Work Text:
Mu QingFang tossed and turned, somehow, he couldn't fall asleep: despite trying every remedy that usually worked for him, there was a strange uncalm he couldn't name.
Suddenly, the window by his bed opened, almost soundlessly, followed by the unmistakable fluttering of robes and an accompanying gust of man-made wind. Boots clacked on the floor, the shuffling of fabric that soon dropped beside them.
A few more moments passed before a familiar warmth spread on Mu QingFang's back, in his heart.
Arms wrapped around him, a face nuzzled his nape, calm breath tickled the fine hairs there.
“What's wrong, Shixiong?”
“Can't sleep.”