Work Text:
“What started the fight this time?”
Xianle High School’s principal, Principal Mei Nianqing, pinched the bridge of his nose. He sat at his large desk, two permanent records open in front of him, completely exasperated by the two boys sitting opposite of him. Never in his twenty years of teaching had he witnessed two students who set each other off the way Mu Qing and Feng Xin did.
From Freshman Orientation to today, February 13th of their sophomore year, they bickered, argued, threw punches, and even stabbed each other in the arm once. Although the stabbing was a genuine accident that occurred during the fencing club practice, it only made the problem worse.
It was as if a single breath could trigger the other, resulting in yet another fight. He kept their schedules as separate as possible, but there was only so much he could do in a school of their size.
For a brief moment, Principal Mei had hoped their fighting days were finally behind them. After returning from winter break a few weeks ago, it had appeared the boys were miraculously starting to get along. They even volunteered to work together on a group project for their literature class! Their teacher, although reluctant and wary, agreed to keep a close eye on them and inform him of any changes to this seemingly promising truce.
However, six weeks of peace resulted in a fight that more than made up for lost time. Before, their fights were hardly more than rough shoves or a few punches that could easily be broken up. They stopped when told to, and sat on opposite sides of the detention hall without being asked.
But today…
Principal Mei looked at the boys, ice packs pressed against their bruised and swelling jaws, eyes, and cheeks. Today, they had torn into each other until bloodied and wouldn’t stop, no matter who intercepted. Three coaches, two assistant principals, and a handful of friends had to pry them apart as they explosively brawled in the main hall.
A fight of this magnitude would typically result in multiple weeks of suspension, followed by in-school suspension. However, their track record was working against them. He had no choice but to expel them when both of their parents finally arrived.
Mu Qing’s mother, Mu Zhixi, was already sitting beside her son, fuming with such fury that it even made Principal Mei question if he would also end up grounded by this woman. Feng Lu, however, hung up on the principal when he called, though it wouldn’t be the first time Feng Xin’s father failed to appear when needed.
Feng Lu was a prominent figure, a man of prestige and well-known in the community, but after two decades as an educator, Principal Mei recognized the signs of a child in trouble, and Feng Xin was the biggest red flag he had seen in years. He noticed the way the boy was exceptionally well practiced at hiding behind smiles that were too bright, and by acting the part of a social butterfly by joining every club and sport in an attempt to avoid going home at the end of the school day.
Unfortunately, without proof or confession, there was only so much he could do in this position. He kept an eye on the kid, ensured he always had access to counselors and teachers he trusted, and didn’t badger him too hard when he snuck out to the archery range instead of attending classes on particularly bad days.
Feng Xin was a good kid, and it pained him to have to expel him. Though he wasn’t convinced the other boy was anything but trouble, a kid he was a little relieved to ban from the school.
Without Feng Lu, Principal Mei was forced to sort this issue with only one of the necessary parents in attendance.
First, he would get to the bottom of what caused today’s problem, then he would discuss expulsion and alternative education options. He looked at the boys, waiting for an answer, but both stubbornly remained silent while pressing cold compresses to their many bruises.
“I need an answer, boys. What started the fight this time?”
“Answer him, Mu Qing,” Mu Zhixi ordered, no room for argument in her tone as she sat between the boys like a barrier.
Grumbling, Mu Qing pointed, “He started it.”
That set Feng Xin off. His voice boomed as he yelled, surging upright, staring at the other with a furious, incredulous expression, barely holding himself back from launching at Mu Qing again as he gripped the armrests, “Like hell I started it! You fucking started it when you destroyed our fucking poster!”
“You threw the first punch!”
“You trashed our project! We spent three fucking weeks on it! I thought we were finally becoming friends! But you’re not capable of being friends with anyone!”
The shadows darkening Mu Qing’s features warned of another impending brawl. Principal Mei scrambled to his feet to stop them, but Mu Zhixi calmly cleared her throat, drawing the attention of both students and their principal.
Shockingly, Mu Qing seemed to settle in an instant, though he still scowled at Feng Xin. Feng Xin, on the other hand, appeared increasingly uncomfortable beside the woman and sat as far away from her as his chair would allow.
“Principal Mei,” Mu Zhixi stood and bowed respectfully. “I am finally seeing the problem here. I understand they have exhausted the school’s patience, but if you would be willing to offer them one last chance, I believe I can sort them out over the weekend. They will be model students come Monday morning.”
“Mu Zhixi, I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Please, just give me the weekend. After that, if they so much as breathe each other’s name wrong, I will not stop you from expelling my son.”
The fierce, determined look in her eye reluctantly persuaded him. With a resigned sigh, Principal Mei dropped into his chair once again, rubbing his temples.
“Very well. It has always been my philosophy that students should be given a chance to learn from their mistakes. What do you have in mind?”
“Separating them hasn’t solved their bullheadedness. Maybe it’s time to try a different approach.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
“Absolutely not.” Mu Qing’s mother stopped her son before he opened the door to the passenger side front seat of her car.
“Where am I supposed to sit—” Mu Qing slowly glanced toward the person standing beside his mother on the opposite side of the car and exclaimed, affronted, “You’ve gotta be joking! I’m not sitting back there with him!”
“It wasn’t a suggestion. Get in the back seat, Mu Qing.” She slipped into the driver’s side and shut the door, cutting off any further protests.
Mu Qing released a frustrated sound from the back of his throat and threw open the door to the backseat, climbing in and slamming the door shut. Feng Xin occupied the space behind Mu Zhixi’s seat, both boys sitting as close to their respective windows as possible.
“XinXin, how do I get to your house?” She started driving out of the school parking lot, but glanced at them in the rearview mirror.
The name visibly surprised Feng Xin, who did a swift double-take and stammered, “L-left.”
“Thank you.” Her tone was light, as if she hadn’t just promised the principal she would be grounding both boys at her home for the weekend, performing her homemade brand of exposure therapy.
The boys had been ordered to grab their bags from their lockers while the principal and Mu Zhixi called Feng Lu to discuss their last-ditch effort at helping the boys get along. When they returned, Feng Xin was livid to learn his father agreed to their idea, but Mu Qing noticed the way his mother’s brows pinched thoughtfully, seemingly unsettled by her discussion with Feng Lu.
She didn’t have to say anything, but Mu Qing noticed the way she frowned when Feng Xin’s father was mentioned after the call. He noticed the way she kept glancing at Feng Xin as if she had finally solved a troublesome puzzle but wasn’t happy with the conclusion, and the way she instantly started calling him XinXin as if she was already halfway to adopting him.
It set Mu Qing on edge, causing jealousy to flourish in his chest. Feng Xin was already XinXin, but she was still livid enough to call him Mu Qing instead of QingQing.
The drive to Feng Xin’s house was brief, barely more than a mile from the school in the rich kid neighborhood. Mu Qing only visited this side of town when his wealthier friends invited him to their house, making him feel out of place. He knew the Feng household was somewhere in the wealthy district, but he never imagined Feng Xin lived next door to Xie Lian. Though he had seen this house multiple times, it always appeared empty, lifeless, and though he couldn’t specify how, the building felt frigid.
The mansion was massive. Not as large as Xie Lian’s, but just as impressive. It had to have a dozen rooms at least, each one more lavish than the next. It made their dinky, rusted car look like a roach next to a butterfly, disgusting and unwanted by comparison.
Jealousy curdled Mu Qing’s gut as Feng Xin slipped out of the car and approached the front door. Why did a jerk like Feng Xin get to live in such extravagance when Mu Zhixi, a woman who deserved every kindness, had to squeeze them into a decrepit apartment in the impoverished, run-down side of town?
“Go help him pack, Mu Qing.”
“Why? Let his maids do it,” an obvious sneer sounded in his tone, not that he was trying to hide it.
His mother studied him through the rearview mirror, frowning as she carefully observed him. “Just because someone comes from a big house, does not mean they come from a good home.”
“Yeah, right.”
Glaring at the house as if it personally offended him, Mu Qing decided his mother couldn’t be more wrong. Feng Xin probably got everything he wanted. He probably never had to patch torn shirts or let out the hem of his pants after a growth spurt. The notion probably never crossed his mind to repair things that break, buying something new and discarding the old instead. He probably didn’t even know the school had a free lunch program for kids like Mu Qing.
“If you spend the weekend jealous over what his father owns, you will miss out on who XinXin is, Mu Qing. Now,” his mother ordered again, her pointed tone leaving no room for argument, “go help him pack.”
Grumbling, Mu Qing threw open the door, “Like you have any idea who he is.”
Reluctantly, he walked up to the house and cracked open the door. A quick glance inside revealed a grand entrance with a double staircase that led to opposite sides of the second floor. Where the hell was Feng Xin’s room in this miniature palace?
“Uh.. Feng Xin?” No response came, unsurprisingly. He probably needed a megaphone just to be heard from one room to the next. An intercom system next to the door caught his eye, so he pressed a button. “Hey, asshole. Mom said I have to help you pack. Where is your room in this dump?”
Feng Xin’s voice sounded, hurried and shaky, “Left staircase, fourth door.”
Weird, Feng Xin didn’t insult him back. He almost sounded anxious. Whatever. Probably just nervous about living with the roaches for the weekend in the Mu’s shabby apartment.
As Mu Qing made his way up the staircase and down a long, empty hall, he couldn’t help noticing the blank, white walls. It felt cold and lonesome, like an abandoned asylum from a horror film, only cleaner. After he arrived at the fourth doorway, he found Feng Xin hastily moving about a room that was easily the size of the Mu’s entire apartment.
A huge flat-screen television hung over the dresser, with the latest version of every game console sitting on a nearby shelf, a stack of games towering beside them. Feng Xin yanked items from a closet filled with clothes that Mu Qing was certain weren’t secondhand, carelessly stuffing them into the duffle bag sitting on his king-sized bed. A current of frustration tore through Mu Qing. This asshole could move around his own home without bumping an elbow, stubbing a toe, and probably never clung to hope that the radiator would last another day.
On the dresser sat an assortment of photos—the only pictures in the entire house, it seemed—all featuring a brightly smiling woman whose youthful glow warmed the room. In her arms, a small boy beamed just as brightly with rosy, chubby cheeks and golden freckles.
The cheerful boy was obviously Feng Xin, but he didn’t look anything like the fifteen-year-old angrily shoving clothes into a bag, not bothering to fold them in his haste.
“Is this your mom?”
Feng Xin looked up, noticing Mu Qing studying the photos. “Yeah.”
“She’s pretty,” Mu Qing whispered and glanced over his shoulder, intent on insulting Feng Xin’s appearance. Except Feng Xin looked just like his mother, a woman he knew was deceased, though he didn’t know how. He stopped, glancing at the photos again.
“That’s it?” Feng Xin questioned. “No, ‘she’s pretty, what happened to you’?”
“Insulting your appearance would be the same as insulting hers, but that atrocious haircut is all your doing.”
Feng Xin blinked and touched the ends of his half ponytail, shoulder-length hair. “What’s wrong with my haircut?”
“Please, what’s right with it?” Mu Qing rolled his eyes and mindlessly commented, “Your dad isn’t in any of these.”
The sound of Feng Xin packing his bag abruptly ceased, then resumed hurriedly, this time faster. “What time is it?”
“Almost five. Why?” Mu Qing turned and walked over to the bed, noticing the way Feng Xin’s eyes kept glancing at the scrunchy holding up his ponytail. “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not my type.”
“No! That’s not what I mean—”
“Then what? Got a problem with me liking guys? I’ll kick your ass in your own house if you—”
“Just shut the fuck up and help me finish before my dad gets home, dick!”
Only because his mother would ask if he did, he helped.
In the next few minutes, they were scurrying through the door and climbing into the rusty eyesore, sitting idle at the curb. Then Mu Qing’s mother began driving them home. However, as the quality of homes steadily went downhill, Mu Qing squirmed in his seat. It was obvious he wasn’t from the same part of town as his classmates, but he never invited them to his home for a reason. Now, one of the wealthiest kids in school was going to witness and stay the night in the dump he lived in.
What would Feng Xin say when he saw their rundown apartment? Would he cringe at the peeling paint, the cracks the bugs squeezed through, or sneer at the wobbly staircase that felt more like a deathtrap than a means to the second floor? Worse, would he tell everyone at school, making Mu Qing the subject of ridicule for the snot-faced elitists whose futures were secured by trust funds and endless wealth?
His mother worked hard for them, Mu Qing knew and appreciated that, but after his father passed, they couldn’t afford anything better. As if being out of the closet wasn’t enough, his economic status made him an easy target, a social pariah at school. Except for a few friends who could befriend a rock with their eager extroversion, Mu Qing’s circle of friends was nearly nonexistent.
Mu Qing’s hands fidgeted in his lap as they pulled into the parking lot, eyes darting to the side to catch Feng Xin’s reaction to the pothole-filled parking lot, broken stair railing, overflowing dumpsters, and shouts from neighbors that could be heard several doors away. Yet, Feng Xin didn’t say anything; he didn’t make a face, shy away, or attempt to stay in the car, too scared to slum it with the roaches. He simply looked around, his face carefully blank as they exited the car and walked up to the second floor.
Mu Zhixi walked into the apartment first and held open the door. Feng Xin stepped inside behind Mu Qing, onto the small rectangle of linoleum that cut into the carpet, signifying the meager entrance. The door smacked against one of the two dining table chairs that sat in the middle of their kitchen.
Their humble kitchen was just two counters and a stove to the right of the door. In front of them was the living area with a single lumpy couch that sank in the middle, a cheap particleboard TV stand, an ancient tube TV, and a coffee table with a half-finished knit scarf sitting on top.
Each wall was covered in family photos, preschool macaroni art, shelves overflowing with knick-knacks, and a brightly painted ceramic pot Mu Qing made in second grade. There were intricately knit, vividly colorful blankets on the couch, photo albums filled with Mu Qing’s youth stacked on top of cabinets where cookbooks would typically be, and the scent of vanilla floated from the kitchen as if something had been baked earlier in the day.
Beyond the living room were two plain wood doors, one for Mu Qing’s bedroom and one for his mother's. The door to Mu Qing’s room was marked with Mu Qing’s height throughout the years, little black Sharpie lines with his age next to each dash.
It was painfully cramped, but every corner was affectionately filled. It was home.
“XinXin? What’s wrong, dear?”
Mu Qing turned and found Feng Xin still standing in the doorway, wide-eyed gaze shifting from picture to picture, knick-knack to childhood artwork, handknit blankets to photo albums. His lips parted as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
And then Mu Qing noticed the streaks running down Feng Xin’s cheeks. What the hell? Did he hate their home so much that it made him cry? Well, the bastard could just get used to it, because it might be a shithole, but it’s better than that weirdly blank, overly clean, cold mansion Feng Xin lived in!
Then, to his growing horror, his mother pulled Feng Xin into a hug, and that bastard actually hugged her back! He started crying harder too, full body sobs wracking him as he broke down into her shoulder.
Mu Qing took an uncertain step back, brows pinched. What the hell was going on with this guy? This… this didn’t feel like Feng Xin hating their home. Whatever was going on, his mother glanced over Feng Xin’s shoulder at her son with a sympathetic gaze that seemed to understand why Feng Xin suddenly broke down, though it made no sense to him.
She rubbed his back and averted her gaze from Mu Qing to Feng Xin’s bag on the floor, then from the bag to Mu Qing’s room, instructing him to take the bag to his room while she tended to the shaking boy in her arms. It was a gracious escape, and he wasn’t going to miss it.
Quickly, Mu Qing snatched the bag, ran to his room, and sat on his neatly made queen-sized bed. Seriously, what the hell? Feng Xin never broke down in the Shi’s house, although their house was so full of expensive artifacts that it felt less like a home and more like a museum that could bankrupt whoever knocked something over. He hadn’t cried in the Xie’s house, but Feng Xin tended to gravitate toward Xie Lian’s mother whenever she was around.
Whatever this was, it made Mu Qing want to hide in his room until the weekend was over and then never speak to Feng Xin again.
As he sat awkwardly on his bed, his mother’s earlier words kept floating through his head. Just because someone comes from a big house, does not mean they come from a good home. Mu Qing’s home wasn’t big, but it was good. Great, even. Wasn’t Feng Xin’s good?
The sound of Feng Xin’s sobs slowly ebbed, and he heard them exchange a few quiet words, though he couldn’t make out what they said. Eventually, he heard shuffling in the kitchen and a reassuring, “You can go in his room, XinXin.”
A knock sounded at the door. Feng Xin awkwardly stood by the doorway, barely inside the room, shifting from foot to foot, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, and face still blotchy. “Um… your mom said dinner will be ready soon.”
Mu Qing nodded, avoiding eye contact by picking at nonexistent lint on his pillow, feeling just as awkward as Feng Xin looked.
Neither of them said anything for a painfully tense minute, but then Feng Xin broke the silence, “About earlier—“
“I don’t want to know. If you hate it here so much, then you can keep it to yourself.”
Feng Xin blinked, confusion crinkling his features. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You took one look at our crappy apartment and fucking cried. Not all of us can live in a mansion—”
“That wasn’t why I—ugh! You’re infuriating, you know that! Always jumping to the wrong conclusions!”
Mu Qing glowered at Feng Xin, daring him to lie, “Then by all means, tell me the real reason!”
“I’ve never been in a house that felt like a home, you goddamn jerk! You’re the only one who thinks this place is ‘crappy’!”
All the fight in Mu Qing drained from him in a dizzying whoosh. The room fell so quiet it made his ears ring. The apartment wasn’t big enough that their argument wasn’t overheard by his mother in the kitchen. Judging by the lack of clinking cookware filtering into his room, she was undoubtedly listening to every word they shouted, letting them have it out in hopes they would attain some new understanding.
The distance from the bed to the bedroom door was only a handful of steps, but it felt like they stood on opposite sides of the world.
“You…” Mu Qing frowned, eyes squinting as he cautiously asked, unsure he’d believe the answer, “Don’t hate me because I’m poor?”
“What?” Feng Xin’s jaw dropped as if taken aback that such a thought ever occurred to Mu Qing. “Of course not. Do you hate me because my dad isn’t?”
Instead of answering, Mu Qing glared at the floor. However, that was an answer, too, one he heard punch Feng Xin in the gut as a breath rushed out of him, and he whispered a soft, “Oh.”
But Mu Qing felt compelled to make one thing clear to both Feng Xin and his mother who still listened from their kitchen, “This place isn’t crappy, but I will knock the head off anyone who thinks so, including yours.”
“The other kids at school hate you because you’re poor…” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a new understanding either. It was a fact, a well-known one, and Mu Qing wasn’t one to take that condescension lying down.
“For the record,” Feng Xin began as he toed a loose floorboard, shyly looking down at it. “I’ve been to their houses. Their homes are crappy. Yours isn’t.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
“This is your room?” Feng Xin finally braved a step inside and curiously looked around, although it took considerably less time than observing Feng Xin’s enormous space.
The cramped room barely fit a queen-sized, second-hand bed, a desk that sat where a bedside table should be, and a small chest of drawers was shoved into the closet. Posters adorned the walls of Mu Qing’s favorite movies, and a sketchbook sat open on the desk. Navy blue and maroon striped blankets covered the bed, with at least two hand-knit rainbow blankets folded and draped over the edge.
Beside the bed, Feng Xin’s bag rested on the floor. He knelt and pulled his phone charger out, plugging it into the outlet under the desk that Mu Qing wordlessly gestured to. Then he glanced at the bed, grimacing.
With a sneer, Mu Qing scoffed, “You sleep on the floor with the fleas.”
“Thank the buddhas. Almost thought I’d have to sleep in the bed with you.” Feng Xin stood and picked up a picture frame from the desk. He stared at it quietly, brow crinkling as if he understood, but didn’t quite grasp it. “Is this your dad?”
“Yes.” Mu Qing squinted, expecting a jab, but none came.
“You look like him.” As he carefully set the frame back in its place, Feng Xin glanced at the sketchbook. “I didn’t know you could draw.”
“What do you know?”
He meant it flippantly, but Feng Xin sat beside Mu Qing, nodding. “You’re right, we don’t really know anything about each other. For example, I didn’t know a wart-covered bridge troll could have such a nice mom.”
Mu Qing scowled at the proximity, then moved a few inches away, earning an annoyed eye roll.
“And I didn’t know you would cry all over her like a big dumb baby.”
It was a half-hearted jab at best, something to ease the tense air that prickled his scalp and tightened his lungs. A smile tugging on Feng Xin’s lips told him it worked somewhat.
“Think she’ll still let me take my girlfriend out for Valentine’s Day tomorrow? We were supposed to go see a movie and not watch it.”
Red suddenly bled into Mu Qing’s vision just like it did before he tore up their project. His fists clenched as he yelled, “Of course not, you brainless dipshit! We’re grounded, remember? You’ll have to drown your stupid girlfriend in your disgusting saliva another day!”
“She’s not stupid! What the fuck is your problem with Jian Lan?!” Feng Xin jabbed his pointer finger into Mu Qing’s chest hard enough to bruise.
“Who said I have a problem with her?!” Mu Qing slapped his finger away with more force than necessary, unable to stop the hollowing feeling in his chest that lashed out uncontrollably.
It hurt. That feeling, it hurt so much he didn’t know how to handle its overwhelming pain. He briefly thought it was called heartbreak, but it felt closer to having his chest torn open and his heart ripped out.
And he hated it. He had developed a crush on Feng Xin six weeks ago at Shi Qingxuan’s Christmas party, and now it felt like everything hurt all the time, but especially when Jian Lan was mentioned, another reminder that Feng Xin would never feel for Mu Qing the way he felt about him.
He just wanted the feeling to stop.
Feng Xin retorted, “You get pissed anytime I bring her up! You tore up our poster when I told you we were going out this weekend!”
“Maybe my problem is with you!” Mu Qing shoved him and was immediately shoved back.
“What the hell did I do?!”
Without thinking, Mu Qing blurted, “You got back together with her!”
Feng Xin faltered as Mu Qing’s eyes widened, realizing what he said. He squinted at Mu Qing, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to date her. But—” Gold eyes flicked up to Mu Qing’s scrunchie before dropping back down.
The look on his face tore Mu Qing apart more than when he learned Feng Xin and Jian Lan had gotten back together that morning, the day before Valentine’s Day. Feng Xin’s brows rose, and he leaned away, his lip curled as if the notion of Mu Qing having a crush on him was so repulsive he couldn’t keep from physically cringing.
Quickly, desperately, Mu Qing tried to make that disgusted look disappear, “I told you, you’re not my type. As if I’d ever be into you.”
More calmly, but no less irate, Feng Xin asked, “Then why are you pissed we got back together?”
“I’m—I’m not! I just hate this stupid holiday, alright?!”
“No! Not alright! I thought we were finally becoming friends! And then you asked what I was doing this weekend, I thought it was because you wanted to hang out! But when I said I was taking Jian Lan out for Valentine’s Day, you tore up our poster! I needed that grade to pass the class! So you owe me a fucking explanation!”
With that, Feng Xin shoved him again. Mu Qing growled, cocked his arm, and aimed a punch at his chest, but a scornful voice from the doorway stopped him.
“Mu Qing!” Slowly, he turned his head toward his mother, fist still raised. Through clenched teeth, she sweetly stated, “Dinner is ready.”
Mu Qing’s shoulders slumped, and his fist fell into his lap. She walked off to the kitchen, disappearing.
“Never would have pegged you as a Mama’s Boy.”
The fight resurged, white-hot, but Feng Xin was already striding away, leaving Mu Qing gripping his knees so hard his nails bit into skin. Unlike school, Mu Qing knew better than to start a brawl in the middle of his mother’s living room.
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
”You still owe me an explanation,” Feng Xin grumbled from the left side of the bed, back to the door.
“Get used to disappointment,” Mu Qing snapped from the right side of the bed, facing the door.
The room was dark as they faced away from each other, reluctantly sharing Mu Qing’s bed because “XinXin is a guest, he’s not sleeping on the couch”. Only a pillow separated them, like they needed armor against whatever might slip out in the dark. It had been Feng Xin’s doing, but Mu Qing couldn’t have been more thrilled with the arrangement. However, he could do without the smell of Feng Xin’s shampoo littering his sheets.
“Jian Lan’s going to dump me when I miss our date, you know.”
“She was going to dump you the next day regardless, dumbass.”
Feng Xin abruptly sat up and glared down at him. “What do you mean?”
“Really?” Mu Qing didn’t bother looking at him. “It isn’t obvious? She dumped you months ago and then asked you out right before Valentine’s Day. She just wants a boyfriend for the holiday, and then she’ll dump you again.”
“You have a lot of nerve to say that about her—“
“I overheard her friends. They were all conspiring to get dates. One of them even asked me.”
“But you’re, you know—“
“Gay?” Mu Qing shot him a withering, sideways glare, daring him to say something unsavory.
“Uh, yeah... It’s not like the whole school doesn’t know. So why would a girl ask you out?”
“Why do you think?” He watched from the corner of his eye as Feng Xin blinked, clearly confused. “She was either desperate or dared to.”
“Woah, wait—people do that to you?”
Mu Qing didn’t dignify that question with a response. Of course they did. The only reason people like Xie Lian and Shi Qingxuan weren’t actively harassed was because of their wealth and personal guard dogs.
If anyone dared to mess with Shi Qingxuan, their brother would appear, and where Shi Wudu went, Pei Ming was close behind. No one was courageous enough to piss off either of the intimidating upperclassmen. Plus, the Shi’s threw massive parties. Anyone who wanted to be anyone went to those parties. Harassing either one of them was a quick way to be banned from the events, a one-way ticket to social outcast station.
As for Xie Lian, his parents employed a large portion of Xianle. People sucked up to him instead of harassing him for his preferences, afraid of what would happen if they gained his ire. But Mu Qing had neither wealth, status, nor guard dogs. He fit in at school as well as his mother’s rusty car fit into Feng Xin’s neighborhood.
“Mu Qing?” The dog occupying half his bed wasn’t dropping the matter. “Are people bullying you for being gay?”
“Who cares if they are?”
Feng Xin scowled at the lovingly knit rainbow blanket as his fists tightened around the comforter. “I care.”
For a moment, Mu Qing’s breath caught and mist collected along his lashes, but he swallowed down the brief flicker of hope that someone might accept him and spat, “Liar. You hate me, too.”
Feng Xin’s attention snapped to him. He grabbed Mu Qing’s shoulder and roughly pushed him onto his back, looking at him with a serious expression. “I don’t hate you. And I do care if people are bullying you.”
“Stop, Feng Xin.” He glowered at the pillow between them. “We both know you hate me.”
“No,” Feng Xin grabbed the pillow, smacking him with it. “I don’t. You piss me off, but I don’t hate you. Do you—do you hate me?”
Mu Qing clenched the pillow. No, he really didn’t hate Feng Xin. What he hated was the way Feng Xin’s smile lit up a room even when he was faking ebullience, the way his contagious laugh spread easily amongst their peers despite the smile not quite reaching his eyes, the way nothing ever seemed to be wrong.
But then he would look at Mu Qing, and suddenly it was like nothing was ever right. They were either too different or too alike, like two tornadoes with opposite spinning vortexes, clashing instead of merging.
Why could he get along with everyone except him? Was it because he was the only one who seemed to notice the storm behind the sunshine, the way Feng Xin lied and hid behind dazzling smiles?
“Yes, I hate you. With every fiber of my being, I hate your guts.” Mu Qing shoved the pillow back into place and rolled onto his side again, facing away from Feng Xin.
It was quiet for a long moment until Feng Xin muttered, “That’s why you piss me off.”
Without looking at him, Mu Qing tersely mumbled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a liar. You never say what you feel. You hide behind insults, like a fucking coward.” The bed jostled as Feng Xin flopped back down. “‘S you know, I would kick the ass of anyone who bullied you.”
“Don’t need a guard dog, mutt.”
“Don’t have to fight alone either, bitch.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
Mu Qing woke to the sound of chuckling coming from the living room. The scent of coffee and pancakes filtered through the air, making the bed feel extra cozy as the scent mingled with warm, delicate morning sunbeams.
His eyes shot open. The bed should feel anything but comfortable.
Quickly glancing to his side, he found the space empty despite Feng Xin’s lingering scent on the sheets. Then he heard more chuckles and his mother’s giggly voice, “He was four in this one. He refused to wear clothes and streaked through his grandparents' yard while his dad chased him with his clothes.”
Mu Qing paled, fumbled while kicking off the blankets, and barreled into the living room, nearly crashing into the coffee table. Much to his horror, he discovered Feng Xin combing through albums with his mother.
“Mom!”
“Oh, morning, QingQing!”
Feng Xin smirked mirthfully as he held up a baby book, chubby baby butt cheeks filling the pages. “Morning, QingQing. You have a cute tushy.”
Mortified, Mu Qing covered his face with his hands and wished he could spontaneously combust on the spot. His face certainly felt hot enough to trigger such an event.
“Aww, QingQing looks upset I saw his dingaling,” Feng Xin teased and flipped the page. “What’s this one?”
“Oh, that’s my favorite one! QingQing! Come here. You remember Halloween when you were four?” Mu Qing scowled, but it only made his mother chuckle. “He’s never been a morning person.”
“You should see him at school before third period. Complete menace.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” his mother rolled her eyes. “A peppermint mocha and maybe a donut if he’s extra crabby perks him up.”
“Noted.” Feng Xin flipped the page again, a soft, almost wistful smile tugging on his lips. “You used to be so cute, what happened?”
Mu Qing glared. “Met you.”
The album turned toward him once more, revealing a toddler sized Mu Qing in overalls, snuggly and asleep in his mother’s lap while sucking his thumb. The photo was taken on the same couch they were sitting on, except it was still fairly new and lump-free back then.
“Anytime you glare now, I’ll imagine cute little QingQing sucking his thumb.”
The jab made him groan. Irate, he crossed the room and snatched the album away.
“QingQing, don’t be like—“
“Don’t call me that!” He snapped at Feng Xin. “It’s Mu Qing to you!”
He stormed off with the album and slammed his bedroom door.
A half hour later, the door opened. Mu Qing didn’t turn to see who approached while he sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, surreptitiously wiping his sniffling nose as he flipped through the pages of the album. Feng Xin sat beside him and held out a plate of heart-shaped pancakes, syrup glistening, still warm from the griddle.
“Um, Happy Valentine’s Day, Mu Qing.”
“Not hungry.” His stomach chose that exact moment to betray him, growling loudly. “Shut up.”
“Me or your stomach?”
“Both.”
Mu Qing ignored the pancakes, concentrated on the album. It was flipped open to various photos of his father chasing him around, playing with a small laughing boy, combing his unruly bedhead, or celebrating Mu Qing’s birthday.
Gently, Feng Xin commented, “Ayi said your birthday is in a few days…”
“You don’t need to pretend like you’re interested in learning about me just because we’re stuck together for a few days.”
“I’m not pretending.”
Mu Qing barked a single, harsh laugh. “That’s why you piss me off.”
Feng Xin’s face scrunched. “Because I care?”
The album closed with a solid thunk. “Because you’re too stupid not to.”
Feng Xin was still holding those ridiculous heart pancakes like an offering. Like he hadn’t already given away enough of himself. Like he had endless pieces left to spare, even on someone he didn’t care for.
Mu Qing wanted to shake him. Wanted to scream: Why do you keep letting everyone carve you open? Don’t you know your bones are worth more than their approval?
Instead, he dug his nails into his palms and spat, "Stop pretending you’re some fucking saint. You despise half the people you ‘help’."
Feng Xin flinched. Good. Let it hurt. Maybe then he’d learn.
"At least I try to be kind," he shot back, but his voice cracked on the last word.
"Kind?" Mu Qing glowered. "Or just afraid to say no?"
The silence that followed was thicker than the syrup pooling on the abandoned plate. Mu Qing turned away first, but not fast enough to miss the way Feng Xin’s smile—that infuriating, performative smile—finally slipped, gutting him.
Mu Qing stood abruptly, snatching the album away before Feng Xin could see the way his fingers trembled against the cover. He hated how Feng Xin could pour himself out for anyone, whether they asked or not, how he never hesitated to give, give, give until there was nothing left but hollow smiles and dark circles under his eyes. He gave pieces of himself away as if he were limitless, but Mu Qing knew better than most how finite a person was.
It was disgusting.
Feng Xin who tended to Xie Lian’s every whim as if it were his job to care for his basic needs. Feng Xin, who didn’t have the heart to tell Jian Lan he didn’t love her, but agreed to date her again because she asked. Feng Xin, who would lend his coat in the middle of winter despite not having a spare, who would shiver the entire walk to the Xie’s after school, whose hands would hurt from the cold, but insisted he was fine.
And for what? So people could take and take until he disappeared too?
Mu Qing’s throat burned as he looked at the decorated album cover; his father’s framed face grinned up at him from one of the photos, exhausted but happy, the way he’d looked right before the overtime shifts that left him drained, the missed dinners that made him weak, and the hospital bed that swallowed him whole.
What hurt most was that Feng Xin gave everyone his kindness, yet Mu Qing only received his anger. However deserved those frustrations were, an ache deep in Mu Qing’s gut yearned for his kindness, his affection that was wasted on others. He would treasure it in ways no one dared to, in ways no one considered.
But maybe that was the problem. If Feng Xin didn’t hate him for the same reasons their classmates and a majority of their teachers did, maybe their issues stemmed from him saving his honesty for Mu Qing and his lies for everyone else.
Replacing the album on top of the cabinet while his mother scrubbed dishes, she whispered so she wasn’t overheard by their guest, “How long have you had feelings for him, QingQing?”
Mu Qing paused, his breath hitched, and his fingers rested against the spine of the album. He could lie, say he didn't have feelings, but he had yet to get away with deceiving her. He doubted that would change now.
Sensing his hesitance, she continued, “Why did you destroy the project?”
He looked away, crossing his arms, needing to shield himself. “He got back together with his girlfriend.”
His mother wiped her hands on a dish towel, thinking as she deciphered what he wasn’t saying. “And you asked where you could take someone for Valentine’s Day….” Her dishwater-warm hands smelled of lemon soap as she cupped his face. “You were going to ask him out?”
He couldn’t bring himself to answer. It was stupid enough that he deluded himself into thinking he stood a chance, but to be rejected for a girl who’d discard him by Monday—like Feng Xin was just another Valentine’s novelty chocolate… Humiliation heated his skin.
“It’s not easy being young and holding all of these feelings, but even if you can’t date him, you will hate yourself if you don’t try to be his friend. Trust me on this, my sweet boy, sometimes the deepest love is one shared between friends.”
“Mom, we can’t get along long enough to become friends.”
A devilish smirk graced her lips. “Oh, QingQing, you know better than to issue a challenge you know you can’t win.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
Snow fell mid-morning, chilling the world with its cold, sparkling blanket. The temperature inside the apartment dipped, forcing Mu Qing to lend one of his blankets to Feng Xin, who shivered across from him at the kitchen table while they tended to homework.
As the morning faded into early afternoon, the temperature plummeted more than usual, causing Mu Zhixi to check the radiator. The metal contraption was already on its last leg, but she muttered a hopeful prayer under her breath; it hadn’t given up yet. However, as she checked it, her head hung low, and her blanket tightened around her slumped shoulders.
“Mom?”
A forced smile stretched across her face as she glanced at her son. “Grab the toolbox, would you?”
Pulling out a red, metal box with rusted corners from under the kitchen sink, Mu Qing made his way to the living room and the radiator.
“Shouldn’t you call maintenance?” Feng Xin innocently asked as Mu Qing pulled out a wrench.
Mu Qing deadpanned at him. “What makes you think this place has a maintenance tech?”
A flush stained Feng Xin’s cheeks. Then a screw driver was placed in his hand. Mu Zhixi smiled, “Why don’t you help him fix it?”
Together, albeit reluctantly, they looked at the radiator. “You know how to fix this?” Feng Xin asked, but Mu Qing shook his head, pulled out his phone, and started searching YouTube videos for maintenance tutorials.
“What the—you’re going to fix it with a video?!”
Mu Qing raised a brow, but continued to scroll without looking up. “It's how I fixed the washer and dryer.”
Feng Xin looked at him incredulously, but it wasn’t as if he knew any other method for home repair.
It went about as poorly as expected, and worse than that. They bickered, shoved, argued, and intentionally handed each other the wrong tools when the other was being disagreeable. Eventually, the radiator cover was removed, and Mu Qing tinkered around the inside as the video instructed, but nothing worked.
When it didn’t, Feng Xin shoved him aside, insisting Mu Qing was doing it wrong. The knob wasn’t supposed to turn that way, it was supposed to turn this way. However, Feng Xin’s methods didn’t produce heat, either.
They spent hours disassembling and reassembling to no avail before locating the source of the problem and correcting it together, both boys turning their attention to the woman across the room. Mu Qing’s mother, shockingly diabolical despite her sweet disposition, smiled and waved innocently from her knitting as the boys simply flicked a metal switch that turned the radiator back on. A hiss and a thunk sounded as it kicked into life, instantly warming the room.
Feng Xin covered his mouth and leaned toward Mu Qing, whispering, “She did that on purpose?”
Mu Qing nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek, knowing her punishments were as creative as they were humbling.
Mu Zhixi sighed, shrugging off her blanket. “All that work must have made you boys hungry.” She smiled serenely, but a bad feeling in Mu Qing’s gut told him the radiator was just part one of her hidden agenda. He didn’t nod, didn’t say anything, knowing whatever he said would trigger the next phase of her awful, terrible plan. However, Feng Xin, the dumbass, nodded.
“Oh, good, why don’t you two whip up some congee!”
And there it was; the next step into forcing them to cooperate. It didn’t sound like much of a challenge, but Mu Qing was certain Feng Xin didn’t know how to cook, and they were more likely to leave the kitchen wearing the rice instead of cooking it.
It didn’t take long before the kitchen was a mess of rice, chicken, and vegetables following an inevitable dispute. What wasn’t dumped on Mu Qing’s head was shoved into Feng Xin’s pants. Rice grains stuck to the ceiling, the walls, the cabinets, and their hair. Unevenly butchered vegetables were splattered across the ground. The boys fumed, panting heavily as they blamed each other for the catastrophic mess.
Mu Qing’s mother simply sat on the couch, humming while knitting, as the boys demolished the kitchen with their petty feud. When they separated, she glanced at them, told them to clean it up and try again, before returning to her knitting while a cheesy drama played on the TV.
Grumbling, Mu Qing yanked out cleaning supplies and shoved them in Feng Xin’s direction. “Do you even know how to clean?”
“Of course, I do, asshole!” He exclaimed indignantly, though he looked at the chemical bottles in his hands like alien artifacts, squinting at the bleach bottle’s warning label like it contained nuclear codes.
With a huff, Mu Qing rolled his eyes and pulled out the trash can. “You’re on pick-up duty.”
“Then what are you going to do?!”
He reclaimed the chemicals and pulled out rags. “Remove the stains.” Mu Qing’s eyes drifted over Feng Xin’s splotchy shirt. “The only way to help that hideous abomination would be to throw it away.”
“You’re fixing his clothes, QingQing,” a singsong voice rang out from the living room, causing Mu Qing to roll his eyes and grumble under his breath. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, young man!”
Feng Xin paused, glanced around, double-checking despite being certain she couldn’t see them from her position. “How does she know?”
“Ugh, what doesn’t she know?” They heard a snicker from the living room, confirming she could hear and see everything.
“That’s terrifying.”
“You have no idea.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
It was nearly dinner time when they finally finished cleaning the kitchen and restarted the congee. The pot bubbled ominously, its contents resembling a murky science experiment, but it was congee adjacent, and they didn’t fight this time. There were some snide comments and elbows rammed into ribs, but nothing like the first attempt’s devolution into a food fight.
Meanwhile, Mu Zhixi vanished into her room, preparing for the night shift at the factory where she worked as a seamstress.
Before they ate, Mu Qing opened the narrow, accordion-style door between the living room and Mu Zhixi’s room, revealing a stackable washer and dryer set that appeared older than the couch with its clunky brown knobs and yellow paint. He peeled off his shirt, sprayed stain remover onto the fabric, and tossed it into the washer with more force than necessary.
“Go change—” Mu Qing glanced at Feng Xin, only to find him rooted in place, gaze locked onto him. “What are you looking at?”
Feng Xin rapidly blinked and hastily straightened, like he didn’t realize he had been staring at Mu Qing’s bare chest. Then a confused, introspective expression pinched his features. Not for the first time, Mu Qing wondered what the hell went through Feng Xin’s head when he looked like that. He bit back a retort when his stomach growled impatiently.
“Hurry up. Go change so we can finally eat. I’m starving, you oaf.”
“Uh, right. Right…” Feng Xin darted into the room and emerged a moment later with his stained clothes in hand. He ladled the questionable congee into bowls while Mu Qing treated the laundry and changed his clothes.
Mu Zhixi rushed out, coat in hand, but paused at the sight of a third bowl waiting for her at the table. A tender smile softened her tired features. “Sorry, boys. I’m running late—enjoy dinner without me.”
She hugged each of them and slipped out, leaving behind a lingering trace of jasmine perfume. Feng Xin sat, took one bite of congee, and recoiled, spitting it into his napkin as he choked and coughed.
“Told you it was too much salt.” Mu Qing emptied the bowls into the trash and pulled out sandwich ingredients.
“How would you know, you never tasted it!” Feng Xin gulped water like a man rescued from the Gobi.
“Because ½ teaspoon is not an italic typo for 112 teaspoons! Mom ran away just to avoid eating it!”
“She said she was running late!”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes as he slapped meat onto slices of bread. “Her shift doesn’t start for another two hours. She’s probably buying takeout right now. Here.”
A paper plate with a sandwich dropped in front of him. Frustrated, Feng Xin took a bite, eyes widening at the taste. “What the fuck, why is this so good?! It’s just a sandwich! Is it the mayo?”
“Yeah.” Mu Qing sat and bit into his sandwich.
“What brand is it?”
“Mu Qing Brand.”
“You made it?!” Feng Xin gaped.
“Shocking, I know,” Mu Qing deadpanned.
“…Why didn’t I know you could cook?”
“You never asked.”
A weighted silence fell. Feng Xin chewed, brow furrowed, before blurting, “So that’s the trick to knowing you? Asking you shit?”
Mu Qing arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. “Communication is generally the key to learning about a person.”
“Alright. Well then, can I ask you questions?” The earnestness in his tone, the way he leaned forward as if eager to understand, set Mu Qing on edge. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he nodded once.
“You can ask about my interests. Personal stuff is off-limits.”
“Alright. I can work with that.” Feng Xin shifted in his seat and began with the least personal question he could think of. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Really? That’s how you start an interrogation?”
“You said you would answer.”
“I said you could ask.” Mu Qing sipped from a glass of water. “Didn’t say anything about answering.”
Feng Xin’s head rolled back, annoyed already. “For fucks sake. Fine.” He straightened again, leaning his elbows on the table with a glint of determination in his gold eyes. “Answer for answer. I’ll answer your questions, and you answer mine. Deal?”
“You assume I want to ask you questions.”
Undeterred, Feng Xin pressed, “Deal?!”
Whether it was Feng Xin’s stubborn persistence, that unwavering gleam in his eye, or Mu Qing’s internal wish that someone—anyone besides his mother—made an effort to know him, Mu Qing relented.
“Fine. Deal.”
A beaming, genuine smile flashed from across the table, causing Mu Qing’s traitorous heart to flutter. Gods, he wished it would stop doing that, but that obnoxious grin shone brighter than the sun. It warmed the room, leaving him a smitten fool who hadn’t noticed how cold he felt without it.
"Great." Feng Xin's knee bumped against his under the table. "So... favorite color."
“Red. Yours?”
“Orange. Favorite food?”
”Cherries. And chocolate. Yours?”
Feng Xin's eyes narrowed playfully. “You can’t keep asking the same questions I’m asking.”
Mu Qing smirked, licking a smear of mayo from his thumb. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”
“Eat all your cherries and chocolate unless you ask real questions. Peaches.”
Mu Qing blinked. “Peaches?”
“My favorite food, dummy.”
“Oh… Uh, favorite animal?”
“Otter… what?” Feng Xin tilted his head, confused by Mu Qing’s disbelieving expression.
“Assumed you would have picked something basic. Like a dog. Because you’re a dog.”
“Am not!” Feng Xin flicked a crumb on his plate at Mu Qing, nailing him in the forehead. “Otters are cute!” He pulled out his phone, scrolled through an app, and turned the screen toward Mu Qing, showing a video of two otters. “Look at them! They hold hands so they don't drift apart while sleeping. That's the cutest shit ever.”
Nodding, Mu Qing relented. “Alright, so you like cute creatures.”
"Bet yours is something pretentious," Feng Xin teased, chin propped in his palm. "Venomous sea cucumber?"
“Cats.”
“... And you said I’m basic?!”
Rolling his eyes, Mu Qing lifted his phone and pulled a saved cat video up. A rambunctious little orange kitten chased around its tuxedo friend, barreling through the room and playing with each other.
Feng Xin's smirk softened into something dangerously close to affection. "So... you're a cat person. Think this is the first time I've seen you smile."
Mu Qing's lips parted in shock. When had his mouth curved upward? When had his shoulders unclenched? He schooled his features into their usual scowl, but the blush staining his cheeks betrayed him.
"Peppermint mochas, donuts, and cat videos make you less grumpy," Feng Xin observed, tapping his temple. "Noted."
"Are you keeping a dossier on me?"
“Mhm. Whatever keeps me alive past third period.”
Indignant, Mu Qing growled, tossing his napkin at him. “I’m not that bad!”
A snort sounded. “Keep telling yourself that, Princess.”
He sputtered at the name. “Princess?! I wouldn’t be so irritable if someone didn’t piss me off every morning!”
The air shifted. No longer light and curious, it was stifling, sparking with the current that circulated too close to the surface.
“What do I do that pisses you off so much?! Breathe in your general direction?”
“For starters.”
“Mu Qing.” Feng Xin’s suddenly serious tone sliced through the bull shit deflection. “Tell me what I did that made you hate me so much.”
He shifted in his seat, trying not to squirm under the uncomfortable direction this interrogation was taking. He wanted to run, needed to get away. What happened to favorite animals?
“Mu Qing, for once, just tell me what I did!”
“You’re f-f-ffriends with everyone!” He blurted, trying to hold it in, but the pleading look in Feng Xin’s eyes plucked it out. “Except me!”
Feng Xin recoiled as if struck. His broad shoulders slumped, looking like a wounded puppy. Mu Qing buried his crimson face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes until fireworks bloomed. What the hell was it about this guy that he could effortlessly tear down his walls? Had anyone else asked, Mu Qing would have been able to deflect easily, but Feng Xin had an uncanny ability to bulldoze through his stronghold as easily as if he were cutting air.
“You…” Feng Xin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to choose his next words carefully. “You just wanted to be… friends?”
Cursing to himself, Mu Qing didn’t say anything, just sat with his face hidden behind his palms. Agreeing to an interrogation was a stupid idea, the worst he’d ever had. What he wouldn’t give to rewind ten minutes and do the logical thing—lock himself in his room with Feng Xin on the other side of the door. Why did this idiot have to ask? Why did he have to care?
Some shuffling sounded, and suddenly Feng Xin’s softened voice was much closer. “Hey, Mu Qing. Come on, look at me.”
Hands tugged on his wrists, coaxing him from the safety of his hiding place. And gods help him, Mu Qing dropped them just a fraction, enough to meet Feng Xin’s gaze. He was close, too close, kneeling beside the table, his calloused fingers still circling Mu Qing’s wrists.
“We met on a bad day. I—I wasn’t myself, and I accidentally took it out on you. I’m sorry. I… I’m trying not to be like—fuck. I want to be like my mom. Someone kind and caring. Can we restart?” Pleading gold eyes shifted over Mu Qing’s face, hope shining through. Maybe Mu Qing hated how expressive those eyes were, but he was weak against them. He adored them.
“Please, Mu Qing? May I be your friend?”
The fingers around his wrists slid into his hands, lacing with his fingers, and offering a gentle squeeze. Mu Qing’s heart pounded; no one ever asked to be his friend before. Xie Lian dragged him along, Shi Qingxuan too, but they never explicitly asked to be his friend. His head spun, his palms sweated, and he felt himself nodding before he decided to answer.
Then two arms surrounded him, squeezing him tightly, filling him with a surge of warmth. He couldn’t resist it, didn’t want to either, so Mu Qing hugged him back and felt those arms constrict even more in response.
Feng Xin hugged like he smiled, like he fought, like he cried. His feelings were expressed so completely, they seeped into his physical affection, passion pouring into everything he did, whether good or bad. He wore his heart on his sleeve, while Mu Qing cut his own sleeve off and hid the evidence.
“Sorry for shoulder checking you at orientation,” Feng Xin whispered and rubbed Mu Qing’s back.
“Sorry, I didn’t punch you harder,” Mu Qing half-heartedly jabbed.
Pulling back, but curling their fingers together again, Feng Xin tipped his head and offered a gentle smile. “Can see you’re still a sarcastic asshole.”
“Some things will never change,” He shot back unapologetically, but uncertainty crept in, leading him to ask, “Does it bother you?”
Feng Xin pursed his lips and squinted his eyes, scrutinizing Mu Qing as he deeply considered his answer. For that, Mu Qing silently thanked him. He didn’t want some immediate yes or no, a thoughtless, socially correct response. He wanted the truth. If Feng Xin hated it, then perhaps they weren’t destined to be anything other than passing acquaintances, but if he said no—
“No. It might take me a while to differentiate when you’re teasing, just grumpy, or genuinely pissed off, though. Does it bother you if I’m still an asshole, too?”
While he appreciated Feng Xin’s thoughtfulness in his answer, Mu Qing didn’t need to think about his. He had known the answer all along. “No. I prefer it to that fake sunshine shit you do with everyone else.”
“It’s not fake!”
Mu Qing cocked an arched brow, offering a knowing lour.
“... It’s not all fake,” he admitted, abashed.
“Don’t be fake with me at all. Others might not notice the toll it takes on you to show up for everyone except yourself, but I do. You don’t need to tell me why you’re having a bad day, but don’t pretend I’m too stupid to notice when you’re upset.”
Feng Xin’s lips parted, his fingers tightened, and his eyes—his ever-honest eyes—shone with an emotion Mu Qing couldn’t begin to name. Somehow, he felt he had said something he shouldn’t have, or maybe it was precisely what Feng Xin needed to hear most. Perhaps they never got along because they were both too practiced at wearing their masks: Mu Qing’s protective anger and Feng Xin’s feigned joy, but he could see the cracks forming in Feng Xin’s armor, revealing his real face.
Whatever the reason, their guards disappeared, and masks fell away. There was something tentative, fragile, but on the cusp of transforming into something grander than they could foresee if they gave it a chance to grow.
“Y-you…” Feng Xin’s voice splintered, “See me?”
A snarky retort bubbled in Mu Qing's throat, but it popped as Feng Xin crushed him against his chest again. The hammering heart under his palm raced erratically, Feng Xin's ribs expanding too fast with each shallow breath. Heat poured off him in waves. Mu Qing could feel the minute tremors running through him.
"I want—" Feng Xin's voice broke, his chin digging into Mu Qing's shoulder as he swallowed hard. "—to see you too."
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
The remainder of the night passed in shouts and heated competition as they raced through Bowser’s castle to save Princess Peach on Mu Qing’s original Nintendo. Mario leapt from platform to platform, earning Feng Xin’s raucous commentary when Mu Qing shorted the jump. Mushrooms one-upped, turtles knocked them down. After a few hours, both Mario and Luigi faced off against the spiked turtle menace as lava flowed around them.
Sometime in the early hours of morning, Mu Qing woke to someone gently shaking his shoulder, but his opposite one felt heavy. His mother smiled softly, whispering, “Go to bed, silly boy.”
After a brief glance, he realized they had fallen asleep in the living room, game controllers precariously dangling in their unconscious grasps. The weight on his other shoulder was none other than Feng Xin, sleeping serenely on him. When did that happen?
Groggy, he mumbled and wiggled his shoulder, “Feng Xin, wake up.”
“Ungh. Five more minutes.”
Two seconds passed. “Five minutes are up. Get your ass in bed.”
Protesting, but complying, he slowly rose to his feet and shuffled into the room. With a flop and a groan, Feng Xin landed on the bed, Mu Qing climbing in after him.
“Scoot over, you’re on top of the blankets.”
“You’re a blanket,” Feng Xin shot back, but rolled off the blankets, lay down, and stuffed the pillow in its place between them.
Mu Qing stared at the pillow. “Scared I’ll kiss you in your sleep?”
“Pft, you’re more likely to strangle me if I snore.”
“True. Why the pillow then?”
“Just like one against my back. Sleep with four at my dad’s house.”
Satisfied with the answer, he fell back, closing his eyes the moment his head hit his pillow. However, his eyes flew open again when a hand found his.
“Otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift away.”
Mu Qing’s heart seized, and he glanced at the boy next to him, who had his eyes closed. “We’re not otters and this isn’t the ocean.”
“Don’t care. Don’t drift away from me, QingQing.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Fine. Don’t drift away, asshole,” Feng Xin snarkily teased.
“Ugh,” Mu Qing tried to pull his hand away, but the half-asleep menace squeezed tighter, and—well, he didn’t really want to let go. Settling, he grumbled, “You’re the worst.”
“You’ll learn to love it.”
“Doubt it.”
A snort ripped from his bedmate. “Good night, Mu Qing.”
“Night, Feng Xin.”
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
“I get it now,” Feng Xin murmured as they sat on the bedroom floor, a new poster and their notes from the destroyed one scattered in front of them as they remade their literature project.
Mu Qing looked up from his notebook. “Shakespeare isn’t that difficult to understand.”
“No, I meant—well, actually, he still doesn’t make sense, but I was referring to the last poster. I understand why you tore it up now.”
The air turned to lead in Mu Qing’s lungs, every heartbeat a thunderclap of he knows, he knows, he knows as their gazes locked above the half-completed poster. Dread thrashed in his blood like stormy seas. What would Feng Xin say about his crush on him? Would he be disgusted? He wasn’t running away yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn tail eventually.
“You,” his voice came out squeakier than intended, and clearing his throat didn’t help, “Do?”
Nodding thoughtfully, Feng Xin studied him with a puzzled expression. “Mhm. You wanted to be friends, and I still think you asked what I was doing this weekend because you wanted to do something together. Then everything went to hell when I brought up Valentine’s Day with Jian Lan.”
Mu Qing’s pulse raced, and he felt lightheaded. Feng Xin knew. He fucking knew now. Was he about to lose the first real friend he had made? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“So you didn’t tear up the poster because you hate me or Jian Lan, you just suuuuuck at rejection, huh?” Feng Xin smirked, “Tried to tell you we could hang out another time before you went rogue.”
Hang out. Mu Qing blinked. Hanging out was something friends did, not boyfriends. Did that mean—?
A wave of relief crashed through him. They were friends. Feng Xin assumed he was asking him to hang out, not date. He wasn’t about to lose his new friend, and his crush would fade eventually. This was fine, good even. Very good.
“Yeah,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Still got to hang out with you all weekend anyway.”
Feng Xin chuckled, and oh, Mu Qing’s heart skipped a beat at the melodic way it sounded. Unlike the laughs he heard at school, this one sounded real. Mu Qing stilled. He was fucked. So fucked. He wanted to hear more of Feng Xin’s real laughter. Whatever it took, he wanted to hear it again.
“I see your master plan worked out. You’re nearly as diabolical as your mom.” Feng Xin booped his nose, earning a catlike swat. “At least her plans don’t almost end with us being expelled.”
“Mm. Next time I say ‘Hey, what are you doing this weekend?’, you should already know you’re hanging out with me.”
“Demanding much?”
Mu Qing raised a brow. “I haven’t begun to demand anything yet.”
Feng Xin pursed his lips and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What if I have work that weekend?”
“Then you should work. Your trust fund alone won't support my peppermint mocha requirements.”
“Mhm, good point.” Feng Xin nodded seriously. “We have two and a half years of school left, multiply that by the cost of coffee and… I’m fucked. How will I afford college after paying for your coffee every day?”
“Not my problem, Feng Xin.” He lifted a mug from the desk and sipped his home brew. “So what are you doing next weekend?”
“Hanging out with your caffeine addicted, bitchy ass, I guess!”
“Oh, good, you can keep me company while I work.”