Work Text:
The demon king of the northern desert glanced down at the dejected man slouching at a desk full of papers and dirty brushes. He hadn't moved in half an incense time, which started when Mobei Jun had slipped through a shadow to stand imposingly over Shang Qinghua's desk in the still-unnamed peak lord's residence.
Mobei Jun knew that the man was still alive, but he reached down and snapped his fingers in front of Qinghua's face just to be sure.
Startled, Qinghua shook his head a bit before slowly refocusing his eyes and following the hand in front of him up to the demon lord's face.
“Ah,” he half-grunted as his eyes slowly started to unfocus again. “My king, you're here.”
“Qinghua is unwell?” Mobei Jun asked.
“The system picked me first,” Qinghua's voice came out in a soft, distracted whisper as his eyes slid back down to stare straight ahead.
“What did the system do?” Mobei Jun narrowed his eyes.
He had only recently learned what a “system” was from Luo Binghe during their trip to the other world where Qinghua had disappeared to. The idea of a parasitic spirit being able to control the actions of his Qinghua made deadly sharp ice daggers grow out of his palms, but Luo Binghe told him that Shen Qingqiu had assured him that the parasitic spirits would no longer control their actions and would merely feed quietly in the background from something called “satisfaction points”, which Binghe supplied to it.
“It picked me first,” Qinghua repeated, a little louder this time. “I was supposed to save my son. No, not my son. It was never my story to begin with,” Qinghua wailed on the last half of that sentence and dramatically fell forward onto his desk, his head narrowly missing the inkstone as it hit the furniture.
A small, frustrated sigh escaped Mobei Jun's throat, though in his attempt to stifle it, it came out sounding like a growl.
“I'm sorry, my king!” Qinghua wailed, his voice echoing against the desk as he continued to lay there. “I'm sorry I'm useless! I can't do anything right!”
Mobei Jun had very little tolerance for such displays of emotions, but when it came to his Qinghua, he not only found the will to tolerate it, but he also recently learned that he could do something called “offering emotional support”. It sounded tiresome at first, but seeing the shock and amazement in Qinghua's eyes the first time he had tried it made him want to try it again.
“Explain,” he generously offered this “emotional support” as he pulled up a chair and lounged in front of the desk, prepared to listen to more wailing and squeaking noises.
“My king?” Qinghua lifted his head from the desk and stared at him in confusion. “You want me to...explain why I can't do anything right?”
Another stifled sigh/growl escaped Mobei Jun's throat. “Explain your problems,” he tried not to glare as he repeated himself.
“Oh,” Qinghua said quietly, then straightened suddenly. “Oh!” He suddenly realized what Mobei Jun was offering.
During their time in his world, Mobei Jun had approached him one day with a tablet in hand, an article open on the screen. (Though Qinghua was unaware that Mobei Jun's thumb was covering the search bar which read “how to have better relations with your human”.) He had asked Qinghua what a “therapist” was and why one was required to fix human problems. Distracted by how devastatingly handsome his king looked in a suit, Qinghua timidly explained therapy and the many different situations where one might need the services of a therapist.
Mobei Jun had narrowed his eyes in displeasure at this explanation and demanded to know how one could become a therapist. Frozen in terror at the thought of his king considering a major career (and personality) change, he had quickly assured Mobei Jun that sometimes therapy wasn't necessary and all someone needed was some emotional support from a friend of a partner, so there was no need for a therapist most times. For good measure, he added in a little fib about therapists being the reason why his parents separated! (He didn't bother mentioning that the real reason was because his parents refused to go to therapy in the first place.)
At this, Mobei Jun grunted, then turned away, tapping furiously at the tablet as he walked away and let Qinghua fall back onto the plush couch behind him, relieved at the reprieve.
His heart raced a bit at the thought that Mobei Jun was offering to provide him emotional support for a second time! (Though to be fair, the first time, the demon mostly sat frozen and listened whilst Qinghua ranted about online trolls attacking hardworking authors – certainly not him – and when Qinghua finished his rant, Mobei Jun nodded and said “you're right” before walking away.)
“Well,” Qinghua's mind raced, trying to quickly summarize his thoughts whilst also editing them down to a length of time that his king would most likely tolerate. “You see, I talked to Shen Qingqiu...” he began, alternating between focusing on his fidgeting hands on the desk and peering up to monitor Mobei Jun's expression to make sure he wasn't annoying his king. “And well...” he quickly summarized what he had been told about the four worlds.
“So the systems chose you first to fix Luo Binghe's life?” Mobei Jun interrupted Qinghua's explanation as he slowly crossed his arms – a first sign of annoyance, Qinghua noted.
“Yes,” Qinghua found he cared less about Mobei Jun's annoyance as the depression began to sink in again. “I was supposed to fix his story. But, I messed up,” he sighed as his gaze sank back down to his desk.
“Hm,” Mobei Jun wondered if Qinghua realized that he just admitted to being the true author of that horrendous novel they had poured over together in the other world. Probably not, he thought as he watched Qinghua pick up a dirty brush and play with the stiff bristles absentmindedly. He knew from the moment Qinghua defended the novel that he had written it. His Qinghua had an excellent ability to lie and deceive when his life was on the line – but not so much when it came to other issues.
“Then the system gave me a second chance – it brought me here,” Qinghua droned on with a sigh. “But again...I still messed up,” he glanced down at the bits of black ink flaking off the brush. “I was more concerned about staying alive and also helping you to do anything about fixing Binghe's story.”
“Hm,” Mobei Jun's chest puffed up slightly at this, immensely satisfied that Qinghua's entire focus was on him from the start of his time in this world. As it should be.
“So...they had to bring in Shen Yuan to fix the story,” Qinghua finished, thoroughly dejected. “I can never do anything right,” his voice trailed down to a whisper. “Nobody liked my writing, so I sold out for money. But that ruined Binghe's life. And then I could have fixed things, but I was too scared. I'm useless as an author and I'm useless as a person,” he dragged his finger through the dried ink flecks, rubbing tiny lines of smudged black ink into the paper underneath it.
“Qinghua is not useless,” Mobei Jun frowned, not liking how the expression on Qinghua's face was making his chest ache and his head hurt. “Qinghua has saved this king's life.”
“Three times, but who's counting?” Qinghua quipped absentmindedly, still rubbing lines into the paper. “My king has also saved my life as well, so it evens out. It doesn't change the fact that I failed at life. Twice,” he gave a short chuckle.
Mobei Jun actually growled this time.
Qinghua froze immediately and his head snapped up. “My king?” he asked hesitantly.
“Qinghua is not useless,” Mobei Jun repeated himself. “Qinghua did not fail at life.”
Qinghua paused, taking in Mobei Jun's frustrated expression. His king was at the end of his patience already. He nodded slowly. “Thank you my king, I appreciate the emotional support,” he gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. He didn't feel any better, truly, but the effort that Mobei Jun just put in was tremendous, and he still wanted to acknowledge it and appreciate it.
Mobei Jun's eyes narrowed at the fake smile on Qinghua's face and he uncrossed his arms to stand up and slam his palms on the desk, startling Qinghua and forcing a squeak out of him.
“Qinghua is not useless. Qinghua did not fail at life,” Mobei Jun repeated the words slowly and deliberately, staring directly into Qinghua's eyes.
“O-okay,” Qinghua quickly agreed, nodding his head. Mobei Jun could see that he was still just trying to placate him.
“Believe it!” he ordered the cowering cultivator.
“My...my king, you can't just order someone to-ah!” Qinghua yelled in surprise as Mobei Jun grabbed him by the front of his robes and lifted him out of his seat and halfway across the desk. He squeaked again once they were nearly nose-to-nose.
“Am I a fool?” Mobei's voice was soft, but the cool breath rushed over Qinghua's face as if it was a threat.
“What? No!” He exclaimed, grabbing onto Mobei Jun's wrists and lifting one knee onto the desk to try and support himself so that he wasn't hanging from Mobei Jun's grasp. “Where would you get that idea? I never said that!”
“Only fools keep useless people near them,” Mobei Jun's voice frosted over his face again, making Qinghua gasp as his eyelashes accumulated a bit of ice. “Am I a fool, then?”
“No!” Qinghua insisted, shaking his head wildly for emphasis.
“Then Qinghua is not useless,” Mobei Jun nodded, then released Qinghua's robes. Qinghua, however, did not let go of Mobei Jun's wrists and when his king dropped his arms down to his sides, Qinghua fell flat onto his desk.
Blinking, he tried to quickly follow the logic that his king had just used. “So,” he timidly let go of one wrist to wipe away the frost on his eyelashes before grasping onto his wrist again, some primal part of him needing his king to stay close while he worked through what just happened. “You think...I'm not useless?” He asked, glancing up.
Mobei Jun glanced at the hand that had grasped his wrist again. “Qinghua is not useless,” he repeated himself, sounding rather pleased instead of annoyed.
“Oh,” Qinghua rested his chin down on the desk before realizing that his face was level with his king's...he coughed and blushed, releasing Mobei Jun's wrists and pushing himself up and off his desk.
“Thank you, my king,” he whispered quietly after a long, silent pause between them. He suddenly felt awkward and didn't know what to do next. He wasn't very good at receiving praise – or emotional support of any kind. Even his own parents hadn't done that for him before. But to come from his king? His favourite? The man he...
Qinghua began fidgeting with the papers on his desk again. He coughed to break the silence again and glanced up at his king, who was still staring at him. Once he made eye contact, Mobei Jun suddenly nodded.
“Qinghua feels better?”
Qinghua nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good,” Mobei Jun's expression hadn't changed much, but Qinghua could see that he was pleased. “This king is good at offering emotional support.”
Qinghua couldn't stop himself from bursting out laughing. “Yes,” he agreed, immediately trying to stifle his laughter. “You're the best emotional support I've ever had,” he smiled broadly at Mobei Jun – the first true smile the demon king had seen all evening.
“Un,” Mobei Jun nodded, satisfied. “Good,” he reached across the desk and awkwardly pat Qinghua on the head. “This king is tired now,” he suddenly announced as he retracted his hand.
“You know where the bed is,” Qinghua bowed and gestured the way to his bedroom. “I'll sleep on the couch out here after I finish my wor-ah!”
“No, Qinghua will sleep now with this king,” Mobei cut off the other man's words by reaching across the desk and dragging him across it and tossing him over his shoulder.
“M-my king?” Qinghua squeaked, and Mobei Jun could feel the heat from Qinghua's face on his back.
“This king learned there are all types of therapy in your world,” Mobei Jun continued with a smirk that Qinghua would never see. “Including something called 'sex therapy'.”
“My king?!”