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Jingyi would like to believe he was an easy child.
He knew otherwise, of course. His very existence was problematic, from conception to adulthood, which wasn’t as deterring as one would think, no–it made him special. Interesting. He was crafted by hand, molded together haphazardly with the brattiest materials known to man–a temper, and constant righteous sarcasm. It was great.
Apparently, he was quiet as a baby–which he found hard to believe. Looking at himself, you would think he crawled out of the womb on all fours screaming ancient tongues as high and loud as his little lungs could muster. Of course, people change all the time, but considering Jingyi’s constitution, it simply wasn’t a very plausible fact. However, looks were particularly deceiving– absolutely no righteous person on earth would believe Uncle Mingjue and his unearthly, mythical strength and height would have a soft spot for any and all felines. And absolutely no one except Uncle Huaisang who knew any and all secrets in their family would expect someone as refined and sophisticated as Uncle Meng Yao would have a crippling hatred for celery. So maybe. Hard, strictly punctuated, maybe he could have been a quiet baby. But the chance his Baba was lying–well, he never lied, but exhausted the truth a little bit was slim but never zero.
On drowsy weekend days, or school nights where his Baba would be in a pleasant, exhausted post-work haze and they would be lounging in the living room with some cable show playing on the old T.V, his baba would sometimes fondly recall when they had first been introduced. Jingyi, the picture perfect quiet kid being ushered into another home–which would become his forever home, ironically– too shy to utter a word. He grew out of that. Obviously. And he now did not care who he gave speech related headaches.
Well… what happened?
To this day, his Baba didn’t know whether he just didn’t like people and therefore did not want to talk, or if he used to be shy. Shy! A word that wasn’t even in Jingyi’s internal vocabulary! Shy was like pollen to Jingyi. It made him want to claw his sinuses out.
The former was more likely, that he was just selective with his words to strangers. Because, according to his Baba, once he warmed up to him, it was like a switch was flipped, and then he wouldn’t shut up.
(Story of his life!)
He loved his Baba, he loved his cousins–though, Sizhui was his favorite, he got best friend privileges, sorry not sorry, Jin Ling–, he loved his family when he didn’t have to see them every holiday, only because they constantly fawned over him and some of the kinder, old women used to squish his cheeks like he was some sort of gummy, human stress ball. Kind of like those slime youtube channels for children. Honestly, who knew old people were so strong? His Great Uncle couldn’t even stand seeing gay people, (Wei Wuxian), without falling over in shock. It was astounding!
So, Jingyi wasn’t an easy child in most senses of the word–he got in fights more times than he could count, but…the disappointed look on his Baba’s face every time he came to pick him up, or laid his eyes on a new black eye or stark bruise on his arm or painted over his ribs, had deterred him from that. Lan Xichen had a face that really didn’t get mad, and a passive personality that seemed incapable of extreme rage. However, because Jingyi expected anger as a kid, it made the disappointment ten times worse.
To Jingyi, detentions were as familiar as algebraic equations, but he was only suspended once, which, considering his track record, was a god-blessed miracle.
(It wasn’t like he started fights on purpose! He just said things that were on his mind. Constantly. And some people didn’t like his honesty. So they retaliated with physical violence. Shame on them!)
He may be a problematic individual with unfortunate height with the will to throw hands to combat it, but he was easy.
Jingyi was easy to raise because he never had any teenage rebellion urges. He never wanted to sneak out of the house, (he didn’t like the dark), he never wanted to drink alcohol, (he thought it smelled disgusting, it also made Uncle Wei act like more of a moron than usual, and he had watched enough school-issued anti-underage drinking ads from the 80’s that gave him no problem with waiting until he was legal), and drugs were out of the question. (Because Uncle Wangji would manifest out of thin air and murder him, and then his Baba would ressurect him and kill him again only to ground him.)
(That last part never happened and there wasn’t any proof of it ever happening, but the chances, again, were never zero. Better safe than sorry.)
He knew teenage rebellion manifested in different ways. Like Sizhui, who was such a goody goody-two-shoes-Bubbles-from-the-Powerpuff-Girls-kinnie, that all he did during that stage was try to learn another instrument besides the guqin, which he was a prodigy at, because he wanted to stop being compared to his A-Die.
It didn’t last long. Sizhui was okay at the violin. Jingyi told him he would have better luck with the Kazoo. He went back to the guqin, and was now a sane, functional member of society settling into University to graduate to become a Certified functional member of society.
“Baba,” Jingyi had asked thoughtfully, pondering over vegetarian pizza one late Friday night, “I have a life, right?”
His dad had said nothing. But his confused expression had spoken volumes.
Moral of the story, Jingyi wasn’t a rebellious teenager, which proved a lot of people wrong! And, he was 18 now, so it wasn’t like he could become one. He was a legal adult in the cataracted eyes of the law.
“Hey, Baba,” Jingyi barged into his dad’s room on a stormy night exactly one week ago. The man had been lounging in bed, reading glasses perched crookedly on his nose, hair braided in preparation for sleep. He had placed the bookmark in silently, giving Jingyi his full attention.
“Yes, Jingyi? I–why are you still in your school clothes?”
“I forgot to change. Anyway, now that I’m 18 n’ stuff, shouldn’t you be. Like. Asking me to move out? Parents are supposed to do that when their kid turns 18. You know, telling them to get a job, get a life, stop mooching off their money…”
“Jingyi…you haven’t even graduated yet…why would I ever ask you to leave?”
There have been occasions when Xichen would knock on his door and poke his head in, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, when Jingyi was either watching a new episode of a drama he found or playing Persona 5, huddled and cooking like a dumpling under the mass of covers he had on his bed. He’d say things like;
“Jingyi, you know you don’t have to stay here all night,”
Or,
“Jingyi, why don’t you go out and do something fun for yourself? I heard your favorite comic book shop got a new shipment.”
It wasn’t kicking him out. It was his dad’s way of telling him he didn’t have a life and was boring.
Which was how he found himself at the Cheers lounge.
It was a club along the strip that was open to anyone over the age of 18. Of course, it was boring if you went there if you weren’t 21, because you couldn’t drink or gamble. Though, it really didn’t stop anyone, and it was off the radar enough for law enforcement not to really give a shit. But, Zizhen recommended the place, and who knew what the guy did there, really, so he wanted to check it out. Maybe get some blackmail material.
He could watch people drink and gamble! That was fun. He liked watching Uncle Wei as he got progressively more stupid by the gallon of wine.
The bass was deep and pounded in tune with his heart. It was atrociously loud, so deafening he could hear the static strain of the speakers after each pulse. He could feel the beating through his shoes–his nicer Docs that were fully broken in and wouldn’t leave him in angry pain all night– all the way up his spine, even outside the door. The neon light of the bright sign that read, “Che_rs!” illuminated the parking lot in bright pink and blue. It was missing an E, the stain in the brick the only inclination it was ever there.
He pulled out his phone, wincing and stepping aside for a couple to make their way inside. The bluelight stung his eyes.
To: A-Zhen!!
I’M HERE. its rly loud do i just walk inside?? do they not check ids???
From: A-Zhen!!
Ohhh hiii!! yeah no u can just walk inside dw, they don’t check ids.
To: A-Zhen
not a good way to run a business LMAO
The strobe lights punched him in the face.
It wasn’t a soft punch either–it left him reeling and a bit lightheaded, like it was a physical blow– from the change in dulled, fluorescent street lights to loud, spinning club lights.
They were bright and rapid, changing from pinks to reds to blues to greens in quick succession, casting lights over the smoke that was still hanging through the air. They flashed in inconsistent patterns, flying over the expanse of the room. Loud music pumped through speakers on every other surface–he didn’t recognize the artist, but the drummer sounded incredible. He maneuvered through masses of people mingling by the entrance, some leaning over the handrail, dangling red party cups filled with some sort of concoction over the edge. Jingyi couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the music, and decided he didn’t really want to. The energy in the room was white hot and burning, crackling through the air, electric. It flooded his heart with a strange giddiness.
He descended the stairs and roamed cautiously to the bar. The dance floor was filled with people of two categories–people who had just gotten there, and the ones too drunk to care about second hand embarrassment and were absolutely tearing it up. There was a DJ set up at the front–that was where the smoke machines were. The lights flashing through the smoke gave it almost a creepy feel–and minute by minute, it filled the dance floor, falling over the colored squares on the ground, rolling like waves over everyones shoes.
“Aiya, look who it is!” An arm was slung around his shoulders. He recognized Zizhen’s boisterous voice immediately. The warmth of his body pressed into Jingyi–who could feel the man’s skin through the patched mesh crop top he called a shirt. His baggy pants barely clung to the bones of his hips. Zizhen was so tall, he rested his chin atop of Jingyi’s head, pressing all his weight onto him until Jingyi’s knees were practically buckling.
“Oh my god, get off, you ass–! You’re heavy!” Jingyi wheezed, shoving him.
Zizhen laughed, low and delighted. Despite the noise, Jingyi could hear it loud and clear. When he laughed, it was always full bodied–he’d clutch at his stomach, shoulders shaking in joy, eyes scrunched up by happy little lines. Jingyi felt his face flushing–it was suddenly really hot in that room.
“I still can’t believe you came! You didn’t strike me as the type to like clubbing! You even dressed up, you look so–nice!” Zizhen said, eyes roaming down his body appreciatively. Despite himself, Jingyi grinned bashfully–he didn’t do much, it wasn’t like he was on a date or something, just a crop top that was stashed deep into the back of his closet, black skinny jeans. He smudged on some colorful eyeliner last minute, and some euphoria-esque glitter because, hey. Clubbing. He should make an effort.
“Yeah,” Jingyi shrugged, mind blank and focused on the compliment, “this is a nicer place than I thought it would be! How did you find it?”
Zizhen rocked back and forth on his heels, dragging Jingyi back with him towards the bar.
“My older sister and her college friends took me a while back! Now that she’s, y’know, pregnant, she hasn’t been here for obvious reasons. Aiya, man… I’m not ready to become an uncle. It’s soooo awful, Jingyi, I feel so old! And none of them are helping!”
It was a lot quieter in the corner where the drinkers were–nameless people sat on barstools, a man was talking to the bartender, making large gesticulations. Jingyi wondered what he was saying.
“Are you…drunk, A-Zhen?” Jingyi teased. They were sitting so close on the bar stools their knees touched, skin on skin through their ripped jeans. Jingyi could count each and every one of the faded freckles patterned onto the line across Zizhen’s nose and cheeks, see every individual eyelash, spot the place his mascara smudged above his left eye. As expected, his friend’s grin split his lips open, and he pressed a finger to them in a shushing motion.
Zizhen glanced at the occupied bartender, leaning down toward Jingyi until he could feel his phantom breaths on his face. Neither moved away. His breath spelled sickly sweet, and under that, the tangy smell of alcohol–whatever he had been drinking was most definitely filled with enough sugar to keep him awake for twelve hours at least.
Jingyi watched as Zizhen’s tongue flicked out and licked his lower lip, “I have a source getting me drinks,” he whispered, “don’t say anything though, kay? My dad will beat my ass.”
Jingyi laughed, only leaning back when Zizhen drew himself up, resting his elbows on the smooth expanse of the bar table, “just don’t get caught, idiot. He’ll probably be able to tell when you get home, though.”
“I’ll cross that hurdle when I get there. Never fear, Xiao Yi, I will make sure I won’t get grounded for long! Can’t have you getting withdrawals from not seeing me, love. Oh, oh, have you seen the new episode of True Beauty?”
Jingyi snorted. Xiao Yi, that was a new one.
“U huh, knowing your dad, if he finds out you’re drunk off your ass when you get home, I wont see you for the next year! I’ll be like..a…a maiden waiting for her husband to return from the war, to no avail!” Jingyi bemoaned dramatically, “And yeah, I saw it! You and A-Qing both have been bothering me to give it a try since like, November, I finally gave in. So much better than the webtoon, honestly, I really liked the part where…”
Jingyi trailed off as Zizhen, eyes cloudy, slowly reached his hand up to his face. It gently cradled his cheek, warm palm barley pressing against the skin there. His thumb brushed his cheekbone, and as silence fell between them, breathily whispered, “you…look really pretty in blue.”
To which, Jingyi, heart beating wildly in his chest, the place Zizhen was touching blooming hotly under his gentle ministrations, responded, “well, duh, of course I do, I’m a Lan. Idiot,” he tacked on, for good measure.
Zizhen’s face slackened for a split second, before he started giggling. He fell forward, knocking their foreheads together, his hand falling down to Jingyi’s lap. He tried not to feel a sudden coolness on his face, a crippling absence of his warm hand.
“So true, Jingyi! Hey, c’mon, c’mon, let’s go dance! Lemme show you off a bit!”
Jingyi laughed, letting himself be pulled onto the dance floor. He gave no resistance, allowing his friend to draw him up and around, giggling the entire way. Zizhen took large, bouncy steps. Jingyi had to run to keep from being dragged flat on his face.
The dance floor was even more crowded than the entrance way.
It was a different angle from looking down from above, from there, he felt enclosed on all sides, metaphorically and literally. There were people everywhere, dancing with each other, lingering on the edges with cups of cocktails. There was a cluster of dancers surrounding the platform where the DJ was stationed jumping up and down to the beat.
The lights were, for a lack of better word, wild. There would be intervals where there wouldn’t be any illumination at all, shrouding the crowd in utter darkness, before the strobe lights would flicker on again. Zizhen’s face disappeared and reappeared. Jingyi knew the man was a music fanatic–sometimes, he eyes were closed as his body moved to the music, winding from head to toe like water. When he noticed him looking, he’d wink.
With every beat of the base, it reverberated in his skull, sending rumbling foreshocks down his spine. It was pleasant, exuberating, and Jingyi soon felt himself drunk on the rapid energy. It felt like lightning was crackling through the air, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. At some point, Zizhen had grabbed his hands, pulling him closer, closer–
He spun him around, and found himself flush against the man’s chest the second later, colors waving their way around his dizzy vision. Zizhen dragged his hands down his bare arms, finding his palms, swaying with him back and forth, despite the high, speedy tiempo of the music. Their rhythm was within each other, they danced to the song of their hearts, paying no mind to whatever music was blasting from the speakers.
“You okay?” Zizhen asked. His lips were so, so close to his ear, arms folding to loosely wrap around Jingyi’s waist. He could hear the smile in his voice.
“Hell yeah,” Jingyi sighed, Pushing off of him and stepping further into the dance floor. His vision no longer spun with the dizziness one usually felt when stepping into a club dancefloor–he adjusted to the spinning colors rather quickly.
Green light was currently casted over the top half of Zizhen’s face. His infectious smile widened, eyes sparkling. A moment after that, he disappeared, but Jingyi could feel his hands on his. This time, Jingyi yanked him forward.
The man’s laugh was loud, loud enough to be heard over the music, and Jingyi joined him, giggling, “this is so awesome! You should’ve told me about this place sooner, A-Zhen!”
“I didn’t want to scare you off, Xiao Yi,” Zizhen stuck his tongue out, face resplendently highlighted by the red lights currently swathed over the club, “I didn’t know you were such a good dancer!”
“I was the person everyone gathered around at middle school dances,” Jingyi replied, tapping Zizhen’s nose. He looked like an overeager kitten. It was cute.
His arms tightened around his waist, and Jingyi let out a shriek that was totally regularly pitched, not girlish sounding at all– as Zizhen pulled him close until they were flush against each other, chest to chest. They melded together perfectly, all ridges of their bodies slotting together like a puzzle.
Jingyi felt himself flushing. Zizhen was looking down at him with wide, pretty eyes, mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. Jingyi could lean up, and Zizhen could hold him, and then they–
“Ohmygod–!! Is that A-Zhen I see!?”
–Zizhen dropped him like a hot potato, and Jingyi stumbled, off balance and reeling from the sudden change.
“Oh–!! Hey Fen Li!! Jingyi, uh…this is one of my sister’s friends. I didn’t know she’d be here, uhm,” he glanced at Jingyi, grinning crookedly, “did you..ah..need something?”
The girl was tall, pretty, with a high ponytail and long bangs. She was dressed in all red, with gold jewelry around her wrists and dangling off her neck. She looked older–and most likely was, if she was one of Zizhen’s sister’s friends.
“Yes–!! I do, A-Zhen. I’m so sorry to bother you, but your asshole of a sister–!!”
Zizhen winced, shoulders rising.
“–has been ignoring all my calls and texts! I’ve heard nothing, nothing from her in the past three weeks. Three. Weeks. Three weeks, A-Zhen! Do you know how insane that is!? The only reason I know she’s not dead is because your family hasn"t posted anything about her funeral! And as her best friend, I would expect to be invited. Updated!”
“Ah–sorry, she’s been really busy with being pregnant, and moving, and she lost her phone…for the fourth time and just got a new one. You…don’t have her new number, do you?” Zizhen placated, holding his arms out in front of him.
“Oh. No…I don’t. That makes sense. Well–!! It still doesn’t excuse her. A-Zhen, be a dear and come with me so I can call her from your phone and get her number?” Fen Li asked, voice saccharine.
“Ah…Fen Li, I’m kind of with a friend right now…”
As if noticing him for the first time, Fen Li’s eyes found him and looked him up and down. Not searching, not disgusted, just neutral.
“I’m so sorry dear, do you mind if I borrow A-Zhen for a few minutes? I’ll be quick, I promise,” she asked, clasping her hands together pleadingly.
“Ah, sure, I don’t mind,” Jingyi said, minding quite a bit. He didn’t look at Zizhen, “just–”
Before he could finish, Fen Li had already grabbed Zizhen in what looked to be a pretty tight grip, dragging him towards the lounge area, ignoring his frantic protests. He looked back at him, eyes wide and guilty, and Jingyi held up his hand in a half-assed wave.
“...bring him back soon.”
Jingyi’s voice was lost over the music, and he let himself melt backwards into the crowd.
He found himself inching across the back wall.
Hands finding purchase on what had to be a disgustingly grimy surface, he led himself out of the mass of people and off of the dancefloor, where whatever high had come over him while dancing with Zizhen had faded, leaving a gaping hole of disappointment and embarrassment. It wasn’t even a date–they were friends, so why was he so mad about Zizhen getting stolen away by some girl who wanted his sister’s number?
Jingyi scowled to himself. He was being stupid.
Sighing in relief as he found a corner, he rounded it quickly, stumbling when he met a dimly lit passageway that led to an even darker staircase.
There wasn’t any music coming from below, so Jingyi figured it was a lot quieter down…wherever that was. For once, quietness was something he desperately needed.
He descended the metal stairs slowly, relishing in how the music slowly faded, leaving only a dull pulse of bass through the walls. The staircase creaked as he walked. As he reached the bottom, he was pleasantly surprised to see it opened up to a large space.
It had a low hanging ceiling, with lights patterned like waves delicately hanging from chains. They were a dull yellow. In the middle of the room, there was a big pool table, which had a bunch of men surrounding it, beers in hand. There was a mini bar in the corner, with a solemn bartender cleaning a glass in the corner, and sporadically placed around the room were smaller poker tables.
Jingyi had never seen anyone gamble before. Well–he knew how to play pool, he and Jin Ling had gotten oddly competitive with it when visiting family or at events where they were forced to stay in some hotel. The game rooms were where animosity was born, usually starting with Jenga and ending with a game of pool, which usually included beating the other with sticks.
Jin Ling was always…something!
“Oh, goddammit–!! Again! How the hell is some dumbass kid like you doing this shit, man!?”
Loud, grating laughter–it sounded like a hyena screeching. It obviously wasn’t a natural laugh, but one specifically crafted to annoy people.
“Listen, dude,” a low voice said, drawing out his syllables, “it ain"t my fault you suck at playing poker. Now leave your money, and move along before I shove my foot so far up your ass your head’ll pop off like a gusher. Scram!”
Jingyi was drawn toward the noise–loud recognizes loud, he guessed.
At a poker table in the corner, two men sat. One was bulbous, balding at the head–he had a cigarette dangling from his lips, the wisps of lazy smoke curling into the air. The guy slammed his cig into the ashtray so hard the entire table wobbled, bouncing cards and paper money. Jingyi wasn’t surprised, considering this wasn’t a casino–of course there wouldn’t be any actual chips.
The other guy, as opposed to the angry one, was lax. He had one leg dangling off the chair, the other resting across his lap. He was sharply featured, with spiky hair pulled back into a fluffed out, half-up half down style–the strands curled behind his ear and across his shoulders.
Under the light, his eyes glinted like knives.
And as opposed to the cigarette, this guy had a lollipop. He twirled the candy against his lips, looking over the other guy utterly unimpressed and annoyed. His entire body language screamed, I’m better than you.
And looking at all the cash he reined in, Jingyi didn’t doubt it.
“Did you not hear what I just said?” The one with the candy said. His voice was light, questioning–but his words slow and hard, “or do you have so much fucking earwax clogged up in those elephant ears of yours they’ve rendered you stupid and deaf?”
The cigarette was thrown at his face–he dodged it, his chair squeaking as he avoided the trajectory, and the stub went sailing over his shoulder and onto the floor.
“Yeah, yeah, wise guy. Fuck you, cheating me out of my money,” he grumbled, slamming the chair away, “I don’t get it, I don’t, he was acting too drunk to think jus’ a minute ago. Fuckin’ hustlers man, I tell you.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself! Maybe try to be more frugal with your money next time, dumbass,” the sharp-eyed man called after him.
Jingyi winced when the smoker sat at the bar with more force than necessary. What a sore loser.
“Hey, hey, who"s next? C’mon, c’mon, I can’t win all the time! Step up, assholes, look at all this money you can win!”
Turns out, he could win all the time.
Man after man, challenger after challenger, ended up losing more money that they came in with. Each match ended up with a disgruntled man or woman, either screeching in his smug face, or taking their loss with an angry shake of their head.
As each match came and went, and each loser stormed off somewhere, Jingyi got closer and closer to the table, until he could see the spiky man’s deck.
The expert way the man dealt the cards, thin cut, white vinyl flying across the table with the prowess of someone who could–had done this a thousand times with their eyes closed. On top of that, Jingyi had no idea about poker, didn’t know how to play, but the way the man’s face didn’t change from its self-satisfied smirk the entire time, no matter what he got dealt, he could infer the guy had some sort of trick up his sleeve. Or, his luck never faltered.
That was probably what pissed off his opponents the most, honestly.
From behind him, Jingyi could see everything he did–from his cards, which one he chose to put down, even to how he dealt them.
Even from watching, he couldn’t grasp the rules. But it was a welcome distraction, counting how many royalty cards the guy could collect in one round.
“Hey, kid,” the guy called, side-eyeing him. In one hand, he held another lollipop–it was pink, that time– and with the other, he tapped his fingers along the cards he had on the table, “you ever play poker?”
“Huh? Me? Nah,” Jingyi responded, surprised. His dad would probably kill him if he played poker with anything other than monopoly money, “why?”
The guy grabbed a half-filled glass on the side–it was an insanely colorful cocktail, almost as pink as the sign outside. Jingyi’s lip curled up–he wondered how he could even stomach that. Just looking at the liquid gave him a toothache. And a lollipop too? Just who the hell was that guy?
“Check this out, then,” he laughed. With that, he put down another card. Jingyi didn’t know what it did, but with how the opponent’s face went white, like all the blood was drained from it, it definitely did something, “royal flush, baby. Huh…I guess game doesn’t recognize game. Would’ya look at that.”
“Holy shit,” Jingyi said, watching as the man swept a long arm across the table, taking the crumpled up bills on the other side with exaggerated flourish, “dude. I do not have a clue on how to play poker, but you’re good. What’s your name?”
His unnerving eyes flicked to his, narrowed. Jingyi looked away nervously. Whatever he saw on him must’ve made him think he wasn’t or wouldn’t be a threat, because he flashed a sharp-toothed grin–like he didn’t just look at him with crazy-murder-eyes– and said, “Xue Yang. What’s yours, kid?”
“Lan Jingyi,” Jingyi returned, nodding, peering at the stack of money Xue Yang was currently holding, “you’re stacked.”
“Don’t get any ideas!” Xue Yang stuck his tongue out at him, “I’m using this shit to buy me some McNuggets.”
“All that and you’re gonna waste it on fast food?”
Xue Yang was about to answer, when a hand slammed down on the stable. It shook, rolling on its uneven legs–a couple bills fluttered to the floor. His cocktail bounced, the glass shaking. Jingyi jumped back.
“Oh, please, are you fucking kidding me? This hustlin’ kid, good? He’s a lying cheat, I say. Ain’t no one can win that many times in the row with such luck,” it was the smoker from earlier. He surged forward, knocking over a folding chair before grabbing Xue Yang and bodily lifting him out of his seat and slamming him against the adjacent wall, “how the hell did you rig the card pile, asshole!?”
Xue Yang’s face went sharper, his eyes glinting in the shadows, his ever-present smirk could cut through glass. He looked toward Jingyi, “what a sore loser, huh? I didn’t act like this when I lost mario kart as a kid. Daddy not love you enough, or something? Don’t take your issues out on me, humpty dumpty.”
“You–! How dare you fucking speak to me that way, you mangey brat. Answer me!”
“Your breath smells,” Xue Yang said simply. Then–came a shower of glass.
Quick as a whip, Xue Yang grabbed his cocktail glass, and, without preamble, slammed it on the side of the guy’s head. Shards went everywhere, rolling over the table, pelting Jingyi in the chest, falling like snow onto the wooden floor. The single, obligatory umbrella in it gently flew to the ground.
The guy holding Xue Yang reeled back with an audible, pain-filled yell–he sounded like he was in his death throes, and he was only hit once.
He tripped over a chair, landing on his ass. Xue Yang cackled as he dropped to the ground, snatching up as much as he could of the money, stuffing it deep into his pockets.
The guy got up again and rushed forward with a cringe-worthy battle cry. Xue Yang looked delighted, stepping aside and flipping the table over onto the guy as he passed the place Xue Yang was standing. With a deafening crack, the wooden table split in half as it hit, and Jingyi yelled, “holy shit!”
Xue Yang whooped like a mad man, dodging another clumsy fist thrown at him from the walking sack of lard–the way he moved looked effortless, not graceful but quick and dirty, staying low and on the defensive. He obviously had experience in fighting, could take a guy more than half his weight and a half head taller on tipsy, and he was laughing like he was enjoying it.
His foot collided, solidly, right in the middle of his solar plexus. The impact sent him flying into another table, landing so harshly on top of it he fell right through, sending two cocktail glasses airborne. The impact sounded like the noise it made when you slam your toe into the corner of a chair–except a lot louder.
Jingyi had to wince at that–he knew first hand how painful a kick like that was, straight to the chest. It had happened to him once, when he was beating the shit out of someone who was hassling Jin Ling–they had been wrestling each other in the middle of the hallway, Jingyi’s mind clouded by anger because of something the fucker said, and the guy’s inferiorating Gucci boots slammed his solar plexus so hard he got punted head first into the 6th grade lockers. That was how Jingyi got his first concussion, and how Jin Ling learned to throw an effective right-hook.
“What the hell are you waiting for, kid? Grab the money and let’s bounce! Go, go, go–oh shit!”
The guy managed to get up to the ground, and for some fucking reason, he was able to pick up one half of the broken table and hurl it at Xue Yang like a flying disk. It whizzed past his head, the man throwing himself into the wall absolutely cackling as the flying death machine splintered against the cement floor.
The Cigarette smoker’s ire now turned onto Jingyi, he scrambled to his feet and grappled for the remaining bills crumpled on the ground. A shadow appeared over him, like a storm cloud secluding the sun, and acute fear froze Jingyi’s limbs.
Just as he thought he was thoroughly finished, dead, that his dad would get a call from the morgue while watching The Golden Girls reruns, thinking his son was at the Library like some disney movie nerd and would have to plan a premature funeral–but then Xue fucking Yang was soaring through the air like a rabies infested, wild animal, latching onto the budget Hulk and sending them both tumbling over the bar counter.
The Bartender kept cleaning his glass. Like none of that was happening. He could respect that line of thinking. He, too, wished he was at home, maybe also watching The Golden Girls reruns.
Jingyi shoved about ten bills into his pockets, keeping an eye out on the bar. He saw Xue Yang grab a glass of Bourbon off the wall and slam it like a bat onto the guy’s face. Arms blocked it, and Jingyi was glad for that, because with the force of the blow, how glass scattered everywhere, there was a chance a spiky haired rat demon swinging a bottle of Bourbon like it was a baseball bat and he was trying to hit a Home Run for his local league in the championship round would have been his last sight.
The guy stumbled over the bar and went down like a ton of bricks, and Xue Yang leaped over the wood and tripped to a stop right next to Jingyi.
He grabbed Jingyi’s arm and yanked him up, so fast it made him dizzy. Xue Yang"s face was flushed and manic, blood sluggishly leaking from a shallow cut right on his hairline, lips pulled into a blade-sharp smile, eyes bright and wholly alive. Jingyi recognized it as the look you got while adrenaline was pouring through your systems during a fight–though, for Jingyi, it never made him happy, he never laughed when he got into a fight, it made him angry.
Xue Yang seemed like he was having the best night of his life.
“C’mon, kid, unless you wanna be minced meat by that fuckhead over there! Fucking run, shit, guy’s getting up– Motherfucker, I said run!”
“I’m running, I’m running, holy shit–! Where the hell are we going!?”
He and Xue Yang dashed madly up the stairs, the sound of angry profanities following their wake, through the crowds of people, across the dance floor. They were playing some metal song on the second floor, the guitar strumming heavily over the speakers. They crashed into more people that ran past, jostling dancers and drunkards, getting pissed off looks as they ran like their asses were on fire toward the exit.
Just before he reached the stairs, Jingyi saw Zizhen lingering by the edge of the bar, phone in hand. Their eyes met, and Jingyi would have stopped when he saw the worried, guilty, sad look in his eyes if not for Xue Yang’s grip on his arm. His friend made to follow him, but Jingyi tried to send him a coherent, I’m not being dragged out to be murdered and end up on a true crime episode, don’t worry! Smile and accompanying thumbs up. He wasn’t sure he was able to accomplish it before the maniac was dragging him, willing or not, up the stairs.
“Sorry to interrupt whatever the fuck we’re doing, man, but do you even have a car!?”
They slammed through the door and into the parking lot. It was packed full with vehicles, with a few too-drunk-to-stand people loitering by the wall of Cheers.
Xue Yang brandished a pair of keys to him, wiggling them so the chain made little clinking noises. Attached to the keys was a sparkly keychain with a single letter, M.
Xue Yang’s name did not start with an ‘M’. It was not Xue Yang’s car.
“...those are not the keys to your fucking car,” Jingyi said, wheezing like a broken radiator.
“Nope!” Xue Yang replied, cheerfully, “but they are the keys to our ride out of here! Less you want me to leave you here, which I’ll have to ask you to give me the money you picked up off the floor, then.”
Jingyi looked back at the club. Saw the man chasing them, raggedly standing at the entrance, hands braced on either side of the door frame and decided he would rather take his chances with a mad man and a stolen car than with Mr. Juggernaut over there.
“Yeah, no, I’m good, you’re my impromptu chaperone,” Jingyi choked out.
Xue Yang pressed the unlock button on the keypad, and some car in the middle of the lot beeped to life, its tail lights blinking orange onto the asphalt. It was a periwinkle, old model Chevy Malibu, with a rusted rim and absolutely atrocious tires.
Jingyi hadn’t gotten to put his seatbelt on before they were peeling out of the lot. He had always thought that car chases, cliche noise of tires squealing against the road as the main character in an action movie pulled out of an enemy camp in slow mo was exaggerated–but. But.
The tires squealed along the asphalt, carving black streaks into the lot. Xue Yang spun the wheel like a mad man, hand gripping the stick shift so hard his knuckles were white. Jingyi was pressed into the side door, flailing out for something to hold on to as he screamed out of the parking space.
They came to a stop, panting heavily. It was dead silent. Jingyi slowly clicked on his seatbelt.
A thump sounded by his ear. Cigarette man pounded his palms onto the window, screaming, spewing spittle onto the glass.
“That’s my car! My fucking car! You fucking bitches, you fucking cunt rags, get out of my fucking car or I swear to fuck–”
Xue Yang slammed on the gas pedal, and they went speeding off toward main street. Jingyi watched the figure of the raving man and the Cheers lounge disappear from the back window and wondered how the hell he got himself into this.
(He blamed Zizhen for leaving his ass alone.)
“I think that was pretty fun. My life’s been lacking excitement and shit. S’ been boring, especially with those two fucking assholes patroling my life. Ugh,” Xue Yang groaned, hand tapping a beat out against the stick shift, “not that I care, but for the sake of asking, how about you, kid?”
They had somehow. And emphasis on somehow– made it safely past Main street and further into town. Jingyi was pretty sure his life had flashed before his eyes multiple times in the span of ten minutes, and now. He was in a stolen car. With a maniac who thought throwing himself at homicidal gamblers was fun. Who was most likely drunk.
He was in a stolen car.
All those mandated anti drunk driving videos he’d had to watch in health class could have never prepared him for this. A person under the influence asks you to get into the car with them? Just say no!
Yeah. What was the protocol for getting chased out of a club by someone who could crush your skull between his meaty hands like a grapefruit and kinda-sorta-maybe wanted to kill you, and your only choice was to get into a stolen car with an insane gambler?
He would have to ask his old health teacher.
His partner in crime pressed a button on the radio, and some calm, soothing, jazz music sang out into the atmosphere. Jingyi stared. Xue Yang scowled. He punched the radio again, and it changed into another station–Jingyi recognized the new music as a Mother Mother song.
Xue Yang hummed, “better.”
“Well,” Jingyi stammared, watching the lights of a grocery store fly by, “I definitely didn’t expect my night to turn out like this. Riding in a stolen car. With someone who threw a guy into a table. Honestly, when I get over the shock, I’ll probably think it’s a little cool, and I’ll be able to laugh about it in the future. Is he gonna press charges?”
Xue Yang laughed–it wasn’t his hyena laugh, it was lower and more natural. Jingyi peered at him curiously. There was a downtrodden sadness to his eyes, swimming above the anger and cloudy drunkenness.
“Nah,” he shrugged, switching the gear of the car, “he was gambling illegally, if he brings this up he’ll just end up getting thrown in jail for that. Moron. Ughhhh, I’m so drunk that I’m still thinking about that fucker’s moral lessons n’ shit…man. I’ll return the damn car. Leave it outside the station or something.”
He kept mentioning someone–under the guise of insults. Jingyi wondered who they were.
“I’m sure as hell not going back to them tonight. I want McDonalds. Hey, kid, you want McDonalds? I’m feeling charitable. My treat. Nothing over ten dollars, or I’ll kill you.”
Jingyi, honestly not knowing whether that was a very real threat or not, nodded hesitantly. He traced the smudges on the window with his finger, “dude. I can so go for a McFlurry right now.”
Xue Yang smirked that knife-sharp grin again, and Jingyi wondered if he sharpened his teeth, or if they naturally looked like they could tear someone’s throat arteries out.
They ate McDonalds in an empty parking lot. Void of people, under the single street light in the vast expanse of the asphalt oasis. They were both perched on the hood of the vehicle, Xue Yang, guzzling nugget after nugget, and Jingyi, enjoying his ice cream. It was quiet under the night sky, almost lonely. Jingyi was very much creeped out by the darkness, happy they were under light, but Xue Yang made him feel better not because he was comforting, but because he witnessed him body a grown ass man, so he could probably do the same to a demon that decided to fuck around and find out.
“So. Not that I care that a kid like you was in the gamblers den of that stupid club, but I’m a curious. Full offense, you look like a goody goody two shoes with a perfect home life that wouldn’t entice you to go to some broken down place like that. What the hell were you doing there?”
Xue Yang looked truly and totally uninterested, giving the grease stained cardboard box of food more attentiveness than Jingyi himself.
“I dunno,” Jingyi shrugged, voice muffled around a piece of waffle cone. He swallowed before speaking, having flashbacks of family dinners when he dared to talk with food in his mouth, “I wanted to do something fun, I don’t get out much, haha. My friend invited me, he likes clubbing. I decided to give it a try but then…he ditched me. And then I found myself downstairs. And got dragged into your shit.”
Xue Yang howled, slapping his knee. It wasn’t that funny–but he was a bit drunk. Surprisingly coherent for a tipsy guy, but still with enough alcohol in his system to be a bit. Out of it.
“Man, your friend ditched you? Fucking sucks, kid. Make all of this his problem. Get him back for it. Black mail.”
Jingyi wiped his hands on his jeans, “I plan to. What about you? Why were you down there? You seem good enough at poker to get big game at the casinos downtown.”
Xue Yang pouted. It looked absurd but natural on his face, “I didn’t want to be in that broken down place. It fucking smells, and the people suck. But the casinos always kick me out for cheating. The fucker that owns them all–Hua Cheng, the ass, I don’t think he gives a shit about running his own damn business, much less if I count cards– guy’s too busy fucking that pretty boy husband of his, but this associate that works for him. Constantly on my ass. It got annoying, haven’t been since.”
“Woah,” Jingyi responded, “I didn’t know there was so much casino lore.”
Xue Yang snorted, “what the hell are you, a genshin player? Never say lore when referring to real life ever again.”
Jingyi stuck his tongue out at him. He jumped when Xue Yang chucked his empty nugget container at the ground. It rolled sadly.
“The dumbasses I live with also constantly get on me for gambling. They’re so self righteous it’s annoying. I stopped for a little bit, but thats the last time I let them control my fucking life. Ugh.”
“My Baba does the opposite,” Jingyi mused, “he doesn’t mind what I do if I at least tell him I’m leaving, so he doesn’t freak out. He usually lets me do what I want. I am a legal adult– technically.”
Xue Yang made a noise–not necessarily positive or negative, just to show that he didn’t ignore him. Jingyi found himself peering at him from the side–he was honestly an enigma, super, super strange. He spoke in a way that didn’t give away much about him, and if he weren’t under the influence, Jingyi doubted he would give away anything at all–he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who liked strangers. But here he was. Basically kidnapping Jingyi, escaping a homicidal guy who was pissed at them, speeding down a highway, and then stopping at McDonalds and acting normal with the lady over the drive-thru speaker.
As much as Jingyi regretted listening to his dad, regretting going out and living his life outside his house for once, he was pretty cool. Just a little bit of an ass, but so was Jin Ling, and they hadn’t killed each other yet. Which. Counted.
For something.
Maybe.
“Hey, kid, you have your license?”
Jingyi, pulled out of his inner thoughts, perked up at the question, “yeah. I do. Don’t use it much though, I live in the inner city, so I just take the bus or subway. Uh…why?”
Xue Yang smirked at him, “have you ever driven a manual? Stick shift?”
“Nope. I have no clue how to drive manual. I don’t even know anyone with a manual car!”
Xue Yang’s grin grew sharper, “do you wanna learn?”
Despite himself, Jingyi was excited by the prospect. He nodded, “where did you learn to drive stick shift?”
Xue Yang shrugged, hopping off of the car hood. He landed on his two feet, only stumbling a bit, striding over to the passenger side. Jingyi hopped into the driver’s seat.
His dad had advised him to get his license, which he did–but he didn’t drive often. City traffic drove him crazy if he was the one navigating it–he’d much rather make use of his metro card.
“Where did you learn?”
Xue Yang peeked one eye open. He reclined against the seat, “I taught myself. Stole cars. Got stumped one day when I copped a manual from some guy–I still drove it, but it got busted up. I learned pretty quickly.”
Somehow. That did not surprise Jingyi.
“Actually, damn,” he groaned, “I should be responsible and go see if there"s an instruction manual in the trunk.”
Xue Yang paused after that, screwing his face up like he smelled something particularly awful, before scoffing and shaking his head like he was disappointed in himself.
He left, slamming the door so hard the car rattled. Jingyi surveyed the controls while wondering why he was so full of rage. Rabies was fatal to humans if not treated properly, why was he so feral? It was mystifying as much as it was awe inspiring. Jingyi aspired to be as unhinged.
Curiously, Jingyi ran his fingers over the stick shift. To him, it looked like a rubbery mountain–the material worn and old at the top from oils and sweat. There weren’t any labels, which was to be expected. Lan Xichen had a Subaru–Jingyi remembers his father pouring over articles about safe cars. Theirs was the kind of car with the fancy new, no key ignition thing, and instead of a stick shift all you had to do was press a button. Pretty cool, pretty futuristic.
He stared at the stick shift. It looked as though the car would go forward if he pressed on the gas pedal.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to press down on the gas. Then, the sound of a very loud, very startling noise broke out–it was the trunk closing– and Jingyi jumped out of his skin.
And pressed down on the gas.
Very hard.
The car lurched backwards.
There was a big, ominous thump and Jingyi pulled his leg off–forehead almost slamming into the dashboard. Mind blank with panic, he sat ramrod straight with his hands white knuckled on the wheel. White noise burned his ears, and he was only focused on one thing.
He probably hit Xue Yang with a stolen car.
He hit someone. With a car.
“Holy shit,” Jingyi whimpered, sliding down in the leather seat, like the fabric could absorb him into the foam underneath, “holy shit.”
The passenger’s slide opened, and Jingyi watched with wide eyes as Xue Yang climbed in with a visceral groan. There was still dried blood on his temples, and his eyes looked cloudier than they were.
“Uh,” Jingyi said, intelligently, “did you. Did you find the manuel?”
“Nope,” Xue Yang replied, slumping. He brandished a brown bottle of…something and waved it, the mysterious liquid sloshing inside, “I found a beer though.”
Jingyi stared at him. Embarrassingly, after a moment of Xue Yang struggling to get the cap off the bottle without a bottle opener and cursing at it, his eyes welled with tears. His companion looked up, and seemed reasonably disgusted as he looked at Jingyi in his tearful glory.
“Did–Did I hit you with the car?”
Without looking away, Xue Yang popped the cap off on the dashboard. The carbonation in the drink sizzled, fizzing up until a bead of white bulbed over the side and drifted down the stem of the bottle, “...no.”
Jingyi rapidly shook his head, putting his head in his hands, “you’re lying. Oh my god. I hit you with the car.”
“Chill, it was just a little bit.”
“I heard the impact–!”
“You’re literally so dramatic, wow, have you never gotten hit by a car before?”
“What? No–!! Of course not!!!”
“Pussy.”
Jingyi buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair. He hit someone with a car, a car they stole, that he didn’t know how to drive. Both of which are literal crimes.
“Are you okay?” Jingyi wheezed, desperate. He peeked out from between his fingers at the man, who was chugging the beer. The liquid disappeared in four quick gulps. Jingyi was fucking flabbergasted.
After, he winced, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. Jingyi’s soul left his body.
“Probably not. Hey! Change of plans, kid, impromptu driver’s exam. If you take me to the hospital without both of us dying, you pass!” He cheered, looking far too cheerful for a man who was just hit by a car.
“I thought you said it was only a little bit!”
“I lied. Yolo.”
“Also, wise guy, I don’t fucking know how to drive this! You said you would show me, that’s why you were trying to find the goddamn manual! How in the fresh fuck do you expect me to get you to the hospital!?”
Xue Yang rolled his eyes, “trial and error dumbass.”
Jingyi stared as he punched in the address for the hospital into his phone. The google mandated voice told him to take the next right. Jingyi wanted to die.
“Which gear do I switch it to? Xue Yang. Help.”
Xue Yang shrugged, looking out the window, tracing a dick into the glass. Jingyi’s eye twitched, “I dunno. Pick one and try it.”
“We’re both going to die,” Jingyi sobbed as he randomly switched the stick shift to the right.
“And we’ll do it with style!”
“Oh my god, oh my god, which do I–”
“Try the left one!”
“WHY DON’T YOU KNOW WHICH ONE TO USE YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE A MANUAL CAR XUE YANG–”
“Sometimes, sometimes I forget things, Jingyi! I’m also a little preoccupied right–PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD MOTHERFUCKER YOU ALMOST–”
“ARE YOU PLAYING FUCKING GEOMETRY DASH RIGHT NOW?”
“I SAID EYES ON THE ROAD, DAMMIT–I DIED YOU BITCH!”
Arriving at the hospital was surreal.
Limbs shaking with adrenaline, sweat collecting on his forehead, drenching the back of his neck, sticking strands of hair to the sides of his face–as soon as the car came to a stop, all the tension in Jingyi’s body went lax. His arms ached, fingers cramped in their position clutched around the wheel it hurt to pull them away. The bright, red lights of the Emergency sign reflected into the window, shrouding both of them in an ominous, red glow. It seemed oddly empty, the sporadic, hive-like lights of the actual hospital rooms few and far in between. The parking lot was completely and utterly silent.
Xue Yang had curled forward into himself, face pale, eyes clenched shut. His fingers tapped relentlessly against the plastic of the dashboard, and when he opened his eyes, they were glassy and filled with pain.
“Oh, huh. Wow. We didn’t crash,” he mused, “gotta say, didn’t think you could do it.”
“Get out.”
“Haha.”
“Get out, Xue Yang.”
The time between actually going into the emergency room to the time Xue Yang got admitted was a blur. He remembers the man striding up to the tired receptionist like a runway model, not like he had just got hit by a goddamn car. Jingyi could see the exact second she got the news–her face dropped, color draining out of it until it resembled the white of the walls, her panic as she typed something into her computer–and then he just. Didn’t see the guy.
The waiting room was very quiet. It was him, another lady, and a man strung out across four seats in the corner with what he assumed was his wife. The chair was massively uncomfortable, and it was because the place was so empty that he had noticed immediately when two men came in–one quite frazzled, the other looking like the human incarnation of a stone wall. They both were hastily dressed, clothes ruffled and uneven, like they threw it on–and they looked tired, though, the stoney one looked fucking pissed–so pissed, that Jingyi shrank deeper into his chair when he saw his expression.
The pair went right to the receptionist, and Jingyi was in tune with himself to catch the word, “Xue Yang”.
How the hell that asshole knew those two was beyond him, but.
“You guys know him?”
Their heads snapped around to him in unison. Jingyi pursed his lips and regretted having the ability to speak.
“Yes, yes, we’re–” The nicer one spoke, large, thick rimmed glasses accentuating how wide and desperate his eyes were, “we do know him. I’m Xiao Xingchen, his emergency contact. Do you know what happened? We got a call and–”
The taller one put a large hand on Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder, and the man slumped into him immediately.
“They said he was in the hospital,” he continued for Xingchen, voice deep and baritone, resonating deep in Jingyi’s bones, “do you, perhaps, know what happened?”
Jingyi pressed his fingers together, laughing nervously.
The taller one narrowed his eyes, and Jingyi’s Brain started to Think.
Two men, one an emergency contact, both looking reasonably worried for a man you would think had no one to care for him because of how he behaved. They were obviously the people Xue Yang was talking about. Chances were the scary one would kill him, but it wasn’t like he could lie.
How do you gently break the news that you accidentally hit someone who is probably maybe close to you with a stolen car after running away from a homicidal budget Hulk out of a dingy gamblers den below an even dingier club?
You don’t.
“I hit him with a car,” he blurted. Immediately, Xiao Xingchen’s face went horrified, and the Scary one’s face went murderous. Not wanting to end up on Homicide, Jingyi quickly continued, “It was an accident. But to be fair, he told me it was only a little bit and I don’t know how to drive a manual car!”
“You…hit him with a car?” Xingchen asked, voice only a hair"s breadth above a whisper, disbelieving.
“I backed into him,” Jingyi confirmed, faint, “I’m. Really sorry. Someone also bashed his head in with something too, though. That wasn’t me! That was uh. Earlier.”
They both just stared at him.
Jingyi wanted to cry. Or die. Or both. He wanted to beat Zizhen for leaving him, for even inviting him to that stupid club, for Xue Yang being a feral moron, for literally everything that happened that night.
A nurse came out then, pointedly looking between them. Jingyi stared at her instead of the pair in front of him, or he may have just started sobbing.
“Xiao Xingchen? You’re the emergency contact for Xue Yang, correct? Oh, and you,” she looked at Jingyi, whose heart jumped into his throat, “you’re the boy who brought him in! I just wanted to let you know he is fine, his injuries have been treated. You may see him if you would like.”
Jingyi gazed up into the fluorescent lights, wondering if they could melt his brains out.
“A-Yang!”
Xue Yang looked fine. Annoyed, a bit drowsy, but he was patched up, and was able to sit straighter than he could in the car. When Xiao Xingchen’s voice rang out, his expression morphed into a full-blown scowl.
“Ughhhh, who the hell invited you!? And Song Lan, too? Really, Big Blind? I’m surprised you didn’t bring little blind with you, bring the entire circus, not just the damn clowns. I forgot you were my goddamn emergency contact, you annoying, overbearing fuckhead.”
Ignoring him, or maybe used to it, Xingchen headed over and crouched by his bedside, placing a gentle arm onto Xue Yang’s shoulder. He, surprisingly, didn’t move away, just glared at Song Lan, who looked even more ticked off than he did in the living room.
“Don’t act so fucking surprised. You fuck off for a week, tell no one where you’re going, and then show up because we got a hospital call because your dumbass got hurt again. What else was I going to do?”
“Decide to not annoy me with you damn presence, Zichen.”
Song Lan rose to his full height. Xingchen leveled a look at both of them, and, like petulant children, they looked away.
From the doorway, Jingyi felt like he was intruding on something private.
Just as he was about to high tail it out of there and wash his hands of all the events of that entire night, Xue Yang met his eyes and grinned that infuriating, knife sharp smirk toward him.
“Hey, Kid!”
Jingyi sighed, exhaustion weighing heavy into his shoulders, “what, Xue Yang?”
“Same time tomorrow?”
Jingyi stopped. Glared. Grabbed the handle of the door, said, “hell no,” and slammed the door so hard the entire thing rattled. As he strode down the hallway, Xue Yang"s high, gleeful cackles followed him.
Before he could make it outside the door, his phone pinged.
From: A-Zhen!!
Hey, Jingyi, I’m so so sorry about tonight. I really wanted to spend time with you and I’m sorry it got ruined, are you okay?? I saw you leave but there was a lot going on. Anyway–when you get this, I just wanna ask, since our time together got cut short, can I take you out another time? No distractions?
And then, another one.
From: A-Zhen!!
Jus to be clear, I’m asking you on a date. A date-date not a friend one!
Giddiness a small inkling buzzing under his skin, all the anger melted away. Those words almost made the entire night worth it, and, despite himself, Jingyi smiled.
Until he realized the stolen car was still out front. And he had no ride home.
If he ever saw Xue Yang again, he was so kicking his sorry ass.
2 months later.
The doorbell rang.
“You said you had an Uncle coming, Uncle Wei?”
“Hmm? I did, I did! My Xiao–Shushu! We recently reconnected, he has two boyfriends! I figured it was about time I invited him to a family dinner! Put a little fear into his good little heart.”
Jingyi rolled his eyes, “you’re weird, Uncle Wei. I’ll get the door.”
An odd sense of foreboding came over him as he settled his hand on the knob. He shook it away–he always felt weird at the obligatory family dinners they hosted.
He swung the door open with a smile, ready to greet the people behind it, but then he saw–
Xue Yang.
His smile fell immediately.
“No.”
The man himself was standing right there, that stupid smirk on his face, the people from the Hospital, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan standing behind him.
“Good to see you too, brat!”
Jingyi put his head into his hands, “you are ruining my life.”
He laughed, Jingyi wanted to bash his own head into the wall and knock himself out for the rest of the evening.
“Man, that’s not fair! Here, don’t worry, I’ll make it better. Because I have such a great story about us for dinner!”
“I hate you. I hate you so much.”