Chapter Text
Feng Xin forces the battered white door open with a kick. The wood slams into the wall behind it and a shout rings out from within the fraternity house.
“Hey! Feng Xin! Is that you? If I catch you kicking the door in one more time, you’re going to be the one paying for it!” Feng Xin lifts his bags off of the ground with a sigh, loose sleeves of his white muscle shirt slipping off of his shoulders.
“Shi Qingxuan, long time no see,” he greets while waddling into the house. Shi Qingxuan flips him off and waves him into the hall. He passes her one of his bags and follows her further into the home. Both of his bags are balanced on their heads like a pair of fashionably ugly hats. Shi Qingxuan continues her seemingly mindless chatter.
“Pei Ming moved in last week; we soundproofed his room even more this year. A-Wen moved in a couple of days ago. Xie Lian and Ruoye got settled in yesterday. Quan Yizhen got here earlier this morning, just before you did,” she explains as they approach the living room. The four people mentioned are lounging on the L-shaped sofa.
Ruoye is wound around Xie Lian’s neck, flicking his tongue happily. Feng Xin and Shi Qingxuan drop the bags onto the tiled floor before plopping down on the couch with their friends. Feng Xin pointedly avoids sitting by Ruoye. The snake hisses at him.
“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian exclaims. His arms flail around wildly. “How have you been?” Feng Xin smiles at him.
“I’ve been-”
“Hey, dickhead! Move your bags!” follows the shout that startles him. Feng Xin’s head whips around to the doorway where Mu Qing is sprawled out on the floor. Feng Xin throws his head back in a laugh that rings from his chest. He pads across the floor and leans over Mu Qing with his hands on his hips.
“Y’know, Mu Qing, I hate to see you like this,” he remarks. Mu Qing scoffs.
“Like what?” he grumbles back at him. Feng Xin stifles a snicker.
“In person,” he replies. Mu Qing launches to his feet to tackle him. Feng Xin scrambles backward across the floor as Mu Qing throws him to the ground. Two roll around on the floor while the others laugh at them. The fight ends when Feng Xin pins Mu Qing down by his shoulders, huffing in each breath.
“I win,” he whispers quietly by Mu Qing’s ear. The ghost of Feng Xin’s breath by his face pulls a shiver up his spine. Mu Qing feels the tell-tale signs of a blush creeping up his neck. He sighs.
“I never said it was a competition,” he retorts. From his place on the floor, Mu Qing can see how Feng Xin’s chest rises and falls with each breath, and can feel the tension in the hands gripping his own body.
“Okay, losers, get off of the floor before you end up sweeping up all the dust with your clothes,” Ling Wen calls from the couch. Feng Xin coughs awkwardly and rolls off of Mu Qing, patting down his shorts idly. Mu Qing glares at Feng Xin before pushing himself to his feet.
“Why were your bags here anyway?” Mu Qing asks. Feng Xin crosses his arms.
“It’s not my fault! Shi Qingxuan brought me here to say hello to everyone first,” he argues. Mu Qing takes in a deep breath. The hours of driving to get here definitely did not help his temperament. His exhaustion highlights Feng Xin’s irritating personality.
“You know what, it’s fine. I’m going upstairs to put my bags away.” Mu Qing stands up on his toes to shout over Feng Xin’s shoulder. “I’ll come back down after I’m done.” Various shouts of ‘don’t die on your way up!’ follow him as he makes his way up the stairs.
Mu Qing passes the salt lamp in the hallway. When he turns the corner his mind blanks. There are two rooms right beside each other, one closer to Pei Ming’s. He was Pei Ming’s neighbor last year, wasn’t he? Mu Qing pauses. That couldn’t be right, he would have remembered. He turns the handle of the other door.
“Mu Qing!”
The shout stops him in his movement. He spins around to see Feng Xin running up the stairs with his bags on his head.
“Mu Qing! That’s my room!” he whines. Mu Qing pulls his hand away from the door.
“No, it isn’t,” he says without turning around. Feng Xin groans.
“Yes, it is! You were Pei Ming’s neighbor last year, remember?” Feng Xin asks when he approaches. His bags are dropped onto the floor. Mu Qing shakes his head, his hair whipping back and forth behind him.
“If I was Pei Ming’s neighbor I would’ve remembered the horrifying sounds coming from that room,” he refutes. He pushes open the door and tosses his bags in.
“Hey!”
Mu Qing scoffs.
“What are you gonna do, fight me?” he taunts. He has just enough time to take in the way Feng Xin’s face burns a bright red before Feng Xin lunges at him.
Feng Xin swings a kick behind Mu Qing to sweep him off his feet. He crashes into the carpet, the floor shaking underneath him. Feng Xin makes a mad dash for the room. Mu Qing catches him by the ankle and yanks him backward. Feng Xin stumbles and falls forward onto the floor.
“What the fuck!” he shouts when he sees Mu Qing flash by him. Feng Xin kicks his foot to stop the door from closing and locking him out.
“Why are you still here?” Mu Qing yells back at him. Feng Xin shouts a wild battle cry to charge at him when something catches the back of his shirt collar. He cranes his neck back to see.
“Ah?”
Ling Wen has him by the collar, looking pissed. She tugs him away from the doorway and Pei Ming runs into the room to drag Mu Qing out. Mu Qing’s irritation towards Feng Xin manifests as a pulsing, heavy, heat under his skin.
“You two haven’t even been here for an hour, how the hell have you already gotten into two fights?” she scolds. Feng Xin and Mu Qing deflate, their shoulders sagging.
“Sorry, Ling Wen,” they say in unison. She pats Feng Xin on the back. Ling Wen turns over her shoulder to shout at someone down the stairs.
“Quan Yizhen! Can you get the shirt from the hall closet?” Quan Yizhen, who apparently had been waiting at the base of the stairs, nods and runs off to another part of the house. Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s eyes widen.
“No!”
“Not the shirt!”
“Anything but the shirt!”
“Ling Wen, please!”
Ling Wen ignores their pleas and drags the two down the stairs and into the kitchen. Xie Lian is waiting by the dining table, cackling. Ruoye is coiled around his bicep, peering around at the commotion. Quan Yizhen stands next to him. He seems tired.
Xie Lian brings two chairs side-by-side to make a makeshift bench. Pei Ming and Ling Wen push Feng Xin and Mu Qing to sit down. Quan Yizhen throws an oversized piece of fabric at them.
“Do your thing, I’m not part of this,” he says. Feng Xin and Mu Qing groan loudly. They tug the shirt on over their heads, slipping one arm each through the sleeves.
“Our get along shirt” is scribbled on the front in big, blocky letters. The collar presses uncomfortably against their necks, stretched further than it should be. Xie Lian claps his hands together.
“Okay, boys! Five minutes of word chain and then you can take it off,” he says excitedly. Mu Qing frowns.
“Five minutes?” he asks. Xie Lian nods.
“Five minutes. It’s not that bad,” he replies. Feng Xin groans with the air of someone who took a high-school theatre class.
“Yeah, because you aren’t the one wearing the shirt,” he remarks. Ruoye hisses at him. He leans back, waving his free hand. “Okay, okay, fine.”
Mu Qing feels the brush of Feng Xin’s hand against the one he has resting on the chair. He jerks back towards himself.
“Green,” Mu Qing starts. Feng Xin’s brows furrow together.
“Negative,” he replies.
“Erratic.”
“You know what that word is?” Feng Xin asks, faking surprise. Mu Qing punches him under the shirt. “Crazy,” he says.
“Yearning,” Mu Qing replies.
“Hah, gay.”
“You don’t have to point it out,” Mu Qing says. Feng Xin groans.
“No, that’s my word. It’s your turn now,” he explains. Mu Qing hums in thought.
“Yellow,” he settles on.
The two bounce words back and forth for the remainder of the time until Xie Lian says they’re done. Feng Xin scrambles to tug the shirt off. He slips out from under the fabric and makes a break for the stairs again when Xie Lian stops him.
“Not so fast,” he says sardonically. “While you two were hanging out, Ling Wen and Pei Ming took the liberty of deciding your rooms.”
“Xie Lian!” Feng Xin shouts. Xie Lian shoos him upstairs. Mu Qing shrugs out of the shirt and follows Feng Xin.
Feng Xin freezes at the top of the stairs. Mu Qing pushes him aside to see which room he’s been assigned to. He immediately sighs in relief when he spots Feng Xin’s bright yellow bag in the room next to Pei Ming’s.
Mu Qing almost feels bad for Feng Xin. Almost. After all, it won’t be easy to focus on schoolwork when there are questionable sounds coming from the room right next door. On the flip side, Feng Xin is annoying and absolutely deserves this.
“Sucks to be you,” Mu Qing comments. “I hope Shi Qingxuan put more soundproofing in this year.”
“I-”
Mu Qing pats Feng Xin on the shoulder and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him. The bed already has sheets and pillows tossed onto it, all he has to do is straighten them out. He crouches down to open his bag, pulling out his clothes and arranging them into his closet. His school things get scattered onto the desk by the window.
When he’s finished organizing, Mu Qing steps out of his room at the same time as Feng Xin. Feng Xin glares at him before walking down the stairs. Mu Qing slides down the banister to the first floor. The cold tile sticks to his bare feet when he walks down the hall.
Xie Lian, Pei Ming, and Quan Yizhen have already slumped back onto the couch. Shi Qingxuan is perched on the armrest beside where Ling Wen is sitting. Xie Lian chews absent-mindedly on an empty can of Monster Energy. Ruoye is missing, probably back in his terrarium. In his place, Xie Lian has a white worm-on-a-string threaded through his ear piercing. Feng Xin and Mu Qing settle on opposite ends of the cushions. Everyone sits in a calm silence for a moment. Shi Qingxuan is the first to speak.
“Are you two unpacked?” Shi Qingxuan asks. Mu Qing nods. Feng Xin makes an inhuman sound of anguish.
“Shi Qingxuan, please tell me that the new soundproofing is effective,” he pleads. Shi Qingxuan holds her hands up, helpless. Pei Ming coughs awkwardly.
“We should get dinner! You know, to celebrate everyone coming back for the year,” he suggests. Hums of agreement float throughout the room.
“Where to?” Quan Yizhen asks. Before any argument can break out, Xie Lian swallows the rest of the metal can and pipes up.
“Denny’s!” he exclaims. Shi Qingxuan twists around to look at him.
“Xie Lian, what the fuck? It’s like, seven,” she says to him. Xie Lian shrugs.
“I feel gay,” he explains. Shi Qingxuan sighs along with everyone else.
“Fine, let’s go to Denny’s,” she acquiesces. Xie Lian cheers, his arms flailing around, and hops to his feet. Everyone pushes off of the couch and pads over to the door. Hands pat down pockets to check for wallets and keys are taken from the bright, orange, jack-o'lantern bowl by the front door. Crocs are slipped onto both bare and socked feet, the strap in front and behind the heel, depending on the person.
Shi Qingxuan pulls the door shut behind them and Pei Ming leads the way downtown. The September wind ripples through the fabric of their clothes. Mu Qing has to squint when he looks up at the setting sun. The group pauses to let Ling Wen climb up onto her girlfriend’s shoulders before continuing to skip down the sidewalk.
The closer they get to downtown, the more buildings are huddled together like sardines. Mu Qing lets himself take in the surroundings and zone out. He doesn’t notice the way that Feng Xin sprints ahead of him.
“Hey, Mu Qing!” Feng Xin calls. Mu Qing snaps back to attention, continuing to walk with the group.
“Huh?”
Mu Qing has a split second to try and stop himself before he walks into Feng Xin’s legs, his feet striking squarely against his chest. Feng Xin falls from his place perpendicular to the street sign, cackling.
“I can’t believe you fell for that! It’s your thing!” Feng Xin wheezes out between laughs. Mu Qing frowns.
During their freshman year, Mu Qing had started lifting himself onto poles just to trip Feng Xin when they were outside. It sours his mood a little, to have it thrown back at him, but more than anything he notices that Feng Xin can actually do it now.
Mu Qing had challenged him to try it when Feng Xin got fed up with tripping. At the time, his arms weren’t strong enough to hold his body weight at such an angle to the pole. Now, Feng Xin seems to have gotten stronger.
Feng Xin stands back up and Mu Qing’s eyes follow the lines of his shoulders. The muscle shirt he’s wearing does wonders to highlight his body. Feng Xin’s shoulders are wider than the last time Mu Qing saw him, and his arms have more definition.
His eyes trail down the rest of his back, down to the way that his calves flex when he walks, before flying back up. Even his jaw has a clean-cut line. The slope of Feng Xin’s nose is the same as the last time he saw him. A buzz settles into Mu Qing’s skin. He wants to know what about Feng Xin changed, but he can’t pinpoint why.
“Mu Qing?” Feng Xin asks. A hand waving in front of his face startles him out of his thoughts. “Mu Qing, were you checking me out?” he teases. It takes all of Mu Qing’s power to fight the flush that threatens to creep up his neck and ears. Was he?
“Did you work out over the summer?” Mu Qing asks instead. The tone comes out more accusatory than he means. “No homo,” he adds as an afterthought when he realizes he isn’t wearing socks.
“I did, actually. I’ve been getting back into archery,” Feng Xin comments. ”Your biceps are looking good, too.” He flexes his arms as the group approaches the restaurant. Mu Qing blanks at the image of Feng Xin pulling back a bowstring in the summer heat, the cord pulled back to his cheek with a shine of sweat on his skin.
“Okay, losers, we’re here,” Ling Wen says. She clambers down from her spot on Shi Qingxuan’s shoulders and pushes open the door. The waitress ushers them into a large booth made of a vinyl fabric that will definitely stick to their legs.
“Can you guys order for me?” Pei Ming asks. The group nods silently. Pei Ming leaves to use the bathroom. While he’s gone, Shi Qingxuan orders him a kid’s menu spaghetti dish. The rest of the orders are taken quickly. Drinks and their nacho appetizer slide onto the table. Pei Ming returns.
“So,” Xie Lian starts.
“So,” Shi Qingxuan parrots him. They cackle hysterically, wheezing breaths taken between shoulder-shaking laughs.
“What has everyone been up to this summer? Feng Xin, how’re things with Jian Lan?” Xie Lian asks like an old man asking about his son’s dating life. Feng Xin’s face falls a little. Others might not have noticed, but Mu Qing spots the drop in the atmosphere.
“Ah,” Feng Xin takes a sip of his vanilla milkshake. “We, uh, we broke up.” Xie Lian’s face changes from content curiosity to horror to something apologetic.
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry that happened, dude,” Xie Lian starts to ramble. Feng Xin cuts him off with a shake of his head, a sad smile on his face.
“It ended on good terms. She came out to me as lesbian. We had a really long talk about it and, yeah, it kinda sucks but also I’m glad she was comfortable enough to tell me, you know?”
The table all nods together in silent agreement.
“Still,” Mu Qing says. “That’s rough, buddy.” Feng Xin waves him off.
“Let’s change the subject, I don’t want this dinner to get too sad. Mu Qing, my favorite idiot, how was your summer?” Feng Xin points at him with a limp straw wrapper. Mu Qing narrows his eyes at it.
“Mediocre,” he replies, because it’s true.
During his first year living at the frat house, Shi Qingxuan had lamented about a hoodie design she found on an online store. She would have bought it if not for the price. Mu Qing took one look at it, decided “fuck capitalism,” and made one for her that fit her measurements better than any store bought outfit. Since then, he’s been making custom clothing for people under the name Fu Yao.
Mu Qing spent most of the summer working on clothes, so saying his vacation was only average technically wasn’t a lie. The only other major thing he did was work out, but that isn’t a vacation event to brag about. Feng Xin sticks his tongue out at him.
“Bleh, only one word? Come on, give me more than that,” Feng Xin whines. Mu Qing glares at him.
“Very mediocre.”
Feng Xin opens his mouth to speak but the arrival of their food interrupts him. Their waitress sets the plates down in front of them; Pei Ming gets his kid’s meal spaghetti, Mu Qing has a veggie skillet, Feng Xin gets the lumberjack slam with fries because that’s the type of person he is, Shi Qingxuan and Xie Lian split a stack of cinnamon roll pancakes, Quan Yizhen has hash browns, and Ling Wen has a chicken burrito.
The first minutes of their meal are silent, scattered with the sound of cutlery against ceramic dishes and various chewing noises. Then, Feng Xin looks away to say something to Pei Ming. Mu Qing takes the chance to carry out an extremely carefully timed mission.
He waits until Feng Xin is completely turned away. When his head passes 90 degrees, Mu Qing’s hand shoots out to snatch a french fry from Feng Xin’s plate. A flawless start. Feng Xin is yet to notice, still engrossed in conversation.
The mistake comes when Mu Qing is pulling his hand back. In his haste to take the food, he brushed against a spare butter knife, which is now precariously balanced against the edge of the table. When he pulls his hand back, his elbow knocks against the knife. It bounces off of the seat and clatters to the floor, startling Feng Xin. Mu Qing quickly shoves the fry into his mouth. Feng Xin whips around to face him.
“What did you do?” he asks slowly. Mu Qing shrugs. Feng Xin’s eyes narrow as he focuses on the way that Mu Qing is chewing while facing him. “Did you steal one of my fries?”
Mu Qing stays completely silent, staring right into Feng Xin’s eyes. He’s still chewing the potato wedge. Feng Xin glares at him to match.
Mu Qing can’t help but notice how long Feng Xin’s lashes are. They curl upwards to highlight the shine in his eyes. They would probably brush against his cheek if he were looking down.
There’s a crease between Feng Xin’s brow that wasn’t there before. Mu Qing almost starts to reach a hand out to smooth it down before he stops himself. Feng Xin is his friend. Besides, they’re in public, and only one of them is wearing socks today.
The staring contest stretches on and the food grows cold. The others at the table choose to ignore them. At one point, they tried to stop Feng Xin and Mu Qing from “fighting” like this. Their efforts were futile. At least they aren’t shouting and trashing the place.
“Holy shit!”
“Huh?” Mu Qing and Feng Xin break away to turn towards Xie Lian. His phone is clutched in his free hand, thumb poised and ready to tap at a moment’s notice.
“He’s so tall,” Xie Lian muses wistfully. Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
“Who is?” he asks. He leans over the table to get a better look at the screen. What meets his eyes is… startling.
Xie Lian’s phone is open to Tinder, displaying the profile of someone named Hua Cheng. The photo is definitely something; a shirtless photo of this person’s torso with their face out of frame. Their profile description simply says “6’3”.
“The only thing you know about him is his height,” Mu Qing points out. He takes a closer look at the photo. “His ass is probably flat.”
“Yeah, but at this point that’s all I need to swipe right,” Xie Lian comments. Mu Qing throws a sugar packet at him. Xie Lian swats it away without tearing his eyes from the screen.
“Why haven’t you swiped yet?” he asks. Xie Lian pouts.
“I was going to but then you distracted me,” he huffs. He swipes his thumb across the screen and sets his phone down on the table to lean on his hand.
“When did you download Tinder, anyway?” Feng Xin asks through a mouthful of fries. Xie Lian pushes the vegetables left on his plate around with his fork.
“A couple weeks ago. I’m so lonely, you feel?” he muses. Feng Xin scoffs.
“Didn’t you like, sign a virginity card for free pizza in high school?” Quan Yizhen points out. Xie Lian flushes a bright pink. Ling Wen chokes on her water. Shi Qingxuan rubs her back and presses a kiss to her temple.
“You did what?” Pei Ming asks between laughs.
“Th-That’s! Ugh! Shut up!” Xie Lian sputters and hides his face with his hands. Ling Wen claps a hand onto his shoulder.
“Nothing to be ashamed about, high school was a wild time for all of us,” she reassures him. Quan Yizhen nods solemnly.
“At least you’re not like Pei Ming,” he comments.
“Hey!”
A bubbly ringtone halts their conversation. All eyes fly towards Xie Lian’s phone, which is now lit up with a notification from Tinder. Xie Lian blinks.
“How many people did you swipe right on?” Pei Ming asks.
“Just one,” Xie Lian responds. He stays silent for a moment. He gasps. “It’s him!” He grabs his phone, tapping in the passcode with practiced ease. Pei Ming leans over the table to see the screen.
“Hey, Dianxia?” he reads aloud. “Why dianxia?” A smile pulls across Xie Lian’s face.
“It’s because of my bio, I think,” he explains. “I have it set as ‘looking for someone to treat me like the king I am,’ with a winking face next to it.” Everyone at the table sighs. Of course, Xie Lian would put something like that on his profile.
“Well? Reply to him!” Ling Wen reprimands. Xie Lian types furiously into his phone before handing it to Ling Wen.
“‘Are you really as tall as you say?’ Really? That’s what you ask?” Ling Wen comments. Xie Lian holds his hands up.
“I panicked! Besides, he’s really tall if it's true,” Xie Lian sighs. “He’s so pretty.” Mu Qing’s brows furrow together.
“You haven’t even seen his face,” Mu Qing says. Xie Lian throws the sugar packet back at him. The phone chimes with a message.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Xie Lian exclaims. The group hunches over the table to watch the events unfold.
The newest message is a photo from Hua Cheng, shirtless again, but this time it’s a mirror photo taken standing up. The black pants he has on look uncomfortably tight and the thigh-high stilettos are a dangerous pair. Another message pops up: “Yes ;).”
“Shi Qingxuan, get me a glass of water. I fear I may faint from homosexuality,” Xie Lian confesses and puts a hand to his forehead before falling slowly onto her. Shi Qingxuan snickers and shoves him back upright. He prepares to type out a response when he freezes.
“Huh?”
“What? What happened?” Shi Qingxuan asks. Xie Lian’s face falls a little.
“He was so tall and pretty, too,” Xie Lian laments. “Does it always end like this?”
“Lemme see,” Ling Wen says. Xie Lian’s eyes widen and he holds the phone close to his chest.
“No! It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he reassures. He sighs. “But he was so tall, Ling Wen. Six feet! That’s so tall. That’s like, as tall as the door at the house.”
“We get it. He’s tall,” Mu Qing says. Xie Lian shoots him a glare. Mu Qing sighs. If Xie Lian was already this annoying when he was flirting, how irritating would he be once he actually started dating someone?
“What happened, though?” Feng Xin asks. Xie Lian huffs a breath to blow the stray pieces of hair from his face.
“I got unmatched,” he replies. Xie Lian lays his head down on the table. “It sucks, he was so tall and pretty. Probably was a super interesting person too.”
“Xie Lian, I love you,” Ling Wen starts. Xie Lian beams, the smile pushing his cheeks up. “But please, for the sake of the rest of us, shut up about how tall he is. We get it. He is tall. Absolute tree. A beanpole. Whatever the opposite of a manlet is.”
Xie Lian gasps loudly and feigns hurt, clutching a hand over his heart.
“Ling Wen! How could you?” he asks incredulously. “I treasured you as one of my closest friends, and then you turn around and do this to me.” While he’s acting, Ling Wen reaches for his phone.
Xie Lian breaks out of his drama when he notices her hand moving. He snatches one end just as Ling Wen reaches the other.
“Xie Lian, give me the phone,” she commands, tugging it towards her. Xie Lian shakes his head.
“No! I won’t!”
Mu Qing lunges across the table to pry Xie Lian’s fingers off of the device. Xie Lian shrieks when Mu Qing’s hand touches him.
“Mu Qing! No!”
Mu Qing ignores him and wrestles the phone out of his hands, tossing it to Ling Wen. She swiftly taps through the screen and hands it back to Xie Lian.
“Thank you Ling-” he stops talking when he looks at the screen. “Ling Wen! You deleted my Tinder? He could’ve been my one true love!” Xie Lian leans over Shi Qingxuan to shake Ling Wen by the shoulders. Ling Wen’s head rattles back and forth like a bobblehead toy.
“Can I take your plates?”
The party freezes. Their waitress, bless her heart, smiles at them with a hint of exhaustion. Xie Lian and Ling Wen nod dumbly, everyone follows after them. The waitress stacks the plates and swiftly sets a check down in its place.
Quan Yizhen scribbles down his name and tucks his card into the checkbook. The waitress swings back around to take the leather folder and sets it back down once they’ve paid.
“So…”
“So…”
“Ice cream?” Pei Ming suggests. The group climbs out of the booth and skips out the door. Shi Qingxuan is on Ling Wen’s shoulders this time when they start the journey to the ice cream parlor a few blocks down.
Xie Lian’s brain apparently decides this is the perfect moment to remember what happened in the restaurant.
“Ling Wen! Why did you delete my Tinder?” he wails, trying to shake her once more. Shi Qingxuan smacks him upside the head.
“Stop shaking her or I’m going to fall,” she scolds. Xie Lian whines.
“Ling Wen!”
“You seem so hung up on this whole thing,” she muses. Xie Lian opens his mouth to explain but Ling Wen continues talking. “If you were so interested in him, answer me this. What was his name?”
Xie Lian blinks.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“His name,” Ling Wen repeats herself. “What was it?”
“Um, you know, it started with an S-”
“An H,” Ling Wen corrects.
“Right! Of course! An H. It was Han? Hye?”
Mu Qing sighs. At this rate, the fight would go on for hours.
“Just admit that you don’t remember his name, Xie Lian,” he suggests. Xie Lian groans.
“Fine! I don’t remember his name! I just thought he was hot. And he called me Dianxia! No one else does that!” Xie Lian rambles. Quan Yizhen interrupts him.
“Literally everyone at this school calls you Dianxia, King of Frat Boys,” he says. Xie Lian sputters.
“It’s different! Besides, Ling Wen, you seem confident about his name. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what it is?” he asks, batting his lashes towards her.
“No. Also, batting your lashes won’t work on me. I’m a lesbian,” she declines. Xie Lian whines again.
The sky shifts from a deep orange to a warm violet. The wind has settled for ruffling their hair instead of whipping the fabric of their clothes. Mu Qing turns to his left where Feng Xin is. The sunset casts a gold vignette over his face and highlights his cheekbones. Feng Xin huffs a breath at the stray pieces of hair in his face.
“Ling Wen, do you have a hair tie I can use?” he asks her, shaking his head like a dog to keep his hair from sticking to his mouth. Ling Wen shoots one in his direction and Feng Xin catches it between his teeth.
He reaches up to gather his chin-length hair into a ponytail, exposing the shaved part underneath. Mu Qing forgets to breathe when the back-and-forth twisting of the elastic shows a ripple in Feng Xin’s muscles.
He turns away before he can think too much of it, facing the street and the approaching ice cream shop.
The bell chimes when the door is pushed, the store still open even at sundown.
“Same as last time?” Mu Qing asks Feng Xin. Feng Xin scoffs.
“Do you even remember what we ordered?” he challenges. Mu Qing shrugs.
“Double scoop of mint chocolate chip on a waffle cone, because you like the crunch,” Mu Qing replies easily. Feng Xin glares at him.
“Ew, who likes mint chocolate chip? Mu Qing, your memory’s gotten rusty. I actually have taste, so I order chocolate,” he argues, crossing his arms and pointedly turning away from him. Mu Qing turns to the cashier.
“One double scoop of mint chocolate chip on a waffle cone, please,” he orders. Feng Xin starts to object but falls silent when Mu Qing exchanges cash for the cone and holds it in front of Feng Xin’s face.
“Do you want it first?” Mu Qing asks. Feng Xin leans forward to bite a chunk out of the top scoop. Xie Lian watches in horror as Feng Xin smiles, unaffected by the temperature of the dessert. Mu Qing takes a bite out of the other side of the ice cream.
The others go through their orders relatively quickly. Paper cups are tossed into the trash alongside tiny plastic spoons. The sky turns to a deep blue and the cold chill of the air settles onto their skin. When heading home, Mu Qing definitely does not think about how soft Feng Xin’s hair looks.
---
The first day of classes passes by in a blur. In the morning, Mu Qing wakes up to the whirring sound of a fog machine running. Feng Xin and Pei Ming somehow filled his entire room with fake fog without killing him, their motives unknown. His morning classes, which he immediately regrets taking, whizz by in a flurry of syllabus papers to review. By the time the clock strikes twelve, Ling Wen sends him a text to meet in the courtyard for lunch.
Mu Qing jogs into the concrete square of the courtyard with a cafeteria salad container in his hand. Ling Wen is stretched out next to Shi Qingxuan and Pei Ming on a picnic blanket. Feng Xin is huddled at the corner of the fabric, his shoes toed off to keep the blanket in place.
“Mu Qing!” Shi Qingxuan exclaims. She throws her arm outs as a greeting and smacks Pei Ming’s face in the process.
“Hi,” he says plainly and sits down on the blanket. The plastic lid of his salad comes off with a creak. Mu Qing stabs his fork into the lettuce. There’s no dressing, because shaking a salad to coat it with dressing is dumb.
“You’ll never believe what happened,” Ling Wen starts. Mu Qing leans in. Whenever Ling Wen has information it’s bound to be something interesting.
“Remember how we deleted Xie Lian’s Tinder because he wouldn’t shut up about how tall his match was?” she asks. Mu Qing nods. “Xie Lian has class with him but he doesn’t know that he’s his Tinder match.”
Mu Qing chokes on a cherry tomato.
“How?” he asks, his voice raspy. Ling Wen shrugs.
“Xie Lian is Xie Lian. Tinder boy has the late-morning library shift with me. His name is actually Hua Cheng but he told Xie Lian to call him San Lang for some reason,” she explains. She pauses to take a sip of her water. “I think that nickname is only for Xie Lian, though. I tried to call him that and he almost punched me. He Xuan, the third person on our shift, had to stop him.”
“He had tall, lace-up, high-heel boots on today. And I mean like, really tall, they went up to his mid thigh,” Ling Wen continues. “We were talking at work and he’s all ‘I even called him Dianxia and he didn’t recognize me!’” She makes a pouty face and warbles her voice to poke fun at Hua Cheng.
“Does he know that Xie Lian is literally called ‘Dianxia, King of Frat Boys’ as a title?” Mu Qing asks, folding the plastic fork to fit inside the now-empty salad container. Ling Wen hums.
“He does now,” she replies. “I smacked him with the cold, hard truth that Xie Lian is kinda dumb sometimes.” Mu Qing nods. He knows how Xie Lian is wonderfully oblivious to the many wonders of shitty flirting.
“You know what’s even funnier?” Ling Wen asks, pointing the straw of her plastic water cup at them. “He thought Xie Lian was straight.”
Feng Xin wheezes.
“How?”
“Apparently the day that you and Mu Qing moved in, Hua Cheng saw Xie Lian eating a can of Monster and just decided that he was straight,” Ling Wen says. “He unmatched him because he panicked or something.”
Mu Qing sighs. Of course it would be Xie Lian who ends up in this type of situation.
“We should set them up,” Pei Ming suggests. Feng Xin slaps him.
“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Do you realize how annoying they would be as a couple? Do you?” he points an accusatory finger at Pei Ming. Pei Ming shrugs, unaffected.
“It would be funny, though. Besides, they like each other and at this rate it’s never going to happen,” he counters with raised brows. Feng Xin flits through a variety of facial expressions which include but are not limited to: dropped jaw, pursed lip pout, a smile which resembles a frog, and finally concession. Mu Qing does not think it’s cute. Definitely not.
“Fine, but if they get annoying I’m allowed to fight Hua Cheng,” Feng Xin compromises.
“Oh, go nuts on that one. Hua Cheng has twig arms and no ass, you’d throw him through a wall just by pushing him,” Ling Wen agrees.
The five of them sit in tranquil silence at their finalized plan. Shi Qingxuan is blowing bubbles with her gum, each pop resonating around the circle. The atmosphere gets broken when the tap, tap, tapping of high heels approaches.
“Hello.”
Mu Qing snaps back to reality to see a woman with long black hair standing at the edge of the blanket.
“Um, my name is Xuan Ji. I just wanted to say that you’re really pretty and I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime?” she asks, looking in Ling Wen’s direction.
Ling Wen points at herself in a ‘Me?’ gesture. Xuan Ji nods.
“Ah, I’m already with someone,” Ling Wen replies and slings an arm over Shi Qingxuan’s shoulder.
“Oh! You two seem very happy together,” Xuan Ji says with a smile.
“Xuan Ji, right?” Pei Ming speaks up. Xuan Ji nods. “If you’re interested you could always come back to my place...”
Xuan Ji shakes her head, “No, thank you for the offer, though.” Pei Ming gasps dramatically.
“I am flabbergasted!” he exclaims. Shi Qingxuan tackles him.
“You aren’t entitled to a woman’s time, dipshit!” she shouts and shoves Pei Ming off of the blanket. Feng Xin watches the fight for a moment before remembering they left Xuan Ji standing there awkwardly.
“Xuan Ji,” he says to get her attention. “If you’re open to it, I could give you my friend’s number?” Xuan Ji lights up.
“Really! That would be great!” she replies and crouches down to get the number from Feng Xin. Feng Xin taps Jian Lan’s number into a blank contact with a little ghost emoji by her name.
“Thanks! I’ll leave you guys alone, now. I’ll see you around?” she asks Feng Xin.
Feng Xin smiles. “Sure.”
Xuan Ji skips off back to wherever she came from, a light bounce in her step. Mu Qing finishes his salad and twists the plastic fork to fit inside the container. Shi Qingxuan is the first to speak after Xuan Ji disappears.
“I have the best idea.”
Oh no.
“We should make a book club but for Hua Cheng and Xie Lian,” she says with a grin. Ling Wen gives her a deadpan look.
“A-Xuan, Xie Lian can’t read and I’m not sure Hua Cheng knows how to either,” she counters. Shi Qingxuan pouts.
“That’s not what I meant! I mean we should get together every week to talk about how we’re going to set those two idiots up,” Shi Qingxuan explains. Her hands move wildly to punctuate her message.
“It isn’t a bad idea,” Mu Qing agrees after taking a sip of bitter green tea from his water bottle. He shouldn’t take what Xie Lian makes in the morning, next time.
“It really isn’t,” Feng Xin adds. Mu Qing glares at him.
“Wow, actually agreeing with me for once? Damn, who hurt you?” Mu Qing teases. Feng Xin lunges at him but Ling Wen kicks her foot out to stop him.
“Don’t make me get the shirt.”
“Sorry, Ling Wen,” they respond in unison. Pei Ming laughs awkwardly.
“Uh, yeah! We should totally do the book club thing,” he says to dissolve the hostile air forming between Feng Xin and Mu Qing. Ling Wen pushes to stand up, her knees popping with the motion.
“Great, it’s settled then,” she concludes while patting invisible dust off of her thighs. She leans down to press a kiss to Shi Qingxuan’s forehead. “I’m going to go to class now, y’all probably should too.” Ling Wen slings her bag onto her shoulder and walks off.
“Shoo,” Shi Qingxuan waves the three men off of the blanket, tugging it from the floor to fold into a neat square. Feng Xin’s shoes roll off the fabric. He scrambles to slip them back on.
“I’ll be going too, then,” Mu Qing says and lifts his bag off the ground. “I’ll see you back at the house.” He walks back towards the main building.
This is going to be a long year, isn’t it.
---
By the time that Mu Qing emerges from his bedroom at night, the sun has long since fallen below the horizon line. The first day of classes had him reviewing syllabus papers, skimming through preliminary readings, and paying for additional, over-priced supplies on top of his already expensive tuition.
The lights by the stairs cast a warm, yellow glow into the house as Mu Qing makes his way to the first floor. He’s hungry, tired, thirsty, and feeling extremely impulsive. He walks into the kitchen to see Feng Xin turned to the stove.
“What’re you making?” Mu Qing asks, peeking over Feng Xin’s shoulder. Feng Xin swats him away with his left hand, his right holding a pair of tongs.
“Salmon. Yes, there is enough for you. Now scoot. Go set the table or something,” he pushes back against Mu Qing’s chest.
Mu Qing flits around the kitchen to grab placemats and utensils. He arranges them neatly on the grey dining table, making sure to flip one of Feng Xin’s chopsticks around to piss him off. His devious scheming is interrupted by a shout from the living room.
“Ow! Fuck!”
Mu Qing peers around the corner of the hallway. There’s a skateboard taped to the lower half of a swivel chair, slowly losing momentum as it spins around sadly. Pei Ming has one hand clenching his chest and the other pressed against his nose. Xie Lian’s hands are lifted to his mouth in shock.
“You guys okay in there?” he asks cautiously. The two nod, Pei Ming wincing more than Xie Lian.
“We built a skateboard chair,” Xie Lian explains. “Pei Ming was spinning on it and he slammed into the wall face-first.”
“I’m fine, though! Don’t worry about me,” Pei Ming interjects. Mu Qing nods silently and slowly backs away into the kitchen.
Feng Xin is plating, now. Pieces of asparagus sit on white plates beside potato wedges and under the piece of salmon. He slides the plates onto the placemats and motions for Mu Qing to sit down.
“Thanks,” Mu Qing says before eating. Feng Xin nods and picks up his chopsticks. He frowns.
“Mu Qing,”
“Yes?”
“You know it’s annoying when you turn one of them around,” Feng Xin whines.
“I am aware,” Mu Qing replies, biting into a potato wedge. It’s delicious, unsurprisingly. Feng Xin has always been the best cook in the house. Mu Qing finishes his dinner quickly enough so that he can avoid Feng Xin’s wrath at full strength but takes enough time to savor the flavor. He washes and dries his dishes and scrambles back upstairs.
His hands itch with the need to do something that isn’t work. Mu Qing finds nothing of use in his room, everything in there only for function and not really entertainment. He would scrounge around Pei Ming or Feng Xin’s room, but Feng Xin is already annoyed and Pei Ming is… Pei Ming.
Mu Qing opens and shuts cabinets mindlessly. Wandering around the hallway doesn’t yield anything. He opens the door to the bathroom. Ling Wen dyed her hair last year, right? Maybe there was some left. Mu Qing closes the door and gets to work.
“Why the hell are you sitting in an empty bathtub with piss-yellow hair?”
The interrogation snaps Mu Qing out of his half-asleep state. He blinks at the brightness of the light when it’s turned on.
“It’s not piss-yellow,” Mu Qing counters. Feng Xin scoffs.
“It is, let me fix it,” Feng Xin reaches his hands towards Mu Qing’s head. Mu Qing swats them away to no avail. Feng Xin pins his hands down against the cold bathtub.
“It’s just two front pieces, right? If I fuck it up, I’ll pay for you to get it redone,” Feng Xin says, leaning away from the tub to grab the purple shampoo. He works a generous amount into Mu Qing’s hair. “Don’t touch it for ten minutes.”
Mu Qing sighs.
Feng Xin ignores him and looks around in the cabinet under the sink. There’s a small tub of blue hair dye from when Ling Wen bought it last year, and the expiration date hasn’t reached yet.
“Mu Qing? How do you feel about blue hair?” he asks. Mu Qing shrugs.
“Won’t it turn green? According to you, my hair looks ‘piss-yellow’.”
Feng Xin groans.
“I put purple shampoo in your hair so it won’t do that, dumbass,” he replies. Feng Xin checks the time on his phone. It’s been just a little over 9 minutes, but it’s probably fine to wash it off now.
“Get out of the tub and lean your head forward,” he instructs, pulling Mu Qing onto the floor. Mu Qing tips his head forward, his neck resting at an awkward angle against the edge of the tub. The undyed part stays pulled back in his ponytail, only the front two pieces flopping into the shower.
Feng Xin turns the water on and washes the shampoo out of Mu Qing’s hair. It’s less yellow, now, and taking on a slightly purple sheen. He turns off the water and slips on a pair of gloves he found with the dye.
His hands work quickly, running the dye up and down the strands on either side of Mu Qing’s face. When he feels he’s applied enough, Feng Xin grabs a couple of fallen bobby pins from the tiled floor and secures the blue pieces into two, tiny, discs at the front of Mu Qing’s head.
“We have like, twenty minutes to wait. It’s getting late now, too. You can sleep if you want, I’ll wake you up when it’s done,” Feng Xin suggests. Mu Qing nods lethargically and leans back against Feng Xin. Feng Xin’s shoulders tense up.
This isn’t what he meant. Mu Qing could have put his head in his arms against the edge of the tub. Feng Xin realizes now that this is likely the most comfortable position Mu Qing can take in this space.
He sighs. All he can do is wait.
The 20 minutes pass fairly quickly, with Feng Xin also dipping in and out of sleep. He doesn’t even know why he decided to fix Mu Qing’s hair. Something about it was irritating, he supposes. He gently shakes Mu Qing’s shoulders.
“Mu Qing?”
“Mm?”
Feng Xin laughs at the bleary hum.
“Come on, we have to wash the dye out now,” he says, pushing Mu Qing back towards the shower.
“Okay,” he mumbles and leans forward onto the tub again. The water changes from bright blue, to a pastel shade, and finally runs clear. Feng Xin pats Mu Qing’s hair dry and frees the rest from the ponytail. Mu Qing shakes his hair to loosen it up. He turns to the mirror.
“It’s… not bad, actually,” Mu Qing vocalizes his thoughts in a sleep-addled voice. The two pieces frame his face nicely and make him look like those influencers on the internet who wear sharp eyeliner and heavy blush. He nods at himself in the mirror.
“You need sleep, it’s late,” Feng Xin tells him, and leads him back to his room to make sure he doesn’t trip. He says a quick ‘goodnight’ and flops onto his own bed.
His heartbeat doesn’t slow down.
---
The smell of sweat fills Mu Qing’s senses when he walks into the martial arts club’s practice room. Mats are already set up on the floor, edges perfectly lined up. Xie Lian is in the process of throwing Feng Xin to the ground.
“You’re still losing to Xie Lian?” Mu Qing taunts as he walks up to where Feng Xin is splayed out on the mat. Feng Xin glares up at him.
“Fuck you.”
“At least say ‘no homo’ after it,” Mu Qing replies. Feng Xin sticks his tongue out at him before pushing himself back onto his feet.
“Mu Qing! You’re here!” Xie Lian greets and fist bumps him.
“I had work to finish, you know how it is,” he replies. Xie Lian nods solemnly. The first week of a new year is almost as rough as midterms and finals.
“You’re staying until we close up, right?” Xie Lian asks. Mu Qing hums. “Great! Let’s get started then.”
The hour of practice passes in a blur. Mu Qing’s muscles burn afterwards and his shoulders heave with each breath.
After Feng Xin throws Mu Qing to the floor for the final time, he pulls him to his feet. Xie Lian starts to roll up the mats.
Mu Qing rolls the ones on the other side and passes them to Feng Xin, who waddles into the storage room and stacks them. Mu Qing stretches out his arms.
“Shit!” Feng Xin hisses. Mu Qing rushes into the storage room.
Feng Xin’s hand is facing palm-side up, his other one gripping his wrist. A red streak blooms across the center of his palm.
“What happened?” Mu Qing asks as he rushes over to inspect the wound. It’s shallow enough to heal in a couple days, but it still needs to be bandaged.
“The shelf had a sharp edge when I was moving it to make room for the mats,” Feng Xin explains. Mu Qing leads Feng Xin to the main room and swipes the first aid kit on the way out.
Mu Qing sits cross-legged on the floor, tugging Feng Xin down with him. He takes Feng Xin’s injured hand into his own.
“This is going to hurt.”
“Wha- FUCK!”
Feng Xin winces when Mu Qing presses an alcohol wipe onto his skin. He bites down on his lip to muffle any other sounds. Mu Qing swipes on ointment and wraps a bandage around his hand. He pats the back of Feng Xin’s hand when he’s finished.
“Okay, I’m done. Can you or Xie Lian lock up? I need to finish my work,” he asks. He rises to his feet and grabs his bag from its place by the door.
Feng Xin watches Mu Qing’s silhouette disappear around the corner of the hall.
—-
Mu Qing’s hands freeze above his keyboard. The screen of his laptop is dark and none of his work was saved in the last hour.
He presses the power button a few times, holding it down briefly between each press. The screen stubbornly stays blank.
Shit.
His computer has always been picky. When enrolling in college, he didn’t have enough money to invest in an expensive computer like Xie Lian or Pei Ming (though Pei Ming probably uses his for… other things). It lasted this long, so he can’t complain too much. Still, none of his work is saved and he’ll have to restart his assignments. Maybe Feng Xin can fix his laptop; it’s been a few days since the incident at practice and his hand should be healed by now.
Mu Qing unplugs his laptop from its charger and walks next door to Feng Xin’s room. He opens the door abruptly.
“Feng Xin, can you fix my laptop for me?”
Feng Xin jumps in his desk chair. He swivels around and glares at Mu Qing.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“I have to restart three assignments because my computer is shit, can you fix it?” Mu Qing repeats his question. Feng Xin sighs.
“I can, but that doesn’t mean I will,” he says and checks the time on his phone. Feng Xin grabs his bag from the floor and pushes past Mu Qing. “I’m running late for work. Find someone else to do it.”
Mu Qing sighs. He’ll have to go to the campus center, then.
He jogs down the stairs and says a quick ‘goodbye’ to whoever is in the house. He hops into his car and drives the 7 minutes it takes to get to campus.
He pushes open the door to the campus center quietly.
“Hi, welcome in, what can I help you with?”
The voice is familiar.
The person at the desk looks up.
It’s Feng Xin.
Honestly, Mu Qing should have known that Feng Xin would be here when he said that he was going to work. Mu Qing feigns a passive-aggressive smile and approaches the desk.
“Hi, my computer shut down abruptly. Can you fix it?” he asks, setting the laptop onto the counter. Feng Xin glares at him.
“Fine, give me a few minutes,” Feng Xin grumbles. He takes the laptop off of the desk and unscrews the cover on the back. He fiddles with the parts (Mu Qing doesn’t even know what they’re called), closes the cover, and turns it back on. The screen jumps to life with a white glow and opens to the desktop screen.
“Here,” Feng Xin says, handing the computer back to Mu Qing. “Don’t break it again.”
“I’ll do my best,” Mu Qing replies and walks out of the campus center. He drives back home in tranquil silence. When he gets back to the house, he rushes upstairs to try and recover all of his corrupted files.
He feels like he blacks out and wakes up to finished assignments at 3 AM. Mu Qing can’t complain, though. At least his work is done.
Mu Qing hops into the shower and stares in horror at the bottle of dish soap that Xie Lian leaves in there to wash his face with. He goes through his meticulous eleven-step skin care routine before slipping on a pair of comfortable shorts. No shirt, because of the towel slung around his shoulders to catch any dripping water.
He flops down onto his bed to try and get a reasonable amount of sleep when he remembers he never thanked Feng Xin for fixing his computer. Mu Qing groans before peeling himself from his sheets. He pads sleepily over to Feng Xin’s room, knocking this time before opening the door.
The room is empty.
Mu Qing sighs. Maybe Feng Xin went downstairs for a midnight snack or something. He slides down the banister of the stairs to the first floor.
Mu Qing is immediately hit with the smell of food cooking in the kitchen. He walks around the corner with light footsteps so as to not disturb whoever is still downstairs at this hour. When he turns the corner, he sees Feng Xin at the stove, shirtless with an apron on.
Music is playing from the Google Home Mini in the kitchen. Feng Xin sways back and forth while adding ingredients to whatever he’s cooking in the pot.
“Are you really listening to fucking Mozart at three in the morning?” Mu Qing asks, walking up to Feng Xin. Feng Xin whirls around and glares at him. His apron has the words ‘I hope my HUGE KNOCKERS don’t get in the way of cooking’ written on it.
“It’s not Mozart, it’s Bach. Get it right,” he replies. Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sarcastically.
“You should be,” Feng Xin comments. Mu Qing sighs. Even at the late hours of the night, Feng Xin is still as irritating as ever.
“Why did I come here?” Mu Qing asks rhetorically.
“Yeah, why did you come here?” Feng Xin questions. Mu Qing runs his hand through his damp hair. Oh, right. The laptop.
“I wanted to thank you for fixing my computer. So, yeah. Thanks,” he says, fighting the flush that threatens to creep up his neck.
“Of course,” Feng Xin replies. “Think of it as me returning the favor for when you bandaged up my hand. Besides, we’re f-f-friends, aren’t we?” he asks with a grin.
“That was one time Feng Xin! I stuttered one time!”
Feng Xin laughs and turns back to his food, cracking an egg into the pot. Mu Qing looks down to see a remarkably complex ramen, topped with canned tuna and the freshly cracked egg. Feng Xin is still swaying to the music as he waits for the ramen to cook.
“Mu Qing?” Feng Xin asks in a low voice.
“Hm?”
“You should dance with me.”
Mu Qing scowls.
“Absolutely not.”
Feng Xin pouts and fuck, he looks so adorable.
“Please?”
“No.”
Feng Xin loops his hands together at the base of Mu Qing’s neck. His mouth quirks up in a sleepy smile.
“Please?”
Mu Qing sighs.
“Fine,” he relents. Feng Xin’s hands move down to grab Mu Qing’s and pull him to the empty space in the center of the kitchen.
“Put your hand on my shoulder here,” Feng Xin instructs and moves Mu Qing’s limbs around into the correct places. He places his own hand on Mu Qing’s hip. “Just move back when I move forward and stuff, okay?”
Mu Qing nods.
Feng Xin starts leading, moving them back and forth, up and down the kitchen. He changes the angle every so often with a gentle press of his hand against Mu Qing’s hip to guide him in the right direction.
Mu Qing’s shoulders tense up. He’s probably doing this completely wrong, and Feng Xin is going to end up using it to make fun of him when they’re more awake. He stares down at the floor, focusing on doing the opposite of what Feng Xin is.
“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin whispers. Mu Qing whips his gaze from the floor to Feng Xin’s face. Feng Xin smiles. “Stop stressing out. Like seriously, dude, your shoulders are so tense. No homo, but relax for once in your life.”
Mu Qing exhales quietly. Feng Xin feels the breath brush past his cheek. Mu Qing relaxes his shoulders, trying his best to keep them down without straining them. Like this, he can actually enjoy dancing with Feng Xin. It goes much more fluidly than the start. Feng Xin even spins him a couple times, though Mu Qing glares at him immediately after each one.
The sound of the stovetop timer pulls them out of their peaceful trance. Feng Xin breaks away from Mu Qing to check on the food. Mu Qing sighs quietly at the loss of contact.
Feng Xin stirs the ramen around in the pot before turning the burner off. He takes two bowls from the cabinet above him and divides the ramen into them. Cilantro gets sprinkled on top and the bowls are left to rest beside the stove.
Feng Xin grabs two placemats from the other side of the kitchen, sliding them onto the table. Drawers get opened and closed as he grabs chopsticks and spoons, setting them on the placemats. He swipes two glass cups from the dishwasher and fills them with cold water.
“It’s three in the morning, why are you setting the fucking table?” Mu Qing asks. Feng Xin places the bowls onto the mats.
“Is there an issue with wanting to enjoy a nice meal and setting the table to do it?” Feng Xin questions. He motions for Mu Qing to sit down.
“I guess not,” Mu Qing replies and sits down in the other seat. “Thanks for the food.”
“No problem.”
Mu Qing takes a bite of the ramen. It’s quite tasty, holding the perfect balance of spice without overpowering the food with salt. The tuna and egg add a variety of textures that makes the packaged ramen bearable. Even at disturbing hours of the morning, Feng Xin is a good cook.
They eat their meal in silence. The only sounds in the kitchen are the music playing quietly and the sounds of metal chopsticks hitting the edge of ceramic bowls. Once they’re finished, Mu Qing takes the dishes and fills them with water to be dealt with when he wakes up.
“Goodnight,” he says to Feng Xin.
“Goodnight.”
Mu Qing makes his way back to his room, stopping by the bathroom to brush his teeth along the way. He shuts his bedroom door behind him and falls backward onto his bed.
The burn of Feng Xin’s hand on his hip lingers long after the spice fades.