Work Text:
Feng Xin hates the springtime. He wishes he could be happy about blooming flowers and warming weather, but allergies and thunderstorms destroy any notion of joy and appreciation.
Like tonight.
"How long is the storm supposed to last?" Mu Qing asks. They’re standing side by side at their apartment window, staring out into the dark. Not that it’s much brighter inside— the power’s been out for, Feng Xin checks his watch, five minutes. Which hopefully means it’ll come back soon, right?
Right.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Feng Xin says.
“I don’t know, idiot. You ever thought of checking the weather app on your phone?”
Oh. “Well,” Feng Xin sputters. “Fuck you— Why don’t you just look?”
“Well, gee, if only someone hadn’t spent hours on my phone earlier playing Candy Crush, my phone wouldn’t be dead, and I would be able to check.”
“I was trying to help you beat level 400,” Feng Xin grumbles as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.
“Well, you didn’t.” Mu Qing sticks his chin in the air.
Feng Xin mutters curses under his breath as he checks his phone. “It’s supposed to last all fucking night. There.”
“How long is the power supposed to be out?”
“What? So I’m supposed to be the god of electricity now?”
“Yes.” Mu Qing says flatly. “Put the power back on.”
“I hate you.” Feng Xin steps away from the window. “You wanna look for something to eat now or wait and see if the power comes back on?”
“Of course,” Mu Qing says, turning and crossing his arms. “On your night for dinner, the power just happens to be out.”
“I’m starting to believe that you really do fucking think that I control the electric.”
“Order out,” Mu Qing instructs. “I want pizza.”
“I’m not making someone fucking drive in this shitty storm.” Feng Xin enters their kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You of all people should feel the same.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mu Qing says, following him.
“It doesn’t mean anything, dumbass,” says Feng Xin.
“Whatever.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m not moving until you bring me food.”
“Great,” Feng Xin says, starting at a flash of lightning and loud burst of thunder. “Then we’ll finally have some peace and fucking quiet.”
He shuts himself in the pantry before Mu Qing can respond, shining his phone’s flashlight to see the shelves. Despite Mu Qing’s passive aggressive accusations, Feng Xin’s been in this apartment longer than him— he knows how power outages usually work. If it doesn’t come back on almost immediately, it’ll be out for hours. Once, for two days.
Right. Food. Food that doesn’t need to be microwaved or refrigerated. Feng Xin has a tin of Goldfish in his room? He pulls out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Sandwiches! He can do sandwiches.
He emerges from the pantry, setting his plunders on the kitchen counter. Mu Qing, true to form, is sitting at the table. Feng Xin shines his flashlight in his direction.
“Can’t you get off your fucking ass and help at least a little?” Feng Xin asks. “Get, like, fucking light sources or something?”
“Get your fucking flashlight off me if you want to keep that arm,” Mu Qing says icily. “I’ll go get the weird scented candles you use for bubble baths.”
“They set the goddamn mood.” Feng Xin slams the door to the pantry behind him.
Peanut butter sandwiches. What else? Feng Xin opens the door to chuck a bag of chips onto the counter behind him, and then a handful of granola bars. Fucking hell, Mu Qing’s never gonna let him live this down. For dessert? There’s a bag of marshmallows at the back of the second shelf. A packet of chocolate bars. A box of graham crackers. Maybe Feng Xin’s a genius. Definitely.
When he exits the pantry again, Mu Qing’s back and trying to operate the lighter from the bathroom cabinet.
“We’re having sandwiches,” Feng Xin says, opening the utensils drawer and taking out a butter knife.
“Of course we are.” Mu Qing sighs.
“Fuck off, I’m not letting the cold air out of the fridge. Who knows how long the fucking electricity will be out?”
“You would.” Mu Qing hisses as he sparks the lighter, lighting one of the candles.
Feng Xin shuts the drawer with his hip, turning back to the counter. “Whatever. It’s not cold enough to put the food outside if we open the fridge, so you’re just gonna have to fucking deal.”
“You seem awfully knowledgeable about—”
Feng Xin slams his fist against the counter. “I can’t control the fucking electricity, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing looks up from where he’s trying to light the second candle. “I never said you could, idiot.”
“Shut up and let me make your fucking sandwich.” Feng Xin turns back to his sandwich-making.
By the time he’s assembled their plates, Mu Qing has all four candles lit, filling the kitchen nook with clashing scents of lavender, green apple, vanilla almond, and something the Bath and Body Works employee called ‘Sweater Weather’ which smells a bit too much like the dentist’s office.
“Here,” Feng Xin snaps, dropping the plate in front of Mu Qing. “We’re having smores for dessert.”
“How charming,” Mu Qing sneers.
“Eat your food and be quiet.”
Silence, save for the pounding rain and occasional sound of thunder fills the kitchen. Mu Qing looks terrifying in the candle light, illuminating his cheekbones and that dimple in his chin. That hair that falls into the light, framing his face. Right. Terrifying.
Feng Xin clears his throat, taking a bite of sandwich. It’s room-temperature. It’s gross.
“Okay,” Feng Xin says after he swallows, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Don’t be fucking quiet, actually, it’s weird and I don’t like it and I don’t like you and you’re fucking— uh, you’re fucking ugly. Yeah. So shut up.”
Mu Qing chews thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. “You’re acting weird.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.” Mu Qing sets his half-finished sandwich down. “And candlelight makes your skin look awfully wan.”
“Well it makes you look really nice,” Feng Xin blurts.
“I thought you said I was ugly.”
“As if you don’t lie.” Feng Xin unwraps his granola bar, taking an angry bite. “I think the candlelight might be making me go a little off the wall.”
Mu Qing takes another bite of his sandwich. “I’m reminding you too much of your little dates, huh? I bet you take them to those expensive dimly lit restaurants and that’s why you can’t make rent half the time.”
“I… don’t,” Feng Xin admits, wincing. He’ll get more shit for lying. Mu Qing’s the worst. “Also, fuck you. I haven’t gone on a date in over a month—”
“Oh, I know,” says Mu Qing, rolling his eyes. “The wall between our bedrooms is very, very thin.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Ditto, asshole.”
“As if you’d ever take someone on a date to a restaurant that fancy,” Feng Xin says. He’s got to get back on top; Mu Qing will obviously rise to the bait.
“Oh, I would. I just make my date pay.” Mu Qing sets the crusts of his sandwich down, popping a chip into his mouth.
“Just like how you made me make the sandwiches?”
“Is this a date?”
Feng Xin sputters and coughs, choking on a piece of sandwich. “No, that’s not what I said—”
“Because if it was, I’d not not accept.”
What? Oh.
Oh.
“Is that a goddamn double negative or are you just stumbling over your words again?” Feng Xin asks, heart stopping.
“It’s not not a double negative,” mutters Mu Qing.
“So you don’t not like me.”
“I don’t no,t not, not like you.”
“Well if that’s true, I don’t not, not, not, not, not like you, too.”
“Wait.” Mu Qing rubs his temples.
Feng Xin laughs. “Yeah, that shit got away from us. But, uh.”
Mu Qing crosses his arms. “Not for me. I followed it.”
“Sure, you did.” Feng Xin says. “And, hey. I do. Really fucking like you.”
“Oh.” Mu Qing’s face flushes a beautiful shade of red. “That’s c-cool. I— I also like you. Stupidly.”
Feng Xin grins, giddy. “Fuck yeah. Nice. Awesome. Want to finish eating or just go make out?”
Mu Qing pauses. “Your sandwiches are shitty.”
Feng Xin stands so fast that his chair falls back behind him, but he pays it no mind. “They really fucking are. I can’t cook.”
Mu Qing stands too, pushing his chair back in behind him. “I know you can’t. That’s why I said we should order out.”
Feng Xin takes a step forward. “I’ll do it next time.”
“Good.” Mu Qing seizes the front of Feng Xin’s shirt in his hand, tugging him forward.
“I’m gonna kiss you now.”
Mu Qing smirks. “Even better.”
They abandon the kitchen, leaving the candles to burn low in the night.