Chapter Text
At any other time Song Lan would be strongly against texting while driving but today, just this one time, he makes an exception to let Xingchen know he's on his way home. His hand is shaky as he types, keeping his eyes on the road. He manages to send it just in time as the light turns yellow, and he drops his phone on the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. He doesn't want Xingchen to worry more than he already has been. Last two months have been rough on him.
The car in front of him is slow, too slow for this road and Song Lan finds himself tapping along the steering wheel, annoyed. He imagines Xue Yang would laugh at him for it; he's the one who used to groan at Song Lan's 'snail pace driving', swearing he could outrun him on foot.
“Let me drive,” he even demanded once. Xingchen had laughed from the back seat, a giddy, knowing laugh. This was, and still is, one of Song Lan's hard rules. Not so much of a sore spot as simply what he thinks is a reasonable wish to not have his goddamn car crashed. He spent good money on it, and even more anxiety and probably years of his life getting the license. He never lets Xingchen drive either, allowing Xue Yang behind the wheel was a definite no go.
It was one of those arguments the two of them indulged in regularly, treating it like something of a safe, familiar territory. Xue Yang knew Song Lan would never say yes but still enjoyed provoking him. Song Lan knew Xue Yang was a piece of shit who got a kick out of making him mad but he could give him that satisfaction, when he felt like it.
It's a somber thought to have, bit embarrassing too, but he misses the fucker and their aimless bickering. Mostly he's just pissed because it's making Xingchen worried.
The plush grinning cat dangling from his rear view mirror spins as he parks the car. It was a joke gift from Xue Yang for his birthday; a pink little thing that always looks as if it's making fun of him. As Xue Yang would. The resemblance is uncanny.
Maybe the worst thing Xue Yang has done to him is caused him think of him so much. Wormed his way into Song Lan's head as he did in their relationship, their apartment, their bedroom. Dragged his dirty boots all over it.
Song Lan knocks on the front door of his and Xingchen's apartment to announce himself and lets himself in. He can hear the water running, the warm light from the bathroom spilling from the crack underneath the door. There's a scribbled note on the kitchen counter, two small hearts drawn in a corner.
There's leftovers in the microwave, in case I'm asleep when you get home
Love you :)
He folds the note carefully and puts it away, feeling some of the stress of the evening lift from his shoulders. Xingchen had started leaving these for him since Song Lan started working late night shifts, often coming home much after Xingchen is off to bed. The gesture brings some ease to him, makes him feel as if everything is just a bit more normal even if he never eats the said leftovers. He’s not entirely unable to, but human food tastes like nothing at best and causes him stomachache at worst, so he avoids it if possible. Xingchen must have noticed. He's never mentioned it, something Song Lan is so very grateful for, even if he’s yet to stop feeling guilty for keeping secrets, over a year after this all started.
The clock ticks past midnight as he stands in the kitchen and thinks; oh, Xingchen must have waited for him. Again. Song Lan has told him countless times he shouldn't, he needs the sleep since he's the one who gets up early out of the two of them, and usually Xingchen listens to the advice but there's those bad nights every now and then when Song Lan comes home to find his boyfriend half asleep on the couch with the TV on.
Song Lan barely feels guilty about it this time. It makes him feel better, knowing he'll be able to lie next to Xingchen as he falls asleep.
So okay, maybe Song Lan hasn't been having the best time either. Even if Xingchen has been much more affected by the new Xue Yang shaped absence in their life. If he ever shows his face again, Song Lan will have some words for him.
A pair of arms wrapping around his middle startle him out of his thoughts. He can smell Xingchen’s shampoo, something bright and citrusy. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he whispers. There's no one here with them but there's a stillness at this hour he doesn't want to interrupt. He covers his boyfriend’s hands with his own, still cold from the chilly air outside; a gentle contrast to Xingchen behind him who is warm and standing in the towel alone, fresh out of the shower. Song Lan needs one badly. He’s still in his work clothes and his coat got rained on in the short time it took him to reach his car. He untangles himself from Xingchen’s embrace. “I’m dirty.”
Xingchen hums, unconvinced. “Don’t take too long.”
He disappears into the bedroom as Song Lan drags himself to the bathroom and washes his hands twice, forgetting himself and trying to check if he has any blood on his face, then feeling rather stupid about it.
He remembers Xue Yang making Xingchen do his makeup for him when he was too lazy to bother with his lack of reflection, voice sickly sweet with shitty excuses; Oh but you do it so much better than me, which is blatantly untrue, and Song Lan made sure to shoot him unimpressed looks each time he saw it happen.
Maybe, if he thinks on it a bit longer, allows himself to be a bit more vulnerable, the worst thing Xue Yang has done to him– to them, is leave. But even the thought alone sounds too pathetic and melodramatic in his mind so he pushes it aside and just– refuses to think. Eventually Xue Yang will have to get out of his head and he’ll be fine, then. Eventually.
As for now, it doesn’t help that there’s still traces of him left all over their apartment, or that Xingchen’s lockscreen is the picture of Xue Yang and Song Lan passed out on the couch after they had too much to drink that one time he’d managed to drag them both outside. He doesn’t remember much from that night, aside from how Xingchen dared him to try his disgusting cocktail and Xue Yang had laughed at his dry jokes for the first time, and how surprised he was when that felt good.
***
May of last year
It happens on the day of their anniversary, which is really just a testament to Song Lan's bad luck.
A warm evening, even with the wind blowing steadily; the ideal weather for a walk by the shore afterwards. He's meant to meet Xingchen for dinner. They paid for a reservation, Song Lan found the perfect place and put on his black suit he had worn only once before for a wedding and almost regretted buying and this evening it should have finally come in use except of course, something has to go wrong. Something has to go almost comically wrong.
He gets there early, because he always does when he was anxious and he has been worrying about this date for an entire month as if it is their first, as if he is yet to convince Xingchen he may be worth sticking around for. Two years in and it still seems surreal.
One day when he looks back on it he'll curse at himself, as it's precisely the anxiety of the anticipation that does him in. He gets antsy, restless, and eventually tying and untying his hair while staring in the rear view mirror just doesn’t cut it anymore. He has to get up and move. Stretch his legs. Xingchen will text him when he's on his way.
He should have just sat down in his car and waited half an hour for Xingchen to finish work. He would have picked him up, they would have driven off and had a wonderful dinner and it would have been fine. It was meant to be an evening for celebration and instead—
Instead Song Lan stirs awake in a dark back alley he doesn’t recognize, hours after, slumped against a dumpster on the dirt covered road. The air around him smells of blood so strongly it makes him nauseous. Not a living soul in the alley with him, just the cold night and the searing, hot pain stretching from his neck to what feels like his entire body.
Later, when he finds himself at his flat in a lit bathroom, unsure of how he got there, he realizes the smell is coming from him. The shirt he’s gotten off and thrown to the floor because it was clinging to his skin, his hands. He thinks he can feel the metallic sting of it in his mouth, too, but refuses to think of it. If he did, his head would crack open and he’d die on the dirty bathroom floor in a pool of blood that he couldn’t tell if it was his own or someone else’s— it would be a disgusting mess. A horrible way to die.
Whenever Song Lan thinks of his own inevitable demise, he thinks he’d like to know it's coming. Put the dirty laundry away, clean the sink. Lie down somewhere clean. Fresh sheets.
Not the bathroom floor. He’s cleaned it just this morning, but now it's ruined. He hasn't even gotten his boots off yet, getting wet dirt everywhere. It must have rained sometime while he was out.
Only after he's scrubbed his face and hands to the point of pain does he dig around his pockets for his phone, and finds it cracked but working. The bright screen screams at him, accusatory: 3am. Hours and hours from the time they had arranged their dinner and since Xingchen left work and god he had probably waited for him for so long—
He apologizes profusely the next morning while Xingchen looks at him all worried and… not angry. Which doesn't feel good. It doesn't make him feel better. Xingchen is rarely ever angry, properly in a way that shows, and sometimes Song Lan wishes he would be. Some situations might be easier to stomach.
He makes up something about getting mugged and knocked out, a pretty bad story, and he can't quite tell if Xingchen believes him.
“I'll take you out to dinner next Friday,” he promises. He will.
A brief hint of exasperation passes through Xingchen’s face. He presses a kiss on the top of Song Lan’s head, staying there, leaning on him. “You should rest. Dates can wait, I'm not going anywhere.”
Song Lan wishes desperately that he could trust him. He stares down at the mug of tea in his hand, so warm against his ice cold skin, and purposely doesn't think of how uninviting the smell of it is.
Xingchen had made it as soon as he woke up and that breaks Song Lan's heart a little, makes him sort of miserable. He's never been a person who finds crying easy— he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he let himself fall apart properly— but in this moment he wishes he could just let it happen. Spill himself all over the kitchen and not worry about the mess for just a moment.
***
Back when they were only friends, barely knew each other actually, Xingchen had dragged Song Lan away from his half written essay to watch Twilight in the theater. He remembers both of them making fun of Bella’s short research on vampires, because how obvious does it have to be, really. So he isn't proud to find himself in his car, a safe distance from home, staring at the results of his google search for vampires. Because he is that desperate, apparently.
It doesn't tell him anything new or debunks his doubts so he writes it off as useless. Which is fine, he doesn't need Wikipedia to tell him if he's newly undead or not. He isn't stupid, just scared. But there are only so many times you could burn your skin under the sunlight before you have to rearrange some truths about your life.
He doesn't tell Xingchen because again, he isn't stupid. Who wants to date a cold, living corpse? He can deal with this on his own. Take up later shifts, avoid garlic like a plague and whatever else proves to be a problem, trial and error style. Go back to pretending nothing is wrong and drinking an abnormal amount of tea to calm his nerves, even if it doesn't bring him the same enjoyment as before.
The blood is by far the worst part. And lying to Xingchen. That one keeps him awake at night.
And then, Xue Yang.
It's a cold December night when Xingchen comes back from a club that his nephew dragged him to, with a wide smile on his face and starts excitedly telling him about the party, about Wei Wuxian and how he's an uncle as of recently, about a person he bumped into on the dance floor who insisted on getting him a drink, one Xingchen had paid for in the end, who danced with him for what seemed like hours and whose name rolls off Xingchen's tongue smoothly like a marble. Clicking against the edges of his teeth, something precious, something to be kept.
Song Lan tells him he would love to meet them, if Xingchen offered. Anyone who could make Xingchen smile like that is a person worth knowing.
Xingchen, of course, offers. There are people like Song Lan, who like to keep people from different parts of their life in separate corners. Like how Xingchen has never met Song Lan's parents, both because he barely sees them himself and because he desperately doesn't want him to. Xingchen however, gets special joys from putting all of his favorite people in the same room and watching what would happen.
So Xingchen spends the following week sprinkling in details about his new friend to him, and by the time they're in the car, driving to the bar where they're supposed to meet him at, Song Lan assumes he know what to expect. He is right, and he is not.
Xue Yang is a flurry of smudged eyeliner and too many tattoos to count and he swears more than Song Lan thought a person would be able to, and he is everything and nothing one could expect from a guy Xingchen fell for in a club. His greeting to Song Lan is short and followed by a mean glare, and instantly, Song Lan thinks he has him clocked. He gets the message, loud and clear. He is almost impressed that out of a crowd of people he could have chosen from, Xingchen had picked out a jealous, overly possessive punk with an attitude.
He brings up a cup to his mouth to hide his smile. If Xingchen wants to play around with a brat in his free time, who is Song Lan to deny him the pleasure?
Either way, the problem with Xue Yang isn't his demanding personality. Song Lan doesn't have to deal with that aspect of him much, as Xingchen mostly sees him outside their place or while Song Lan is working. And he seems to make Xingchen happy, which is all Song Lan cares about concerning Xingchen’s new friend.
Friend because that's what Xingchen keeps calling him, with a particular mean glint in his eye Song Lan is unfamiliar with. Friend, even though the two of them have been going out for a good while now and the way this friend looks at Xingchen is everything but platonic.
Then Xingchen decides it’d be a good idea for them to go on a dinner, all three of them, because wouldn’t it be so great for Xue Yang and Song Lan to meet properly and spend some more time together? And that really blows all Song Lan’s plans out of the water.
Because Xue Yang is a little shit, but he's a little shit who's a vampire and that is the bit that crosses the line, in Song Lan’s eyes.
He couldn’t have known that night though. They meet Xue Yang in front of the restaurant and Song Lan is ready to have an awkward dinner with Xingchen’s friend, nothing more. He takes one look at Xue Yang waiting for them in the parking lot, leaning against the stairway railing and pretending not to have seen them as he aggressively stares down at his phone in his trademark leather jacket that has definitely seen better days, and not a single part of him screaming fancy dinner with my not quite boyfriend and my not quite boyfriend’s boyfriend. And something about it strikes him there, and Song Lan feels a sort of distant fondness for the man that is still a mere stranger to him. He supposes it's what Xingchen would refer to as Xue Yang’s charm.
“What are you smiling at?” Xingchen asks him, quietly, as if Xue Yang could hear them.
“He seems like a piece of work,” Song Lan says. It’s not a criticism in any way, just an observation. An appreciation from the side, of sorts.
Xingchen knows, he understands it. He giggles, a sound that finally forces Xue Yang to acknowledge their presence just as they near him. And Song Lan knows what Xingchen’s full answer to that commentary of his would be— You have to put work into relationships to make them work, isn’t that the point of it? Isn’t it worth more?— if they weren’t right here, standing in front of the guy they’re talking about. “That’s the fun of it, no?”
“What is?” Xue Yang asks immediately, as Song Lan expected him to.
“Don’t worry about it.” He brushes past him towards the door and Xue Yang looks like he would tear his windpipe out if Xingchen was anywhere but right next to them.
They get themselves seated and Song Lan thinks, perhaps this will be fine. Perhaps he can at least appreciate Xue Yang, if nothing else, even if the latter clearly sees him as a competition and doesn't care for his company at all.
It’s funny how thinking, perhaps it will be okay, is always the part that does it. It’s a cruel pattern that’s been running through Song Lan’s life lately. It’s happened before, it happens this night, and it will happen again in the future.
Halfway through the dinner, Xingchen cuts himself on a knife. A tiny cut, barely there. It still bleeds. Song Lan quietly hands him a tissue and Xingchen thanks him with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle and it's fine. He takes a deep breath. He has had months to get good at this, being normal around people, not freaking out about blood both for phobia reasons and for hunger reasons— but across the table Xue Yang has gone very quiet.
Unusual for him, for as much as he visibly can't stand Song Lan, Xue Yang has been anything but silent in his company. Song Lan is pretty sure he personally got in barely ten sentences this entire time and Xue Yang certainly hasn't asked him anything. It's like he's trying to make up for something by talking, and Song Lan lets him because he can't bother, really, this is Xingchen's business and he is here only for tonight. It's fine if Xue Yang doesn't want to cooperate. And the distant, bitter part of Song Lan can't bring himself to care, because Xue Yang certainly isn't here to stay. Even before this, he hardly fit into their lives. Eventually he’d get bored of Xingchen, or vice versa, or Xingchen would realize he's too much maintenance and isn't even trying on his part.
It's hard to miss the way Xue Yang’s eyes widen at the blood on Xingchen's finger, if you know what you were looking for. Even if the wild look on his face stays there for only a second, a blink and you'll miss it moment, Song Lan sees it clear as day. It's exactly the way he imagines his face looks whenever Xingchen is a bit too close to him, whenever his neck is warm against his lips and he swears he can feel the blood rushing underneath his skin.
He sees the way Xue Yang can't take his eyes off of Xingchen, and his first reaction isn't even anger, or worry, but instead a pang of sympathy. Then, deep bone embarrassment, and finally anger. Though he's unsure if it's more directed at Xue Yang, or himself.
As Xingchen continues eating, unsuspecting, Song Lan glares at Xue Yang until he finally turns his eyes to him instead. Dark and unblinking— pretty, a traitorous part of him thinks. There is no shock there. Xue Yang must have recognized Song Lan as one of them during their first meeting and just kept quiet about it, it must have been what his general air of disdain around him has been about. All the dirty looks he kept giving him over Xingchen’s shoulder that Song Lan thought were born out of jealousy make more sense now. Xue Yang doesn't simply seen him as a threat to his relationship with Xingchen, he is—
“Is that okay?” Xingchen asks. Song Lan blinks and finds himself still in locked eye contact with Xue Yang, who looks like he hasn’t moved an inch. He is well aware that he has to have stopped, averted his gaze to Xingchen to bat his eyelashes at him in a way that makes Xingchen blush, but it sure doesn't feel that way.
From this moment on, Song Lan will never go back to leading a normal, Xue Yang-less life. He will never get rid of him. He doesn't quite know it yet— it's a big thing to know— but he has a feeling.
They break the awkward, vaguely hostile eye contact when Xingchen puts a warm hand over Song Lan’s and he realizes he's being spoken to. “I was telling Yang’er that we would drive him home,” he says. “Are you okay?”
Song Lan nods, even if in reality he wants nothing more than to drop kick Xue Yang in the nearest ditch and never think about him again. After a month of Song Lan dismissing his presence as not his problem and finding him amusing at best, Xue Yang feels like an actual threat for the first time.
***
It might be foolish, and futile to hope for Xue Yang to be a civil, benevolent creature who isn't trying to maul anyone’s neck, and is instead genuinely interested in Xingchen. Song Lan still hopes. Probably too much, because as if he could smell it on him, Xue Yang decides it's time to up his game.
The days of him ignoring Song Lan’s presence are gone, replaced with his apparent need to be as cruel as possible whenever Xingchen leaves the room, or the few times he ‘accidentally’ manifests in their apartment too early and decides to stick around, waiting for Xingchen to arrive and look very excited to see them both in his home.
Really it is just a cheap, rather transparent excuse to bully Song Lan about… well, about Xingchen. And the whole vampire thing. Song Lan doesn't know which he wants to talk about less.
Because Xingchen never gets bored of Xue Yang as he has been hoping for. Instead Xue Yang goes from a friend to probably-boyfriend, which Song Lan begrudgingly thinks is an understatement if how affectionate the two of them are is anything to go by, and Xue Yang is unbearably smug about it.
“You’re pretty new here, right,” Xue Yang asks— says, more like, as if he knows Song Lan life story and doesn’t care for his actual input. It’s one of his oh-no-is-Xingchen-not-home-yet days, and he’s sitting with his feet up on the chair. Song Lan had come in, took one look at him and decided not to bother, not today, but Xue Yang has other plans because he always does. “You know anyone else around?”
It takes Song Lan a good moment to realize he’s talking about him being a vampire, and isn’t just incorrectly assuming he’s new in town. “No.”
Xue Yang makes a mock sad face at him. “Shame. I could help you.”
Truly, there is nothing Song Lan wants less than receiving any sort of help from Xue Yang. “No.”
“Fuck, you’re a riot to talk to,” he clicks his tongue. “I know people! Maybe it’d make you less mopey if you hung around like, fun and not miserable people.”
“Like you?” he asks. Xue Yang laughs, loud and sharp. He either couldn’t detect the sarcasm in it or just thought it was very funny, even if Song Lan was far from making a joke.
Song Lan for his part, never actually considered that more vampires existing in town would mean they must have some sort of community, or at least a way of recognizing each other that he isn’t privy to. He’s briefly stunned by the thought. Still, Xue Yang hasn’t done much to prove himself as someone whose judgment of people Song Lan would trust. “Go bother Xingchen, would you.”
“Oh but he’s not home yet! You’re my only source of entertainment.”
“Shame. I’m leaving for work.”
He’s tugging his coat on, hurrying to step outside as fast as possible but he still hears Xue Yang yell after him from the dining room. “Where do you work?”
Song Lan doesn’t tell him, not that day nor the next time he asks, because he doesn’t hate himself that much, and he trusts Xue Yang even less.
Foolishly, he doesn’t even consider the fact that Xingchen and Xue Yang might talk about him while he’s not around. So when he spots Xue Yang across the busy room of the nightclub he works at, he assumes Xingchen mentioned it in passing. It wouldn’t seem like a big deal.
It probably isn’t. Xingchen had met Xue Yang at a place like this, so he clearly knows his way around and it’s not unusual for him to be here. It must be a coincidence. He keeps telling himself that, until Xue Yang dumps himself next to him, nearly draping his sweaty body all over Song Lan’s side.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he yells over the music, right into his ear. Song Lan pointedly stares in front, not giving him a glance for his troubles, both because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for slamming a patron into a nearby wall and because not enough of Xue Yang’s skin is covered by clothes for him to want to deal with his shit. He doesn’t even want to think.
Out if the corner of his eye, he can't miss the black inked peeking from under the collar of Xue Yang’s shirt up his neck. The thought of it alone makes his skin crawl.
He can imagine the displeased frown on Xue Yang’s face as he realizes Song Lan is opting to ignore him. “Come on. I came over to say hi and everything and you’re gonna be a bitch about it?”
“I wish you hadn’t,” he admits. Xue Yang snorts next to him, he feels the huff of it on his skin.
Eventually he does get his peace, when Xue Yang gets bored of talking to the air between them and leaves clearly pissed off about his success or the lack thereof.
It happens a couple of times. Not enough for him to complain to Xingchen about it, but enough that Xue Yang starts getting annoyed with him and finds a different approach. Song Lan is just about sick of his existence when he has to drag him outside one night, the scenario he has been trying to avoid, and precisely what Xue Yang has been going for.
“This is not the way to get what you want, idiot,” he tells him through gritted teeth as he drags both of them through the crowd. Xue Yang makes some funny comments Song Lan decidedly ignores, and also barely hears over the noise.
“You gonna tell Xingchen about this?” Xue Yang asks once they finally step outside. The wind has barely had the time to hit them, he already has a lit cigarette and is offering Song Lan one– probably the nicest gesture he’s ever gotten from him so far. He shakes his head.
“I don’t care,” Song Lan says. What Xingchen’s boytoy does during his off hours is no business of his– even if it does, technically, end up his business from time to time, Song Lan is still a firm believer in ignoring problems regarding Xue Yang, lest his involvement makes it worse. And Xingchen being Xingchen, he’d probably find it funny that Song Lan had to drag Xue Yang outside because he started a fight. Song Lan might have found it more amusing if it wasn’t his workplace he was stirring trouble in, and if he wasn’t aware how much of this was Xue Yang’s plan to get him to pay attention to him.
It feels wrong to think in such a self centered way, but Xue Yang doesn’t leave him much choice. He’s very unsubtle with his intentions.
Judging by Xue Yang’s grimace, it’s the wrong thing to say. He never appreciates Song Lan’s ambivalence, despises it, in fact. He huffs, taking a phone from his jacket and frowning at something on the screen.
“Don’t pull this shit again,” he says. He turns around to leave, determined to make his point even if a small, miniscule part of him wants to check on Xue Yang’s bleeding lip.
“Get off my ass.”
***
Four months in and Xingchen is still dancing around labels, even if Xue Yang has quickly turned into Yang'er, even if their date nights now regularly occupy a space on Xingchen’s schedule as Xue Yang continues to demand his time and attention.
Even if Xue Yang still looks at Xingchen like he’s planning to have him for his next meal and it’s starting to genuinely freak Song Lan out. He’s been worried about Xue Yang’s unclear intentions since that god awful dinner, and the longer his suspicions go on unchecked the more paranoid he gets.
Maybe he should have let Xue Yang introduce him to his friends. Maybe they’re nice, living on non lethally acquired blood and would have assured him that Xue Yang has no malicious intent regarding Xingchen and Song Lan could pretend to sleep in peace.
“He's trying to get me to have sex with him,” is what Xingchen says when he asks him about their weird undefined relationship. He sounds relatively calm, though the idea does make Song Lan’s skin crawl. His interpretation of it goes more along the lines of Xue Yang getting him in the bed to finally suck him dry in some disgusting perverse way.
Song Lan gives him some time to continue. When he doesn’t, just goes back to turning the page of his book as if his short statement explained anything, Song Lan finds himself growing impatient. “And?”
“And nothing. I don't want to have sex with him, yet,” Xingchen says, then frowns and corrects himself. “Or okay, I don't want to just have sex with him.”
“Do you think you can force him in a dedicated relationship by not sleeping with him while you string him along?”
Xingchen chuckles, which is sweet but far from the reaction Song Lan is trying to get from him. “I'm not forcing him to do anything. Have you met Xue Yang? Does he seem like a person who would go along with this if he didn't want to?”
Song Lan has met Xue Yang, unfortunately. In fact he can’t seem to get rid of him. What Xingchen is saying does make sense; if nothing else Xue Yang has continually been very clear about his whims and desires, even more so when he had a complaint. Xue Yang also doesn’t seem to care about much, and one of the things he clearly cares about in some way is Xingchen. Which could be good or bad, to varying degrees.
He just has to learn which one before it comes to it.
Xue Yang helps, in the end, because he seems to feel the same clock ticking as Song Lan does. Which is how they are brought to this moment: Song Lan, standing in his poorly lit kitchen with his hand in Xue Yang's hair, pushing him up against the counter. He hopes his back aches for hours after.
“Never speak of him like that again,” he says. Not that he expects Xue Yang to take him seriously, but if it comes to blows he can at least say that he warned him. “What do you want from Xingchen?”
“What are you, his mom?” Xue Yang asks. He looks, and sounds, way too happy to be in this position. He wriggles, seemingly testing how much he can move. Whatever he finds clearly satisfies him.
Song Lan digs his fingers deeper into his scalp to get them back on track. He does not think about the grossness of it, where Xue Yang’s been, the feeling of hair getting stuck under his nails. He grits out, “His boyfriend.”
Xue Yang hums. “That gives you the right to question his choices?”
That does get to Song Lan, a little bit. Has he been treating Xingchen unfairly, going behind his back to threaten his probably-boyfriend simply because he doesn’t trust Xingchen's own judgment?
But– no. He can see the upcoming triumph in Xue Yang's eyes as he realizes that he got under Song Lan's skin. Eyes bright, cheeks rising with his smile.
Song Lan tightens the hand in his hair and shakes him a little just to see his lips curl in pain monetarily. “It's not his choices I'm questioning.”
“I don't know, Zichen,” Xue Yang says, plastering a grin on his face that shows all his teeth. Song Lan almost wants to count them to check. There seems to be too many. “This seems like a very scummy thing to do. And I've heard you're a gentleman!”
“Shut up,” Song Lan feels utterly exhausted all of a sudden. He’s asking a simple question, but why did he even assume a conversation with Xue Yang could be simple? “Just answer my question. I don’t want to deal with you tonight.”
Xue Yang's pupils seem to grow tenfold as he stares up at him. He’s pissed, Song Lan can tell that much. It’s usually the expression he has around him.
“Did you want him for yourself alone?” he clicks his tongue, mocking. “Selfish. So hostile, too. Aren’t we meant to help each other? Share?”
Song Lan realizes with a start that what Xue Yang is implying is that he’s been feeding on Xingchen— worse, he’s suggesting that they share—
He recoils. There’s a great deal of shame in the pit of his stomach for the sharp pang of want he felt as Xue Yang’s words first settled around him. There is something raw and perverse about the thought.
Xue Yang either doesn’t notice– no, he definitely notices. He just doesn’t care. His words have had an effect but he always has more of those to dish out.
“If I were you, I’d be ashamed,” he sighs dramatically. Song Lan is pretty sure Xue Yang doesn’t know what shame means, and has most likely never experienced it in his life. “Hating on your boyfriend’s sidepiece so blatantly. Do you not appreciate my terrible personality, Zichen?”
It was never about Xue Yang’s personality. Not that much, anyway. He is an ass, incredibly prickly and volatile and from time to time it drives Song Lan up the wall but he minds it less than he expected. If it hadn’t been for all of this— the blood sucking, the threats— they’d be having a perfectly normal night.
“I don’t care about your personality. I care about you not talking about my boyfriend like he’s your next dessert.”
“What, you can have him but I can’t? Seems unfair.”
Like that. “Shut up.”
Xue Yang stands on his toes, getting into Song Lan’s face. He isn’t breathing, but if he were, Song Lan would feel it on his cheek, and it takes all his willpower not to drop Xue Yang on the kitchen floor. “Or what? You won’t tell Xingchen, that would get you in trouble, too, wouldn’t it?”
And that might just be the worst thing about Xue Yang; he’s sharp, he knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t have let Song Lan corner him like this if he wasn’t aware that he has a get-out-of-jail-free card.
Song Lan may have the mass, the muscle to push him around, but Xue Yang is comfortable enough in his grip for it to be alarming. Xue Yang is wiry, compact muscle all around, but most importantly, he’s clearly more familiar with his unnatural strength than Song Lan ever had the time to get. He wonders, despite himself, when had Xue Yang gotten himself turned. How. Who it was that bit him— had he wanted it?
But this is not the time to contemplate what hole Xue Yang crawled out of.
“To keep him safe? I would.”
Xue Yang makes a gagging noise in the back of his throat. At the edge of his patience, Song Lan twists the fists in Xue Yang's hair to pull his head away from his face, backwards. It exposes Xue Yang’s neck nicely, and for a long second Song Lan thinks about digging his teeth into it.
“So what will it be?” he asks, before he does something stupid, or worse, Xue Yang continues talking.
“I don’t know, Zichen,” he says, his voice coming out thin. He giggles, and it's as creepy as it is obviously fake. “Personally, I’d like to watch your face when your boyfriend goes limp in my arms.”
Song Lan doesn't punch him in the face for that but it’s a near thing. Even then, it doesn’t feel right. He doesn't trust him. It catches him off guard, too; both his disbelief and the way Xue Yang says it. Too quickly, too easily, like a taunt or a challenge.
It’s a stupid decision he makes that night, maybe. He certainly spends nights and mornings lying awake second guessing himself and regretting, wondering if he should have just talked to Xingchen and got it all over with. Stop keeping secrets, get rid of Xue Yang.
He doesn’t because despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, Song Lan is a coward. Specifically, when it comes to Xingchen. And he believes more in the turn of events where Xingchen is disgusted by him– or worse, scared– than he does in the turn of events where Xue Yang does what he’s promised.
So Xue Yang slinks out of their apartment that night before Xingchen arrives. He’s clearly disappointed by his absence as Song Lan tells him Xue Yang had popped in but had to leave, quickly, and he would’ve felt horrible about it in any other circumstance. Having to talk to Xue Yang was life draining though, and he doesn’t have it in him to feel much of anything.
Later, Xingchen asks if they had a fight, if there is a problem that he should speak to Xue Yang about. Song Lan says no, of course not. They are getting along just fine. They simply need some more time to adjust.
He adds that to the seemingly ever-growing list of lies he’s been telling Xingchen over the past couple of months. He supposes he should get used to it.