Work Text:
Mu Qing taps his foot impatiently, checking the time on his watch. He’s standing outside of, of all places, a TGI Friday’s , which is the last place he wants to be, and he looks ridiculous, and he’s about to go on a goddamn blind date–
He isn’t in the greatest mood, frankly. Then again, this was very much not his idea.
“A blind date,” he’d said flatly. Shi Qingxuan had given him a winning smile.
“Seriously, I know someone who’s exactly your type. Don’t you want to give it a try?”
Mu Qing had looked from her to Xie Lian, who had shrugged half-heartedly. Finally, he relented. “What the hell. One date. It better not be a complete disaster, okay?”
Shi Qingxuan had clapped enthusiastically. “Yes! Don’t worry for a second, you two will hit it right off. Oh, and one more thing…”
Mu Qing tugs at the stupid hairband, big and flashy and horrifically early-00s. He still doesn’t know why he has to wear it—even if it didn’t look completely ridiculous, it doesn’t match his style in the slightest—but Shi Qingxuan had insisted that he needed it so that his mystery date could find him. His mystery date, who’s coming up on ten minutes late. Classy.
Mu Qing sighs and leans against the faux-brick exterior, ignoring the weird looks he gets from the restaurant’s middle-class patrons. Fantastic. He’s getting stood up for a blind date he didn’t even want to go on.
“Uh. Excuse me?”
Mu Qing looks up from his phone—he’s in the middle of composing a text to Shi Qingxuan that reads something along the lines of this was a horrible idea and i’m going to kill you for making me do it —and startles. It’s the last person he expected to see… anywhere. Much less at a Friday’s on a Tuesday night. “What?” he says, a bit snappier than he means to be, but then again, this idiot never fails to put him in a bad mood.
Soft brown hair tied back in a bun. Broad shoulders. Golden eyes under a brow furrowed with confusion.
“I’m, uh. Wait.” Feng Xin narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you Xie Lian’s roommate?”
Oh, brilliant. He’s been recognized . “And you’re his idiotic best friend,” he snaps. “Can I help you with something?” He barely refrains from adding an expletive to the end of that sentence.
“Don’t be fucking rude,” Feng Xin complains, going right ahead and doing it for him. “I almost didn’t recognize you with that fucking thing on your head, but your nasty-ass attitude gives it away.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “I’m just here for a date, alright?” As if Mu Qing were accusing him of something. Is he? Maybe. Feng Xin’s presence is somehow ruining an already shitty night.
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, too, so–” Mu Qing stops, narrowing his eyes. Feng Xin is cleaned up—not wearing that hideous athletic gear he’s normally clothed in during their history seminar—in a clean, well-fitting pair of jeans and a red sweater. A pit opens in his stomach—didn’t Qingxuan say something about having his date wear red so Mu Qing would know it was him? And why does he have that expression, like he’s dreading something unpleasant? And–
Mu Qing has a sudden, horrible flashback to earlier that evening, of Xie Lian cheerfully saying, Oh, my friend has a blind date tonight, too!
Dear god, please no.
“You are not my fucking date,” he hisses. Feng Xin, big stupid bull in a china shop that he is, throws his hands up in an impressive feat of melodrama.
“Well clearly, I fucking am,” he snaps. “So are we going to get this over with or not?”
Mu Qing has to clench his fists to avoid throwing something at Feng Xin. Probably his phone. Or this stupid baby blue scarf masquerading as a headband masquerading as fashion. He’s going to kill Shi Qingxuan .
“What the hell,” he forces out through grit teeth, and isn’t that the goddamn thing about Feng Xin—somehow, Mu Qing can never, ever keep his composure around him. God fucking dammit .
Feng Xin crosses his arms. “Don’t be a dick,” he spits. “You think I’m fucking happy about this? But if we call this off without giving it a shot, we’ll never hear the end of it. You know how Shi Qingxuan is, she’ll fucking tell everyone we couldn’t handle it.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing says. Feng Xin opens his mouth to protest, and Mu Qing smacks his arm. “ Seriously , just shut up for a second.” Feng Xin huffs but actually follows instructions for once, pursing his lips as Mu Qing mulls it over. It’s true—Shi Qingxuan will make fun of them if they back out before the date’s even started. And he can already hear that bastard Pei Ming’s stupid comments. And— ugh —when Xie Lian hears his roommate and his best friend couldn’t get along even for one night, he’ll get that sad puppy-dog look, followed by that I’m definitely not sad, don’t worry about me look, and fuck it. Fuck it.
“Fine,” he says. Feng Xin starts, like he didn’t expect him to say anything. Moron. “Dinner. And then we’re done.”
Feng Xin actually looks surprised. The dumb, open look on his face is much less annoying than the scowl he usually wears around Mu Qing. But nothing gold can stay, and the glower returns to his face as he says, “Deal. Trust me, the last thing I fucking want is to spend any more time with you than I have to.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Charming,” he mutters, but that’s that, isn’t it? Reluctantly, the two of them enter into the belly of the beast.
They’re seated by an overly-bubbly high schooler, who beams blindingly at them as she tells them she’ll be right back to take their order. Mu Qing is glad one of them is feeling optimistic; Feng Xin looks a little queasy, and Mu Qing can’t blame him. Their past encounters have been far from friendly; Mu Qing is quick to critique idiocy, and Feng Xin is probably one of the biggest idiots around. He’s also absurdly proud, so each insult is met with a barrage of profanity and dim-witted comebacks.
Last month, they had to work on a class project in a group of four. Needless to say, their other two group members were quick to insult their work ethic to their professor, which Mu Qing finds ridiculously unfair, since he’s done nothing but work his ass off since the day he was born. Leave it to Feng Xin to distract him from the important things with petty bullshit.
“What are you ordering?” Feng Xin asks in a reluctant mumble. Mu Qing arches an eyebrow; is he actually trying ? Bold choice. Especially considering he had every intention of wolfing down dinner and being home within the hour. It’s almost admirable, really.
“It looks like this place at least has a bar, so they better have vodka. I’ll need it to get through a conversation with you.”
Feng Xin goes red, glaring. “You could actually fucking pretend to be giving this a shot,” he hisses.
Mu Qing huffs. “Why should I? You’re not all that great a catch.” His tone is dripping venom, and why shouldn’t it be? Feng Xin’s a bastard with more anger then sense, a muscle-headed jock who peaked in high school. In fact, he’s nearly bulging out of his sweater, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows expose built forearms.
Like he said. Meathead.
Feng Xin scoffs. “Fucking excuse me if–” He, wisely and therefore uncharacteristically, shuts his mouth as their perky waitress returns to take their orders. This time she seems to scamper more than skip away, so she’s clearly picked up on the rancid energy this date has. If it’s even fair to call this shitshow a date.
Mu Qing folds his arms, eyes narrowed as he studies Feng Xin. “Sorry that you didn’t make the best impression by being late .”
Feng Xin frowns. “That wasn’t–” He huffs, leaning back in his chair, his jaw clenched. Finally, he says, “I didn’t mean to be, I just… fucked up the date.”
Mu Qing raises an eyebrow. “What, you forgot our date was tonight? Much better. Now I don’t feel nearly as forgotten.”
Feng Xin practically growls at him. “No, I knew our date was tonight, I just didn’t know I was going to have my kid–” He cuts himself off, pointedly looking away. Mu Qing raises his eyebrows.
“You have a kid,” he says slowly.
Feng Xin groans. “Shut the fuck up,” he mutters.
“It’s not a judgement,” he huffs. “I just didn’t–”
“Well now you know,” he snaps. “I just had to drop him off with his mom, it’s fine, not your fucking problem.”
Mu Qing blinks. He never would’ve guessed Feng Xin, of all people, would have a kid. That’s a hell of a lot of responsibility; Mu Qing gets overwhelmed just babysitting the brats around his neighborhood. And holy shit, Feng Xin is on a date with him right now? “Shouldn’t you be with him?”
Feng Xin looks sharply at him, his eyes practically burning. “I said it’s not your fucking problem!”
Mu Qing frowns. “I wasn’t being judgemental, I was just asking .”
“And I’m just saying, fucking drop it! We’ll fucking work it out later!”
Mu Qing huffs but lets it go, sinking back in his seat. Of course, he can’t even show genuine concern without being snapped at. They sit in deeply uncomfortable silence until their waitress returns with their dinner, cheerily letting them know to let her know if they need anything! She’s really working for that tip, that’s for damn sure.
He takes a few bites before he decides he can’t stand this anymore. “You look n. Nice,” he grits out, tripping over the word. He hates it here.
Feng Xin almost drops his fork. “Whuh?”
He has a bit of sauce on his chin. It looks stupid. Mu Qing sneers and tamps down the desire to wipe it off. “I’m trying to make this stupid date at least a little worthwhile.” Since Feng Xin gave up time with his kid to be here, what the hell.
Feng Xin squints at him for a moment, the gears obviously turning. Hesitantly, he says, “You… too? I like the…” He gestures to Mu Qing’s hair; he frowns, reaching up and brushing against satiny fabric. Oh god , he forgot about that ugly ribbon. He hisses, tearing it off his head.
“Don’t patronize me,” he snarls. “I can’t believe Shi Qingxuan made me wear that.”
Feng Xin snorts. It’s almost nice to hear him sound amused instead of disgusted. “I can. I think she gets off on humiliating her friends.”
Mu Qing can’t help but let out a little laugh, caught off-guard by Feng Xin apparently commiserating . “No kidding. She’s the worst.” He smooths his hair back, since he ruffled it removing that hideous headband. “I still can’t believe she had the never to set me up with you , of all people.”
Feng Xin glares at him. “Real fucking charming.”
Mu Qing gives him his best shit-eating grin. “I know.”
Feng Xin stabs at his plate, thoughtful. “So, uh. First date small-talk.” Mu Qing raises an eyebrow and waves a hand for him to continue— this ought to be good. “Have any… family?”
“No,” he says flatly. “I just spawned into this world, specifically to torment you.”
“Wouldn’t fucking surprise me,” he mutters.
Mu Qing ignores him. “Just my mom,” he says shortly. “And you have your son, your ex-wife–”
Feng Xin glares at him. “Bastard.” He crosses his arms, huffing. “She’s my high school girlfriend, I’m not fucking divorced.”
“I just can’t believe you got actually got laid regularly enough to knock someone up,” he says, his tone pointedly conversational. That, he thinks, ought to press his buttons.
Feng Xin clenches his jaw so tightly, Mu Qing can practically hear his teeth grinding. Too easy. “I hate you,” he hisses.
Mu Qing can’t help it—he laughs. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?” he taunts. “There goes our perfect first date.”
Feng Xin glares. “You’re the one who’s been fucking sabotaging it all night!” As if Feng Xin has been sincerely trying this entire time. The very idea is so ridiculous that Mu Qing’s stomach turns. Feng Xin sighs heavily, something clearly causing him to lose momentum. His muscles unwind, and his frown almost seems pouty. “I have no fucking clue why you always treat me like shit.”
Mu Qing huffs. “When have I treated you like shit?”
Feng Xin looks incredulous. “In class?” Mu Qing levels him with an unimpressed look. “You’re always fucking calling me an idiot!”
Mu Qing shrugs. “Then stop giving such idiotic answers. Some of us are here to learn, we don’t have time for your ridiculous what-ifs and editorializing.”
Feng Xin frowns. “I’m just trying to fucking understand.”
“And I’m just trying to learn the facts,” he says simply. “I don’t have time to listen to some moron talk about how the people of the past made poor decisions, I’m trying to graduate.”
The waitress chooses that moment to reappear to take their plates and leave the check. She hesitates for a moment, looking between the pair of them before carefully putting the check in the exact middle of the table, equidistant from both of them. As she hurries off, Mu Qing grins. “Oh, what a shame. Our lovely evening is nearly at a close,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Feng Xin rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mutters, reaching for the check. Mu Qing narrows his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he says sharply.
Feng Xin gives him a look, like he’s stupid. “Paying for dinner, dumbass. Do you want to fucking dine and dash?”
Mu Qing bristles, a hot anger lighting in his gut. “I don’t need you to pay for me,” he snaps.
Feng Xin’s brows knit together, in nearly-cute confusion that’s almost endearing. Of course, he ruins it, the expression morphing into a glare. “I fucking know that. But it’s a fucking date, isn’t it? I’ll treat you, it’s polite or whatever.”
Just like that, Mu Qing’s anger fizzles. Feng Xin’s just… being polite. How bizarre. “What, like you’re the one wearing the pants, here?” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, but it doesn’t quite have the bite he intended. Which, whatever. Feng Xin huffs, but when Mu Qing doesn’t push it, he leaves it be for once, paying the check.
“So can we leave now?” he says, and before he’s even managed to finish his sentence Mu Qing is out of his seat.
“Yes,” he hisses. “Let’s go.” He’s had enough of this weird night and the weird feeling in his chest and—that weirdo Feng Xin. You hate him , he reminds himself. He’s an asshole, and you hate him .
Mu Qing lets himself out of that chain restaurant nightmare, shivering just slightly at the night’s chill. Feng Xin is right behind him, crossing his arms. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he says; when Mu Qing looks sharply at him, he’s looking out over the parking lot. “Where are you parked?”
Mu Qing frowns. “I don’t have a car,” he says, because seriously, why the fuck would you own a car when you can use literally any other method of transit, probably for much cheaper? “I was just going to get an Uber.”
Feng Xin frowns at him. “No fucking way,” he says. “I’ll give you a ride.” Mu Qing opens his mouth to protest—the last thing he wants right now is for this date to continue —but Feng Xin is already leading him across the parking lot. “Seriously, why the fuck would you pay for an Uber? I already know where you live.”
Mu Qing snaps his mouth shut. Fine. Fair enough. “You sound like a stalker,” he mutters, jogging a bit to catch up to him.
“Shut up,” Feng Xin huffs, shoving at him. “My best friend is your roommate.” He stops, kicking the back tire of the car before him. “Here. Get in.”
Feng Xin’s car, as it turns out, is a worn out Buick GL8, complete with chipped paint in a color that’s either a sickly yellow or a spoiled cream. Mu Qing wrinkles his nose but climbs into the passenger’s seat; as beat up as it looked from the outside, the interior is relatively clean, with a musky air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Mu Qing buckles up and stubbornly looks out the window; Feng Xin may be giving him a ride, but that doesn’t mean they have to talk .
Of course, that moron has to have other ideas. As soon as they’re out of the parking lot, Feng Xin says, “It’s kinda weird, right? Seeing each other outside of class.”
Mu Qing glares at him. “You sound like an idiot.”
Feng Xin huffs. “I’m trying to make conversation. Ex-fucking- cuse me for being polite.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of shit. I know you don’t like me, so why are you pretending?”
Feng Xin screeches to a halt at a red light and gives Mu Qing an absolutely incredulous look. “What the fuck are you talking about? We’ve barely fucking talked! I’m only pissed that you’re such a bitch to me for no reason!”
Mu Qing glowers at him, fuming. The car behind them honks—the light is green—and Feng Xin tears his gaze away, his jaw set tight as he drives. Mu Qing hates himself for noticing the sharp line of it. “You’re full of shit,” he mutters. “You think I haven’t heard you? You’re incapable of keeping your mouth shut.”
Feng Xin swallows tightly. “What are you talking about?” he says, and he just sounds tired. Join the club, idiot—this night has been such a fucking ride that Mu Qing’s similarly exhausted.
Mu Qing slouches— actually slouches—in his seat, his arms tight over his chest. “You’re such an idiot,” he says. He’s had enough of this dance; he wants the truth, and he wants Feng Xin to be honest with him for once. “I heard you tell Xie Lian that you thought I stole that pendant.”
Feng Xin is quiet, for a long moment. Mu Qing’s almost certain he’ll be silent for the rest of the drive when he says, “I didn’t say I thought you stole it.”
Mu Qing opens his mouth to call bullshit, but Feng Xin stops him, his voice low and tight. “No, shut up. I was just fucking asking if he checked your side. That thing was important to him, Mu Qing, it came from his fucking parents .” He knows. Xie Lian told him, with that sad look in his eye, but when they couldn’t dig it up he’d shrugged and laughed it off. “I didn’t think you took it , holy shit. I can’t believe you’d fucking accuse me of that–”
“Then you don’t get it,” he says flatly. He feels more than sees Feng Xin glance over at him. “You wouldn’t be the first one to assume the worst of me. But I’m not a thief, I don’t need fucking handouts, I don’t need you to buy me dinner–” He shakes his head roughly.
Feng Xin is quiet—maybe actually waiting to see if he’ll keep talking. Mu Qing has nothing more to say. He doesn’t owe this bastard anything. “You know what the funny thing is?” he says quietly. “I was almost fucking excited to see it was you.” Mu Qing sits up, staring at him; Feng Xin’s eyes are locked on the road. “You’re a fucking dick to me. But Xie Lian actually likes you a lot, so I thought maybe I could see what he sees.”
Mu Qing huffs softly, flopping back against his seat. “Sorry to disappoint,” he mutters bitterly.
Feng Xin laughs, without a trace of humor. “I never said you did.”
Mu Qing is completely silent as they pull up outside his building. For a long second he just sits there—thinking, really thinking . He knows he’s been a bitch all night, it’s been intentional, but Feng Xin… Feng Xin, for once, has been halfway decent, somewhat sensitive, almost— almost —charming, and–
He doesn’t know who he’s kidding; Feng Xin is here and he’s warm and he smells amazing and he’s fucking hot, okay and he’s seen Mu Qing’s pettiest bullshit and he’s not disappointed. What the hell.
“I don’t want to go up there,” he says at last. He looks over at Feng Xin—he’s got that knit-brow look of confusion that yes, okay, is adorable, it makes him look like a dumb puppy. “Shut up,” he says preemptively, “I don’t want to go and talk to Xie Lian about all this–”
“So what, you want to fucking sit in my car ?”
“Shut up. Turn your car off, we’re going on a walk.”
Feng Xin blinks at him. “Uh.”
“Will you just turn the goddamn car off and come with me?” Mu Qing doesn’t wait for him to answer, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. He hesitates for a moment, but sure enough, he hears the engine shut off, and then the driver’s side door closes. Good. He sets off, not really sure where he’s going but wanting anything more than Xie Lian’s optimistic expression and the oppressive indoor air and harsh light and a swirl of thoughts that he’s not in the mood to parse right now.
Feng Xin catches up to him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Can I ask what the fuck is happening right now?” he asks, and for what it’s worth, he sounds baffled instead of snappy.
Mu Qing huffs. “I don’t want to talk. We’re taking a walk and being quiet for a minute, okay?” And maybe, by the time he gets back, Xie Lian will be asleep. That’d be a gift.
Feng Xin throws his hands up. “Whatever,” he says. “Fuck it. Fine.”
Mu Qing glares at him, and he falls silent. The two of them wander aimlessly down the block, until apartment complexes give way to a public park. Mu Qing leads them in; he feels Feng Xin hesitate for a moment before following.
The park isn’t honestly all that special; some trees, a couple benches, a sad little playground with a few swings and a seesaw, a little manmade pond. It’s quiet, though. Probably because it’s late Tuesday night and who the hell would be out at a time like this?
Mu Qing takes a deep breath. He looks like an idiot . Why is Feng Xin even still here? He comes to a halt beside the dinky little pond, crossing his arms. Feng Xin, still quiet, stands beside him. Mu Qing glances at him out of the corner of his eye, then looks away. Baffling as it is, he is here. “Thanks,” he mutters.
Feng Xin startles. “For what?” he says, and Mu Qing can picture that ridiculous confused look so perfectly. He rolls his eyes.
“For shutting up. Don’t ruin it, will you?” Feng Xin sputters, and Mu Qing smiles to himself—he likes this much more than that fragile, tender silence.
“You are such a bitch,” he complains. “You know that?” Somehow, he almost sounds fond. Almost . Mu Qing’s not completely deranged.
“I’ve been told,” he says dryly. “And you’re an idiot, so congratulations on that.” He stares up at the sky, the too-bright moon and the pathetic smattering of stars that are bright enough to shine through light pollution. The breeze is nipping at his bare arms, raising goosebumps, and he shivers involuntarily, huddling his arms closer to his chest.
Of course, Feng Xin has to notice. “Shit, you okay?” He reaches for him, and his hands get close enough that Mu Qing can feel the heat radiating off them. He shies away, glaring at him.
“I’m fine. Don’t touch me.”
Feng Xin holds up his hands in surrender. “Fuck, fine. Excuse me .”
“I won’t,” he mutters.
Feng Xin huffs audibly. After a short pause, he says, “Do you wanna go inside? I mean, it’s a hell of a lot warmer indoors, and we can go to my place if you still don’t want to go back, and–” Mu Qing stares at him blankly. Feng Xin, fascinatingly, goes red. “Fuck–I didn’t mean that .”
“I’m sure,” he says flatly.
“I fucking didn’t!” Feng Xin spits. It’s actually pretty entertaining, seeing him get all worked up like this. “Anyway, fucking– good , I don’t want you there anyway. I didn’t get a chance to clean it–”
Mu Qing raises an eyebrow. “Mm. You must’ve been optimistic, huh.”
Feng Xin, somehow, goes redder . Interesting. “Wh–shut the fuck up!”
Mu Qing scoffs. “I’m just surprised. What, you don’t get a lot of good first dates?” He smiles condescendingly. “It’s okay. It’s hard to make a good impression.”
Feng Xin looks like he’s about to pop a vein. “I have a lot of good–” He breaks off, pressing his lips tightly together. Mu Qing laughs—he looks so stupid right now. It’s ridiculously endearing. “Shut the fuck up,” Feng Xin mutters, without the heat from before. He turns away, but Mu Qing can still see the back of his neck gone red with his embarrassment.
Mu Qing watches him for a moment—his jaw, his now-loose bun. He’s so… effortlessly engaging. What the hell. “Sure you’re not disappointed?” he finds himself saying, which. What? But the words certainly exist in the air between them now. Feng Xin looks at him, startled, eyes wide.
Mu Qing is starting to tell him to forget it when he says, “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”
Mu Qing’s eyebrows shoot up. “What, you found whatever special something Xie Lian saw in me?” He nudges the toe of his boot into the grass. “I sated your curiosity?”
Feng Xin’s brows stitch together as he considers the question. “I don’t fucking know what Xie Lian sees in you,” he says matter-of-factly. “I only know what I see in you.”
Mu Qing freezes, his face warming. He wants to question him, or doubt, or say anything, but there’s this odd churning feeling in his stomach that consumes all coherent thought. What I see in you , his brain helpfully repeats. What I see in you. All he can manage is a soft, “Oh.”
Feng Xin shifts, looking away. “Yeah,” he mutters. “ Oh .”
Mu Qing doesn’t know what to say, even. He follows Feng Xin’s lead, staring dumbly at the pond as it ripples, the moon’s reflection wobbly in its surface. But there’s an undeniable urge, and he’s made such an ass of himself tonight. Such an ass. So why not keep up the streak?
He reaches over and slides his hand in Feng Xin’s.
Feng Xin looks over at him, gawking, and Mu Qing huffs, “Shut up, my hand is cold.”
Feng Xin’s mouth shuts with an audible click. He forces out, his voice strained, “Just the one?”
Mu Qing scoffs. “Don’t push it.”
And that’s how their date ends—the two of them beside a shitty little pond in a shitty little park on a Tuesday night, hand in hand. Mu Qing doesn’t know right now what any of this means, or what he wants, or what the hell even happened tonight, but next time, he thinks–
Next time, they’re staying the hell away from chain restaurants. And when he voices this thought out loud, Feng Xin, for once, agrees.
