Archive of Our Own

Solitude has never been a problem for Song Lan. 

For the majority of his life he had lived alone. He hasn't had to share his living space with anyone since moving out of his parents' place, except that one time he had a flatmate, which ended in a disaster. Since that he's made sure to avoid having roommates, to never share a flat with anyone. It's always been him alone, and he liked it that way. 

At what point did Xue Yang decide that Song Lan's apartment is also his own, he really can't tell.

All he knows is that his place that used to be empty, except for Song Lan himself, is nowadays almost never seen without a certain person making a mess all around and never cleaning after himself. He knows that on days when their work shifts don't overlap he will come home to find his couch occupied. He knows that some mornings he'll wake up to hear his shower running and he won't even bat an eye, just turn around and go back to sleep. 

Song Lan doesn't know when this started, or how did it get so wildly out of control so quickly, but the weirdest part is not that it's happened— it's the fact that he doesn't regret it in the slightest. He had thought he would, at first. 

He met Xue Yang at work. Or rather, he met Xue Yang in between work, during his break. It was his first week working in this small, not very functional restaurant and he felt more stressed than ever and needed a cigarette desperately. Halfway through his already short break, a man with messily tied hair and a worn leather jacket showed up next to him and asked if he had a cigarette. He did, and although usually he wouldn't just give shit to strangers, apparently he was out of it enough to hand him a cigarette with no questions asked. He had hoped this would be enough to get this guy off his back and leave him to waste away his break in peace. 

This did not happen. Because as it turns out, Xue Yang loves to torture him, and also loves to talk, and it just so happens that those two things overlap. 

The next day, he was already there as Song Lan took his usual spot for a smoke break. He shot him a grin, which Song Lan ignored. He lit his cigarette and as if on cue Xue Yang asked him for one, and Song Lan made the same mistake again. 

And again. And again, for a considerable amount of days that he does not want to define. Until one time when he was having an especially bad day and snapped back at Xue Yang to get his own damn cigarettes, and the insufferable jerk just pulled an entire pack from his back pocket and lit one while looking at Song Lan with a smile so mocking it made him want to shove him off the table he was sitting on. 

And that's how sharing their breaks became their thing. Because their workplaces are right next to each other in this narrow, busy street, and because Song Lan decided to hand a cigarette to the wrong guy for one too many times, and because for whatever reason neither of them had gotten tired of each other yet, despite how obviously they do not get along.

This is yet another regularity in his life that Song Lan is not certain why it came to be. He knows how, he's made some missteps along the way, but he wishes he understood why. He should have told Xue Yang to fuck off long ago. The first time he shot him that sickly sweet smile and Song Lan thought how there is nothing but trouble to come out of this, that's when he should have taken a step back. He didn't. Instead he leaned into it, and now—

Now Xue Yang is a part of his everyday life that he couldn't shake off if he tried. Now it's a routine, and Song Lan likes routines, even if Xue Yang is an especially infuriating and unpleasant person to be around. 

There are worse things, he guesses, than listening to him shit talk costumers for the entirety of their break. There are worse things than Xue Yang sneaking out a cup of coffee for them both from the cafe bar he works at. There's no way he's been paying for those and that could easily get him in trouble, but Song Lan doesn't care. He's not about to turn down free coffee. Even if it's bad, and hell, it's horrible. He's not sure if it's Xue Yang who makes it, and if he makes it badly on purpose, but it's awfully sweet. Almost unbearable.  

Somewhere along the way he got used to Xue Yang's stupid voice. At some point he's even stopped craving the silence that his presence wouldn't allow. 

They are not friends, he tells himself. Even if Song Lan might not be an expert on this topic, because people are difficult and he is difficult, apparently, he's still pretty sure a friend is not someone whose presence you explicitly do not enjoy. 

He doesn't remember the first time he had Xue Yang over at his apartment. It might have been one of those times when it was raining badly and he had offered to drive him home, and somehow they ended up at Song Lan's place instead with bags of Mcdonald's. It's always a mystery as to how things come to be when it comes to Xue Yang. 

Whenever it was, for whatever reason is was, it set off in motion chain of events Song Lan never thought he'd have to deal with. 

***

Song Lan is having a day. A day, with a capital d, because it's been shit from start to finish and he hasn't even reached the end yet. 

The sun is setting slowly as he makes his way to the entrance of his building. All his usual parking spots have been taken and he has a longer walk to go through than is ideal, and it has been that sort of a day where anything that's not ideal is in fact a nightmare. 

At this point all he wants is to get back to the comfort of his tiny apartment, shower and be left alone. It's disappointing in a special way because he had actual plans, things he wanted to do after coming home from work, but now he can tell that's not going to happen. He's already fully on autopilot, walking up the stairs in a haze, barely registering unlocking the door and getting his shoes off. 

And Xue Yang is there. Spread across Song Lan's couch, a bowl of half eaten noodles in his lap. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary. Does not lock them, because hopefully Xue Yang will be leaving soon. Hopefully.

For now though, he shoves more noodles in his mouth. “Eating. Can't you see?”

Song Lan can, in fact, see. He just wishes he didn't. He wishes he came home to his empty apartment, that no one else lived in because he shared it with no one. But apparently that's too much to ask for nowadays.

“You don't live here,” Song Lan reminds him, just in case he's forgotten. 

“My dinner does.”

“You could also make it at your place. You know, the one you live in.”

Xue Yang ignores him to continue eating. Song Lan, who has by this point spent enough time with him to predict how things are going, figures this is a fruitless effort and finally leaves to shower. He's been dreaming about a shower since he left the apartment this morning, and not even Xue Yang's bullshit is about to ruin this for him. 

And hopefully, once he's done, Xue Yang will also be finished with his dinner, and he'll be long gone. 

So Song Lan takes his time. He sets the water hot and stands under the stream for way too long, hoping this would wash away the stress of the day so he can go to sleep in relative peace. Because tomorrow, he has to do this shit again and he's so fucking tired. 

Once he's gotten out of the shower and put on clean clothes, he makes the unfortunate observation that Xue Yang has not left. 

Song Lan is not surprised. He wishes he could be. 

If there is anything he knows for certain about Xue Yang it's that the more he tries to tell him what to do the less there is a chance of him actually doing it. So he switches his tactics and simply ignores his presence while he goes about his evening. 

The shower didn't help as much as he hoped, which is disappointing, maybe even more than it should be. He feels unusually dejected as he prepares his dinner. Quietly pours milk over cereal. Does not pay attention to the man slurping noodles behind him. 

He has to wrestle Xue Yang's feet for his spot on the couch, his own couch, and in the end he does eat his cereal with a lap full of feet. It's late, and Song Lan is truly too tired to glare, but he's sure Xue Yang can tell how much he despises this, otherwise he would not be doing it. 

Later that night, in those blurry moments as he's falling asleep he realises that he's never actually given Xue Yang a key to his apartment. He's been here before, sure, but only when Song Lan let him in. 

It's way too late to worry about this, is the last thought he has before he sinks into deep sleep. They can fight about this tomorrow. They always find time for it. 

It's the first instance of him coming back to find Xue Yang hanging around in his apartment, and it's far from the last. 

***

“Oh! You're here.”

Song Lan shuts his eyes and sighs, deeply, loud enough for Xue Yang to hear. “No.”

He does his best to look exhausted but exhausted in that way that makes him look threatening, the 'I've had it today and I will not hesitate to throw hands' stance. Sadly this has never worked on Xue Yang before, and it doesn't now. He trails after Song Lan as he walks towards where he parked his car. He's just finished work, and he is not feeling this, not at all. 

“Don't know about you, but I'm really feeling some burritos right now,” Xue Yang says around a snickers bar he's chewing on. “Or maybe waffles.”

“No.”

“Eggs? I could do eggs. Are you feeling sweet or salty?”

“I'm feeling sick and tired of you,” he snaps back as he's getting in the car. 

Xue Yang laughs. How this amuses him, Song Lan can't tell. It can't be that fun to be around a person who can't stand you, right?

“Salty, then,” he says and makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. Song Lan immediately slaps his feet away before he can even put them up. 

“Get you dirty boots off my car,” he says, with no real heat behind it. They've had this discussion so many times before, and still Xue Yang has the energy to provoke him, and still Song Lan has the energy to fight him about it. It's almost a challenge, and he doesn't plan to be the first to chicken out. 

Xue Yang crumples the chocolate wrapping and chucks it through the door before he shuts it. Song Lan almost complains, but at least he didn't throw it in his car, so he bites his tongue. A win, perhaps. “They're still on your car though.”

“I'm aware. Get out.”

He grins at him. “No.”

This is yet another one of those things Song Lan has had to come to terms with during the time they've known each other; once Xue Yang is in his car, the fight is already over and he's won. Fighting him now is useless and he will only succeed in pissing himself off more. It's not worth it. 

The only reason they have eggs for dinner that night is that Xue Yang ends up making them. Not before they spend an hour arguing about it, but in the end that doesn't matter, because he's the one cooking and not Song Lan. The majority of times they've eaten together they had takeout, because neither of them wanted to make food, so this feels especially risky. He's never let another person in his kitchen before. 

Xue Yang burns the eggs on purpose, and they both complain about it, and Song Lan swears he's never letting him into his kitchen again. 

Two days later he comes to his apartment to find Xue Yang flipping pancakes. He drops his bag on the floor, silently debates pros and cons of turning this into a fight, and grabs the first pancake from the pile. 

***

Song Lan wonders, not for the first time, in how much trouble would he get in if he just threw Xue Yang out of his car. He'd break a bone or two perhaps, but he's sure he's been through worse. He would surely end up stuck with him until he got better though so it would be even. 

It is worth it? Probably not. Yet. 

“So, what are we watching?” Xue Yang asks and Song Lan wants to glare at him, but he also doesn't want to crash his car, so he keeps his eyes on busy road ahead and trusts that his glare transcends physical features.

“We are not watching anything,” he grits out. “Wen Ning and I are watching a movie, you are being dropped off in front of your building. That's what's happening.”

What happened earlier that day is: Song Lan had off handedly, and foolishly, mentioned that he's going to the movies with a friend that evening. Xue Yang said 'great', and hopped in his car. And now he's here. 

“Aw, Song Lan,” he says his name in such way that makes him grit his teeth. “Don't pretend you don't want me there.”

“I don't have to pretend,” he sighs. It's the truth, but what Xue Yang doesn't have to know is that it's not that he despises the idea of going to the movies with him, it's mostly that he doesn't want this combination of people to have to spend more than a second together. “I don't want you there. What I want to do is go spend some time with my friend, alone, and in peace and quiet.”

Xue Yang laughs. “So it's a date?”

Song Lan contemplates his throwing Xue Yang out of the car plan. “No. He's a friend.”

A friend he does not  want to introduce to Xue Yang, for the benefit of his mental being. Song Lan is not the most social person and there aren't many people he would say he's distinctly familiar with, and comfortable around. Wen Ning is one of those people and, somehow, for reasons unknown to him, so is Xue Yang. 

The two of them together though, is an idea he would rather not entertain. Because he knows what Xue Yang is like. This could only end in a disaster, which is why he's taking precautions. Those precautions being, not letting Xue Yang crash his movie night. 

“This isn't happening,” he repeats for good measure. As if he hasn't said it ten times already. He's not sure who is it that he's trying to convince at this point. Xue Yang shows no sign that he's listening or taking in what's being said to him. He's very good at hearing only the things he wants to hear. “You're not ruining this for me.”

“I would never,” he grins and Song Lan feels himself grimacing. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Now it's like he's served him a challenge on a silver platter. 

“You wouldn't, because you're not coming with.”

“Oh but I am,” he says sweetly, and Song Lan doesn't have to turn to look at him to know he's wearing his best smile. Or worst, depending on who you ask. “Because there's five minutes left until the movie starts, you've been stuck in traffic for a good while now, and you would hate to be late, wouldn't you.”

Yes, he would. He despises the fact that Xue Yang knows this, that he can tell what he's thinking at most times, especially the ones when he's trying to keep a straight face. It's easy to forget sometimes, that he is not the only one paying attention and watching. 

Song Lan shuts his eyes for a moment and prays to whatever might be listening that the road clears out by the time he opens them. 

It does not. 

Beside him, Xue Yang gloats. Song Lan threatens to shove him out of the car. He doesn't. 

***

It has been raining since he left for work early in the morning, so the moment the sky clears Song Lan beelines it towards the back door. If he doesn't get out of this stuffy space in about three seconds he might just finally lose it.

It's pleasantly chilly outside, and he kind of regrets not bringing a jacket because it will surely get less pleasant in the evening. It's what he gets for his early morning hubris. 

He finds himself waiting. It's that annoying feeling in his chest that's something next to anxiety but not quite there, a bit closer to anticipation but not intense enough. Dull, but awfully present. Waiting, expecting, and for what. For the rain to start and chase him back inside? For his cigarette to go out? For the air to get colder and ruin his break? 

The sound of familiar laughter coming from the back doors of the cafe bar to his left shakes him from his thoughts and okay, that might be the thing. That is what was missing. He feels his shoulders relax and then has a sudden desire to punch a wall, because he has never associated this feeling with Xue Yang and he doesn't plan on starting. But it's unmistakably him. It's him that that's making his way over to where Song Lan is sitting on the shitty plastic table they had to get out because it got bent too much, and it's him whose absence he felt so distinctly. And he hates it. 

That's one whole crisis for him to have, and as if that's not enough, Xue Yang turns his day upside down to a point he hadn't even thought possible. Song Lan takes one look at him before dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. What the fuck. 

“Is that mine?” he asks, glaring. His voice sounds more disbelieving than angry, which is unfortunate. 

Xue Yang, the bastard, gives him as much of an innocent look as he can, which would be a surprising amount, if Song Lan didn't know him. “What?” 

It's definitely his. Xue Yang is both shorter and smaller than he is, also unfortunately for him Song Lan knows well what clothes he owns. He would recognize this shirt anywhere though, it was a gift he got from a friend years ago, a bit too big band shirt that's faded from washing. He doesn't listen to their music anymore, but he and Wen Ning used to love them during their college years. “That's my shirt.”

“Is it?” he asks as he lights his cigarette. There's a lollipop in his mouth too, and Song Lan doesn't understand how he doesn't find that combination disgusting. “Why is it on me then?”

“Why is it on you?”

Xue Yang hops on the table beside him and makes himself comfortable, and as he starts talking about some video he watched and about whichever game he's been playing that Song Lan knows about more than he'd like to admit. That's how the topic of his shirt gets dropped immediately. The only reason Song Lan lets it go is that he'd rather not think about... Any of this, any bit of today at all. He can let Xue Yang get away with his shit once. 

Couple of days later as he's digging through his laundry he's just brought back from the laundromat, he finds a shirt that's certainly not his and most definitely is something Xue Yang would own. 

The worse part being is, all his white pieces of clothing are now dyed pink. He's suddenly very glad he doesn't own that much white. But it's enough to make this extremely fucking annoying. Especially since of all things, Xue Yang's shirt is the last that should have been in there. 

He calls him, hoping to get an explanation, knowing he will not get one. At least he'll get to yell at him for a bit. 

“Oh, Song Lan,” Xue Yang sing songs when he picks up. Song Lan grits his teeth. “What do you want?”

“Your shitty fucking shirt ruined all my clothes,” he says, still glaring at the pink pile. “You are paying for this. I don't care how.”

“Why would my shirt be in your laundry?” he asks, and isn't that a great question. Song Lan would also love to know. “It's not mine.”

Song Lan thinks he would remember buying a bright pink crop top with the words 'baby slut' written across in bold letters. He does not. “No, it's definitely yours.”

“I don't buy it.”

“What you are  buying is my new clothes to replace all the white that's pink now, thanks to you.”

Xue Yang scoffs. Really, Song Lan should have known this is not something he would take seriously. He's never witnessed Xue Yang take anything seriously. “All you wear is in shades of black. I don't believe you own anything white.”

“Lucky for you, then,” he says and hangs up. He leaves the pile of clothes on the couch and doesn't touch it until next morning. 

By the time they see each other two days later, Song Lan's anger has dissipated. Mostly. He's still pretty annoyed but that's manageable. 

He's taking his quick break from work and when Xue Yang doesn't show up at their usual spot, he walks into the cafe next door. He finds him still working behind the bar, or he would be if there were any customers waiting to be served. Song Lan looks around and finds one person in there. They seem absorbed enough in their phone that he decides he can get away with bothering the bartender. 

He throws Xue Yang's shirt in his face. “Here. That's yours. And I want my shirt back.”

“Whatever,” he doesn't even look up at him as he takes the shirt. “I don't have it here.”

“Bring it tomorrow. Send it via mail. I don't care. I want it back.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, and the smile on his face tells Song Lan he's never seeing that shirt again. He sighs. Xue Yang makes him a cup of coffee and Song Lan watches with a glare as he adds copious amounts of sugar, looking him dead in the eye. 

For what it's worth, he does see his shirt again. Xue Yang seems to make a point of wearing it as often as possible at times when he knows they'll run into each other, and Song Lan tries his best not to bring it up because he doesn't need Xue Yang to know that, for some fucking reason, this is affecting him, in a way. He would rather eat dirt than show that he's noticing it, each time. 

He tries not to think about it too much. 

***

Coming back to his apartment and finding Xue Yang there becomes the new normal for the both of them. He still isn't sure when he stopped noticing it and why he hasn't put a stop to it a long time ago, but the time for that has long passed. 

Song Lan has that particular thought as his gaze falls on the two bags of what seem to be groceries on the kitchen floor. He throws his backpack aside in his bedroom. He calls out, “Xue Yang?”

A hum of acknowledgement comes from the living room. Song Lan finds him at the dining table, feet up.

“Feet down,” he snaps. This doesn't distract Xue Yang from whatever game he's playing on his phone. “Why are you walking with your boots on inside?”

“I wasn't gonna be for long,” he lies, because they both know once Xue Yang makes himself comfortable he won't leave anytime soon. Perhaps Xue Yang is not aware of that but Song Lan has learned it the hard way. 

The room smells heavily of coffee and cigarette smoke, despite how many times he's insisted on no smoking inside, because he has the balcony for that, it's perfectly fine for one person to sit and smoke. But no. It seems Xue Yang took his warnings to heart just enough so he doesn't smoke in his face but makes sure it's still felt afterwards. 

Song Lan goes to open the window, purposely not giving him the satisfaction of starting a fight. Xue Yang chews loudly on his bubblegum. 

“What's that for?” he asks, nodding towards the bags on the floor. He makes his way to his room to grab clean clothes before showering. 

“It's food. You don't have shit in this shithole,” he shouts after him. “How am I supposed to make myself something to eat if there's no food anywhere?”

It's rich coming from him, complaining about food when most of the time his meals consist of instant noodles and sweets. Song Lan would say he does better, but most cooking he does is at his job, and whenever Xue Yang decides to crash for dinner and they decide that ordering food is a more expensive option. In some weird way, this never spoken of arrangement might actually benefit them both. 

“You haven't made shit,” Song Lan notes. He glances in Xue Yang's direction on his way to the bathroom and as he thought, he hasn't moved. His feet are still set firmly on the table. At least he's gotten the boots off. That alone is more than he expected to get. 

“Busy,” Xue Yang responds, eyes not lifting from his phone game. 

“You're never busy.”

“I need like fifty coins more to buy a better stove.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I upgraded the pond today. There's fish in it now.”

Song Lan takes a shower. Xue Yang makes a sorry excuse for mac and cheese but it's the warmest meal both of them have had in days. Before he leaves, they smoke on the balcony, and Song Lan thinks it's surprisingly warm outside for such late hour. 

***

There are many, many things Song Lan doesn't know or understand about whatever this is between them. In any other instance he would pride himself in being perceptive, but Xue Yang gets under his skin like no one else ever could and climbs over all his walls with seemingly no effort and the weirdest thing is, at the end of the day Song Lan is not mad about it. Not in the way that would make him force Xue Yang out of his life. 

Here are the things he knows. 

The first time Xue Yang stays the night, there is a storm outside that has by that point been ranging on for hours. It shows no signs of stopping as Song Lan starts to get ready for bed, forcing himself to walk the short distance between the living room and his bed, and he says nothing when Xue Yang doesn't move from his spot on the couch. 

In the middle of the night he's woken up to thunder and pouring rain. The wind blows hard enough that the door of his bedroom shakes in it's hinges, making a repetitive banging sound. He figures it's what woke him up, and goes to push something in front of the door to make it stop. He feels his whole body shivering, and the warm bed and blanket have never been as inviting as they are in this moment. 

He remembers Xue Yang then, and through his sleepiness wonders if he perhaps left. 

And of course, he finds him there, in the same spot as he left him, curled in on himself on the couch that's definitely not meant to be slept on. Not for the entirety of the night at least. Song Lan would know, he's fallen asleep on it while watching TV too many times and the mornings were anything but pleasant. 

Song Lan drags out a blanket from his room and drapes it over Xue Yang, and for just a moment considers waking him up to suggest crowding under a blanket with him. It's a warmer one, the one he has in his bed. Later he will blame the late hour and his sleepiness for both his actions and his thoughts, and he'll be glad that in that moment the exhaustion won and he left without acting on his ideas. 

Xue Yang is gone in the morning, and Song Lan pointedly ignores the pang of disappointment he feels upon finding his apartment empty and blissfully quiet. 

The first time Song Lan pushes him into the mattress is one of those days when Xue Yang just keeps getting into his space, with his sharp smiles too knowing, and as he falls on Song Lan's bed he laughs like this was his goal all along. It might have been. Song Lan doesn't care, not when he has him here like this, and when his whole body thrums with need and he thinks, suddenly; Oh, I want this. He wonders when that happened. 

Xue Yang turns to lie on his stomach and Song Lan bites his shoulder, his neck. A kiss behind an ear, against his shoulder blade, light enough for it to be mistaken for an accident. Mere grazes of lips against skin and it feels like setting fires. He fucks him until all Xue Yang can muster are whimpers muffled by Song Lan's pillow. 

The first time they kiss isn't during sex. He almost wishes is was. It would be easier to conceal it as a spur of the moment thing, something born out of physical want and passion but no, Xue Yang can never let things be simple. 

They're crowed in the unlit, tiny space that is Song Lan's hallway, and he has just locked the door behind them and barely gotten the chace to turn around when there are lips crashing against his. His head slams against the door behind him and he groans against Xue Yang's mouth. 

Xue Yang kisses with urgency, bites Song Lan's lower lip hard, as if he doesn't hold on this will end with him thrown aside. For a brief second Song Lan thinks perhaps he should push him off, perhaps he should stop this, and he's thought this so many times about Xue Yang in his life and he's never, never done it, because. Because he doesn't want to. 

It's a ridiculous revelation to have. It's an especially ridiculous revelation to have about a person he's been sleeping with for over a month now, a person he's been around for much longer. How long have they known each other? It couldn't be much more than a year, year and a half, and it feels like an eternity. Song Lan can't think of how his life looked like before Xue Yang wormed his way in it and made himself at home.

Song Lan kisses him back firmly, buries his hands in Xue Yang's hair and holds him in place. He pulls away just for a moment to look at him, take all of it in because Xue Yang is so beautiful like this, lips red from kissing and pupils blown wide with pure want, and it's all too overwhelming to think about the possible meanings of this. Song Lan kisses him again, this time with less intensity, lets himself be gentle and slow and feels Xue Yang melt in his grip. 

The moment last for seconds, it lasts for hours. It does not last nearly as long as he wishes it would. 

They watch a dumb reality show until late hours that night. Song Lan never mentions the kiss. Xue Yang never mentions the kiss. Next morning he wakes up on his couch with a headache. Xue Yang brings them both coffee during their break and Song Lan forgets to complain about how sickly sweet it is. All he can think of is how Xue Yang's lips tasted similar against his. 

The first time he wakes up to Xue Yang still asleep in his bed is weeks after. His body is half laid on top of Song Lan's and he feels disgustingly sticky and warm from the body heat and the blanket over them. 

Xue Yang is asleep with one of his arms draped across Song Lan's middle, one leg thrown over him in what cannot be a comfortable position. His face is buried in Song Lan's neck and he can feel his breath against his skin, as well as the strands of hair tickling his nose. His hair smells of the shampoo Song Lan uses and his mind is too deep in the morning haze to stop that train of thought, right now, immediately, because the places it might go are not what he's familiar with. It's never been so easy to go back to sleep. 

The next time he wakes up in his bed to the spot beside him empty and cold, it feels wrong for the first time ever. 

What Song Lan knows is that this became a reoccurring thing. Xue Yang is there as they come back from work, they have whatever they decide on for dinner after bickering about it for a prolonged time, they fuck, sometimes, and sometimes they just sleep, and sometimes they watch shitty movies until passing out. They smoke on the balcony and Xue Yang talks and Song Lan listens, and sometimes, on good days, it's him who talks and if Xue Yang listens or not, it doesn't matter. He's there. For now, that's enough. 

***

Song Lan has always enjoyed to set a certain rhythm, a way of how things go throughout his day, week, a well built routine. 

So it's not his fault— it's not, when instead of going home alone on a Friday after work, as he should, as he would  if this were months earlier, he stays behind to wait for Xue Yang to finish his shift. Because he can barely remember the last time he went back home alone, even if Xue Yang stayed only for dinner or to be a nuisance. So he waits and doesn't even question it. And he waits for a good hour because customers don't care about things like 'shifts' and 'going home after hours of work'. 

It's only when he's over half an hour into waiting that he stops and thinks: Wait, what the fuck? 

He could have been home already. He could have made himself a warm meal and enjoyed it in blissful silence and he could have gone to bed in peace and wouldn't have to share it with anyone. 

He doesn't leave. None of it sounds as inviting as he wishes it would. 

Xue Yang emerges from the door looking ready to commit murder, and Song Lan would be ready to look away. Then Xue Yang spots him, squints at him and rolls his eyes as if annoyed, as if he isn't the one who made this into a thing. As if it isn't all his fault. As if all of a sudden he's surprised by his presence. 

Song Lan rolls his eyes right back at him. He's had enough of waiting, he's been ready to leave for an hour now. “Are you coming?”

Xue Yang gives him a mildly confused look. 

“Where?” he asks, and the tone of his voice prompts Song Lan to genuinely wonder if this *is*  a surprise to him. It couldn't be. 

He frowns at him and points to his parked car, then walks off. If Xue Yang wants to follow he'll follow, if he wants to be a stubborn jerk he might as well. Who is he to tell him what to do. Even if he were to try, Xue Yang has never listened to anyone, much less Song Lan. 

Something twists in his stomach as he sits in his car. Yes, he's waited for Xue Yang to be done with work so they could go back to his place together, as they do. No, this does not mean Xue Yang would have to just go with it. He's suddenly struck with a realization that there was never a talk concerning this, whatever this  is, and he had just assumed like an idiot that Xue Yang doesn't have other plans and would surely go with him. 

In that moment Song Lan can't decide if he's more angry at himself for assuming, or at the fact that he's become so comfortable with... all of this, enough that he would even have the grounds to assume. 

As soon as he starts the engine, the door to the passenger seat opens and Xue Yang hops in. “What are we having?”

Just like that, Song Lan shoves all the difficult thoughts in the back of his head. He doesn't want to analyse this tonight. He doesn't want to analyse it ever, so he might as well take any and all distractions he can get. 

“Eggs,” he says. He's made enough food at work today that he's sick of it, but eggs are low effort enough. “I'm feeling lazy tonight.”

“Great,” says Xue Yang, and there's a weird strain to his voice that Song Lan can't help but notice. 

For once, he hopes they can go back to their comfortable bickering and not think about the sudden tension between them. 

***

It's not rare to find Xue Yang in a bad mood. He's perpetually a cranky piece of shit, but there's a difference between Xue Yang in a bad mood because of who he is as a person and Xue Yang in a bad mood because he's truly having a shitty time.

Because on good days his bad mood manifests as petty remarks, purposely badly made coffee, puffs of smoke in Song Lan's face, making sure he doesn't have a moment of peace, and other typical Xue Yang pleasantries. 

Today though Song Lan finds him uncharacteristically quiet. And that's rings alarms in his head. 

His shift is over just as Xue Yang arrives. Song Lan pretends he hadn't noticed, even if he kept thinking all afternoon about how their Wednesdays usually overlap, expecting Xue Yang to turn up at any time now. 

Then Xue Yang sees him getting ready to leave and makes his way over. He murmurs something about having a few more minutes before his shift starts and grabs a cigarette from the pack Song Lan offers him. 

“My schedule got all messed up,” he complains after a few drags. Im between he crunches at the lollipop in his mouth. Song Lan cringes internally. “They keep changing my hours. It's bullshit. This is so much worse than my usual shift.”

“Okay,” Song Lan nods. That makes sense. He knew he was overreacting anyway. “When are you coming home tonight?”

Xue Yang stares up at him. Blinks. “What? Why?”

“So I know when to make dinner?”

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” he says, deep frown set on his face. He shoves his phone deep into his jacket. His voice lacks the usual intensity when he demands, “I want waffles.”

Never in a million years did he think he would describe anything Xue Yang does as soft  but right now he can't find other words to describe his voice and how he looks at him out of the corner of his eye. And perhaps it's an overstatement. Nothing's changed that much. He's still sharp edges all around, it's just that this time none of it is directed at Song Lan. 

Weird enough, he decides. Their relationship has been built on throwing punches, Xue Yang never missed a chance for one. Song Lan frowns back at him. “Are you sick?”

“What?” That seems to shake him out of whatever stupor he was in a second ago. He gives Song Lan his best glare, which is not much, he has long gotten used to those. A small, traitorous part of him misses the weird softness he got to witness mere seconds ago. “No, why would you ask that? What's up with you today?”

I could ask you the same thing, he thinks, but decides against it. Whatever is going on inside Xue Yang's head, he's sure he'll offer it when he wants to. Prying information from him has never gone well even if sometimes it seems like the right option. So instead, he says, “Okay. Waffles it is.”

The tension briefly leaves Xue Yang's shoulders, and it feels like a victory. 

In the end, Xue Yang doesn't tell him when he gets off work, Song Lan makes waffles way too early and they eat them stone cold on the couch and Xue Yang has to shake him awake to force him to move to the bed before he's fully asleep. The fact that he does so alone is a novelty. He's left Song Lan sleeping on the couch many times before as well as laughed at his complaints the next day.

As Song Lan is drifting in those moments between sleep and consciousness, Xue Yang draped all over him, he hears him say, “Your waffles suck ass.”

“I've only made them like once before,” he admits. He's too sleepy to be angry about the criticism. Dessert are not his strongest suit, but he's working on it. “Think you can make better?”

“Think?” he snorts against Song Lan's shoulder. “I know. My waffle making skills are fucking immaculate.”

“You'll show me, then. Tomorrow.”

***

Half of Song Lan's closet is filled with Xue Yang's clothes.

There are at least three mugs in his kitchen cabinet that he does not remember buying, one of them cat shaped, two of them have broken handles. 

Discarded socks are all over the place, regularly, no matter how many times he throws them in the dirty laundry basket or yells at Xue Yang to do so. 

They never run out of candy or orange juice. Specifically the ones in tiny juice boxes. Xue Yang insists they taste better. Song Lan has his doubts but they're not his tiny juice boxes, even if they do occupy a considerable amount of space in his fridge. 

Song Lan gets used to drinking coffee with much more sugar, because he hates the act of making coffee, and Xue Yang is willing to do it for him, because it means he can fuck with it however he wants. 

His bathroom, which was already too small, is now undeniably crowded. It's also filled with hair ties of all colors, which he would have never used in the past but now they've replaced his simple black ones, so if he's walking around with his hair held by a fuzzy, bright yellow hair tie, it's not his fault. 

It's everything he feared and hated about the thought of having to live with somebody; another person to accommodate to, sharing everything, constant disruptions, bickering about whose turn it is to throw out the trash and who is washing the dishes, loud video game noises as he's trying to read, and so on. And yet it doesn't feel wrong, or disruptive, and it's not nearly as much of a problem as he thinks it should be. 

If it's annoying at times, sure, this is Xue Yang and he expects nothing less from him but at the same time, it is Xue Yang. And for whatever unknown reason that's what makes this work, that's what makes this apartment start feeling more like a home than just another one of those places he's lived in. 

They don't talk about it, because they never talk about anything. Not about the things that matter. 

Xue Yang looks at him over his cup of coffee in the mornings when he thinks Song Lan isn't paying attention and he doesn't ask when will he throw him out and tell him to go back to wherever he came from. Song Lan walks beside him as they get groceries and doesn't ask why did he decide that this is where he wants to dig his claws in and stay. 

They don't talk about it, and sometimes the words are on the tip of Song Lan's tongue and the questions are threatening to spill out, and Xue Yang bites his neck and okay, that he knows how to work with. This is what they're good at. 

Sometimes Xue Yang looks too deep in his thoughts and Song Lan moves the hair from his face to kiss him, and to feel him begrudgingly relax under his hands. He tastes like strawberry candy and cigarettes and it should disgust him. It shouldn't feel as familiar as it does. 

They don't talk about it because it feels like it would break something. The two of them have never been great at words, not the gentle, careful ones, but they have always been good at breaking things. And this, Song Lan wants to keep this. 

Because Xue Yang has grabbed onto him and wouldn't let go, and before he could have noticed Song Lan has done the same, and this has all turned into a big game of chicken that neither of them want to lose, and the only way to get what they both want is to make sure the other person doesn't lose as well. Song Lan doesn't remember this game being so damn complicated.

The morning he wakes up to rain splattering against his bedroom window and finds himself alone under the blanket, he wonders if he would find Xue Yang around somewhere. 

It's like spinning a fortune wheel. Some days he's still here in the morning, most days, that is, and some days he leaves before Song Lan wakes up. Those days are rare, but Song Lan hates catching himself making assumptions. 

Dragging himself out of the bed is a struggle on mornings like this when all he wants to do is curl up in his bed and go back to sleep. There is still time. He could do so, but something pushes him to leave the room and check if Xue Yang has left already. 

The doors of the balcony are slightly open when he walks into the living room. He steps out to the gentle morning breeze blowing in his face, buries his hands deeper into his hoodie. 

Xue Yang is there, sitting with his legs up on the table that whines under the weight. He has a blanket draped over his shoulders, a cigarette held between his lips and he's currently fumbling with a lighter that refuses to do it's job well.

Song Lan drags another chair over next to him and sits down. He reaches for Xue Yang's hand and softly offers, “Let me.”

Xue Yang looks at him, eyebrow raised, then shrugs and lets him take it from him. He's quiet, and Song Lan would love to write it off as morning sleepiness, but he has his doubts. 

“You're up early,” he says as Xue Yang leans over with the cigarette in his mouth. There are the things he doesn't say— how it's a Saturday morning and they both have the day off, how he felt Xue Yang stir awake at least three times during the night, and while in those fleeting moments glazed with sleep he hadn't thought much of it, now as he looks at him he wishes he had been awake at the time.

“It's a nice morning,” Xue Yang says, and Song Lan just barely stops himself from scoffing in his face. That's the weakest excuse he's used to get himself out of a vulnerable situation so far. And it's not that Song Lan makes it his job to push him out of that comfort zone; he's almost as bad at talking about thoughts and feelings and emotions and what not as Xue Yang is.

So he doesn't mention any of the things he feels like he should, and instead leans over and carefully lights Xue Yang's cigarette for him. “Wake me up next time. Alright?” 

Xue Yang stares at the lighter in Song Lan's hand like it offended him personally.

“What for,” he asks stubbornly. He laughs, and Song Lan can recognize it as a defense mechanism now. He doesn't let it throw him off. “You don't need to coddle me like a baby, Song Lan.”

The tone of his voice is teasing, but Song Lan brushes it off. He didn't come out here with an intention to force a serious conversation on him, he simply wanted to give him an option, to offer some help in case it's needed because Xue Yang would never let it be known if it's not pried from him first. “When have I ever? Just wake me up.”

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“Fuck you too,” Song Lan spats back. Absentmindedly, he covers Xue Yang's hand with his. “Come back to bed.”

They sit there until Xue Yang finishes smoking, then Song Lan drags him back under the covers. 

***

Time passes, and as it does Song Lan stops expecting that this thing between them will ever be discussed properly. What they'll have instead are silent touches that might be too gentle for what they are and kisses that linger for a bit too long, but never words. He is not necessarily annoyed by this, but it is sort of a thorn in his side. 

He likes certainty. He likes knowing for sure what it is he's doing and what is happening around him. Here, some bits are still a mystery. 

Because Xue Yang keeps to himself just as much as he is all over the place. There's no doubt he's decided all of this is his, the space as much as Song Lan himself, but he still shrinks away at the barest show anything that might count as vulnerability, or gentleness that he can't pretend is something else. Song Lan wonders if he could get him to talk to him eventually. He wonders if pressed, what would he say. The thing that holds him back is the fear that trying to get something out of Xue Yang that he might not be willing to give would make him leave. And Song Lan has long stopped wishing for him to leave. 

In the end, Xue Yang offers it himself. 

He's lying glued to Song Lan's side in the bed, with streetlight just barely peeking through the bedroom window, and it's that night that gives Song Lan all the answers he wished for. Not strictly in words, but it's enough. 

“What's gonna be the last straw, hm?” he asks, with his voice muffles against Song Lan's shoulder. Song Lan opens his eyes just enough to give him his 'I don't know what the fuck you're talking about' look. 

He's trying to play it off as a joke, Song Lan can tell. There's a yawn, then a hum, and then Xue Yang sets in motion that conversation he thought they'd never have. “I'm surprised you still haven't thrown me out. How many times did you tell me to go eat dinner at my own home?”

“I thought this was your home,” he says, and it's only because of how sleepy he is that those words actually leave his mouth. He's startled by how true it is. Horrified, really. “It is, if you want it.”

Next to him, Xue Yang tenses. It's such a raw, unrestrained reaction, he feels it happen with his whole body pressed against him and Song Lan is certain he's about to bolt. This is exactly why they haven't been talking about it. There is a line, and it seems that the line is speaking the truth into the air between them and watching it solidify into the night.

It's a long moment of stillness and silence. It stretches on for long enough that Song Lan gets restless, which is not a thing he does, but now he also wants to run. He doesn't realise he was holding his breath until Xue Yang speaks again. 

“Shit. Fuck,” Xue Yang says weakly. Song Lan has to agree. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, and a yawn escapes him. He can barely keep his eyes open. “It's too late for this shit now though. Go to sleep.”

He presses a kiss between his shoulders and Xue Yang makes a noise deep in his throat, something strangled and punched out, something that's almost a whine and Song Lan is ready to pretend he hasn't hear him. He pulls him closer and falls asleep not long after.

That morning he wakes up to an empty bed. Immediately, to the point that it's embarrassing, he's gripped by panic.

Then he hears the well known sound of a kitchen cupboard being slammed shut and lets himself breathe.

Xue Yang is there, turning the kitchen inside out as he does whenever he's the one preparing food. He has one of Song Lan's shirts on that falls down to his mid thigh, his hair just barely held up and mostly falling out of the makeshift ponytail. He swears loudly and something deep in Song Lan's chest clutches around itself. 

He should not look at him and feel the sense of relief, or the warmth that comes with it, he should not let himself think: I could get used to this feeling. Because he has, already, he has. There is nothing new or unusual about waking up to Xue Yang unleashing chaos somewhere in his apartment, or about him stealing his clothes, or—

 Xue Yang glances at him standing in the doorway and huffs. “Fuck off.”

A profound good morning to get from him. It's enough to shake Song Lan from his train of thought however and for once he's glad for it. Xue Yang isn't looking at him, he's finally found the thing he's overthrown the whole kitchen for. The fucking frying pan. He could have just asked where it is. 

“The fuck is your problem?”

You are, he thinks. Xue Yang and his unruly personality and lack of any sort of manners and the way he makes Song Lan feel comfortable despite everything, and because of everything. The fact that when he thinks about coming home, it includes Xue Yang and that shit eating grin he gives him when he knows he's getting what he wants. 

“Don't destroy the kitchen,” he says instead. Xue Yang throws up a middle finger in his direction as he continues rummaging through the cabinet. “We really don't have money to renovate.”

Xue Yang shuts the cabinet door with a bang.

Pancakes aren't what Song Lan usually considers a breakfast food, but he supposes it's fine. At least this time nothing went up in flames. He sits at the small round table and sips his coffee, still groggy from sleep, while Xue Yang spreads himself out across the couch and chews his pancakes loudly. 

It's a lazy morning, Song Lan has a day off and Xue Yang has hours before he has to leave. He's currently aggressively switching tv channels just as Song Lan asks about when his shift ends. 

“I'll be home—” he starts but catches himself and Song Lan doesn't dare to move. Xue Yang glares down at his plate. “Whatever. I'll text you. Pick me up.”

“Pick yourself up.”

“Eat a dick.”

Song Lan sighs. Privately, he feels relieved. Lighter. “Just text me when you're done.”

Xue Yang does, and Song Lan drives to pick him up and on the way back they get pizza for dinner. Nothing changes, as he feared it would after that small conversation they had in the middle of the night. No, they go on with their lives like nothing happened, and if the space they live in is referred to as theirs and home more often then not, neither of them mentions it.

Nothing changes, except one day Song Lan gets home with a second pair of keys, one for the building and one for the apartment. He leaves it on the microwave beside Xue Yang's bag of lollipops where he knows he will find it.

And then he doesn't mention it. That evening he finds the spot he left it in empty. 

He half expects it to blow up in his face, to find Xue Yang pissed off and get the keys thrown in his face. But Xue Yang doesn't mention it either. Because of it, for a while Song Lan genuinely wonders if he even took the keys, or if they somehow disappeared under mysterious circumstances, or if Xue Yang chucked them through the window and decided not to mention it. It wouldn't be unlike him. 

He finds out a whole week after. 

“I bought us bath bombs,” Xue Yang says, walking in and putting a bag filled with what Song Lan hopes aren't all bath bombs on the table.

“We have a shower,” Song Lan reminds him.

As if he somehow forgot, Xue Yang grimaces. He shrugs. “I'll figure it out.”

He puts the keys next to the bag and leaves to drop off his boots. Song Lan finds himself staring and feeling very, very stupid.

“Do you think if I close the shower door, I could fill it with water and throw a bath bomb and then climb up in it?”

“What the fuck. No.”

“I'm gonna try.”
 
The determination in his voice puts the fear of god in Song Lan. “Do not. I'll kick you out.”

“Fuck you,” Xue Yang shouts from the bathroom. Song Lan starts getting suspicious. “This is my house.”

“This is not a house.”

***

“Do not move.”

His immediate reaction is to do exactly that, because Xue Yang's voice is too loud and too close and his leg is cramping. He keeps his eyes shut as he tries to get up but is held down. “Shut up.” 

“I told you not to move, you fuck,” he repeats, and Song Lan groans back at him. He opens his eyes to find himself on the couch, his head resting on Xue Yang, in the crevice between his shoulder and neck. That explains why his voice is so loud. 

Xue Yang's arms are pulled around him and he can see him playing a game on his phone. He guesses that has to do something with his insistence on Song Lan staying put. 

“What time is it?” he asks, voice still slurred from sleep. He should have known better than to take a nap. His whole body feels like sea foam.

“Don't know. Don't care. Stop fucking moving.”

“I wanna get up.”

“I don't want you to,” he says and furiously swipes his finger over the phone screen. Song Lan groans again as the game music loops. “I'm so close to beating my record. If you ruin this for me I'll eat all your chips.”

Despite himself, Song Lan lets himself get comfortable against him. Or, as comfortable as is possible in the position he's in. Xue Yang's elbow is still digging into his side and his hair is in his face. Song Lan nuzzles his neck in attempt to get rid of some of it. Xue Yang swears. 

“You already do that,” he says. He started hiding his bags of chips from him but it's proven to be a futile effort. If there are snacks at home Xue Yang is bound to get his hands on them sooner or later. 

He can practically feel Xue Yang roll his eyes. “You're fucking unbearable.”

Song Lan hums. “And yet you keep me around.”

Sometimes he thinks it's the other way around, but that's not quite true. Xue Yang dug his claws into him first. It took Song Lan way too long to realize he doesn't mind it. 

“I don't know why the fuck I do,” he says. His voice lacks the usual intensity, and when Song Lan presses a light kiss on his jaw he doesn't complain about him moving. 

Song Lan doesn't know either, but as he buries his face in Xue Yang's neck and listens to him swear at his game, he thinks he's glad for it.