“Let’s play a game,” Xingchen says. Song Lan and Xue Yang share a look.

What's a little breaking and entering, between a person and their absolute object of affection? And who would take a gift horse in the mouth by walking away when the opportunity presents itself so beautifully, so perfectly, so temptingly, so- you get the idea. Or do you?

Xiao Xingchen’s other hand comes to rest on Xue Yang’s shin above the one already rubbing circles into his skin. “Ah,” he says, low and pleased and pitched for Song Lan’s ears as well as Xue Yang’s. “He likes you, little fox.” The sharp thing in Xue Yang’s chest settles warily. He does not, for the moment, ask what would your boyfriend not liking me look like? or: sometimes a gremlin goes out to get laid and picks up more than he bargained for

When Song Lan comes back to the dorm room for the evening, he finds a present on his bed wrapped up just for him.

Song Lan likes Xue Yang, obviously. Song Lan likes folding laundry too. Xue Yang is not sure where he ranks in Song Lan’s likes, along the scale from folding laundry to Xiao Xingchen.