Chapter Text
White.
White sheets and white pillows under white blankets, pristine, crisp, tidy. White pages with white covers under white floorboards, where dust settles deep enough to show. The pages are no longer white. Red stains smudged into margins hurriedly concealed in hopes of misunderstanding. Red trails across white floorboards rubbed enough to be invisible. Red stains across white sheets and white pillows under white blankets, too deep to be removed, too obvious to be hidden. Fire and smoke when white sheets are burned at the end of the fortnight, fire and smoke when secrets are too large to burden alone; when secrets should be burned rather than endured, when heat destroys variables and order is restored. When luck can be blamed for excellent potato harvest rather than ashes.
“You’re so fucking messy.”
There is only so much time between breakfast and before-breakfast, Mu Qing has no patience for cleanliness.
“It’s not my fault I need to feed so early in the morning, fuck. Shut up.”
Feng Xin tugs his shirt up. “I’m not dealing with your whining today.”
“Yeah, yeah — you’re still bleeding, by the way.”
A sigh. “Get me another shirt.”
Mu Qing stands, staring at the blood collecting on Feng Xin’s neck.
“Hurry, asshole, this is your fault.”
“Yeah,” Snap out of it, snapping out of it. He finds a shirt thrown across a back of a chair. “This?” He holds it up.
“That’s yesterday’s,” Feng Xin speaks through his shirt halfway up his arms. “Closet.”
“Right,” Mu Qing, hastily, throws open their closet and fishes out a shirt. “Here.”
“And get rid of this mess,” Shirtless, Feng Xin motions at his neck.
“Gladly.”
Mu Qing leans down to his side and tilts his head to see the blood clearly. It’s quick, a wet, slick sensation on Feng Xin’s neck and Mu Qing’s face is gone, the blood along with it.
“Extra treat, huh?”
“Lucky me,” He leans down next to Feng Xin and begins to button his shirt for him — Feng Xin hates this. Mu Qing knows.
“You owe me this today, considering you’re the reason we’re late.”
“Bullshit,” Feng Xin counters. “You didn’t wake up early enough for it.”
He attempts to swat Mu Qing’s deft fingers away from his torso but Mu Qing evades this by batting his hands away with his elbows.
“It’s not that I didn’t wake up early, your highness, your lazy ass refused to get out of bed.”
“How many times,” Feng Xin stands, ushering Mu Qing away when he’s done, “Just get it over with even if I’m asleep.”
“How many times,” Mu Qing repeats, handing Feng Xin his books, “It feels terrible to do so.”
“Fucking anoying,” he takes his books and closes the closet Mu Qing had left open earlier. “Let’s go.”
And that commemorates the end of their last typical morning routine.
~~
Feng Xin and Mu Qing have had an agreement since they were fifteen. It started, like most of their agreements do, with a fight. This time, Feng Xin was the one who initiated it.
“Why the fuck do my shirts go missing ever week.”
It is not a question.
“I use them to clean up when I’ve spilled blood on the floor.” Mu Qing responds.
“Why the fuck, pray tell, would you spill blood on the floor?”
“Sometimes I drop it, you know, like you spill water when you’re drinking it.”
“I don’t spill water every other day.”
“Hm, it’s not that similar. Bad example I took.”
Feng Xin is thoroughly confused, Mu Qing refuses to elaborate any further. He’s doing it on purpose to rile Feng Xin up, he knows. He snatches the book Mu Qing is reading and hits him on the head with it.
“What the fuck—” Mu Qing starts.
“Why do you need to drink blood? Are you a vampire?”
A beat of silence, it’s like Mu Qing freezes entirely, then composes himself seconds later.
“Yeah,” he replies, weakly.
Feng Xin starts. “Tell me the truth.”
“I’m a vampire.”
“Vampires don’t exist.”
Mu Qing shakes his head. “They do.”
Bullshit, Feng Xin thinks. He’s not going to get into this petty argument with Mu Qing, he thinks.
“What the fuck,” Feng Xin says, very much getting into a petty argument with Mu Qing.
“Yeah.”
Bastard, that’s all he’s going to say?
“Prove it.”
And then Mu Qing bares his fangs at Feng Xin. What a fucking joke.
“Those are regular canine teeth, you fucker.”
Mu Qing blinks, then exhales, like he’s sick of explaining the same thing to a petulant child. It pisses Feng Xin off. Mu Qing pulls his lips back and wills his fangs to grow.
They’re actually growing. There are actual fangs in Mu Qing’s mouth. Feng Xin, distracted, forgets his momentary anger.
“What the fuck. Is this some sort of joke?”
Mu Qing closes his mouth, wipes his wet finger on a tissue he finds next to his feet, which wasn’t there a second ago. “I’m a vampire.”
Feng Xin can only blink in disbelief. “Fuck off.”
That can’t be real. This is some sort of joke, has to be.
Mu Qing shrugs, steals his book back from an uncharacteristically dazed Feng Xin. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He does this a few times, Mu Qing pays him no mind.
“Look,” Feng Xin eventually speaks. “I don’t know what shit you’re pulling, but keep my shirts out of it.”
“What do I use as a mop, then?” Mu Qing says into his book, disinterested.
“Your own shirts.”
“Too much of a hassle to clean them.”
“I’m going to throw you out this window, right now.”
“Do it. I’ll survive. Vampire strength.”
It’s Mu Qing’s dismissive, careless tone that flares anger up in Feng Xin, once again.
“We’ll see about that.”
Mu Qing barely registers the fact that Feng Xin is serious until he hauls him up by his collar. Mu Qing’s book falls from his hand, the pages folding in a manner that physically hurts him. Mu Qing’s upset now, too.
“Hey, fucker, if someone finds out you defenestrated me you’re done for,” Mu Qing pushes Feng Xin’s hands away from him. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He picks up his book and neatly closes it, setting it down on the table. Feng Xin glares at him.
“Now I want to throw you out that damn window even more.”
“I would advise you against it.”
That tone again, Feng Xin’s going to kill him one day. “Fuck off.”
Feng Xin swings at him, Mu Qing intercepts and twists his wrist. He quirks a smile, earlier frustration dissipated from this one victory.
“Fast reflexes, do you believe me?”
“Let go of my wrist.” He demands. Mu Qing does.
“I don’t believe you.”
“As long as you don’t throw me out the window, I can live with you not believing me.”
Mu Qing plasters his smile obviously as he walks past Feng Xin, who immediately pulls him back by his shirt. “I’m not done.”
“I am.”
“You’re not a vampire.”
Mu Qing continues smiling. “Okay.”
“Mu Qing. You are not a vampire.”
“Sure, buddy, whatever you say.”
When Feng Xin punches him this time, he’s caught off-guard.
It’s barely the first time they’ve fought, he would know if Mu Qing’s a vampire. He ducks to avoid Mu Qing’s incoming punch, and hauls him to the ground by ramming his skull into his abdomen. They’ve been roommates since they were twelve, Feng Xin would definitely know if he was a vampire. There’s no way he couldn’t know.
Feng Xin pushes him down, clambering on top of him, he ignores Mu Qing’s stray hands and holds him up by the collar as he punches him. They don’t stay in touch during breaks. Feng Xin assumes if anything did happen to Mu Qing, if he actually was a vampire, it would’ve happened during breaks — which would make sense, the timing aligns. Feng Xin’s shirts have been going missing only after the new semester started. Mu Qing manages to hold on to one of his wrists, and twists, hard, he’s never been this strong. When he tries to roll them over, Feng Xin pushes down on his throat. He lets go of Feng Xin’s wrist and stops struggling. Still, Feng Xin thinks. Vampires don’t exist.
“Would it take me to bite you for you to listen?” Mu Qing asks, locked under Feng Xin’s forearm to his neck.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” says Feng Xin, currently atop Mu Qing, very much touching him.
“Rich, coming from you—” Feng Xin pushes his forearm down, cutting off Mu Qing’s words. He doesn’t want to completely knock him out, so he pushes down once, hard, then pushes himself off Mu Qing.
“I don’t want to get into petty fights with you. It wastes my energy.”
Mu Qing snorts once he regains his breath. “You always start them.”
“Do you have a fucking deathwish? Shut up.”
“Feng Xin. Let me prove it to you. I promise it won’t hurt.”
“I’m not letting you do anything to me—”
“Listen.”
Feng Xin listens.
“Your wrist. Trust me, won’t hurt. I have a favour to ask, too.”
That’s so strangely uncharacteristic. His usual moodiness has reached new heights.
“None of those things benefit me, why should I do either?”
Mu Qing’s answer makes him even more wary of him. He’s used to Mu Qing being weird ever so often, but he’s acting like a completely different person now.
“For my sake. Just once.”
Mu Qing’s always been unpredictable. This shouldn’t be surprising, anymore. Why is this surprising? Why is he a fucking vampire? Why does it make sense, when it’s so unbelievable?
Feng Xin, it seems, is also unpredictable. He can’t remember why he agreed to either of those things, at that moment.
“Keep this a secret.”
He nods. He doesn’t want to associate with a vampire, this will be convenient to him too.
“I got turned over break. Not voluntarily. I don’t want to tell you the story.”
Feng Xin gives him a thumbs up. Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
“I can survive off rat blood, but human blood is much nicer. I need to feed at least once in two days, or I will go insane.”
“Not like you’re sane in the first place.”
Feng Xin’s remark is ignored.
It feels like things are making sense again, in a proper, sensible way.
Mu Qing settles himself against the cupboard, finally getting up from the floor.
“I can feed off humans without killing them. It’s pretty convenient, honestly, because I don’t drain the humans of blood. I only need around eight mouthfuls.”
Feng Xin is slightly confused as to why Mu Qing is telling him this, until he realises.
“Fuck off. I won’t let you drink my blood.”
“I didn’t fucking ask,” Mu Qing snaps at him, accompanied by a glare. “Who wants to drink your blood?”
Back to normal. That was fucking weird.
“You asked for my wrist earlier.”
“To prove a point, not because I want to.”
“Fine,” Feng Xin shoves his hand in Mu Qing’s general direction. “Prove your point.”
Mu Qing’s hand is cold when it wraps around Feng Xin’s wrist. He looks at Feng Xin once, and nods, before sinking his teeth right into an artery.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt. At all.
After Feng Xin watches Mu Qing swallow, twice, he draws his teeth back, leaving Feng Xin’s wrist feeling empty. Mu Qing swipes his tongue over the pierced skin, somehow closing the wound. That’s magic.
He holds Feng Xin’s wrist for a second before nudging it back to him.
“Believe me?”
“I’ll keep it a secret.”
~~
“Feng Xin.”
Oh god, what is that tone. Feng Xin is not looking forward to this.
“What do you want?”
“Can I ask you a favour?”
No. This doesn’t sound good.
“What is it?”
Mu Qing is focused on the rain outside the window in their room. He sits at his desk, Feng Xin sitting at his own, their beds separating them.
Mu Qing sighs. “You don’t have to agree.”
He waits, Mu Qing doesn’t continue.
It’s been two months since he found out about Mu Qing’s vampirism. They haven’t spoken much about it, except during nights when Mu Qing sneaks off to feed. Feng Xin’s been woken up by his wandering. Sometimes he can’t fall asleep because of it.
(“Where did you go?” He asked one night, when Mu Qing was particularly late. Usually he was back within half an hour. Today it was an hour and a half. Feng Xin might have a problem, keeping tabs on him like this. He ignores it.
“Rats.”
Feng Xin nodded, despite Mu Qing not being able to see him in the darkness. He rolled over in bed and tried to sleep.)
It would be a strange conversation to someone who didn’t know the context, looking back.
“Spit it out.”
Mu Qing stares, uselessly.
“Can I drink from you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Alright.”
Like he’d expected it, Mu Qing gets back to work.
Feng Xin goes back to his, guilty. He doesn’t need to feel bad, he can’t figure out why he is. (He can. He absolutely can.)
Feng Xin talks to him once they’re both in bed and the lights are off. It’s been a quiet day, he doesn’t know how to bring this up.
He settles for: “Hey.”
“Hello.”
Well. That was pointless.
“Will it hurt more?”
Mu Qing immediately knows what he’s referring to.
“No. I’ve tried, it doesn't.”
Feng Xin wants to know who Mu Qing’s fed from. He doesn’t ask.
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
Pointless.
“We can try tomorrow. See how it is.”
“Yeah — you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Then, quieter, “Thank you.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Still. For considering it.”
“Okay.”
It’s awkward.
“You're welcome,” Feng Xin says, making it more awkward. He turns to sleep.
“Good night.”
~~
The next morning, Mu Qing feeds from him. It’s messy, awkward due to proximity, and over, seemingly, before it started.
“That was quick.”
“I was nervous.”
They bathe in the silence for a few seconds, Mu Qing shamelessly staring at him.
“Okay,” Feng Xin agress. “We can do that. Every two days?”
“Yeah.” Then, once again, quietly, “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
~~
Thus concluded their, perhaps, third of many agreements.
~~
“Good morning!” Xie Lian greets them, bright and early, at breakfast. “There’s chocolate milk today. It will be a good day.”
Feng Xin, already irritated, ignores him. He’s feeling a bit lightheaded, which is normal, he doesn’t care. Unfortunately, if Mu Qing notices, he will fuss over him and be annoying. Feng Xin doesn’t want him to fuss over him and be annoying.
“Good morning,” Mu Qing looks around. “Your boyfriend isn’t here today?”
“He left early,” Xie Lian smiles, “You guys are late.”
Feng Xin sits too fast and disorients himself. Xie Lian pays him no mind, right beside him, but fucking hell, Mu Qing noticed.
As if on cue, Mu Qing darts a hand across the table to stabilise him. Feng Xin swats his hand away. “I’m okay.”
Xie Lian watches curiously. Feng Xin doesn’t need this so early in the morning.
“What are you looking at? Drink your milk.”
“Mu Qing is concerned,” Xie Lian says, sipping his milk. “What did you guys get up to earlier?”
“That’s a strange conclusion you’ve reached.” Mu Qing interrupts.
“Of course,” Xie Lian does his customer service smile, it irks Feng Xin to no end. He drops his smile, sets his cup on the table and fishes for warm toast to butter. “What else would it be? It’s not like you’d wake up early to do anything,” He find his toast and fumbles with the butter knife, almost dropping it. “—voluntarily, at least.” He scoops butter and begins to spread it, looking up at Mu Qing. “It has to be something that happened at your dorm, and you wouldn’t have met anyone else on your way down because you’re late. Mu Qing was the only other one around, so,” Xie Lian removes the excess butter by sliding the knife down the edge of his toast. “ It has to be something both of you got up to. Judging by how Mu Qing’s fussing, he probably hurt you.” He takes a bite and speaks through a mouthful of bread, “What did you guys do? It’s too early to fight, even for you.”
“Are you a detective or something? Focus on your food. Chew with your mouth closed.”
Mu Qing leans across the table to hit him on the top of his head.
“Seriously.” Feng Xin agrees.
“Why are you hitting gege?”
Oh, lord. Not him, too.
“Good morning, Crimson Rain.”
Mu Qing returns the smile Hua Cheng throws at him. “Don’t hit him. You stick to fighting your boyfriend.”
“Feng Xin isn’t my boyfriend.” Mu Qing says. They’ve been over this. He takes the glass of juice Xie Lian offers him.
“I never said it was Feng Xin. You did.”
Bastards, both of them.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian diverts his attention.
“Lian-ge.”
“I thought you went to class.”
“I have a free lesson, so I said I went to the washroom. Do you want to take a walk?”
Feng Xin can’t stand the two of them together.
Brief history: Crimson Rain joined in their second year. He was a year younger than them but some sort of overachiever, so he was allowed to skip a grade. He fell in love with Xie Lian when he saved Crimson Rain from tripping on the staircase — it was not at all spectacular, Xie Lian simply held his wrist to steady him, and Crimson Rain never forgot his smile. Three years later, he asked him out.
It was obvious to everyone but Xie Lian, it seemed. Feng Xin and Mu Qing could tell right off the bat, also being completely enamoured by Xie Lian when they were younger. It is hypothesised that everyone had a crush on Xie Lian at some point, because come on, he’s Xie Lian, but only an overachiever like Hua Cheng could win his heart.
It’s beyond either of them how it happened, but when Crimson Rain asked him out, Xie Lian dropped his confession letter and box of chocolates in surprise. They’re on the same wavelength, though, Feng Xin will give them that.
“Where do you want to go?” Xie Lian asks, tugging his bag onto his right shoulder and holding his toast with his left hand. “Hang on,” he switches his toast to his right hand, holds out his left hand for Hua Cheng.
“The rose garden.”
Feng Xin snorts. Of course, that cheesy fucker. He didn’t think Crimson Rain would do this today.
“Wash your hand,” Mu Qing says, holding out a tissue to him. “Or wipe it, or something. Don’t be disgusting.”
Xie Lian looks at both of them like he does at least once a day, with disbelief.
“Just go,” Feng Xin mouths to Crimson Rain, flipping his hand. Crimson Rain nods and tugs on Xie Lian’s hand.
“Ah,” Xie Lian’s pulled out of his daze, he grabs the tissue Mu Qing offered to him and allows himself to be taken away by Hua Cheng. “Thank you.”
They watch them go. He waits for them to leave the dining hall.
“You fucker—”
“How the fuck—”
Mu Qing clears his throat.
“Reflex action,” he tells Feng Xin. “Nothing I can do about it.”
“He’s going to find out,” he replies, picking up Xie Lian’s cup of unfinished milk. “He didn’t even finish his milk, he’s so gone for Crimson Rain.”
Feng Xin drinks the remaining milk, Mu Qing makes a disgusted face. “You could at least pour it into another cup.”
“Stop nagging.”
“I’m not nagging,” Mu Qing fishes out another tissue to hand to Feng Xin, he wipes his mouth with it.
“Eat something. You can’t have juice for breakfast.”
“Yes,” Mu Qing sighs. “What’s Hua Cheng up to?”
“He asked me for help yesterday,” Feng Xin starts, “Where’s the fruit?”
“Oh, continental breakfast today, fancy.”
Feng Xin scoffs, vaguely affectionately, as Mu Qing looks around.
“I saw some on the next table, wait,” Mu Qing stands up, Feng Xin stops him, Mu Qing doesn’t listen to him, Mu Qing brings fruit.
“Annoying. I’m not hurt. You don’t need to do that for me.”
“Shut up and eat. What were you saying?”
“So,” Feng Xin starts, again, then shoves a generously large piece of watermelon into his mouth. He takes a second to chew. “Yesterday—”
“Finish chewing your food.”
Feng Xin rolls his eyes.
“Crimson Rain wants to give him a gift,” Feng Xin says, after swallowing his food. “He asked me for help to set up this corner in the rose garden, I told him that someone would clean it up in the evening before closing the garden, but he said the groundskeeper owes him a favour? I don’t know, he’s fucking weird, how does he get the groundskeeper to owe him?”
Feng Xin eats another piece of watermelon, pushing the bowl towards Mu Qing, who nods at him and looks pensievely at the fruit.
“It’s not acidic, you won’t get a stomach ache.”
Mu Qing reluctantly picks at the fruit in the bowl. He eats some.
“Anyway, it’s this little picnic mat with chocolate hidden away in the east corner, that’s what Crimson Rain said, at least, and he put up a banner that says ‘San Lang loves gege’ which he needed my help for.”
“Cheesy.”
Feng Xin nods, eating more watermelon. It’s sweet today.
“I thought he’d give him the gift over the weekend, but he’s doing it today.”
“What’s the gift?”
“Eat and I’ll tell you.”
Mu Qing pushes the bowl of fruit away from himself. Feng Xin pushes it back, and the plate of toast along with it.
“Forget it, I don’t care that much.”
“Have some toast.”
Mu Qing, half-heartedly, picks up the warmest slice of bread he can find. He begins to lather it in butter.
“It’s a locket. Apparently,” Feng Xin eats another piece of watermelon, reaching across the table, “it’s got some rare stone in it, but I can’t remember which one.”
“Xie Lian would know,” Mu Qing takes a bite of his toast. “Did Crimson Rain get one for himself too? Matching-matching?”
Feng Xin snorts. “Matching-matching. I think he did, with the compatible stone or whatever.”
“Didn’t know stones had compatibility.”
“Makes two of us.”
Above them, the bell rings. Mu Qing holds his toast in his hand and tugs his bag on, Feng Xin picks out a tissue for him. Mu Qing watches him stand.
“I’m okay. Stop nagging.”
“I'm not nagging,” Mu Qing offers to hold Feng Xin’s bag, Feng Xin swats his hand away. They walk to class in silence.
~~
The day goes by relatively fast. Xie Lian very happily shows them the pendant Hua Cheng gave him during lunch. Mu Qing and Feng Xin clink their glasses of water when Hua Cheng pulls out a matching one.
“You know, even the stones in—”
“Are compatible?” Feng Xin interrupts. “You owe me chocolate,” he tells Mu Qing.
“We didn’t even bet.”
“—they’re the same stone,” Xie Lian continues. “Not compatible. When—”
“I take it back,” Mu Qing says. “Buy me dates. I won.”
“You didn’t even say they’d have the same stone.”
“I said matching-matching.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It absolutely does. Read between the lines. I want red dates—”
“I’m not getting you anything.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, Feng Xin drinks some water. Xie Lian waits.
“San Lang put so much effort into my gift,” Xie Lian stops, expecting interruption. There is none. “My stone turns warm when I touch it, the same happens to San Lang’s. It doesn’t matter how far we are, the stones are connected. That’s so cool.”
“Cheesy fucker,” Feng Xin tells Crimson Rain. The three of them look expectantly at Mu Qing, who has since been staring into space. Feng Xin nudges him with his shoulder.
“It’s pretty cool,” he says, zoning back in. “Cute idea. I like it.”
They stare at him. He stares back.
“Cheesy fucker,” Feng Xin parrots. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I mean,” Mu Qing turns his attention to his food, the other three follow. “I’ve always been kind of a romantic.”
Feng Xin considers it, holding up a piece of his sweet and sour pork with his chopsticks. “You’ve always liked romance novels, that’s true.”
“Hm,” Mu Qing swallows his food, “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend?”
“Sure,” Feng Xin says.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“I know.”
“Xie Lian? Crimson Rain?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian looks at Hua Cheng, who nods. “Where?”
“Secret,” Mu Qing says, indifferent, chewing his food. He looks up to find the three of them staring at him. They wait for him to finish chewing. “I’ll tell you on the day.”
“Saturday or Sunday?”
“Surprise.”
Feng Xin shrugs when Xie Lian and Hua Cheng look at him. “Surprise,” he mouths to them.
~~
There’s two places Mu Qing would host movie night: their dorm, where they sit, cramped, on one of their beds and use the other bed’s sheet as the white screen for the projector (Mu Qing just has these things, no one’s sure how he gets them in or gets them out) or, the more ambitious option, the terrace.
They’ve only been there twice. The first time was a disaster, the second time a little less. It was fun, Feng Xin remembers. They hammered a bedsheet into the wall and prayed that nobody would notice. They had to remove it from the wall, too. It’s a miracle nobody woke up from the noise alone.
Mu Qing moves his toolbox from under his bed, now. Roof it is, Feng Xin thinks. It’s going to be a fun night.
Feng Xin watches as he removes a hammer and four nails from the box, then as he slides the box back under his bed. He pulls out his sheet from his bed and wraps the hammer and nails in it.
“Do we have enough sheets?”
“Hm, I checked,” Mu Qing slides out his projector next, then his laptop. “There’s last week’s sheet which needs burning but I have a spare one if this one gets ruined.”
“Cool, cool. I can’t burn this Sunday, by the way.”
Mu Qing’s hands still. “Why?”
“I have practise.”
“What for?”
“Track.”
“You run?”
Feng Xin leans forward from his bed to hit the back of Mu Qing’s head. “For the past five years, yes. Fucking hell.”
He hits him again.
“I’m just fucking with you, I knew that,” Mu Qing rubs the back of his head. He smiles. “You get so defensive, seriously.”
“You’re just annoying,” Feng Xin leans back. “What movie?”
“Surprise.”
“See, annoying. Shall I fetch Crimson Rain and Xie Lian?”
“Please do. They’ll be the ones hammering the sheet, anyway.”
~~
“Mu Qing. I’m going to fuck you up.”
It is empty. The nights are warm, the terrace is warmer. Mu Qing still brings a jacket. The lock was, thankfully, easy to break for him. There have been instances where he’s confidently reassured Feng Xin of his vampire strength and failed to break locks, then Feng Xin would step in and use a hairpin, or a copper wire, to open the lock instead. It was tremendously embarrassing. Today is not one of those days. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng had arrived late enough to not question how they got the lock open, nor where they acquired nails and hammers from. Come to think of it, they had not questioned where Mu Qing got a projector from, as well. They were either ignorant or apathetic, or they knew better than Feng Xin — that would bother him. No one should know Mu Qing better than him. He wants to be the only one to know Mu Qing, and have Mu Qing feel good about feeling known.
“It’s not my fault you can't hammer a nail, Crimson Rain.”
“Mu Qing. I’m going to fuck you up. The movie better be worth it.”
“Feng Xin can do it, if you can’t.”
“Hey,” Feng Xin, formerly zoned out, zones back in. “I never agreed to this.”
“Catch,” Crimson Rain says to him, and throws the hammer in his direction. Feng Xin shields his head with his hands. What the fuck is wrong with him.
“Crazy bastard,” Mu Qing says, standing in front of Feng Xin, holding the hammer in his hands. “You could’ve hurt him.”
Feng Xin relaxes his shoulders, drops his hands, peeks over Mu Qing’s shoulder. Crimson Rain doesn’t look sorry at all.
“Hua Cheng!” He yells over Mu Qing’s shoulder, who flinches from the sound. “Are you trying to prove a point? Why’re you being so fucking reckless?”
“Mu Qing,” Hua Cheng says, after a beat. “Why are your reflexes so fast?”
“This fucker,” Feng Xin says, under his breath. “Mu Qing, I thought I was going to die.”
“Don’t worry,” Mu Qing steps to his side, holds out the hammer to Feng Xin. I’m here, Feng Xin expects him to say. He says, “A hammer won’t kill you.”
Yeah, okay. Feng Xin takes the hammer.
“Mu Qing. You didn’t answer me.”
Mu Qing’s eyes gloss over Hua Cheng. “Where’s Xie Lian?” he asks him.
Feng Xin looks around. Xie Lian isn’t here, he was here a minute ago.
“Ge said he left the snacks in his room, so he’s gone to get them.”
Mu Qing nods, ignores Hua Cheng’s previous question, and looks at Feng Xin. Feng Xin gets to work. It takes him five seconds to hammer each nail into the wall, through the bed sheet. The real problem is moving the old ladder from one end to the other end, but luckily Mu Qing’s upper body strength can be played off as Feng Xin’s upper body weakness.
“That wasn’t so hard, Crimson Rain.”
But Crimson Rain is sitting cross-legged, staring straight at the door, like he’s waiting.
Feng Xin sighs.
“Down bad,” he tells Mu Qing.
“Down bad,” Mu Qing replies.
~~
The movie is a romance. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng migrate to their own world after the first half an hour, sharing a blanket and most of the savoury snacks. Mu Qing watches intently, Feg Xin loses interest mid way and takes to looking at the sky. It’s pretty, he thinks. Blue and purple, slightly crowded by stars, the occasional planet. It’s pretty, Feng Xin thinks. He could get lost looking at it.
Some forty-five minutes into the movie, Mu Qing says, “Not interested?”
“No, no,” Feng Xin replies, focusing his attention back on the movie. “Got distracted by the sky, looks really pretty tonight.”
Mu Qing looks up. “Yeah,” He tells him. “It does.”
Feng Xin turns his attention to the movie. Xie Lian and Crimson Rain are also watching, he notices, though Crimson Rain looks like he’s going to fall asleep on Xie Lian’s shoulder.
“Hey. What do you think of them?” Feng Xin asks, quietly.
“They’re happy.”
“That’s true.”
“They don’t need anything else,” He turns his head to Feng Xin. “They seem like they don’t need anything else, if they have each other.”
“That’s nice?”
Mu Qing nods. “Intense, but must be nice. I think—”
He stops himself.
“Feng Xin,” he says, softly. “I can hear footsteps.”
“Fuck,” Feng Xin replies, equally soft.
They look at each other for a second before turning their attention to Xie Lian and Crimson Rain. Mu Qing sighs, turns his projector and laptop off, quickly gathers his equipment.
“Xie Lian. Crimson Rain,” Feng Xin waves at them. “I’m getting a bad feeling. Let’s watch some other time.”
When Xie Lian nudges his shoulder, Crimson Rain wakes up.
“Gege?”
“We need to go back now.”
“Is the movie over?”
Impossibly fond, Xie Lian replies, “Yes, let’s go to sleep properly, okay?”
Crimson Rain smiles and leans up to peck Xie Lian’s cheek. “Okay,” he says, and tucks his head on Xie Lian’s chest.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian smiles into his hair.
Feng Xin looks away, this isn't something he feels privy to watching.
Instead, he looks at Mu Qing, who’s taken it on himself to dislodge the nails and fold up the sheet. Feng Xin watches his hands, one spread on the wall in a manner which places the nail between two of his fingers, and the other holding the hammer with the head facing him. He gently slots the hammer onto the nail, and pulls with control. The nail is easily removed. The ridges and protruding veins from Mu Qing’s hands are reflected by the moonlight, he has slender fingers and clipped nails, he has neatly-kept hands. Feng Xin watches him grip the ladder as he comes down, veins even more visible when pressured. One hand at a time, a hammer held between his index and middle finger, a nail held by the hammer. He repeats his action on the other nail, the bedsheet falls to the ground. The movement distracts Feng Xin from his staring.
“Help me fold the bed sheet?”
Feng Xin nods. Xie Lian and Crimson Rain have cleaned up their spot, it looks like nobody was there in the first place, and now they wait patiently, leaning on the boundary wall of the terrace.
“Here,” Mu Qing holds out one end of it to him.
They quietly fold the sheet, Mu Qing yanks it toward himself once it’s small enough, and Feng Xin doesn’t let him take it. After a minor tug of war, Mu Qing relents, and hands the bed sheet to Feng Xin.
“Let’s go,” he tells the other two. “We need to be quiet, I think someone’s making rounds.”
“You shouldn’t be able to hear that from up here,” Crimson Rain pipes up. “That’s strange.”
“I never said I heard anything, yeah? Be quiet.”
“Whatever.”
Xie Lian tugs on Crimson Rain’s wrist to silence him.
Feng Xin nods once at Mu Qing, who slips the door open and motions for Xie Lian and Crimson Rain to leave. They whisper their goodbyes down the stairs and wait for them to disappear. Mu Qing slides the door shut, him and Feng Xin look at each other in the light of the night sky.
“You lied.”
Mu Qing nods.
Feng Xin exhales from his mouth.
“Crimson Rain’s figuring something out. Can’t be sure if he’s right, but it’s something.”
“Hm,” Mu Qing replies. “He’ll know if we try to deceive him in any way, he’ll know if we’re hiding something.”
“There’s no winning,” Feng Xin turns his back to the wall, letting the sheet fall from his hands. Mu Qing sets down his equipment as well, but still faces Feng Xin.
“What do we do?” Mu Qing asks him, quiet. He’s been so quiet tonight.
“Nothing. There’s nothing we can do. We’ll pretend like we don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“It’ll work, he doesn’t make sense half the time, anyway.”
“Heh,” Mu Qing kicks his leg back and forth.
“What to do.”
After some silence, Mu Qing perks up. “Want to finish rest of the movie? We can watch it in the room.”
“Sounds good,” Feng Xin bends down and gathers the sheet. They leave as they came, carefully. They close the door and let the broken lock hang, somehow there’s always a new one to replace it. The walk back to the dorm is dark, the school feels eerie at night, like most schools would. There’s secrets buried in these walls and below this ground, there’s years of foundation and magic they don’t know about. They walk on the body of a used, worn-out furnace of lost knowledge, of forgotten words whispered into forgotten corners, forgotten letters traced into forgotten walls. Layers of dust, paint, and decay to hold this black hole of knowledge up, to prevent it from collapsing into itself — to make it hold one more secret, one more burden of two figures walking in the night. Their footsteps don’t echo.
The stairs creek on their way up to their room, and Feng Xin nearly trips over the rug, but they manage not to make much noise. Mu Qing takes to setting up their screen, Feng Xin goes to wash up before bed.
It’s when he’s brushing his teeth that he remembers.
“Mu Qing,” He says, emerging from their bathroom in his night clothes. Said person looks up from his laptop screen, already comfortable on Feng Xin’s bed.
“It’s too much effort to put up the screen,” he explains. “Let’s just watch it here.”
Feng Xin nods. “Check my drawer.”
Mu Qing gets up to walk to Feng Xin’s desk — “Not that drawer, idiot. The bedside one.”
“You should’ve said that, then,” He replies, under his breath.
There is a box of red dates in Feng Xin’s bedside drawer.
“I can’t believe you actually eat those, by the way. Don’t finish them all at once.”
Mu Qing grins at him, ignoring his sentence, and Feng Xin smiles back.