Chapter Text
"Ah, A-Lian, I've kept you much too long…"
Xie Lians heart warms tightly as his mothers words come through the phone.
"That's alright, mum," he assures, "I don't have much on today."
He slides his legs off the couch, walking over to the window to peer behind the curtain— dawn, already.
"No, no," she admonishes, "you must sleep well at your age, or you'll be paying for it once your older."
"Alright," Xie Lian huffs appreciatively, "and, sorry, I know I've been calling a bunch lately. I miss you— and, dad, a lot."
"I know, sweetheart." Her voice softens, and he knows she'd be wearing that small smile people reserve for special, private moments. Where corners of your mouth pull up, and your eyes crinkle kindly at the corners.
"I'll come to visit soon — I'm not sure if your father will be able to make it; sorry, love."
"That's alright," He replies.
Xie Lian didn't see his father much, these days. Not really since he got so sick.
"Ah, I should go, you humor me too much!" She chuckles, "really, A-Lian, goodbye now. Take care, okay?"
"I will, mum," he promises, "bye, and see you soon."
He quickly slides his phone into his pocket, creeping into the kitchen to make breakfast and hoping Feng Xin wouldn't know he'd been pulling all-nighters again.
He wasn't much amused last time he found out. speaking of—
"Xie Lian?" Feng Xin yawns, trudging into the apartments kitchen, "what's happening? I thought I heard voices…?"
"Just talking to myself," Xie Lian shrugs him off, "I'm making breakfast today, do you want any?"
Feng Xin makes a face, and goes to grab something from the fridge.
"That's okay, I'll get my own."
Xie Lian tries not to smile as he cracks two eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork, but too impatient to wait until the pale swirls of the whites melt into the yellow-orange yolks.
He wouldn't normally go out of his way to cook an actual breakfast, rather than just sticking to cereal or peanut butter toast, but he’s in a cooking mood — his mother always loved cooking. Not very good at it, the sweet woman. Not that he can say much; like mother, like son.
"Mu Qing left early this morning, by the way," Feng Xin says around a cold mouthful of leftover noodles, "he wanted to get some practice in before his morning class."
Xie Lian nods, not mentioning that he knew, because he watched Mu Qing walk out the door, since then Feng Xin would know that he’s still screwing up his sleep.
"Anyway, I don't have classes today so I can drive you to your appointment, you don't have to take the bus."
Xie Lians shoulders stiffen, but he just keeps nodding.
Right; the doctor.
It's not that bad, honestly. It's just, he'd rather stay home and study, or sort his collections, or bake.
The doctor isn't a bad one! He's known this psychopharmacologist for a long time. He was actually acquaintances with Xie Lian's parents. Xie Lian hasn't seen him in person for a few years until recently though.
He had another psychologist that he's kept in touch with— a proper family friend, though in more of a professional sense— who'd helped him through a lot of difficult stuff.
To be honest, it is sometimes nice to have a professional to talk to— they never give you weird looks that could pass for either pity or contempt.
He still loves and trusts the people around him — he'd be nowhere without Feng Xin and Mu Qing, his parents had always been there for him no matter what, his Aunt was practically a second mother to him, and his cousin (nuisance he may be) was almost like a brother.
They'd all helped him get back on his feet after he'd had to move away from where he grew up to live with his Aunt.
Now, he lives with his two best friends after moving back to the city for university.
He's even started talking to this guy he met on campus—
The pan is snatched from underneath him as he finally registers the smell of burning, and hastily powers off the stove.
Feng Xin stares listlessly at the mangled remains of the eggs, which are weirdly dry even for being burnt.
"Ah, seems I got lost in thought," Xie Lian smiles sheepishly, "it'll be alright, I'll just top it with sauce, it'll hardly taste burnt at all, trust me."
The finished creation is, as far as Feng Xin can perceive, abominable.
The plateful of scrambled eggs are strangely crunchy, blackened around the edges, chewy at the centre, evidently hadn't been mixed properly, and were now sitting dejectedly atop a partially charred piece of toast, crowned with a heavy drizzle of tomato sauce.
"I really don't know how you stomach your cooking," Feng Xin mumbles as he polishes of his noodles.
"Mum used to make eggs like this all the time," Xie Lian muses brightly, pulling out his phone as Feng Xin's bowl clatters in the sink, "she used more sauce, less butter, but the same where it matters. I think a bit of crunch is nice, no?"
"Right," Feng Xin replies stiffly as he rinses the bowl.
After a beat, he speaks up again.
"Your parents…" he hesitates for a moment, "I— I guess it's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Hm?" Xie Lian looks up from his phone.
"It's nothing," Feng Xin acquiesces, "uh, you were going to discuss a different prescription in your appointment today, right?"
"Yeah," Xie Lian pushes his eggs around, abandoning the phone, "the current ones were working okay until kinda recently. Headaches, can't sleep, been feeling kinda dizzy."
"Good to be getting that sorted out then."
"Uh, yeah."
Feng Xin has this weird way of tiptoeing around some topics, especially when it comes to Xie Lian.
Frankly, Mu Qing isn't any better.
He would always just bolt before the conversation could even happen.
.oOo.
According to many an account, Mozart— brilliant as he may have been— was crazy.
Completely weird, out of it, and in over his head, some will say.
His music isn't, though. It's measured and knowable. You don't hear whatever he was dealing with; you hear the notes, balanced and clear, springing nimbly from the keys of the piano.
Mu Qing lets his fingers glide just like that, the piece stirring the air of the practice room to life.
The score sings through the space, his hands moving light, and precise, and he plays.
He plays, and he almost forgets why. He plays, and he doesn't even feel like a terrible person anymore.
He plays until he's not thinking about how he's always leaving, always going somewhere else. Right now, he's here, in this room, playing this piece.
Eventually, the music sings to a stop, and he just lets his fingers slide silently over the piano keys.
Until, the intruder arrives.
A slow clap from the doorway is accompanied by a deep, smooth chuckle.
"Wow," Hua Cheng drawls, "you play decently— I'd hope so, since you're always practicing the same ancient songs."
My Qing rolls his eyes as he turns resentfully in his seat to where the other leans against the door frame.
"Ha ha. Classical is boring. I get it. I'd hope you would come up with something more interesting to make fun of instead of this same tired set."
"Was that a joke? I couldn't tell."
"Whatever. Why're you here this time? And so early too," Mu Qing pries.
"Because," Hua Cheng flourishes exaggeratedly, "I just wanted to see you so, so badly!"
When Mu Qing doesn't deign to roll his eyes, he sighs dejectedly.
"You're no fun. I'm meeting up with He Xuan for something. He'd get pissy with me if I told you, so that's all I'll say," He crosses his arms and leans back languidly again.
"If I didn't know any better," Mu Qing picks up his music book and begins flicking through it, "I'd think you were a drug dealer."
Hua Cheng barks a laugh, grating deeply on Mu Qings nerves.
"Well," he continues, "what are you doing here so early?"
"I have a morning class," comes the clipped reply, "I wanted time to practice."
"Aren't you always straight back here by 12 anyway?" Hua Cheng questions.
"Mind your own business," Mu Qing snaps.
For all he pokes and wheedles and mocks, Hua Cheng now seems to know to drop it.
"You remind me of He Xuan sometimes," Hua Cheng laments to the air after a brief silence, "it's funny, 'cause you would probably hate each other."
"So I'm, what, like a stoner or something now?" Mu Qing fiddles with the piano irately.
Hua Cheng snorts like it's some kind of inside joke, "I'm telling him you said that."
"Mm." The other starts idly packing up his things.
"Oh, you're leaving?" Hua Cheng puts on a faux-wounded voice, "and I thought Xie Lian was always in a hurry—"
Mu Qing perks up, suspicious, at that, still making for the door.
"You're friends with Xie Lian?"
"Sort of, we've been talking," Hua Cheng answers smoothly, "and you…?"
"Roommates." Mu Qing really, really can't get into that right now.
Hua Chengs attitude seems to shift, and he lifts an eyebrow in surprise, "Really?"
"Uh, yeah," Mu Qing tries to inch further down the hallway without being too obvious, "him and Feng Xin are my roommates. We're all at the same uni, and it's either live faraway or pay more rent, so— well, I guess it's housemates, or… look, I've gotta go. Bye."
He finally turns, stalking off from where he was supposed to be getting away from all that.
Hua Cheng is just annoying like that— he gets on people's nerves on purpose and always picks at sore spots. That just how he is.
Mu Qing won't pay him any mind.