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Feng Xin nocks another arrow, squinting one eye against the blazing sun as he adjusts his aim and lets the arrow fly. It whizzes through the air with all the speed and ferocity expected of a martial god’s strength and splits the previous arrow right through, landing dead center on the target.
He lets Fengshen drop to his side, the black bow feeling hot as a smoldering coal in his hand, and peers across the training field to assess his work. He has spent the past hour in the palace of Nan Yang’s personal training grounds, blowing off some steam with the help of his spiritual weapon. Proudly admiring this afternoon’s work and finding himself to be satisfied, Feng Xin blinks the sweat from his eyes and drags the back of his free hand across his sticky forehead. Beneath his armor, his robes are soaked through with sweat and his hair is damp with it, salty drops sluicing over the loose strands and landing like embers on his heated skin.
The summer sun has dipped well below its highest point in the sky, but still beats down with unforgiving intensity. Feng Xin shields his eyes from it as he walks over to the target to begin cleanup.
For the past several days—with today being no exception—the weather has been positively sweltering.
It’s the kind of heat that sticks to you like a stubborn second skin. It weighs you down in a way quite similar to grief—what with how it lingers in your chest even when you’re far removed from it; settles heavy in your lungs like campfire ash.
General Nan Yang—whose heavenly title quite literally means southern sun—is used to heat. Truly, he is. But there is something so painfully unbearable about this particular heatwave that even he finds himself feeling a bit weary as he treks back to his private quarters to freshen up.
He is just pulling his hair back into a top knot, now dressed in a dry set of casual robes, when a familiar—and very impatient—voice rings clear in his private communication array.
"You're late."
Fuck.
Feng Xin closes his eyes and drags a hand down his face, exhausted in an instant from an argument that hasn't even begun. He chances a quick glance out his window and towards the bright, late-afternoon sun, before bringing two fingers to his temple to reply.
"And here I thought we had agreed on yǒu shí [1]. How the hell am I late?"
Even as Feng Xin asks this, he's straightening the folds of his innermost robe and shuffling to pull his boots on.
"What we agreed upon, general," Mu Qing starts, his tone clipped, if not just a tad bit amused, and his eyeroll clearly present even if it's not visible to Feng Xin, "was to meet before yǒu shí. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you would have trouble remembering such a simple thing."
Feng Xin bristles at that, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to convince himself the quickly growing warmth inside of him is simply annoyance. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't deny the way his heartbeat quickens or how he shivers all over with a feeling that can only be described as overwhelming fondness. His blood burns like a brand as it pumps through him—a hot and heavy thrum quaking under his skin. It rushes to his face to settle like fine wedding silk beneath the smattering of freckles there and bubbles up all the way to the tips of his ears. He's rendered a red and disheveled mess; steam practically coming out his ears as he huffs, indignant, in the privacy of his own palace.
This teasing and sarcastic tone Mu Qing uses (seemingly just for Feng Xin) never used to have this effect on him. Ah, but perhaps it would be more correct to say that Feng Xin had never allowed himself to notice.
In the past, almost all their interactions ended in screaming matches or physical fights, with Feng Xin rising to the occasion like a whistling kettle's steam rises towards the sky and Mu Qing never hesitating to match him strike for strike. But, nowadays, the tension between the two martial gods of the south has mellowed out and morphed into something softer—more akin to friendship than rivalry. Adjusting to their new dynamic has presented its challenges, but the work has proven to be well worth it. Feng Xin finds himself blessedly relieved to have Mu Qing's presence be a positive one in his life, especially in the aftermath of the events of Mount Tonglu.
With the rebuilding of the heavenly capital, the two gods had found themselves forced into sharing living quarters for the first time in centuries, and it was within those unsteady months that the animosity between them gave way to something vulnerable and new. They spent many quiet evenings with nothing else to do but just talk and—after everything the two of them had been through together—Feng Xin found he was finally ready to listen.
They aired out all of their past grievances and misgivings seeing as they had nothing but time to do so. It was a process that unfolded painfully slow, both in heated arguments that nearly progressed to physical altercations, and in quiet whispers with only the light of the moon as a witness their vulnerability.
Feng Xin is glad to have been given the opportunity to hear of Mu Qing's motivations from the man himself, regardless of how difficult it was to get through those talks without reverting to their old ways of jumping at each other's throats. And Mu Qing surprised him by listening to his side of things, too. They soon fell into a routine of speaking to each other late into the night, their hushed voices curling in the scarce space between them, like the cozy warmth that emanates from a lit hearth. Once they came to understand each other, it wasn't long before a tentative friendship blossomed between them—sweet and sure like the beginnings of spring. And it was difficult—of course it was—but they toughed it out, made it through, and became much closer for it.
Their friendship is fast approaching the two-year mark and Feng Xin has spent that time eternally grateful for the connection he shares with Mu Qing. He cherishes their friendship. Truly, he does. So it's with immense frustration that he tries and fails to understand why his heart is so set on ruining it.
Because there are many things Feng Xin has learned about Mu Qing over these two years, and within that context he has also learned many things about himself.
For example, if Feng Xin tells a stupid enough joke, Mu Qing will smile just barely before he flicks him in the forehead, and Feng Xin finds himself craving this attention—so much so that he's willing to scour the mortal realm for new joke material in his free time.
Or when he does manage to get Mu Qing to laugh, that the sound of it makes Feng Xin's heart stutter in his chest and satisfies him even more thoroughly than if he had just won a sparring match.
Or when he's out in the evenings, late enough to catch the sky shifting into that cool, heavenly shade of blue dusk, he can't help but be reminded of the color of Mu Qing's favorite robes. And as the evening turns to night and the stars make themselves known against the backdrop of a dark and endless sky, he thinks of Mu Qing's eyes and how not even the glitter of a million stars could possibly compare to their beauty.
And the touches.
Oh, gods, the touches.
Feng Xin has learned that, when among close friends, Mu Qing is prone to casual touches. And, subsequently, that these touches are Feng Xin's greatest weakness.
Mu Qing's strong hand gripping his bicep or clapping good-naturedly on his back or resting briefly on his thigh—every touch turns Feng Xin's mind into fuzzy static—his voice quieting into a warbled mess that he hides behind his clenched teeth. He loves it. He hates it. He melts. He goes rigid—especially in ways he so desperately wishes he wouldn't. And it only ever happens with Mu Qing.
A haughty scoff, almost like the beginnings of a laugh, snaps Feng Xin out of his thoughts and brings to his mind the image of thin, pale lips upturned in a teasing smirk—so unfairly handsome that he can hardly stand it. His pathetic heart rattles with want against his will and he presses a palm to his chest in an attempt to quiet it.
"Well, do you plan to keep me waiting all night, Nan Yang?"
But, unfortunately, there is something Feng Xin has come to realize with the utmost certainty.
It's undeniable at this point.
He's in love.
"I'll be right there."
And by the gods is he fucked.
Feng Xin braves the lingering heat of the evening and arrives quite quickly at the palace of Xuan Zhen, thanking the deputies who greet him at the door and let him know their general is expecting him in his office. Feng Xin weaves his way through the familiar corridors until he finds himself in front of Mu Qing's office door, this routine so well-known to them by now that he doesn't even bother to announce his presence before slipping inside.
Mu Qing is already seated comfortably at a low table, a scroll spread out in front of him while their evening tea waits off to the side to be poured.
Feng Xin smiles to himself, a reaction he can't be bothered to mask, and settles down in his seat on the opposite side of the table from Mu Qing. His face is still a little flushed from the heat so he's grateful for the cool, controlled temperature Mu Qing insists on maintaining in his palace.
The two of them spend quite a bit of time together nowadays and Feng Xin relishes in the comfort Mu Qing's company brings him. He dares to think that he feels even more at home here in the presence of one of his closest friends than he does in his own private quarters in the palace of Nan Yang.
"Kind of you to show up," Mu Qing snarks, and while he may be annoyed at Feng Xin's supposed tardiness, he's not fully concealing the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. Knowing now for sure that Mu Qing isn't truly mad at him, Feng Xin settles more comfortably in his seat, the tension he wasn't even aware of fading from his shoulders.
Without being asked to, Feng Xin gently takes a hold of the teapot and fills Mu Qing's cup before filling his own.
"Ah, but I did show up, so there can't be too much for you to complain about."
Mu Qing looks up from his scroll then, just to roll his eyes, but quickly settles his gaze back to his work.
"Oh, I assure you, your presence is plenty to complain about, Feng Xin."
"Don't be so quick to deny you enjoy spending time with me, A-Qing. You were the one pestering me about being late, after all." Feng Xin positions his elbow onto the table and lets himself learn forward, his hand propping up his chin as he gives Mu Qing his best shit-eating grin.
Mu Qing just rolls his eyes again, his smile widening ever so slightly, and picks up his teacup. He leads it to his lips, eyeing Feng Xin up and down with one eyebrow cocked judgmentally. But the smile stays and he lets out a quiet, pleased hum as he takes a sip of his tea. Unsurprisingly, Feng Xin is completely mesmerized by the sight.
"I hope you've at least come prepared to work," Mu Qing says in a serious tone, but his face seems rather amused.
"As if I'm ever unprepared," Feng Xin retorts, hardly able to keep a straight face as he speaks. And any attempt to do so is thwarted anyway as Mu Qing snorts a small laugh into his teacup, shoulders jerking with the motion as he shakes his head. Feng Xin beams at him and takes up his own cup to try to wash down the excited affection that bubbles up within him.
The two had agreed to meet this evening to discuss a growing issue happening in the south. It seems there is a rowdy group of spirits wreaking havoc in villages situated along the border bisecting their territories and both gods have received an influx of prayers requesting their intervention. It's been reported that the sprits have chosen to terrorize the border in particular because of the recorded rivalry between the two gods and the perceived notion that border issues will be left to fester due to their unwillingness to work together. And while the two southern generals certainly struggled with working together previously—such issues have been left in the past where they belong. A problem like this one will be swiftly dealt with and this will hopefully make clear to any future trouble makers that general Nan Yang and general Xuan Zhen are a united force.
And even though this meeting was scheduled for them to speak on serious issues, the two of them find themselves chatting about everything and anything under the sun—and moon, for that matter. They talk of their days: how training is going with their new deputies; a stupid thing Pei Ming said in a recent meeting; which tea is best for mornings and which is better suited for evenings; the project Mu Qing is working on for His Highness and Crimson Rain's wedding anniversary gift as well as the matching sword and sabre Feng Xin has commissioned for the two. The conversation flows easily between them and they do, eventually, circle back to talking about the border issue.
By the time their meeting draws to a natural close, it must be close to zí shí [2] and Feng Xin is lethargic in a way he can't ever remember being. Why is he so tired? While he does enjoy adhering to a regular sleeping schedule, he doesn't actually need to sleep. He especially isn't used to feeling so worn out when he hasn't used much spiritual energy recently or been in any significant fight. Could it be the tea? Ah, that must be it. Mu Qing always opts for a relaxing tea in the evenings and, even though it's never affected Feng Xin like this before, surely that must be the cause of this sudden tiredness.
His head feels almost too heavy for his shoulders but, well, that's fine. He doesn't need his head to stand, does he?
With as much composure as he can muster, Feng Xin places his hands firmly on the table and pushes himself up to a standing position.
"I think that's settled then," he says, offering a smile to Mu Qing as the other man also rises from his seat. "I'll put together a list of suitable deputies for the task and they will descend with yours tomorrow morning."
Mu Qing nods in agreement, shuffling to neatly roll and gather his scrolls so he can place them on his desk.
Feng Xin suddenly feels even more... off. He knows Mu Qing is speaking to him but he sounds far away. He closes his eyes for a moment, noticing a pain lying dull behind his eye sockets, and lets out a breath. When he opens his eyes again, he fixes them on Mu Qing who is looking at him expectantly.
"I'm sorry, what was that? I was just lost in my head for a moment."
"Careful not to think too hard, now, you might hurt yourself." Mu Qing smirks as Feng Xin shoots him an annoyed glare, but is kind enough to repeat himself. "I was asking if you're still planning on going to Puqi shrine with me tomorrow. Xie Lian invited us for lunch, if you recall."
"Ah—yes, yes. I'll be there. Did you want... uh. Hm." Feng Xin's head feels thick and he squints as he looks at Mu Qing, trying to finish his thought but struggling to grasp onto the words. Wow, he really must be tired. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows, trying again.
"Did you want to, um, descend... together?"
He succeeds in forcing the words out but feels even more confused when he opens his eyes again.
His vision swims.
There are two Mu Qings.
Oh, fuck—Feng Xin can’t handle two Mu Qings.
“There are… two of you,” he manages to mumble, watching as the room seems to careen off in an unnatural direction. Mu Qing makes a little noise of surprise and then he sounds almost panicked as the room seems to tilt even further.
“Huh,” Feng Xin says, exhaling a quiet laugh as he stares at the two Mu Qings who are suddenly growing closer to him, “I feel a little weird.”
Both of the Mu Qings are now squarely in front of Feng Xin and their eyes grow wide in a very silly way. He’s so surprised, Feng Xin thinks, feeling his head loll to the side. It’s nice to see his face free from his defenses—it makes him look almost… soft. The Mu Qings speak in perfect unison, their tone charged with something serious and almost threatening.
“Sit,” they say, and Feng Xin wobbles his way quite ungracefully until his thighs hit the back of Mu Qing’s desk and his ass comes down hard onto the sturdy wooden surface. There is a shifting sound behind him as a stack of reports gets jostled and unceremoniously flutters to the floor, followed by the clattering sound of—presumably very expensive—stationery. Oh, the Mu Qings are going to be very displeased about that.
But the matter doesn’t seem to concern them. In fact, the Mu Qings don’t even turn to look at the mess, they’re too busy coalescing back into one Mu Qing and then splitting again, but into three this time. They oscillate this way, growing and decreasing in number at a speed that leaves Feng Xin feeling disoriented.
So many Mu Qings.
And they are all just so beautiful.
Feng Xin feels borderline delirious as he stares at them, almost giggling as one of his unsteady hands attempts to push hair away from his face. He is fully seated but it is suddenly clear to him—an undeniable truth etched into his mind—that he is going to fall down now.
It's strange, how it happens.
He tilts his head and then his body is slumping to the side and he is crumpling down off the desk and onto the cool tiled floor with its scattered papers and dripping inkwells.
“Feng Xin,” the Mu Qings hiss, their six (or is it eight now?) arms reaching for Feng Xin and grabbing at his shoulders to steady him.
Feng Xin breathes out a dopey little laugh, swaying again to the side even as the Mu Qings try to keep him upright.
“Looks like I'm falling for you… again,” he breathes, aiming a lopsided grin at the Mu Qings and relishing in the firm press of their hands on his arms. The last thing he remembers is the sight of his friend's normally cool jade face, repeated several times over, blooming the color of cotton tree flowers and then a blanket of darkness settles over him and tucks him in for the evening.
The weight of a wet, rolled cloth makes itself known on Feng Xin’s forehead and he hums in question, trying to raise his arm but finding he feels absolutely wiped of energy. He sighs heavily, his furrowed eyebrows causing the cloth to shift on his forehead and slide all the way off. He tries opening his eyes and when he finally succeeds, he looks down at himself blearily, trying to discern why he feels so tired. He notes that he's in bed but he can't remember how he got there. A sound startles him and he looks up, suddenly realizing Mu Qing is in the room with him. With shaking arms, Feng Xin attempts to push himself up into a sitting position.
"Mu—"
Mu Qing was part way across the room the last time Feng Xin blinked, but now he is directly at Feng Xin’s side, his eyes scrutinizing each and every aspect of Feng Xin’s appearance in only the way someone who has been medically trained can do. Suddenly, Feng Xin is aware of a firm but comforting press on his left shoulder and he just barely has the capacity to turn his head to determine the source. Logically, what he sees makes total sense, but it still surprises him to find the touch is coming from Mu Qing’s slender and elegant hand. Steady. Careful. Unyielding.
Why is Mu Qing in his bedroom?
What happened?
“Lay down,” Mu Qing commands in a low voice and Feng Xin follows the order without complaint, allowing himself to be pressed back down onto the soft bed. Mu Qing’s bed, his brain belatedly realizes and his heart begins to race as he stares up at the other man’s stern expression. In the grey stormcloud swirl of Mu Qing’s irises, Feng Xin can see a flicker of something akin to worry, but dismisses it as his own muddled brain simply playing tricks. Or—maybe more accurately—wishful thinking.
"You fainted," Mu Qing says plainly, somehow knowing what question Feng Xin was about to ask before the man himself was even able to form it.
"Oh," Feng Xin says dumbly, settling bonelessly into the soft cushion of Mu Qing's bed and trying his best to take a steady breath.
That explains the heaviness in his limbs and the wet cloth and why he woke up in Mu Qing's bed. Well, does it actually explain why he woke up in Mu Qing's bed? Did Mu Qing not call for his deputies to come collect him? He furrows his brows and only then does he notice Mu Qing's cool palm pressed to his forehead, the other hand firmly grasping his wrist.
“I've already contacted your deputies and let them know you would be staying the night in the palace of Xuan Zhen,” Mu Qing says quietly and Feng Xin lets his eyes close at the comforting sound of his voice. "So stay in bed and stop your worrying; I can practically hear your thoughts from here." Feng Xin sighs and lets himself relax even further as the cool stream of Mu Qing's spiritual energy eases its way through his meridians.
Exchanging spiritual energy with Mu Qing has always felt incredibly intimate, and even though this interaction is clearly one of care-taker and patient, Feng Xin can't help the way his chest swells with desperate hope and affection.
He's in Mu Qing's bed, completely surrounded by the scent of jasmine and fresh parchment, mixed with a warm and heady undertone of something spiced that makes his head spin. It's so distinctly Mu Qing and Feng Xin almost wishes he could bask in it forever. His mind wanders until it arrives at the doorstep of a fantasy he has visited countless times; one where he and Mu Qing wake in the morning after having shared a bed the night before—their bare bodies curling together, seeking the other out with languid, gentle caresses and softly pressed kisses.
Mu Qing startles and grips Feng Xin's wrist more firmly, the hand on his forehead quickly moving to tug one of Feng Xin's eyelids open.
"Your heart is racing," Mu Qing murmurs under his breath, the worry in his voice practically palpable. Feng Xin's heart continues to pound in his chest, perhaps even speeding up from Mu Qing's caring tone, and his face blooms red and warm for a much different reason than fever.
It's not particularly bright in Mu Qing's room, the space lit by no more than a single candle if Feng Xin had to guess, but he still struggles to keep his eyes open.
"Come now," Mu Qing coaxes, his voice firm but gentle in a way that sends Feng Xin's mind and heart reeling with need. "Stay awake for me, A-Xin."
Feng Xin shifts just barely at the sound of the nickname, not remembering a time before now that he's ever heard Mu Qing use it. Could he be dreaming? He forces his eyes open so he can peer up at Mu Qing's face and is greeted with the image of a very worried Mu Qing sitting at the edge of the bed with his hands still carefully positioned over Feng Xin's wrist and forehead.
Completely unbidden and wholly unwanted, an anxious whine fights its way through Feng Xin's lips and he watches in real time as Mu Qing's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline in surprise and then immediately knit together in an open display of concern. His cool palm even passes over Feng Xin's forehead to smooth down his sweaty hair.
Feng Xin isn't sure he's ever been more embarrassed in his life.
Mu Qing appears to have gathered his composure now that Feng Xin is fully awake and able to keep his eyes open.
"It seems the great general Nan Yang has come down with sun sickness."
As Mu Qing says this, he levels Feng Xin with an unimpressed look that perfectly conveys his disappointment and leaves Feng Xin feeling properly chastised.
If possible, Feng Xin's cheeks color even more and he retreats further into the bed, a frown fully taking over his features. He clears his throat, his mouth feeling unfathomably dry as he speaks.
"I'm sorry, Mu Qing."
Both men are surprised by the admission and Feng Xin finds himself wishing he could sink back into unconsciousness.
"I—I mean—"
"Hush," Mu Qing scolds, finally letting go of Feng Xin so he can grab a cup of warm water from the nearby table. He returns quickly, sitting closer to the head of the bed as he guides the cup to Feng Xin's lips.
"Drink," he instructs, leaving no room for argument as he tips the cup against Feng Xin's plush lower lip.
Through the entire exchange, Feng Xin is transfixed, his eyes never leaving Mu Qing's as he obediently takes what he is given, swallowing down every last drop of water he is offered. He feels so completely at the mercy of the one god he worships the most that his mind has gone fuzzy—his thoughts rendered completely useless. He's so far-gone that he doesn't even notice he has finished the water until Mu Qing pulls the empty cup back and sets it aside.
Feng Xin can't help it; he leans forward, chasing the comfort of the other man's closeness until Mu Qing's hand is in his hair again, pressing him back to the bed and stroking soothingly over his scalp. They hold each other's eye contact as something unspoken unfolds between them.
"I have never seen you faint before," Mu Qing whispers.
Feng Xin lets out a low hum and nods, trying to find it in him to speak actual words again.
“I uh... I can't say I've ever fainted before today,” he decides, just barely pressing his head up into Mu Qing's touch and shivering when Mu Qing tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear.
“So, then what did it mean?” Mu Qing asks, his expression turning complicated.
“What… what did what mean?” Feng Xin says, trying to tilt his head in question but not being able to as Mu Qing's steady touch prevents him. Selfishly, he wishes they were closer together right now.
"You said you were falling for me again..." Mu Qing trails off for a moment, the tops of his pale cheeks warming to a beautiful rosy hue that Feng Xin can just barely make out in the soft candlelight. He looks ethereal and Feng Xin almost feels moved to prayer, but stops himself at the last second. "I don't remember ever catching you before—or seeing you fall, for that matter—so what did that mean?"
There is no way Feng Xin was stupid enough to say that out loud—absolutely no way.
Mu Qing brushes his thumb over the corner of Feng Xin's eye and then gently across his temple and back into his hair, waiting for a reply.
Oh, fuck. He's completely screwed.
He forces himself to stare into Mu Qing's eyes and swallows his trepidation right back down his throat.
"I... um. I don't know...?" he says lamely, seeing in Mu Qing's face that he hasn't convinced him at all. Before Mu Qing can press any further, Feng Xin beats him to it.
"Why are you taking care of me?"
Mu Qing blinks, startled out of whatever he was about to say, and then narrows his eyes.
"Would you rather I had dragged your unconscious body out onto the street?" he asks, one eyebrow cocked and his expression looking rather annoyed. However, the hand on Feng Xin's cheek stays gentle and the soft treatment is more than Feng Xin could have ever hoped for and certainly more than he could ever deserve.
"Well, no. I just..." Feng Xin searches Mu Qing's face, darting back and forth between both of his dark eyes, biding time to gather the courage to speak.
"You've brought me to your bed," he finally whispers, swallowing thickly under Mu Qing's intense gaze, "Am I not burdening you right now?"
"Was I a burden to you when you took care of me?" Mu Qing asks steadily, his eyes searching as Feng Xin hurries to answer.
"No," Feng Xin says firmly, "Of course not."
The image of Mu Qing's burns plays heavily in his mind and his hands twitch with the urge to help heal a wound that has long since come to pass. The nightmares are what Feng Xin thinks of next, the ones that Mu Qing still suffers from occasionally, and he settles a little, remembering that it is him who Mu Qing looks to in the middle of the night to ease his fears.
"Then?" Mu Qing challenges, his gaze unrelenting and making Feng Xin feel as if he's burning from the inside out.
"Well... how are you to sleep if I'm taking up your space?"
"Who says I'd be able to sleep anyway?"
Has Mu Qing been struggling to fall asleep? And if he has been, why is Feng Xin only finding out about this now?
"Why wouldn't you be able to sleep?" Feng Xin worriedly asks, trying to prop himself up slightly to get a better look at Mu Qing's face.
"How could I, Feng Xin—" Mu Qing asks easily, his palm carefully smoothing down Feng Xin's hair and passing over his ear to cradle his jaw, his thumb just barely grazing the top of Feng Xin's cheek bone. "—when I know you're unwell?"
Feng Xin melts at those words, pooling into a little puddle in Mu Qing's open palm and having half a mind to thank him for it.
That's the most caring thing anyone has said to Feng Xin in several centuries and it opens up a well inside him that desperately—selfishly—begs for more.
"You're quite flushed; do you need more water, A-Xin?"
Feng Xin nods somehow, still convinced he's a liquified mass of tender devotion currently seeping through the many expensive layers of Mu Qing's bedding. He must have a physical form though, if Mu Qing is still able to understand him.
"I'll get you more water—but first, you need to tell me what you meant earlier."
Feng Xin's heart thunders in his chest and he's certain Mu Qing can feel it with how his palm just barely cups the skin over the pulse point on his neck. Feng Xin inhales sharply, his eyes blown wide as he tries to think of something to say that doesn't completely decimate their friendship.
Oh gods, he is so fucking fucked.
"I meant... I meant that—"
Mu Qing presses his palm more firmly against Feng Xin's cheek, undeniably feeling his pulse now as he encourages Feng Xin to continue.
"Go on," he says, his warm, low voice curling around Feng Xin's heart and squeezing. Feng Xin truly never stood a chance, did he? He takes a breath and powers through, saying it all in one go.
"I meant that I had fallen in love with you."
Mu Qing's thumb stills against Feng Xin's cheek and his face goes stony and unreadable.
Feng Xin shrinks from the reaction, regret and mortification hollowing out a place in his chest and making him feel like he needs to vomit. His body is still so weak that it takes everything in him to not cry. Regardless, he tries pulling his face away, but Mu Qing's grip is firm and unyielding.
"Do you really mean that?" Mu Qing asks, his eyes glinting with a vulnerable determination as he holds Feng Xin in place.
"Yes," Feng Xin answers breathlessly, and doubles down, because if he's already admitted it, what harm is there in saying it again?
"I love you, Mu Qing."
It all happens very quickly after that.
One moment, Mu Qing's hand is on his cheek, and the next, his arms have wrapped around Feng Xin and pulled him in tight against his chest. Feng Xin tucks his face into the crook of Mu Qing's neck and presses hard against him, his arms wrapping around Mu Qing's waist and tugging as he scrambles to get closer. He doesn't know what this means, he just knows he needs this like he needs his heart to beat and his lungs to breathe.
"Feng Xin," Mu Qing whispers and the sound of it makes the air catch in Feng Xin's throat. He burrows closer and squeezes his arms around Mu Qing's middle.
"Mu Qing," he replies, because he can't bear for this moment to come to an end and is determined not to waste a single second of the joy Mu Qing is giving him.
"I love you too," he murmurs reverently into Feng Xin's hair, pulling the other man so close he's practically in his lap. "I love you, Feng Xin."
It's lucky that Feng Xin is bundled in Mu Qing's arms and surrounded by cushiony, soft fabrics, because he's convinced he might just faint again. But no matter how woozy he gets, Mu Qing holds him up and keeps him close and safe.
"A-Qing," he warbles, grasping onto the back of Mu Qing's robes as he tucks himself close, "A-Qing, please," he asks, not really sure what he needs but knowing with certainty that only Mu Qing can give it to him.
"I'm right here, A-Xin. It's okay—you're okay."
They hold each other tightly as the warm summer evening soldiers on—their touches soft in a way that Feng Xin has only ever dreamed of—and soon he feels much more steady again, his clamoring heart finally settling in his chest.
When Mu Qing begins to pull back, Feng Xin swallows his whine of protest, letting himself be held by the shoulders at arm's length as Mu Qing takes a good look at him.
"You were being very dumb," he says, raising his hand up to flick Feng Xin in the middle of the forehead, making them both laugh.
"Now that you know you're not immune to the effects of the sun—no more gallivanting off like a buffoon. Just because you know I'll take care of you, doesn't mean you need to go out of your way to get sick."
Feng Xin grins at that, eyes shining bright as he looks at Mu Qing.
"Are you saying you'll always take care of me when I'm sick?"
Mu Qing's smile falters and his eyes go wide, his cheeks quickly coloring a gentle pink.
"That—that is absolutely not what I just s-said!"
"You want to take care of me!"
"W-what!" Mu Qing splutters, his entire face and even the visible portion of his neck now turning a vibrant shade of cherry red.
"You love me!" Feng Xin teases, his grin spreading so wide across his face that it almost hurts.
"Oh, for f-f-fuck's sake—"
And then Mu Qing is kissing him.
Mu Qing is holding him close and he's kissing him on the lips.
And Feng Xin has never been more thankful for the sweet, merciful, ever-loving sun.