Work Text:
The weather was calm. The wind was blowing softly, making the leaves rustle. Birds chirped happily and animals drank water out of the cool pond of water.
All in all, it was a beautiful day to kill a few fierce corpses.
“Feng Xin, on your right!” His Highness’ voice rang out through the clearing, scaring away the birds and animals. The arrow Feng Xin shot narrowly missed the corpse, as well as Mu Qing.
“Watch it, dumbass!” he yelled, making Feng Xin feel as though his insides were lit up with hellfire.
“Watch yourself, fucker!” Feng Xin blocked another corpse with his bow. “Bitchy ass,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that!”
Feng Xin didn’t know how this went sideways. His instinct had been screaming at him ever since His Highness begged Guoshi to let them go on a night hunt. Guoshi had refused at first, of course; but Xie Lian’s puppy eyes were irresistible and he allowed them to go on a hunt during the day instead.
Feng Xin stabbed the corpse with an arrow he managed to pull out while wrestling with it, and ran over to His Highness, who was taking on two of those smelly fuckers with relative ease. Of course he was. It was His Highness. Feng Xin’s eyes trained on Xie Lian’s hands, his sword swinging beautifully deadly arcs as he dismembered a corpse.
Feng Xin looked over in awe. He had always admired his master friend. He didn’t think of it as romantic, at least he thought he didn’t. His arms moved with muscle memory, arrows shooting out as fast as they could while he was lost in his own head.
Right until he saw Xie Lian jump high, bringing his sword down on the second corpse.
Feng Xin slipped a little and fell butt first into the pond. Coming out of his daze, he noticed another fierce corpse through the curtain of water. He tried to get up, but his grip did not take.
So this is how I die, Feng Xin thought. It was kind of embarrassing, to be obsessed with someone, just because they call you your friend. But Feng Xin did not have many friends growing up. He should get a pass for that, probably.
A metal clang followed by a grunt makes him look up. Water seeps into his eyes, but it still could not blur the ink black hair, the sabre glinting in the person’s hand and the mystifying way water swirled around their person as they fought off the last corpse. The sabre cut through the air, the hand elegantly manoeuvring it as it drove the blade into rotten flesh. Feng Xin could only look on in wonder as figure stood straight and flipped their hair away from their face.
“What are you looking at, dipshit?” Mu Qing said as he turned around, strands of hair still stuck to his face.
Maybe Feng Xin hit his head too hard when he fell. “Nothing, asshat,” he snapped back, making a move to get up. Sharp pain shot up his leg as he groaned and fell over. A shadow of concern showed through Mu Qing’s face. Maybe Feng Xin hallucinated it.
“What’s wrong, idiot? Did you break your leg?” Mu Qing began to sit down in front of him, his hand reaching for his leg.
Feng Xin desperately wished for His Highness to appear right this moment. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. I saw you just now, I’m not blind.” Mu Qing’s hands grasped his pantleg and gently rolled it up. Those same hands pressed on knee, then calf, with a mild force. Feng Xin’s body lit up with fire everywhere Mu Qing touched, hot magma coiled in his stomach. “Nothing’s broken,” Mu Qing said thoughtfully, removing his hand. The sudden coolness jerked Feng Xin back to reality.
Where the fuck was His Highness?
“See, I told you—” Feng Xin was cut off by Mu Qing squeezing his ankle and gently twisting it. “Fuck!” he yelled instead. Tears welled in his eyes as he pointedly ignored Mu Qing’s mocking grin.
“You twisted your ankle,” He stated unhelpfully, the amused tone in his voice grating on Feng Xin’s nerves. Xie Lian chose just that moment to come into his view.
“I’m so sorry,” Xie Lian apologised, hurriedly rushing over. “I just went to see if we killed every corpse, I didn’t mean to worry- Feng Xin, what’s wrong?”
Before Feng Xin could even open his mouth, Mu Qing’s weaselly one opened first. “He twisted his ankle. It is nothing to worry about, Your Highness. He will be fine in a couple of days.” He said in such faux politeness Feng Xin wanted to vomit.
“Oh okay,” Xie Lian said, none the wiser, “you will help him recover though, right Mu Qing?”
The smile on Mu Qing’s face was so brittle it might have just broken with a touch.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The inn wasn’t all that shabby, but it wasn’t all that grand either. Feng Xin reclined back; his foot was elevated on a cushion as he waited for Mu Qing to finish whatever he was doing behind the bath curtain.
“Are you done yet?” he asked with a bored tone. The curtain rustled aggressively before drawing back. Black hair fell loose on pale shoulders, and Feng Xin forgot to breathe for a second.
“What?” Mu Qing asked, annoyed.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been acting weird the whole day,” Mu Qing said as he dragged a towel over his naked torso. Feng Xin’s eyes trailed over each toned muscle, his mouth going dry; then immediately getting caught on to a red gash spanning down the side of his abdomen.
“You’re hurt,” he said, bland like a statement.
Mu Qing hummed. “It’s not that bad. It will heal.”
Feng Xin suddenly felt very embarrassed that he made such a big deal over a twisted ankle when Mu Qing was carrying that wound all along.
It did not sit right with him.
He chalked it up to jealousy.
(Jealousy of what?)
“Sit,” Feng Xin ordered. He probably should have expected the comb in his face.
“Don’t order me around!” Mu Qing berated, his eyebrows furrowing in a cute, angry kitten expression. He barely stifled his laugh.
Swinging off the bed in a way that would definitely make Mu Qing mad, he limped over and pushed Mu Qing on the bed. Encouraged by Mu Qing’s confused expression, he grabbed a roll of bandage and loomed over him. Mu Qing looked up at him with wide eyes, a red blush spreading on his face.
“What are you doing!?” He tried to get up, but could not get past Feng Xin before falling back on the bed. “Shameless!”
Feng Xin should have felt appalled at such closeness, but right then he only felt amusement in Mu Qing’s flustered stuttering and the cracks in his cold, aloof façade. “Let me help you,” he said, as he leaned down. Feng Xin probably did not conceal the pain in his ankle at that action properly, because Mu Qing’s face immediately lost its pretty blush.
“You’re hurting.”
“You are as well.” Feng Xin immediately interrupted before Mu Qing could say anything else, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that flinch when you sat down.”
Mu Qing stayed quiet.
Feng Xin grabbed the bowl of ointment from the table. He could not believe this. Behind him, Mu Qing looked on in silence, watching him struggle to get the ointment on the bandage.
“Feng Xin,” he sighed. He got up and pried the bandage away from Feng Xin’s hand. “That’s not how you do that.”
Feng Xin grunted, a little ashamed. Mu Qing gave him a tired look, then sighed again. “I’ll walk you through it.”
“Oka—”
“But,” Mu Qing cut in, “you have to sit on the bed.”
And that is how Feng Xin found himself sitting on the bed with his leg elevated on a stool, and Mu Qing standing in front of him with his shirt off.
Mu Qing did not spare time for small talk. “Take the ointment,” he said. Feng Xin complied, although he bet he had had the most unfriendly expression on his face.
“Now take some on your fingers, and apply it on the wound.”
The ointment felt cool on his fingers. He placed them on the top of the red gash, rubbing the medicine on. Mu Qing suddenly let out a hiss. “Gently,” he gritted through his teeth.
Feng Xin gave an unapologetic grin and lessened his force.
The wound was not that deep, but it looked like it certainly bled a lot. A lot of the area near the chest, where Feng Xin assumes Mu Qing was hit the hardest, was still tender and hot to touch. The coolness of the ointment did not seem to help. Feng Xin sneaked a glance at Mu Qing’s face to find his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open in a silent gasp. A million thoughts ran through his head before he pointedly returned to the task at hand, his fingers gently gliding over Mu Qing’s side, down to his abdomen, and then back up.
“That’s- that’s enough,” Mu Qing breathed, his hand grasping Feng Xin’s wrist. The tight hold grounded Feng Xin to reality. “Now take the bandage, and wrap it firmly but gently around the wound.” He sounded like he was reciting from some text, Feng Xin thought.
Mu Qing stood close, so close that Feng Xin could feel the fast beating of his heart. His hands were on Feng Xin’s shoulders. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and small droplets of sweat covered his face. Feng Xin now was more concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked carefully.
Mu Qing nodded. Strands of black hair stuck to his face; it had lost almost all of its volume. When the hands on Feng Xin’s shoulders tightened, he immediately stopped wrapping the bandage. Mu Qing’s skin was hot to Feng Xin’s cool palms. That coupled with how Mu Qing was trying hard to stay still, it was not hard to guess what was going on.
“You’re running a fever,” Feng Xin stated.
“Yeah, no shit jackass.” Mu Qing’s voice was still breathy, and it made something jump in his chest.
Feng Xin got up, ignoring the ants crawling up his leg, and made a move to sit Mu Qing down on the bed. It was probably the most amiable gesture he had shown him in the entire time they have known each other, but Mu Qing’s undignified gaping face was worth it. Before Mu Qing could open his stupid mouth, Feng Xin opened his dumb one first. “That wound probably got infected,” he said, “so you need to rest. I’ll be fine.”
Mu Qing raised his eyebrow. “Who do you think you’re talking to right now?” he asked haughtily, yet laid back onto the pillows already crushed by Feng Xin earlier. “Anything else your all-knowing wisdom wants to say to me?”
Feng Xin did not hesitate. “Sleep.”
Feng Xin sat on his bed, because he feared if he moved even a little the bed frame would shatter to dust. He had another bed brought up to his room since he could not find it in himself to move the son of a bitch. Mu Qing continued to sleep unaware of the turmoil in Feng Xin’s mind.
Feng Xin could still feel the muscles of Mu Qing’s torso, the warmth of his skin still lingered on his fingertips. His shoulders still held the echo of his touch.
He shook his head quite aggressively. “Shut up, shut up,” he said to himself. “That’s Mu Qing, you fucking hate him, go away, go away—” he looked over to Mu Qing lightly snoring on his right, his nose scrunched up cutely like a kitten—“…fuck.”
The next morning could not come any sooner. Mu Qing was awake before Feng Xin as usual. He was also hogging the bathroom, as usual.
“Mu Qing hurry up; you take too long!” Feng Xin yelled while still wrapped in only his towel.
The curtain was yanked open by an unruly Mu Qing, his robes half tied and hair completely frizzed. The heat in his eyes take a different turn as they rake up Feng Xin’s (half-naked) body, but it vanished as quickly as it came. “Don’t you have some fucking patience, wandering around naked like that,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
Huh, he does look like a cat. “Well, His Highness is already out in the hall waiting for us, and I haven’t even bathed yet!”
“Well, you should’ve woken up earlier!”
“You’re the one who takes too long!”
Familiar bickering got them through the morning, with Xie Lian needing to train idioms with them at least three times. They do not talk about the night before, a strangely assuring moment of friendliness, however short it may be. But it was burned in Feng Xin’s mind, the closeness, those feelings, which Feng Xin vowed never to reveal again.
(But Feng Xin was always bad with promises.)