Work Text:
“What are you doing?”
It barely sounds like a question, so Mu Qing barely answers.
“What does it look like?”
There’s a pause behind him. Feng Xin must be doing some serious thinking, and for once it pays off because he responds, “Like you’re baking cookies.”
“There you go!” Mu Qing mocks without looking away from where he’s mixing the batter, which means he can roll his eyes without getting shit from Feng Xin about it. So he does. “Now was that so hard?”
Feng Xin lets out an exaggerated groan. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?” he whines like the absolute child he is.
Mu Qing almost jumps when he feels a warm puff of air on the back of his neck. Strong arms begin to snake around his waist, and Mu Qing immediately smacks them away. “Get off, you brute! Do you want cookies or not?”
Feng Xin grumbles (it’s Christmas Eve for fuck’s sake, he should be allowed to hug his boyfriend!) but steps back. Of course, he wants cookies. Mu Qing’s baking is god-tier.
“That’s what I thought,” Mu Qing huffs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Feng Xin leaning over the counter space that’s not completely covered in the results of his last-minute holiday baking spree, his head propped up on his hand.
“You’re staring,” Mu Qing says mildly. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, not anymore, but Mu Qing still isn’t used to it. He still isn’t used to any of it—the fond looks, the affectionate touches, the heated kisses, the surprisingly sweet words exchanged in quiet voices under the cover of night. Even after a year together, everything still feels new but somehow softer.
The beginning had been rocky. They had to relearn everything. How to touch without breaking, how to talk without hurting, how to build a relationship from animosity, how to find love from hate. The first few weeks, Mu Qing had been so sure they wouldn’t last, but he was nothing if not stubborn and so was Feng Xin. They argued constantly, plagued by insecurities and doubts that neither of them knew how to handle. Nothing seemed to have changed except for replacing fistfights with sex.
Which Mu Qing couldn’t really complain about. It was good—great, even—but it sometimes seemed like just another way to blow off steam. And deep, deep down he was terrified that one day, Feng Xin was going to wake up and realize Mu Qing wasn’t worth it.
But it never happened. Feng Xin stayed. So did Mu Qing. And somewhere along the way, the insecurities were laid to rest and the doubts became mere whispers of what they once were.
(Actually, Mu Qing knows exactly what triggered that change. One night, when they were in the middle of that, Mu Qing may have accidentally blurted out some things. Three words, really. Once he came to his senses he was so mortified that he tried to run out, but he didn’t get very far. Feng Xin caught him before he could make his escape and sat him down and called him an idiot and a dumbass and said a few other choice words, including “I love you too.” And that was the first time they really talked about the relationship—about their fears, their worries, their wants. Mu Qing didn’t realize until afterward just how much they needed to have that conversation.)
Mu Qing pauses in scooping out the cookie batter onto the baking sheet, turning to meet Feng Xin’s gaze. “You’re still staring.”
Feng Xin lifts an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
Mu Qing hates that Feng Xin doesn’t need him to say anything to know the answer is no. But if he were being honest, he wouldn’t expect anything less. By now, they know each other like they know themselves.
He huffs, rolling his eyes as he returns to scooping out the batter. If a tiny smile creeps onto his face, that’s no one’s business but his own. What can he say? Feng Xin has that effect on him.
They stay like that for a while—Mu Qing scooping out the batter, putting them in the oven to bake, adding whatever frosting or icing or sprinkles he feels like, and doing it all over again with Feng Xin right there, content to watch in silence. It’s disgustingly domestic and intimate in a way Mu Qing never imagined for himself, never dared to imagine for himself.
“Do you want to get married?”
Mu Qing whips around to gape at Feng Xin, almost dropping the tray of cookies he’s just taken out of the oven. “What?”
“Do you want to get married?” Feng Xin repeats, completely unfazed.
Mu Qing is staring. He knows he’s staring. And he has every right to stare. How can Feng Xin be so calm about this?! Meanwhile, Mu Qing feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.
“I—” Mu Qing briefly closes his eyes and exhales sharply. With a jolt, he remembers he’s still holding the cookies. He should probably put them down before he almost drops them again. After setting the tray down somewhere (he’s not really paying attention), he turns back to Feng Xin with his hands on his hips because he means business, damnit! Between that and the apron he has on, he feels very much like his mother, which is such a random thought to have right now.
“Okay,” he begins, trying to sort out all the other thoughts flying through his head. “Is this—is this a proposal or…?”
Feng Xin shrugs. “If you want it to be.”
And what the hell kind of answer is that? Part of Mu Qing wants to laugh hysterically because he doesn’t know what else to do.
“If you want a ring, I can get it from the other room,” Feng Xin adds casually like he didn’t just turn his world upside down.
That revelation has Mu Qing sagging against the counter to keep himself standing. “You already have a ring?” he asks weakly. “How long?”
For all his nonchalance when he was asking Mu Qing if he wants to get fucking married, Feng Xin looks somewhat embarrassed by the question. He scratches the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “Ah, well. I got it the day after we talked about, you know, marriage and stuff.”
Mu Qing is ashamed to admit his jaw actually drops. “But that was months ago! And it was a two-minute conversation!”
Feng Xin doesn’t meet his eyes. “Well, I already knew by then I wanted to marry you.” Suddenly he looks back up, eyes wide and sincere. “But I don’t want to pressure you. You can say no. Nothing has to change. We can pretend this never happened.”
“What? NO!” Mu Qing shouts. “I don’t want to pretend this never happened. Of course, I want to marry you! You’re dumber than I thought if you think I was going to say no!” His face is definitely bright red by the end of his little tirade. Without a doubt.
It’s Feng Xin’s turn to look shocked now. “You—really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Mu Qing snaps to distract from the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes as he launches himself at Feng Xin, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his neck.
Feng Xin’s hands immediately come up to grip Mu Qing’s waist, and Mu Qing can’t help but melt into the embrace.
They hold each other like that for a long moment. Long enough that Mu Qing distantly thinks he should probably finish dealing with the cookies soon, but that means he would have to move. Feng Xin kisses the top of his head, and Mu Qing feels more than hears him murmur into his hair, “I love you.”
The cookies can wait, Mu Qing decides, hugging Feng Xin tighter. “I love you too,” he breathes, blinking hard a few times until he’s pretty sure he’s not going to cry. Then he remembers something.
Mu Qing pulls back just far enough that they’re face to face. “Now,” he says with a teasing smile, “I think you mentioned a ring?"