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Feng Xin’s skin is warm against his palm, his calluses unfamiliar but unsurprising, though Mu Qing has never felt them before. He knows they exist. Feng Xin is known for his hard work and his proficiency with weapons and aside from that, Mu Qing has fought both against him and alongside him for centuries.
He isn’t sure how his own palms feel like on Feng Xin’s skin, or if he even notices.
There was never a reason to feel Feng Xin’s skin, to map out the way it felt. That would mean a deliberate touch not meant to hurt and not meant to defend. The rough scrape of fingernails against his cheek, the fist swinging at his eye - they’re useless when it comes to feeling the finer details.
Mu Qing never planned for that to change, but one single misstep was all it took, one brush against an ancient array corrupted by ghost fragments lingering in their centuries old loneliness. Upon inspection, the details had been clear, but the solution less so.
Complimentary spiritual energy is drawn to one another, tied together by the array in the likeness of a river flowing through the land. Should they be separated, it would be akin to cutting off its spring, causing it do dry out. How to untie the energies wasn’t specified of course.
This isn’t something that should’ve happened to him. Xie Lian is usually the one stepping his feet where they don’t belong. Though His Highness isn’t completely without blame in this. After all, they came with him on his request.
Mu Qing clicks his tongue soundlessly and turns down the tunnel to his left. He hasn’t taken another step when the grip on his hand tightens and he’s pulled back.
“What are you doing?!” he asks, irritated.
Feng Xin huffs. “You’re the one dragging us deeper into these caves. We’re getting out of here. I’m not stepping on another array with you. Fuck knows what it’s going to do then.”
“Worse than this?” Mu Qing sneers, lifting their joined hands and giving them a sharp tug that has Feng Xin stumble a step into his direction. “Suck it up. We’re solving this right now!”
Feng Xin tugs back just as hard. “I’m not getting into danger where I’m either without spiritual power or stuck to you!”
They aren’t really stuck together. Either of them could let go without any problem. But the moment they’re not touching, something starts siphoning off their spiritual energy, leaving them weakened in enemy territory. For the moment they decided that was the bigger risk, hence the handholding.
Their fingers aren't linked. Just palm against palm, pressed together with as little movement as possible, not touching any more than necessary. Aside from his mother’s when he was little, Mu Qing has never held another person’s hand before, always looking at acquaintances, couples, fleetingly wondering what it’d feel like before deciding it wasn’t important. It’s not like he knows more now. Holding Feng Xin’s hand is still closer to them not touching at all, than it is to any show of soft affection.
Feng Xin has probably held hands before. There’s no way he wouldn’t have laced fingers with that ghost wife of his. Feng Xin would’ve touched her softly, gently, in something Mu Qing has only ever seen an echo of when watching Feng Xin and Xie Lian.
Mu Qing’s palms grow damp with sweat and he swallows, throat suddenly tight as he tries not to pull his hand back.
Another hard jolt from Feng Xin wrenches something loose in him, makes him want to dig his fingernails into Feng Xin’s skin until they draw blood.
Their free hands come up at the same time, fisting into each other’s clothes in a struggle to gain the upper hand. It doesn’t last long before they stand panting in the faint darkness, both aware the other won’t budge.
“Fuck!” Feng Xin curses and the weight on Mu Qing’s clothes lifts as Feng Xin moves his hand down to the hilt of his sword. A stroke of luck that he’s carrying a sword. Wielding a bow one-handed isn’t the most practical and Mu Qing was initially relieved about not having Feng Xin be dead weight. Not that Feng Xin would be dead weight. While blurred and hazy, he clearly remembers that moment Feng Xin grabbed him in the air, saved him from a death he was certain of.
Mu Qing narrows his eyes at the movement. Drawing a sword in these narrow pathways is impractical, but so is defending against one.
Feng Xin doesn’t draw it, simply glides his fingers over the metall, letting his hand rest there. The hand in Mu Qing’s tightens slightly, then the grip slackens. “Then fucking do what you want. Our martial arts aren’t affected; we’re not defenseless.” Feng Xin drops his hand completely and turns around.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Cold is already beginning to seep through his veins like a thin thread guided by a piercing needle, finding their way along his meridians.
He sees Feng Xin flex his fingers. “I’m going to look for His Highness. If you want to go, go on alone, but don’t drag me along.”
Feng Xin walks away with decisive steps and Mu Qing does the same. The sooner they get rid of this curse, the better.
Mu Qing curls his fingers into a fist, lets his own fingernails cut into his palm. At least like this, he won’t have to hold Feng Xin’s hand again.
Like this, Mu Qing moves forward and refuses to let his steps falter, putting one foot in front of the other. And again. It’s harder than anticipated as his dwindling spiritual energy calls out to its forced other half. The needling cold has long since changed to a sharp burning blade of ice moving through his limbs.
Apparently, it’s not only the lack of spiritual powers they have to deal with, now pain follows in the tracks of their forced weakness. How wonderful.
He sucks in a breath and stumbles on the next step, crashing against the cold cave walls. Stone scrapes along his cheek but Mu Qing only presses closer to the cool surface in hope to curb the uncomfortable burning inside him.
Resting isn’t an option, so he pushes himself forward, using the wall as support. For a short moment he contemplates turning around - if not to admit fault, then to drag Feng Xin back with him.
With every step he takes deeper into the tunnels, the temptation grows stronger. Eventually he falters again, sweat-slick hand slipping on the cold stone, and he heaves a deep breath that shudders painfully in his chest, almost dislodging the contents of his stomach.
In the end he doesn’t have to decide.
“Fucking shit! Mu Qing! Fuck!” Feng Xin’s angry voice reverberates through the tunnel and through his head.
Mu Qing grits his teeth against the pain. It would be fitting if either the tunnels caved in, or that idiot would lead some ghost or beast straight to them. If he at least had some spiritual power left, he could try to yell at Feng Xin trough the communication array to shut the fuck up, but it’s all dried up, empty and cold.
Defeatedly, he rests his head against the wall and waits for footsteps to echoe along the cursing.
As they grow closer, the noise level doesn’t diminish. What does happen is that the closer Feng Xin gets, some intangible connection between them pulls taut, making his meridians tingle as if they themselves are reaching out.
“I’m here!” Mu Qing calls back curtly.
“Where?!”
“Here!”
Where else would he have gone? They’ve barely been separated for all of one incense time.
Feng Xin comes up behind him and stops just out of reach, looking like a rat drowned in their own sweat.
“What are you doing back here?” Mu Qing asks, voice coming out a little breathless. He knows exactly what prompted this, but he wants to hear Feng Xin admit as much. In the end, it wasn’t him who gave in and if there’s some kind of victory to be gleaned from this, he’ll take it.
“Oh, shut up!” With one big step Feng Xin moves into his space, but Mu Qing ducks away from the hand reaching towards him.
“You look like shit. Don’t wipe your sweaty hands on me!” he exclaims.
“Fuck! What are you acting so stupid for?” Feng Xin growls. “If I look like shit, so do you. Can you even stand without leaning on that wall?”
Mu Qing scoffs and pushes himself away from the wall, arm trembling at the exertion and he hides it by crossing his arms in front of him. “There. Happy?”
“Extremely,” Feng Xin says dryly.
When he reaches for him again, Mu Qing neither has the reflexes nor the balance to move away. With his hands hidden close to his body, Feng Xin clamps down on his wrist instead and wrenches his arm free. Like an anchor, the sudden weight startles Mu Qing into a relieved exhale despite the mand-handling, as the pain in his body recedes into a residual ache. Spiritual energy floods his meridians, invigorating like cool water meeting his parched throat.
“That was a stupid idea,” he says after regulating his breathing, unable to keep traces of exhaustion out of his voice.
“What was?” Feng Xin sounds breathless too, with nothing left of his lively temper earlier.
“Running off like that. Should’ve been obvious that could only end badly,” he chastises, as of it would do any good.
Feng Xin nods along with a haughty expression. “Yeah, I should’ve just dragged you back. We’re meeting up with His Highness. He should already be on his way.”
Mu Qing furrows his eyebrows. “When did you-”
“I just called him in the communication array.” The grip on his wrist tightens. “As soon as I had my powers back.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but only huffs in response. At this point he wants to get out of here, take a bath and even sleeping sounds very compelling. All of it hopefully far away from Feng Xin. But for that to happen they still have to finish this and he steels himself for a long day ahead.
When Xie Lian catches up to them, they quickly fill him in on anything that Feng Xin’s rushed explanation must’ve left out.
“Okay.” Xie Lian claps his hands together softly. “I think I get it. First we should get out of here to regroup. I’ll call San Lang too.”
Of course that’s the reason for their swift retreat. For once Xie Lian and Crimson Rain are not joined at the hip, had split up voluntarily to work on different cases. It’s one of the reasons Mu Qing agreed to help as readily as he did.
But of course, even if Crimson Rain’s help wasn’t absolutely needed, it does give Xie Lian a nice excuse to call for his husband. How disgustingly sweet, Mu Qing thinks and rubs at his temple.
“If you absolutely have to,” he acquiesces. If he’s going to give Hua Cheng anything, then it’s that he’s unrivaled in his knowledge on pretty much anything. The decision makes sense.
Xie Lian smiles at him. “My side of the tunnels was littered with arrays too, but they were already damaged by rain water seeping in.”
“Did you step on one?” Feng Xin asks and jostles Mu Qing’s arm when he moves closer to Xie Lian.
“Don’t worry. Just when I thought about it, I heard you.”
Mu Qing groans. “Xie Lian, you’re really…”
“So you didn’t touch it. Good.”
“No, haha. But with you two like this, it was really lucky,” Xie Lian says, sheepish. “And now I thought, maybe instead of risking it, San Lang’s butterflies could go and scout out the place.”
“The wraith butterflies?!” His indignation rises, mollified by Feng Xin echoing the same sentiment until the pressure on his wrist turns into a vice grip.
“Ow, let go.” He janks at his arm, shoulder popping in its socket.
With a startled ‘Oh,’ Feng Xin’s fingers spasm on wrist without relinquishing their hold.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Leaving him no time to react, Mu Qing turns his hand in Feng Xin’s grasp enough to grab onto the other’s wrist with as much strength as he can muster, fingers digging through fabric until he can feel the skin and bone underneath.
“Ow, what the fuck!” It’s Feng Xin now who tries to pull his arm back, but it makes Mu Qing dig deeper with a smirk.
“Not so funny now, is it?”
“No one here is laughing!”
Suddenly, a gentle hand lays itself on the top of their hands. Its warmth seeps through his clothes, the soft touch startling on his abused skin.
“Guys, stop it!” Xie Lian says emphatically and Mu Qing schools his features into neutrality.
“This guy-” Feng Xin starts, but Xie Lian is fast at silencing him.
“No. I don’t want to hear it. First, let’s get out of here. Staying won’t do us any good at this rate.”
Feng Xin scoffs, Mu Qing digs his fingernails in and Xie Lian sighs.
Eventually they make their way out of the tunnels, a lot of it spent with cursing at each other for being too slow or too fast or too close, and Mu Qing blinks against the bright sunlight.
Gait unsteady, Feng Xin stumbles out just behind him.
“Watch it!” Mu Qing says, steadying his arm to keep both of them on their feet.
“Watch yourself!”
They’re both irritated and Mu Qing’s wrist hurts like something fierce. Digging, dragging, scratching, all of it done without touching skin. However they managed to hold hands before is a mystery to him, the blemishes on his skin much more like them. Less personal, wielded as a weapon not meant to seriously injure but hurt - not neutral and not soft.
“Will your husband be here soon?” Mu Qing asks. The sooner they can get it over with, the better.
“Uhm. Yes, but…” Xie Lian’s eyes flit to their joined hands, a mix of a grimace and a smile playing on his lips. “Maybe it’d be best for you to lay low. Leave the curse breaking to San Lang and me.”
“If you’re sure?” Feng Xin says hesitantly, but Mu Qing stares at Xie Lian’s smile with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s known Xie Lian for long enough to know there’s something behind that smile.
“You think this is funny?”
Xie Lian makes a placating gesture. “Not at all. Not at all. You’re both tired and it just seems to be…impractical for you two, so why don’t you-” Xie Lian bites his lip, and now he definitely looks like he’s suppressing a grin.
“Xie Lian!”
Xie Lian clears his throat and now looks completely serious, albeit slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean anything by it. It sounds a bit like a case San Lang and I have seen before and I thought it’d be fun to investigate a bit. And it’d be easier for you two to just…wait it out in a place where you won’t get attacked by outside influences.”
The inside influence of them fighting each other is definitely implied and a deep sigh builds up in his throat. It stutters and dissipates when Feng Xin’s body brushes up against his arm.
“We can still help!” Feng Xin protests, his warmth seeping through his clothes into Mu Qing’s skin. Combined with the sunlight, it chases away the last remnants of the cold lingering in his meridians and his body slumps into itself with the way his muscles decide to relax all at once.
“Woah, what?” The grip on Mu Qing’s arm suddenly tightens and now Feng Xin’s pressed more firmly against him, his voice ringing surprised and alarmed in his ears. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Mu Qing bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood and forces his muscles to straighten out. “Only we saw the array, Your Highness. It’s best if we-”
“Mu Qing-”
“Yeah, no.”
Two pairs of eyes are trained on him, one worried, the other incredulous.
“You just said you wanted to help His Highness!” He turns to Feng Xin.
“That was before you almost keeled over.”
“You-”
“Your Highness.” Feng Xin turns away from him. “I still think it’s best if we help in the investigation, but-”
“Feng Xin...”
“Hey-”
“BUT! We’re probably just going to get in your way.” The tone Feng Xin uses is forced into calmness. “We’ll retreat for the day.” And when Mu Qing makes another protesting noise, he says, “Shut up. I’m not talking to you!”
“Well I am. Pretty fast to change your mind on helping him, hm, General Nan Yang?” He tries to shake off the hand on his arm.
“At this rate we’re only going to lug each other around. I’m fucking tired, you’re almost passing out. For fuck’s sake let’s just sleep somewhere!”
“Ah…” Xie Lian sighs and Mu Qing feels a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Rest somewhere for a while. I can handle this, so please don’t push yourselves.”
Mu Qing looks at Xie Lian imploringly. His stomach makes a small somersault at the open and affectionate way Xie Lian is looking at him, worried and honest and good. His lip quivers lightly and he throws a look at Feng Xin, at the way his shoulders tremble, the way he looks more exhausted than he’s seen him in a long time.
His wrist pulses in pain.
“Alright,” he says and relief at his own yielding spreads through him.
They end up deciding to rest up in Feng Xin’s palace. The repairs for his are farther along than for Mu Qing’s, after they ended up damaging them in one of their latest sparring matches.
After telling his deputies not to disturb him, Feng Xin leads Mu Qing to the bath, but as soon as the door closes behind them, both of them stop in their tracks.
“The water should be ready…” Feng Xin looks down at their hands.
Mu Qing huffs. “It’s not like we can’t let go at all. What do we need spiritual power for in here? As long as we don’t end up on different sides of your palace, it shouldn’t be as bad as before.”
“Right.”
Mu Qing pulls away first and they separately go about cleaning all the grime and sweat off their body.The cold in his veins is mitigated by the humid air, making it less noticeable that something is wrong. With Feng Xin still close by, no pain hits him and when Mu Qing’s finally submerged in the hot water, his muscles sing in relief and he blinks lazily at the steam rising from the surface.
Feng Xin follows and the rippling water as he sinks down next to him splashes against his chest. There isn’t a lot of space between them; Mu Qing wouldn’t even need to reach out to touch, just a twitch of his arm would have their naked shoulders brushing. Mu Qing makes it a point not to look.
The sole of his left foot soon twitches in the ghost of a beginning cramp, so it seems the time they can spend without touching finally ran out. Is it just him who feels the start of their repercussions, or is it Feng Xin as well? Best case scenario, Feng Xin feels it too, so their actions will be forced on both ends, but if they’re delayed between the two of them, does he admit it was him first or wait until Feng Xin starts reacting?
A brush of fingers against the back of his hand has Mu Qing jerk away, his thoughts stuttering to a halt.
Feng Xin furrows his eyebrows, his lips pressed together. The touch returns more insistent and his fingers twitch when Feng Xin’s come to rest on them.
Underwater the sensations are off, both enhanced and dulled. The water is still hot, but Feng Xin’s hand feels scalding. Biting his lip, Mu Qing keeps himself from moving. It’s made harder when Feng Xin’s thumb slides over the back of his hand in something that seems deliberate, something that could almost be mistaken for a caress.
It might also just be caused by a water current involuntarily moving him, so he tries to keep his body relaxed and not make a scene out of nothing. A deep sigh reaches his ears, and Feng Xin seems to relax further into the water as if placated by his lack of protest.
Rather than protest, Mu Qing is more jealous of the way Feng Xin doesn’t seem to have any trouble unwinding and letting his body float in the water like it’s a carefree bath at the end of a normal day. As if he isn’t holding Mu Qing’s hand underneath the surface, like two lovers trying to be close even in the mundane. If anything, having him drag and scratch at his wrist was easier to deal with.
A glance to the side shows him Feng Xin’s closed eyes, frown wiped from his face as if it was never there, cheeks flushed due to the humid air. He looks young in a way they haven’t been in a long time, but then again, it’s not like Mu Qing ever saw him like this even when they were.
The water turns lukewarm and their coexistence remains peaceful until Xie Lian calls them through the communication array, startling both of them out of their tranquill lull.
Immediately, Mu Qing’s heartbeat reaches his throat.
“Your Highness!” they say in unison. “Have you found something?”
Xie Lian hm’s in an upbeat manner. “Most of it is like you told me, but when we found the array, San Lang translated some details on its side. It said, the more you fight the curse, the stronger it gets. Trying to tough it out is apparently going to make it a lot worse. So don’t do that,” Xie Lian says, voice sharp and pointed. “It seems the curse grows stronger at night, so I think not being in contact with each other could be a problem…uh…” He hesitates for a moment. “It might be bad enough to require you to be…uhm…closer…”
“Closer how?” Mu Qing asks, agitated unease lapping at his mind. Feng Xin’s hand remains a steady weight on his and Mu Qing has to remind himself that Xie Lian can’t see them.
Xie Lians voice is mild. “Ah. Nothing too serious. At worst, hugging should take care of it.”
“How could that be any worse?” The image of Feng Xin’s arms embracing him and his own coming up to clutch at Feng Xin’s back is terrifying. He thinks of a stiff body clinging to his, fingers leaving marks where they were forced by circumstance to hold him. He thinks of digging his own fingers into Feng Xin’s flesh as an answer he doesn’t know the meaning of. The wish to reciprocate, the wish to hurt, the wish not to let go.
His stomach churns enough to constrict his lungs. To experience Feng Xin’s distaste in a touch that shouldn’t hurt, a touch meant to show care and comfort and instead is corrupted into something he knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life, burned like a brand into his skin.
The memories of his mother’s warm embrace still haven’t faded; he doesn’t want them to be overwritten by something suffocating and bitter.
His eyes start burning and something is close to snapping.
Feng Xin’s hand twitches on his.
“I don’t think…” Xie Lian sighs. “This is neither here nor there. The curse isn’t designed to be dangerous, just inconvenient and painful if you fight it too much. Be nice to each other. I’ll call you again as soon as I know more.”
The connection breaks off before they can get another word in and the silence hangs heavy over them, the dripping water white noise in Mu Qing’s ears. It intensifies until every drip is an explosion in his head, a pulsing pain behind his eyes.
Suddenly Feng Xin is too close, his touch too hot and Mu Qing stands up, hastily fastening the towel around his hips. “Whatever. We’re done here.”
Feng Xin jumps up at the same time, his jaw set into an angry line. “What the fuck was that just now? Fucking asshole.”
“What?!” Which conclusion has Feng Xin jumped to now? Not even when Xie Lian was the only one talking can he escape some arbitrary accusation. “None of this is my fault, so stop going off on me!”
“Hah, funny,” Feng Xin scoffs, his face dark in a disdainful grimace. “Don’t mind me then if I leave you to rot here on the bathroom floor.”
“I won’t mind, don’t worry. You’ll rot with me!”
“You–” Feng Xin’s angry voice stops abruptly and his red face turns a shade of ashen gray.
Mu Qing doesn’t have time to react before it feels like a sword slides between his ribs, cutting through flesh and organs, shattering bones. Unable to draw in air, he gasps, choking on his own tongue. He manages to throw himself to the edge of the bathtub before heaving. Stomach acid bubbles up his throat. Nothing comes out and he’s left dry-heaving long enough for him to think he’ll pass out. The lukewarm water boils at his skin and the humid air makes his stomach muscles contract in an endless cycle.
The pounding in his ears drowns out any other sound and his vision turns dark at the edges. When he slips to the side, a splash of water makes it through his agonized mind, before a warm, wet body is pressed alongside his.
“Oh fuck,” Feng Xin heaves next to him. “Was this what His Highness meant by not fighting the curse?”
“Damn it.” Mu Qing coughs and air fills his lungs in one agonizing draw. “Let’s never do that again.”
“That wasn’t on me!” Feng Xin protests.
“You started–”
“Mu Qing!” Feng Xin yells in panic.
“I’ll stop, okay. I’ll stop.” This is as close as he’s willing to admit defeat.
When he feels the nudge on his skin, Mu Qing turns his open palm towards Feng Xin, letting him slot their hands together without protest.
The pain was severe enough to still throb through his body in waves and they stand in the lukewarm water, wet bodies pressed together until the worst seems over.
Tiredly, Mu Qing thinks it’s absolutely impossible to tough this out. Not lethal? There’s no way this wouldn’t lead to death in the long run. It definitely takes the choice from him to keep Feng Xin at a distance. The pain would probably be bad enough to make them cling to each other in panic. Clawing at each other suddenly makes a lot more sense.
“Come on,” Feng Xin says, bumping their shoulders lightly and Mu Qung recognizes it as the peace-offering it is. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Well, this is going to be fun,” Mu Qing remarks and let’s himself be pulled from the water. The cold draft on his wet body soothes his nerves somewhat and with one more steady breath, he calms his heartbeat into forced normality.
Feng Xin hands Mu Qing a towel. “As long as you’re not playing difficult,” he says bluntly.
Mu Qing takes it one-handedly and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have to play for this to be difficult.”
“Uh…” Feng Xin looks at his own towel, at Mu Qing, then at their joined hands and Mu Qing rolls his eyes at the helpless expression he’s making.
“Please don’t freak out now!” is the only warning Mu Qing gets, before Feng Xin hooks their ankles together, making their naked calfs slide against each other. Only the memory of the stabbing pain keeps Mu Qing from jumping out of his skin and he glowers at Feng Xin in distaste.
The corner of Feng Xin’s mouth twitches and he starts drying himself off in something that can only be described as aggressive and Mu Qing drags his own towel over his shoulders, the fabric gliding roughly over his skin.
They manage to get dressed and Mu Qing sighs in relief when their palms slide together again and they make their way through Feng Xin’s thankfully deserted palace. At this points he’s almost used to holding hands like this - rigid and indifferent - is even comforted by it’s presence as a reliable defense against pain. As much as he doesn’t want to admit, the rebound of the curse shook them both up.
Mu Qing knows where Feng Xin’s guest rooms are located, provided the layout of the palace didn’t change with its countless rebuilds and he turns his head sharply when they pass the adjacent corridor.
“Did you just get lost in your own palace?” Mu Qing asks pointedly.
“Depends on where you think we’re going. Wait–”
Mu Qing interrupts him. “We just passed the guest rooms.”
“How do you know the layout of my palace? Are you spying on me?” Feng Xin grouses.
“As if I have the time to–”
“No, don’t answer that. Why would I use the guest room?” Feng Xin sounds genuinely confused.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes and just to be contrary, he says, “To sleep, idiot. That’s where beds are. Or do you keep multiple of them in your room?”
“What do we need multiple beds for? We’re stuck together. And after what happened, I’m not letting go!”
If someone told them a mere hour ago, they’d find themselves arguing against fighting the curse, they’d have laughed at the offending party.
“If we push the beds together we can still–”
“Push the beds tog–” Feng Xin shakes his head. “How convoluted can you be?! Can’t you just once take the easy route? You really can’t argue you’re the rational one in this!”
He is the rational one, just operating from a different standpoint. It’s hard to imagine Feng Xin not seeing the glaring issue, but it’s harder to string along an argument about pushing two beds together and having their joined hands dangle over the edge in a room that’s not Feng Xin’s own. Telling the truth about why he doesn’t want to get stuck in an embrace with Feng Xin would only leave him open to ridicule.
Mu Qing ‘hmpfs.’
“I take it you stopped trying to be difficult.”
“Never,” Mu Qing says as Feng Xin opens the door to his room.
Mu Qing hasn’t been in a private bedroom of Feng Xin’s often. Not in Xianle, and not in the Heavens. The clutter is the same, scrolls and papers, boxes with weird trinkets, bowstrings and arrows, are thrown about the room. Everything seems to have it’s own space, but their arrangement is too haphazard to be called tidy.
Feng Xin’s bed is big. The flickering lights of a lantern gives the mussed covers a welcoming aura.
Mu Qing hasn’t really shared a bed with anyone either. His mother when he was little, yes. And he’d shared the sleeping space with Xie Lian and Feng Xin during their banishment. It’s not the same as cozying up to someone under the covers. In any other situation, being taken by the hand and led to a spacious bed would have a completely different connotation. This couldn’t be more different, but his heartbeat throbs in his throat anyway.
His palms start sweating and he hopes Feng Xin won’t notice.
Feng Xin clears his throat and pushes the blanket aside until it’s bunched up into a pile at the foot end. “Which side do you want?”
With the blanket discarded like this, it seems unlikely they’ll pull it up again through the night. This is even closer to when they shared scruffy sleeping matts way back when. It’s less intimate, less comfortable and entirely more befitting their situation. Really, Mu Qing should be glad. But the more he looks at the blanket and the bare mattress, the more he wants to pull the fabric up to his ears and curl up.
“As if that’s important,” Mu Qing spits out and it sounds venomous even to his own ears.
“Just-” Feng Xin clicks his tongue and makes a derogatory wave towards the bed. “Get on the bed!”
Bending down, Mu Qing tests the firmness of the matress and his hand slips from Feng Xin’s grasp. He doesn’t fight the momentary image of Feng Xin lying on the bed, bundled up in the blankets, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep. The image is disrupted by a cramp running through his body and with a punched out sound he sits down, uncaring that he’s ceding ground.
“Happy now?” He doesn’t like the way he has to look up at Feng Xin, but Feng Xin isn’t looking at him, eyes fixed somewhere beyond him.
Without looking at him, Feng Xin gives his shoulder a gentle shove that has Mu Qing almost sprawling out on the bed if he wasn’t fast enough to hold himself upright.
“I’m happy when this is over and you go back to being a regular asshole and not-” Feng Xin breaks off abruptly and fusses with the pillows.
“And not what?”
“Shit!” Grumbling, Feng Xin rakes his fingers through his hair and puts the pillow down with too much force. “Forget it. Let’s just-” He gestures at the space between them, a disgruntled frown on his face that looks like it wants to be more awkward than angry, but tethering just on the edge of blowing up.
Mu Qing lowers himself down, stretching out without fully relaxing his body into the bedding. His eyes keep following Feng Xin’s every move as he lies down in the mirror image of his own pose, before reaching for his hand in a hurried motion.
Feng Xin fingers are stiff and hard as they cup his hand, slightly sweaty but not enough to be wholly unpleasant. The pain recedes as soon as they touch, but only enough for Mu Qing to not curl up anymore.
“This isn’t doing much,” he states.
“No shit it doesn’t.” Beads of sweat dot Feng Xin’s forehead and the tense line in his jaw grows more pronounced. “Now what?”
Mu Qing turns his face into the pillow, hair tickling his cheek and his gaze wanders unwittingly from their hands up Feng Xin’s arm to where it meets his shoulder. If he was anyone else, maybe he could scoot over and have the gesture be accepted. Maybe not warmly, but with the stiff awkwardness of necessity. Thinking about Feng Xin’s touch in the bath, it might even be accepted from him right now.
“Let’s just call His Highness. He has to have found something else.” Mu Qing tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Xie Lian already told them the solution, but- He can’t think like that. He can’t let himself- Pain is easier to deal with.
Feng Xin huffs. “He already told us and he promised to let us know as soon as he has a solution. We know how to deal with it in the meantime. Technically.” Feng Xin’s eyes flit to the side and there’s an awkward tilt to his lips, a dusting of red high on his cheeks as if he wasn’t the one who grabbed Mu Qing like a ragdoll and dragged him around first. Like a sack of old rags you didn’t need to be careful with.
What a joke. And he’s the fucking punchline.
“Well, I’m not going to gently cradle you to my chest.”
“Great. Then turn the fuck around so I can ‘gently cradle’ you,” Feng Xin spits out, the tense line of his shoulders making it obvious he’s in pain. “I’m not spending another moment like this just because you’re a stubborn asshole.”
Mu Qing bites his lip, wants to hiss something cruel back at him, but the muscles in his back draw up painfully and words almost uttered in defensiveness are choked into a little whimper.
“Mu Qing!” Feng Xin scrambles upright and lets his hand go in the process.
It hurts.
Only for a moment, then Feng Xin’s hands are back, cupping his shoulder in a soft grip, warm and big and secure.
“Are you okay? Hey…” Feng Xin says and if Mu Qing didn’t know better, he’d think it sounded alarmed and worried.
“‘m fine,” he murmurs through clenched teeth.
Feng Xin puts more pressure onto his shoulder. “Come on, turn around. We know this’ll help. Are you–…really that disgusted by…” He trails of, words falling quiet in an unsure stutter.
Mu Qing blinks against the sweat in his eyes. Disgusted? If only. He could deal with revulsion or with the awkwardness of holding someone who meant nothing to him, but Feng Xin isn’t either. Disgusted? Yeah, the thought of Feng Xin’s body, his warmth, the prospect of knowing what it felt like, if only for a moment - and then live with the knowledge that he’d never feel it again. Live with the knowledge that a soft touch from Feng Xin would only ever happen in a caveat of either duty or duress. Maybe disgusting is the fitting word after all.
He snorts and feels Feng Xin stiffen above him, waits for an explosion that doesn’t come.
Instead, Feng Xin deflates with a sigh. “Okay, then we…can try back to back? Maybe…”
“Don’t bother,” Mu Qing mumbles and turns around until he’s facing the other side of the room.
Feng Xin doesn’t move.
“What are you waiting for?” Mu Qing tries to keep his voice as apathetic as possible. “Didn’t you want to ‘gently cradle’ me? Here’s your chance.” The words crack at the last syllable and he hates how unsure he sounds when he tried to go for mocking.
Feng Xin shifts behind him and the bed dips at his hips.
Breath stocking, Mu Qing’s back goes rigid as he waits for Feng Xin to lie down behind him. The first touch along his back is only their clothes brushing and he waits for it to turn more insistent. When it doesn’t, he grows restless, breath refusing to come in anything other than a stuttering mess. “Get on with it!”
Mu Qing’s words were apparently the last go-ahead Feng Xin needed, as Mu Qing hears the rustling of clothes, before feeling any kind of movement.
An arm snakes around his middle, first grazing his side before putting more weight behind it as if testing what Mu Qing will permit. After no protest is made, Feng Xin curls his arm loosely over Mu Qing’s stomach, using it as leverage to pull them closer together until they’re flush against each other.
From his shoulder to just above his hip, Feng Xin’s weight is pressed behind him. It’s not the first time they’re this close, but any other time Mu Qing knew to expect an attack. Either from Feng Xin himself, or from whatever foe brought them into their precarious situation. Never was it a position to linger in, to let himself feel the way Feng Xin’s chest expanded with every breath, brushing up against him in a steady rhythm.
His own breath stutters along, aligning with Feng Xin’s one moment, before missing a beat in the next. But Feng Xin’s breaths are longer and deeper than his and whenever he manages to keep in synch, it leaves him restless and anxious as he waits for Feng Xin to draw another breath.
“You’re breathing funny. Is the curse acting up for you?” Feng Xin’s words vibrate along his back, sinking into his skin like tiny goosebumps. He hasn’t thought about the curse, all his senses completely occupied by Feng Xin.
Mu Qing swallows a mouthful of air. “You’re imagining things. The only thing I feel is you crowding me.”
“I can’t really do anything about that.” A knee bumps against his thigh.
“You don’t say.”
Feng Xin groans in tired displeasure rather than hot anger. “Please just stop it with the sarcasm, I’m too tired for this.”
“I’m tired too.”
“Then act like it.” He jostles Mu Qing once. “This is like hugging a statue. Can’t you relax a bit, so it at least feels like holding a person.” He presses a flat hand against Mu Qing’s stomach, fingers splayed wide and warm over the pliable flesh above his navel.
Mu Qing’s muscles contract under the intimate touch. There’s no way Feng Xin can’t feel the body in his arms quivering underneath his hands.
Feng Xin makes an inquisitive sound; the minute movement going along with it causes one fingertip to dip into Mu Qing’s belly button and Mu Qing jerks back violently. He grinds into Feng Xin once before he manages to squirm up on the bed, pushing Feng Xin away with a shaking arm to the ribs.
Through a stroke of luck, their legs remain slightly entangled.
“Get your hands off me!” Mu Qing hisses, unhinged panic dripping like venom from his voice. The spot Feng Xin touched tingles like a badly healed burn, setting his nerves on fire.
Feng Xin tears his hands away like he’s been slapped, eyes wide in open shock as they dart wildly over Mu Qing’s frame. The shock doesn’t last long before Feng Xin’s expression shutters, features drawn tight in the bitter resentment Mu Qing is familiar with.
“Enough!” he snaps, face flushed in anger. “I’ve tolerated all your fucking moods today but there’s a limit! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You’ve done nothing but fight me with no fucking reason. ”
Hysteria bubbles up in Mu Qing’s stomach. “Is this the pot calling the kettle black? That’s rich.”
Exasperated, Feng Xin clenches his fist and barks, “I’m not doing anything! Fucking shit. I don’t get why you’re making it worse for us.”
“Oh, I’m making it worse?” Mu Qing digs his fingers into the mattress and the fabric makes a faint ripping sound. “How exactly is this my fault?”
“I didn’t say it was your fault! But what have you done to help?” Feng Xin’s voice rises in volume. “This whole time, you didn’t reach for me once! Every time I come near you, you flinch, and whenever I touch you, you act completely disgusted.”
Mu Qing startles. “I– I’m– That’s not–”
“That’s not what? Fuck, Mu Qing. You look like you’re about to bolt at the smallest movement. Just tell me the truth.” Feng Xin takes a deep breath, but Mu Qing can hear it shuddering. “Do you really hate me that much?”
“Hah,” Mu Qing sneers defensively, a breathless, bitter sound. “And you don’t? Whenever you touch me, you–”
“What, Mu Qing? I. What?”
Mu Qing stops.
The bruises on his wrist are still there, but so is the soft stroke at the back of his hand, so is the unsure way Feng Xin wriggled behind him, the worried tone when he was hurting, the careful arm slung over his waist. None of those hurt. Not physically.
Mu Qing deflates and grips his wrist, digging his nails into the leftover bruises.
Feng Xin follows the movement with his eyes, and Mu Qing sees the hesitation in his face when he reaches for him. He forces himself to hold still as Feng Xin gently pries his fingers off.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Feng Xin rubs at the welts on his skin, fingertips so unbelievably gentle.
“I’m not–” he manages to press out and it’s almost too much when Feng Xin looks up with his eyes troubled, but not angry. “I’m not- disgusted.”
Mu Qing pulls away from Feng Xin’s grip, stomach clenching when Feng Xin’s expression falls. With his heartbeat hammering in his throat he reaches out, brushing his fingertips over Feng Xin’s wrist bone and then his palm. Feng Xin’s breath hitches when he traces along his lifeline and over his finger joints. Fingernails graze a callus, then the softness of unmarred skin and he memorizes it all. It didn’t feel as soft when he was holding it earlier.
Feng Xin looks like he wants to say something.
Mu Qing curls his fingers into Feng Xin’s palm, presses his half closed fist into Feng Xin’s slack hold.
Feng Xin curls his open palm around Mu Qing’s fist, thumb hesitantly stroking it once, twice. It tingles from the tips of his fingers through his body and into his toes, goosebumps following in its wake until his whole body wants to shiver apart.
“I’m not disgusted,” Mu Qing repeats, more determined this time.
“Neither am I!” The words stumble over themself in a bid of awkward honesty. “I mean– I don’t hate this, if you don’t.”
“I don‘t- h-h-hate,” he stutters. The pointed silence rings in his ears and the panicked flutter in his chest is only anchored by Feng Xin drawing his thumb in circles across his skin. “I don‘t.”
What he doesn’t hate, Mu Qing isn’t sure. Certainly it’s the soft touch reverberating through his body, but he isn’t sure if he hates Feng Xin. Hates the softness and the affection that run abundant in this man, but were never reserved for him even in an afterthought. Hates the earnestness and courage, the awkwardness and honesty. He hates him so much it burns a hole into him whenever he can’t catch himself from thinking about him for too long.
“Then…wanna try this again?” Feng Xin asks and gestures to the bed. Hopeful.
Mu Qing can’t bring himself to raise his head, can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from their hands and how much smaller Mu Qing’s looks, curled into Feng Xin’s palm, when in reality they’re not that different. With a quick glance upwards and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he nods.
Mu Qing waits for the moment he’s either told to lie down or manhandled into position. Instead, Feng Xin clears his throat and nods, a resolute glint in his eyes as if he’s getting ready to draw his bow. It’s so out of place, Mu Qing can’t help the shaky, lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
Feng Xin’s grip tightens and Mu Qing feels a gentle pull on his hands, guiding him towards Feng Xin’s broad frame. He let’s himself be turned sideways and moved around until he’s leaning against Feng Xin’s chest. One awkward movement jostles Mu Qing’s head into bumping his nose against Feng Xin’s shoulder, the soft fabric smelling deeply familiar. He keeps his nose buried there when Feng Xin tips them both back until they’re lying down. Unlike before now nestled together.
Feng Xin’s touches remain soft and hesitant, like he’s afraid of going too far, being too rough, breaking the fragile peace between them. Mu Qing would tell him he could, that he wasn’t breakable, but he isn’t quite sure he won’t shatter to pieces under Feng Xin’s hands.
“Is this alright?” Feng Xin asks. Still so unsure and unlike anything Mu Qing has ever seen from him. Almost as disarming as his touch, almost as devastating to the cracks that form underneath his skin.
“Stop asking stupid questions. If it’s not, I’ll throw you off.”
“No kidding,” Feng Xin says without heat and a hint of teasing. “You made that very clear earlier.”
Heat rises to Mu Qing‘s cheeks and he stuffs his face back into Feng Xin‘s shoulder. “That was!”
Feng Xin hooks his chin on Mu Qing‘s shoulder, the sharp edge pressing into his clavicle and Feng Xin‘s breath, his face, his lips are all dangerously close. “That was you freaking out! I want you to say something before it gets that far and you feel the need to elbow me.”
“It‘s not like you said anything either!”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable! Stop turning this around on me every second.” He still doesn’t sound mad, Mu Qing notices.
“Yes, this is fine,” Mu Qing mumbles into the fabric and rolls his eyes.
“I heard that eye roll,” Feng Xin chuckles and if Mu Qing squinted his eyes, maybe he could catch a glimpse of his lips being pulled into a smile. He‘s seen him smile often, laugh at shitty jokes a-plenty, but rarely if ever was it directed at him. This one might be, he thinks and something in his stomach uncoils.
An amused huff is the only answer he deigns to give. And when his lips want to truly break in a smile, trying to suppress it causes them to move against Feng Xin‘s shoulder. It feels like a kiss to him; he hopes it doesn‘t feel like one to Feng Xin.
“You…” Feng Xin starts and freezes behind him.
Excuses appear and disappear from the tip of his tongue but the truth is, he has no idea what he’s doing.
Everything about this is uncharted territory. There is no training, no fight, that ever prepared him for this. Maybe they can just ignore it, act like it never happened the same way they turned their backs on each other in the past.
Plausible deniability.
Neither of them would think the other would kiss them. Telling Feng Xin he just imagined it might be–
With Feng Xin’s mouth still close to his ear, Mu Qing hears him swallow heavily, feels the bop of his adam’s apple against his shoulder, before Feng Xin pulls his head back. He then presses his face against Mu Qing’s back and breathes out. Gone is the steady rhythm Mu Qing tried to follow, replaced by a patchy pattern Feng Xin might’ve taken from him.
Mu Qing’s heart stutters and stops when Feng Xin shifts back, followed by the insistent press of lips against his shoulder blade. The sound of a kiss rings in his ears, barely audible, but much too loud in the surrounding silence.
He jumps and a choked off whimper gets stuck in his throat.
This wasn’t a mistake, not an inadvertent slip. This was a deliberate touch.
Feng Xin meant to do that.
Mu Qing doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Is this still okay?” Feng Xin asks, voice muffled and cautious.
Mu Qing doesn’t trust his voice not to break and he gnaws at his bottom lip.
Nods.
A sharp intake of breath makes him jump again. All his nerves are trained on Feng Xin and the way he shifts back, the way his body drags against Mu Qing.
Soft puffs of air part the hair against his neck, before Feng Xin kisses him.
First the back of his head and then his temple, lips grazing the shell of his ear.
“Still okay?” Feng Xin murmurs in a deep register and Mu Qing thinks his body is being set aflame.
Feng Xin is everything, settling into every part of him. Centuries has he tried not to wonder what it’d feel like to have another person close. To have Feng Xin close. Because if he let himself think about it, he might’ve felt the way he does right now. Bereft and helpless, desperate in a want he can’t control. If Feng Xin asked for anything right now, Mu Qing might bend over backwards to grant it.
He gasps tonelessly and nods.
“You’re really…” Feng Xin laughs watery and his exhale shudders apart at the seams.
“What-” Mu Qing croaks.
“Shut up.” It comes out softly, lacking any bite. “Can’t you just- can I-” Feng Xin breaks off, the arm underneath Mu Qing twitches once. Mu Qing isn’t sure if the mumbled ‘please’ comes from Feng Xin or if it’s fabricated by his own mind. He thinks he understands.
Mu Qing nods.
If he tries to talk right now, the heat in his eyes will overflow. He might not even be able to make a single sound, his throat constricted around a stone lodged deep in his body.
The grip Feng Xin has on his shoulder tightens, then turns into an open-palmed caress on his upper arm, before he winds both his arms around Mu Qing in a death grip.
Feng Xin clings to him and Mu Qing can’t breathe.
Desperately, he reaches up, grips at Feng Xin’s arms and holds on as tightly as he can.
It hasn’t been long since they dragged and pulled at each other, annoyed and irritated, but it was a mere shadow to the way they cling to each other now. There’s no way to tell where Mu Qing’s body stops and Feng Xin’s begins and if he loosens his grip, he might fall apart.
Only Feng Xin’s tight embrace holds him together right now and a deep breath shudders out of him.
When he inhales the next time, his lungs expand more freely than in a long time. Something starts to uncoil in the depth of his stomach.
They stay that way for what feels like a long time. At one point Mu Qing wonders if he shouldn’t hear the early chirping of birds or the hustle and bustle of a heavenly palace waking up. Their grip on each other grows softer, turns from desperate to gentle until Mu Qing is encased in Feng Xin’s arms, his own hands gingerly touching Feng Xin wherever he can reach.
If sinking deeper into Feng Xin’s embrace was even an option, this would be what it felt like. His heartbeat is still too fast in chest, but the tension seeps out of his muscles and something in his core steadies, stops being terrified of an attack he doesn’t believe will come. It’s not unlike when he came to truly and fully realize that Xie Lian didn’t hate him, saw him as a friend and not the distorted abomination everyone else were so sure they saw.
There‘s a short edge of a thought not not lull himself into security, but Feng Xin is such a shoddy actor and no matter what words might fall from his lips, he‘s never been able to mask his disdain, excitement, sadness or happiness.
Mu Qing believes him. And maybe that‘s more terrifying, but with his muscles lax and his mind foggy, he thinks maybe he‘ll analyze this in the morning and when they‘re free of their curse.
Feng Xin‘s face isn‘t as close anymore, instead he rests against Mu Qing‘s shoulder blade, drawing in deep relaxed breath, after deep relaxed breath.
“You’re warm,” he says.
The last tense muscle in Mu Qing’s back gives way under Feng Xin’s warmth.
“You too,” he mumbles too quietly for Feng Xin to hear and then a bit louder, “Did you think I wasn’t?” It wouldn’t be far-fetched to have him think otherwise.
“Hmm, no,” Feng Xin says softly and presses himself closer to Mu Qing. His whole chest is plastered along Mu Qing’s back, and their legs tangle together. “You know, i’ve thought about this.”
“Squeezing me within an inch of my life? What a heroic way to win a battle.”
“Asshole.” Feng Xin’s awkward voice tickles his ears. “Sorry about that. It’s…you can probably tell I haven’t done this in a long time.”
“And you think I have?” Giving a speck of honesty is all he can do, any lie would be obvious, only inviting a stupid remark. At least Feng Xin knows how to initiate an embrace, Mu Qing doesn’t even know how to reciprocate one.
“Obviously not,” Feng Xin laughs and air puffs against Mu Qing’s hair.
He tries not to take offense in that. Does it mean he’s so terrible at it or that Feng Xin isn’t surprised no one hugged him in 800 years? For that, Feng Xin sure was eager to get his arms around him. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Oh, calm down.” Feng Xin pats him once and Mu Qing’s arm quakes under the contact. He managed to deal with Feng Xin clinging to him, but every time he’s touched again, the goosebumps follow in its wake. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I guess we both needed that, huh?”
“Speak for yourself! I was fine.” Mu Qing’s cheeks burn and he hopes they’re invisible in the dim light around them.
“If that was you being fine, I don’t want to know what it’s like when you’re not.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t then.” Not like he hasn’t done just that for the past 800 years. People never wondered if he was fine, and they never found out if he wasn’t.
“Absolutely not.” Mu Qing hears the frown in it. “Let me know when you’re not. Let me…”
He’s left wondering how that sentence was going to end. The pressure of lips against his ear makes him think, maybe he does know the answer.
“You too,” he says quickly and hopes his ears don’t burn hot enough for Feng Xin to feel it against his lips.
Mu Qing shifts in Feng Xin’s arms until he can see his face in the flickering lantern light. Illuminated by the flame, Feng Xin’s expression is open and affectionate, eyes shining in a warm color, intense and determined and gentle. This must be how Feng Xin looks at the people he cares about, Mu Qing thinks with a start. He tries to match the face he sees to the expression of Feng Xin he’s used too. The affectionate glint is not as foreign as he thought it would be.
Reaching out, he traces once over Feng Xin’s jawline but is quick to pull away again. He knows, he’s staring, but he can’t help squinting at Feng Xin’s brows, over his cheekbones, down his nose, stopping at his lips.
Feng Xin is looking too and moves an inch closer until his breath fans warmly over Mu Qing’s cheek. “Still okay?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Mu Qing says and raises his head, stopping a hairsbreadth away from bridging the gap between them.
Feng Xin ducks down, presses his lips to Mu Qing’s in a closed-mouthed kiss. His lips are dry and chapped and Mu Qing doesn’t know how to react, just pushes back against Feng Xin. Even in his wildest dreams, this isn't something that ever happened. Whenever he was imagining Feng Xin kissing someone, it was never him. It was never him Feng Xin touched softly, never him who got to feel him close.
This moment though? This moment belongs to him.
Feng Xin pulls back, eyes flitting over Mu Qing’s face until he seems to find what he was searching for. He kisses him again, nips on his bottom lip once when he breaks the kiss and Mu Qing almost follows him.
Feng Xin doesn’t withdraw far and knocks their foreheads together. “Give us a chance to figure this out?” he asks.
A dumber question hasn’t been asked yet, Mu Qing thinks. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m not going around making a habit out of kissing people.” But maybe he could make a habit out of kissing one person. Perhaps. If Feng Xin lets him. If he lets himself.
He wants to let himself.
“Good,” Feng Xin says dryly and with the hint of a smile. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Mu Qing averts his eyes in an eye-roll. “Yes, we’re stuck. This is how we got into this mess in the first place.”
“Uh…” Startled, Feng Xin draws back and looks at him in confusion.
“The curse, Feng Xin.”
Feng Xin’s expression clears. “Oh. Right. Yes. The curse…”
“Did you forget the curse…?” he asks, incredulous.
Before Feng Xin can answer, they’re startled by Xie Lian calling them and their foreheads knock together in a painful thud.
“Y-Your Highness,” Feng Xin stammers into the communication array and Mu Qing is glad his own embarrassing shriek is not transmitted.
“We found the solution to your curse!” Xie Lian sounds proud. “Or well, solutions. Turns out, the organic way to break the curse is to hug it out. If you’re very close for long enough, the effect of the curse dissipates.” He makes a dramatic pause. “But for you guys, San Lang said it’s possible to rewrite the array. So you don’t have to…you know.”
“Uh…” Feng Xin says and Mu Qing elbows him in the ribs. Years of knowing Feng Xin make it clear what that tone means.
“Don’t you dare,” he hisses. “Let them rewrite the array.”
“Oh…but…?” The befuddled furrow of his eyebrows would look cute, if Feng Xin wasn’t about to do something stupid.
“Guys?” Xie Lian asks.
“You don’t need to rewrite it,” Feng Xin says bluntly and Mu Qing groans.
Xie Lian’s confused question rings in their ears. “We don’t need to…rewrite…?”
“No. We don’t need you to.” The firm response, coupled with the eyebrow raised in a challenge make Mu Qing want to hit him. Or kiss him. But first hit him. Which he does. And Feng Xin makes a noise between laughter and pain when Mu Qing’s fist meets his collarbone.
“You absolute buffoon.”
Feng Xin pulls him closer. “Think about it this way,” he says just for Mu Qing’s ears. “No one knows how the array will react to a rewrite when we already broke the curse. Better not risk it.”
“I hate when you make sense.” He sighs in surrender.
Xie Lian will no doubt be pleased but it will do little to save them from Crimson Rain’s barbed and mocking remarks. He can only hope to be given a little time to get used to their shifting relationship before it’s put to the test.
“If you’re sure…?” Xie Lian asks again, but the emphasis at the end makes it sound like a completely different question.
Mu Qing decides not to entertain the idea. “We’re sure. Goodnight, Your Highness.” And he severs the connection.
“See, was that so hard?” Grinning widely, Feng Xin cocks his eyebrow at him.
“You’re unbelievable. With your big mouth just now, wanna test if we’re still cursed?!” Because god help him if Feng Xin is wrong and they need to call Xie Lian and Crimson Rain back.
“Let’s test it tomorrow. We still haven’t gotten any sleep,” Feng Xin says and kisses his eyebrow. It shuts Mu Qing up long enough for Feng Xin to make a dive for the discarded blanket, pulling it over them in one fell swoop.
The weight of the blanket soothes some of his agitation. Surrounded by Feng Xin’s blanket and his arms, everything smells familiar. He doesn’t want to be angry right now. He wants– He doesn’t want to imagine having to get out of bed. There’s no telling how they’ll act towards each other when not confined to a bedroom where it’s just the two of them. Reality is much harsher and falling into old patterns is easier than trying to make it work.
“Fuck, Mu Qing, stop thinking.” Feng Xin hugs him close again, but Mu Qing wriggles around until he can press an open-mouthed kiss to Feng Xin’s lips.
“Make me!” he hisses and then gasps when Feng Xin nips at his bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. His lips feel rough and swollen when Feng Xin withdraws, but the nervous energy starts bleeding out of him.
“You’re a handful,” Feng Xin teases, reaching one hand up to stroke his cheek and Mu Qing allows himself to lean into it, to feel the touch in his whole body.
Briefly, he wonders how long it’ll take for him to grow used to touch, how long until the nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach won’t make his insides somersault when Feng Xin is close. He can’t imagine it being soon.
“Let’s just sleep. You wanted to sleep!” he says flustered and grabs the blanket. Pulling it up to his chin as he nestles into Feng Xin’s arms, ready to find out what it’ll feel like to fall asleep and wake up with their limbs tangled together.
Before he can doze off however, a gentle touch grazes the back of his hand, followed by fingers tracing over his palm.
Mu Qing hums and Feng Xin laces their fingers together.
With a stuttering breath, Mu Qing looks at their joined hands. The emotion welling up in him is too much and heat grows behind his eyes. It's still too early to believe this is something he can keep, something he'll be allowed to get used to with time. But god, he wants. He wants to see where they can go together if given the chance. He wants to see what kind of future they can have. He wants to be hopeful about this.
He squeezes Feng Xin’s hand firlmy in an answer, fingertips coming to rest between his knuckles. Warmth bleeds from their hands into Mu Qing’s body.
Ah, this is what it feels like, Mu Qing thinks and turns his face into Feng Xin’s chest.