Chapter Text
“Give me a break, it’s basically a one-man-show here,” says the young man walking down to his apartment, the newly painted doors casting a strange contrast along the otherwise dull corridor. An odd choice of colour combination too, but he supposes it makes sense to match the region’s purple and green colours—not that Huaisang is even really proud of where he came from anyways.
On one hand he has his phone stuck to his ear, the droning sound of who he unfortunately calls a friend sounding through the device, on the other is a bag full of all the supplementary equipment he can’t afford to keep in his workshop. He sometimes wonders what his neighbours think of him as he passes by, what with the constant ruckus from the spare metal parts in his bag made worse by the jingling of his house keys that he keeps hanging by his pants.
‘Lies, I know you pay mian-mian to do the paint jobs.’
The longer their phone call drags on, the more Nie Huaisang regrets ever taking Xue Yang in as a client again. What was meant to be a simple consultation on project materials ended up a meaningless conversation which lasted way over three hours. He vaguely recalls sitting through a conversation on his so-called friend’s latest sexcapade on the train back home, thankful that his headphones had been fully charged.
“Who told you that? And even if she does, it’s still just the two of us. Be grateful I even managed to slip your request into my schedule. Now, I’ll get you the-” Nie Huaisang abruptly pauses. “Oh, my poor, poor neighbour,” he continues.
‘I know right. Poor guy has to deal with your loud ass every night,’ Xue Yang mocks from the other end. The implications send an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.
“I’ll have you know that I’m a very pleasant neighbour to be around,” he bites back.
Though it’s not wrong that Nie Huaisang tries his best to be pleasing company, especially to the older tenants in the building, he won’t deny the fact that his chosen company can cause a bit of a stir. Second Saturdays of the month are movie days, after all. It’s not his fault that Xue Yang tends to gravitate towards slasher movies (that sick fuck).
He still tries, though! Who knows how much cat-sitting he’s done for the old lady in floor one? Can’t forget about the time Song Lan was out of town for weeks and assigned Huaisang the task of looking after his plants. The point is, he’s done a lot of charity work in hopes of building a good reputation in his apartment complex, so when he spots the unopened package outside his neighbour’s door, he’s thinking about how good of a deed he will have done by keeping it at his house for the meantime. He’s no stranger to having packages stolen either; a project for a big client was delayed two weeks, all because some guy working at the post office left his package unattended by the door.
“Some shitty courier left my neighbour’s delivery in front of their door,” he explains to Xue Yang as he picks up the nondescript box. It’s not large, and the only label on it is the one from the shipping company, a simple ‘Baxue’ written across.
“Well,” Huaisang says through bouts of laughter, “it seems that said shitty delivery guy left my neighbour’s package of Da-ge’s kitchen knives.”
‘That’s hilarious as fuck,’ a guffaw of annoying laughter follows suit from the other end of the line, and for once Huaisang doesn’t try arguing the fact.
‘So, you’re going to keep this package for them until they get back home?’ Xue Yang inquires after he’s regained his composure.
Huaisang makes an approving sound and turns to unlock his apartment door.
‘Wow, ’ Xue Yang starts sarcastically, ‘what a good samaritan you are, Huaisang-xiong. Do you think they’ll let you fuck in exchange for this favour?’
“I hate you so much, did you know that?” Huaisang flings the package into the living room sofa. With the door confirmed shut, he puts his attention back to his friend—and current client—on the other side of his phone. “Now, go back to your damn business, I’ll mail you the invoice at the end of next week.”
‘Aww, no fuck-buddy-discount this time?’
“Good bye!” Huaisang shuts the phone call.
Xue Yang is never not a pain to deal with as a friend, and all the more as a client; ever demanding and picky, the prick has never shown Huaisang even an ounce of gratitude. Huaisang doesn’t know why he still accepts jobs from him at all, unsure whether the pay is still worth it, despite it all. He still gets a respectable amount of clients even without this regular, so rejecting a job from Xue Yang every once in a while wouldn't affect his payroll too badly. As Mian-Mian once said during a particularly busy quarter: “ Recession is back, and that means theatre is in .”
Xue Yang made his way into Nie Huaisang’s radar when they took the same Art and Intellectual Property Law course in university. The latter never bothered to try to know what major the former was studying, since everything he heard about the man had been one constant contradiction after the other. Huaisang knows Mian-Mian had the pleasure of studying the same time Xue Yang did, though the only classes they had in common were well into her later semesters.
‘I think he studied Bio-Engineering, and then got into a spat with too many professors in the department. Then he switched to Mining, realised most of the professors there were working closely with the ones in Engineering, and then completely shifted to Management Informations Systems.’ she tapped her chin in thought. No longer bothered by the damp grass of their university’s Sports Institute, Mian-Mian sat comfortably atop her washed-blue denim jacket.
‘That’s a crazy lineup of majors,’ Huaisang responds, a little bit more bothered by the damp grass, especially with no jacket of his own to sit on. His teeth grinded on the lollipop his friend gave him. She’d been pestering him to stop vaping, saying it would make him go broke, as if that’s the biggest side-effect inhaling flavoured chemicals could get you.
Mian-mian shrugged. ‘The class you have with him? It’s not even on his list of modules. I think the fucker just does whatever he wants.’
As baffling as it sounded (how much money do you even have for you to be able to fuck around in uni like that anyways?), Huaisang couldn’t help but envy it a little. He’s grateful he was able to apply for a minor in performing arts, but Metallurgy was kicking his ass a little harder than Da-ge typically would and he wasn’t sure which one he’d rather face.
Nie Huaisang never actually interacted with Xue Yang during class, but he’d made an appearance during one of the student organised demonstrations held against a visiting politician from the far right Qishan party. Huaisang, though not caught in the middle of the fray, was watching the group intently. He wasn’t too ashamed to admit that something about the other had captivated him then. Those furious eyes and sharp tongue captured the very essence of what Huaisang didn’t realise he had desired most–a muse.
Said fiery eyes met Huaisang’s own desperate ones mere moments later. Step after step, lips touching his ears, heartbeat thundering alongside the rain that had long driven the group of protesters away, the two intermingled to draw their own demonstration behind closed shades. Not gentle with his ways, Xue Yang took him to see stars he never knew could exist behind his very eyes.
As most things led by passion and youthful desire are, underneath the sheets of Xue Yang's unexpectedly dingy student dorm was the only common ground the two could find. Unlike his subject matter, Huaisang was not made of metal nor steel; his fragile skin and shallow insides too frail for Xue Yang. It wasn’t long until they both learned that it was a bigger bother to feed these burnt-out coal fires than to simply let them die out. Nie Huaisang was due to graduate soon anyways, and Xue Yang was more caught up with non-academic activities to worry about a possible future together.
It had rained the day Huaisang returned Xue Yang’s spare keys, and he was proven wrong for thinking that would be the last he’d see of his chaotic muse. During the first few years of Nie Huaisang establishing his small business, he had received a job offer to build holiday installations for a multinational company. At a phase in which the direction his company was headed to was still a blur, he quickly accepted the request and scheduled a meeting with their spokesperson.
He should’ve known that Xue Yang would have kept tabs on him even after their time in university.
It took some more years of collaboration, a number of genuine attempts at reconciliation, and many late-night conversations for them to reach the level of friendship they share now, but Huaisang is pleasantly surprised by how much they’ve grown. From the immature lovers who didn’t know how to handle differences to somewhat amicable friends, he’s glad to have a constant by his side.
It would be nice if this ‘constant’ wasn’t an annoying ass prick though.
Nie Huaisang sets his phone down and spares a glance at the package now waiting on his couch.
He decides to write down a small note to leave on his neighbour’s door.
-
He’s in the middle of sorting through his stack of unread mail when the doorbell rings its janky tune. Xue Yang figured out how to rig the mechanism of Huaisang’s bell specifically one time, and decided it would be fun to change it to some disjointed elevator music. Despite working with mechanisms and metals as his job, Huaisang was unfortunate enough to have never gotten the handle on rigging circuits—that’s another thing he pays Mian-Mian to do.
“Coming!” He yells through the house, tripping over his unkempt projects to open the door.
Out of everything Huaisang expected his neighbour to look like, it was not at all like the person standing in front of him right this very moment.
Oh shit, he’s hot, Huaisang’s inner monologue helpfully supplies.
“Hello,” the neighbour greets. “It says here that you have my package?” The tall man holds up a green sticky note–Huaisang’s green sticky note–while the other is preoccupied with a motorbike helmet.
Oh fuck, he’s a hot biker.
It should be a crime, the way his shirt perfectly outlines his muscles—not quite as large as Mingjue's, but far from nothing. A head of short black hair rests upon fair skin, just a tad lighter than Huaisang's own, and fuck this sounds cliché, but this man has some of the most beautiful eyes Huaisang has ever seen. He's not even sure what colour it is. Dark brown? Blue? Maybe actually green just like his, but that could just be the lighting messing with his perception.
“Yes,” the now flustered Huaisang answers, a beat too late, though the other man doesn't comment on it. “It’s in my office, I’ll get it for you real quick.” Huaisang mentally pats himself in the back for giving an appropriate answer, and heads back into his office to get the aforementioned package.
Stifling another bout of laughter at the fact that he’s handing some guy his brother’s products, Nie Huaisang holds out the package to the handsome neighbour and gives a (hopefully) nonchalant shake of the head as the other says his thanks.
“So, you like to cook?” he asks, leaning on his doorway with his hands folded across his chest.
His neighbour raises a brow at the question. "What's that got to do with you?" he returns, face not baring much for the other to decipher. Package now in hand, he turns it over several times, checking to make sure of any damage.
Huaisang winces a little at the jab. Great, now the neighbour thinks I'm some weirdo freak that stalks strangers for fun or something.
“I’m not a stalker, I swear,” he hurriedly adds, in a desperate motion to remedy the situation, “but that company sells fancy kitchen stuff right? My brother was talking all about getting them for his new apartment or something.” The lie slips ever so easily out of his mouth.
A flicker of recognition? Understanding? Huaisang isn't sure, but it flashed across the neighbour's face for a quick beat. He laughs a little, coming to the realisation that his package item was in fact a dropped clue to the puzzle that is his personal life.
A clearing of the throat and the neighbour responds, “Yeah, I’m working over at Yunmeng Cove as a chef.”
“Fancy.” Huaisang doesn’t actually know if the restaurant is a higher-end one or not, and his neighbour doesn’t really give much of an answer to that besides a shrug.
Yunmeng Cove . Huaisang files that away in his head for future purposes.
Sensing the end of their conversation, Huaisang bids his neighbour goodbye and heads back into his apartment. The click from the door across follows soon after, and all is quiet again.
Ah shit. I didn’t get his name.