TITLE: don’t be such a sourpuss
WARNINGS: poorly written fluff and inaccurate descriptions of allergies (you’d think i’d know because i actually have these allergies but nooooo)
SUMMARY: domestic au. yixing brings home a cat; luhan is Displeased, to say the least. also allergic. Very Allergic.
FINAL NOTES: i’m like Actual Trash. thank you j and w for supporting me and kicking my butt and putting up with me these past few months as i shuffled from draft to draft. i can’t believe this is what i ended up producing. also sry to c for all the trouble i’ve caused LOL
|Yixing has a habit of bringing home abandoned things.
Lu Han thinks it’s cute most days, and moderately inconvenient others, like the one time Yixing decided to haul back an entire three-piece couch set off the streets right after his monthly check-up with his physical therapist. Lu Han almost had a conniption that day, caught between wanting to wring Yixing’s neck for trying to carry back furniture two times his weight with his bad back and wanting to toss both Yixing and their new couch set out on the streets and moving away to Alaska so he’d never have to deal with Yixing’s fucking ass ever again.
(Their couch set’s integrated into their small studio space as much as possible. They had sex on the loveseat a week later after Lu Han gets a reply back from one of the thirty publishing houses he’d sent his first book to. He still can’t look at it nowadays without both turning maroon with embarrassment and gagging at how gross and covered with germs it probably still is, even after his thorough cleaning.
Yixing likes to sit on it every other month with a light smirk and an otherwise placid face just to fuck with Lu Han.)
Another time, Yixing managed to bring back a fully functional—if slightly banged and out-of-tune—upright piano, though at least that time he got their neighbor Joonmyeon to help carry it up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. Lu Han didn’t really have any words at the time. He’d been zoned out, trying to get in the latest edits for his second book—a bildungsroman about a group of schoolboys who separate ways in high school but find themselves coming back to each other after ten years—before his editor, Yifan, managed to kill him for pushing the deadline. Once he’d come out of it though, the surprise of a new piano almost immediately gave way to the proud look on Yixing’s face (and the apologetic expression on Joonmyeon’s, but that kind of blurred out of memory after Yixing jumped him and started smothering him with rough kisses), and that’d been the end of that.
(Yixing plays the piano whenever he’s frustrated with how his current project’s going and the dark room’s being hogged by his studio partner, Zitao. Most days he just plays whatever comes to mind, a little tune or ditty that he makes up on the spot, but other days, he’ll sit at the keyboard with sheet music he has lying around and serenade Lu Han while he’s making dinner or folding laundry.
Lu Han doesn’t tell him, but he thinks it’s the sweetest thing when Yixing warbles about how much he loves him and how they always end up stuck in his head for days on after and end up being written into his drafts. Yifan’s made fun of him on three different occasions after finding random Ramones lyrics hidden in dialogue between his protagonist and ensemble cast, and on one memorable occasion, Jeremih’s ‘Birthday Sex’ chorus repeated during description of a breakup scene. He couldn’t look at his editor in the face for a week after.)
Most days, Yixing brings back tiny things like old radio sets or lamps that he thinks would help brighten up Lu Han’s work space. These things, Lu Han keeps, decorating his space until his desk is as full of the old refurbished trinkets Yixing gifts him as his multiple stacks of drafts and research material. Yixing says it makes him looks official, like a well-regarded and popular old white male author who likes to see himself textually masturbate. Lu Han usually just punches him in the gut and puts extra salt in his soup bowl.
(The amount of satisfaction he gets from Yixing’s betrayed puckered grimace is kind of petty, but Yixing likes to leave empty rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom when Lu Han pisses him off, so they’re not much different. Also, Yixing gets hilariously sulky whenever he does this, and Lu Han likes drawing him back out with kisses afterward, so it’s really a win-win situation for him.)
So, Lu Han’s not really fazed by Yixing’s weird compulsion; it’s not even that weird after Yixing explains it to him after he brings back an old salad spinner. He just likes taking care of things, and that desire to care just happens to extend to abandoned junk on the streets.
(Okay, it’s still weird, but whatever. It’s cute. The salad spinner, they don’t actually use because neither of them likes eating salads enough to make use out of it, so it just sits as some weird sort of trophy piece on of their hanging shelves. Zitao’s oddly fascinated by it and likes to stare at it whenever he and Yixing stop by after a show.)
But, this. This. This is just unacceptable.
Yixing’s already taken off his jacket and hung it on the standing rack by the door and padded into the kitchen area to rummage around in the refrigerator, but Lu Han’s still rooted where he is by the door, expression of utter horror on his face.
“Do we still have milk? I think it’s a little hungry,” asks Yixing curiously, opening up their fridge door. Said ‘it’ meows pathetically, cushioned by Yixing’s curled up arm and chest. Lu Han doesn’t respond, and Yixing sticks his head out from the kitchen, a little confused. “Lu Han?”
“There’s a cat in our house.”
“Actually, I think it’s a kitten, but yes,” Yixing confirms slowly, tilting his head. “I think it’s a he.”
“There’s a cat in our house,” Lu Han repeats, emphasizing on the ‘cat’. Yixing raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Yeah, there is.”
“Why is there a cat in our house?” Lu Han asks, finally moving away from the door and to the doorway between the living room and kitchen. He doesn’t enter the threshold though, hovering just outside of the kitchen, arms crossed protectively over his chest, and eyeing the mangy sack of fur just barely visible from the crack of space inside Yixing’s arm.
“Well, I was passing by the street next to the health food place that just opened up and I heard the saddest little meow and—”
“No, shut up, stop,” Lu Han interrupts, putting up both hands in protest. Yixing calmly stops, eyebrows raising higher. “I don’t care what happened that possessed you to bring home this cat, but why is it still here?”
“...Because I just got home,” Yixing responds after a moment, crinkling his brow. “Lu Han, is there something wrong?”
“Yes,” Lu Han replies readily, eyes trained on the cat now poking its terrible head out. Its beady black eyes stare back at him, spotted nose twitching a little in the air. “You brought a cat home.”
Yixing blinks, clearly lost, and shifts the cat gently in his arms to cradle in more comfortably. “Is there a problem with me bringing a cat home?”
Lu Han opens his mouth immediately, ready to spit out exactly why, and then the sneezes start.
“Fuck—achoo—I fucking—acHOO—FUCK—achoo ACHOO—” He cuts himself off, expletives increasing with each sneeze that comes out. His eyes are already starting to water, his nostrils rapidly gaining the moisture that always comes before the inevitable clogging, and he glares ferociously at the innocently-staring cat and the equally-innocently staring boyfriend holding it.
“Lu Han,” Yixing starts mildly, like discussing the day’s weather, “are you, by any chance, allergic to cats?”
Lu Han stares at him incredulously before sneezing again, blinking away the gush of tears that come forth with it. “What the fuck do you think, you gigantic asshole?” he spits out after he swipes at his nose, darting into the kitchen past Yixing for the box of tissues sitting by the kitchen table. Yixing turns around and follows, but Lu Han flings out a hand, paired with a threatening expression—though it’s rather undermined by the subsequent series of wet sneezes that push out of him. “Don’t—achoo—fucking come any closer.”
Yixing complies, shifting so that he’s holding the cat up in both arms. The furball meows imperiously, and Yixing looks down at it with a serene smile before leveling that smile at Lu Han. “I didn’t know you were allergic. You should’ve told me.”
Lu Han wants to toss the spare frying pan at his head right now. “I did. Three years ago, at the goddamn animal farm that you insisted on dragging me to. My throat swelled up like a bitch for a week.”
“Oh.” Yixing frowns. “I guess I forgot.”
Lu Han gestures violently at the cat and its wide eyes with a wadful of snotty tissues. “You think?” he manages to say before dissolving into more sneezes. “Do you know how much cat hair you’re probably getting all over the floor right now?”
Yixing peers down at the cat in his arms and even rubs down its fur before pulling away a hand to inspect it. “He doesn’t seem to be shedding, though. I think he’s hypoallergenic.”
“I’m gonna fucking skin you both,” Lu Han promises thickly before sneezing again.
Yixing decides to keep the goddamn cat in the apartment for a whole two weeks, promising to have it gone and happily adopted into a loving family before Lu Han’s upcoming deadline. Lu Han quarantines off their shared bedroom and vindictively tells Yixing to have fun masturbating in the living room for the next month before grabbing his laptop and charger and a week’s worth of clothes and slamming out of their apartment with a promise to burn everything the cat’s touched once he returns.
He ends up banging on Yifan’s door an hour later, suddenly immensely grateful for Yifan’s uncomfortably close proximity. Usually he curses the lack of distance between them because Yifan has the worst tendency of personally appearing at Lu Han’s apartment to hover over him threateningly while he’s trying slough through his draft in the last few hours before his appointed deadlines. Lu Han’s had to, in multiple instances, use Yixing as a physical barrier to try and stop Yifan from swooping in, but the stupid asshole just lets Yifan breeze in every time with a goddamn smile and an offer of tea and cookies on his lips.
Yifan answers the door with the most unimpressed expression, eyes clocking in Lu Han’s red eyes and even redder nose and the hastily-packed duffle bag of clothes and the laptop case shoved under his arm, and rolls his eyes before stepping aside to let him in. Lu Han does so with a grateful smile and toes off his shoes at Yifan’s pointed glare.
“I take it you’re not here for pleasant conversation.” Lu Han shakes his head. “Dare I even ask about your draft?” Another shake, and a sheepish grin that’s interrupted by another sneeze. Yifan sighs and waves away at his couch, which is half taken-up by stacks of books and a throw blanket already convenient piled on top.
“Am I bothering you? Should I leave?” Lu Han asks after a moment, suddenly prodded violently by his conscience. Yifan rolls his eyes and scrubs his face with a large hand before answering.
“No. I am actually this messy in real life. Congratulations: you now know my deepest darkest secret,” he deadpans.
Lu Han snorts and plops his duffle bag on the ground next to the couch and sets his laptop case gently on the cluttered coffee table in front of it, pushing away an askew stack of old magazines and a forgotten cup of coffee, stained dark brown with residue.
“I thought that was your irrevocable love of cosplaying as Asuka from Evangelion on your weekends off,” Lu Han says snidely. Yifan smacks him soundly on the head and moves into the kitchen.
“And you ask why I never take you to my conventions,” he says from the kitchen, the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing and running water. He comes back out with a clean mug of water and sets it down in front of Lu Han before sitting himself on the armchair, picking up a yellow notepad full of angry red scribbles and one of the many open books laying on the coffee table.
“Aren’t you gonna ask why I’m here?” Lu Han presses, scrunching up his face, tapping on his laptop case. Yifan snorts.
“Obviously, either you’re in the dog house or Yixing did something wrong and you’re punishing him by taking away your presence, which, frankly, isn’t really as much of a punishment as it is a gift. In any case, I don’t actually care enough to know.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“Been there, done that. Already over it.” Yifan flips the page in his book and jots down some notes in his yellow pad.
“I’m gonna eat all your cereal and leave your milk jug empty,” Lu Han says with bared teeth.
“I’ll book your next signing event in Haidian and tell your parents,” Yifan replies calmly, and Lu Han snaps his mouth shut.
In the end, Lu Han only holds out for about a week and a half before he goes stir-crazy and has to come back home. Also, Yifan threatened to murder him in his sleep if he left the toilet seat up again, and really, Lu Han rather appreciates living his life peacefully. (Also, he ran out of clothes and Yifan punted him out the door after the fourth time he walked around in the same pair of boxers.)
Yixing’s not home when Lu Han lets himself in, probably in the studio or out on a photoshoot, and he lets out a sigh of relief before an inquisitive meow sounds.
Fuck. His eyes immediately zero in on the cat lying comfortably on a bed of scrap cloths in the corner by the TV, and Lu Han brings up a preemptive arm to his nose to stop himself from breathing in any more cat hairs. The cat meows again and assesses him before lifting itself up regally.
“Oh no, no, fuck no, stay where the fuck you are, demon,” Lu Han curses and darts for the bedroom. He slams the door closed after he’s safely ensconced inside, and drops the duffle bag and laptop on the ground, arm still pressed against his nose. He gingerly pulls it away and breathes in the air, detecting no odor.
Then, he sneezes. He drops his jaw in betrayal as he goes through a set of rapid of sneezes, bringing up a sleeve to press against his nostrils, and pulls out his pocketed phone to send an angry text to Yixing for letting the cat into the room.
YOU FUCKING ASSWAD I’LL MURDER YOU, he sends with emphatic taps against the screen, and not five seconds later, Yixing responds with a kissy face emoticon.
welcome home, Yixing sends back as Lu Han feels himself turn apoplectically purple, i found little chenchen a home! Lu Han’s rage dies down immediately. i’m bringing him there tomorrow!
Mostly mollified now but still annoyed Yixing had let this ‘Chenchen’ into their room, Lu Han sends back, well what am i gonna do with him until then?????? are you coming back tonight???????? and waits impatiently as Yixing types back his response.
give chenchen some cat food in the fridge and make sure you clean out the litter box. he doesn’t like going if there’s still poop inside.
Lu Han rears his head back in disgust. wtf?????????? why can’t u take care of it!!!!! i’m allergic!!!!!!!!!!
i’m three hours away and i won’t be back until probably late tonight, Yixing replies with a sad face. Lu Han makes a face, ignoring the fact that Yixing can’t actually see it and types back a series of angry faces. i’ll make it up to u when i get back
ur gonna be making it up to me for the rest of ur natural born life, Lu Han replies with a sneer. Yixing just sends back another smiley.
Chenchen stares at Lu Han from his imperious perch on the goddamn couch, and Lu Han glares back from behind one of the many face masks Yixing likes to wear during the winter time. He’s decked out in full coverage, all clothes he’s made peace with the idea of burning, and mop bucket and wash cloth in gloved hands. Areas of the living room are already sectioned off, numbered in order of priority in washing, and the entire couch area circled off with a makeshift wall of old dusty books so that Chenchen can’t escape.
He starts with his work area first, the most important of spaces because his deadline is in five days and Yifan already threatened bodily harm five times before Lu Han had left him. Normally, he’d just give everything a quick dust and maybe a light scrub before calling it a day, but Chenchen’s continued presence in their apartment necessitates Lu Han moving beyond just his perfunctory house cleaning and actually having to meticulously wipe down all the corners of the place.
The process is slow-going, with Lu Han having to stop every few minutes to sneeze violently into his face mask because his allergies are actually the Worst and also his arms are unexercised noodles that get tired far too quickly once he starts scrubbing. Chenchen watches impassively, content to laze about on the couch, wordlessly mocking him with the ticks of his whiskers whenever Lu Han looks up from his scrubbing to glare at him.
At one point, the monotony of scrubbing and cleaning just gets to be too much and Lu Han finally breaks and starts talking to the cat himself, giving up on his dignity for the more inviting option of having something to talk to.
“You are literally hellspawn from the deepest depths of at least ten hells,” he grumbles at a distracted Chenchen, pausing in scrubbing down the floor by the coffee table. “Seriously, hellspawn.”
Chenchen blinks slowly at him and yawns, unaffected, and Lu Han tosses down his brush and sits crabbily on the ground, cross-legged. “I can’t fucking believe Yixing had the fucking nerve to bring you into my house.” He lets out a loud, blustering sigh and flops on his back.
“He’s just such an idiot sometimes, I don’t even know how to deal with it,” Lu Han says, staring up at the ceiling from his position on the ground, hands folded on top of his belly. Chenchen licks at a paw and Lu Han blinks. “No, but like seriously, though. Who the fuck brings home a salad spinner for no reason?”
Chenchen just keeps licking at his fur. “Okay, I know, I’m being mean. He’s got some good points. Like, he’s ridiculously good at giving head, which I’m forever grateful about, and he’s got such dainty fingers which are so cute when he tries to finger me and he ends up like sticking four in one go, and he’s like so into sucking dick.” Lu Han ticks off the points with his fingers, and Chenchen meows. “Okay, okay, he’s also just a really good person, and he’s got like so much patience it’s incredible.”
He pauses and sneezes loudly, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and snuffles. “And he’s always in such a good mood, which kind of pisses me off sometimes because I want to be mad and sulk and he just smiles at me and takes it, and I end up feeling ridiculously immature.”
Chenchen yowls, and Lu Han turns his head to scowl at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I am ridiculously immature, but Yixing is just so—” He makes a vague gesture, shaking his hands in the air for some physical grasping of the word he’s looking for, and gives up. “I don’t know. He’s just Yixing, I guess.”
Chenchen just stares at him, but Lu Han feels strangely like he’s being laughed at right now. Then Chenchen gets up, and Lu Han stiffens. Chenchen stretches leisurely, purr rumbling through his small furred frame, and then jumps off the couch, landing neatly on fours. By now, Lu Han’s already pushed himself up to a sitting position and against a wall, on edge. He watches with bated breath and the actual fucker walks up to him and starts rubbing his diseased body against Lu Han’s shins.
“Oh my god,” Lu Han says faintly, seized up by terror and shock. Chenchen, the mangy glorified rat, just keeps rubbing against him, purrs loud and pleased rumbling through his body. Lu Han’s mind is white noise, and all he can do is just keep staring at the invasive furball molesting his shins, heart in his throat.
And then his sneezes start again.
He’s shaken awake by a gentle hand, and Lu Han scrunches his face up in displeasure, squeezing his eyes tight. There’s a huff of laughter against his cheeks, and he grumbles instinctively, still viciously trying to cling onto the vestiges of fitful sleep.
“Come on, you idiot, it’s time to go sleep on a real bed,” laughs a familiar voice in his ear, and Lu Han’s roughly scooped up from his place in the ground and into someone’s arms.
“Fuck you, dillhole, it’s all your fault,” Lu Han mumbles, not bothering to adjust his weight so Yixing can hold him easier. “Your stupid cat touched me.”
Yixing laughs again, slowly carrying him to their bedroom and quietly closing the door behind them with a kick of his foot. “Chenchen’s an affectionate cat; you should be happy.”
“You’re paying for my therapy, bitch.” Yixing shakes in even more laughter, and Lu Han scowls, eyes still closed, punching him weakly in the chest. “Shut up, this is serious. I’m traumatized for life now. You’ve ruined me.”
“How will I ever live with myself?” Yixing murmurs as he sets Lu Han down onto the bed covers, taking off Lu Han’s socks and pulling off the face mask still across his face. Lu Han screws open a single eye and glares at him blearily. “The guilt will be too much for me to bear, I’m sure.”
“I’m suing you for emotional trauma. I’m taking the house and the kids,” Lu Han mutters petulantly, rolling onto his side and lifting up an arm to drag Yixing down onto the bed next to him. Yixing follows obligingly and settles himself comfortably next to Lu Han’s curled up form, drawing him into his arms. Lu Han shuffles until his head’s tucked into the space under Yixing’s chin and huffs against the bared skin of his neck in revenge, ignoring the shiver and the smack Yixing gifts him for his troubles.
“It’ll kill Zitao, you know. He’s not good with change,” Yixing replies, smacking him again when Lu Han snorts against his neck, tickling him. “It’ll scar him for the rest of his life.”
“He’ll live. He likes me better anyway,” Lu Han says dismissively, burrowing even further into Yixing’s arms. “Who’s taking the cat away?”
Yixing hums and runs light fingers through Lu Han’s hair. “Zitao’s housemate, actually, Chanyeol. Apparently, he’s a huge animal lover.”
“Good riddance,” Lu Han says firmly, not even bothering to hide the relieved smile on his face. Yixing laughs lightly, his chest rumbling.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with him today,” Yixing says after a few minutes, when Lu Han’s already starting to drift back to sleep. “I’m sorry I forgot about your allergies.”
Lu Han yawns and pinches the belly fat peeking out from under Yixing’s shirt, savoring the tiny yelp that comes out from Yixing.
“You’re still sleeping in the living room for the next month.”