PICK ME UP (DON'T BE LATE) by katocchi
synopsis: But that's what Yiyang is so scared of―if it's easy to make the jump from platonic to romantic, it's just as easy to make the jump from friends to strangers, so he'll stay here in this emotional limbo if it means that she'll stay the center of his universe.
Credits scroll across the TV, signalling the end of yet another movie he spent distracted by the minute shifts in Fangfang's expressions. A part of him feels bad. She'll want to talk about the plot over lunch tomorrow, which means he'll have to re-watch the movie and actually pay attention before then, but in his defense, who can focus on the on-screen actors when someone like Fangfang sits at the other end of his couch?
She stretches her arms, then sinks into the cushions with a content sigh. "I liked that one. Qingqing found it boring, so I didn't have my hopes up, but she might've been impatient with the slow build-up." She looks at him, amusement tugging at her lips. "They're similar in that aspect, her and Situ Feng. No wonder they gave it bad reviews."
He nods because, as he learned from experience, the best way to make it through post-movie conversations is to agree with all her points until he has the chance to do his homework. Satisfied with his answer, she slips out of their shared blanket and clears snacks off his coffee table.
"It's getting late," she says, smoothing out the chip bags and rolling down the tops. "I should head home after we clean up."
Yiyang plucks the bags from her hands. "You haven't eaten," he points out. She stopped snacking halfway through the movie as usual, always careful to avoid an upset stomach, and while he usually pushes her to give into the cravings, he's grateful for her habit now. He keeps his voice even, flat with nonchalance as he asks, "Do you want to stay for dinner?"
She pauses before smiling up at him. He didn't sound nervous, right? Desperate? Why do all his past experiences with girls fail him when he talks with Fangfang?
"Thank you, but it's alright."
"I'm not asking out of courtesy, y'know."
I'm interested in sharing a meal with you. In having movie nights on Fridays. In walking to classes together. In taking walks around the city with linked arms. In you. She takes the trash into the kitchen, and there's something about the ease of her movements―how domestic, he chokes at her familiarity with his apartment. He nearly drops their mugs. Matching bear ones she found on clearance, which only adds to the adoration swelling in his chest. He hopes she doesn't notice the food he's been keeping warm in the oven.
"Thank you," she says again as he deposits the mugs and bowls into the sink beside her, "but I'm spending the weekend with my parents, so they want to eat together. Speaking of which, are you busy tomorrow? They invited you over for dinner. Do you want to come?"
And how can he say no when she looks at him like that? She doesn't even realize that she's leaning onto her toes, waiting for his answer. He tucks stray hair strands behind her ear, relishing in how she doesn't dodge his touch.
"Of course." He snags his leather jacket from the wall and swings it around her shoulders. "Let's go, I'll give you a ride home."
He'll try again another time.
The tickets are gone.
Yiyang pats his pockets down for the third time and, just in case, rummages through his bag to make sure they didn't end up with his books. Really? Really? He growls, slamming his palms on his desk. The idiots just got him the tickets this morning, and he already lost them?
"Oi, have you two seen the...the surprise?" His gaze flickers to the classroom door. Fangfang is supposed to meet up with him any minute now, and the last thing he needs is for her to walk in and ruin the plan he's been developing for weeks.
"You mean the limited, sold-out tickets you bought to ask Lady Boss on a date?" Dalei wonders, only to be roughly elbowed in the side by Yeban.
"Dummy," he hisses. "We're not supposed to talk about him liking Fangfang!"
Yiyang exhales sharply, resisting the urge to pinch his nose bridge. He is so close to knocking their heads together. If they weren't useful and somewhat endearing to have around, he would've ditched them a long time ago. Or would've tried to, at least; they're loyal to a fault, but he supposes that's the trait he appreciates the most.
"Yes, that surprise."
"I haven't seen them since we passed 'em over," Yeban says. "Did you drop them in the bathroom?"
"Or on one of the lawns?"
"Maybe somewhere in the hallways?"
"Oh, what about the student council room where you were talking to Gu Nanxi?"
"Wait, maybe―"
Yiyang leans back in his seat as they bounce possibilities, scowling at the fact that this is happening. Sure, he can just go to the staff and ask them to reprint tickets from his receipt―or even buy resold tickets at ridiculous prices to avoid the embarrassment―but it took him a while to finally decide on an outing that'll make Fangfang happy without being so financially overbearing that she'll feel bad and say no. (He still gets shivers from the cafe incident.) The worst part was that he had to get advice from Nanxi. Nanxi, the sly fucker. Infuriating with that soft demeanor and that all-knowing smile and that scheming look in his eyes whenever Yiyang stands by Fangfang. Yiyang swears that one of these days―
"Lin Yiyang?"
His chair clatters as it falls onto four legs again. At the door, the unfamiliar girl knocks a second time, expression brightening when she catches his attention.
"Lin Yiyang, can we talk privately?" She motions him out into the hallway. "It'll be quick, I promise."
She turns around and walks out like she expects him to follow, but he stays in his seat. Who the hell is this girl? Who does she think she is? Who does she think he is? Yeban and Dalei share a glance before edging onto his desk, voices lowered.
"How do you know Chunhua? She's pretty and smart and popular amongst the underclassmen, and you've always been popular, too, but we thought you don't talk to the younger grades?"
So they do know how to whisper.
"There was a letter in her hand," Dalei mumbles, letting the words turn over in his head before gasping, a hand over his heart. His shoulders melt as he sighs. "Do you think she's here to confess to you? How romantic."
"Tch, don't even joke about that! The other girls can try all they want, but Fangfang is the only one I'll recognize as the Lady Boss," Yeban snaps. Yiyang wonders when she won them over. "Do you want me to go out and reject her? Cuz...I'm single, too, and she's cute."
Yiyang gets up, hip-checking the table hard enough to jostle their elbows. "Go away and look for the tickets," he says. "I'll go see what she wants."
Yeban raises his eyebrows. "You will? It's kind of amazing, isn't it, Boss? Before this, you were fine with having multiple girls around, using them as you wanted without apologizing, but now you refuse to entertain the thought."
"Even this―going to talk to a random person instead of ignoring them, no matter how important they are or what they have to say." Dalei's expression is warm and appreciative, nothing like the smug smirk of a certain someone, but it irritates him just the same when Dalei asks, "It's Fangfang, isn't it?"
"Yeban, Dalei, say one more thing and you won't make it to your afternoon classes."
"Sir, yes, sir!" Yeban hops into a rigid salute, blond curls swinging against his fingers, and scrambles out of the classroom with Dalei trailing closely behind.
Chunhua, was it? Yiyang can see why the lower-division students like her. Long black hair, simple make-up, and a gentle demeanor that makes her look like a magazine model despite not being dressed up. Something about her reminds him of Fangfang; maybe it's the fact that she looks like a reliable person. The open window behind her casts an ethereal glow, and the sun rays catch on the white envelope in her hands as she plays with the corners. He really hopes that's not what he thinks it is.
He stuffs his fists into his pockets, rocking back on his heels and trying not to run from this conversation. She straightens and barely clears his shoulder, having to step back and look up to meet his gaze.
"I'm Zhao Chunhua," she says first and bends into a half-bow. He nods back. "I'm in Class 1-C."
"Lin Yiyang, 2-B. What did you want to talk about?" He eyes the envelope. It's white with nothing on the outside. Not his name, not hers―nothing that would hint at it being a confession letter. Most letters he's seen―in the brief seconds before he trashed them―had gaudy hearts and cutesy drawings with his name in flowing calligraphy. He never reads love letters because he knows the senders will be rejected regardless of what they wrote. Fangfang, her kindness being both a blessing and a curse, tries to read and keep all of them out of courtesy. God.
Amidst his musings of burning the box Fangfang keeps her letters in, Chunhua offers the envelope to him with both hands and a soft, "I think this is yours."
He shakes his head, stepping back. "It's not mine. Besides, I have..." He trails off before clearing his throat. "I have someone. Not yet, technically, but I will if she says yes, so I can't accept this." And before he accidentally makes this girl cry in the middle of the hallway, he spits out a gruff, "I'm sorry."
Her brow furrows. "What do you―oh!" She looks at him, then down, then back at him, not bothering to hide her laugh. "I saw these fall out of your pocket earlier. I put them in an envelope because it's neater. Gosh, I wouldn't―not saying that you're not cute because you are, but I'm not into the bad boy type. My friend is, but it seems like you're set on someone already."
He takes the envelope, flicks open the flap, and there they are: his tickets to the temporary art exhibit at a place so small and exclusive, he was surprised to hear about it from Nanxi. A place whose entry prices are so high, Fangfang won't be able to find them online. (So he lied about the financial overbearing part. Sue him. At least he can lie about the cost this time.) Art pieces inspired by love poems that include Pablo Neruda's. They're a little rumpled, sure, but the sight of the tickets makes the tension in his stomach fade.
But because he's Lin Yiyang and nothing ever goes his way, the thank you dies in his throat as he raises his head and sees Fangfang's confused face over Chunhua's shoulder.
Okay, so this looks bad; he knows that. He rarely talks to other people, yet here he is, leaning close to another girl as she hands him something that even he thought was a love letter at first. He can't throw it out, but he also can't tell Fangfang the truth about the contents because that'll mess up her birthday surprise, and fuck. Fuck, can anything work out?
Fangfang gives him a curt nod, lips pressed into a displeased line, and walks into the far entrance of his classroom to wait. Really, the thought of her possibly being jealous―and so obviously so―should be elating, but all he feels is the cold weight of her annoyance settle in his stomach, and he doesn't remember what he says to Chunhua as he stumbles after his not-yet girl. All he knows is that he'll buy her lunch, he'll take her around the city, he'll do anything to wipe that upset look off her face.
"Fangfang, it's not what it's looks like." The excuses fly out as soon as he steps into the room.
He'll try again another time.
Fangfang enjoys studying on the library's second floor, particularly by the windows because she likes to look out to the lawns during her breaks.
"It's calming," she told him once, chin in hand as she watches the crowds below. Notes spread between them, he wondered how she could focus when he couldn't help staring at her every few minutes. "Makes me glad I came to this school."
When those tables are filled, she pretends it doesn't bother her—really, the middle tables work just as well—but Yiyang catches the fleeting disappointment in her eyes before she steers him to another open space, and seeing Fangfang not happy makes his heart drop.
So, naturally, he does what anyone would do. He starts coming into the library more often, staking his claim over the round table with the nicest view and glaring at anyone who gets close. (Nanxi compares it to a dog peeing over his favorite telephone pole, and Yiyang has about had it with the guard dog comparisons.) This only works without Fangfang present, though. The last time he intimidated a poor kid out of the seat, Fangfang scolded Yiyang on the spot—an echo of another fiasco—and apologized to the student, who had the audacity to flush and call her pretty.
Situ Feng, who happened to be passing by, snickered at Yiyang's shocked face and barely escaped with his life.
Yiyang's glad people got the hint after two weeks. He was tired of spending so much time surrounded by stressed students, but being at a university, he can never really avoid stressed students, can he?
Which is why he's extra irritated by the scene in front of him.
"I think you made a spelling mistake," Nanxi says, leaning over Fangfang's shoulder.
She scans her practice essay but finds nothing in the rows of neat characters. "I'm sorry, where is it?"
Nanxi gets even closer but not before smirking to Yiyang over her head. If there wasn't a risk of hitting Fangfang who sits between them, Yiyang would have no qualms about kicking the student council president straight into finals week.
"That character—you're missing a line."
Yiyang came here to study with Fangfang. Just Fangfang in hopes of getting literacy help and offering to tutor her in math, but then Chen Qingqing spotted her roommate from behind the book stacks and beelined to their table with the most dramatic display of crocodile tears Yiyang has ever seen, claiming that she'll absolutely fail if she didn't walk through advanced readings with Fangfang.
Yiyang couldn't hold back his scoff. He's seen her credentials, almost threatened to leak them at one point. A genius with a dual degree from Harvard by the age of twelve, along with a long list of accomplishments that are too prestigious to compare to his grades. (Sometimes he wonders how she's satisfied with Feng, but then he sees them pull the dumbest stunts and realizes that they suit each other disgustingly well.) But Fangfang took sympathy and invited Qingqing to sit with them, which led to Feng finding them, which led to Nanxi wanting to join in.
If Hua Munian crashes their already-crowded circle of five, Yiyang will not hesitate to jump out of the conveniently present window.
To his left, Fangfang and Nanxi check each other's essays, and to his right, Feng and Qingqing argue over the last bite of smuggled chocolate. Any louder and they'll get caught by one of the librarians. He pushes to his feet.
"Bathroom," he grinds out for Fangfang's sake and represses the urge to bump into Nanxi's chair as he passes.
He had a plan for today: spend the afternoon with Fangfang, note that it's dinner time, offer to take her out, and after he pays for their meal, ask if she'll go out with him again but as a date. A question he's been dodging for who knows how long. That's the issue with their current relationship; it'll only take a few words to change their entire dynamic. They have long-standing Friday hangouts, they work at the cafe together, they share meals at her parents' house and fall asleep watching TV on his couch. Hell, her parents even jokingly call him their son-in-law, clearly winking at him as he helps wash dishes.
But that's what he's so scared of―if it's easy to make the jump from platonic to romantic, it's just as easy to make the jump from friends to strangers, so he'll stay here in this emotional limbo if it means that she'll stay the center of his universe.
Yiyang stares at himself in the mirror. The leather jacket was switched out for a cable-knit sweater, the bad academic habits for responsibility, the hair pomade for natural styles...except on the days he wants to look extra good for Fangfang because she admitted that she liked his hair up. Sometimes he can't believe he's changed so much for a girl, but then he remembers who she is and why he'd rather give all that up than lose her.
Sighing, he makes his way out of the bathroom and nearly rams right into the girl of his dreams herself as she fills up her water bottle at the fountain.
"Hey," he manages, shoulder against the wall to wait for her.
"Hey, yourself." She shoots him a soft smile and twists her bottle closed. He loves it when she's too shy to make eye contact with him, but he loves it even more when she does. "Is everything okay?"
"Of course, why wouldn't it be?"
"Don't lie to me," she murmurs, reaching up to smooth her thumb between his eyebrows. He melts instantly, not noticing the tension until it's gone. Her hand drifts down to his cheek. "Your face gets scrunched up when you're grumpy. Do you want to get some food? I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"Just us two?" He hums, tilting his head into her palm. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees some students whispering, but to be honest, he doesn't really care. He's heard plenty of rumors about how the "alpha wolf was tamed" or whatever and it's not worth his attention.
"Yes. I have my phone and wallet." Unnecessary, he thinks, since he'll grab the bill on his way to the quote-unquote bathroom. "We can leave our things here and sneak out."
"You know they're going to find us eventually. We'd have to go pretty far."
Her smile widens. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're backing down from a challenge. We're just wasting time talking instead of hurrying."
He takes her hand from his cheek and entwines it with his fingers. "Alright, Ms. Confident, lead the way."
This isn't a date exactly, but he's fine with it. Fine with anything, really, as long as it's with her. He nods towards the exit, traipsing lightly behind bookshelves until they make it past the front desk, past the giant staircase, past the green lawn to his motorcycle parked by the wall. Her arms fit around him like puzzle pieces falling into place, head beside his as he revs his bike loud enough to tease the others. He knocks his helmet against hers before racing out of the school gates.
He'll try again another time.
Yiyang hates work sometimes.
He doesn't hate the job itself. He's gotten good at making drinks, able to fill the most complicated orders with his eyes closed, and it helps to have Fangfang as his shift partner. She's neat, efficient, and focused. It was one of his conditions to the cafe owner, who once had the balls to try and separate them by pairing her with a flirtatious newbie. The schedule changed back the next day.
His favorite part about work is spending hours with her behind the counter, letting the conversation unravel and catching her embarrassed squeaks as he reaches around her, arms curling unnecessarily close to grab supplies. He gets to stare as she watches people pass the large windows, chin resting on laced hands, eyes blank as thoughts tumble through her head. (His favorite favorite part is when she can't keep her gaze off of him as he works. He tries not to think about that too much.)
But Yiyang despises work for the pure fact that customers exist. He gets it: the whole point of a service job is to provide service, but he hates rush hours for Fangfang's sake. He's faster at making drinks, so she takes up the register, and the way some people talk to her makes it so tempting to screw with their orders on purpose.
Complaints, though, are nothing compared to harassment. He can hear her quiet protests from the other side of the room and he's mentally swearing at the girl who decided to drop a drink right when Fangfang needs him.
"If you're not interested in anything here, I need to ask you to leave," she says in that gentle stern way she has. Even with his back turned to the counter, he can see her furrowed eyebrows and the way she shifts from foot to foot, trying to hold her ground.
"I wouldn't say that. I'm interested in you, sweetheart," the sleaze replies.
The mop in Yiyang's hands crackles from his tightened grip, but he forces himself to focus on the mess. The girl next to him is still whining out apologies and Why don't I take you out for lunch as thanks? despite his obvious disinterest. Fighting customers isn't allowed, he reminds himself—not that he needs to. The random fight picking stopped after Fangfang insisted on patching him up every time, and the look on her face as she swiped alcohol over his wounds was enough to make him reconsider.
"Unfortunately, I can't say the same, sir. If you aren't ordering anything from the menu, please let the next customer come forward." She sighs.
But then there's a yelp and a strained Sir, please let go of me, and the next thing Yiyang knows, he has his forearm shoved against the man's throat, pressing him into the display case.
"What the hell―"
"Do you know who I am?" And he's glad he has his signature style today because the man takes a good look and mutters Lin...You're Lin Yiyang. "That's right, so what do you think you're doing, putting your hands on my girl?" He presses harder. The man squirms, not bothering to make up excuses. "Don't put your filthy paws on her ever again, do you hear me? Better yet, don't come here at all. If I see you around her again, I won't be so kind."
He steps back, shaking out his arm. The man scrambles through the rest of the line and trips out of the door, and even though there's customers peering curiously at them, Yiyang turns to Fangfang and eases her white-knuckled grip from her apron. She's one breath away from falling over.
"Hey," he murmurs, taking off her work beret to smooth back her hair. "You alright?"
She nods, gulping, and eyes the line behind him. "Yeah, I...sorry about that, I'll get to the other customers."
"No, go to the break room and calm down. I'll handle everything here, close up the shop for a bit, and then go to you, okay?"
"It's not lunch time yet. And the boss—"
"—will be fine with it," he insists. "I'll make sure. You're more important right now."
"You can't handle all of this by yourself."
He gives her a toothy grin. "Sounds like a challenge. Don't worry about me; just go to the back before I carry you there. Depending on how you feel, we can cancel dinner for a night in, if you want."
She squeezes the hands resting on her shoulders and smiles back. "Okay. Thank you."
And as she walks past the curtain, he thinks, So this isn't the right timing either. He'll try again another time.
"I hope you ask her out soon," Feng says before taking a swig of water. The microphone stand is useless when he insists on holding his new mic the entire time. Even now, it's clamped in his free hand instead of the fancy stand he bought last week. "Then we can finally go on double dates. Qingqing's been complaining about how you're dragging your feet, and I'm getting tired of it."
Yiyang scowls, said feet continuing to tap on the drum pedal, bass drum beating out a steady rhythm despite his erratic heartbeat. If Fangfang's best friend thinks she'd go out with him... "I hope you fall flat on your face," he deadpans. He glances at Nanxi. "Both of you," he adds for good measure. "I'm just trying to find a good time. It's a delicate process."
Nanxi snorts and puts down his guitar to sink into one of the beanbag chairs. "That's the first time I heard anyone, much less you, refer to confessing as a delicate process."
Feng nods sagely. "He's right. What are you worried about, her saying no?"
There's a heavy pause before he answers, hesitant.
"Her deciding we can't be in each other's lives anymore, not even as friends." He's grown to be a tough guy, but if there's anything that could send him to hell and back right now, this would be it.
"...isn't that you told her once when you were both in the hospital?"
Yiyang groans. "Let's not talk about that. It's not a big deal and it's not any of your business," he says.
"Alright, alright, we're just warning you: take too long and you risk losing her regardless." Nanxi shrugs, holding up his hands in surrender. "They probably hide it when you're with her—you know, bad boy act and all—but there's a lot of people interested when you're not looking. Like that one guy today, Situ Feng."
"Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you earlier, but I totally forgot! Some dude asked Fangfang out to a movie tonight."
Yiyang's foot freezes.
"Is that why she asked if I had plans?" His brow furrows. "But she's not the type to say yes to random people."
Feng rubs the back of his head sheepishly, and Yiyang's stomach sinks.
"Well, she wasn't interested at first, but Qingqing went on this, ah, rant about 'living a little' and taking chances as they come, so..."
"Your girlfriend, the one who is so convinced that Fangfang and I should get together, is also the one encouraging Fangfang to go out with other people?" He spins his finger near his temple. "Do either of you have brain cells, or did you forfeit your right to think in order to attend university? Here, you pay for tuition with money, not common sense."
Feng's nostrils flare, and Yiyang represses the urge to throw his drumsticks at him.
"You can talk badly about me, but do not talk about Qingqing like that."
"Or what?" He scoffs. "You'll sic your little fangirls on me?"
"Or I'll—hey, stop playing so loud!"
He ignores Feng's annoyance, throwing more power into his drumming, set rattling with the force of his thoughts. He's not stupid; of course he knows people are interested in Fangfang. It'd be more surprising if people talked to her and didn't fall for her charms.
So he lost out to some poser. He'll try again another time.
Or so he told himself, but despite everyone's placed bets, Yiyang is not the one who takes the first step. An average afternoon in the library until it's suddenly not so average.
"Sorry, can you—" He clears his throat before croaking out, barely louder than his previous attempt, "Can you say that again?"
"Pick me up at five and don't be late," she repeats.
Her eyes are firmly trained on the poster she slides across the table, a colorful announcement of a local festival that he barely registers as he takes it. Something about food and music and fireworks. He saw a similar one when he came to school this morning, snapping a picture to show Fangfang during lunch. He ducks his head to meet her gaze, but she turns to the side.
"No, after that."
Her cheeks burn. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say it. It...it just came out. Look, if you don't want to go anymore, it's fine." Her arm shoots out to gather her things. Worksheets fold against each other in her haste, and he knows she's going to spend forever straightening out the creases tonight. "I can ask someone else. I'll see you later?"
He grabs her wrist, ignoring how she looks everywhere but at him. They have an audience now, he's sure, but he can't think about others when her words—those darn three words—has his blood roaring in his ears.
"No, I'm interested in you—I mean, in going out with you. In going, y'know, out to this festival with you. I'll be there at five."
She nods. "Okay, I'll see you then."
"Okay." And because he can't help himself, he throws her own words back at her. "It's a date."
a/n.
i feel i write every (reformed) bad boy x good girl ship the same way, so this reads like my powerpuff girls fic, but who cares cuz i'm having fun and i love this ship so much! yiyang as a secret Mess? hilarious. fangfang growing confident when she's around him? amazing. the two of them together? EVEN BETTER. and yes, the last section is the shortest, but can you blame yiyang? he short-circuited.
as always, leave a review if you liked! more socials in bio
TROPE BINGO: It's not what it looks like. + Ask a stupid question.