Chapter Text
ziyi and xukun have been playing together for forever - or, if not forever, at least it feels like it.
he remembers their old garageband antics, him playing around on the app when he came over to ziyi’s house as ziyi flopped over, offering him casual suggestions over homework, scrapes on his elbows pasted over with tom and jerry bandaids. b-boying, ziyi always explained, shrugging off his concerns with a smile, and then would continue on. don’t worry about it, and hey, by the way, there’s this -
they would slink out of the bed and trip down the way into the living room to grab their instruments and sometimes picks, and shout out something to ziyi’s family. the two would always inexplicably end up in the wangs’ garage, really too grand to feel like a garage (not the sort that xukun associated the word with, anyways, and certainly not like his), toying around with the instruments hung up there. xukun would pluck at the strings of his guitar, and ziyi would mimic him with his bass, and they would try to cover whatever songs were on youtube at the time until ziyi’s mother came down and gently told them to stop because it was late and the neighbors would complain.
it seemed obvious, then, that as they grew up, xukun realized at some point that they stopped being okay and went to decent and then went to good - that the chords and notes and techniques that he used to struggle with playing just came naturally. sometimes his fingers hurt and that couldn’t be helped, but he was good at it the way zheng ruibin from two blocks over was good at playing piano.
and then, even then, he liked it, too - liked the way that the strings felt against his skin, liked the surging sense of accomplishment after finishing a song, liked the mellow lows of his tone as he sang old chinese songs on his bed, his window letting in the california sun on his back.
it makes sense, of course - to do what he likes. and so he does.
“so,” xukun mentions, summer after high school, watching ziyi pack to go to the university that they’re both going to go to from the floor next to him. “wanna form a band?”
ziyi looks up from where he’s studiously folding a shirt into continually more questionable shapes when it doesn’t fit in a box, his fingers frustratedly smoothing over the material. he laughs. “just the two of us? that’s not exactly a band.”
“shut up, you know we would get more people,” xukun says. he pulls himself up, flopping onto the bed, and rolls over, so he’s laying on his back. his feet hang over the edge from this position. “so?”
“sure,” ziyi says. xukun can hear the smile in his voice. “i think i might know a couple of guys that would be okay in a band.”
“tell me their names,” xukun says, and his eyes crinkle at the corner when he breaks into a full-blown grin.
“fan chengcheng can be our keyboardist,” ziyi explains, pushing open the door to the cafe on-campus, where xukun is blessedly hit by a gust of cool air. their section of the dorms doesn’t have ac, and it’s made unpacking difficult when xukun is melting. and xukun shouldn’t be melting - he’s wearing shorts and a sleeveless white top, but this is california, he guesses. “he’s younger than us, still in high school, and justin’s with him.”
“justin?” xukun asks, and ziyi opens his mouth to respond before a person bumps into his shoulder, nearly knocking him over, bending over in half in a burst of laughter as he backsteps.
“sorry, my bad,” they apologize as they turn, and xukun rests a hand on ziyi’s shoulder in time to see a flash of a dazzling smile and nut-brown hair as they dash outside the door. ziyi and him stand there for a second, before they erupt in matching grins. ziyi ducks his head closer, whispering as they near towards an empty table for four.
“oh, god did you see the way i - “
“yeah, you totally did, bro, oh my god - “ xukun interrupts, laughing harder. “i should have gotten that on camera or something, that was so - “
“it was hilarious, oh my god, you looked like you thought he was gonna mug me for a second.“
“oh, yeah, totally - “ xukun starts, wheezing, before seeing someone’s shadow fall over their table. he raises his gaze, expression losing the warmth it had held a second before to questioningly quirk an eyebrow at the stranger. they’re just - standing there, with an unerringly awkwardly blank expression. are they a staff member? they look too young for that, though. “um, can i help you?”
“...no,” they say slowly.
“um, actually - this is xukun, chengcheng, and xukun - chengcheng.” ziyi stands up, pulling out chengcheng’s chair for him, where the younger just stands and watches ziyi for a second before taking a seat gingerly. his expression kind of reminds xukun of some memes that he’s seen online before, and he stifles a laugh behind his hand at the thought. ziyi kind of stares at them both in amusement when neither of them do something at first, still a little awkward. “he’s not as cold as he looks, you know. that’s at both of you.”
“it’s nice to meet you,” chengcheng stiffly says, and extends a hand across the table. xukun stares at ziyi from the corner of his eye, and ziyi smiles and gives him a little hand motion, as if shaking hands with a high schooler in a coffeeshop because they’re your potential bandmate is entirely normal. xukun shakes it anyways, albeit exasperatedly. “i’m fan chengcheng. i play synth and keyboard.”
“i play lead guitar,” xukun replies back. he smiles, this time full-on, and shakes his head a little, his earrings jingling with the motion, the small hoops in each ear knocking against his skin. “so you wanna join our band? you know how ziyi and i play, yeah? we’re about the same level.”
“he’s better,” ziyi says, shrugs when xukun sends him a look. he raises his hands in surrender. “objectively, kunkun, i’m just saying.”
chengcheng watches them both, and his straight-facedness finally breaks. he grins, eyes crinkling into crescents, and he laughs, a sound with a bit of a wheeze to it, his nose wrinkling. “you’re only saying that because ziyi hasn’t let you see justin and me play, right? let’s go to the back.”
justin, as it turns out, is a teenager even younger than chengcheng, and he messes with his drumsticks by flipping them into the air and narrowly rescuing them before they drop onto someone’s head, face, or potentially eye. chengcheng grabs one out of the air and stares at it in his palm for a second before dropping it onto the snare drum. justin clutches his chest and makes a sound as if he’s been wounded.
“he’s always like this,” chengcheng tells xukun, which, honestly, does not reassure him.
“he plays the drums…” xukun hesitates, not sure how to add on the words properly, right? without sounding rude. he steps around the cords on the floor of the back-room, which are messily scattered around, but when he looks closer, they look good. not new, but taken care of, and that’s comforting, at the very least. “with you?”
chengcheng nods absently, already absorbed by the sight of his instrument. he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and waves a hand at the rest of the otherwise-empty room, saying something about make yourself comfortable as you wait, and xukun nods awkwardly, leans against the opposite wall so that he can look at both of their faces, one head of brown, the other of gold.
“they practice together, but keyboard and drum don’t really mix when they’re on their own, so they usually do solos alone,” ziyi elaborates under his breath, nodding in time as chengcheng begins to warm up on his keyboard, fingers flitting easily over the keys. he messes up, and murmurs something that doesn’t sound very complimentary under his breath. justin cackles. “chengcheng was originally trained in classical piano, too.”
“it suits him,” xukun mumbles, staring at the elegant figure of fan chengcheng. “ziyi, are you sure about this? our style of playing isn’t exactly...what i think his will be.”
“you’ll see,” ziyi promises. his eyes glint. “i promise.”
justin taps his drumsticks against the cymbals on his drumset. he looks up, and there’s something mischievous in the upturn of his lips. “you done flirting yet?”
xukun laughs. “yeah.”
“good,” justin says, and he smiles at the same time that his hands crash down. chengcheng laughs from his side, exhilarated, and his voice gets drowned in the sound of percussion.
“holy fuck,” xukun says. “you - holy fuck, where’d you learn how to play like that?”
“just here and there,” justin says at the same time as chengcheng, and then they high-five each other. justin’s head tips back as he grins, wringing out his hands, the skin slightly pink from how hard he’s been drumming. he has calluses, xukun notices, pink on his pale palms. “so i’m guessing that means we’re in?”
“yeah,” xukun replies, still slightly dazed. “yeah, you’re in if you wanna be. we meet on fridays at two.”
they whoop. “that’s right, justin, baby!”
“fan chengcheng, my man! nah, forget that, you’re the man! we’re in!”
xukun lets his head fall on ziyi’s shoulder as ziyi drives, watching the sun fade into the sky. a punk-rock song plays on the radio, someone singing about a girl, their voice smooth and confident. “two high schoolers, huh?”
“yeah,” ziyi says simply. he turns, but xukun can tell that he’s flustered - just the tiniest bit so. xukun smiles at the front window. “is that going to be a problem?”
“nah,” xukun says fondly. he closes his eyes. “but you must have looked weird, just hanging around their school to ask them about it. did no one report you?”
ziyi squawks, his grip on the steering wheel faltering by just the slightest fraction. “we’re childhood friends! our parents know each other!”
xukun laughs, and despite his initial response, ziyi begins to laugh, too. they pull to a stop at a red light. his head drops to the wheel as his shoulders shake. “don’t tease me like that, kunkun.”
xukun flips through the sheet music of a nameless song that they tore of the internet , the paper still warm from the printer, and the notes stare back at him. he drums his fingers against the face of his guitar lightly, a one-two-two-two-three, waiting for the others to finish warming up.
justin runs his finger against a cymbal to silence it, his other hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, and chengcheng raises his eyes, impatient. ziyi nods, steady and sure.
they start playing.
slowly but surely, they fit into a routine.
xukun waits for ziyi outside of the library at one with his guitar and ziyi’s bass, and together they walk to the coffeeshop, which takes them about fifteen minutes. ziyi always insists on buying xukun something as apology for making him wait, and xukun always sighs and pretends to be embarrassed.
chengcheng always sends them judging looks from behind the corner as he makes the drink, purposely misspelling xukun’s name, and then, as soon as it strikes one-thirty pm, he clocks out by slamming his apron on the counter in the back and saying something to his aunt. she glances at them and then shrugs, replying, “do what you want, chengcheng, but don’t be too noisy. the customers come here for the ambience, not the sound of your terrible keyboard playing.”
“i’m not terrible,” chengcheng constantly sniffs, grabbing the keys to the back room and saluting as he leads them all into the room. justin always hits the cymbals when they come in, a tshh sound that rings through the room, and they set up their instruments as pleasantries fly around the room, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes not.
(“how can i help you, valued customer?” justin asks when chengcheng opens his mouth, an imitation of chengcheng’s dead expression when he works on, only to giggle when chengcheng closes it and makes a menacing gesture towards him, as if he knows the other won’t do anything. “thank you for your advice. we’ll take it into consideration. your feedback is extremely helpful to us. for more information, please - “
“i’m not a walmart receipt!”)
despite the way ziyi still almost steps on the wires haphazardly strewn on the floor, the way that chengcheng always forgets that xukun likes to double-check and triple-check the tuning on his guitar before he’s okay with playing, the way that justin always knocks his head against the wall when he headbangs too hard, they fit together. their playing is good and the way that they play together is even better and their music is the best part of it all.
occasionally chengcheng and xukun’s voices blend so smoothly in melodies and makes them smile at each other, surprised, and ziyi strums just right in response to the pace set by justin’s drumming and it just - it all fits into place perfectly. they haven’t done anything original, don’t need to just yet, just perform impromptu, casual covers of songs that they like and jam out until they’re tiredly falling over each other on the wood flooring of the back room before chengcheng’s aunt comes by, wiping her hands on a towel, and flaps her hands at the boys, telling them to shoo.
and then they grab dinner if they play late from a fast-food joint, maybe cheeseburgers and fries from in ‘n out through the drive through or greasy, steaming hot mcdonalds in paper bags. ziyi forces them to eat in when they’re driven in his car, supervises them shuffling out of his car and unwillingly sliding into shiny booths and stealing stacks of napkins.
ziyi and xukun always insist on paying, remind chengcheng that he’s just helping out at his aunt’s shop and doesn’t actually have money to pay. justin tells both of them breezily that they’re both loaded. but despite this, justin even manages to keep himself from ordering too much in a shocking display of consideration, even though he swipes xukun’s drink, and xukun lunges across the table and -
well. it’s not perfect, but there’s an air of camaraderie and warmth that xukun values. there’s an ease around each other. it’s not a change in their personalities, not something new fused between them all, but something more like a gentle connection: a tenuous bond thrown out that sometimes frays as if something’s missing, but it’s solid. it doesn’t break. it’s there when chengcheng says that he wants to grow out his hair like ziyi, when xukun rubs his fist against justin’s skull, when ziyi lets go and downs a can of beer exasperatedly in tune to the others’ cheering.
(he makes xukun drive them back to the dorms, where they tumble into the bed, propping up on their elbows and laughing together. they swap stories, ignore their assignments, blast rock music on loop.)
xukun thinks he wants this, whatever this is between all of them, to stay.
it’s a late day. the sun is setting outside, turning the sky into a mix of photogenic orange-navy, and xukun thinks he can feel the warmth radiating off of the sky. the sun is a molten shade of tangerine, glowing gently, and wind blows over his shoulders, into his skin through the thin white t-shirt he wears. xukun bends over, zipping up his guitar case, and throws it over his shoulder, stretching. the ring on his right hand feels cool.
“hey, kunkun,” ziyi mentions, taking a couple steps towards him. he leans against the wall, ignoring the frenzied discussion that justin and chengcheng have erupted in behind him, presumably about a game. “want to grab something to eat after this?”
“with the kids?” xukun inquires wryly, shaking out his hair. the dyed blond strands stick to his sweaty skin. “you’re going to go broke one day, ziyi.”
ziyi shakes his head. “just us.”
“just us?” xukun echoes curiously.
ziyi nods. he’s smiling, the expression warm and at ease on him. familiar. it’s not that odd of a question - they’ve gone out so many times together, just the two of them.
“okay,” xukun agrees. he grins back. “where do you wanna go?”
their conversation over their food lulls when they run out of new stories about professors, recent news, thoughts about other people, and xukun takes the pause to sip at his soda, wiping his fingers on his napkin, and raises an eyebrow at ziyi.
ziyi leans over the table, spreading his hands out as he gesture. the ring on his left hand glints under the fluorescent white lighting of mcdonalds. his eyes look dark, intent. “so what are we?”
“we’re us,” xukun says, surprised. “isn’t that enough?”
ziyi murmurs something, expression changing to something - something complicated, flickering with too many emotions for him to catch. all xukun catches is -- for you.
concern wells up in him immediately. “what did you say?”
he laughs. “i said yeah, yeah, it is.”
“ziyi - “ xukun starts.
“it’s getting late. let’s head back,” ziyi cuts him off. when xukun bites his lip, ziyi smiles at him reassuringly, all traces of his previous conflict gone. “you have morning classes, too. you got everything?”
“you know anyone who can play rhythm guitar?” justin bursts into their lecture hall the day after, whizzing to their seats, and ziyi and xukun’s casual conversation is abruptly brought to a halt. wide-eyed, xukun blinks, and ziyi chances a look over, gingerly patting justin’s shoulder. justin shakes him off. “no, i need - “
“what’s this about?” xukun asks, already smoothing his expression into something more manageable than his open-mouthed gaping. he slides his binder into his backpack, waving apologetically to the other students still lingering, despite class having ended around five minutes ago. he can feel ziyi’s confused gaze on justin, wondering if he knows what this is about, and he shrugs in response. “me and ziyi can figure out something, if it’s a part - “
“that’s not - “ justin shakes his head, evidently frustrated, and shouts to the room, “yo, anyone willing to be our rhythm guitarist? we’re in a band! nine percent!“
“we haven’t even gotten a name, where’d you get that fr - oh.” xukun’s not sure whether to laugh or sigh. of course justin would have just read off the first thing on the board, which has nine percent of final projects turned in: remember, it’s due thursday! scrawled messily on it. of course. “no one here plays guitar, anyways. what’s this even all about - come on, let’s talk about it before we spread posters on campus or something.”
justin looks around desperately for a second, getting onto the tips of his toes to search for someone who raises their hand or something. xukun’s pretty sure six feet is tall enough without having to go on your toes, so he tugs him back down by the back of his shirt. ziyi gestures towards the door, and xukun nods, and between the two of them, they start dragging justin back to the door. “hold on, i think i - “
“yo, bro!” someone calls out, a messy mop of soft hair popping out from behind a chair. xukun remembers that mischievous smile, those sharp features. the guy who always fell asleep in class - what was his name? when he speaks, a tongue ring peeks out from behind his grin. “i play guitar.”
“oh, god,” xukun says immediately. ziyi massages his temples with his hands.
justin’s face lights up.
“so you want to enter a competition?” xukun asks, laying his guitar case delicately between his knees as he unzips it, sharing one of those glances between him and ziyi. justin’s gaze ping-pongs between them, attempting to discern their unspoken conversation, but it might as well be german to him, with as little as he understands. “but we need...how many members?”
“five, catch up,” justin says impatiently, waving at messily pasted posters on the walls. they’re seated right outside of the student center building, on the benches, and ziyi lets out a little incredulous laugh.
the posters are horrific. it’s arial in size 48. it’s a glaring red. all it says is “we want a rhythm guitarist or we’re going on strike!! contact cxk @ (xxx)xxx-xxxx or zzt @ (xxx)xxx-xxxx for more details!”, and - when xukun squints, near the bottom - ‘graphic design is my passion’. he chokes on his laugh, determined to keep it in, but by the way that everyone on the other bench brightens, he doesn’t do a very good job of it.
“so we have - five members, if linkai joins, and then we’re going to join this competition?” xukun asks. he shakes his head, looking at ziyi like can you believe this? ziyi’s not looking at him, though - he’s looking at the poster, lips twisting into a frown, and immediately xukun realizes something’s off.
“xiao gui,” the student in question corrects, interrupting his thoughts, but he doesn’t seem very bothered by the mistake, acknowledging it with a flash of his canines. ziyi startles, too, in time with xukun, and they exchange glances. “by the way, you’re really called nine percent? that’s dope. only five members, though?”
“yeah,” ziyi responds lightly, and then realizes his mistake all too late. “wait, hold on.”
“he said five!” justin declares. “he said five. xukun, you know what this means! xiao gui’s a part of the team now.”
“that was a mistake,” ziyi says, flustered, and makes a sound in his throat that effectively conveys his embarrassment. “not that adding you to our band would be a mistake - just - “
“what he means is that justin is crazy,” xukun helpfully offers. justin makes a noise that’s like he’s been stabbed. xukun continues on, undeterred. “but...what’s the competition about, again?”
justin opens his mouth, about to excitedly spill, but xukun cuts him off, just one last time. “and if we’re entering it with xiao gui, we gotta take the posters that you put up down. all the posters. we don’t need two rhythm guitarists.”
the relevant competition guidelines are, simply put and reworded by huang minghao:
- you can enter only once in a band, which must have a minimum of five members. you are expected to have at least three members who play their own members.
- you are also expected to perform one original song, as well as submit a recorded version of it to evaluate.
- at least two of the performers need to be students at the university.
“okay,” xukun says, resigned. “so we’re doing this.”
xiao gui’s acoustic guitar is beautiful.
ziyi gets a little emotional, xukun can tell, and he stifles a laugh into his hand as xiao gui fits it over his knee and his best friend lets out a little noise of appreciation when he begins tuning it. it’s a yamaha, and the sound is clean, making justin hum in approval as he bounces next to xiao gui, clearly texting chengcheng. xukun doesn’t even play acoustic guitar officially (and neither does ziyi, actually), but it’s a good instrument.
xiao gui strums a little, and he seems just prepared to launch into the song when xukun’s phone rings.
xukun slides it off the counter and looks at the screen. it’s an unknown number, but the unspoken consensus in the room seems to be to pick it up, and even ziyi nudges him a little in curiosity. he presses accept, and then speaker.
“uh, hi! i’m chen linong, a senior at the local high school, and i was calling to ask about the band? i saw posters telling me to call this number if i wanted to join around the university campus,” a voice explains, growing more anxious as no one responds, and everyone’s heads slowly turn to justin, who smiles nervously. xukun makes a cutting motion between his neck.
“you’re dead,” xiao gui tells justin cheerfully.
the sound crackles on the other side of the line. linong speaks up again, sounding more confused than before. “um, what?”
“please hold,” ziyi says, leaning over xukun’s shoulder, and covers the end with his palm, and then asks justin, “seriously?”
“i must have forgotten where i hung up some other posters,” justin responds, already playing wide-eyed and innocent, and pouts at xukun. “you’ll forget me, right?”
xukun makes a “i’m keeping my eyes on you” motion at himself and then justin, and then pries ziyi’s hand off of the phone, pressing it to his ear again. his tone immediately gentles, brightens, and chengcheng whispers fake in the background. ziyi suppresses a chuckle from behind him. “i’m sorry about that. it was a mistake by one of our members - someone else already took the spot, and forgot to take down the posters.”
“oh,” linong says back, sounding so genuinely disappointed that xukun immediately sounds like a shitty person. “it’s okay! thank you anyways. i’ll take this poster down for you, then, and the rest of the ones i see, if there are any others.”
“wait,” xukun blurts out, guilt crushing him already, and everyone on his side of the phone freezes and turns to him in shock. “uh, we might need another player. or backup vocal. or a manager. if you really want to join, i mean - “
xiao gui laughs raucously, not even lowering his voice for the phone call, and says, “xukun, you’re really a pushover, aren’t you?”
chen linong turns out to be a smiling highschool senior whose eyes look more like tiny crescent moons when he smiles than anything else. he bows when he enters the back room at the cafe, calls xiao gui’s guitar pretty, tells justin he’s really talented, pets chengcheng’s head, brofists ziyi, and calls xukun kunkun.
“i think i’m looking at the sun,” xukun whispers to chengcheng, and it’s maybe the first time that chengcheng looks like he emphasizes with something that xukun has said. he nods gravely in response.
xiao gui is a really, really annoying guy.
he eggs xukun on creatively, pushes him to a better rapper, better singer, better, well, everything that has to do with the style of music that they create together. he embellishes on their songs, adding unnecessary riffs and solos that clog up the sound. once xukun makes fun of “little ghost” being his literal name, and xiao gui tells him flat-out that kunkun sounds like a character on a ridiculous b-grade children’s cartoon.
they don’t talk for a while after that until both of them push aside their pride to practice together for the show, still edgy from the previous barbs. linong and ziyi and chengcheng and justin have all left already, citing various reasons of their own as soon as practice ended, and the evening air is cold. chengcheng’s aunt leaves the keys on a coat peg, waving them off as her delicate hands curl over a yawn escaping over her mouth.
the air still smells like freshly roasted coffee and traces of something vaguely floral. xukun sucks in a breath, and sighs. he has assignments to do, mountains of things from his professors who look at him and then his grades and talk about how they’re ‘good enough’ but they think he can do better.
then, all of a sudden, xiao gui frowns and says, “you’re really talented, you know.”
xukun stares back, openly gaping. he struggles to say something else - something witty, maybe, something snarky, but all that comes out is a begrudgingly admiring, “you, too.”
xiao gui’s eyes sparkle, and something lets up between the two of them, like a gust of air that’s finally been allowed to blow through. he shoves xukun’s shoulder with his own, and says, “damn, you sound like that was so hard to say! wanna go out to get a couple of drinks later? you’re paying.”
“since none of us really know how to write, does anyone know anyone who can help us with that part of the competition?” ziyi asks the rest of them when they’re sitting in a circle after practice, bass still laid out over his lap, but he doesn’t play anything. he turns his gaze around the group.
“zhen - oh, wait, he’s busy,” chengcheng says, frowning as if he’s in deep thought, and justin nods. “maybe zhu xingjie? but i don’t know him, like, at all, not like xiao gui does - oh, he’s working on his final project. he won’t have time…"
“lin yanjun and you zhangjing,” xiao gui says, snapping his fingers. linong lets out a little “ahhh” noise at that, recognizing the names, and chengcheng and justin stare blankly at the two of them. “they run the campus radio station, yanjun always makes zhangjing sing all of his original stuff. it’s lit, man. you really should check it out, their producing skills are insane. yanjun’s a music engineering major. they can help us make some really high-quality stuff.”
“do you know any of them in person?” xukun asks, sitting up straight in evident interest. “like, can you ask them for this as a favor?”
“i can!” linong volunteers, his arm shooting up in the air. he grins. “i know jeffrey and yanjun really well, we were really close before they graduated because our parents knew each other. yanjun’s not as cool as you make him sound, though.”
“really?” ziyi says, and he sounds just as surprised as xukun is. linong nods. he breaks into a smile. “well - if you can, then, could you ask him and zhangjing to produce a song for us?”
“i don’t think he’ll approve, to be honest,” linong muses, and then lights up visibly. xiao gui shades his eyes casually, slipping on his sunglasses. chengcheng whispers extra. “oh! haidilao and wifi!”
“so...what does that mean?” xukun hazards.
“it means i have a plan,” linong promises, and bounces in his seat. he grins widely. “we buy hotpot!”
“that sounds...like you have to explain more,” ziyi says, and when linong opens his mouth to explain, he leans back, resting his head against xukun’s shoulder. xukun wraps his arm around him, listening intently. chengcheng watches, curious, and justin leans over to whisper something to xiao gui, eyes locked on the two of them.
“so, zhangjing mentioned that he really, really likes hotpot and wants to go to this one place at the mall…”
it’s kind of awkward, talking to two random people that you don’t even know through a mutual acquaintance at a hotpot place, but the food is good enough and the service clever enough to know when their presence is needed. and it’s for a good cause, anyway -
what had chengcheng coined it earlier?
oh, right. operation: form the avengers.
xukun taps ziyi’s thigh. ziyi gives the signal to the others, excluding linong. (the signal, by the way, is his bbt hand sign. they argued over what it could be and who would do it, but then they realized the only one who could probably get away with throwing up a random hand symbol in the middle of a meal was ziyi.)
xukun lets xiao gui, chengcheng, and justin slip out of the booth, each citing various reasons.
“bathroom,” justin says apologetically, jerking his head towards the exit.
“food,” chengcheng chimes in cryptically.
“murder,” xiao gui suggests, and flashes them with a peace sign. “wait, i mean myrrh. myrrh-scented candles.”
yanjun stares after them like they’re a particularly interesting crew of circus animals before he shakes himself out of his daze, despite raising an eyebrow at the rest of the band members at the table. zhangjing borrows the chopsticks on his plate, and yanjun doesn’t even dissuade him from doing so. “nongnong, you have really interesting friends, you know that?”
“yeah,” linong says back easily, and sips on his lemonade. “oh, by the way, ziyi and xukun had something to say to you both! do you mind hearing them out?”
“sure,” zhangjing says easily, sipping broth from a china duck spoon. he sets down his napkin for a second. “what’s up?”
“we have a favor we’d like to ask of you,” xukun tells them, spooning more food into his bowl. his other fingers skate against the rim of the dish. “you know the band competition that’s coming up, right?”
“ah,” zhangjing says, and then sounds entirely too self-satisfied. he leans back in his chair, hitting yanjun’s arm. “ah.”
“you want a song, right?” yanjun asks, and then, when they all nod, he leans back, pulling his phone out. “okay. we’ll call you about it later on.”
“just like that?” ziyi asks, shocked.
“i trust nongnong,” yanjun says, shrugging, and when linong beams at him, he bends his head to smile at zhangjing. “besides, i’m not afraid anymore.”
“that’s not how the joke goes,” zhangjing says, but his smile is growing wider and steadily warmer. yanjun’s eyes shine when he looks at zhangjing, and xukun thinks that he’s fine with finding himself confused about an inside joke. zhangjing whispers something in yanjun’s ears, the golden light reflecting off their hair. yanjun laughs to himself, clapping, and when zhangjing pulls away, he looks supremely self-satisfied.
“team avengers: success!” justin declares, pumping his fist in the air.
they’re lined up outside of the haidilao restaurant, air cold enough to show little puffs of air when they breathe, but they’re bundled up tight and have already said their goodbyes to yanjun and zhangjing. a car drives by, honking at the one in front of it, and people’s conversations filter in.
“don’t call us that,” xukun says, but his voice is warm, like the lights around them. justin ultimately ignores him again, just like the millions of other times. “but yeah, mission success.”
“i thought it was operation: form the avengers,” ziyi says innocuously, barely-restrained mischief glimmering on his face. xukun whacks him gently, and ziyi laughs. “sorry, sorry, i had to.”
“buy us ice cream as a celebration gift,” chengcheng suggests, and justin cheers.
“yeah, buy us ice cream!”
“you just had dinner,” ziyi points out incredulously, and then turns to xukun. “kunkun, help me out here.”
“i don’t know, i’m in the mood for something sweet,” xukun says thoughtfully, and smirks when ziyi’s face falls. “i’m just kidding. come on, let’s walk home. the rest of you can buy something for yourselves.”
ziyi’s arm brushes against xukun’s, the two of them walking so close that their steps almost collide. xukun taps on his phone screen, letting ziyi tug him out of the way of passerby, and hums under his breath. ziyi speaks first. “what do you think of the band?”
“...i think it’s nice,” xukun phrases carefully, delicately.
“really?” ziyi asks, gaze piercing.
xukun shrugs. “we’re in it together, aren’t we? i think that's enough to make it fun.”