Archive of Our Own

Even the most patient man has his limits. Song Lan is certain of this for two reasons.

Reason number one: Xingchen has told him on more than one occasion that he is "too patient for his own good." This, therefore, must mean that he has at least some insight into the inner workings of a patient man's mind.

Reason number two: Song Lan is about to fucking lose it.

It's testament to how frayed his nerves are tonight that he doesn't even bother to throw anything decent on over his pajamas before he crashes out into the dimly lit hallway of his building. Behind him, the slam of his front door rattles the walls of the neighboring apartments in a manner that is absolutely not appropriate for 2AM on a weeknight. For once, though, Song Lan couldn't care less. It's not like anyone will be able to hear it over the smoke alarm, anyway.

Song Lan could excuse one isolated incident. Twice, even, might have been fine if that had been the end of it. But this is the third time this week he's been woken in the middle of the night by the tinny screech of apartment 520's smoke alarm, and he has had enough.

The new resident of 520 — Xue Yang, the spidery scrawl next to his mailbox reads — has yet to impress him. The two of them have barely spoken since Xue Yang moved in across the hall a few weeks ago, but the little they've seen of each other has been plenty for Song Lan. His new neighbor is sullen, barely does more than grunt when someone says hello to him in the hallway, and is constantly coming and going at all hours of the day with no concern for anyone else in the building. Song Lan is hardly a social butterfly himself, but at least he understands common courtesy! Good manners cost nothing, after all.

The door of 517 creaks open with a groan as Song Lan steps out onto the warpath, old Mrs Wang's face creased with sleep as she pokes her head out of her doorway cautiously. His temper flares even brighter. To not only have no respect for one's neighbors, but to be so careless as to wake up the elderly in the middle of the night…! Who does this Xue Yang think he is?

"Oh dear me," Mrs Wang says in a wavering voice, one knobbly hand lifting to her mouth in concern. "I wonder if everything is alright?"

"I'm sure everything is just fine," Song Lan replies carefully, mindful of his tone despite his rising irritation. "Please, head back to bed. I'll sort this out."

"Bless your heart. You're a good boy."

Song Lan doesn't feel good as he pounds on the door of 520. He feels angry, overstimulated, ready to give Xue Yang a piece of his mind. Brows knitted together as the sound of fierce cursing leaks out from inside the apartment, he continues hammering away at the door until it's wrenched open from underneath his fist to reveal a sharply handsome young man, eyes bright and fierce as he bristles with furiosity enough to rival Song Lan's own.

Okay, so Xue Yang's hot. Unfairly so, really. It's not like it changes anything. Manners maketh man, right?

"Fuck do you want?" Song Lan's unfairly attractive neighbor snaps, and his tone is even more fuel on the fire. "It's the middle of the night!"

"Oh, so you do know what time it is?" Song Lan hisses through his teeth, the muscles of his jaw tight. "So you just have no respect at all for your neighbors, is that it? That's why you keep waking us all up in the early hours of the morning?"

Xue Yang scoffs, arms crossing over his chest as his eyes narrow. "Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I've been setting the smoke alarm off for fun? Take the stick out of your ass and stay in your lane, this has nothing to do with you."

"This is the third night in a row. If you're not doing this on purpose, then what the hell are you doing every night? I swear to god, if you're smoking in there—"

"What I do in my own apartment is none of your business!" Xue Yang bites back, all wild eyes and bared teeth. Song Lan isn't sure what possesses him to shoulder the other man out of the way and push himself into his neighbor's hallway — it's rude, ruder than he's ever been in his life, and he's sure to regret it later — but he's been driven half mad by lack of proper sleep, the smoke alarm still screaming at him, its wailing bouncing back and forth inside the confines of his skull, and he wants to know, needs to know what could possibly be important enough to inconvenience so many people in the middle of the night.

He's not sure what he was expecting to see. but it's not this.

Like most of the apartments on this floor, Xue Yang's place mirrors his own. The door leads into a small hallway, which in turns opens up into a spacious living room and kitchen combo; nothing fancy, but enough space for one person to live quite comfortably. Unlike Song Lan's apartment across the hall, Xue Yang's living space is almost completely bare of any furnishings or personal affects, but that's not what catches Song Lan's attention.

How, he finds himself wondering, struck dumb by the sight, can one person manage to fuck up a kitchen this badly?

It's not an exaggeration to say that Xue Yang's kitchen is completely covered in flour from floor to ceiling. In fact, Song Lan would wager that it might be harder to find a utensil in the room not coated in the stuff. If he cranes his neck he can see shards of eggshell littering the counters, bowls and spoons and cake pans tossed haphazardly about the place with seemingly no rhyme or reason, and the charred corpse of a cake still glowing behind the glass of the oven door — the reason for his impromptu visit, he quickly realizes.

There's the scrape of a chair being dragged behind him, a furious scuffling, and then as quickly as it had begun, the smoke alarm cuts off mid-wail. The sudden silence feels almost smothering, so violently abrupt that it takes Song Lan a moment to recognize that yes, the quiet was what he had wanted all along.

Xue Yang, on the other hand, seems less than pleased.

"Get out," he spits. "I turned it off, you got what you wanted, now get out of my house."

"You were baking? That's all this was?"

Song Lan's quiet astonishment seems to catch Xue Yang off guard. He's still drawn up to his full height, muscles tense like he's ready for a fight, but an uncharacteristic flush begins to creep up his neck.

"Didn't I tell you it's none of your business? Go home already," he mutters. Song Lan isn't really listening, drifting into the kitchen without much thought. He hasn't even taken his shoes off, for god's sake, and yet he's so mystified by the carnage that he can't stop himself from taking a closer look.

"You've been waking everyone up for cake?" He murmurs, more to himself than to Xue Yang, because he's not sure he really understands. Is baking a cake so important to his neighbor that he has to keep going until he gets it right, and in the middle of the night at that? Swiping a finger through the mess on the counter, he frowns, finally looking over his shoulder again at Xue Yang. "…You're really bad at this, aren't you?"

Song Lan's tone isn't unkind. Nevertheless, Xue Yang's flush deepens, and he bodily yanks Song Lan out of the kitchen, pushing him towards the door.

"You know what?" He snaps. "Fuck you. I don't need to stand here and take this. Take your superiority complex and fuck off back to your apartment where you belong."

The sharp bite of the door as it slams into him almost makes Song Lan regret wedging his foot into the doorway.

Almost, but not quite.

"You're going to keep going every night until you get it right, aren't you?" Song Lan asks, perhaps more frankly than is deserved considering their current relationship (or lack of). Xue Yang's eyes narrow suspiciously, but the sudden change in attitude seems to have piqued his curiosity somewhat.

"Why would I quit before I get it right?" He replies, chin raising slightly, and there's the answer that Song Lan expects. Clearly, making this stupid cake is important enough to Xue Yang for him to toil over it night after night, important enough not to care about waking everyone else in the building up, and if he's the sort of person Song Lan thinks he might be — stubborn, headstrong, determined — they're in for many more sleepless nights unless someone steps in to lend a hand.

"Let me help you."

Xue Yang looks at him like he's grown an extra head. "And why would I do that?"

"Because," Song Lan sighs, drawing on that infinite well of patience Xingchen swears he has, "I know my way around a kitchen, and I also figure you're serious about not quitting before you nail this. Give me one night, you'll get your stupid cake, and the rest of us will finally get a good night's sleep."

"And let me guess, you're going to be a smug asshole about it the whole time? You get off on being a knight in shining armor, that's your deal?"

Song Lan's nostrils flare as his fists clench at his sides. What was he thinking? As if Xue Yang would see reason.

"Suit yourself," he says curtly. He doesn't trust himself to say much more without completely losing his temper. Foot still smarting, he steps out of the doorway and wheels around without another look in Xue Yang's direction. He's not looking forward to waking up to tomorrow's smoke alarm, but if his neighbor won't accept help, then there's nothing he can do. Maybe he'll call management in the morning to report this, when he's had a few more precious hours of sleep and he feels a little more level-headed.

Song Lan makes it all of three steps before he hears a reluctant, "…Wait." When looks back over his shoulder, the look he levels Xue Yang with isn't friendly by any means, but there must be something in his countenance that encourages the other man to continue.

"Friday night," he grumbles, the words halting as if it pains him to say them. Song Lan merely raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Come over Friday night and help me with this fucking cake."

"And you'll stop waking us up every night?" Song Lan replies drily. Xue Yang shrugs.

"I need it for the weekend. If you're as good as you say, we'll get it right, and if you're lying, you're buying me an expensive cake from the bakery for wasting my time."

Turning to him fully, Song Lan eyes him up and down, looking at him properly for perhaps the first time. If he looks past his tense posture, past the bags under his eyes that suggest that maybe Xue Yang is just as tired as everyone else in the building, there's a fire burning behind his eyes that Song Lan can't help but be a little intrigued by.

However he feels about his new neighbor, it's been a while since Song Lan has found someone intriguing.

"Seems like a silly thing to lie about," he finally says after weighing his options for a few seconds. It's not exactly an acceptance of Xue Yang's invitation, but it's the best he's going to get.

Rocking up onto the balls of his feet, Xue Yang doesn't seem phased at all. In fact, he even lets out an amused bark of laughter. "Well then," Song Lan's neighbor replies, lips curling around a smirk, "guess I'll see you on Friday, won't I?"

*****

Despite what people might think about him, this will not be the first Friday night Song Lan has spent baking. In fact, it's actually one of his preferred ways to wind down after a long week. On the days when he comes home feeling restless, some nameless itch rattling under his skin, there's nothing better than rolling up his sleeves and trying to master a new technique. Equally, when the world weighs just a little too heavy on his shoulders, baking lets him slip into a familiar, meditative routine; sifting, folding, kneading his way through recipes that are so well-practiced he barely even has to think about them any more.

Despite this, the short few steps across the hallway to Xue Yang's apartment this Friday evening feel like he's walking to his own execution.

Xue Yang is at least civil as he ushers Song Lan inside, if not particularly friendly. "I was kind of expecting you not to show up," he confesses dryly, to which Song Lan just shrugs. He'd definitely thought about blowing the whole thing off. Then again, the idea of being woken up by the smoke alarm again had been far less enticing than spending a few uncomfortable hours with a guy he barely knows. Life is all about balance.

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are that I'm here."

Song Lan's eyebrows furrow as he looks around Xue Yang's kitchen. How exactly are they supposed to begin? What's the protocol for things like this? Song Lan has never been in a situation like this before, and judging by the tense silence between them as Xue Yang chews at this thumbnail, the feeling is mutual.

"…So," Song Lan tries awkwardly, "is there a reason you always pick the middle of the night to do this? Are you one of those creative genius-types that doesn't stick to a regular schedule?"

It's a poor attempt at conversation, but it seems to be just enough to break the ice. Xue Yang snorts, shaking his head.

"Wouldn't that be the life. No, some of us just don't have the luxury of a cushy nine-to-five." At Song Lan's curious look, he shrugs, reaching up into a cabinet to pull down a well-used plastic mixing bowl. "I'm working two jobs right now. Shift pattern's kind of a mess. Gotta make use of whatever free time that I have, and right now that just happens to be the middle of the night."

"Oh." That takes some of the wind out of Song Lan's sails. When he'd thought Xue Yang was just a careless asshole, it had been easy to hate him. It's not as if this new information sways Song Lan's image of him completely — he's still no saint — but perhaps instead of the villain he's made Xue Yang out to be in his mind, his neighbor is just someone who has something important to do and very little time to get it done in.

Whatever. He's here to help everyone get some sleep, not to listen to any sob stories.

"In that case, let's not waste each other's time," Song Lan sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail. Xue Yang's eyes track the movement keenly. "Show me the recipe you've been using and I'll see what I can do here."

With a grunt, Xue Yang thumbs through his browser tabs on a cell phone that has definitely seen better days, pulling up a recipe that takes Song Lan by surprise. It's… Well, for want of a better word, it's cute. Xue Yang doesn't seem the type to take an interest in the sort of fancy cakes that are sold in the chic, seasonal cafes that seem to pop up so often around the city, and yet that's what he's been trying to make; some sort of strawberry shortcake, piled high with whipped cream in delicately piped swirls.

His surprise must show on his face, because Xue Yang's expression darkens into a scowl. "Something to say?" He snaps, and Song Lan holds up his hands placatingly.

"No, I just…" Shaking his head, he finishes, "It looks complicated, that's all. You have a special occasion coming up or something?"

"Something like that. I told you, I need it for this weekend. I wouldn't fuck around setting off the smoke alarm every night if it wasn't for something important, would I?"

Another surprise — it's the last thing Song Lan expects from him, but Xue Yang actually has the good grace to look sheepish. He doubts he'll ever get a proper apology from him, but it's as much an admission of guilt as he's ever seen.

Despite everything, the corner of Song Lan's mouth twitches up into what threatens to evolve into a wry smile. "I don't know. Wouldn't you?"

For a moment he thinks Xue Yang is going to take offense, but after a tense second the other man gives him an answering half-smile of his own. "You got me there. Now are you going to stand around all night, or are you going to help me with this damned cake?"

Between the two of them, they make a cautious plan; Xue Yang will do the lion's share of the work, and Song Lan will supervise and step in when he feels like he needs to.

It very quickly becomes clear that such a hands-off approach isn't going to work.

"I've barely even started," Xue Yang snaps at his pointed look after only a few minutes. "What can I possibly be doing wrong already?"

"You've not been preheating your oven?"

"No?" Xue Yang looks at him like he's never heard anything quite so stupid. "Why the hell would I need to preheat it? It's gonna get hot regardless. Isn't that enough?"

Song Lan's expression must say what his mouth does not, because Xue Yang takes one more look at him before silently reaching out to turn on the oven.

In Xue Yang's defense, it's not as if he's the worst baker Song Lan has ever seen. Sure, his measurements are a little sloppy, and he's perhaps a touch too overeager to combine all of his ingredients, but he gets into the swing of things as they progress through the recipe. Song Lan only has to step in twice more; once to ensure the egg whites are properly beaten ("You're making a genoise sponge, not mixing paint," he mutters at a scowling Xue Yang), and once when Xue Yang's "folding" starts to look more like "pummeling."

"Stop, stop. You're going to knock all the air out of it. Add the flour a little at a time, and go gently."

With a huff, Xue Yang slows down, but only by a fraction. Song Lan snorts, amused.

"If that's your idea of gentle, I'd hate to see what you think being rough looks like."

"Ask me nicely and maybe one day I'll show you."

Song Lan blinks hard, grip tightening on the counter top so hard that for a moment he feels it might crack under his hands. Beside him, Xue Yang lets out a bark of laughter. Though it's clearly at Song Lan's expense, it's not an altogether unpleasant sound.

"Cool it, big guy, I'm just fucking with you."

"Maybe if you spent less time messing around and more time actually following your recipe properly, you'd have your cake by now," Song Lan grumbles, but the tips of his ears stay flushed pink until they slide the cake tin into the oven, half-filled with a light, pale golden batter.

Without the safety net of a shared task to ease the tension between the two of them, Song Lan perches primly on one of Xue Yang's kitchen stools, suddenly unsure of himself as the two men stare into the oven silently. He prepares himself for an awkward twenty minutes; after all, what are they supposed to talk about now? Aside from the fact that he's certain that neither of them like each other, Song Lan knows barely anything about his neighbor. The two of them clearly couldn't be more different.

Is that really true, though? Sure, the little he knows about Xue Yang irritates him, and it's not like the two of them are ever likely to become friends. Still, in the hush of the evening, the only noise the methodical ticking of the kitchen timer, Song Lan can't help but find Xue Yang's quiet, steady presence beside him almost pleasant.

"So," Song Lan says quietly after what seems like an age, eyes fixed on the soft glow from the oven. "What's so important about this weekend? Is it your girlfriend's birthday or something?"

Xue Yang lets out an amused huff from the floor where he'd settled, chin resting on his hands. "Not really my style."

"Boyfriend, then."

"Better than your first guess. Do I really strike you as the type to do something nice like that, though?"

Song Lan couldn't say for certain, so he simply doesn't answer. The silence between them stretches on.

"My kid sister's moving in with me this weekend," Xue Yang finally says, his gaze far away. "Felt like I should do something special, you know?"

"I'd say that seems like cause for celebration." Song Lan eyes him sidelong. "You must be close, if she'd rather stay with you instead of your parents."

"It's not like that."

Xue Yang's reply isn't particularly sharp, but to Song Lan, who is all too used to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, it's enough to make him wince. "Sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"No, I mean—" Xue Yang stops for a moment, as if he's debating whether or not to continue. "We're close, yeah, it's not that. It's more that neither of us had parents to stay with in the first place."

"Oh." For a moment, Song Lan isn't sure how to reply. He's sure most people would say sorry, express their condolences hearing something like that, and yet it doesn't seem like Xue Yang is the type to appreciate the sentiment.

"She's not even my sister, technically. Not by blood or anything like that. We grew up in a group home together and I promised her I'd take her with me when I aged out. Thing is, to do that legally, you need a place of your own and a stable income, so it's taken me a little while to make good on my promise. Not the kind of thing a stupid cake can make up for, but I figured I could at least do something nice for her."

It's not often Song Lan is stunned. Xue Yang, apparently, just has a way of surprising him. "…You don't need to tell me all of this," he says quietly. "I really didn't mean to pry into your business."

"Yeah, I get it, I know you don't care. I just wanted you to know I'm not an asshole, okay?" Xue Yang pauses for a second, thinking. "I mean, I kind of am an asshole, most of the time. I guess I just want you to know I'm not so much of an asshole that I'd wake everyone up without a damned good reason for it."

"Does it really matter to you what I think of you?"

"I guess not." Xue Yang tries for a wry smile. It falls just short of truly convincing.

It's far from the first time Song Lan has put his foot in his mouth during a conversation, but this time he feels the sting of guilt more than usual. For Xue Yang to open up to him, just for him to throw it back in the other man's face… They might not get along, but Song Lan hadn't meant to be quite so flippant. He's not a monster.

And neither, it would seem, is Xue Yang.

The silence in the kitchen stretches on unbroken until the cake is ready. Not even the kitchen timer is allowed to disturb the strained hush between them; Xue Yang watches it tick down like a hawk before jamming his finger on the stop button before the display can reach zero. Even as he watches Song Lan pull the cake pan from the oven with wide, interested eyes, the other man seems to be trying to make as little noise as possible, almost like he's trying to compensate for the previous few nights.

Well, to hell with silence.

Song Lan doesn't give Xue Yang even a moment's warning before he smacks the cake pan down on the counter with an ear-splitting crack. He certainly doesn't hold back, either. Xue Yang practically jumps out of his skin as the noise echoes metallically through the kitchen, biting back a yelp as his downstairs neighbor thumps an aggrieved staccato on their ceiling below.

When Xue Yang turns to stare at him, mouth open in shock, Song Lan shrugs one shoulder coolly. "Stops the cake from collapsing," he says simply.

For a moment, Xue Yang barely breathes. Then, Song Lan sees it — the quick tick upwards of the corner of his mouth as despite everything, he begins to laugh. It's quiet at first, but the more Xue Yang chuckles to himself, the funnier he seems to find the situation, and before too long he's practically doubled over, fist stuffed into his mouth to stifle the hysterical giggles he can't seem to hold back any longer.

"And you," he gasps, clutching at the counter to hold himself up, "you gave me shit for being too loud! You're really something, you know that?"

Song Lan sighs quietly, feeling lighter than he has in a long while. "That was before I knew it was for such a special occasion." He doesn't dissolve into a fit of mirth like Xue Yang, but as he watches his neighbor try to compose himself, Song Lan can't suppress a small smile of his own. "So long as you don't set the smoke alarm off again, I guess I can let it go just this once."

As it happens, the cake comes out golden and perfectly baked. It's not quite enough to draw either man's attention away from the other, but Song Lan considers it a win nonetheless.

*****

It's not as if they suddenly become best friends after that night. Then again, Song Lan hadn't exactly expected that. He had half-expected the smoke alarm to continue going off, but it seems like for better or for worse, Xue Yang has got the hang of baking by himself. Song Lan wouldn't know. They've returned to the status quo, just two strangers who live across the hall from each other. Every now and then, they'll exchange a civil nod if they pass in the hallway, but that's as far as their relationship goes.

That's what Song Lan had thought, at least. It seems like Xue Yang sees things differently.

Chest still heaving and hair sticking to the back of his neck with sweat, Song Lan comes home from his run one uneventful Saturday afternoon to find Xue Yang leaning up against his front door. As Song Lan approaches, confused, his neighbor's gaze flicks up towards him; quickly at first, in recognition, but as Xue Yang takes in the view, his eyes sweep down and back up Song Lan's entire body in a slow, languid drag.

"You busy?" Xue Yang says in lieu of a greeting when he finally tears his gaze away. Song Lan simply stares. Why is he here? Surely Xue Yang hasn't been waiting for him to come home? That makes no sense.

"Jeez, thanks for the warm welcome," Xue Yang eventually mutters when it becomes clear he isn't getting a response, running a hand through his hair almost self-consciously. "And here I thought we were good. Guess you take a little while to warm up, huh?"

Song Lan's brow furrows. They haven't spoken to each other in weeks, not since that night in Xue Yang's kitchen where they had slowly come to understand each other a little better. Why would Xue Yang be standing outside his apartment waiting for him, grocery bags held loosely in one hand? As rude as it is to snoop, Song Lan finds himself peering into those grocery bags for any sort of clue that might help him work this puzzle out. There's nothing particularly noteworthy, from what he can see. Sugar, eggs, ground almonds, heavy cream…

Ground almonds?

"You're going to make macarons," Song Lan says slowly, curiosity blooming bright within him, "and you're here because you want my help. Is that it?"

Xue Yang's face flickers through a few expressions at such speed that his cocky facade seems to slip for just a moment. "I… Yeah. What the hell, man, are you good enough at this that you can just like, smell it on a person?"

Song Lan shrugs, trying not to acknowledge the silly little flutter of pride he feels at that. "Lucky guess."

"Huh." Xue Yang stares at him, just for a moment, and then plasters his usual smirk back onto his face. "Well, whatever freaky mind-reading baker powers you have, you got it right. So, macarons. You'll help me, right?"

"What makes you think I would want to help you?"

It comes out frostier than Song Lan intends it to, but surprisingly, Xue Yang doesn't flinch. "Just a hunch," he answers mildly, straightening up from his slouch against the door and rolling his shoulders. "Figured you wouldn't want me setting off the alarm again, and you seemed like you had a good time when you came over. No pressure, though."

He seems to think to himself for a moment, and then adds, "Well, some pressure. I can try this by myself, but I'm pretty certain that if I do, that alarm's going off again."

Had he had a good time, over at Xue Yang's place? Song Lan thinks to himself for a long moment until he realizes that actually, yes, he had. It's not how he would choose to spend every Friday night, certainly, but he can't deny that passing the time in Xue Yang's company had been more pleasant than he'd thought it might be.

"I'm free," he says eventually. Xue Yang immediately perks up.

"Yeah? Cool. I guess I kind of ambushed you, so feel free to come over whenever you're—"

"No."

"No?"

Song Lan shakes his head, already pulling out his key from his pocket. "Macarons are delicate. Do you have a fine sieve? Piping bags? Baking sheets?" When all he gets from Xue Yang is a blank stare, he rolls his eyes in response. "That's what I thought. If you want my help, we may as well make them in a kitchen that has all those things already. No point in doing things halfway."

"You sure? You kind of feel like the sort of control-freak type that doesn't like people in his personal space."

Xue Yang isn't necessarily wrong about that, but Song Lan pushes open his front door nonetheless, gesturing inside in clear invitation. The other man does not waste time, waltzing inside like he belongs there. Song Lan points him towards the kitchen before slipping away for a quick shower, and if afterwards he pays a little more attention to his appearance than he might usually, it's nobody's concern but his own.

When he returns, hair damp and hanging loosely down the back of his dark sweater, he finds Xue Yang perched on one of his kitchen stools, eyeing the clean, minimalist decor. Song Lan likes to keep things neat — clutter makes his head hurt — but even he has space for a few keepsakes here and there. Xue Yang's already got one of them in his hands, turning a small photo frame this way and that.

"Your boyfriend's pretty," Xue Yang calls over to him, and Song Lan is briefly confused until he recognizes the photograph in the frame, Xingchen's arm slung around Song Lan's shoulders as he grins at the camera. "You sure he's not going to have a problem with you inviting strange men into your house?"

"He might," Song Lan answers evenly, taking the frame from Xue Yang's hands and setting it back in its proper place on the shelf, "if he were my boyfriend. As it is, he's unfortunately more likely to encourage me to invite you back again. He's always telling me I need to socialize more."

"And will you?" At Song Lan's puzzled look, Xue Yang's eyes flash with something mischievous, and he tilts his head impishly. "Invite me back here again?"

Song Lan raises one eyebrow, eyes locked onto the long, lean angles of Xue Yang resting against his kitchen counter. Invite Xue Yang over again? As if. There are hundreds of reasons why that would be a bad idea.

What a shame that Song Lan can't think of any of them right now.

"Well," he finally replies, chest fluttering an odd rhythm that he can't quite put his finger on. "I suppose that depends on how well the macarons turn out, doesn't it?"

Thankfully (though thankfully for whom, Song Lan isn't quite sure) the macarons turn out beautifully.

This is mostly due to Xue Yang's total lack of involvement in the process.

To his credit, he's shameless enough that he doesn't even pretend he wants to help this time. The few times Song Lan asks him to pass an ingredient over, he does as he's told with little fuss, but apart from that Xue Yang seems completely content to simply lean on the counter by Song Lan's side, watching his every move with his bright, interested gaze.

Song Lan appreciates the transparency, honestly.

"You're early today," he says as he notices the golden glow of late afternoon start to filter in through the windows. "Didn't feel like dragging me over in the middle of the night?"

Xue Yang shoots him a grin. "Nah. Figured you'd be more likely to make macarons for me if I came at a respectable hour." He's scooted up to sit on the counter top, nibbling idly at a piece of chocolate as he watches Song Lan carefully pipe macaron filling onto several perfect, circular macaron shells. "Actually, I got bumped up to manager at work this week, so I don't have to pull shifts like that any more. No more midnight baking for me, you'll be pleased to hear."

"Ecstatic," Song Lan mutters with a small, wry smile. "So these are celebratory macarons, then?"

"Well, it sounds dumb when you put it like that." It's not a denial, though, if the way Xue Yang bashfully dips his head is anything to go by. "I guess so, though. Never had the chance to try them before, and I figured that now I have my own personal baker living across the hall, it was as good an excuse as any to empty my wallet for a bunch of fancy ingredients."

Sandwiching the last of the shiny, brown shells together, Song Lan rolls his eyes. Personal baker, indeed. "You've never tried macarons before?" He asks in a truly splendid display of patience as he begins to box up the little treats, setting them down one by one in neat rows.

"Nah. Always wanted to, but they're too expensive, you know? I've never had the money to buy them for myself."

When Song Lan only hums thoughtfully, Xue Yang leans forward, brows furrowed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overshare or anything, I just—"

"No, I get it," Song Lan says quietly, interrupting the other man. "My family couldn't afford that sort of thing when I was a kid either. Still, it didn't stop me from dreaming about them every time we walked past the store. That sort of thing's actually why I picked up baking in the first place, I think."

"Yeah?" Xue Yang says. His voice isn't soft, not really, but there's a subtle warmth to it that prompts Song Lan to continue.

"Yeah. I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I could make something that nice with my own hands, regardless of where I came from." Song Lan's hands slow, but he doesn't allow himself more than a scant moment to reminisce. "Either that, or I was just a stubborn enough kid that I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of me eating sweets, I suppose."

Clearing his throat, he snaps the lid onto the box of fresh macarons, pressing them into Xue Yang's hands gracelessly. "Anyway," Song Lan mutters as he wonders if it's always been this difficult to meet the other man's eyes. "That's enough of that. Make sure you eat these before they get stale, alright?"

Xue Yang's gaze lingers on his face for a long moment. "You're not keeping any for yourself?" He finally says, their fingers grazing as he reaches out to take the box.

Now it's Song Lan's turn to look bashful. "Actually," he confesses as a small, sheepish smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, "after all that, it turns out I don't really like this sort of thing."

"You're kidding." Xue Yang's mouth drops open in earnest, honest surprise. "They're chocolate flavored. Everyone likes chocolate. You're not even going to eat one?"

With a small shrug, Song Lan shakes his head. "I know it's a little strange for someone who spends so much time baking, but I don't actually like things that are too sweet."

There's a curious flash of something molten in Xue Yang's eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Song Lan vaguely registers that neither of them have let go of the box of macarons yet, hands still brushing electric against each other's skin.

"I guess that's lucky for me, then, isn't it?" Xue Yang eventually says quietly, the sharp planes of his handsome face illuminated by the soft light of the setting sun. Song Lan can't help but wonder what it would be like to chase that light with his fingertips, what Xue Yang's skin might feel like under his hands.

"If by 'lucky,' you mean you don't have to share these with me," he replies as he tries to remember how to breathe, "then I suppose you're very lucky indeed."

It's not until he's lying in bed later that night, mind racing, that Song Lan realizes that perhaps Xue Yang hadn't been talking about the macarons.

*****

"Hi. You're the hot neighbor who bakes, right?"

Song Lan blinks, certain he's misheard. Apart from Xue Yang's irregular visits (visits that, despite their growing frequency, he's still not quite used to), it's rare that he opens his door to find someone he's not expecting. It's rarer still that he opens his door to find a total stranger standing on the other side of it. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie, the girl in front of him doesn't even look old enough to be out of high school yet, and despite the fact that Song Lan has never seen her before in his life, she's staring up at him with such enthusiasm that any passersby would think the two of them already fast friends.

"Excuse me?" He asks tentatively, his confusion increasing tenfold as a wide grin creeps over her face.

"Lin Qing," the girl says boldly, sticking one hand out in front of her. Song Lan does not return the handshake she offers, but that doesn't appear to put her off in the slightest. "We haven't met yet, but Yangyang says you're a dream in the kitchen. You're free right now, right?"

Yangyang? Surely, she can't mean…

"…You're Xue Yang's sister?" Song Lan asks, eyebrows raising up to his hairline. Clearly, he's hit the nail on the head — her grin grows wider still.

"The one and only. It's cool if you're busy, but I said I'd make cookies for this thing at school and I really don't know what I'm doing and if I show up with shitty cookies I'm going to be, like, a social reject, you know? So I figured I'd swing by and see if you could come over and help me out."

The girl — Lin Qing, he supposes he should call her — bats her long eyelashes up at him innocently, though Song Lan expects she is anything but. He's not stupid enough not to recognize that she's trying to win him over with her best puppy dog eyes, and he's certainly not stupid enough to fall for it. After so many years dealing with Xingchen and his passing flights of fancy, he'd be a fool not to have grown wise to tricks like that by this point.

He clears his throat awkwardly and tries his best to sound authoritative. "I don't really think that would be appropriate," he tries.

He fails. Lin Qing seems completely unmoved.

"And you know," she continues as if Song Lan had said nothing at all, a roguish glint in her eye that makes her look far too much like Xue Yang, "I'm sure Yangyang would really appreciate it if I had someone supervising me in the kitchen. After all, I'm just a kid. What if I burn myself or something? You'd be doing him a huge favor, let's be real. He'd be sooo grateful!"

She's about as subtle as a slap to the face. Even Song Lan can tell that Lin Qing looks much too old to be considered "just a kid." Surely she can make something as simple as cookies by herself? And what does Xue Yang's approval matter to him? They're not even friends, just neighbors with an odd dynamic. Nothing more, nothing less. He won't be manipulated into pandering to some strange girl's whims simply because Xue Yang might appreciate it. Song Lan will not allow himself to be bested by a teenager in a contest of will!

Unfortunately, besting Lin Qing in a contest of will is apparently much easier said than done.

"Yangyang's at work right now, but he'll be back real soon," she tells him cheerily as she bustles around her kitchen, ushering Song Lan further inside with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Song Lan remembers where everything is from the last time he was here, but the thought of being in Xue Yang's apartment while he's out makes him feel oddly self-conscious.

Thirty minutes. That's all he needs to help Lin Qing to make cookies, and then he can make a hasty retreat. He's just doing the girl a favor so she doesn't burn the place down, right?

As the two of them begin to bake, it becomes increasingly obvious that he's been played hook, line, and sinker. Unlike Xue Yang, Lin Qing doesn't need any help at all; when it comes to making cookies, she knows exactly what she's doing. In fact, she's good enough that she's able to keep up a near constant stream of dialogue as she bakes, much to Song Lan's chagrin.

"You're friends with Yangyang then?"

"I suppose so."

"That's cool. He needs more friends. He doesn't get out much."

"I see."

"Ah, but he's not like a loser or anything like that. He just works a lot, you know?"

"Mn." With nothing much else to do, Song Lan busies himself with washing up after her. If he has to be here, he supposes he may as well make himself useful, and it allows him to put some distance between himself and Lin Qing's chatter — if not mentally, at least physically. It works for a little while, but certainly not for as long as he'd hoped it might. Lin Qing slides twelve perfectly shaped balls of cookie dough into the oven in record time, and with nothing more to do, she pulls a stool up next to the sink to continue talking at Song Lan.

"So are you married?" She says, craning her neck like a bird as if she's trying to spot any sign of a ring on Song Lan's finger. Despite his discomfort, he can't help but let out a quiet chuckle at her tenacity.

"No, it's just me."

"Single, then. Cool. That's cool." Lin Qing stretches out her hand to study her nails, trying to look nonchalant and missing the mark completely. "You know, my brother's single as well. Crazy coincidence, huh?"

Song Lan almost drops the dish in his hands. "Okay," he says as evenly as he can manage. "Good for him."

He may have been foolish enough to fall for Lin Qing's tricks once, but he's not taking the bait this time, regardless of his own thoughts on the matter.

Hell, he doesn't even know what his thoughts are on the matter, but he knows it's not something he's interested in discussing with a child. That's something Song Lan needs to work out for himself.

"You think so? I'm not sure. I think sometimes he'd like not to be single." Scooting her stool closer, Lin Qing stares up at Song Lan. He staunchly refuses to meet her eye, glaring down at the soap suds between his fingers. "In fact, I think he'd really, really like to not be single right now, you know what I mean?"

"Look," Song Lan all but snaps. His patience is beginning to wear thin, but strangely his exasperation only seems to delight Lin Qing. "I don't see how it's any of my business whether or not—"

The front door of the apartment rattles on its hinges and slams shut before Song Lan has time to finish that thought. "A-Qing?" Xue Yang's voice calls out, and Song Lan wonders when he'd become familiar enough with his neighbor's voice to recognize just how exhausted the other man sounds. "Are you cooking something? I thought I told you not to—"

Xue Yang saunters around the corner only to stop dead in his tracks as he catches sight of Song Lan, elbow-deep in dish soap in a kitchen that he most definitely does not belong in. There's a deep weariness to his posture today, but although he slouches, Xue Yang looks uncharacteristically neat. His usual messy ponytail is tied up high, tight, and tidy; instead of the oversized jeans and t-shirt Song Lan often sees him in, he's wearing a sleek button-down and dark pants tailored just well enough that Song Lan has to make a concerted effort to tear his eyes away from the long line of Xue Yang's legs.

After a long moment, Song Lan clears his throat awkwardly. "Hi," he says quietly, feeling all too much like a child that's been caught doing something he shouldn't. Xue Yang doesn't answer, a flush creeping slowly up his neck to the tips of his ears.

"A-Qing?" He eventually rasps, eyes not once leaving Song Lan's. "A word, please?"

Slipping down from her stool with a sly grin in Song Lan's direction, Lin Qing practically skips over to her brother. There's no doubt that he's not happy about this — Xue Yang quickly draws her into a fierce, hissed conversation that Song Lan is certain he's not meant to be privy to, but it's hard not to notice Xue Yang's frantic gaze flicking over to him every so often. How the two resolve things between each other, he isn't exactly sure, but when Xue Yang stomps out of the room without so much as a parting glance in Song Lan's direction, it's strangely difficult not to take it personally.

"I'm starting to think you overestimated how much your brother would appreciate me being here," Song Lan says in the wake of Xue Yang's departure, gaze dropping back to the dishes in the sink. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds childishly sullen.

Lin Qing doesn't even try to suppress an amused giggle. "Don't mind him. He'll come around once he's had a chance to change out of his work uniform."

"If you say so."

"He thinks it makes him look stupid."

Song Lan shrugs, but clearly he's not listening hard enough to what Lin Qing is trying to get through to him. With a frustrated sigh, she moves right up into his space, snatching the bowl he's washing right out of his hands to get him to look at her.

"He doesn't want you to see him in his work uniform because it's very important to him that you don't think he looks stupid," she tells him, enunciating so slowly and clearly that it's impossible not to catch her drift.

"I don't…" Song Lan's voice catches as he swallows weakly past the odd lump in his throat. "I didn't think he looked stupid."

"No?"

"No. He looked…"

He stalls; not because he has nothing to say, but because he has far too much. How is he supposed to finish that sentence? Xue Yang looked good, Xue Yang looked fine, Xue Yang looked lovely? It's technically the truth, but at the same time such pleasantries could never be anywhere near the truth — that even exhausted, even after refusing to look at Song Lan, Xue Yang's image burns bright in his mind like fireworks.

How is he supposed to say all of that and come out with his dignity intact?

Lin Qing may be cunning, but she is not unkind. "Alright, alright, relax," she sighs, finally taking pity on him. "It's not like I'm forcing you to go confess your love to him or anything. I'm just saying, maybe the two of you have things you need to talk about."

She pats him firmly on the shoulder once, twice; Song Lan is sure that it should be difficult to feel patronized by a literal child, but he manages it nonetheless. "Anyway, I've got homework to do, but Yangyang won't be long. You'll finish the cookies for me, right, Ge?"

Song Lan is so caught up in his own thoughts that by the time he realizes he has been masterfully manipulated once again, she's long gone.

Fuck.

Though at this point he thinks Lin Qing might deserve it, it's not like he's going to let perfectly good cookies burn. At the squeal of the kitchen timer he takes the cookie sheet from the oven through instinct alone, mechanically setting it down on a rack on the counter to cool. When he turns around, he finds that Xue Yang has slunk silently into the kitchen with him, arms folded across his chest. Song Lan doesn't startle, but it's a near thing.

"So," Xue Yang finally addresses him, tension stark in the set of his shoulders. "She got you good, huh?"

Song Lan lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "As much as I hate to admit it, she did. She's smart."

"Too fucking smart for her own good." He runs a hand down his face, and for a moment Xue Yang looks wearier than Song Lan has ever seen a person look. "Listen, I'm real sorry about this. You don't have to—"

"I don't mind," Song Lan interrupts him. "She's a good kid. Besides, what if setting off the smoke alarm runs in the family? I didn't want to take any chances."

He only means to tease Xue Yang a little, to ease them back into their usual routine banter, but today his attempt falls rather flat. Instead of smirking over at him, snapping back at Song Lan with a quip of his own, Xue Yang simply looks down, scuffing his foot across the floor. "Yeah, I guess."

Song Lan's gaze softens. "Long day, huh?"

"Something like that." He eyes Song Lan warily for a long, quiet moment, but eventually Xue Yang gives in, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. He's back in his usual clothes, hair wild and loose rather than slicked up into the neat ponytail Song Lan had seen earlier, but even under his baggy hoodie Song Lan can see the way his shoulders slump. "Sorry about earlier. Today was all sorts of shitty and I guess you kind of caught me off guard. I shouldn't have blown up the way I did."

Song Lan settles quietly onto the stool next to him. There are plenty of things he could say in response, but in the moment, none of them seem to matter much at all. He simply reaches out to swipe one of the soft, fresh cookies from the tray across the counter, holding it out to Xue Yang like a chocolate chip-studded peace offering.

"Here," he says softly. "I can't take credit for making this one, but you look like you could use it. Eat it while it's still warm."

It seems to take Xue Yang's brain a second to catch up. After a few seconds of simply staring at Song Lan blankly, he obediently accepts his offering, though not before eyeing it suspiciously. "None of that fancy bitter dark chocolate bullshit, right?" He mutters, and Song Lan can't help but chuckle.

"Nothing but tooth-rotting milk chocolate all the way through, I promise."

For the first time that evening, Xue Yang cracks a small, private smile, like sunlight through dark clouds.

Perhaps, Song Lan thinks to himself, he'd like to spend more time trying to make Xue Yang smile like that.

"So," he says, voice turning sly as Xue Yang licks melted chocolate from his fingers. "I'm the hot neighbor who bakes, huh?"

Beside him, Xue Yang very nearly chokes. "How did you…?"

"Your sister."

"Ah." Rubbing his temple with one hand, Xue Yang lets out a deep, tired sigh, though the corner of his mouth twitches up. "I'm gonna kill that kid one of these days."

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not." Xue Yang shoots Song Lan an embarrassed grimace. "In my defense, she was paraphrasing. "Hot neighbor that bakes" wasn't exactly how I described you, but to be fair, that's kind of all I know about you."

"That I'm hot?"

Scoffing, Xue Yang leans over to nudge Song Lan's shoulder with his own. "That you bake, smartass."

He's not quick to move away. Song Lan can feel the warmth of him through his clothes, the steady weight of Xue Yang's body resting against his side like it belongs there, and maybe that's what finally prompts him to be bold.

"Well, it's a good start," Song Lan says with an amused huff. "To be honest, I don't know if there's much else that's interesting about me. But if you ever want to know more, you're more than welcome to try and find out."

"Yeah?" There's a cocky lilt to Xue Yang's tone that starkly contrasts how softly he bumps their pinkies together under the counter. "And you'd like that, would you?"

"I might. But only if you tell me about yourself in return." Nudging Xue Yang gently, Song Lan replies with a smirk, "After all, I can't keep calling you the "hot neighbor who drives me crazy" forever, now, can I?"

*****

These days, Song Lan sleeps soundly all through the night. The days of unpleasant interruptions are long gone, and he no longer dreads being woken in the night by the shriek of Xue Yang's smoke alarm.

So when he's jolted awake by the wail of apartment 520's alarm a few nights later, it's not anger he feels but concern.

Thankfully, Xue Yang has silenced the smoke alarm by the time Song Lan makes it over to his place, but the guilty expression he wears when he opens the door doesn't do anything to assuage Song Lan's worries.

"I promise you it was an accident," Xue Yang mutters sullenly, stepping aside to let Song Lan into his apartment. "You don't need to lecture me about this again, I swear."

Song Lan simply sighs. "I thought we were done with this," he says, voice quiet as he makes his way through to the kitchen. "Is everything okay? Why didn't you just ask me to help?"

"I just… I couldn't this time, okay?" Xue Yang trails behind him, exasperated as Song Lan starts to survey the damage.

It's…actually much better than he had expected.

The kitchen, for the most part, is clean and tidy save for a few bowls stacked on the counter. There are a few ingredients scattered here and there, but they're contained within their packages, and while the cake pan on the cooling rack is admittedly still smoking slightly, the cake inside doesn't look completely unsalvageable. In fact, under the unfortunately unavoidable notes of char, it smells pretty good; Song Lan takes a deep breath in, eyebrows raising in surprise as he catches a scent he recognizes.

"Is that cardamom?"

Xue Yang folds his arms over his chest, lower lip jutting out as he avoids Song Lan's astonished look. "…Yeah. It's a cardamom and coffee cake. Or it was going to be, anyway."

Song Lan snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. At Xue Yang's sharp glare, he holds up his hands in surrender. "Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed. You just don't strike me as the type to like that sort of thing, that's all."

"I don't," Xue Yang grumbles, eyeing the remains of his cake venomously. "Dunno why people have to ruin perfectly good cake with coffee."

"Then why—?"

"Because the recipe said it wouldn't be too sweet." He's doing an excellent job of trying to look nonchalant, but the way Xue Yang's gaze keeps flicking up to Song Lan and away again betrays him. "I figured if there was any sort of cake that you liked, it would be something stupid fancy like this. I was going to bring it over tomorrow and…"

Trailing off, he finally meets Song Lan's eyes, brows furrowed into an embarrassed scowl. "Well. I was gonna bring it over tomorrow, that's all. But I guess I won't be doing that anymore."

It takes a moment or two for Song Lan to process, but when Xue Yang's words finally sink in, he's overcome by a warmth so all-encompassing that he barely knows what to do with himself.

"That's interesting," he finally says, stepping so close to Xue Yang that he can see flashes of gold in the other man's irises. "Didn't you say that you weren't the type to do something nice like baking a cake for your boyfriend?"

Xue Yang's eyes track his movement like a hawk, pupils blowing wide as Song Lan approaches. "I did say that," he murmurs, a smile curling at the corners of his lips. "But I don't remember saying I was making this for any boyfriend. I'm just a kind neighbor, baking a cake for the guy across the hall."

"Yeah?" Song Lan grins as he leans even closer, ghosting his breath over Xue Yang's ear and delighting in how he shivers. "That's a shame, because the last I heard, the guy across the hall has a huge thing for you, you know."

Reaching out, Xue Yang hooks his fingers into the collar of Song Lan's shirt — not quite dragging him closer, not yet, just holding him steady. "Then maybe," he purrs as his gaze drifts down to Song Lan's lips, "the guy across the hall should get it together and prove it already."

The guy across the hall does exactly that.

Despite his best efforts, Song Lan has never found much pleasure in sweet treats. He may never be partial to sticky, saccharine macarons, and he doesn't think he'll ever enjoy the cloying sweetness of honey-soaked little pastries or sugar-dusted cupcakes, no matter how often he bakes them.

The sweetness of Xue Yang's kisses, however — that, Song Lan thinks he could get used to.