two hundred aunties and uncles and a ringmaster to figure out how to put a ring on .”

“Ha! Speaking of the ringmaster, I haven’t met your dad yet—”

“You’re welcome.”

“But there’s an older version of you with Douchebag Face, and he keeps touching Yanli.”

“Okay, so that’s my cue.” Zixuan sighs, screwing the lid back on the cherry jar. “I do want her to marry me.”

“It looks like your brother’s on it, if that helps. He’s introducing your dad to Xue Yang. Hey, does your family donate to the local burn ward?”

Zixuan is already rolling out of cover, darting onto his feet and into the mass of potential witnesses. 

So he misses whatever text Wei Ying just sent. 

-

It’s slightly less of an emergency than Wei Ying made it out to be— Huaisang has joined the group, and he’s always been good at taking thirty minutes to tell the older generation absolutely nothing— but Yanli still digs her fingers into his arm when he slides in beside her. 

“Good afternoon, fùmǔ.” He says, trying for a winning smile. “You’ve met my friend Xue Yang?”

The look in his father’s eyes is clear panic, and Zixuan can’t help but grin as Xue Yang chirps, “I was just telling your dad what cute butts you and A-Yao have.”

And because this is an argument they have had repeatedly, Zixuan blurts: “A-Li says mine is cuter, but I think she's biased. Besides, you’ve seen Wei Ying’s.”

Xue Yang gasps, offended, and plays at clinging to his dimpled partner. “Baby, you could bounce a quarter —”

Zixuan’s father looks greyer than usual, and he has time to think, This is a weird conversation to have in front of your parent. 

But also Jin Guangshan tried to take him to a brothel when he was sixteen, so a part of him swells with a weird sort of confidence. Turntables, etc. 

Huaisang cuts in, “Wei Ying does have an objectively firm bubble butt.”

“I feel like it’s unfair that I’ve been ruled out so early on.” Meng Yao chuckles. “But we’re ignoring your brother , A-Sang.”

“Ugh,” Huaisang says. “This again. Da-ge, come here! I’m proving a point.”

And Mingjue, bless him, visibly sighs before sauntering through the crowd to join them. “A-Sang.” He says. “Flexing? Turning?”

“Turning.” Huaisang says, and then gestures with both hands at his brother’s admirable backside. “Look, all I’m saying is that it’s a nice butt, but a lot of effort! There is an Ass to Effort ratio.” 

Xichen, for his part, stands a safe distance away trying not to snort sparkling water.

Zixuan’s father rushes out a half-coherent excuse and beats a wise retreat. 

The conversation amongst their friends resumes a low, convivial chatter as they wander off, leaving Zixuan and Yanli to enjoy their reunion. 

“Did you run to my rescue, darling?” She teases. 

“As fast as I could. Thank you for being patient with me.” Zixuan whispers against Yanli’s temple, basking in the scent of her perfume. “I don’t know how you handle all these people.”

He can feel her giggle as it’s pressed against his side and under the hand resting on her hip. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Of course.”

Her eyes twinkle as she looks up at him, a mischievous little grin on her lips. "I'm not handling them. Each time your father or one of those dreadful cousins speak to me, I picture you lounging next to me on our honeymoon. On the nude beach."

"..."

"Do you need another minute?"

“ No. I’m good.”

-

Back at the bar, Wei Ying’s phone dings repeatedly. 

-

Zeng GuiYàn becomes incandescent with delight when she sees her most heavily-pierced garbage child, once again opening her arms to sweep him into a motherly embrace. “You get skinnier every time I see you, sweetheart. How is your blood sugar?”

“I’m good, Mama! Zixuan ordered a bunch of omelettes from room service earlier. And I feed on spite anyway.” Xue Yang grins. 

Zeng GuiYàn glances over at her stepson, hovering nervously in the periphery of their conversation. She clears her throat, “A-Yao,” She says, trying the new address out in a way that absolutely floors him. “I believe I saw your father fleeing the dance floor, as they say?”

“The conversation was a bit too young for him, I think.”

She chuckles. “Yes, of course. As things so often are. I hope your introduction wasn’t too uncomfortable, A-Yang.”

Meng Yao shifts, averting his gaze. “He made an impression.”

Xue Yang titters against her neck, nearly vibrating with malicious pride. “I asked if I could call him Grandpa, because I call A-Yao ‘Daddy.’”

“Oh, dear.” She snorts, arching a brow at the boy she ought to reconsider. “I suppose I needn’t ask if he treats you well, then.”

“Nah, we’re good.” Xue Yang’s grin is sharp. “Oh, but we’ve got to steal you for a minute.”

She’s only too delighted to go along. 

-

Lan Zhan has had mere moments to enjoy the cool tingle of chilled, sparkling apple cider and the company of his lover before Jin Zixun drapes an arm over his shoulder. 

“Some party, huh? Though the guest list leaves a bit to be desired.”

Wei Ying gives him the flattest possible look before returning to the assembly of something neon-colored and possibly toxic.  

Lan Zhan does not know why this is happening, but he would like it to stop. “Mn.”

“I mean—I mean, these new friends . Have you gotten a load of them?”

Lan Zhan locks eyes with Wei Ying, whose fingers twitch toward the soda gun. Subtly, the youngest of the Lans shakes his head—this is his Good Deed for the Month. Wei Ying admires him for it. “Mm.”

“All I did was tell a joke—you know, about Zixuan being whipped .” He accompanies this with the sound and motion of a whip crack and an insufferably self-satisfied grin. 

“Ew.” Wei Ying mumbles. 

Zixun does not notice. 

“And Zixuan— Zixuan —goes all gooey and asks Jiang Yanli if she wants to try that! Can you believe it?! Ugh.”

“Oh,” Lan Zhan says. “That is interesting.”

“ ‘Interesting? ’” Zixun snorts. “Please, you prude. You’d pass out if you saw a girl naked.”

Wei Ying waggles his pierced tongue immediately out of the smarmy idiot’s line of sight. Lan Zhan hides a smile in his glass. 

“Anyway, pretend to be fun for a minute and do a shot with me. Toast the happy couple. Or are you still too good for my uncle’s liquor?”

“Hey, man, he’s a designated driver tonight. I’ll do a shot with you, if you’re game. Something special.”

Jin Zixun eyes him—the help —skeptically, but rolls over easily enough when Wei Ying wiggles a half-full bottle at him. Easy. 

“Fine.” He nods. “Fuck me up, then.”

So Wei Ying sets out the glasses, fills them, and throws his own back when Zixun ignores his offer to clink. 

Zixun demands another, and Wei Ying obliges. 

And then another. 

And another. 

And Lan Zhan begins to feel entirely put out. 

When the least tolerable of the Jin cousins stumbles off to ruin someone else’s day, he frowns. “You did not need to do that.”

“Oh, I did. It’s important to stay hydrated.” Wei Ying waggles his shot glass and pops his lips cutely. “If that jackass is drunk enough to think tap water is vodka, I’m doing everyone a service.”

Lan Zhan’s smile is sudden and just as beautiful as always. “He did not tip. Does Wei Ying want one from me?”

“...Babe, was that a come-on?” 

“I would take any opportunity to please Wei Ying.”

“You’re a prince after my own heart, but I have a different favor to ask you first.”

-

Jin Zixuan doesn’t even resist as his beautiful fiancee guides him gracefully through the crowd and over to Lan Zhan, standing sentinel by a side door. 

“Do you have your orders?” She giggles. 

“I will guard the door,” He says dutifully. “Meng Yao will provide a distraction.” 

“Understood!” She says, firmly, and then breaks with a little giggle and a kiss to their friend’s cheek. 

Just inside the service corridor, he’s greeted with a conspicuous gaggle of his favorite people in the world: Xue Yang, Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang, Mianmian, his mother, and—confusingly—Jiang Cheng.

Wei Ying is holding a small, distressed-looking notebook. 

“Um?” Zixuan blinks. “Is this an intervention?”

“No, baby.” Yanli beams, one delicate hand reaching up to brush his flushed cheek. “I just thought maybe you might like to marry me.”

“Wait. Right…right now?”

“Right now.”

“Just us?” 

“ Just us.”

 “Don’t we need a priest? Or…”

“Surprise.” Wei Ying beams. “I did paperwork and everything. I’m a licensed officiant.”

Zixuan actually begins to tear up. 

“I could kiss you right now.” 

“Me first.” Yanli insists. “Then the others can argue amongst themselves.”

“Ew.” Jiang Cheng grunts. Mianmian steps on his foot. 

-

Jiang Yanli is beautiful—not perfect, probably—maybe she’s colorblind or something, but in all the ways that matter. He can’t think of anything but how stupid lucky he is and how much he loves her. 

Waiters weave past them, smiling and shaking their heads. 

“Sorry,” Xue Yang says. Then, “Hold on, is that candied—yeah, gimme. Thanks~”

Wei Ying clasps his shoulder gently, his tone warm as he reads off a speech about true love and personal growth, laundry detergent and peanut butter—crunchy vs smooth—that will make him cry every time he watches the recording from Huaisang’s smartphone. 

But mostly he’s just looking into the adoring eyes of the rest of his life and feeling like an unkillable giant as they both promise that they do with absolute certainty, Yanli’s hand in his and happy tears threatening. 

For once, he’s glad to see her cry. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Wei Ying grins. “Jiejie?”

And Jiang Yanli grabs him by the collar and pulls him into an absolutely filthy kiss until his mother starts to laugh. 

And then she laughs harder when Wei Ying and Xue Yang tackle him into the wall and assail him with wet, smacking kisses on his cheeks and forehead. 

Then they’re both being passed between eager arms and chests and whispers of congratulations. It’s maybe the tiniest ceremony they could possibly have had—they don’t even have a certificate—but it’s the real one, Zixuan knows. It’s the one that matters most to them , no matter what bullshit clown show comes next. 

And it comes fast , because several things happen at once.

-

On the other side of the door, Jin Zixun is getting louder and louder, determined to see what’s on the other side now that Lan Zhan is, evidently, guarding it. 

“What,” He drawls. “Did the ‘happy couple’ sneak off to screw in the coat closet?”

“You are disgusting.” Lan Zhan grits back. “And your breath smells vile. And I will not permit you to pass.”

“Yeah, sure, Gandalf. What are you going to do to stop me?”

At which point, Lan Zhan panics and kicks him in the shin. 

This does not work as he had hoped. 

-

“Oh no.” Xichen hisses. “Oh, he doesn’t know what to do.”

Meng Yao, who has been doing his level best to convince several egocentric family members to take the mic and take their turns at vapid, mind-numbing speeches, swears under his breath. “Mingjue, help him .” 

Because Mingjue is perhaps the most imposing among them. Of course he can intercede. He’s an accomplished martial artist. He could just—pick the man up and take him outside. 

Instead, he grins, because his younger brother is not the only one with a terrible, overly dramatic sense of humor. “I’ve been wanting to do this at a board meeting.” He shrugs. And then, “ Oh! My chest! ” 

He balls a hand in the front of his shirt, his face contorting in a rigid caricature of pain, and proceeds to do a death drop that would make a drag queen weep with pride. 

“ For fuck’s sake!” Xichen shrieks, dropping to his knees beside him. 

And Meng Yao stares, horror-stricken, across the hall at Lan Zhan. Who glances over towards his uncle , who looks like he’s about three inches from following suit. 

“Oh fuck.” He mouths. 

Yes, Meng Yao thinks. Fuck is correct. 

-

And then the door opens, thumping into Lan Zhan’s back. Jiang Cheng looks down at Jin Zixun, clutching his leg on the ground, and then at the panicking mob of rich people. 

And then at his mother, who has zeroed in on him like a murderous bird of prey. 

“It’s been maybe fifteen minutes.” Jiang Cheng mumbles, his voice soft with horror. 

Huaisang peeks out over his head, like they’re the Scooby Gang, sneakily looking out for an insidious property manager. “Oh, nice, Lan Zhan. Someone was going to. Hey, A-Ying, go find a closet and blow him. I’m gonna go call the EMTs.”

He darts off, abandoning his stricken lover entirely to the mercy of his swift-approaching, pointy-designer-heeled mother. 

The rest of them spill back into the party hall and promptly usher Madame Jin to the fore. “Ziyuan,” She smiles. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Zeng GuiYàn,” The Violet Spider responds. “What the fuck ?”

“The boys thought it would be nice to do a quick little pre-ceremony.” She smiles, turning to wink back at them. “To help a little with A-Xuan’s anxiety, you know?”

“What ‘ boys?! ’ And who are they to plan anything in the middle of an engagement party?!”

Zixuan feels himself flush with anger, but Yanli’s fingers are cool as they tangle with his. 

“Our friends, mother. They planned something very sweet for us.” She looks as if she’s ascended to a different plane entirely, her smile serene and unshakeable. “It’s good news, isn’t it? We are no longer ‘living in sin.’”

“Right,” Zixuan nods. “I really—I’m happy we—” He glances over at Mingjue, being hauled up off the floor by no fewer than four members of the waitstaff. Lan Qiren appears to be hissing at him. 

No one is helping Jin Zixun. 

“I’m happy we did it. I love—” He swallows. “I love her, so.” 

Yanli giggles at his awkward attempt to be brave at the most terrifying woman he’s ever met. Her thumb brushes against the side of his hand. 

“No harm intended, Aunty. Really! Zixuan’s a little antsy about crowds, so we figured we’d get it over with.” Wei Ying’s arm is a welcome weight, slung across his shoulders. 

“Bing, bang, boom.” Xue Yang adds, poking at Zixun with the toe of his boot until the man slaps him away. Lan Zhan herds him back toward the group. 

“Expedience really was the best choice. We’ll want to take the honeymoon sooner rather than later.” Yanli leans up on tiptoe, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Once I’m further along, it’ll be harder to get around.”

And it really is a good thing Huaisang’s rung the EMTs, because Zixuan does pass out. 

But it’s okay, mostly. 

The party wraps up pretty quickly after that, business associates and acquaintances trickling out as Yanli cradles his head in her lap, fanning him with the custom bar menu. 

“So, no disrespect or anything.” Mianmian says to an increasingly fuschia Yu Ziyuan. “But do you really want to put on a whole ass wedding for this?”

“Oh, I like you.” Xue Yang cackles. “What’s your phone number?”

-

Immediately post-honeymoon, Nie Mingjue receives the most expensive Edible Arrangement ever to be split on Venmo. 

He sits in their pristinely-decorated chef’s kitchen, shoving a hunk of pineapple into his mouth as his husband stares at him judgmentally. The effect is entirely ruined because his pale backside is barely covered by Mingjue’s sleep shirt. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Tho pwoud.” Mingjue lisps before swallowing his treat. “Hey, you wanna dip some of these in chocolate, and…?”