When Xie Lian opens the door to his adorable (and, no doubt, expensive) little cottage, he’s wearing a frilly apron and covered in cocoa powder. Mu Qing immediately stops dead, and has to be bodily pushed inside by Feng Xin.
Xie Lian is wide eyed, and as soon he sees Mu Qing and Feng Xin making a move to come inside, he darts away, leaving them to follow.
“Thanks for coming, I don’t know what happened!” When they enter the kitchen, Xie Lian has already returned to poking at a bowl of something unrecognizable. It looks very solid. Maybe a little sticky.
Mu Qing wastes no time in bodily lifting his friend up and away from the bowl, while Feng Xin takes it and dumps it in the sink, immediately running hot water in an attempt to detach the substance and salvage the bowl. It’s an expensive looking mixing bowl, and it most certainly did not deserve the calamity that Xie Lian has brought upon it.
Mu Qing doesn’t know why he’s starting to feel sympathy for a bowl. He pretends it’s not happening. It’s just safer that way.
“Hey!” Xie Lian pouts, but over a decade of friendship (with some blips) has made Mu Qing impervious to it. Mostly.
“You called us for help,” Mu Qing says flatly. Xie Lian pouts harder. “Making sure you can’t blow up whatever that was you were poking at is us helping.”
Xin Lian is a menace in the kitchen and they all know it. Mu Qing is permanently scarred (literally, there’s a burn scar on his hand) from the fire that singed Mu Qing’s ceiling within a month of starting university, and he’ll certainly never look at instant ramen the same way after eighteen-year-old Xie Lian had managed to congeal it into a glob of solid, bright red sadness.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin make eye contact over Xie Lian’s head. Feng Xin raises an eyebrow. Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but finds himself smiling faintly. Even after all these years, Xie Lian is the same chaotic disaster in the kitchen, and there’s something sweet about that. Even though it does mean that Feng Xin and Mu Qing have once again been called in to rectify the disaster.
“What in hell is this even supposed to be?” Feng Xin demands, stabbing at the mess in the mixing bowl, and Xie Lian sags back against Mu Qing. Mu Qing thinks maybe he should be more annoyed about Xie Lian using him as a makeshift fainting couch.
He’s not.
“It’s San Lang’s birthday,” Xie Lian says mournfully, and even without looking at him, Mu Qing knows that he’s definitely pouting. “I just wanted him to have a nice birthday cake, and chocolate is his favorite! I don’t know why it solidified like that!”
Feng Xin looks from the cake mess, to Xie Lian, and back to the mess.
“And so you called us to… what?” Xie Lian brightens.
“Help me figure it out! You don’t need to do anything, just tell me what to do!”
Privately, Mu Qing wonders what the point of even printing out the recipe and pretending to follow it is if Xie Lian is just going to ignore it as he so clearly has. But that’s not the point.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin exchange a look, and Feng Xin swipes the recipe from the counter, shaking off the flour that’s dusted all over it. Mu Qing holds in a sneeze and releases Xie Lian from his hold so that Mu Qing can lean into Feng Xin’s side, allowing Feng Xin to rest his chin on Mu Qing’s shoulder as they scan the recipe.
“It’s a chocolate cake!” Feng Xin exclaims, scandalized. “This is one of the simplest cake recipes I’ve ever seen!” What he doesn’t bother to do is question how on earth Xie Lian managed to mess it up. That’s always a question that’s better left unanswered. Xie Lian ducks his chin, his ears going pink.
“San Lang likes chocolate!” he protests weakly. “I thought if I added extra cocoa powder…” He trails off. Mu Qing heaves a sigh.
“Xie Lian. You know what happens when you experiment.” And Hua Cheng would no doubt tell him it was the best cake he’d ever had.
He either has a stomach of steel, or he’s a superb liar. Mu Qing has never been able to figure out which.
Thankfully, a quick scan of the counter reveals that all of the necessary ingredients are, at least, already out. It’s just a matter of bowls and utensils, and that, at least, is easily remedied. Xie Lian hadn’t even managed to dirty his cake tins, which need to be greased and floured, but are otherwise unscathed.
Mu Qing relaxes, and against his side, Feng Xin does the same. Nothing is on fire, nothing is stuck to the ceiling, no ambulances have been called, so by Xie Lian’s cooking standards, this will be a breeze.
To his credit, Xie Lian has always been adaptable, and it only takes a minute for him to get over his sulk and join Mu Qing and Feng Xin at the sink. Mu Qing washes, Feng Xin dries, and Xie Lian puts dishes away, or sets them on the counter at Mu Qing’s instruction. With the three of them working together, it goes quickly, and even the poor abused mixing bowl is shining and clean, ready to be used for what will hopefully be a much better cake.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing work together to measure the ingredients, moving around each other in what feels almost like a carefully choreographed dance. It’s the result of so many years spent in each other’s space, probably. Although they don’t allow Xie Lian to measure anything out, because he has a habit of throwing in things he thinks will taste good, rather than following a recipe, they do allow him to mix the dry ingredients together.
When Mu Qing tells him the mixture looks good, Xie Lian beams. It’s adorable.
Once the wet ingredients are added, Xie Lian brightens even more. The cake batter actually looks like batter this time, rather than a brick, and that in of itself is an accomplishment.
Feng Xin presses a kiss to Mu Qing’s cheek as he moves around him to put the used ingredients away, and Mu Qing spares him a soft look, because although he doesn’t want to look away from Xie Lian pouring the batter into the greased and floured cake tins for too long, Feng Xin’s affection does deserve acknowledgement. Feng Xin’s answering smile is like the sun, and even if looking away meant that some of the batter ended up on the floor, Mu Qing is certain that a little bit of cleanup is always worth that smile.
While Mu Qing puts the cakes in the preheated oven and sets the timer, Xie Lian and Feng Xin start the dishes. Watching them wash dishes and flick soap bubbles at each other makes something warm swell in Mu Qing’s chest - when he’d met them at fourteen, loud and ridiculous and unexpectedly willing to add the new kid to their team in a pickup basketball game, he never could’ve predicted that the two spoiled boys would grow into these incredible, self sufficient men. Men who can do their own dishes and their own laundry, who are bold and brilliant and unafraid, who have been through hell and come out stronger on the other side.
He especially never could’ve imagined that they would end up here, together. After all, they had argued nonstop as kids, Feng Xin and Mu Qing especially, and Xie Lian had always wound up as the peacemaker in the middle of them. And then Xie Lian dropped out of university after only a few months and then fell completely off the map, and Feng Xin and Mu Qing had to figure out how to be friends without Xie Lian holding them together. And then when they were twenty, there had been Jian Lan’s pregnancy scare and the breakup that followed, and Mu Qing had spent months helping Feng Xin through his broken heart and (stupidly) falling in love with him. And then, nearly five years ago now, there had been the drunken confession at Feng Xin’s twenty-second birthday party, where Mu Qing, painfully sober, had pushed Feng Xin away and bolted, only to return the next day to deliver his own confession (and had won himself a partner in the process.)
Xie Lian had been gone for most of that, but two years ago, when he came back into their lives with Hua Cheng in tow, a little worn, a little weathered, but still their brilliant and beautiful Xie Lian, they had fallen back into their old rhythm, with a few adjustments for the better.
Watching Feng Xin and Xie Lian get into a mini water fight now, Mu Qing smiles to himself. And then breaks up the water fight, because while he’s not unwilling to clean up their messes, he does draw the line at drying off the entire kitchen.
Even with the temporary distraction of the water fight, there are still fifteen minutes left on the timer once the kitchen is clean. The decision to remain in the kitchen for those fifteen remaining minutes is an unspoken one, prompted by Xie Lian hoisting himself up to perch on the counter, swinging his legs lightly. Mu Qing leans back against Feng Xin, and Feng Xin wraps his arms around Mu Qing’s waist like a warm, soft seatbelt. Xie Lian beams at them, and Mu Qing feels his face heat.
“You two look cozy,” Xie Lian says, sugary sweet. “It’s cute.” Feng Xin’s chin lands on Mu Qing’s shoulder, and Mu Qing only just resists the urge to shrug him off. Xie Lian looks like he’s holding back a coo.
“Mu Qing is warm,” Feng Xin says, and he sounds smug. “Nice for holding.”
“What am I, a stuffed animal?” Mu Qing gripes without heat, and Xie Lian laughs, hopping off the counter to plaster himself to Mu Qing’s front.
Mu Qing won’t tell Xie Lian, probably ever, but it’s nice to be in the middle of a best friend sandwich. Xie Lian’s hair smells nice and Feng Xin’s arms are strong and warm, and if they were lying down instead of standing in Xie Lian’s kitchen, Mu Qing could easily fall asleep like this.
As it is, he closes his eyes and tips his head back until it lands on Feng Xin’s shoulder. Xie Lian makes a contented little noise. Feng Xin sighs happily.
It’s only the shrieking of the oven timer that prompts them to break apart, Mu Qing taking charge of testing the cakes with a toothpick and then setting them on racks to cool, shooing Feng Xin and Xie Lian out of hot-pan-burn range. He doesn’t ask them to wait for him, but they do, lingering a safe distance away until all of the cakes are cooling and Mu Qing can trail them to the living room, where they collapse on Xie Lian’s fancy sofa. It looks perfectly in line with the cottage style of Xie Lian’s entire house, but there’s no doubt that this sofa, as with everything else in the house, is eye-wateringly expensive. Hua Cheng spares no expense when it comes to spoiling Xie Lian, and Mu Qing has never bothered to ask how he makes his money. He doesn’t want to know.
Mu Qing tucks himself into Feng Xin’s side, and Xie Lian slings his legs carelessly across both of their laps.
“Thanks for coming,” Xie Lian says, pulling a fuzzy red blanket off the back of the sofa and cuddling it to his chest. “I want this to be a good birthday for him, y’know? He deserves better than a ridiculously expensive, subpar, store-bought cake.”
Feng Xin hums, patting Xie Lian’s ankle with the hand not currently occupied with threading into Mu Qing’s hair.
“You know he’d love this cake even if we let you put that mess in the oven and you served it off the floor,” Feng Xin says, tipping his head to rest his cheek on Mu Qing’s hair. “It’s the fact that you made it that matters. The fact that you definitely won’t poison him is only a bonus.”
Mu Qing smiles faintly. He definitely doesn’t cuddle closer. Because that would be silly.
“Hua Cheng thinks you shit rainbows,” Mu Qing says flatly, and Xie Lian pulls a pillow out from behind his back to fling it at Mu Qing. Gently. “What?! It’s true. Feng Xin’s right, he loves you so much that he even eats your cooking. Putting this much effort and stress into making him a cake? He’ll lose his mind.”
Xie Lian is turning faintly pink. It’s adorable.
“I’m happy for you,” Feng Xin says quietly, and Mu Qing doesn’t even need to look at Feng Xin to know that he’s looking down at Mu Qing with a sappy, affectionate look on his face. Mu Qing rolls his eyes on principle. Feng Xin jabs him in the ribs, before continuing, “you deserve this, Xie Lian. The whole soulmate, life partner thing. You’ve more than earned someone who loves you as much as Hua Cheng does.”
Mu Qing privately agrees, even though he doesn’t say so out loud. Feng Xin is sappy enough for the both of them.
Xie Lian’s eyes go soft, and suddenly Mu Qing finds himself with an armful of best friend, because Xie Lian has removed his legs from their laps and bodily flung himself at Mu Qing and Feng Xin, clinging to them like a child. He’s sitting across both of them, somewhat, his head between theirs and an arm around each of their necks. He resembles an octopus. Just a bit. “Thank you,” Xie Lian mumbles from somewhere in the vicinity of Mu Qing’s shoulder. Mu Qing holds him a little tighter. Just breathing. Neither he nor Feng Xin reply, but they don’t really need to.
To Mu Qing’s surprise, they stay like that until Xie Lian bounds up, declaring that it’s time to frost the cakes. It’s unclear how he’s arrived at this decision, but Mu Qing figures it’s best not to contradict him. He can’t be too far off, and if they have to be sappy and snuggly for much longer, it’s going to get awkward.
Thankfully, frosting involves less steps than cake baking, and so Xie Lian is able to do most of it himself, while Mu Qing and Feng Xin hover, ready to step in and whisk the bowl away at the earliest hint of something going drastically wrong. But even though the frosting turns out a little sweeter than maybe it should be, and even though the actual process of frosting the cake ends with frosting in Mu Qing’s hair and smeared on Feng Xin’s nose, the final product is undeniably a shabby, but fully frosted, cake. It even looks like a cake. It’s very impressive considering where it started.
Xie Lian is finishing writing Happy Birthday San Lang! on the top of the cake in his loopy script while Feng Xin and Mu Qing finish the cleanup when they hear the lock turn. Moments later, Hua Cheng appears in the doorway, and while he doesn’t look thrilled to see Feng Xin and Mu Qing there, the irritation fades quickly when his eye lands on Xie Lian, and he crosses the room to catch Xie Lian in his arms in a few quick steps.
Feng Xin turns away pointedly.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries delightedly, setting the piping bag aside so Hua Cheng can catch him up in a hug, lifting him so that his feet leave the ground. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet! He Xuan promised to keep you busy until I called and said it was safe to come back!”
Hua Cheng swipes his thumb over Xie Lian’s cheek, brushing away powdered sugar that still lingers there, and cups his chin.
“I missed Gege,” he says, and seems to revel in the pink flush that spreads over Xie Lian’s face. It’s as if Mu Qing and Feng Xin aren’t there at all. It feels a little bit like a hint. Xie Lian swats at Hua Cheng’s arm, though it’s clear there’s no force behind it.
“But it was supposed to be a surprise,” Xie Lian pouts, and the glint in Hua Cheng’s eye seems to suggest that he has a few other surprises in mind. Mu Qing and Feng Xin exchange a look.
They know when they’re being dismissed, even if Xie Lian is too polite to say so and Hua Cheng too occupied.
And so they take the hint and say their goodbyes, because as much as Xie Lian loves them, and they him, the same cannot be said for Hua Cheng, and this is his day. As bitchy as he is, he does have the right to enjoy his birthday.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Feng Xin slings an arm around Mu Qing’s waist, drawing him in to kiss his temple. Mu Qing melts into his warmth, turning toward Feng Xin so he can twine his arms around Feng Xin’s neck. Feng Xin lights up, as if it’s the first time Mu Qing has reciprocated his easy affection, as if they’re not celebrating their fifth anniversary this year, as if they haven’t lived together for two years now, as if Mu Qing isn’t wearing Feng Xin’s t-shirt and Feng Xin hadn’t braided Mu Qing’s hair this morning in the bleary hours where Mu Qing has to sit hunched over at least two cups of coffee before he approaches functional.
It’s not that Feng Xin doesn’t know Mu Qing loves him, Mu Qing knows. But Feng Xin is soft, and his heart needs to be handled with care, and sometimes, Mu Qing knows, when Feng Xin sees Hua Cheng and Xie Lian together, with their effusive adoration for each other and shameless PDA, he worries that he’s not enough. That he’s not doing enough to show Mu Qing that he loves him.
Which is absolutely ridiculous, because Mu Qing wouldn’t have stayed with him for this long if he didn’t know that Feng Xin loves him with every fiber of his being. He’s awkward with PDA, but he’s not blind.
“Hey.” Mu Qing tugs gently on Feng Xin’s ponytail, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheekbone. They’re just close enough in height that he doesn’t have to stand on tiptoe, but he does lean most of his weight on Feng Xin. Because he can. Feng Xin closes his eyes, and Mu Qing feels his grip around his waist tighten, just a little. He kisses Feng Xin again, this time on the tip of his nose. “Home?”
Feng Xin nods, releasing Mu Qing so that he can lace their fingers together, swinging their linked hands between them as they descend down the few steps that connect the porch to the walkway, and step onto the sidewalk to begin their journey toward the bus stop.
“Home.”