fartyang

[fartyang]

Every Little Helps || Liu YangYang

After being offered free housing, Yangyang moves to the UK to start a new life. But after starting his new job at tesco, he realises what huge mistake he made.

#yangyang #nct #wayv

1: Moving in

Yangyang had never seen skies like this before, grey, heavy, but oddly comforting. It surely didn't compare to South Korea, the country that he has been working in before, maybe a bit like Germany but then again nothing compares to his favourite country, oh how much he wished that he'd moved back to Düsseldorf instead of Birmingham.

The airport was hectic. People moved quickly, bumping past him with their wheeled suitcases and loud conversations. It was nothing new to him, traveling round all the time, he'd seen it all.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped outside into the miserable weather. The cold hit his cheeks instantly. Such a lovely welcoming.

His new home was a tiny flat above a chip shop in  the Birmingham Gay Village, located along Hurst street. When Yangyang found out that he would be staying there, he was slightly surprised. He thought it must have been a mix up, surely the Chinatown which was next to the village would suit him more, but then again maybe not. He was sure the locals were all amazing.

The smell of fried oil clung to the stairwell. He dropped his bag and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling that bore the slight crack of age. It wasn't bad. It wasn't glamorous. And that's exactly what he wanted.

Now, you're probably wondering what Yangyang quite possibly did to end up in Birmingham, which I (the author) will tell you now.

Yangyang had spent a large amount of his childhood in Germany, attending an international school which spoke english, he was born in Taiwan but he doesn't remember it very well. He worked in South Korea as a backup dancer for EXO but his career soon ended when he found out he was getting evicted. Oh poops!

While at a party, he met a man called Jackson Wang, who knew many many people. Like Yangyang, Jackson was also a foreigner, so they had various shared experiences. After hearing about his friend's situation, he was quick to help out. You see, Jackson knows a landlord in the UK called Qian Kun, who showed deep interest in Liu Yangyang. Kun offered Yangyang free housing, but the only issue? It was in the UK, more specifically Birmingham. Sure, he loved peaky blinders, but moving to the place itself? Hell no. But, it was free, and his visa would be payed for, so, he agreed. Which brings us to where we are now.

As Yangyang lay on the bed, he began to think. First off, he needs a job, he needs to be able to afford food and nice things. Second, he needs friends. Without any further consideration, he got up, grabbed his bag and headed out of his new flat.

As he walked across the street, he couldn't ignore the strange smell which leaked from an alleyway. But then, he saw it — the one thing he had heard many things about: Tesco. He crossed the road and walked towards the shop, the bright lights and pictures displaying delicious food pulling him in.

The shop was bustling with customers trying to do their weekly shopping, but Yangyang pushed forward and headed towards the least busy aisle. Fruits and veg aligned his path and the sweet smell of freshly baked goods had him heading over to the bakery. He swiftly grabbed a packet of double chocolate cookies, and then a four pack of glazed donuts. Delish!

But then, something stood out to him. A small sign on the wall, reading out the words:

Tesco is hiring!

Come and join the bakery at Tesco!

Job title: Baker

Apply now!

Yangyang took one look at the advertisement and immediately knew he wanted to inquire about it. Yangyang loved baking, and if it was those delicious cookies he'd be baking, he would be more than delighted to do the job.

2: Job Application

He clutched the packet of cookies in one hand and marched straight to the customer service desk with a kind of determination he hadn't felt in weeks. The woman at the counter offered him  a smile.

"Hi hi," Yangyang began, holding up the flyer like a badge. "I saw this sign about the bakery job — may I get some more information?"

The woman blinked, then motioned towards a short man stacking canned beans a few metres away. "You'll want to speak to Sicheng, he's the bakery supervisor."

"Sicheng.. Got it," Yangyang replied, nodding.

He approached Sicheng with a quiet confidence. "Excuse me — are you Sicheng?"

Sicheng turned, wiping his hands on his apron. He looked Yangyang up and down, then grinned. "You here for the baking job?"

Yangyang nodded. "I've got experience baking at home, and I'm.. well, I'm kinda new in town so.. looking for a job."

"Where you from?" Sicheng asked, already making an assumption in his head based off of his appearance and accent.

"Oh- well, um, I was born in Taiwan, but i'm Chinese. I lived in Germany growing up and then I moved to Korea for work." He paused "Buttt now I'm here.."

Sicheng gave a low whistle. "You've really done the tour, haven't you?"

Yangyang smiled. "Heh.. I guess."

"Alright," Sicheng said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "We're looking for someone part-time to help in the mornings. It's mostly bread, rolls, cookies — nothing fancy, but honest work. Think you're up for it?"

"Oh for sure!" Yangyang said, without hesitation.

Sicheng pulled a folded form from his apron and handed it to him. "Fill this out and bring it back tomorrow. Early though 'cuz i'll be here from six."

Yangyang took the paper like it was made of gold. "I'll be here. Six sharp."

As he exited Tesco, cookies in one hand, donuts in the other, from tucked into his jacket, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. First day and he's already applied for a job!

And perhaps, the Gay Village of Birmingham wouldn't be so bad after all.

He walked back to his flat with a new sense of purpose. The village lights flickered on around him, neon pink and warm oranges bathing the street in something that felt.. alive. The kind of place where things happened.

The wall across the road from him was painted with a big rainbow that stretched for a while, covering almost all of the wall. There were shops lined up together, a coffee shop, a tanning salon, a turkish barbers, a sweet shop, a turkish barbers, wait, was that another turkish barbers?? Why are there multiple? Whatever..

He thought to himself, maybe tomorrow, he would meet a neighbour, or get a coffee at the cafe. Maybe he would bump into Kun, the landlord who let him come stay.

Maybe Birmingham was the start of something.

3: Strange Landlord

The next morning came quickly, the faint patter of rain against the window waking Yangyang before his alarm even had a chance to beep. He rolled out of bed, the wooden floorboards creaking under his feet. He wondered over to the small kitchen area to grab a cup of tea.

His job application was all filled out and it was time to hand it in.

He grabbed the paper Sicheng had given him and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. With one last glance at the mirror (his fried hair sticking up but whatever), he pulled open the door and walked out, walking face first into someone in the hallway.

A man, about his height, with jet black hair with round glasses perched on his nose, stared at him like he'd been expecting him all along.

"Ahh.. You must be Yangyang," the man said with a broad grin. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like he had rehearsed it in the mirror beforehand.

Yangyang blinked a few times, half-asleep. "Uh.. yeah. You are..?"

"Qian Kun. Your landlord," the man replied, offering a hand. His rings clinked softly as he moved. "Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. Got tied up with... stuff." His voice dropped mysteriously at the end, but he didn't elaborate.

Yangyang hesitated before shaking his hand. Kun's grip was firm but oddly comforting, like he was pulling Yangyang into a pact he didn't know he was signing.

Kun stepped back, arms folding casually. "So! How are you finding it? The flat? The village? The chip shop smell?"

Yangyang laughed, the nervous kind of laugh you give when you're not entirely sure if someone's joking. "It's... different. But I like it, actually."

Kun smiled even wider, teeth flashing. "Good. Good. We take care of our own around here. You need anything — anything at all.. — you come find me."

There was a pause. Yangyang opened his mouth to thank him, but Kun continued.

"Oh, and if you hear any... weird noises at night, don't worry. It's just the old pipes. Or maybe the ghosts."

He winked.

Yangyang wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. Probably not... right?

Kun clapped him on the back, almost knocking him into the doorframe. "Go on then, off you go! Big first day, yeah?"

"Uh, not really first day yet, just handing in my application..." Yangyang mumbled.

Kun gave him a knowing look, as if he already knew how it would all turn out. "Still. Big day. I'll see you around, Yangyang."

And just like that, Kun turned and headed down the stairs, whistling some old tune that echoed weirdly in the stairwell. Yangyang watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of reassurance and... unease.

He shook his head to clear it. Maybe Kun was just one of those eccentric types. Nothing wrong with that.

Grabbing his things, Yangyang made his way to Tesco, heart hammering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Maybe it was a big day after all.

4: The Interview

Yangyang found Sicheng exactly where Claudia had pointed — elbow-deep in flour, muttering something about dough ratios under his breath.

"Hey, uh, Sicheng?" Yangyang said, carefully approaching like someone might approach a sleeping bear.

Sicheng looked up, his face lighting up when he saw him. "Ah, bakery boy! You got the form?"

Yangyang pulled the slightly wrinkled application from his jacket pocket and handed it over. Sicheng wiped his hands on his apron and took it, scanning it quickly.

"Looks good. Lived all over, huh?" he said, eyes skimming the 'Previous Experience' section.

"Yeah," Yangyang laughed nervously. "Moving around's kind of... my thing."

Sicheng nodded thoughtfully, then tossed the paper onto a nearby table. "Alright. You know what? Let's not do a big formal interview. I'm short on hands as it is."

Yangyang blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously," Sicheng said, grinning. "You can start tomorrow morning. Trial shift. See how you go."

Yangyang's heart leapt. "Thank you! I won't let you down."

Sicheng waved a hand dismissively. "Save the thanks for after you've spent four hours up to your elbows in croissant butter."

Yangyang laughed. It felt good. It felt easy, for once.

"Oh," Sicheng added, pointing a finger at him as he turned back toward the ovens, "you'll need a uniform. Black trousers, white shirt. You'll get a bakery apron once you survive your first shift."

"Got it," Yangyang said, committing it to memory.

"And bring tea. Lots of tea."

Yangyang saluted playfully. "Yes, chef."

Sicheng chuckled and went back to his dough, and Yangyang wandered out of Tesco, a little stunned by how easily that all went.

Maybe Birmingham was secretly lucky for him.

Back in his flat, Yangyang collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear the soft hum of the chip fryers below, the occasional clang of metal as the workers cleaned up after the lunch rush.

His phone buzzed. A text from Kun.

Kun: Hey, it's me Kun. You alive?

Yangyang grinned and quickly typed back.

Yangyang: Barely..😅 got a job though!

Kun: Legend. Drinks soon?🍻

Yangyang: Sure. After my trial shift tomorrow? :)

It felt strange, this growing sense that he was starting something new. A tiny spark of excitement bubbled in his chest — he hadn't felt this way in a long time...

Tomorrow, he would become Yangyang the baker. Or at least, Yangyang the bakery trainee!

Same thing, right?

He closed his eyes, letting the noise of the village lull him into a light sleep, the faint smell of fried chips and city rain oddly comforting.

Tomorrow, it would all begin.

5: First Shift

Yangyang's alarm blared at 5:00 AM sharp, a violent sound that felt personally offensive. He slammed the snooze button, dragging himself out of bed like a man heading to battle.

White shirt? Check.

Black trousers? Check.

Fact? Check.

oh how much I love nct 127.. that's my favourite band  he thought to himself.

By 5:45 AM, Yangyang was power-walking through the empty streets, Tesco bag swinging wildly at his side. The Gay Village looked different at this hour — quieter, mistier, like the city was still stretching and yawning.

He slipped into the staff entrance at Tesco, nearly colliding with a stock boy wheeling a towering stack of toilet paper.

"Morning, bakery boy," Sicheng called from across the bakery, already elbow-deep in a giant vat of dough like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Hope you had a cup of tea."

Yangyang held up a sad little takeaway cup. "I did.. it wasn't the best, but yeah."

Sicheng laughed and tossed him an apron. "Good enough. Come on — today you're on dough prep. Easy stuff."

"Cool, cool," Yangyang said, tying the apron with questionable technique. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Famous last words....

The first half hour went okay. Yangyang was carefully portioning out dough when suddenly-

BANG!

He jumped out of his skin. A tray of croissants had exploded out of the proofer, sending raw pastries skidding all across the floor.

Sicheng just shook his head. "Proofer's moody. Don't take it personally."

Yangyang scrambled to pick up the croissants, apologizing profusely to a very unimpressed Claudia — yes, customer service Claudia — who had come back here looking for a "cheeky early cookie."

As he slid across the floor trying to catch a rogue croissant, the door to Tesco swung open with a ding — and in strolled none other than Ed Sheeran.

Wearing a hoodie and a beanie pulled low over his eyes, he wandered into the bakery section like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Alright, mate," Ed said, in a sleepy voice, looking down at Yangyang lying dramatically on the floor with a croissant stuck to his apron. "You good?"

What the hell? Is that... Ed Sheeran?? Oh God.. Why do these things always happen to me?!

"Uh, yeah!" Yangyang blurted, scrambling up. "Just... wrestling with breakfast."

Ed chuckled, picking up a package of muffins. "Respect."

Sicheng, without missing a beat, shouted across the bakery, "Oi, if you're gonna loiter, at least stack a tray!"

Ed shrugged, laughing, and carried the muffins over to the self-checkout. No fuss. Like it was a normal Tuesday.

Yangyang stared after him, jaw dropped.

"You'll get used to it," Claudia said, breezing past with a cookie in each hand. "This place is like a magnet for weirdness."

An hour later, after narrowly avoiding dropping a full tray of baguettes onto an old lady's foot (thankfully, she thought it was hilarious and called him "a charming mess"), Yangyang was finally allowed a quick break.

He flopped onto a plastic chair in the staff room, covered in flour, exhausted but... happy?

Kun had been right. Birmingham was weird. Tesco was weird. Even the bloody croissants were weird.

Perhaps this is just normal for the british, who knows..

6: New Neighbour

By the afternoon, Yangyang was getting the hang of the bakery routine — mostly.

Sure, he'd accidentally burned a batch of cookies, spilled a tub of flour across the freshly mopped floor, and humiliated himself in-front of literal Ed Sheeran. But whatever.. it is what it is..

It was nearing the end of his trial shift, the bakery in Tesco slowing down after the morning rush, when the entrance doors slid open and in walked a man Yangyang hadn't seen before.

He was tall, sharp-featured, with bleached blonde hair pushed back casually and a black hoodie thrown over jeans. He didn't look particularly loud or flashy — if anything, he blended in. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the easy confidence, that made him stand out.

Yangyang was wiping down the bakery counter when the man approached, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

"Hey," the stranger said, voice smooth but low-key. "Do you work here?"

Yangyang looked down at his flour-streaked apron and bakery name tag. He smiled awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. Is it that obvious?"

The man chuckled, a deep, friendly sound. "A little bit."

He glanced at the rows of bread. "I'm after something... not too sweet. Like, grown-up sweet. You know?"

Yangyang wiped his hands on his apron and leaned over the counter. "Hmm. We have a walnut loaf? Or maybe sourdough? It's not sweet, it's just... very serious bread."

The man laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "Serious bread. That's exactly what I need."

Yangyang grabbed a loaf from behind the counter and passed it over. "You visiting or...?"

"Moved in yesterday," the man said casually. "Flat above that Turkish barber shop across the road. You know it?"

Yangyang's eyebrows shot up. "No way. I just moved in too. Above the chip shop."

The man tilted his head, a slow smile forming. "Neighbours, then."

"Looks like it," Yangyang said, feeling a weird jolt of happiness.

The man shifted the loaf under his arm. "Name's Ten, by the way. I mean, it's actually Chittaphon, but I just go by Ten because it's easier for non Thai people."

"Ohh, nice. I'm Yangyang," he replied, offering his hand.

Ten shook it firmly, a slight twinkle of mischief in his eye.

"Yangyang," he repeated thoughtfully. "Cool name. Sounds like someone who knows how to party."

Yangyang snorted. "Yeah, maybe. If by party you mean 'fall asleep watching Netflix by nine.'"

"Honestly?" Ten said, leaning in slightly. "Same."

They both laughed, the conversation sliding into a comfortable rhythm Yangyang hadn't felt with a stranger in a long time.

But just as quickly, Ten pulled back slightly, checking the time on his phone.

"Anyway. Gotta finish unpacking," he said, tapping the bread against his shoulder. "But I'll probably see you around, neighbour."

"Yeah," Yangyang said, grinning. "Definitely."

As Ten strolled toward the checkout, Yangyang couldn't help but watch him go — relaxed, confident, like he belonged everywhere he walked.

And for the first time since arriving in Birmingham, Yangyang felt a strange flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his people.

Even if it was one neighbour at a time.

Kun: Meet outside pub in 20?

17:49

He had almost forgotten he had agreed to meet up with Kun for a drink, him quickly putting down his phone onto the bed and springing up to get ready.

He picked a casual outfit, nothing too extravagant, what you would usually wear to meet up with your landlord for a pint.

The pub Kun had picked was tucked just off Hurst Street, a cozy little place called The Queen's Arms. Outside, fairy lights twisted around the sign, and the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted into the street.

Yangyang spotted Kun almost immediately — perched at a small corner table, nursing a pint and waving his phone in the air like a beacon.

"Oi, bakery boy!" Kun shouted over the noise, grinning wide.

Yangyang laughed and slipped into the seat across from him. "Kun the landlord," he teased. "Didn't think I'd see you outside a contract signing."

Kun snorted. "I'm a man of many talents — I'd give you a list but you'd be here forever. Although I can tell you that I do have a degree in drinking."

He slid a pint of beer towards Yangyang. "Got you a lager. You're welcome."

Yangyang took a sip — bitter, crisp, perfect after a long week.

"So," Kun said, leaning back in his chair. "How's Tesco life treating you? Met any weirdos yet?"

Yangyang thought for a second.

"Does Ed Sheeran randomly buying muffins count?"

Kun nearly choked on his drink. "What?!"

Yangyang grinned, leaning in to tell the story.

As he talked, Kun just shook his head, laughing.

"Mate, only you would move to Birmingham and end up serving muffins to Ed bloody Sheeran on your second day."

"Heh.. Guess I'm lucky?" Yangyang said, half-joking.

Kun clinked his glass against Yangyang's. "No, mate. You're in Birmingham. Get used to weird."

They laughed, and for the first time in ages, Yangyang felt the warm buzz of belonging — not just from the beer, but from something better.

Friendship.

Possibility.

A new life, unfolding slowly, pint by pint.

Later that evening, as he trudged up the stairwell smelling faintly of bakery sugar, Yangyang caught sight of Ten again.

This time, Ten was balancing a cardboard box labeled "kitchen stuff" against his hip, swearing under his breath as a tea kettle clattered to the floor.

"You need a hand?" Yangyang offered, trying not to laugh.

Ten looked over, smiling sheepishly. "Only if you're trained in handling kettles."

Yangyang grinned. "Lucky for you, handling kettles is my specialty."

Ten nodded, stepping aside so Yangyang could help carry the box up the last flight of stairs.

The next morning, Yangyang woke up early out of sheer panic.

No alarm needed. No croissant explosion. Just his brain helpfully screaming:

You don't actually have a real job yet, idiot!

He threw on the least wrinkled black T-shirt he could find and practically sprinted down to Tesco, half-eaten toast in one hand, dignity left somewhere back at the chip shop.

The bakery smelled amazing when he arrived — fresh cinnamon rolls, crisped loaves of bread stacked behind the counter, and the low hum of early-morning shoppers.

Yangyang spotted Sicheng by the industrial mixer, arms deep in dough as usual, humming along to a Kendrick Lamar song playing faintly from the speakers.

"Morning!" Yangyang called out, slightly breathless.

Sicheng glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Back so soon? I thought I'd scared you off."

"Uh, not quite," Yangyang said, adjusting his apron awkwardly. "I was wondering... Can I work here properly? Like, full time?"

Sicheng wiped his hands and leaned against the counter, studying him.

"You sure? It's early mornings, grumpy customers, flour in places you didn't even know existed."

Yangyang nodded firmly. "Positive."

Sicheng smirked. "Good. I was gonna offer anyway. Claudia said you were the only person who's ever made her laugh before 8AM, so that's a miracle on its own."

Yangyang grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Sicheng handed him a proper schedule — laminated and everything — and a new apron that didn't smell vaguely like burnt toast.

"Congrats, bakery boy. You're one of us now."

Yangyang looked down at the schedule in his hands and felt a small, steady glow of pride.

Maybe it wasn't backup dancing for sold-out concerts.

Maybe it wasn't the glamorous life he once thought he needed.

But it was something real.

And for now, that was enough.

After his promotion (if you could call it that), Yangyang had the rest of the day free.

He decided to take himself on a victory lap around town — or more realistically, a casual stroll to pretend he was a local.

Birmingham felt different today: brighter somehow, like the city was cracking a half-smile just for him.

He wandered through the Gay Village, past the rainbow flags fluttering in the spring breeze, the cafe patios slowly filling with people and little clusters of laughter.

He ducked into a small independent coffee shop — the kind that smelled aggressively of espresso and where all the chairs were different on purpose.

Behind the counter was a girl with brown hair with bangs and headphones, singing softly along to the song playing through the speakers.

Yangyang froze for a second.

Was that... PinkPantheress?

She wore a cute dress with black leggings and looked even more beautiful in person, Yangyang could not believe his eyes. But sure enough, it was her. Just casually working a shift, frothing milk like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Next!" she said, not looking up.

Yangyang shuffled forward.

"Uh, can I get an iced mocha?"

"Sure thing," she said, punching it into the till.

She gave him a lazy smile. "You new round here? You've got that... 'I'm lost but pretending I'm not' vibe."

Yangyang laughed. "That obvious?"

"Painfully," she said, handing him his change with a wink.

He sat at a window seat, sipping his mocha, watching the street outside. He felt... good. Strange, but good.

Later on, he heard a knock on his door.

He opened it to find Ten standing there, wearing a denim jacket over his hoodie, a six-pack of cheap beer under one arm.

"Thought I'd do the neighbourly thing," Ten said casually. "Celebrate your new job?"

Yangyang blinked. "How did you know—?"

Ten just shrugged, grinning. "Word gets around."

They sat on the slightly lopsided couch in Yangyang's tiny flat, clinking bottles and laughing about the weirdness of British shops ("Wait, you can actually buy full meals at Boots?") and their mutual confusion over how many Turkish barbers existed in a five-street radius.

Ten was easy to be around — not overly chatty, not pushy, just... present.

Yangyang liked that.

Halfway through the night, between laughing fits about a Tesco customer who insisted on calling croissants "crisps," Ten leaned back and said, almost thoughtfully,

"You know, Birmingham's not so bad when you've got people around."

Yangyang smiled, feeling something settle quietly inside him.

"Yeah," he said. "Not bad at all."

8: Ten’s Party

Yangyang woke up to the sound of seagulls screaming bloody murder outside his window.

He groaned, rolling over and squinting at his phone.

2 new messages from Ten

Ten: Hey yangyang~

I thought it would be a good idea to throw a party at mine to celebrate moving in, obviously your invited. 8PM tonight, don't miss it🙂‍↔️

07:23

Yangyang laughed under his breath. It had been less than a week since they'd met, and already Ten was texting like they'd known each other for years.

Still half-asleep, Yangyang typed back.

Yangyang: A party?😳 Wow. Okay. Should I bring crisps?

Ten: Only if you bring the good ones. None of that salt and vinegar slander...😉

Yangyang snorted, tossing the phone onto his duvet.

Salt and vinegar was elite, but fine.. he'd let Ten be wrong just this once.

By 7:45 PM, Yangyang was standing awkwardly outside Ten's door, clutching a bag of Monster Munch and a pack of Strongbow cans that he'd panic-bought at Tesco. The door swung open before he could even knock.

"Hey Yangyang!" Ten grinned, stepping aside to let him in.

The flat smelled faintly of pizza and cheap scented candles.

Inside, a handful of people were already lounging around — a messy collection of secondhand furniture, fairy lights pinned haphazardly to the walls.

Two guys were DJing from a cracked iPad in the corner. They were loud and seemed to be attracting quite a crowd. He listened as one of them shouted "Fire?" and all the others responded with "Flames!" They're funny, he thought to himself.

Ten plucked the Monster Munch from Yangyang's hands like it was treasure.

"Respect," he said solemnly.

Yangyang grinned. "Told you I wasn't boring."

"You're on thin ice, bakery boy," Ten joked, tossing him a can of cider. "Make yourself at home."

Yangyang perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair, sipping cautiously. The cider was way sweeter than he'd expected, almost offensively fruity, but whatever.. it was free.

He spent the first half hour getting introduced to a rotating cast of Ten's friends — a couple of art students from the college down the road, a guy named Yuta who claimed to be a rock star, and another guy named Xiaojun who claimed he could beat anyone at Call of Duty with one hand tied behind his back.

Yangyang liked them immediately.

They were loud, a little chaotic, but in the best way, the kind that made you feel like you didn't have to try so hard.

Ten floated easily through the room, laughing with everyone, but always checking back in with Yangyang, making sure he wasn't left awkwardly marooned in a corner. Yangyang appreciated that more than he could say.

At some point, Ten collapsed onto the floor beside Yangyang, two fresh cans in hand.

"So," he said, cracking one open. "Be honest. How's the UK treating you?"

Yangyang thought for a second.

He took in the fairy lights, the messy stack of board games in the corner, the smell of pizza and cider and possibility.

"Honestly?" he said, smiling a little. "Better than I thought it would."

Ten bumped his shoulder lightly. "Told you it's not all doom and rain."

Yangyang laughed. "You're literally the first person I met who made this city feel... like home, a little bit."

Ten grinned, almost bashful. "Guess that makes me your honorary tour guide."

"Is there an oath I have to take?" Yangyang asked seriously. "Like, do I have to pledge allegiance to Greggs or something?"

Ten almost spit out his drink laughing.

"Yes bro! First rule of Birmingham: Respect the sausage roll."

Later, after the party thinned out and only the ride-or-die crowd remained, someone dug out a battered deck of cards.

"Truth or dare, but make it low effort," Some guy called Hendery declared, fanning the cards out dramatically.

Ten raised an eyebrow at Yangyang. "You in?"

Yangyang shrugged. "Why not. What's the worst that could happen?"

Famous last words. Again.

First few rounds were easy:

Truths like "what's your worst date story" and dares like "text your mum something weird."

Yangyang sailed through it, feeling weirdly brave after two cans of cider and a slice of questionable garlic bread.

But then it was his turn again, and Ten leaned forward with an evil grin.

"Truth," Ten said, tapping the deck. "Tell us your most irrational fear."

Yangyang groaned dramatically.

"Easy. Pigeons."

The group roared with laughter.

"I'm serious!" Yangyang insisted, grinning. "They're like... flying rats. And they have no fear. One chased me across a park once when I was a kid. I have trauma."

Ten was practically crying from laughing. "Pigeons?!"

"They know what they did..." Yangyang said darkly, crossing his arms.

By the time Yangyang stumbled home, just across the street, thank God, the night had settled into that soft, buzzy warmth that only good company and bad cider could create.

He flopped onto his bed fully clothed, the sounds of muffled laughter still echoing faintly through the open window.

He'd met so much people that night, so much he doubted he'd be able to remember them by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Those two guys DJing — what were they even called?? They seemed to have some sort of American accent maybe? Something like that..

For the first time since moving, the loneliness that had clung to him like a second skin finally began to loosen its grip.

It didn't take long for Yangyang to drift to sleep, worn out by all the socialisation. Talking to people is tiring when you're an introvert like him...

9: Halfway Home

Saturday morning slid into Yangyang's flat like a lazy cat — golden sunlight curling over the windowsill, the faint hum of traffic below, and the distant smell of someone burning toast two floors down.

He stretched, groaning softly, and checked his phone:

10:43 AM

Late, by bakery standards. But today was his day off! No early shifts, no flour explosions, no panicked croissant rescues.

He let himself stay in bed a little longer, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, smiling at a meme landlord meme Kun had sent him at 3AM.

Kun: This was me when painting your flat😂

Yangyang: Broo😳😳 I was wondering why there was an elephant spray painted to my wall😂😂

Kun: Lmfao😂 I told you it's 3d wallpaper..

Eventually, he stopped giggling at his phone as hunger dragged him out of bed.

He was halfway through making the world's saddest peanut butter toast when someone knocked on his door.

He opened it to find Ten standing there, coffee in one hand, plastic bag dangling from the other.

"Morning, sunshine," Ten said, already stepping inside like he lived there. "I come bearing gifts."

Yangyang blinked. "Uh... what?"

Ten dropped the bag onto the kitchen counter with a theatrical flourish. Inside: two massive breakfast burritos and a couple of hash browns that looked suspiciously homemade.

"I made too much," Ten said casually, sipping his coffee. "Figured you looked like you needed feeding."

Yangyang stared at him, touched but trying to play it cool.

"You trying to fatten me up or something?"

"Obviously," Ten said, deadpan. "Easier to steal your flat if you can't chase me."

Yangyang laughed, grabbing a burrito. "Joke's on you. I was always slow."

They ate perched on the arm of the couch, legs sprawled over battered cushions, half-watching some strange kids' show blaring from the TV.

Yangyang couldn't remember the last time a morning had felt this easy.

No pressure. No expectations. Just... being.

After a while, Ten glanced over, an almost shy grin flickering across his face.

"You busy today?"

Yangyang shook his head, mouth full of burrito. "Not unless you count reorganising my sock drawer."

Ten's smile widened. "Good. 'Cause I was thinking... you know that big flea market in Digbeth? Thought we could check it out. Apparently it's massive. Weird vintage stuff, food trucks, all that."

Yangyang perked up immediately.

He hadn't done much exploring beyond the bakery, the pub, and the three different Tesco Extras in a two-mile radius.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "That sounds sick."

By noon, they were weaving through crowds at the Digbeth market, a riot of colours and noise around them.

Handmade jewelry stalls, walls of vinyl records, crates of vintage clothes, weird neon signs, one that said "LIVE LAUGH LOVE BUT MAKE IT METAL" that guy called Yuta from Ten's party would like that. It was all a beautiful, chaotic mess.

Yangyang poked through a box of secondhand boots while Ten argued loudly with a vendor over whether a battered leather jacket counted as "authentically vintage" or just "really gross."

At one point, Ten shoved a hideous tie-dye bucket hat onto Yangyang's head and declared, "You're ready for Coachella!"

Yangyang retaliated by sneaking a pair of tiny sunglasses onto Ten's face when he wasn't looking.

"You look like an anime villain," Yangyang said, doubled over laughing.

"Good," Ten said, striking a dramatic pose. "That's the goal."

They wandered like that for hours, getting lost among rows of food trucks — Yangyang insisting on trying everything "You haven't lived until you've had churros covered in marshmallow fluff!" while Ten pretended to be a food critic, rating each item out of ten.

Churros: 9/10. Flint and Meal: 5/10. Free lemonade that wasn't actually free because they made us sit and talk to them for half an hour: -5/10.

At some point, Yangyang realised he wasn't even thinking about his old life anymore — the auditions he didn't get, the dance jobs that slipped away, the people he used to chase approval from.

It didn't feel heavy today.

It barely felt real.

Later, as the sky started to bruise into soft pinks and blues, they found a quiet patch of grass by the canal to sit and rest.

Yangyang flopped down dramatically, arms flung wide, sighing. "Why is existing so exhausting?"

Ten chuckled, sitting cross-legged beside him. "It's the churros. They've weighed down your soul."

They sat there for a while, watching narrowboats drift by, the city humming around them. It wasn't loud, not like London.

Birmingham had a softer kind of pulse — steady, patient.

"You glad you moved?" Ten asked suddenly, voice quieter.

Yangyang thought about it.

About the first lonely nights above the chip shop.

About burning cookies and meeting Sicheng.

About Kun dragging him out for pints, and the random encounters that stitched themselves into a life — PinkPantheress at the coffee shop, Ed Sheeran at the bakery, Ten knocking on his door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He smiled, looking over at Ten, who was idly plucking blades of grass and tossing them into the water.

"Yeah," Yangyang said honestly. "I think I am."

Ten glanced over, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than usual.

Something warm and unspoken passed between them — easy, steady, real.

"Good," Ten said simply.

They sat there until the sky darkened fully, until the streetlights buzzed to life, until Yangyang's stomach growled again (and Ten teased him mercilessly for it).

Eventually, they wandered back towards home, their steps light, their laughter trailing behind them in the cooling spring air.

Yangyang thought: maybe this is what starting over looks like.

Not fireworks.

Not a grand performance.

Just... little Saturdays like this.

Halfway home, and already better than he'd hoped.

[fartyang]

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