Chapter Text
Feng Xin has a problem.
Two problems, actually.
One, he has an huge, dumb, embarrassing crush on Mu Qing. Mu Qing, of all people.
And he has no idea where the fuck it came from.
He swears he genuinely hasn’t been able to stand Mu Qing's guts for the better part of the past 800 years, he swears it's true. Mu Qing was petty, and bitchy, and physically incapable of saying anything straight, and was a huge dick to His Highness on top of that.
And to Feng Xin.
Feng Xin has had to hold himself back from just putting his hands on that maddeningly slender, pretty neck and strangling him to death, more times than he can count.
(No, he does not also want to feel that smooth, flawless skin under his hands, shut the fuck up.)
It’s not like it’s the first time he’s noticed Mu Qing is pretty. Fine, maybe the thought has crossed Feng Xin’s mind more than once in the past years. But eight centuries is a really long time, okay? Anyone would have moments of weakness.
It had been way easier to ignore Mu Qing's attractiveness back when the only emotion they felt toward each other was hatred. Mu Qing had made it pretty hard to like him for the longest time, after all.
But then Mu Qing just had to say what he had back at Tonglu, revealing that all he wanted was His Highness' f-f-friendship all along, and Mu Qing just had to try to sacrifice himself to save His Highness, and reveal that he actually has a heart under all those warped-as-fuck thoughts that Feng Xin couldn’t for the life of him understand, and ever since then, Mu Qing has been making genuine efforts to be less of a dick.
And ever since then, Feng Xin hasn’t been able to look at him the same way.
It’s only gotten worse now that they have started seeing each other more and more often. At first, they were forced to genuinely work together again after centuries in order to assist His Highness in his missions, and then later to stage an intervention when they found out Crimson Rain Sought Flower was after His Highness. Protecting His Highness' 800-year-old virtue from that creepy crimson stalker was a two-man job, after all, and who better suited than Feng Xin and Mu Qing?
And after Crimson Rain Sought Flower dissipated into butterflies and His Highness was left behind in the dust like some poor grieving widower, Feng Xin was forced to spend a lot of time discussing with Mu Qing what they should do about their moping friend.
Mu Qing had thought giving His Highness some space was the best, but Feng Xin had insisted they visit him, to try to get him to leave his cottage and get some air.
“He’s wasting away there!” Feng Xin had protested. “He puts on a smile for us but you can tell deep down, he's really... sad."
Both of them had caught the brief moment in which His Highness’ face had just... fallen when he opened the door to see his old friends standing there instead of his beloved crimson devil. Not to mention the fact that his smiles never seemed to fully reach his eyes.
So Mu Qing had begrudgingly agreed to Feng Xin’s suggestion of regular visits to His Highness’s cottage, but when they inevitably ended scrambling out after His Highness offered to cook, somehow the two of them had ended up having meals together instead.
It was just that there was a famous inn near Mount Taicang, with the best beef in the region and Feng Xin's favorite type of wine, and it even had quality green tea for Mu Qing who couldn't drink. And so out of pure coincidence, the two of them had ended up choosing the same place to dine at.
So that’s how they ended up making a strange habit of sharing meals together every now and then. Of course the better part of those meals erupted into fights, it always did when the two of them were within half a li of each other, but miraculously, a few of those meals started turning into something almost resembling civil chats.
And somewhere along, they’ve stopped fighting as often. Or rather, their fights have gone from less all-out I-can’t-fucking-stand-you-and-I’m-gonna-murder-you-with-my-own-hands brawls, and more of just bickering and verbal spats, he supposes.
Which brings Feng Xin back to his current predicament.
With this strange newfound friendship between them - or, at least, Feng Xin hopes it’s friendship, who knows what the fuck goes on in that convoluted head of Mu Qing’s - it's been getting harder and harder for Feng Xin to deny his feelings.
It has been harder and harder for Feng Xin to stop his breath from hitching when one of their sparring matches end with the two of them standing far too close, it's been harder and harder for Feng Xin to push away thoughts about Mu Qing's pretty, petty mouth on his, it's been harder and harder not to just stop and stare when the corners of Mu Qing's lips almost curve into a smile during one of their civil meals, making Feng Xin's heart rate go crazy and his stomach do back-flips.
Yeah, it really is bad for his heart.
Mu Qing's stupid face has no business being so annoyingly pretty, his stupid waist has no business looking so goddamn slender, his stupid hair has no business looking so annoyingly soft and silky, his stupid morals have no business secretly being so decent under that icy exterior.
(That very, very annoyingly pretty icy exterior.)
Fuck.
Feng Xin really is in over his head.
Which brings him to his second problem.
Mu Qing's birthday is coming up, and Feng Xin has no idea what to get him.
Feng Xin stares at the two sabers he has laid out on his desk.
Mu Qing is a weird guy who never fucking says anything directly, which means he also doesn’t talk about what he actually likes, so Feng Xin has been stumped for gift ideas. In the end, after racking his brains for a few days, he caved and went looking for sabers. At least he’s certain Mu Qing is fond of sabers, and you can never own too many weapons as a martial god.
After searching all over the best armories and blacksmith shops in the realms, he's narrowed it down to two blades, a beautiful black one with silver dragons and phoenixes carved onto its hilt, and an elegant silver one carved with crescent moons and ocean waves.
The black one is more Mu Qing's style, but the silver one is lighter and therefore easier to wield. He can't decide which one Mu Qing would prefer. And will Mu Qing, the picky bastard, even like either of them? Feng Xin doesn’t fucking know.
He’s still scratching his head when His Highness' voice floats toward him in the communication array, asking him to meet him at his palace.
Feng Xin makes a quick decision and grabs the two sabers, re-wrapping them and stuffing them into the qiankun pouch on his belt, before heading for His Highness' palace.
“...It’s probably not a big deal, but a martial god should probably take a look, just in case.” Xie Lian is saying. Apparently some demon has recently turned up in the Southeast and started causing trouble, and since it was on Feng Xin’s territory, it's now Feng Xin’s problem. “I wouldn’t mind going myself, but I promised San Lang I would take the weekend off, and - “
“Sure, sure, I’ll go,” Feng Xin interrupts quickly, before Xie Lian can go on about whatever the hell he and Crimson Rain are going to do this weekend.
Xie Lian smiles. “Alright, thank you. Any questions? If not I’d best be getting back, San Lang is waiting.“
Feng Xin snorts. “Yeah, don’t keep Crimson Rain waiting or he'll skin me alive for keeping you from your nightly calligraphy lessons with him."
Xie Lian blinks. “Why do you have to say it like that, why does everything think that we - ”
“You mean you aren’t?? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t want to hear about your sex life!”
Xie Lian instantly turns redder than Crimson Rain's robes, and he waves his hands frantically, coughing up a storm. "No no no! That's not - San Lang and I don't - It’s just calligraphy lessons!! Very proper!! "
Feng Xin is highly skeptical, but sure, if that's what His Highness wants to tell himself. "Pfft! Whatever you say."
He decides it’s as good a time as any to get out of there before they can debate any further about whether or not the pair of lovebirds' calligraphy lessons are truly that proper, so he turns to leave.
Abruptly, he remembers the two sabers sitting in the pouch on his belt, and he stops with his hand on the door.
Before he realizes what's happening, his mouth is opening of its own accord. "...Oh that’s right, Your Highness."
Only then does Xie Lian's face return to its normal shade, and he stops his frantic hand-waving and coughing fits, turning to smile at Feng Xin. "Hmm? What is it?"
Before he can chicken out, Feng Xin retrieves the two sabers from the pouch, and carefully unwraps them on Xie Lian's desk.
"Your Highness, which… cough, which of these blades are better?" Dear fucking god please don't fucking let His Highness realize who these are for, or I’m gonna fucking die of embarrassment on the spot.
Xie Lian's eyes light up at the sight of the sabers like the weapons nerd he is, but then he glances up at Feng Xin. "Oh, are these for Mu Qing?"
FUCK.
"What??!! Of course not!! Why would they be??!! I don't know what you're talking about!!”
“His birthday is coming up in a few days, right?“
“WHAT!! NO!!” Feng Xin quickly interrupts, “These are, these are for Cuo Cuo!!"
Xie Lian frowns at him. "Your son? But he's only an infant and he has his own powers, why would he need - "
"He, he can use them when they're older!! I'm buying them in advance!!"
At that, Xie Lian's frown deepens and he gives Feng Xin an odd look. But then he says, “Alright, if you're asking me, I think both are of excellent quality, they're very well-crafted. But this one probably gives a better balance of both style and utility.” He points at the one carved with dragons and phoenixes.
Feng Xin breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Your Highness.”
"Don't mention it," Xie Lian smiles. "These are wonderful gift ideas, I think he's really going to like them."
"That's a relie- What, I said they're not for Mu Qing!" he protests.
"I didn't say Mu Qing, did I? I was talking about Cuo Cuo."
Feng Xin coughs loudly, and Xie Lian gives him a few sympathetic pats on the back. "Right right, Cuo Cuo, of course! We're talking about Cuo Cuo," Feng Xin hurriedly corrects.
"By the way," Xie Lian adds, "since Mu Qing’s birthday is coming up, why don’t we have a meal together to celebrate? It's been a while since the three of us have hung out together. We can even go to that inn you two like to frequent - “
“WHAT,” Feng Xin splutters.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck? How the hell did His Highness know about that?? He wasn’t even there??!
“I know you two like to head there after visiting me. You know,” Xie Lian muses, “I’m glad you and Mu Qing are getting along better now. You two are my good friends, I’m really happy to see - “
“What the fuck, who said we're getting along better! We hate each other!”
Xie Lian gives him an odd look again. “Okaay,” he says, enunciating the word a little too slowly.
Feng Xin is about to demand, What’s that supposed to mean! but then before he can stop it, his traitorous mouth moves ahead of his brain again. "Your Highness, you really think we're getting along better?"
“En! You two have stopped fighting as often, and you're spending more time together. You know, I’ve also seen the way you look at him - “
Feng Xin chokes.
"WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!” he splutters, face on fire. “WHO'S SPENDING MORE TIME TOGETHER, WHO'S LOOKING AT - WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK - I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!!!”
Gods and Buddhas, is he that obvious?! Feng Xin has never wanted to shoot himself with his own bow more than right now. Fuck his fucking life!
Rain Master, he begs internally, if you're listening, please fucking start a storm right now and strike me with a thunderbolt so I don’t have to fucking die of humiliation first!!!
“Okay, okay,” Xie Lian’s mouth twists like he's trying not to laugh, “Forget I said anything, Feng Xin. Please calm down first.”
"I AM VERY CALM!!" he hollers.
“Pfft!" Xie Lian no longer manages to hold in his laughter, clutching his sides as his shoulders shake.
“What the fuck, what's so funny, Your Highness?!” Feng Xin protests, offended. Gods and Buddhas, what the ever-loving fuck did he do in his past life to deserve this humiliation?!
Xie Lian coughs, swiftly schooling his expression back into a more serious one. “Nothing, nothing's funny! Ahem. Sorry, please pretend I said nothing, alright?"
Feng Xin only harrumphs in response. He grabs the sabers and stuffs them back into the pouch. “If you're done laughing at me, Your Highness, I'm leaving now. I have things I need to attend to.”
“Wait, don’t go, I haven’t finished saying - “
“BYE!” Feng Xin yells.
Without wasting another moment, he spins on his heels and gets the fuck out of there, but not before His Highness calls after him, "Wait, Feng Xin! Just talk to him, just talk to him, I think that's all he really - "
That's all he really what???!!!
Feng Xin almost dashes right back to the room then to shake His Highness and demand an elaboration, but he catches himself just in time.
Ugh! Why does that stupid pretty asshole have him acting like this? Trying to ask His Highness for relationship advice like some lovesick dumbass in a romantic play? What a joke!!
...But then again, Mu Qing has always been way too good at getting under Feng Xin’s skin.
And apparently it’s obvious enough now that His Highness knows. Gods fucking dammitl!
And “just talk to him”?? Who the fuck does His Highness take him for, someone emotionally eloquent? Like as if he could ever just talk to Mu Qing about feelings, Mu Qing of all people. Crimson Rain could become a god of warmth and benevolence before Mu Qing could ever become capable of talking about f-f-feelings.
Gods, all this is giving him a goddamn headache the size of that gigantic statue of His Highness that crimson creep carved!
"...I need a drink," he mumbles to himself, running a hand over his face. "I need a fucking drink.”
And that's how mere hours later, he ends up drunk on his ass on the steps of Mu Qing's palace, in what may be one of the worst decisions of his life.
Which is truly saying a lot, considering that his life has been both very, very long and a lot of his decisions very, very badly made.
Feng Xin is standing on the steps of Mu Qing’s palace.
In the middle of the night.
Drunk.
Mu Qing has been fighting a completely irrational, embarrassing, absurd crush on Feng Xin for centuries now, and he doesn't have time to deal with all the frankly ridiculous things his stomach is doing at the sight of the man in question turning up at his palace in the middle of the night.
So instead, he crosses his arms and eyes Feng Xin, throwing him an irritated glare. "What do you want? And are you drunk,” he adds. He can smell the alcohol even from this distance, wrinkling his nose at the stench.
“So what if I am!” Feng Xin yells, swaying a little on his feet.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “And what are you doing at my palace, drunk?”
Feng Xin freezes. “Nothing! It’s none of your business!”
“Really? You very clearly made it my business when you came to bother me at my palace.”
“I, I took the wrong route, I’m going back now!” Feng Xin quickly shouts.
Except when he turns around his body pivots precariously, almost crashing to the ground.
Mu Qing inhales sharply and is there in an instant, grabbing Feng Xin's arm and pulling him up.
“How are you going to get back? You can barely even walk straight,” he scoffs.
Seriously, just how much did he drink? Mu Qing has never seen him this drunk before. Something is off.
“I can walk, let go of me!” Feng Xin objects, but Mu Qing only rolls his eyes as he half-supports, half-drags Feng Xin up the stone steps and into his palace.
Despite Feng Xin’s earlier protests, he slings a muscular arm around Mu Qing’s neck, leaning his weight against Mu Qing. Mu Qing grimaces at the stench of alcohol, at the same time that his chest pathetically tightens at having Feng Xin so close.
Feng Xin is warm and heavy, pressed against him, and Mu Qing flinches at the way his skin sparks at all the points where it’s in contact with Feng Xin’s. He can feel every one of those biceps and muscles, hard and wiry under Feng Xin's robes, and Mu Qing's stomach jumps, throat going dry. Quickening his pace, Mu Qing heads straight for the guest hall, dumping Feng Xin unceremoniously onto one of the divans.
Feng Xin groans, rubbing his head from where it had knocked against the wooden back of the divan. “Ow, what the fuck, you asshole!”
That prompts a twinge of guilt, which Mu Qing reflexively pushes down.
“Be quiet, princess, and be grateful I’m even lending you my divan,” he sneers instead. “Why did you get so drunk anyway?”
Feng Xin mumbles something incoherent.
"You can't possibly expect me to understand that?"
Feng Xin makes an annoyed huff. “I said, ‘your fault,’” he repeats more audibly.
Mu Qing bristles, crossing his arms. “Seriously? So everything is my fault, is that it? I swear, the two of you take me for granted far too often. I spend so many years sweeping and sewing and cleaning after you spoiled brats, only to be blamed for every little thing in your lives?” He shakes his head exasperatedly. “I really don’t know why I bother with you two!”
Feng Xin groans. "Mu Qing, you're such an aaasss-hole,” he slurs, “why the fuck do I even - ”
Abruptly, he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. He really is a strange drunk. Not that Mu Qing knows much about how drunkards act, since he has always stayed as far away as possible from people as uncouth as that.
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I’m the ‘shittiest, bitchiest fucking asshole' you know, I heard you the first hundred times.”
Feng Xin only snorts at that, but his expression is still pretty constipated.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mu Qing adds suspiciously, “you looked like you were about to puke. Don’t you dare, by the way. If you throw up all over my furniture I’m going to send Crimson Rain after you.”
Feng Xin snorts. “The fuck are you gonna do that? Crimson Rain answers to no one except His Highness.”
“I’ll tell him you and Xie Lian once had an affair in our youth,” Mu Qing threatens, “and then I’ll sit back and watch as he comes after you with that cursed scimitar - “
Thankfully, instead of puking all over Mu Qing’s invaluable furnishings, Feng Xin just bursts out laughing, as if Mu Qing has just told the funniest joke in the world and hasn’t just been about to describe Feng Xin being murdered by Crimson Rain. Mu Qing hates the way his stomach does a pathetic swoop at the sound of that laugh, bright and unrestrained; the way Feng Xin’s infuriatingly handsome face lights up with mirth.
He tears his gaze away.
Feng Xin is still wheezing, clutching his sides. “Mu Qing, has anyone ever told you how funny you are?”
Mu Qing stills.
No one has. He is painfully aware of the things people whisper about him behind his back, has always been, and none of them are flattering.
But then again, what makes him think Feng Xin meant it as a compliment?
He swallows down the strange sensation rising in his chest, and narrows his eyes at Feng Xin instead. “Seriously, making fun of me again even when you’re drunk? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“I’m not,” Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing scoffs. “You’re not drunk? Could have fooled me.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” Feng Xin corrects. “Why the fuck would I?”
"'Why'? I can think of many, many reasons. Shall I start listing them for you?" he says sweetly, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Feng Xin groans. "You're such an asshole, Mu Qing, you know that? A fucking asshole."
The words stab at Mu Qing and he swallows, hard. He has foolishly thought they have formed something almost akin to friendship in the recent months, but of course he should have known better.
He opens his mouth to reply when Feng Xin adds, “And pretty. Stupid pretty, bitchy face, and stupid pretty, bitchy hair."
Mu Qing's breath hitches. Before he can react, Feng Xin's hand is snaking out and then it's on Mu Qing’s long ponytail, tugging, and Mu Qing freezes.
What the fuck? Is the entire universe conspiring to play a cosmic joke on him?
"Stupid… soft… pretty hair," Feng Xin rambles, rubbing strands of hair between his fingers, and then twirling Mu Qing's ponytail around his finger, and Mu Qing can't breathe, his blood turning to ice.
He tries to ignore how good that light tug on his scalp feels, but he doesn't quite manage to stifle a gasp, heartbeat pounding loud and fast in his throat.
In a noble attempt to regain control, he pulls his ponytail out of Feng Xin’s grasp, and Feng Xin makes an annoyed noise of protest.
“You’re drunk,” Mu Qing finally says, keeping his voice carefully blank. “You should go back, your junior officials must be looking for you - “
“Don’t wanna go back,” Feng Xin slurs. “Wanna stay here.”
Mu Qing freezes again. “You’re drunk," he hisses.
Just how drunk did Feng Xin get, to be blabbering so much? And what exactly happened that caused him to drink this much? Despite himself, Mu Qing begins to feel worry tighten his throat.
“I’m not,” Feng Xin slurs. “I’m perfectly...” Before he can finish his sentence, his eyes slide closed, and not long after, snores begin to fill Mu Qing's usually quiet palace.
Mu Qing shakes his head, exasperated. Silently, he leaves to grab a spare blanket from a storage cabinet and carefully covers Feng Xin with it.
Then he turns to stop one of his junior official attendants, picking one of the reliable ones who can be expected not to run their mouth at the sight of the rival general in Xuan Zhen Palace.
"Li Hao, move General Nan Yang to the guest chambers and attend to him. Give him water when he awakens," he instructs. “If anything goes wrong, send me a message through the communication array at once.”
Li Hao’s eyes widen a little upon realizing who their guest is, but thankfully, he doesn’t comment, only nodding and leaving, and Mu Qing retreats to his own chambers for what he is certain will be a restless night.
As it turns out, he was right.
“Fucking hell!” Feng Xin’s voice is loud the next morning. “Why the fuck is everything so bright?”
Mu Qing grimaces. Feng Xin is awake earlier than expected.
Mu Qing has just left the guest chambers after leaving a potion for the sleeping god. Gods usually do not experience full hangovers, only mild headaches from excessive alcohol, but who knows how much Feng Xin drank the previous night. So while Feng Xin was still asleep that morning, Mu Qing left to acquire one of those potions that could cure most ailments, since Mu Qing himself could hardly sleep anyway.
As expected, he spent half the night painfully awake, the phantom memory of Feng Xin's hands on his hair still haunting him, taunting him, his thoughts running themselves in circles trying to dissect everything Feng Xin had said and done.
In the end he had come to the conclusion that Feng Xin must have simply been too drunk to know what he was rambling or whose ponytail he was putting his hands on. If he were sober, Feng Xin would probably have shot himself with his own bow before doing anything like that.
It's much more believable than the wild, ridiculous, insane thought that Feng Xin actually thought Mu Qing was pretty, actually reciprocated some fraction of Mu Qing’s mortifying crush. As if that would ever happen.
Still, Mu Qing had paused after he set the potion by Feng Xin's bedside cabinet. Feng Xin’s limbs were arranged in a messy sprawl, his sleeping features looking strangely relaxed, softer, even, without the usual scowls and frowns. Mu Qing’s chest had constricted at the sight, and he'd forcefully wrenched his gaze away, in a haste to leave before Feng Xin could wake and catch Mu Qing staring at him.
It was a wise choice to leave as swiftly as possible, because it seems that Feng Xin stirred soon after.
Sure enough, he hears loud, enraged curses coming from behind him.
Mu Qing freezes, blood running cold. Unfortunately, Feng Xin chooses that moment to stumble out of the guest chambers, still swearing loudly under his breath.
He catches sight of Mu Qing standing in the hallway.
Their eyes meet.
For a long, torturously awkward moment, there is dead silence.
And then Feng Xin's tanned face goes very, very pale, and then very, very red.
“Fuck,” he cusses. "Fucking hell! What the fuck!! Why the fuck are you - Why the fuck am I - What the fuck??!!"
Mu Qing, too, curses inwardly, but he keeps his face impassive. Crossing his arms, he says coolly, “You came to my palace in the middle of the night inebriated, which I'm still waiting on an explanation for, by the way, and you could barely walk in a straight line so I was kind enough not to kick you out.”
The curses increase in intensity, and Mu Qing watches with amusement as Feng Xin flounders, grabbing at his hair in distress. “Fuck my life, fuck fuck fuck fuck! Fucking hell, did I - did I say anything last night?”
Feng Xin’s face is flaming even brighter than Crimson Red’s god-awful garish robes, his dark eyes wide.
Mu Qing hesitates for a few moments too long, and Feng Xin blanches. “Fuck!!!"
He moves, grabbing Mu Qing’s forearms, enunciating each word through gritted teeth. "What. The fuck. Did I Say. Last night."
Mu Qing flinches at the warmth of Feng Xin’s hands on his arms, seeping through even the layers of cloth, burning him. Feng Xin’s face is close, far too close. At this angle, he’s even more frustratingly handsome, even tired and hungover, and Mu Qing doesn’t quite manage to stop his breath from catching, which is just pathetic, isn't it.
He closes his eyes and pulls himself out of Feng Xin’s grasp, stepping a safe distance away, before opening them again.
Feng Xin realises he's crossed a boundary and takes a step back too, face reddening again. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to - fuck, just tell me what I said!!”
He's searching Mu Qing's gaze intently, and Mu Qing looks away, fingers tightening on his own crossed arms. “You were blabbering so much unintelligible nonsense, who could understand you? Something about - something about how much you hate me."
He can't let Feng Xin know the full truth. He isn’t sure if he would be able to stand watching Feng Xin’s face twist with disgust if he finds out the drunken words he blurted, the places his hands had wandered. And, anyway, Mu Qing has only told half a lie.
Feng Xin’s expression immediately clears, though his face betrays a touch of - is that guilt? Sleep deprivation must be getting to Mu Qing.
“Thank the fucking gods," Feng Xin mutters.
Mu Qing snorts. “I told you before, we are all the gods in heaven, there's no point thanking them like narcissists,” he points out drily. “Besides, what are you so worked up for? Afraid you spilled deep, dark secrets to me?”
Feng Xin huffs, jabbing a finger in his direction, “You’re the one who has deep, dark secrets, not me. Thoughts more twisted than the concubines of the deepest harem, I always said.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “That insult is getting old, don’t you think? At least I have thoughts, unlike you.”
“What the fuck!" Feng Xin protests, "You calling me stupid?"
“Was I wrong, Ju Yang?” Mu Qing says sweetly. “All brawn and no brain.”
“YOU - !” Feng Xin’s face reddens with fury, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Mu Qing snickers.
They are falling back into their old rhythm, and he feels his shoulders begin to relax. At least bickering is familiar territory; safe, even.
If Mu Qing is honest, teasing the other god always gives him no small degree of pleasure. He takes pride in his ability to rile Feng Xin up, to get a rise out of him. It never fails to win him Feng Xin's attention, at least, even if he knows it's the only thing of Feng Xin's that will ever be his to possess.
It also helps that a flustered, flushing Feng Xin is far from an unpleasant sight.
Abruptly, Feng Xin slaps a hand to his forehead. “Oh fuck! I forgot His Highness told me to investigate some demon causing trouble in the Southeast. Fuck, I’d better check it out. The bastard had better not have wrecked anything while I was asleep, or I’m gonna wring his neck.”
He turns to leave. Mu Qing hesitates.
After waging a brief internal battle with himself, he bites out, “Wait.”
Feng Xin pauses in the hallway. “What?”
Mu Qing doesn’t answer, only returns to the guest chambers to fetch the potion forgotten on the bedside cabinet, and forces it into Feng Xin’s hands. “Drink this before you go around attempting to fight a demon hungover, moron.”
Feng Xin turns around to stare at him in open surprise, brown eyes widening.
Seriously, is Mu Qing giving him something for his hangover really that hard to believe? Fine, Mu Qing has spent the past 800 years pretending to hate Feng Xin, but in recent months he's slowly started to drop the facade of hostility. Then again, Mu Qing should have long gotten used to the expectations people have of him.
“This is - “
“Tea,” Mu Qing lies. “Shut up and drink.”
Feng Xin takes a sniff, before swallowing it down in one gulp. He grimaces. "Ugh, are you sure this is tea? Tastes like shit."
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. "Stop complaining, you ingrate. Next time you turn up drunk at my palace, I’m throwing you out at once."
“I wasn’t complaining,” Feng Xin huffs. He looks up at Mu Qing. “You didn’t have to, for me - “
“I didn’t make it just for you!” Mu Qing snaps quickly. He absolutely cannot let Feng Xin know the truth. It would be far too revealing, and Mu Qing prizes self-preservation too much for that. “Don’t flatter yourself. My attendants brewed too much of it this morning, and I loathe having to waste perfectly fine tea.”
“Thanks anyway,” Feng Xin says, voice surprisingly clean of its usual harshness.
This is unfamiliar territory, starting to border on bizarre. Mu Qing crosses his arms again, skin prickling uncomfortably.
Feng Xin is looking up at Mu Qing again, and Mu Qing hates the feeling that rises in his throat at the soft gratitude in Feng Xin’s eyes, so he breaks eye contact, half turning.
With his back to Feng Xin, he says coolly, “You should go back now, before your junior officials think you went missing. Don’t you have a demon to investigate?"
"Shit," Feng Xin says, “Right.”
“I’ll send someone to show you out.”
“Thanks.”
He walks past Mu Qing, but then pauses a short distance away, hesitating. Haltingly, he says, "Mu Qing - "
Mu Qing turns, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
Feng Xin is silent for a long moment. Then, he shakes his head, almost to himself, and turns away. “Nevermind.”
Just what the hell is up with Feng Xin? He really has been acting odd recently.
"Stop being weird, you're giving me the creeps. If you have something to say then say it, if not then just go.” It comes out a bit harsher than he meant to, and he immediately regrets it when something in Feng Xin's face stiffens.
"Fine, I'm going!" he snaps, back to his usual bluster, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the hallways.
Without the furious stomp of Feng Xin's boots and his incessant yelling, Mu Qing's palace is miserably silent.