#fangyang

Because he’s already given her his jacket, when she ran from the dorm to make a test but forgot her raincoat and it was pouring by the end of the day. His coat’s warm and baggy and she likes to pull it over her shoulders like armor. 

Because when they go to study together in the library, he makes sure that the seats by the windows are free because they’re her favorite. Sometimes he even already has all the necessary books and snacks piled in the middle of the table, as if by magic. 

Because Dalei and Yebai poke their heads into her classroom during break and ask her how she’s doing or if she needs anything, and she knows it’s because he asked them to. They wink and smile at her and call her “Little Boss”, even though it makes her classmates talk. 

A mark wouldn’t make any difference, she wants to say. Because how could they not already know? 

“It’s different,” he mumbles, when she points out to him the many ways he’s already staked his claim. Her look demands he explain how, but Yi Yang never does. He distracts her instead, tapping the book in front of them or moving to kiss her mouth. When she feels the ghost of his teeth against her neck, it sends her into shivers. 

He would never bite down without her saying so. But she won’t let him until she understands why he would want to. 

Then she’s wearing the laces from his old training gloves looped around her wrist, only smiling a little bit when Qingqing notices and screeches loud enough to alert the entire classroom. Several of his jackets end up in her closet, making black and gray slashes through the sea of soft pinks and blues. 

And yet his fingers always linger on the column of her throat, as he sighs.

“Then people would know you’re mine.” 

He’s walking her to class the day that the thought hits her, sparking down her spine with an electric consternation. Fangfang stops short in the hall, and it’s only due to his quick pull at her wrist that she avoids causing a collision with her classmates. 

“Be more careful,” he grunts, thumb stroking the joint of her wrist twice before letting go. But Fangfang’s not thinking of anything else in the world, least of all being careful; her eyes search across his face in wonder. 

You’re all over me, she wants to say, but there’s nothing of me on you. 

You want everyone to know I’m yours, because I’ve done nothing to say you’re mine. 

“What the hell?” Situ Feng says bluntly, comic book falling from his hand. Beside him, Qingqing’s eyes bug out so far they might fall into the cup of yogurt she’s won from her boyfriend’s lunch after a truly vicious duel in the middle of the quad. 

  Yi Yang shrugs, sliding into the seat in front of the pair and crossing his arms over the back of the chair. Fangfang waves from the door where she’s helping the teacher repack a box of workbooks. 

Qingqing reaches up to pat Feng’s cheek, eyes still affixed on Yi Yang. “Do you see this, Situ Feng?”

He shoves her hand away, muttering, “Duh, I’m not blind. Yi Yang, what are you doing?”

The other boy cocks an eyebrow, not moving. “I’m waiting for Fangfang.” 

Qingqing and Situ Feng exchange looks of annoyance at his feigned innocence before leaning closer to his face. Slamming one hand on her desk to indicate she means business, Qingqing crows, “Yi Yang, you better explain! What are you trying to do to Fangfang?” 

“Seriously,” Situ Feng says in a much quieter tone, pulling his girlfriend back by the hood of her sweatshirt. “She’s not like Qingqing, she’s a really sweet girl. You shouldn’t do anything to upset her.” 

Yi Yang’s eyes narrow, wishing that his perceived aggression had the same effect on his friends as it appears to have on the rest of the student body. Even now, the student whose seat he has taken hovers a short distance away rather than asking him directly to get up. “Who’s upset? She hasn’t said anything.” 

Qingqing throws herself forward to grab the collar of his shirt, jerking him to one side with surprising strength. “How can she not be upset? Just because Fangfang has too much of a kind heart to say anything about it, how dare you run around with another girl!” Her other hand slaps at Situ Feng’s face again. “The evidence is all over your body! You can see it, can’t you, Situ Feng?”

“I already told you I could, stupid, stop hitting me---” 

“Walking around with love bites on your neck from a mistress, how could you be so shameless?!” 

“Qingqing!” Fangfang hurries over, pulling her friend back into the chair with both hands in a much-practiced motion. “Leave him be, he’s innocent.” 

Yi Yang readjusts the collar of his shirt, smiling towards Fangfang in a way that makes her blush. Qingqing snarls. 

“You don’t have to defend him, Fangfang!” Would kicking him out the third floor window be too soft of a response to such a dramatic betrayal? 

“How could he be innocent,” Situ Feng muses, shaking his head, “when his neck looks like that.” 

Fangfang’s hands grip Qingqing’s shoulders tightly. “Because,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I did it to him.” 

“Eh?” Situ Feng and Qingqing’s heads snap back to stare at her, creating an audible crack in the room. Fangfang’s face is the color of strawberry cream, and she hurriedly drops her gaze to the floor. Yi Yang leans back in the chair with a purposeful nonchalance; Fangfang is sure he’s worn just a T shirt today for this reason, instead of the jacket that curves higher up on his collarbone. 

Unless that is one of the jackets in her closet, and she just overestimates him. 

Her eyes meet Yi Yang’s, relieved at the adoration she finds there. The reverence that he always seems to carry for her feels like slipping into a warm bath at the end of a long hard day; his smile is so soft, even with the purple bruises blossoming on the right side of his throat. 

She’d discovered it was really more of the suction that created the mark, and not the violence of teeth meeting skin. Her first few tries had barely affected his visage. Yi Yang had chuckled upon noticing her disappointment and reminded her that she could practice all she wanted until she was pleased. 

“Why--who--” Qingqing’s head whips back and forth dramatically between her best friend and her best friend’s boyfriend. “Fangfang!” 

Situ Feng leans over and stage whispers. “You know what they say. Even a kitten becomes a tigress when provoked…”

“Who says that?! What provocation?!” Qingqing stands, almost knocking Situ Feng out of his chair. She grasps Fangfang’s hands tight and pulls them to her chest. “Fangfang, what could have made you so bold?” 

Her smile is bright, boldened by the laces peeking out of her sleeve and the sight of her boyfriend’s thumb tracing the mark on his own skin. 

He could never blame Fangfang for anything in the first place. But either way you look at this, it's his fault. Mr. Zhang had met him at the mailbox with that cheerful smile that Lin Yiyang still doesn't totally believe is meant for him, and so he didn't ring the bell to go in. Maybe Fangfang even assumed it was her father coming in through the front.

The volume on her laptop was turned up too high for her to hear his approach, too. He can hear the fuzz of the speakers through her door, and recognizes what she’s watching immediately.

"And it's Lin Yiyang with another jab-and-cross, sending his opponent down to the mat - "

Fingers tight on the doorknob, Yiyang's heart plummets to the carpet between his slippered feet. Any smug feelings he might have, that she's curious enough to seek out recordings of his old matches, are thoroughly smothered by the dread of knowing what comes next.

The other part of why this is his own fault.

Cheers, mainly students but also some professors. Loud, but not loud enough to drown out his own roar of victory. The referee whistle, sharp and punishing, does nothing to stop Lin Yiyang from jeering at at his opponent. A litany of insults, curses, and taunts that resulted in a two-match suspension that semester.

Buzzing fills his ears, as his face reddens with shame. Even if the words don't shock her (which they probably will, since he doubts her family swears, and Qingqing might be a little firecracker but not ever towards Fangfang) then the sheer anger in his voice will. It's the fury of a man who gains no honor from winning; but simply wants to see someone else (anyone else) wearing his own unbearable pain.

Even though he isn't drowning in that grief now, Yiyang can still feel it following him like a shadow. When he's had a particularly stressful day at the coffee shop, or Xinya texts him complaining that they never speak anymore...

Fangfang always seems proud, that he doesn't let the past swallow him up. But he never wanted her to hear this version of it - the person he was a mere month after Xinyu's death.

If she had met him back then, she wouldn't have seen anything good to save. He wasn't pulling new students out of school swimming pools, and lending jackets to the collateral damage of his henchmen's stupidity, back then.

And now she knows that.

Sweat beads down his neck. He faintly registers that he's breathing shallowly, before a gentle tap on the elbow startles him.

"What are you doing, standing outside the room like that? You poor boy." Mrs. Zhang blinks at him fondly before rapping the door with her knuckles. "Fangfang, come downstairs. Lin Yiyang is here!"

The chatter of the video stops abruptly; her desk chair squeaks, and he wishes he could run down the stairs before she has time to open the door. Except Mrs. Zhang is still by his side, winking like they're in cahoots, and he doesn't want to be rude.

When Fangfang steps into the hall, their eyes meet. The top of her ears turn pink, and he feels like throwing up. She knows, and he knows that she knows, and she knows that he knows she knows.

Somehow, they end up on the living room couch with a plate of cut-up fruit sitting between them. His jaw is clenched so hard it hurts and she keeps tangling her hands together in her lap and Yiyang wants to lean over to hold one but he doesn't know if he's allowed, anymore.

Quiet words break the painful silence. "I was trying to learn more about boxing. For when I go to your matches."

"You could have asked me if you had questions." Why is she explaining? Why is he scolding her? It's not like she's done anything wrong. He's the mess, they both know it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fangfang folds her lips inward. It's the classic sign that she's trying to figure out what to say next. The fear of what exactly that will be drags the words out of him like a hook.

"That match...it was a long time ago. I'm not that person anymore. I don't want to be that person anymore." Upon realizing his hands have made fists where they rest against his thighs, Yiyang forces his body to relax. "I'm sorry you saw it."

Fangfang turns her head slightly towards him. "I know."

"Really. I never would have - if I knew it was still up somewhere - "

"Yiyang." It's the voice she uses when she's trying to be polite while also warning him not to argue. Usually it makes him melt inside, but today is obviously a different story. "You don't have to apologize."

"Why wouldn't I?" He still doesn't think taking her hand is a good idea, so he settles for crushing a slice of apple in his fist. It'll bother Mrs. Zhang anyway, if she comes back just to see they've left the plate untouched. "I can't do anything to change the past, except be sorry for it."

Fangfang reaches forward to adjust the plate to be dead-center in the table, and selects her own slice of fruit. Unlike him, she brings it up to her lips and nibbles.

Finally, she mutters, "It isn't the past that we'll have together, you know."

His jaw clenches again. "Do you mean it?"

"Do you?" She turns again, trying to catch his eye. "When you say you're a different person? That you'll never act like that again towards anyone?"

He nods, before she's even finished. The version of him in that video would never have wanted, much less accepted Situ Feng's friendship; had no intention to study for exams; could never have dreamed of walking out of a movie theatre with Zhang Fangfang's hand warm against his own.

Fangfang's expression softens. "If you ever feel pain like that in the future, will you come to me?"

For a moment, he wonders how he could. Not because Fangfang isn't understanding, but because of what it might cost in the moment. But then he's reminded of that morning, where he woke in the bar with a sweet-smelling pink coat and a bowl of congee to warm his grief-induced hangover.

She saw him then, raw with pain. And she liked him anyway.

"If you wanted me to, then I would."

He swallows the remnants of shame and turns to face her; it's the right choice, because Fangfang beams.

"Okay."

Blushing a little, she chooses a piece of fruit and holds it up to his mouth, this time. Yiyang saw her mother do that for her father, once; the action sends awe and delight exploding in his chest.

"I'll listen to you all the time, from now on," he finds himself saying, knowing it's ridiculous and yet he can't stop. "I'll tell you anything you want."