Work Text:
Mu Qing has never felt worse.
Actually, that was definitely a lie. There’s so many times he’s felt worse. Like the first time he’d gotten drunk and he’d thrown up all over Xie Lian’s bathroom and sworn to never drink again. Or that time he’d broken his wrist while trying to prove to Feng Xin that he could definitely do a skating trick first try. Or even that time he’d accidentally tripped over and landed flat on his face in front of everyone at one of Hua Cheng’s dumb dinner parties.
Mu Qing wants to throw up just thinking about it. Or maybe he just wants to throw up because he’s feeling sicker than he ever has in his entire life. Does it really matter either way?
One thing about Mu Qing is that he's never gotten sick. Not like this anyway. He’d gotten the occasional cough before and whatnot, but he’d never been so sick that he couldn’t even get out of bed.
This sucks. This really, really sucks.
Mu Qing can’t help but feel lonelier than ever. Was this just supposed to be a part of being sick? He supposes most people usually have someone to take care of them in a situation like this. A friend. A loved one. A parent.
That last one makes his heart ache.
Maybe that’s why when the doorbell rings and he has to drag himself out of bed, stumbling around trying to get to the door, swinging it open just to reveal Feng Xin of all people, he doesn’t react in the way he typically does (that being, of course, slamming the door in his face).
“Jesus, you don’t look good.”
Mu Qing frowns, squinting his eyes, “I’m sick.”
Feng Xin’s eyes widen as if just processing the words he’s said, “Oh. I know, I mean- I’m sorry. I brought you congee?” He says the last sentence like it’s an offering, raising a white plastic bag to show to Mu Qing.
On any other day, Mu Qing probably would’ve just snatched the congee from Feng Xin without so much as a “thanks” and promptly shut the door. But something about being sick is making Mu Qing want other people around. Making him want Feng Xin around.
Wanting Feng Xin around? That has to be a sign I’m seriously ill.
Whatever. It probably doesn’t mean anything.
Mu Qing shifts to the side, letting Feng Xin in.
“Thanks, I guess.” He mumbles awkwardly as if the words were physically paining him to say.
“So, how have you been feeling? Did you get some rest?”
It’s only then that Mu Qing realises how strange it is that Feng Xin’s here at all. How had he even found out that Mu Qing was sick? Maybe this was all some fever dream. Yeah, that made sense to Mu Qing. At least, it made more sense than Feng Xin willingly showing up to his apartment just to-just to what? Take care of him? It sounded unlikely. And anyway, it wasn’t like this would be the first time he’d dreamt of Feng Xin.
“How’d you know I was sick?”
“Because you told me?”
Feng Xin raises an eyebrow, looking more confused than Mu Qing. He takes the silence as a sign to continue.
“You sent me a message. Like an hour ago.”
“I sent you a message?”
Mu Qing is appalled at the thought of it. In what world would he ever resort to doing such a thing? If Feng Xin had any common sense, he would’ve called the police immediately after seeing such a message to let them know that Mu Qing had clearly been kidnapped.
Feng Xin ignores his disbelieving reply, rolling his eyes and grabbing his phone to show Mu Qing.
“Take a look. Why would I even make that up?”
Mu Qing perks up, leaning over Feng Xin’s phone, his eyebrows knit as he looks at the messages.
[muqing] heleppp
[fengxin] ???
[fengxin] what is it
[muqing] hepl me
[muqing] im dyign
[fengxin] are u ok???
[fengxin] muqing???
It takes everything in Mu Qing to not collapse onto the ground like a pathetic wet cat. He turns his face away quickly, scowling.
“I’ve been framed.”
“Framed? Mu Qing, please.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to send that, okay?!” Mu Qing huffs, flopping down onto the sofa and curling up, trying desperately to hide himself away from Feng Xin. Feng Xin watches, the expression on his face difficult to read.
“Well, I’m here now anyway. Eat your congee.”
“Don’t wanna,” Mu Qing mumbles, weakly.
He’s not sure what he’s trying to gain from acting childish and picking a fight with Feng Xin for no good reason, but how else is he supposed to react to this kind version of Feng Xin? This version of Feng Xin that he’s clearly dreamt up? This version that came over to see him because of some stupid messages and brought fucking congee-
“...Fine,” Feng Xin sighs, “I’ll just… Leave it out in the kitchen for you. For whenever you feel like it. Alright?”
Mu Qing pulls the blanket on the sofa over his head, refusing to acknowledge Feng Xin’s existence. Somehow, in spite of Mu Qing’s behaviour, Feng Xin doesn’t immediately leave or tackle him. Instead, Mu Qing hears the sound of footsteps shuffling towards him, followed by the sensation of the opposite side of the couch being weighed down.
Mu Qing groans to himself. Why was Feng Xin so insistent on staying anyway? Mu Qing had done basically nothing but yell at him since he got here. Overcome by curiosity, he pokes his head out from under the blanket, attempting to sneak a quick glance at Feng Xin, only to realise he’s staring right back at him.
“What’s with that look on your face? Are you feeling worse?”
“Leave me alone,” he grumbles, feeling more and more defensive in response to Feng Xin’s sincerity.
“I’m not here to fight, Mu Qing, I just want to-”
“I said leave me alone! I didn’t ask you to come take care of me. I’m not a child.”
“Why do you always have to take things the wrong way? I never said you were a child, I’m just-”
“Go away!”
“Fine!”
Feng Xin stands up in a fit, lumbering towards the door. He turns around only to look at Mu Qing one last time, in a glance that could almost be described as longing, before leaving the apartment.
The silence that comes afterwards makes Mu Qing want to cry.
He sits up, spotting the congee on the kitchen benchtop. The congee that Feng Xin had bought from him. The congee that’s probably starting to get cold.
Somehow he feels even lonelier than before.
*
It’s roughly a week later that Mu Qing realises that he had been wrong about “never having felt worse”. After all, the dread that came with being sick was nothing in comparison to the situation he’s in right now.
Why exactly is Mu Qing standing outside of Feng Xin’s apartment? Mu Qing blames Feng Xin’s frail immune system. The idiot had gotten himself sick after having come over to see Mu Qing. Mu Qing still wasn’t sure why he’d done that in the first place.
Mu Qing mumbles a silent prayer to himself, hoping that Feng Xin is asleep, as he knocks meekly on the apartment door.
If Feng Xin doesn’t answer, I can just go back home. I can go back home and pretend nothing happened and tell myself that at least I tried-
Unfortunately for Mu Qing, he’s now facing a very dishevelled Feng Xin.
“You look like shit.”
The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself.
“... Is that all you came to say?”
The look on Feng Xin’s face is completely disinterested. Mu Qing hates it. He'd take anger and annoyance over this any day.
He swallows nervously, one hand fidgeting with his hoodie string, the other grabbing tighter onto the plastic bag he’s been holding.
“No,” he responds, matter-of-factly, as if he was completely unshaken by Feng Xin’s indifference. He lifts his arm, showing off the plastic bag, before immediately losing all confidence.
“I… I bought congee.”
Feng Xin only sighs in response and Mu Qing feels physically ill at the sight. Maybe the sickness was highly contagious. What else could explain his reaction to seeing Feng Xin so… detached towards him? He was already regretting even thinking this was a good idea.
This is all stupid Feng Xin’s fault. Feng Xin’s fault for coming over that day and then getting sick. Tall, stupid, handsome, kind Feng Xin-
“You didn’t have to. You can go home.”
Mu Qing narrows his eyes, instead doing the exact opposite and letting himself into Feng Xin’s apartment, pushing Feng Xin back slightly.
“I’m not here because I want to be, alright? I’m just returning the favour. I already bought the congee, so just eat it.”
He continues walking further into the apartment, setting the plastic bag down on the coffee table, before turning back around to face Feng Xin.
“I got it… You can go now.”
Technically speaking, he’s right. Mu Qing can leave right now. After all, he claimed he was just here to return the favour, right? And now he’s given Feng Xin the congee, so things were even! It’s not like he has any reason to stay. Or any desire to take care of Feng Xin.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re so stupid, you probably don’t even know how to take care of yourself properly. Look at this. I mean, do you even clean around here?” Mu Qing silently hopes that it’s not obvious how his word vomit is a direct result of how anxious he is.
Fortunately (or unfortunately?) for him, Feng Xin looks too exhausted to fight. Instead, he just sighs again and trods towards the hallway and into his room.
Something aches inside of Mu Qing at the sight.
Eager for a distraction, he starts tidying up the area. He had mentioned it to Feng Xin, after all. And, well, it was better than standing around and doing nothing. Or worse, leaving.
The idea of Feng Xin thinking he’s right under any circumstances is unacceptable. Not that it’s a fight. But, whatever.
Everything’s always felt like a fight between the two of them.
Only about fifteen minutes have passed when Mu Qing finds himself quietly making his way towards Feng Xin’s room. The apartment is oddly quiet without Feng Xin’s… loudness. Right. That’s the only reason Mu Qing’s going to his room. To make sure the silence isn't a sign that Feng Xin has slipped and died. It’s exactly the kind of dumb thing Mu Qing expects from him.
Fortunately, Mu Qing realises as he enters the room, Feng Xin hasn’t slipped and died. Instead, he’s curled up on his bed, presumably fast asleep. It’s a strange feeling, Mu Qing discovers, to see Feng Xin so at peace. Mu Qing can’t think of a time when either of them had been relaxed around the other. They were always fighting. Always finding something new to argue about. Mu Qing can’t remember why.
He finds himself drawn to the bed, settling down on the floor next to it with his legs crossed and his head leaning against the mattress. From up close, the sight of Feng Xin is even stranger. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Feng Xin like this. From so close, he can see every single freckle dotting the man’s tan skin, clusters of constellations on his face. He draws his hand closer, looking carefully at all the details as if he’s about to be tested on them: his sharp jaw, his slightly chapped lips, his unfairly long eyelashes, his bronze eyes-
His eyes.
They were open.
Mu Qing pulls away in an instant, letting out a groan as he flails, almost falling onto his back. Before Feng Xin can even ask any questions, Mu Qing quickly barks back, “I came here to check your temperature!”
Feng Xin gazes at him. He doesn’t exactly look… Convinced.
"Yeah? With what?"
Mu Qing stares at Feng Xin blankly.
Maybe if I stare long enough, Feng Xin will think this is all just some fever dream. Or maybe I can try to hypnotise him? Yeah, that might work for someone like Feng Xin. Or maybe-
“Mu Qing, you really don’t have to force yourself to stay here. I know you don’t want to.”
“You… You-” Mu Qing hesitates, overwhelmed by a dissonant symphony of emotions, all of it bubbling up at once.
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
The words come out of his mouth, unexpectedly. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly feeling so vulnerable. He really shouldn’t have come here.
“What?”
Feng Xin looks confused. Like maybe he really does believe this is some fever dream.
“I… I don’t want to fight. I’m tired of fighting with you all the time. Can’t we just be… be… f-friends?” Mu Qing’s voice trails off towards the end, wishing he could make himself as small as he was feeling right now. He looks down, unable to maintain any form of eye contact with Feng Xin.
“Mu Qing.”
“Mu Qing, look up at me.”
“... A-Qing-”
Mu Qing raises his head so fast he’s almost convinced he’s given himself whiplash. He’s ready to fight, ready to throw an expletive at Feng Xin’s stupid face or maybe a pillow or even both. Because how dare he make fun of Mu Qing like this? When he’s trying to be so honest for once? How dare he speak his name like that in that stupidly kind voice that Mu Qing can’t ignore even if he tries and-
And Feng Xin’s staring at him with a look so fond you'd think Mu Qing was his soulmate. Mu Qing thinks he’s going to die right here, just like this, gazing back into those warm eyes.
“Mu Qing. I don’t want us to be friends.”
“What?!” Never mind. That feeling of rage was definitely back in full force.
“W-wait, I didn’t mean it like that… Mu Qing, I-” Feng Xin hesitates. Mu Qing’s never been more confused. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Feng Xin hesitate. Feng Xin, who was usually so headstrong and stubborn.
Seems like I’m seeing a lot of strange things today.
“I thought you didn’t like me, alright? I thought you… you just tolerated me because of Xie Lian.”
Feng Xin murmurs something more under his breath.
“Be louder, I can’t hear you,” Mu Qing grouses, still sceptical.
Feng Xin turns his face away from Mu Qing, his voice tentative and sweet in a way that Mu Qing's never heard before:
“I love you, Mu Qing. You’re probably the only one who hasn’t realised.”
Oh.
It makes sense now. I never recovered from being sick last week, I actually just died and now I’m stuck in this stupid limbo purgatory thing with Feng Xin of all people-
“Mu Qing?”
Feng Xin’s turned back around, frowning, “Stop looking so shocked. You look like I just announced I was pregnant.”
“You’re straight,” Mu Qing blurts out, not knowing what else to say, “I mean, you were dating Jian Lan before, right? And-”
“For someone so smart, you really can be dumb sometimes, Mu Qing. And you call me the stupid one. I dated Jian Lan because I was trying to move on. From you. I… I wanted to get over you. It didn’t work, of course. You make it too hard, y’know?”
Mu Qing tries his best not to linger on any of the words coming out of Feng Xin’s mouth, knowing that thinking too hard about the connotations of any of them will make his face turn red. Somehow, it feels like his whole life’s been a lie. The worst part of it all is the stupidly enamoured look on Feng Xin’s face as he says all this, as if Mu Qing isn’t about to throw up right in front of him.
“You’re stupid. A-and you’re sick. Go back to sleep.”
Mu Qing stands up in a hurry, almost falling over in the process. Maybe he should’ve just let himself fall over and get knocked out. Then he could fake a concussion and have a perfectly valid excuse for how addled his brain was right now. He rushes out of the room - not wanting to give Feng Xin any chance to speak up or stop him - and into the living again, immediately starting to pace back and forth.
I could leave. I could leave right now and pretend none of this has happened and knowing Feng Xin… Feng Xin would let me go on just pretending.
God. Feng Xin really was too kind for his own good.
Mu Qing sits down on the sofa, pulling his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes.
I’ll take a rest. For just a moment. Just to figure things out. Then I’ll leave. Yeah, that’s fine, right?
*
“Mu Qing? Mu Qing?”
Something’s nudging him. Prodding him to be more accurate.
Mu Qing groans, keeping his eyes shut. It was too early for this.
“Mu Qing… A-Qing?”
His eyes fly wide open as he remembers where he is. In his panic, he almost falls off the sofa, stopped only by something, no, someone gently holding onto him.
“A-Qing?”
“Stop it! I’m awake now!”
Mu Qing prays for the ground to swallow him whole. When that doesn’t happen, he settles for turning over and burying his face into the sofa.
“A-Qing… You didn’t answer my question from yesterday.”
Mu Qing can’t find it in himself to say anything. To do anything. He wants to stay in this position on the sofa until he melts into it and emergency responders have to pry his body off of it like you hear of in those fucked up news articles. That would be a far more merciful fate than having to look up at Feng Xin.
“... Do you hate the idea of it that much? I’ll drop it if you want me to.”
“When-” His voice comes out strangled and choked up, a result of barely being able to muster up the courage to speak, “When did I say I wouldn’t date you…?”
The silence that follows is unbearable.
“Why are you finally being quiet for once-” Mu Qing is interrupted by what could only be described as being violently tackled into the sofa.
“Get off of me! You’re heavy!”
He thrashes around, his face turning red as he feels those familiar arms (archer’s arms, he makes note of to himself) wrapping around him, “You’re going to make me sick! Stay away from me-”
“I’ll take care of you again. I’ll stay this time. Even if you ask me to leave. Promise.”
“I’m regretting this already. You suck. I hate you.”
“I don’t hate you, though. I love you, Mu Qing. A-Qing. Won’t you say it too? Just one time?”
“I sometimes tolerate you.”
“A-Qing, please?”
Mu Qing feels his heart tighten, threatening to beat straight out of his chest. It doesn't help that Feng Xin's voice sounds so tender. Mu Qing can't believe that it's being directed at him.
“I… I love you too,” He doesn’t think he’s breathing, but he still makes the effort to quickly add on, “Even though you’re stupid.”
Feng Xin simply grins in response, his eyes brightening, “Can I kiss you?”
Mu Qing’s eyes widen, hesitance evident on his face. He gives Feng Xin a short nod, one that Feng Xin doesn’t seem to want to accept.
He cocks his head to the side playfully, “Say it out loud, A-Qing.”
Mu Qing clenches his teeth, squirming around again. Maybe he’ll take it back. Maybe he’ll take it back and tackle Feng Xin to the floor instead and then find a frying pan to smack him with. Yes, that sounded much better than-
“I said yes, okay?!”
Mu Qing doesn’t really know what he had expected to happen next. Maybe someone as passionate as Feng Xin would be the type to grab onto his hair and then their teeth would clash together. No, that didn’t sound like him. It’s not like Mu Qing really knows what to do, what with his limited knowledge of romance. Flashes of memories race through his head–flashes of when Feng Xin and Jian Lan were together. Feng Xin was practically notorious at the time, known for how earnest and doting he was. Is that how he’d be with him too? Did he deserve that same kindness? Mu Qing doesn’t really get the chance to properly spiral, quickly realising that reality is so much worse.
Feng Xin holds his face in his hands, his touch faint as his thumb strokes over his cheek in a way that makes Mu Qing dizzy. He can’t remember the last time his heart raced so fast. In fact, he can’t remember much at all, not with Feng Xin leaning closer and pressing his forehead against Mu Qing’s. Mu Qing tears his gaze away from him.
“Hurry up already,” he mumbles, embarrassment flooding through him.
“Eager, are we? … Hey, don’t smack me!”
Mu Qing looks back at Feng Xin, struggling to hold his glare when Feng Xin’s looking back at him like… like that. Like he’s… lovesick or something.
Feng Xin leans in again, chastely pressing his lips against Mu Qing’s. He’s barely had the time to register what’s happening before it’s already over.
Feng Xin smiles again with that stupid puppy-like smile, shifting around on the sofa, “You’re still nervous. I’ll save the rest for when you tell me you love me again.”
This time, the glare is easier to hold. Mu Qing can feel himself starting to relax in Feng Xin’s hold when he suddenly remembers why he’d come here in the first place and smacks Feng Xin’s shoulder again.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“Stupid! You’re going to get me sick again!”
(And five days later when Mu Qing does inevitably get sick again, he can’t really find it in himself to be mad at Feng Xin. Not when he takes care of him so ardently. Maybe getting sick wasn’t actually the worst feeling in the world after all.)