being in a second round of murder is not great. for lu bixing, who has a family at home, who especially has trauma relating to this kind of thing, being in a second round of murder is really not great. but, this time at least it's just him. bixing misses jingheng desperately, but his name is not the one on his hostage paperwork - instead, that honor goes to a living version of his father, and while he's determined to bring him back, bixing's not the type to murder in cold blood, so he's been biding his time learning the secrets of this place and solving murders and trying not to freak out every thursday that passes.
still. his family is at home and safe, and right now, thursday is a long way away, and today, lu bixing has heard some Rumors. mainly, he's heard that something might be up with their staff - that they might be obfuscating even more they originally seemed. despite some of their occasionally frosty nature, bixing's had no trouble getting along with any of the staff members, but there's one in particular who really, really caught his attention, and that... would be cancer. he's a merrymaker, sure, and he's fun to be around. but, with the idea that there's something strange going on, that perhaps they're hiding on purpose...
...well.
it's time for a little experiment.
on tuesday afternoon, cancer's bell is rung, succinctly, three times. in his tip box? a batch of freshly baked lu bixing chocolate chip cookies. he waits very patiently by the desk for his friend, vibrating a little, stomach twisting itself into knots. he's probably - it's probably not right, but since when has lu bixing ever avoided his instincts?
this means that lu bixing wants something. cancer appears from the dark dramatically and picks up the plate full of cookies and gives them a sniff, humming... because the creature whose skin he's had to climb into is insufferably theatrical. ]
I'm going to have to beg someone to adjust my trousers. You should be careful.
[ he really wishes that bixing would stop feeding him, goddamn it.
"again, jingheng?" a measuring tape snaps menacingly, a playful threat.
"shut the hell up, burakh."
"he spoils you."
(jingheng kicks burakh's bad knee without remorse. his metabolism is fucked up a little. such is his life.)
—except he actually doesn't want him to stop. he take a cookie from the plate immediately and puts it in his mouth, not because he cares about the sweetness or the taste, but because lu bixing has touched this, he's caressed each egg before splitting it and sifting white from yolk with care between his fingers and he's brushed through flour and sugar motes and lin jingheng swears this is as close to heaven as he's been in weeks upon weeks.
he hums, and the enthusiasm isn't a lie. damn he's gotten so used to this cadence, he's suffering when it bleeds into his downtime. clearing his throat after a mouthful, he gestures encouragingly, forced to watch lu bixing behind a dark glass. ]
Now... what can I do for you, Bixing?
[ the name feels as close to a kiss as he can possibly get. ]
[ it always, always, always brings bixing joy when people like his food. after all, he learned how to cook for his family. these chocolate chip cookies were a product of their time in hell, in the same way he learned how to make matcha cookies for scaramouche's lack of a sweet tooth, sugar cookies for rose. in the way he makes chocolate chip cookies when he rarely gets down time back at home, running back and forth between meetings on rainy days when they're having company.
it's a special kind of joy when the staff like them, though. bixing smiles, sitting down by the desk and propping his chin on top of his knuckles, making sure to turn on the charm.
(he's sifting through all of cancer's movements, today, especially. hypervigilant. the familiar lilt of his? his. his voice, now, the easy, flirtatious way he talks. it's some kind of cover.) ]
Don't be silly. Sweets are good for your morale, those calories don't count. [ okay scientist. ] Next time, I'll ask the kitchen staff nicely for some oranges, how about that? If you're so worried.
[ oranges, like a date in milky way city, all those years ago. bixing kicks his feet where he's settled, and there's a twinkle in his bright brown eyes. the innocent sort, where he's up to something, but it's probably pretty harmless. ] As for me, I've heard there's a mandatory new rule from on high. Can you believe it? It was delivered special to my desk today.
[ he takes another bite because he wants to scream. this is absolutely insane. how many weeks has it been hiding in plain sight like a similarly-shaped vase under a blanket. this is so wrong. he does his best to just... fit the mold, even now, even if every day is such a damn fight.
he wishes he could take off his gloves, because the best part is licking your fingers when no one is looking (lu bixing has caught him before, and jingheng has admitted that he just doesn't like his food going to waste.)
instead, he's dainty, grabs from the edge carefully and puts another in his mouth. ]
Mmm— [ sorry he's still eating! oh no! aka bring whatever you want, he's not answering that ] Oh really? What rule is that, exactly?
And I'm pretty sure my boss supersedes even you right now, dear Prime Minister. But nice try.
[ he smoothly brushes lu bixing's pointing hand away with a flick of his hand, raising a brow, even if lu bixing can't see. this is part of whatever lu bixing has up his sleeve, and lin jingheng has to stay on his toes. he's anxious, and gu yun's stupid words echo in the back of his mind.
(it's unfair, how he can call him out on sweating at the sound of his bell so immediately.) ]
But you know what I'm about. [ this counts as customer service. ] Service with a smile.
[ the words could be considered "said with a grin." it's all done with stubborn practice. he had to close his eyes to take himself seriously. ]
[ if he could hold onto that hand for a second, maybe bixing could judge it a little better. like the rest of the staff, cancer is always wearing gloves - but he heard that someone, someone saw vulpecula without her veil, the other day, and lu bixing is not one to be easily set back.
besides. "service with a smile", he says. he can work with that. and really, he's the one who's smiling about it, warm and rueful, as he takes his batted away hand and puts it to his own cheek and sighs. it is just a little bit dramatic. Dramatique. ]
I bet you have a nice smile... I'll just have to use my imagination.
[ bad. he smiles anyway, though, tucking his hands into his pockets. ]
Dear Cancer, then, let's go grab a drink? Maybe outside, if you wouldn't mind - it gets stuffy in here - or back up in my room?
[ yeah, he remembers hearing the rumors of that and he has just superglued this veil even moreso to his skull (not really, but he did ask burakh if he could just. surgically attach it to his scalp to which he said "what do i look like, a malpractice suit?") ]
We can go to your room.
[ a dangerous move, but he thinks he's fairly well equipped to maneuver out of most situations with bixing. besides, i'm giving sisi the self-indulgent dream of describing bixing's extra-ass room, i hope. he hums. ]
Pick your poison, I can provide.
[ he's feeling generous? maybe? it's because it's bixing, but no one has to know that. everyone at this point knows that cancer is a lush, and while he sips from an opaque wine glass most days, jingheng just holds it in his mouth most of the time and delude himself enough into thinking it's a neat glass of whiskey or bourbon instead.
he considers it to be a mental exercise, a very difficult one. he is still failing it. it's terrible. he hates this wine, it tastes like ass. ]
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crau...au....
being in a second round of murder is not great. for lu bixing, who has a family at home, who especially has trauma relating to this kind of thing, being in a second round of murder is really not great. but, this time at least it's just him. bixing misses jingheng desperately, but his name is not the one on his hostage paperwork - instead, that honor goes to a living version of his father, and while he's determined to bring him back, bixing's not the type to murder in cold blood, so he's been biding his time learning the secrets of this place and solving murders and trying not to freak out every thursday that passes.
still. his family is at home and safe, and right now, thursday is a long way away, and today, lu bixing has heard some Rumors. mainly, he's heard that something might be up with their staff - that they might be obfuscating even more they originally seemed. despite some of their occasionally frosty nature, bixing's had no trouble getting along with any of the staff members, but there's one in particular who really, really caught his attention, and that... would be cancer. he's a merrymaker, sure, and he's fun to be around. but, with the idea that there's something strange going on, that perhaps they're hiding on purpose...
...well.
it's time for a little experiment.
on tuesday afternoon, cancer's bell is rung, succinctly, three times. in his tip box? a batch of freshly baked lu bixing chocolate chip cookies. he waits very patiently by the desk for his friend, vibrating a little, stomach twisting itself into knots. he's probably - it's probably not right, but since when has lu bixing ever avoided his instincts?
knock knock!!! ]
no subject
this means that lu bixing wants something. cancer appears from the dark dramatically and picks up the plate full of cookies and gives them a sniff, humming... because the creature whose skin he's had to climb into is insufferably theatrical. ]
I'm going to have to beg someone to adjust my trousers. You should be careful.
[ he really wishes that bixing would stop feeding him, goddamn it. —except he actually doesn't want him to stop. he take a cookie from the plate immediately and puts it in his mouth, not because he cares about the sweetness or the taste, but because lu bixing has touched this, he's caressed each egg before splitting it and sifting white from yolk with care between his fingers and he's brushed through flour and sugar motes and lin jingheng swears this is as close to heaven as he's been in weeks upon weeks.
he hums, and the enthusiasm isn't a lie. damn he's gotten so used to this cadence, he's suffering when it bleeds into his downtime. clearing his throat after a mouthful, he gestures encouragingly, forced to watch lu bixing behind a dark glass. ]
Now... what can I do for you, Bixing?
[ the name feels as close to a kiss as he can possibly get. ]
no subject
it's a special kind of joy when the staff like them, though. bixing smiles, sitting down by the desk and propping his chin on top of his knuckles, making sure to turn on the charm.
(he's sifting through all of cancer's movements, today, especially. hypervigilant. the familiar lilt of his? his. his voice, now, the easy, flirtatious way he talks. it's some kind of cover.) ]
Don't be silly. Sweets are good for your morale, those calories don't count. [ okay scientist. ] Next time, I'll ask the kitchen staff nicely for some oranges, how about that? If you're so worried.
[ oranges, like a date in milky way city, all those years ago. bixing kicks his feet where he's settled, and there's a twinkle in his bright brown eyes. the innocent sort, where he's up to something, but it's probably pretty harmless. ] As for me, I've heard there's a mandatory new rule from on high. Can you believe it? It was delivered special to my desk today.
no subject
[ he takes another bite because he wants to scream. this is absolutely insane. how many weeks has it been hiding in plain sight like a similarly-shaped vase under a blanket. this is so wrong. he does his best to just... fit the mold, even now, even if every day is such a damn fight.
he wishes he could take off his gloves, because the best part is licking your fingers when no one is looking (lu bixing has caught him before, and jingheng has admitted that he just doesn't like his food going to waste.)
instead, he's dainty, grabs from the edge carefully and puts another in his mouth. ]
Mmm— [ sorry he's still eating! oh no! aka bring whatever you want, he's not answering that ] Oh really? What rule is that, exactly?
no subject
bixing points at him. ]
You're required to hang out with me today and take a break.
[
ok. ]
Prime Minister's orders. Supercedes everyone!
[ ok ]
no subject
[ he smoothly brushes lu bixing's pointing hand away with a flick of his hand, raising a brow, even if lu bixing can't see. this is part of whatever lu bixing has up his sleeve, and lin jingheng has to stay on his toes. he's anxious, and gu yun's stupid words echo in the back of his mind.
(it's unfair, how he can call him out on sweating at the sound of his bell so immediately.) ]
But you know what I'm about. [ this counts as customer service. ] Service with a smile.
[ the words could be considered "said with a grin." it's all done with stubborn practice. he had to close his eyes to take himself seriously. ]
no subject
besides. "service with a smile", he says. he can work with that. and really, he's the one who's smiling about it, warm and rueful, as he takes his batted away hand and puts it to his own cheek and sighs. it is just a little bit dramatic. Dramatique. ]
I bet you have a nice smile... I'll just have to use my imagination.
[ bad. he smiles anyway, though, tucking his hands into his pockets. ]
Dear Cancer, then, let's go grab a drink? Maybe outside, if you wouldn't mind - it gets stuffy in here - or back up in my room?
no subject
We can go to your room.
[ a dangerous move, but he thinks he's fairly well equipped to maneuver out of most situations with bixing. besides, i'm giving sisi the self-indulgent dream of describing bixing's extra-ass room, i hope. he hums. ]
Pick your poison, I can provide.
[ he's feeling generous? maybe? it's because it's bixing, but no one has to know that. everyone at this point knows that cancer is a lush, and while he sips from an opaque wine glass most days, jingheng just holds it in his mouth most of the time and delude himself enough into thinking it's a neat glass of whiskey or bourbon instead.
he considers it to be a mental exercise, a very difficult one. he is still failing it. it's terrible. he hates this wine, it tastes like ass. ]