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“What does Feng Xin smell like to you?” Xie Lian asks.
With both of them looking at him, Mu Qing can’t conjure a convincing lie fast enough.
“Like… leather. And grass and sunshine and stuff.”
Xie Lian tilts his head. “But you love all those smells.”
“Like old leather and rotten grass and uh… s-sweat, is what I meant.”
-- Or, the arranged marriage omegaverse AU that no one asked for but I really, really needed to write
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