Work Text:
Mu Qing thought love would feel louder.
Well, it was still loud. Feng Xin had no volume control over his voice, or his stupid laugh, or the way he clomped obnoxiously whenever he walked. They still yelled at each other as much as they ever had, though instead of ending in blows, Mu Qing usually tried to storm away only to be caught and dragged back into Feng Xin’s arms.
(He didn’t hate that as much as he claimed he did.)
He could pinpoint the exact time their relationship began to shift. When they were all displaced due to the damage in the Heavenly Capital, they’d been stuck living in tents on Mount Taicang. They were without any sense of order, not that Xie Lian didn’t try, but everyone knew his heart had shattered the moment Hua Cheng had faded to silver butterflies in his arms. Xie Lian looked haunted, and while he always forced a smile for his two oldest friends, he was in no headspace to help anyone beyond surface level needs.
So when the nightmares started, Mu Qing tried to keep them hidden from Xie Lian most of all. He could always feel the sensation of lingering heat on his skin when he woke up. His throat would be dry, and his body would be trembling, but he tried to stuff it all back inside so no one would know.
It didn’t work forever (or long at all, really.)
The first time he woke up to Feng Xin kneeling beside him, he’d woken up screaming, sitting up and nearly colliding with him. Mu Qing tried to shove him away as tears finally spilled down his cheeks, ready to scream at him to just go away, but instead, Feng Xin pulled him into the gentlest hug— perhaps the only hug— he had received since his mother died.
That somehow made it worse, but it also made him feel less alone.
Feng Xin had held him till the tears stopped. Then he nudged Mu Qing until Mu Qing made room on the sleep mat for him to lay down beside him. They didn’t talk about it, but Feng Xin quietly moved his things into Mu Qing’s tent, and they slept side by side each night, always ending up in each other’s arms.
Mu Qing remembered when he’d woken up to Feng Xin having a nightmare instead of himself. Feng Xin had woken himself up moments after Mu Qing shifted to hover over him, looking up at him with a weary, watery gaze.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mu Qing had asked, surprised at his own gentleness. Feng Xin had shaken his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath before shifting closer. Without further prompting, Mu Qing wrapped his arms around him, absently petting his hair until the archer’s shivering stopped.
When the Heavens were rebuilt, Mu Qing had quietly panicked, terrified to sleep alone for the first time in months. He didn’t want to face the wrath of the fire by himself, or feel the dull ache that somehow still lingered in his wrist. He was scared to wake up alone and not know how to catch his breath again. Feng Xin had become his constant, as much as Mu Qing tried to pretend that he hadn’t.
When Feng Xin had shown up at his door that night, looking just as exhausted as Mu Qing felt, Mu Qing snapped, out of fear and the need to lash out first before he could get hurt.
“I don’t need your pity.”
“I never said you did.”
“Then why are you here?” Mu Qing’s voice cracked, and he hated it.
“I want to be.” It was the simplest answer, but even he had to admit that Feng Xin was honest even when he probably shouldn’t be. Mu Qing had stared at him, swallowing and blinking rapidly to get the stupid tears to go away.
Then he let him in.
It had shifted again when Feng Xin began to hold his hand under the table at meetings. Feng Xin had never had a good attention span, though he tried. While Pei Ming and Xie Lian went back and forth working out logistics, arguably the two most powerful gods now that Jun Wu was trapped beneath the mountain, Feng Xin would take his hand and absently play with Mu Qing’s fingers, eventually just quietly lacing his own between them and watching Xie Lian with worried eyes.
The first time, Mu Qing had quickly turned his head to ask him what the fuck he was doing, but he stopped himself.
What the fuck are you doing? He asked instead in their private array.
Sorry. Feng Xin let go. Mu Qing didn’t like how empty his hand suddenly felt, nor did he like that he didn’t like it. He didn’t know how to describe how he felt about Feng Xin anymore. You know I’m not good at paying attention during these things. They’ve never interested me and that’s not about to change.
Why were you playing with my fingers?
Sometimes doing something with my hands helps. Feng Xin was looking ahead, not even giving away that they were having their own conversation. Mu Qing felt heat in his cheeks as he stared at the side of Feng Xin’s head. Usually this was the other way around. He noticed people starting to glance their way, so he forced himself to face forward. He grabbed onto Feng Xin’s hand.
Fine. Just don’t fuck with my rings. It’s distracting.
(Mu Qing liked the feeling of Feng Xin’s calloused palm against his own, which was smooth because he actually cared about the appearance of his hands.)
Small touches built into more over time. Mu Qing found himself reaching out to take Feng Xin’s hand first, or rolling towards him to cuddle into him when he crawled into bed. They began to whisper in the dark, mostly about work at first, then quietly trading stories about their shared territory from over the years that they hadn’t thought to share before. Mu Qing looked forward to these talks, almost as much as he looked forward to being in Feng Xin’s embrace each night.
(He was getting better about admitting that to himself.)
Finally, one night after a particularly bad nightmare, Feng Xin was still playing with his hair when Mu Qing’s sobs finally faded into quiet hiccups. Exhausted, Mu Qing lay with his head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of Feng Xin’s heart.
“You should probably talk about those,” Feng Xin said softly.
“I thought the rule was that we don’t talk about them. I never ask about yours,” Mu Qing snapped, but it lost its bite from how nasally he sounded.
“I’ve never told you that you couldn’t.”
“Fine. What are yours, then?” Mu Qing bit out, hating how calm Feng Xin was about the entire conversation.
“Losing you.”
The wind felt like it was shoved out of Mu Qing’s lungs, so hard that it physically hurt to breathe.
“W-What?” His voice broke, sitting up so he wasn’t laying on Feng Xin’s chest to look down at him.
“My nightmares are about losing you,” Feng Xin repeated himself, reaching up to tuck Mu Qing’s hair back behind his ear.
“I heard what you said–”
“Then why the fuck did you ask?”
“I…it was rhetorical…” Mu Qing couldn’t stop staring at him. “Why?” He finally asked, “Why are you…”
“Because I watched you almost sacrifice yourself, and the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life was the fear that I would never get you back even if I chased you until we both burned.” Feng Xin’s eyes glistened.
“I don’t understand…” Mu Qing whispered, heart pounding in his chest.
“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to watch you throw yourself off a cliff. I don’t want to watch you suffer, or be in pain, or go through trying to rationalize how fucked up the last year and a half has been by yourself. I like waking up next to you and knowing that you’re here, next to me, where I can remind myself that you’re okay. I like holding your fucking hand and talking about everything and nothing. I even fucking like to fight with you, Mu Qing. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it obvious why that would terrify me the way that it does?”
Mu Qing was rendered speechless.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. To push Feng Xin away and ruin everything good in his life so he wouldn’t get hurt. It was always easier to wound others first (and not ask forgiveness later), because then it wouldn’t be him in pain.
But he didn’t want to cause Feng Xin any more harm than he already had over the last eight hundred years.
So he kissed him.
It was his first kiss, and very clumsy, but Feng Xin leaned into it without complaint and pulled him closer. Mu Qing lost count of how long they traded soft brushes of lips, Feng Xin’s hands never wandering further than his waist, though Mu Qing liked when one of them ended up in his hair. When they fell asleep, noses close enough to touch, Mu Qing smiled with kiss swollen lips and tucked himself as close as he could.
Several weeks later, Mu Qing confided to him what his nightmares were about, and Feng Xin simply held him through it, quiet and supportive as he spoke.
(It eased a weight on his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying, but he wasn’t going to tell Feng Xin that.)
No one seemed surprised when Mu Qing held Feng Xin’s hand on top of the table at meetings, or when Feng Xin shifted closer to drape an arm around him when he could sense that Mu Qing needed him to be closer. Xie Lian simply smiled, genuinely pleased even if the haunted look in his eyes still remained. Feng Xin was more relaxed, and Mu Qing began to smile more instead of sneer, but their peers were smart enough to not point that out.
(To both of their surprise, it was Mu Qing who said ‘I love you’ first.)
From what he saw of Xie Lian’s relationship with Hua Cheng, it was no surprise that he expected love to be expressed so loudly and with elaborate gestures. It was something he never thought he would want.
But this quiet, supportive love that he had with Feng Xin?
He wouldn’t change that. It was perfect. It was them, despite all their screaming matches and thrown fists.
The sound of loud footsteps brought Mu Qing from his musings. He looked up as the door opened, a faint smile on his lips that he failed to turn into a dirty look.
“You’re so fucking loud,” he said, laughing under his breath when Feng Xin rolled his eyes, his lips twisting into a grin.
“Whatever, Qing’er,” Feng Xin leaned down to kiss his cheek. “You love me anyways.”
“I do,” Mu Qing murmured, reaching up to stop him from pulling away. “I really, really do.” He tugged his partner into a kiss, cradling his face in both hands as Feng Xin gripped the back of Mu Qing’s chair to steady himself.
“I love you, too,” Feng Xin whispered against his lips. “Do you want company while you work?”
“As long as you’re quiet,” Mu Qing rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone. “You’ll distract me.”
“I can be distracting while being quiet…” Feng Xin gave him another one of those dazzling grins as he pulled away.
“Behave.” Mu Qing sighed, but he smiled as Feng Xin pulled over another chair to sit beside him at the desk. He put his arm around him, leaning his head against Mu Qing’s shoulder as he worked, both comfortable in the silence.
(That being said, Mu Qing wouldn’t actually mind if Feng Xin ended up distracting him anyways.)
(Which he absolutely did.)