What Should I Do About My Naturally Flirtatious Roommate?

Naturally scheming, clingy, and loves to act cute; an extremely devoted, popular band's lead singer top x a long list that includes ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, roommates, older brothers, all kinds of coworkers and fans, and so on. In short, there are a lot of people. Please be sure to read the content warnings before you begin.

Blurb

Zhuo Fang, male, twenty-one years old, dropped out of high school.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he's a mechanic at an auto repair shop. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, he works at a convenience store. On Sundays, he parkours to escape debt collectors. He can't afford food, so he also fights in underground boxing matches. Apart from his handsome face, he has nothing. Every day, he eats steamed buns and plain congee with pickles. Nothing unusual about that.

Even the convenience store's soon-to-expire boxed meals slated for disposal count as a rare treat.

After years of working himself to the bone, Zhuo Fang not only has no money in his pocket, but his family is still thirty thousand yuan in debt.

He has his terminally ill, prematurely deceased mother and his gambling, hard-drinking father to thank for this miserable life.

So when Chi Yao offered to share an apartment, Zhuo Fang shamefully wavered.

After all, if you only have to cover twenty percent of the rent, how is that any different from getting a free place to live?

On the day he moved in, Zhuo Fang brought only one old suitcase. It held everything he owned.

The front door was flung wide open with absolutely no regard for security. From Zhuo Fang's vantage point, he could see sheet music scattered across the floor, all kinds of oddly shaped instruments, and posters and Polaroids haphazardly plastered on the walls.

Chi Yao was sitting on the carpet. His gray-brown hair looked dazzling in the afternoon sun. Hearing the noise, Chi Yao looked up, his honey-colored eyes crinkling. "Fang-ge, have a look around. I'll come help once I finish this bit!"

"...No need."

There was no such thing as a free lunch. Just as promised, Chi Yao really was noisy.

To Zhuo Fang, his movies seemed to drag on just to fill the runtime, and the guitar music that rang out now and then became an essential part of every day.

The walls were thin. Zhuo Fang could even hear Chi Yao in his room, repeating the same melody over and over into his recording equipment.

...Are all artsy guys like this?

He was noisy, sure, but the next day Zhuo Fang could always find some pricey little trinket on the living room table, or a coffee with "Sorry, bro >_<" written on it.

For the record, there was a note tucked under the coffee, too.

A crooked little stick figure was kneeling on the ground. It was obviously Chi Yao's work.

Zhuo Fang's fingers paused for a moment, but in the end he folded the note in half and slipped it into his hoodie pocket.

...Maybe he really was so broke that he couldn't bear to throw away even a scrap of paper.

After living together for a while, Zhuo Fang realized something else: Chi Yao's people skills were absurdly good.

Could a person really have such a complicated social life?

There were often unfamiliar shoes in the entryway.

Leather shoes, high heels, or sneakers around his own size. In any case, they didn't belong to him or Chi Yao.

One time, when he got back from a night shift, he ran into a red-eyed girl rushing out of Chi Yao's room. She nearly crashed into him.

Chi Yao followed behind her, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He scratched his head, looking a little helpless. "She's in a mood... It's fine, Fang-ge. Go get some rest."

Zhuo Fang had heard things like that at least ten times. The excuses were more or less the same each time, but the person involved was always different.

Afterward, Chi Yao always explained with the same innocent, matter-of-fact look. "An old friend was feeling down and came to talk to me." Then he'd naturally sidle over, his chin almost resting on Zhuo Fang's shoulder, and complain in a slightly coquettish voice, "Fang-ge, I'm so tired today. The noodles you make are the best."

He casually wormed his way into Zhuo Fang's life.

He'd mooch meals, ask him to fix his headphones, or get drunk, collapse on the sofa, and demand a story.

Zhuo Fang almost suspected he was a walking troublemaker, bringing trouble wherever he went.

Even a three-year-old couldn't be this much of a handful.

When Chi Yao handed him a ticket, batting his eyes as he said, "You have to come, bro," Zhuo Fang cursed himself for having no self-control.

What had gotten into him... sacrificing his rest to see something like this?

Before then, Zhuo Fang had never been to a live music venue.

As far as Zhuo Fang knew, music meant the bland songs on loop at the convenience store or the opera the auto shop owner liked to watch.

They seemed to come from a different world from the complicated, restless melodies flowing from Chi Yao's fingertips, sometimes dreamy, sometimes shattering.

The person at the center of the stage was Chi Yao, and yet somehow he wasn't.

He was a raging inferno, burning bright, a beacon who released all his charm and energy without a second thought.

Chi Yao was uninhibited and flamboyant, effortlessly captivating everyone's attention and setting the crowd ablaze.

Zhuo Fang saw the girl in the front row with her makeup ruined by tears. He heard the bassist move closer and play back-to-back with Chi Yao as the audience erupted in screams.

"Fang-ge, how was my singing? ... It's so loud down there. Let's go home." The lights faded. Chi Yao's slightly damp forehead rested against Zhuo Fang's side as he whined softly, his voice hoarse and tired after the performance, low enough for only the two of them to hear.

Zhuo Fang lowered his eyes.

"Sure. Let's go home," he heard himself say.

Content warnings

1. Chi Yao is the top: a 190 cm, fair-skinned, lean-muscular, gray-brown-haired band frontman with a friendly, adorable face. The story is primarily from the top's perspective, split about evenly between the top and bottom in the main text. The blurb is written from his roommate-bro's point of view. There is no official partner. The top has both ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, and an extremely innocent-looking, American-sweetheart kind of handsome face. His partners know exactly how he behaves but still throw themselves at him. If that's not your thing, this may not be for you.

2. The author knows nothing about music, so demanding detailed realism will only make you mad. I wrote this just to indulge myself. It's extremely exaggerated and unrealistic, so readers with strong character preferences should think carefully before reading. If something bothers you, don't curse me, please...

3. Younger top, non-virgin top. The bottom's past is uncertain, and he may have had previous partners. Chi Yao is just a big baby, so let's not give him a hard time, okay? If you find something upsetting, hit the X in the top-left corner and run. No need to tell me you're dropping the story.

Theme: He is a never-ending storm of boiling snow