Work Text:
Feng Xin was three chapters into a historical mystery when he heard the first rumble roll across the sky. He looked up from his book, sniffing the air and that unmistakable promise of rain threading through the open window. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a mental checklist. Kitchen window? Closed. Bathroom? Closed. Laundry…
Damn.
The sheets. Mu Qing had hung them out this morning because he complained the dryer made everything smell like burnt static. Feng Xin couldn't remember if he brought them back inside.
He sighed and was about to get up when the door to the bedroom swung open.
Mu Qing stood in the doorway, frozen mid-step like a deer who'd just realized that the hunter was also holding a romance novel. His silver hair was beautifully tied up in a long ponytail, and his deep gray eyes had that particular gleam that meant something had been decided.
Feng Xin tilted his head. What?
Mu Qing raised his chin. The expression said: I am a man of dignity and principles, and you are a worm who has wronged me.
Then Mu Qing strode in. Actually strode like a lord entering a drawing room to disown his favourite nephew. With his delicate hand and long slender fingers, he snatched the throw blanket off the foot of the bed.
"What're you doing?" Feng Xin asked, because someone had to.
"You don't love me." Mu Qing said it flatly. Matter-of-factly. Like he was reporting the weather. Which was, okay, ironic. "And so it is no good for us to sleep together. It's inappropriate. I will not sleep with you."
Feng Xin frowned. This morning, Mu Qing had been nuzzling Feng Xin's cheek with his nose while kissing him again and again to tell him how he was so nice he was just because Feng Xin had pulled the curtains closed and blocked the sunlight from entering the room. That was thirteen hours ago.
"Did I do something wrong?" Feng Xin asked him. It wasn't because of the sheets, was it?
Thunder cracked again, closer this time, and the windowpanes shivered.
And Feng Xin understood.
Oh.
"You know what you did wrong," Mu Qing said loftily, already messily folding the blanket to carry it away. He tucked it under his arm, turned to leave, then pivoted sharply. He marched back to Feng Xin's side of the bed and grabbed—the audacity—Feng Xin's phone charger and Feng Xin's pillow.
"Hey!"
But Mu Qing was already gone, chin still high, blanket trailing behind him like a king's cape.
Feng Xin stared at the empty doorway. Then at the empty space where his pillow used to be. Then at the rain beginning to spatter against the window.
He should have been used to this by now. It had been happening almost every time it rained, ever since they'd moved into this house three months ago. The first time, Feng Xin had genuinely panicked. Thought Mu Qing was having a breakdown. Prepared an entire emotional support speech.
Then he had learned that his boyfriend had a problem with rain.
Or rather, he had a problem with rain being outside while he was inside.
Thirty minutes later, Feng Xin padded downstairs to check on his boyfriend. He stopped in the kitchen first, boiling water for chamomile tea and then stirring in a generous spoonful of honey. Mu Qing would deny wanting it, but Mu Qing would drink every drop.
Then he went to look for Mu Qing in the living room.
The living room window in their new house was a masterpiece that Mu Qing loved the most. The previous owners had installed these heavy metal grilles over the outside which were practical, and probably for security, but the sill was deep enough to sit in, and Feng Xin had carpeted it with an old sheepskin rug. When the glass doors slid open and the gauze screen was pushed aside, you could reach your arm through the bars up to the elbow. Your shin wouldn't fit. Your shoulder wouldn't fit. But your hand could feel the rain. The rain would never come in through the grill, obediently staying outside that limit, but one could definitely reach out to feel it.
And right now, curled in that window like a very tall, very content house cat, was Mu Qing.
He had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. One of his long legs dangled through the bars, his bare foot catching the drizzle. His face was tilted skyward while he leaned against the window pane, eyes half-closed, lips curved in a smile that Feng Xin usually only saw when Mu Qing was watching cats being silly on the internet.
The smell of wet earth and green things rolled through the open window, filling the whole house.
Feng Xin set the mug down silently on the sill beside Mu Qing's hip. Mu Qing didn't open his eyes. Just hummed, making a low, satisfied sound.
Feng Xin retreated.
He knew now how this worked. Mu Qing would sit there until the rain stopped, and if it didn't he would sleep here all night.
If he did come up, Feng Xin would pretend to be asleep. And Mu Qing would wrap himself around Feng Xin like a very cold, very repentant octopus. And in the morning, they would be boyfriend's again.
But tonight Mu Qing was not his boyfriend. He had said so last time as well, something like We had a big argument, and now you're not my boyfriend. I am leaving.
Then he had left Feng Xin to go date the rain.
Tonight, Mu Qing was dating the rain.
Feng Xin paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced back. Through the archway, he could see Mu Qing's silhouette against the grey light, one hand reaching out past the bars to catch a drop.
"Traitor," Feng Xin muttered affectionately, and went upstairs to sleep alone with a sad, pillowless head.
Above him, thunder rolled and it was softer now, almost apologetic.
Feng Xin cursed under his breath at it for stealing his boyfriend.