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The thing no one guesses is that, of the three of them, Xue Yang is the only morning person. Granted, it isn’t always obvious, because time management comes as easily to Xue Yang as leaving the dishes overnight does to Song Lan. But when he doesn’t have any deadlines, and his sleep schedule is normal, Xue Yang wakes before the other two every time.
Most days, Song Lan gets up early too, but more out of habit than preference. He’s an endearing mix of confused and clumsy until he’s had at least one coffee.
Xiao Xingchen cannot and will not be moved before 8am at the very earliest.
So lately, Xue Yang finds himself sitting at the kitchen table with his legs tucked up to his chest to keep his cold feet off the floor, poking at his laptop while Song Lan wanders through the apartment opening blinds.
Today he pauses on his way to make coffee, resting a warm hand on the back of Xue Yang’s neck. Xue Yang tilts his head back and looks up at the way the feeble winter sunlight catches in his hair, messy and not yet tamed into the sensible, work-appropriate style he usually wears.
Song Lan blinks at him, stares for a moment, then smiles—just a tiny quirk of his mouth—and bends down to press a swift kiss to Xue Yang’s forehead. He steps out of range of Xue Yang’s annoyed swipe, but his movement is playful, not a warning, and he’s still smiling when he ambles off to busy himself with the coffee machine.
Xue Yang turns back to his computer, declining to think about the way his cheeks heat.
It’s become a thing. A coordinated campaign from both Xingchen and Song Lan to ambush Xue Yang with small, deliberate displays of affection. Whether they do this to reassure Xue Yang of his place with them or to embarrass him because they’re assholes like that, Xue Yang isn’t sure, and like hell he’s going to ask. It’s probably both anyway.
At this point, Xue Yang is mostly just irritated at how consistently he reacts. He blushes for fuck’s sake.
It would help if Song Lan wasn’t so intense about it. He holds touch in reserve and doesn’t say much, so on days when he maintains a physical distance, he’s all excessive eye contact, and small, secret smiles. It gets right under Xue Yang’s skin and hums until he’s so worked up, all he can think about is kissing the stupid smirk off Song Lan’s face.
Affection is easier to accept from Xingchen since he’s an excessively tactile person and started touching Xue Yang from nearly the moment they met. So much so that Xue Yang was sure the tall, grim boyfriend was going to beat the shit out of him before it became—this. Whatever it is. They haven’t named it, and thinking about labels makes Xue Yang’s heart jump around unpleasantly. But he’s here most nights and most mornings, so that’s something.
What Xue Yang knows, but isn’t quite ready to admit out loud, is that he wants to stay. God help him, he wants to see Song Lan barefoot in his tweed pyjama pants, sleepy and unguarded. He wants to kiss Xingchen awake and smile at the grumbled objections against his mouth. He wants Xingchen to complain and pull Xue Yang back into bed to wrap himself around so securely that there’s no question Xue Yang is wanted back.
If he’s got to put up with all the lovey-dovey stuff to keep the quiet mornings, he can do that. Song Lan can gently stroke the back of his neck when they’re watching TV if he must, and Xingchen can lace their fingers together in the supermarket since it makes him smile like the dawn.
It’s fine.
It’s—nice. Sappy, but nice. And, well, Xue Yang has always had a sweet tooth.