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“Right,” Song Lan says. A headache has been pounding in his left temple for hours already; he sounds shorter than he strictly means to. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“Peeps tasting menu,” Xue Yang says, breezily, rearranging his display of neon-colored…things. Getting neon-colored sugar over their nice charcuterie board. “Duh.”
“Oh!” Xiao Xingchen enthuses, as he enters the kitchen behind Song Lan. “How festive. What inspired this idea, A-Yang?”
“Ah, you know, just felt like celebrating the torture and murder of some 2000-year-old hippie with marshmallow chickens, as you do.” Xue Yang catches sight of Song Lan’s naked distress and rolls his eyes. “It’s called creativity, Zichen. Anyway, you two can’t have wine and fancy cheese every week. Some of us are lactose intolerant, you know.”
“You just ate ice cream on Wednesday night,” Xiao Xingchen points out.
“Yeah, well, and I paid a price for it, didn’t I? Wait. Big guy, are you actually mad?” He suddenly sounds at least slightly apprehensive.
Song Lan sets his teeth, shakes his head. It makes the headache worse. “No. It’s just been a long day. I’m going to shower and change. Xingchen, can you make sure we all get some actual food tonight?”
Xingchen rubs at the back of Song Lan’s neck, applying just a hint of helpful pressure. “Of course, babe. Feel better.”
Of course, of course, twenty minutes and two aspirin later, Song Lan finds the two of them in the living room, messing around with angles and lighting to get the best shots of Xue Yang’s creation for Instagram. The colorful chicks have now been interspersed with foil-wrapped chocolate eggs. There is no hint of real food in sight.
Oh well. If he can be assed, Song Lan will throw together some ramen in a bit. He’s pretty sure they have enough fresh add-ins in the fridge to make it marginally healthy.
He plops down on the couch, ruining Xingchen’s shot. “Why do we need a full spread of marshmallows, anyway?”
“These aren’t just marshmallows,” Xue Yang answers, giddily. “They come in flavors now.”
Song Lan raises an eyebrow. “Fantastic. Let me guess, blind taste test?”
“Bingo,” Xue Yang says, while Xiao Xingchen giggles.
Song Lan shoots his oldest boyfriend a glare. “You shouldn’t encourage this nonsense.”
Xiao Xingchen does something unfathomably cute with his face, the monster. “Aww, c’mon, baby. It’s fun. And pretty creative.”
And will likely lead to hyperactivity, insulin spikes, and sugar in the bedsheets. But Song Lan knows when he’s outnumbered—it’s safest to assume he usually is.
“Fine,” he sighs, though he was not actually asked any question. “No video, though.”
“Reaction videos get a lot of engagement,” Xue Yang pronounces, primly. Already fed up, Song Lan reaches out to grab him, pulls him roughly to rest on the floor between his legs. Xue Yang squirms, and Song Lan bites the little gremlin on the neck. “No. Video.”
Xue Yang wrestles his way out of Song Lan’s grip. “Geez, fine.” He resettles his shirt, revealing the bright red mark of Song Lan’s teeth. “Well, boys? Who wants to start?”
“Why don’t you do the honors, Yang’er?” Xingchen says. “What are the flavors, anyway?”
Xue Yang rubs his hands together like an excited carnival barker. “We’ve got a full array. Sour watermelon, fruit punch, tropical, hot cinnamon, birthday cake, and coffee.”
Song Lan shudders. Xiao Xingchen goes vaguely green. Xue Yang’s grin is wide enough to show his eyeteeth.
Song Lan really doesn’t even know how he still has any of his own teeth, with the proportion of his diet that is pure sugar.
“Then the artist gets first pick,” Xiao Xingchen says, making an admirable attempt at sounding nonchalant about it. Xue Yang laughs and considers the board. After a moment, he picks one that’s white with little speckles on it, pops it into his mouth whole. Moans, far too inappropriately for this activity.
Xiao Xingchen catches Song Lan’s eye, makes a little movement that means something like Well? Shall we give it a go?
Steeling himself, Song Lan ventures a small nibble of a bright red one. It tastes like chemicals and sadness. He immediately puts it back down on the board.
Meanwhile, Xiao Xingchen gamely tears off the head of a green one and pops it smartly between his teeth. Pauses. Shudders.
“Oh, that’s vile.”
He reaches for another one: pink.
Song Lan is happy to let the two of them demolish the board, debating over whether the cinnamon actually tastes like cinnamon, whether the coffee is a war crime or a fascinating innovation in the world of flavor. They speculate over if food coloring dye affects any of the actual flavors. They come up with a ranked list. They throw around words like piquant and complex, trying to write up a clever caption for Xue Yang’s post.
Absolutely ridiculous, the both of them.
And the truth is Song Lan is rather weirdly, disgustingly, happy.
Because Xue Yang barged into his life as a mouthy one-night-stand who wouldn’t leave, and now he’s making marshmallow tasting menus on Song Lan’s very fancy, very expensive charcuterie board. Blithely disregarding any boundaries that once would have stood between them. And because Xiao Xingchen is laughing, so beautifully; he and Song Lan love each other deeply, but they never had the kind of relationship where Xiao Xingchen was able to laugh like that. No one makes Xingchen laugh like that, except for Xue Yang.
Lost in his thoughts, Song Lan’s missed the end of the experiment. When he comes back to the present he sees that his boyfriends are cuddled together on the floor, making out.
Song Lan blanches. “You both need to brush your teeth,” he orders. “Twice. With mouthwash.”
“We’re experimenting to make a new flavor,” Xue Yang says. “A Franken-flavor, if you will.”
Well, that is deeply horrifying. “I will not. Teeth. Clean. Now.”
Xingchen falls back on the carpet, he’s laughing so hard, and Xue Yang sticks out his tongue and god help them all it has colors staining it, like the dyed water you dip Easter eggs in, and Song Lan is going to lose his shit. He picks up the smaller man and hauls him over to the bathroom.
Xue Yang’s still going. “They should make mint Peeps. For that fresh, after-dinner flavor.”
Xingchen howls.
Song Lan pushes Xue Yang into the bathroom. “Two separate brushes. And mouthwash.”
“Or what?” Xue Yang pouts.
“Or I’m not having sex with you for a month. And every dinner we eat for the foreseeable future is going to have cheese in it.”
“Mmm, sounds like you’re only punishing yourself here, big guy,” Xue Yang teases, but he pointedly picks up his toothbrush.
Xingchen’s still on the floor when Song Lan reaches the living room. Song Lan holds out a hand to haul him up, then gets started cleaning up after the candy massacre. Xingchen ducks in to kiss him, but Song Lan pulls away. “Nuh-uh. Two teeth cleanings, remember?”
“You mean I don’t get special rules?”
“I am always equitable and fair.” Xingchen’s wrapped his arms around Song Lan’s waist, and Song Lan leans in, taking refuge in this safe touch. “Have fun?”
“Always. With the two of you, always.”
Xue Yang flounces back into the room to flaunt his minty-fresh breath, because that’s just the way he is, and Xingchen sighs and disengages from Song Lan to go and take care of his required brushings. Song Lan retreats to the kitchen in search of something light and nutritional to counteract all those marshmallows, making sure to tap out a like on his phone for each of Xue Yang’s posts as the notifications come through.