Chapter Text
💚💚💚
This is fucking lame.
This looks so bad.
Not just the alone-against-the-whole-criminal-organization thing, but this interior decoration is so shabby! Bleak furnishings, naked walls with old and flaked brownish paint, boring environment, everything looks so mundane. That much boring should be a criminal offense.
The house is filled with crappy second-hand furniture. And by “filled”, Xue Yang means that an ugly bare minimum has been gathered. He sighs. It’s not always easy to make the right choice, but he’s not the kind who has regrets. He left the gaudy luxury of the Jin’s mansion for this shitty joint. But then, he also got payment for the loss of his pinkie.
That was the one and only time he met the boss. Jin Guangshan. Even when he was recruited, he never met him. That guy is fucking unapproachable.
Unless you fail him, apparently. Even in the slightest.
Sure, he could have failed him one more time. Then he would have met him again and would have killed him for good. But of course not, the boss wouldn’t have been alone, and it would most probably have ended with a very tedious death for Xue Yang and Jin Guangshan laughing over his body, since his bodyguards wouldn’t have let a scumbag like Xue Yang get near enough.
This is arguably better.
Apart from the fucking lame house part.
In a fucking lame middle-class suburb.
And probably fucking lame-ass neighbors.
His thicker-than-sap parole officer keeps saying that he was lucky Jin Guangshan got preventive detention. That kind of rich powerful guy usually waits their trials serenely in their three story mansion, dozing next to the perfectly blue swimming pool, with a dozen stupid half naked women around. Maybe Jin Guangshan had stomped on the wrong foot, this time. Or maybe Judge Lan is one of those often-quote-never-witnessed incorruptible members of the legal profession. Xue Yang doesn’t care about the reasons. Officer Nie is right: it is a good thing Jin Guangshan is in prison. He needs to pay for that pinkie.
That pinkie that was Xue Yang’s.
Jin Guangshan had no right.
Xue Yang grinds his teeth thinking about that horrendous day. The pain was terrible, but not as much as the self-loathing for not succeeding in keeping quiet, which was neither as engulfing as the hatred he felt toward that petty despicable kingpin who had the audacity to do that to him.
Jin Guangshan had to pay.
So he, Xue Yang, had gathered all the proof and information to make him fall from the golden throne in which he was parading, to be thrown in the deepest pit with junkies and pimps. Xue Yang imagines him quite pleasingly, skin prickling with disgust, mouth turned down in fear, eyes filled with tears at his demise. A giggle almost escapes his throat. Then he forces himself back to seriousness. Yes, Jin Guangshan is in jail. But it’s far from over yet as it is only preventive detention.
Of course the cut pinkie is not the reason Judge Lan has put him behind bars. Xue Yang’s testimony is.
That is. Xue Yang’s promise to come testify at the trial against big boss Jin Guangshan — with probably all of the Jin gang waiting with knives and guns for Xue Yang to get out of the court house.
When Xue Yang, along with officer Nie, made his statement in front of Judge Lan, he thought he had time. He thought that the first thing he would gain out of that was just to have the police off of his back. Him testifying would stay a secret until the trial. So, he would have to keep playing the good dog to his boss and the boss of his boss. He was ready for that.
Neither he nor the officer anticipated that Judge Lan would issue an immediate arrest of Jin Guangshan.
Anyway, Xue Yang is not naïve enough to think he’s safe after all that. That’s why when that stupid gruffly Nie officer gave him the key to this shitty house (a “safe house,” he said), he took it.
He put the overused sport bag containing all of his current belongings on the lame second-hand couch and slouched next to it.
House moving: done.
He had not taken the chance to go get his belongings beforehand. One finger was enough. Getting killed would be highly unpleasant. Especially by these losers. He was surprised Officer Nie gave him said bag with some clothes and toiletries. He was even so surprised he missed the window for a nice joking flirt at that. Anyway, he had tried flirting with him already, several times, and it wasn’t as funny as he thought. Xue Yang had finally concluded that the officer was gay. Mn. A gay cop. It had to fall on him. No fun. Teasing straight cops to rage is so funny.
Thinking about previous attempts with thickheads of the sort, Xue Yang snorts in the lame, deserted house.
It’s rather pathetic, but he is used to “pathetic”. His whole youth could make a stone cry.
His stay at the Jin’s wasn’t meant to last, he had had no delusion about that. Though it had been nice to live in luxury and be able to buy everything he wanted, for a change.
Speaking of which.
Xue Yang opens the worn out sport bag and gets the crispy, flashy-colored package out with a craving grin. Yes. Good thinking, stealing a bag of expensive fancy candies from the Jins before leaving to betray them. Xue Yang gulps three of them in one go, spreading the individual wrappings next to him on the couch. He lays along the back cushion with a sigh of relief. With that bag of candies, even this lousy house feels like home now that he’s safe.
That’s when someone knocks at the door.
Xue Yang jerks forward, guts like ice.
NO.
No. They can’t. Not so soon. How…?
He grabs the knife he conveniently slid in the bag. His knife. His Jiangzai.
Yes, he gave a name to his blade. Anyone who’s got a problem with that, doesn’t have problems anymore.
He’s at the door in a deadly silent heartbeat.
He hasn’t lit up the house yet, the sun filtering through the shutter is still enough. Under the door, he can see two shadows. If there are none others behind, he can probably gut them both. He is fast enough. He has already proved it. Repeatedly.
He opens wide in a large gesture and refrains just in time from jerking the knife forward.
Unless Jin Guangshan now recruits cover models for gay romances as his goons, Xue Yang is in no immediate danger. Jiangzai stays discreetly behind the door while his brain tries desperately to catch on with what the Smiling Wonders are saying.
They’re… greeting him? Xue Yang grabs names: the bright grin is Xiao Xingchen, the more discreet smile, shy maybe, Song Lan. They are his… neighbors? His neighbors? Xue Yang never had neighbors before.
The white t-shirt babbles some nonsense about the house being loved, or something like that. Babbling during which, instead of grimacing awkwardly at hearing that, the other one gazes with disgusting fondness at his husband. Yes, ‘husband’, they told him with sickeningly enraptured looks to each other. Then the dark t-shirt adds his own nonsense about tools for the garden — even though Xue Yang doesn’t have any corpse to bury yet!
Before Xue Yang can find anything to answer to that (but what would he say? Somehow he can't find the words although he knows all the insults), the shiny one goes on again handing him a tin box decorated with half moons and snowflakes. Cookies? They made him cookies? Who do they think he is? Martha Stewart’s fan club?
He finally manages to utter a response:
“Uh…“
Which makes the one named Xiao Xingchen laugh. Xue Yang should be pissed. Nobody makes fun of him and lives to tell the tale (except Jin Guangshan, his treacherous brain reminds him, but he doesn’t linger). He finds himself blushing what can only be a blush of rage even though it doesn’t feel like it. That laugh is probably the nicest sound he has ever heard, and a weird feeling lodges itself in his stomach when he realizes the man is not mocking him, he even apologizes:
“I’m sorry. We are rather crowding you, I feel. And we’re drowning you in words and offers. Maybe we’ll let you settle for tonight? We live in the house next door. Don’t hesitate to come and knock.”
Xue Yang never hesitates to knock but doors are not fun since they don’t cry.
The guy’s face shows the sweetest apologetic smile. As Xue Yang has not yet taken the deliciously smelling box of homemade cookies, Xiao Xingchen shoves it gently to his chest. Xue Yang startles and quickly drops the knife behind the door — hoping they won’t hear the blade planting itself in the floorboard — before backing his hand in front to take the box. He’s ready to snap back that it’s not their business when his new neighbors’ eyes linger on his strange half glove, but none of them ask any question. If anything, they just keep smiling and they nod again as if to… what? Is it a weird religious cult? Are they going to try and recruit him? He wants to snarl at that. They wouldn’t be disappointed with such a recruit! But no. They just turn back and head toward their home, their hands finding each other to hold like stupid magnets.
Xiao Xingchen suddenly turns back to smile and wave at him, and Xue Yang angrily slams the door and pushes the locks.
His heart is pounding.
But why?
He wasn’t in danger.
What just happened?
Well.
He’s got cookies for his dinner. He puts the box on the old coffee table in front of the tired couch.
On second thought, he opens the box and takes one.
As he goes to engulf it (it does smell very good!), he stops mid air. What if it’s poisoned? Would A-Yao really…? Of course, he would. And he perfectly knows Xue Yang’s soft spot for sweets.
The freshly baked smell viciously escapes the lidded box. These guys indeed seemed too perfect to be true… There’s a hint of vanilla and pecan nuts on top of the chocolate fragrance.
Next thing he knows, he nearly melts with how delicious it is! He eats a second one before he’s even finished with the first one (Yes, he’d lose at the marshmallow test, but it is a stupid test anyway.)
Yup. He’s got dinner out of that bizarre encounter.
There’s at least that.
He didn’t have time to buy anything on the way. And he doesn’t know the neighborhood yet. But it doesn’t seem the kind of place with a 24/7 or a junk food joint at the next corner. How do these people feed themselves? Food to go every evening? They sure have the money for it. But it doesn’t seem fitting either.
A leaflet pinned next to the fridge informs him that the market day is on Friday and Sunday mornings. Market, heh? Cooking is not Xue Yang’s most famous asset.
Though, he’s good with knives.
He grins at the thought, but his mind is not quite at it. He feels like he’s been thrown through a portal into an odd extra-terrestrial dimension. He doesn’t fit here. He doesn’t have the codes yet. It’s not like the Jin Gang. It’s not like the streets. It’s not like anything he knows. But Xue Yang knows how to adjust. He’s had to do it his whole life.
He’s just not sure he wants to adapt to that.
He walks back to the door and leans to pluck Jiangzai from the floor. Usually, nothing would drive Xue Yang away from his knife for too long. He didn’t think a common box of cookies would do the trick. It feels good to have it back in hand. He strokes it, as if to apologize for treating it badly. Then he slides it in the back of his jeans and goes back to the couch and the box of cookies. But his throat is dry with candies and biscuits. A beer would be good with that. He opens the fridge. The sad, icy light bathes him.
Empty.
Great.
That cop is not even clever enough to have left him something to drink. All he could offer was “advice”. And what advice! “Nobody should wonder who you really are. Be sure to mix into the neighborhood.” Well, Xue Yang would gladly mix into the neighbors.
What? It’s almost the same, right?
He’s been here for less than three hours and already bored! At least if he could sleep with one of those gay fantasies, he wouldn’t get bored. Maybe even with both of them. Mess up their stupid, perfect couple. It would keep him occupied. Stupid officer Nie doesn’t want a bored Xue Yang. It could end badly.
💚💚💚
The next morning, Xue Yang wakes up with a jerk, breaths short, nape wet with sweat. He needs a moment to remember where he is and why, his hand clenched on Jiangzai under the pillow. The only sounds that reach him are birds' songs from outside and the occasional car passing on the way.
Yes.
Right.
Witness protection.
The lame house in the lame suburb. The over-calmness must have awakened him. His rabbiting pulse quiets itself.
Some light rays paint bright lines on the dusty floor through the shuttered windows. Xue Yang slides the knife back in his jeans and gets up from the couch. He winces. It’s been a long time since he slept on such a bad mattress. Maybe he should have tried the bedroom. He didn’t even visit “his” house. He starts with the cupboard of the open-plan kitchen. Bingo: at least there is coffee! He fills the coffee maker (that’s not even one with pods. Just an old one with filters to fill. No way he’ll get gingerbread flavored coffee or even caramel macchiatos from this stupid machine.) Then he drives his feet to the rest of the house while the coffee brews. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. A door to the empty garage. Xue Yang doesn’t own a car.
Nor friends to invite over to sleep in the second bedroom.
That is… no friend he didn’t betray by testifying against the organization.
His eyes fall to the tin box left on the coffee table.
He didn’t eat it all yesterday. It will go fine with the coffee for a very sugary breakfast. Wait! Sugar! Xue Yang opens all of the cupboards and drawers but no: not a single sugar cube to smooth the bitterness of coffee! He kicks the piece of furniture in retaliation. All he found was some oils and condiments, and an expired package of pasta. He didn’t even think it was possible to reach an expiration date for pasta.
When he pours the coffee in a lame advertising mug, he hears his phone vibrate. It’s a message from his dear parole officer. But he also spots the red and only bar in the battery corner flickering menacingly.
Of course his charger is still in Jin’s mansion.
With a sigh and a sip, he opens the message. Officer Nie informs him that he will receive a package with necessities for his stay in the house: food, cleaning material, and so on. And a list to tick for next week.
Oh, yes, he vaguely remembers the gruff officer saying they would take care of his needs — but the word made him think of the cop on his knees in front of him, and it made him snort, so he didn’t quite hear what it really meant. It seems that it means he will get a weekly delivery of absolutely whatever he wants. Isn’t it great? He should have betrayed people a long time ago!
The cop ends the message by asking him to tell him if anything else is amiss and Xue Yang responds swiftly with the type of charger he needs, before the phone eventually turns completely black.
He swears nonetheless at the now silent and useless object.
The coffee is not lame, surprisingly. Especially with the cookies to sweeten it.
Still standing in the living room, he finds himself turning to the shuttered window of the kitchen. The one facing his neighbors’ house. This window is covered by venetian blinds.
He pulls the cord to open it.
He hadn’t paid attention to the houses when he arrived yesterday evening. His neighbors’ is better looking than his own. He only got an old house with a bunch of flowers on the front (probably tulips; he has seen one once on a tattoo). They’re barely visible in the overgrown grass. Theirs is a somehow ancient house with dark joist framing the creamy walls and white flowers cascading from the first floor’s windows. The garden is not nicely mowed and clipped, it looks more like a sort of tiny forest with some big trees, heavy flowery bushes and a path circulating lazily between them.
Handy to hide and discreetly get to the first floor from outside.
Xue Yang scans the environment, taking notes about the branches near the windows of what are probably the bedrooms and how the garage is a bit hidden from the street. Suddenly, he’s caught in the gaze of one of them. One of the neighbors. Probably the one who was in white yesterday, since he’s still wearing that color. The guy shoots him a devastating smile and hand waves from the upper window, like he just acted normally. Xue Yang feels hot, all of a sudden. He tears himself from his frozen state to awkwardly lift his mug back in salute. Then he takes a step backward to disappear from sight. Waw. Seems like the sun has risen a second time.
He eats the rest of the cookies in the box and washes it with the rest of the coffee.
Okay.
What should he do now?
The microwave oven informs him that he’s been up for less than an hour.
Huh. This day will be long.
He puts the toiletries and towels in the bathroom, the spare clothes in the bedroom’s closet and finishes the candies.
Mn. Expensive and not filled enough, these bags of treats for rich people.
The bell rings and Jiangzai is in his hand. But remembering last night, he relaxes himself and peeks through the shutters. A man in a company’s uniform is standing on his doorstep, jumping slightly on his heels like he doesn’t want to wait. He holds a package.
Ah yes. The delivery.
He puts the knife back behind him and opens to get his package. It’s mostly food. Nothing fresh: rice, canned vegetables, canned dishes, tomato sauce, and more pasta (not perished). He puts everything on the counter, not bothering with filling the cabinets.
No beer. No candy. And nothing to entertain himself.
At least there is a box of sugar for his coffee.
Xue Yang realizes he’s morose.
This is not his usual state. He’s well known for his numerous smiles. Some of them being the last thing that people see.
But chatting and smiling needs to be with people.
It will drive him crazy if he has to stay all day in this empty house. (Some might object that he already is crazy. But not to his face. See mentions of the last smile.)
His eyes are drawn back to the kitchen window and its view to his neighbors’ house.
Yup. He’s going to make friends. “Mingle in the neighborhood,” said officer Nie.