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“Can’t believe one of us has kids now,” Pei Ming said, grinning as he settled in a cushioned patio chair by the fire pit in Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s backyard. He took a swig of beer as the flames cast playful shadows across his face.
Mu Qing snatched Feng Xin’s beer, draining it in one go before smirking. “Can’t believe you don’t have kids.” The others’ chuckles drowned out Feng Xin’s indignant squawk at his empty beer bottle.
Snickers sounded from around the fire, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng sat beside Pei Ming, nodding in agreement. They had been the ones to evict Pei Ming’s insane ex-girlfriend from his house while he was working overseas, but she was just one in a long line of scorned ex-lovers.
Shi Qingxuan fluttered their fan, though the evening spring breeze was cool enough to make He Xuan’s arm press closer to theirs for warmth. “Thought you’d be the first to have kids, but somehow, the class frenemies beat us all to it.”
“The boys are great, and seem to be adjusting well.” Xie Lian’s eyes shone with pride. “A-Yao is especially taken with you, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing smirked as his husband opened another bottle. “As he should be. I’m the cool dad.”
Feng Xin choked on his beer, affronted. “And what does that make me?!”
“The lame dad,” Mu Qing teased and added when Feng Xin opened his mouth to protest, “You’ve turned into a complete Mother Goose.”
“Have not!”
“Prove me wrong, then. Turn out your pockets, ‘Old Man’.”
The ‘Old Man,’ as their twins called him, pursed his lips and grumbled, crossing his arms like a petulant teen, knowing he couldn’t avoid revealing the granola bars buried in his pockets. When he didn’t, Mu Qing sniggered, though adoration glittered in his eyes.
“He always has snacks on him in case they get hungry, hand sanitizer, tissues, and their bus schedule. Not to mention the god-awful fanny pack he wears when we go out—”
“It’s convenient!”
“It’s hideous.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes, but affectionately traced the inside of Feng Xin’s wrist with his fingertips. “They’ve been attending Xianle High for three days now, and both boys have already accumulated a stack of handwritten notes hidden inside the lunches he makes them every night.”
“Like you’re any better!” Feng Xin stabbed a finger at him. “A-Feng sneezed once, and you dragged him to the ER like it was life or death.”
Flatly, Mu Qing glared and unapologetically stated, “It could have been tuberculosis.”
“It was allergies.”
“Your point?”
“You’re a doctor, Qing’er! You should be able to determine tuberculosis from a pollen allergy!”
Their friends chuckled as they lost themselves to their bickering and snarky quips. Pei Ming lightly nudged Xie Lian with his foot. “Who could have predicted they would eventually marry and become helicopter parents to two teenage boys? Their kids will never want for love.”
Xie Lian’s smile softened, crinkling the corners of his eyes as Feng Xin and Mu Qing devolved into squabbling over who was the more doting father again. Hua Cheng laced their fingers together, squeezing gently, as Xie Lian nodded.
Pei smirked and continued before leisurely taking another drink, “Took them long enough to figure their shit out, though. Thought they were finally going to get together after they made out at my college send-off party, but it still took two more years.”
The fire crackled as Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s arguing abruptly ceased, and they turned in eerie unison, eyes narrowed like synchronized assassins. Mu Qing informed, though it sounded closer to a threat, “Our first kiss was at prom. You shoved your tongue down A-Xin’s throat at that party.”
Pei Ming bolted upright, nearly shooting beer from his nose. "Me? Kiss you?!" Laughter bubbled up as Feng Xin made a face like he'd bitten into a lemon. "You’d be so lucky! Unfortunately, you're not nearly pretty enough to be my type. No, that was definitely Mu Qing who played tonsil hockey with you.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Feng Xin scowled. “He made out with Shi Qingxuan at that party.”
Mu Qing’s grip on Feng Xin’s hand turned vice-like, a silent shut up or die. Feng Xin didn’t pull away, though his knuckles popped under the pressure. Through clenched teeth, he fumed, “Told you never to repeat that.”
The temperature around the fire pit dropped several degrees as He Xuan's murderous aura rolled outward, his glare sharp enough to flay skin. Mu Qing didn't even flinch, just rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Relax, Mister Possessive. It was one drunken mistake a decade ago.”
“Uh,” Shi Qingxuan blinked. “Mu Qing, I wasn’t at that party. But my brother came home screaming about you two going at it like—"
Pei Ming's grin turned razor-sharp as he smoothly intercepted, "Like teenagers who'd just discovered tongue." He kicked his feet up on the fire pit ledge, wholly unbothered by the twin glares directed his way once more. "So let me get this straight; Feng Xin thought he kissed me, Mu Qing thought he kissed Qingxuan—" He Xuan's low growl made the beer bottles rattle, “—Just how drunk were you?”
The silence was absolute. Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin looked at each other, mouths gaping, fuzzy memories slowly starting to piece together with new clarity.
·༺𓆩Summer: Two weeks before Junior Year𓆪༻·
"Whoa, slow down." Pei Ming's slap between Feng Xin's shoulder blades sent vodka-coke cascading down his shirt in sticky rivulets. Before he could react, an arm draped heavily around his shoulders, jostling his cup again.
"Dammit—!" Feng Xin shoved Pei Ming off with enough force to make him stumble into Shi Wudu.
"Geez, what crawled up your ass?" Shi Wudu snorted as Pei Ming righted himself and threw a kitchen towel at him.
Feng Xin blotted his shirt with the towel, ignoring them, but his gaze drifted toward his friend, who was dancing with another guy in the oversized, modern-style living room. The bass vibrated through the floorboards as Mu Qing threw his head back, solo cup drained and inhibitions abandoned, his hips moving with a liquid grace that made Feng Xin's lips tighten into a thin line.
Shi Wudu and Pei Ming followed his gaze, observed Mu Qing grinding against some Senior classman they recognized from English class, and looked back at Feng Xin, who was trying not to appear preoccupied by the scene.
“Jealous?” Shi Wudu smirked knowingly.
“Of what? We’re just friends.” Feng Xin tossed aside the towel and poured himself a new drink. He knew his swimming vision and unsteady balance meant he probably shouldn’t have another, but there was too much on his mind, and he wasn’t inclined to handle it maturely.
The two tumors exchanged a look before Pei Ming asked with faux innocence, “‘Just friends’? Not, ‘I’m not into guys’?”
Pausing, Feng Xin’s grip on the red cup tightened, denting the cheap plastic as he realized his mistake. Denial lodged in his throat, which he washed down with a gulp of vodka and Coke. Pei Ming’s raised eyebrow, however different in acceptance, might as well have been his father’s fist slamming against the dinner table, shouting slurs after discovering the browser history on his son’s laptop.
Over the last year, he began noticing the way his stomach did the same fluttery things around some of his boy classmates as it did around girls. Talking to Mu Qing about his sexuality at the start of summer brought some clarity. Still, shock, guilt, and anxiety consumed him when his frequently deleted browser history developed a noticeable preference.
He was on the verge of confirming what he already suspected, and he stressed himself out as a result. However, he was hesitant to label himself when he hadn’t experienced so much as a kiss with another boy. What if he labeled himself only to kiss someone and realize he had been wrong?
There was too much at stake, so he swallowed another gulp, the alcohol burning his throat. Hormones were liars. Labels were grenades. And Feng Xin couldn’t afford to pull the pin when he had nowhere else to sleep.
“Whatever.” He refilled his cup and brushed past Shi Wudu. “I’m not into guys.”
The moment he stepped into the living room, Mu Qing’s gaze locked onto him, and he flashed a devious grin. The guy he was dancing with was immediately forgotten, cast aside without a care, as Mu Qing sauntered over to him and looped his arms around Feng Xin’s neck.
Quickly, Feng Xin noted that Mu Qing and Pei Ming both wore similar high ponytails and red hair ties. If he wasn’t careful, he might mistake one for the other from behind.
Smiling lopsidedly, Mu Qing leaned his weight on him, their chests pressing together, and slurred, “A-Xin, dance with me. Everyone else here sucks.”
If the alcohol wasn’t enough to make him black out, Mu Qing calling him A-Xin for the first time was.
From the kitchen, Pei Ming and Shi Wudu’s stares burned holes in his back. Feng Xin could practically hear their silent commentary. He and Mu Qing were a spectacle; all that was missing was a bowl of popcorn for the tumors to munch on.
“Sure, but not here.”
Mu Qing’s fingers unconsciously twisted and curled in the baby hairs at Feng Xin’s nape, tugging just enough to sting. “Why not?” His breath was hot against Feng Xin’s jaw, eyes glinting with something that made his stomach flip.
Feng Xin leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of Mu Qing’s ear. “Maybe I want you to myself?”
The hitch in Mu Qing’s breathing was more felt than heard. For a terrifying second, Feng Xin thought he’d crossed a line, but then Mu Qing muttered, “Balcony,” and was suddenly dragging him upstairs, their fingers interlaced too tightly to be casual.
Mu Qing guided him through a maze of never-ending halls to a secluded, shadow-covered balcony that overlooked the pool. Shouts from their classmates playing chicken in the pool sounded over the music downstairs, but the balcony was private enough for a casual dance between two friends.
“Dance with me, A-Xin,” Mu Qing demanded, though he had already slinked up to him, once more wrapping his arms around Feng Xin’s neck like they belonged there. His cheek came to rest against Feng Xin's shoulder, the heat of him seeping through thin fabric.
Every point of contact sparked—shoulders, chests, hips—until Feng Xin felt like a live wire about to short-circuit. It made his head spin, and his stomach somersaulted. Mu Qing grumbled an incoherent string of complaints when Feng Xin’s hands dangled at his sides.
Like the hopeless fool he was, he downed the last of his cup’s contents, tossed it over the railing, and locked his arms around Mu Qing’s waist tight enough to make him squeak. He buried his face in the curve of Mu Qing’s neck and matched his slow movements. They were off beat, terribly so. The music floating up from the party below was a catchy, fast-paced pop tune, but they swayed slowly, lost in their own world.
Feng Xin's thoughts spiraled into dangerous territory with every shift of their bodies. Mu Qing's fingers playing with the hair at his nape sent lightning down his spine. The solid weight of Mu Qing's arms around him was an anchor and a disruption all at once. The press of their chests to their hips burned deliciously, butterflies erupting in his stomach from the contact.
“Um… A-Xin?” Mu Qing stilled, voice pitched higher than normal. “D-do you have something in your pocket?”
Feng Xin’s blood ran cold. Oh no.
He froze mid-sway. Mu Qing leaned back just enough for moonlight to catch his confused expression. Feng Xin's alcohol-muddled brain offered no excuses for the undeniable hardness pressed against Mu Qing's hip. Only humiliating honesty with no context.
“I’ve never kissed a guy.”
Mu Qing’s brows shot up his forehead. “Yeah, so? What does that have to do with—”
Their weight shifted as their balance briefly faltered, causing Mu Qing to press against it. Feng Xin bit back a groan, grabbed Mu Qing’s waist, and swiftly pushed him back before dropping his forehead to his best friend’s shoulder.
“I-I think I like guys.”
Mu Qing stopped breathing. “You… you do? Are you sure?”
“No!” Feng Xin bolted upright and instantly regretted it, the world swirling wildly around him. “What if I kiss a guy and decide I don’t like it? What if—mmph!”
Mu Qing roughly grasped his face, yanking him fiercely to his lips as they brazenly crushed against his, almost as if he was desperately begging Feng Xin to enjoy kissing a boy. His passion consumed Feng Xin like wildfire spreading through his veins, burning him from the inside out, reducing everything he thought he knew to ash. A surge of want rose from the ashes, scaring him enough to hastily break the kiss.
They panted as they stared at each other. Mu Qing’s eyes searched his expression with too much raw vulnerability, too much yearning hope. It threw him off kilter.
Mu Qing was always so guarded with him, even when they were secure in their months-old friendship. He treated his emotions like contraband, either smothering them with his palms or fleeing before they could be discovered. Feng Xin couldn’t begin to understand why Mu Qing was looking at him like that now, like Feng Xin held his still-beating heart in his clumsy hands.
“Well?” Mu Qing’s voice frayed at the edges. “Did you like it?”
Feng Xin nodded, his throat too tight for words.
“Can I—” Mu Qing swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against Feng Xin’s jaw as his eyes flicked to his mouth. “Kiss you again?”
This time, Feng Xin fisted his hands in Mu Qing’s shirt and yanked him forward. Their mouths crashed together with enough force to bruise—all teeth and spit and gasping breaths. Mu Qing’s fingers twisted in Feng Xin’s hair, tugging sharply until Feng Xin groaned into his mouth. He retaliated by shoving Mu Qing backward, pinning him against the wall with his entire body.
The impact did nothing to break them apart. If anything, it only deepened the kiss, their bodies pressed flush, heat searing through layers of fabric. Feng Xin’s hands slid down to Mu Qing’s waist, gripping hard enough to bruise, as if he couldn’t get close enough.
Mu Qing, for once, didn’t fight him. Instead, he arched into the touch, his usual condescending retorts lost between gasps and the slick, hungry slide of lips. When Feng Xin bit down on his lower lip, Mu Qing’s breath hitched, the sound sending a thrill through Feng Xin’s veins.
Then, Mu Qing pulled back, earning a whimper that was quickly replaced with a gasp when his teeth lightly tugged on the small gold hoop dangling from Feng Xin’s ear. Heat pooled between his legs, but something hot and solid pressed against his stomach, indicating Mu Qing was as affected as he was.
Experimentally, Feng Xin pressed their hips together. A deep groan sounded against his ear, followed by a breathless, “More, A-Xin.”
Feng Xin obliged, rocking his hips against Mu Qing’s while devouring his neck, leaving a trail of purple love bites he hoped would last until morning.
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
“Ungh,” Feng Xin groaned as he slowly sat up. The world spun, his head pounded, and he felt one wrong movement away from hurling. “Qing’er?”
He glanced around Mu Qing’s room, unsure when or how Xie Lian brought them to Mu Qing’s home. The lifeless human-shaped lump in the bed beside him didn’t move, but it made a noise that sounded like a dying animal.
“What the hell happened last night?”
A foot lashed out, connecting with his shin. “Tylenol before talking.”
Feng Xin scowled, but the bastard had a point. He grumpily attempted to climb over Mu Qing's prone form to the side of the bed that wasn’t pressed against a wall, but his knee buckled mid-crawl, sending him collapsing chest-first onto his friend.
"Feng Xin!" Mu Qing's shriek rattled his teeth. "I will end you—"
He slapped a hand over Mu Qing's mouth, groaning as the sound waves worsened his migraine. "Stop... yelling..." The fight drained out of him, leaving his dead weight pinning Mu Qing to the mattress.
Beneath him, Mu Qing muffled a string of threats into his palm. “Get. Off.”
“Make me.”
Feng Xin placed all of his weight on his cranky companion, resting his head on his friend's sternum, with Mu Qing’s legs on either side of his torso. Retaliation never came, but Feng Xin felt a cool hand comb through his loose, chestnut tresses.
“This is a rat’s nest.” Mu Qing’s fingers snagged a tangle, disgust thick in his voice. “Did you wrestle a bear last night? How did you manage to knot it so much?”
Mu Qing’s fingers scratched along his scalp and drifted toward his neck. The motion triggered a hazy memory of hands fisting in his hair, pulling the hair tie free, but whose?
“Think I made out with someone…”
The fingers in his hair stilled. “Who?”
The memory refused to focus, swirling like ink in water. Flashes of sensation surfaced; lips dragging along his jaw, the stinging thrill of teeth on his pulse point, silken strands of black hair slipping through his fingers as he gripped tight to tilt their head back and devour their neck. His stomach swooped at the fragmented recollection of hot breath against his throat, of hips rolling against his in a rhythm that made his face burn even now.
"Um... not sure," he muttered, throat dry.
The silence between them grew thick enough to choke on. Then, barely audible, "Think I made out with someone too."
Feng Xin lifted his head and froze. A constellation of purple bruises bloomed across Mu Qing's pale throat, disappearing beneath the collar of his sleep shirt. “Gods! Good luck hiding those from your mom.”
Mu Qing's hand flew to his neck, fingers probing the sensitive skin. "How bad is it?"
"Looks like a vampire mauled you." Feng Xin squinted at the bite mark near his collarbone. "Who the hell tried to eat you?"
Quietly, Mu Qing flushed and mumbled, “Shi Qingxuan, I think.”
"Qingxuan was at the party?" Feng Xin's brow furrowed. He distinctly remembered He Xuan complaining about some family obligation before dragging Shi Qingxuan along with him.
"...Yes?"
Feng Xin stared, scrutinizing him. "You don't remember shit."
"I remember more than you!" Mu Qing jabbed a finger at his cheek. "They had brown hair and—and earrings!"
"Qing'er." Feng Xin pointed to his own earlobe, his single hoop earring glinting in the morning light. "Also, brown hair. In case you forgot."
Mu Qing's blush deepened and spread down his neck. "As if I'd ever kiss you! Who knows where you’ve been," he scoffed, but his fingers twitched against Feng Xin's shoulder where they'd come to rest. "Besides, you only kiss girls.”
Feng Xin's stomach dropped. The body pressed against him in those hazy memories had been undeniably male. He recalled hard planes of a chest without curves, low groans vibrating against his lips when he'd bucked against a hardened erection through their clothes, pleas of ‘More, A-Xin’, ringing in his ears.
“What’s with the face?” A pale finger poked the lines forming on his forehead. Feng Xin winced, looking guiltily at him. Mu Qing’s brows raised, understanding dawning with shocking disbelief. “You didn’t.”
“Yeah…”
“Y-you kissed—“
“Uh-huh.”
“A guy?!”
“Yes.”
“But… who?!” Mu Qing’s screech tore through the air as he slipped from under Feng Xin, sitting upright, sending fresh waves of agony through both of their throbbing skulls.
"I don't remember," he groaned, burying his face in Mu Qing’s stomach, arms cinching tight around his waist like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. The position was ridiculous, but the warmth and familiarity of it steadied him. The storm in his gut still raged, but here, pressed against his friend, he could breathe.
He silently thanked the gods above that Mu Qing, who snarled at casual touches and lashed out at anyone who dared invade his space, only sighed in exasperation and let him cling to him whenever he craved an innocent touch. That Feng Xin, who had never been good with words, could speak in silence like this and be understood.
"You—!" Mu Qing's hands gripped Feng Xin's shoulders. "Of all the—! I need to know which poor soul suffered your sloppy—"
"Fuck off," Feng Xin mumbled into his abdomen.
"...Did you like it?"
Feng Xin didn't answer immediately. The memory was just impressions of heat and yearning and wanting in a way that still made his pulse stutter. The ghost of teeth on his lower lip. The way his hands had fit perfectly around someone's familiar waist. He desperately wanted more in the moment.
He swallowed hard. "...Yeah."
“Does this mean you’re—?”
"Bi." The word left him in a rush, like something heavy finally dislodging from his chest.
For a heartbeat, Mu Qing didn't move. Then, with a sharp inhale, he surged forward, arms locking around Feng Xin's shoulders, face buried against his neck. No teasing, no sarcasm, just Mu Qing's fingers gripping the back of his shirt, the unsteady puff of his breath against Feng Xin's ear, their bodies fitting together like two halves of a sundered whole.
Feng Xin exhaled, slow and shuddering, and let himself be held by someone who understood how terrifying yet relieving this life-altering admission was.
They stayed like that until the sunlight grew warm through the window, and the pounding in their skulls finally, mercifully, began to fade.
·༺𓆩❀𓆪༻·
Their night of overindulgence didn't go unpunished.
When Mu Qing's mother returned home from her night shift, her eyes raked over their pathetic forms sprawled on the couch, and Feng Xin knew they were dead men walking. Her cool smile could have frosted glass, but she didn't yell or ground them, though they both wished she had. Instead, she crafted art from their suffering, grinning the whole damn time, and dragged Feng Xin into her masterpiece of maternal punishment too.
First came the sensory assault. She hid the pain killers, blasted the loudest, most obnoxious music while running the vacuum cleaner, and threw open every window in the apartment to allow in as much blinding sunlight as possible. Their dulling headaches returned with a vengeance, nauseating auroras dancing in their vision as pressure behind their eyes throbbed.
Next was gastrointestinal warfare. She served an offensively heavy lunch with greasy, pungent foods and spices. Not that they got to taste it after it overpowered their senses and sent them both running for the toilet.
Finally, like the creative, diabolical woman she was, she engaged in physical labor after upsetting their senses and stomachs. She made them deep clean the entire apartment and instructed Mu Qing to wash her car. The stench of booze dripped from his pores as he melted in the blistering August sun. He leaned miserably against its side, his entire front was plastered to the vehicle, his arm draped limply over the top—the very image of defeat.
Like a grocery Sisyphus, Feng Xin was tasked with the shopping haul that needed to be carried from the car, one item at a time. She had him open the bag of a dozen apples and carry them up the stairs one by one. He repeated this punishment with the oranges and grapes after he plucked them off the stem. And then, the rice.
Each grain was removed from its package, brought upstairs, and dropped into the storage container before he returned downstairs for the next. His gritty, sloshing stomach clenched tighter with each trip while his thighs burned.
Somewhere around the thousandth trip, Feng Xin’s legs gave out, and he sprawled on the landing like a starfish, sweaty face pressed against the cool concrete, not caring about the dirt. Mu Qing crawled up the stairs behind him once the car sparkled as much as its rust stains would allow, and sat beside Feng Xin with his back against the wobbly railing.
“I’m never drinking again,” Feng Xin whined into the concrete, his words muffled and pathetic, while his fingers spasmed weakly against the filthy landing like a dying insect.
Slowly, Mu Qing peeled his sweat-slick cheek off the railing just enough to glare, his voice hoarse from earlier retching. “She’s not even your mother, and you don’t live here. Why are you letting her punish you?”
“I’m more afraid of what she would do if I don’t.”
Mu Qing’s already washed-out, green-tinted face drained of its last traces of color. “You’d die.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” His bleary gaze drifted upward, noticing the haphazard high ponytail clinging to Mu Qing’s damp neck. A single soap bubble slid down the flyaway strands. The sight sent an unwelcome jolt through his jumbled memories. “Didn’t Pei Ming wear a ponytail last night?”
“Yeah, I think so.” His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Feng Xin swallowed thickly. The realization hit like a ton of bricks, his stomach lurched, and the memory of a long ponytail twisted around his grasp surfaced. “Think I made out with Pei Ming.”
For three terrifying seconds, Mu Qing didn’t even blink. Then a screech tore from his raw throat, “And you liked it?!”
·༺𓆩Present Day𓆪༻·
Mu Qing turned away from Feng Xin, pressing both hands to his face like he could physically contain whatever emotion threatened to burst out. But Feng Xin saw the telltale flush reddening his husband's ears, the way his shoulders trembled slightly, those slender fingers not quite hiding the curve of his mouth. After so many years together, Feng Xin knew this was his husband overwhelmed with joy, too bright to be safely displayed in front of others. Whether from innocent happiness or at Feng Xin’s expense was still unclear.
Feng Xin leaned in until his lips nearly brushed the shell of that reddening ear. "What is it, Qing'er?"
He turned just enough to peek from behind his fingers, using his hands as a makeshift shield against their friends' curious stares. Behind that fragile barricade, his sparkling eyes shone with unguarded delight, smile lines crinkling with a melty grin he couldn’t smother.
Mu Qing’s hushed words came out breathless with barely-contained glee, "You liked it."
And gods help him, as Feng Xin watched his husband's careful composure shatter into sweet, unbridled exuberance, he felt himself fall a little more in love with Mu Qing.
"Of course I did," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his husband’s cherry red cheek. "Because it was you."