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The Noodle Boy was his enemy. He knew that. He knew it the moment he fell right on top of him after freeing his father, from the very moment he lifted the Great Sage's staff. He was annoying. Constantly thwarting his family's plans to dominate the land which should be rightfully theirs. His laughter was high-pitched, and was such a pain to hear. He hated the Noodle Boy. That was that.
The Noodle Boy was his enemy. He sort of knew that. But, regretfully, he had to admit that he had helped him free his father from the control of the Lady Bone Demon. He was heroic, Red Son certainly couldn't deny it; he was caring, he only ever did what he thought was the right thing to do. He was altruistic, as well. Something that Red Son almost looked down upon, because it could very possibly be the Noodle Boy's downfall one day.
MK The Noodle Boy was his enemy. Or, so he thought. Yes, they were on opposite sides, but they had a tentative truce. They were allies, if only shallow ones. So why did his heart beat a bit faster when MK the Noodle Boy stared into his eyes with his own soft, brown, warm ones, if only for a moment? Why did he feel his face grow hotter the two or three times that MK's hand brushed against the back of his own? He insisted he must be under some sort of curse, or MK had some sort of mystic aura- yes, that must be it.
MK was... what, exactly? Still the enemy? An acquaintance? A friend? A boy who had somehow managed to begin to break down Red Son's walls one by one, worming his way into his heart, making his heart flutter and stomach drop whenever he laughed. Oh, his sweet, airy laugh, that joyful, genuine laugh that he wished he could keep in a jar on his bedside so he could listen to it for hours? An ally? Ever since the defeat of the Lady Bone Demon, Mei had been making the three of them hang out, in coffee shops, arcades, at she or MK's home playing video games, just about anywhere, really.
MK, the stupid, heroic, and wonderful beautiful altruistic enemy was what you could call a moth, if you wanted to be poetic. Constantly hanging around Red Son, rambling about his day, talking about art pieces, or asking Red Son questions about whatever project he was working on at the moment. Hopelessly magnetized to the flame. Red Son didn't want him to get burned (when did he begin caring about MK so much?). He didn't want to hurt MK at all. But he knew he would, one day. It was unavoidable. He was a raging fire, figuratively, and sometimes quite literally. He couldn't risk it.
MK, despite Red Son's greatest efforts to convince himself that he was the enemy, was... Great Sage, he didn't want to say it. MK was lovely, a word Red Son never wanted to use to describe him. But he was. His laughter was so sweet that just listening to it made Red Son sure he would get cavities. The constant stream of positivity and encorougement that came from his lips was addicting. He hated it. He knew he should hate MK, knew that he was supposed to be the enemy. But he just couldn't find it in himself to hate him.
MK, the enemy, for fucks sake, was the first person Red Son ever fell head-over-heels in love with. Fuck, he hated to admit it. Hated to come to the bittersweet realization that every time he heard MK laugh or see his smile, Red Son could feel a giddy grin try to creep onto his own face, that every time MK grabbed his wrist to pull him to some arcade machine or to drag him to a sleepover at Mei's home, he desperately wanted to grab his hand, to intertwine their fingers, to rub soft circles onto MK's palms and rub his thumb across his knuckles.
MK was supposed to be the enemy, so why was he here now, gently comforting Red Son at 3 in the morning? Why was he giving up his own sleep just to make sure Red Son was okay? Just to sit down with him and help him breath as his chest burned and ached, phantom pains from those few centuries ago when the Samadhi Fire had been violently ripped from his very soul? Why did he, the moth, care so much about the flame that would inevitably destroy him?
Qi Xiaotian had once been the enemy. But now? As he carefully ran his fingers through Red Son's hair, giving him soft forehead kisses, and telling him over and over again how much he loved him? He was nothing short of a caring lover. Despite being a moth that Red Son had always been sure would get too close, would get burned, he pushed through. Pushed through the flames, right to the person behind them, just like he had before. He was surprisingly good at that.
The enemy, that's what he'd been. But lover was a much more fitting title.