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Oh dear. Again? Xichen responded to Mingjue's text (a picture of the unnaturally clean living room in their upstairs apartment). Pausing in his rounds, he sat down and found himself immediately colonised by Shuoyue demanding pets.
Should we be worried?
I think he's concerned about the fleas? They had tried to reassure Meng Yao that, being open to the public, they flea-treated the cats regularly as a matter of course, but it hadn't quite seemed to penetrate. Pursing his lips, Xichen considered the way Meng Yao had started appearing in the café before they had a chance to take anything up to him. By coincidence, usually just when one of them needed a break. He was a very effective distraction, and Xichen always somehow ended up letting him help more than he meant to.
Earlier in the week, Xingchen and Zichen had stopped by with their van—they provided essentials for the homeless, especially young people, many of them runaways like Xuanyu had been. When Xichen had gone to check how long the café's donations would take to sort out, he'd found them already mysteriously organised and ready to go.
Maybe he does it to relax? Xichen typed back one-handed, as the other was occupied scratching under Shuoyue's chin. Obviously, Meng Yao didn't want to make a big deal about it, whatever his motivations, since neither of them had yet managed to catch him in the act of tidying.
Have you ever seen him relax? Mingjue replied, which—
Well...
Cat-induced narcolepsy doesn't count, he added.
I wanted him to feel welcome, Xichen admitted, feeling self-consciousness prickle between his shoulder-blades. On his lap, Shuoyue gave a concerned little mrrip and started kneading his thigh. He stroked her long, silky fur reassuringly. "It's fine, love."
I'd say he's making himself at home, anyway.
That made Xichen laugh despite himself, sending back an appropriate flurry of heart emoji and gifs. He really was being ridiculous. It would just have to be enough to take care of Meng Yao while they could.
"—I'll have those estimates for you by end of business tomorrow," Meng Yao told his current video call, not so much as blinking as Hensheng jumped out of her suitcase nest and onto his makeshift desk. Calmly, he blocked her getting onto his keyboard with his forearm. "Have a good day."
The window closed, and Meng Yao slid the privacy tab over the built-in camera. "Do you mind?" he asked Hensheng, who nipped his finger in reply. "None of that, now. If you're hungry, we'll get you some actual food."
Hensheng gave a plaintive little meowl like she'd understood and was also starving to death. He rubbed her head and silky ears. "Okay."
It was time to feed the kittens as well, so Meng Yao set the formula to warming while he opened a can for Hensheng. She was doing much better than when he'd found her, but she was still recovering; it helped if she didn't have to bear all the strain herself.
At this time of day, Baxia was usually the only other cat upstairs. She was crouched atop a book case frowning down at him. Meng Yao shuffled aside to make sure she couldn't leap onto his head and kept a wary eye on her as he tested the temperature of the kitten formula on his wrist.
Before re-entering the guest room, Meng Yao stepped out of his house slippers and pulled on the borrowed hoodie he wore when handling the kittens, to reduce the risk of bringing in anything from the other cats. (There was also the risk of the other cats bringing themselves in if he wasn't careful.)
He put down Hensheng's food, then settled in with bottle, spreadsheets, and towels to placate eight hungry, squeaking kittens. Some of them were tottering towards the edge of Meng Yao's suitcase, irregardless of any hapless siblings in the way.
"Can you hear me?" When Meng Yao picked up Miaoshan, a gleam of little eyes looked back at him. The kittens would be a week old tomorrow, which meant their eyes and ears were starting to work. They were still pretty unsteady on their feet, but increasingly determined to explore the world.
Meng Yao set her down again and carefully lifted the top blanket and its mewing contents into his lap. He pet the fuzzy little heads with a gentle finger, soothing. Were some of the paler ones showing more colour around the ears and paws? Wuxian had said some of them might turn out to be points. Meng Yao would have to update the spreadsheet, and not just because the name Trogdor had somehow been entered for the cinnamon tortie, again. (The data in the sex columns also now read AMAB/AFAB, which was only the natural consequence of giving Xuanyu access.)
A clean blanket went into the suitcase, and Meng Yao picked up a kitten from the top of the pile—the lighter of the two greys (Xichen said blue and lavender), with no white on it. He made note of its weight before rolling it into a kitten burrito and giving it the bottle. Which meant, of course, that both his hands were occupied when someone decided to start climbing his front.
"Aren't you supposed to be too young for this?" Meng Yao objected.
"REEEEH," the kitten bleated at an astonishing volume for something so tiny.
"I'll help you down in just a moment," he promised, trying not to worry.
There was a lot of squirming going on in his lap, too. Meng Yao looked down just in time to see the cinnamon tortie slide off his leg and onto the floor. "Trogdor—!"
She got to her wobbly feet, head searching back and forth."MYIIIIIIII!"
And she was heading in the wrong direction. Atop the desk, Hensheng looked up from her dish to give him an unimpressed look.
Swallowing a curse, Meng Yao set down the kitten he was feeding, only to have to block more tumbling escapes as the other kittens were drawn to their sibling's cries. Next time, he'd steal Hensheng's ramen bowl and throw a blanket over the lid.
Naturally, it was at this moment that the hall door popped open, admitting Baxia's dyspeptic face.
"Out!" Meng Yao pointed, but was as usual ignored.
Hensheng gave a warning growl, tail lashing, eyes murderously thin. Baxia hissed. Trogdor added her own tiny kitten hiss that would have been adorable if Meng Yao weren't currently having a heart attack. He bundled the other kittens up and deposited them safely back in his suitcase.
Meng Yao only glanced away for a second, but in that time, Baxia had picked the kitten up by the scruff of the neck. His heart froze. What would happen if Hensheng pounced?
But instead of her usual spiteful and territorial antics, Baxia walked over to the suitcase (growling at Meng Yao for being in the way) and dropped Trogdor right in the middle of the kitten pile.
Hensheng hissed again; Baxia hissed back. Meng Yao looked for something he could use to shoo her out without being shredded. This was all he needed.
To Meng Yao's chagrin, there was no keeping Baxia out after that. All you had to do was open the door and she was through. Despite Meng Yao's fretting, she and Hensheng had yet to seriously injure one another, and Baxia was astonishingly gentle with the kittens. Hensheng had taken to bringing them over to her like a baby-sitter when she needed some time to herself. (If they needed more milk than she had, she planted herself in front of Meng Yao and meowed insistently until he made himself useful.)
"Do you suppose it's safe to leave them alone together?" Meng Yao frowned down at the camera feed on his phone. He was sitting with his feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, not quite leaning against Xichen at the other end.
Xichen peered over his shoulder, considering. "Probably as long as the kittens are there."
"Hm," was all Meng Yao could manage with him so near. On his lap, Liebing batted at the screen. "Not you too," he seized on this distraction, wagging a remonstrative finger in her face. Predictably, she pounced on that instead.
Xichen was trying and failing to smother a laugh when Mingjue came in.
"And what's all this?" he asked, picking up Meng Yao's feet (much to Liebing's dismay) so he could thump down on his other side.
With Meng Yao's legs draped over his lap, Mingjue leaned casually across him to plant a kiss on Xichen's twitching lips. It was a while before he came up again.
Meng Yao just sat there, frozen, heart hammering in his ears. He considered jabbing Mingjue in the solar plexus, but probably that would only damage his hand. After swallowing several times, he managed to get out. "Ah. I can just—leave the two of you to..."
Mingjue looked him dead in the eye (that was a really, truly unforgivable habit he had) and said, "Not unless you want to."
Meng Yao re-evaluated what constituted acceptable physical damage for emotional satisfaction.
"...What if I don't?" he asked. His mouth had gone dry.
"Whatever you want," Xichen said, warm against his back, his voice a velvet caress. That was not playing fair.
Not breaking eye contact with Mingjue, Meng Yao lifted his chin in invitation. Mingjue gave a little growl that made goosebumps ripple across his skin, but his lips on Meng Yao's were so, so gentle.
He felt Xichen's graceful fingers brush his cheek. Shyly, Meng Yao looked back over his shoulder (Mingjue pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck).
Meng Yao was met by the sight of Xichen looking freshly-kissed and hopeful. His hand hovered at the curve of Meng Yao's jaw, still not quite touching. It wasn't until Xichen's thumb grazed the corner of his mouth that he realised he was smiling. Fuck, he'd never stood a chance, had he?
Self-consciously, he looked away, then darted another glance through his eyelashes. Xichen's lips were gently parted, pink and still a little wet from Mingjue's mouth. They'd crooked into that familiar lopsided smile, waiting, endlessly patient.
Leaning up, Meng Yao closed the distance between them. Xichen kissed sweetly; his mouth tasted of chamomile and adaptogenic smoothie.
For some reason, it was that detail that made this very abruptly real, rather than some over-heated fantasy boiling up out of critical sexual frustration. Meng Yao was hit with a wave of overwhelming fondness. He wanted to crawl into Xichen's lap and devour him.
Mingjue was mouthing at his neck, up under his jaw. Playfully, he crowded Xichen out of the way for his turn.
"Manners," Meng Yao tutted, but pulled him in again anyway. Xichen smothered a laugh in his hair. Their hands were already up under his shirt, spreading warm over his buzzing skin.
It felt like victory to scratch his nails over the stubble of Mingjue's undercut at long last. His moustache was surprisingly soft, if a little ticklish. Every time Meng Yao opened his eyes, Mingjue was looking right back at him (completely and utterly unforgivable, and hotter than it had any right to be—Meng Yao was already boiling out of his skin, and no one had even taken their clothes off yet).
They were well on their way to melting into an inextricable tangle on the enormous, human-swallowing (Xichen and Mingjue had definitely bought it so they could make out comfortably despite being unaccountable giants) sofa when there was suddenly a loud crash and an ear-piercing yowl split the air.
A second later, Liebing came streaking by with Baxia in hot pursuit. They chased each other around the room before colliding in an incredible eruption of noise, then flying apart again, in Baxia's case directly over top of them without slowing down.
Mingjue swore and fell off the couch with an alarming thump. Xichen's grasp prevented Meng Yao from following suit, although his own response was slowed by the circumstance of his brain shutting down at the sound Xichen made when Meng Yao accidentally bit his tongue. It was a miracle nobody's knees had gone anyplace unfortunate.
"Kittens. I should." Meng Yao cast around for a way off the couch that didn't involve stepping on Mingjue. "I'm sorry; are you all right?"
"Go," Mingjue grunted, bending his (unrealistically long and muscular) legs as he hitched himself into a seated position. "Xichen, a hand?"
As Meng Yao clambered awkwardly to his feet, he was subjected to the sight of Xichen not simply pulling Mingjue upright, but picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder. That was entirely uncalled-for. Meng Yao fled unceremoniously to the guest room and pulled the door shut behind him.
When he turned around, Hensheng was watching him through narrowed eyes, long fur puffed angrily out from her body and thrashing tail.
"Rrrraouw," she growled in a tone Meng Yao was familiar with from an endless string of customer service jobs.
It took a great deal of petting and chin scratches (plus food bribery) before she settled down. Meng Yao was almost successfully distracting himself when his phone buzzed with a message from Xichen.
Would anyone in there like a midnight snack? We have the cats back under control.
Meng Yao had to laugh at the accompanying picture of Mingjue with Liebing and Shuoyue for good measure tucked under his arms like footballs.
"You didn't have to," Meng Yao said when he opened the door.
"But I wanted to." Xichen let him take the tray (on which besides the kitten formula there was a mug of something concealed entirely underneath a mountain of whipped cream), and leaned in to press a kiss to Meng Yao's furiously blushing cheek.
Meng Yao stammered out his goodnights, then stood for a minute with his head thunked back against the closed door before the plaintive squeaks of the kittens got him moving again. This was fine. He was an idiot, but at least the cats liked him.