Work Text:
just like we always do
"Have you tried," Xie Lian says, emphatically, as though the thought might better drill itself into Feng Xin's thick skull, "being nice to her?"
Feng Xin shudders, "Well, she's not nice to me! At all!"
Xie Lian looks at Feng Xin like she's a bumbling puppy who's also inhaled a ton of sawdust; sweet, but also incredibly stupid. "Feng Xin, she's not nice to anyone."
That's not true. Feng Xin has seen Mu Qing smile at old ladies and young children. Mu Qing has also smiled at Bonnie, the stray cat they picked up in their second year by the old Science faculty building; Mu Qing had insisted, vetoing all of Feng Xin's suggestions - Xiao Bai, Bai Bai, Mao Mao. Feng Xin knows it's a reference to Bonnie and Clyde, of course, but the thought of getting a second cat (or a pet – a huge fluffy Samoyed that Mu Qing can lean her entire body against, curled, softly asleep) makes Feng Xin feel strange complex things in her stomach or chest. So she's never called Mu Qing out on that.
"Not that she's not kind," Xie Lian rushes to add. "Mu Qing is kind, but it’s not easy for her to be, um, hmm."
"Nice," Hua Cheng supplements, carefully peeling apples by the table. Feng Xin wants to tell her to shut up, but she's armed with a knife and even Xie Lian's pleading puppy eyes may not be fast enough to stop Hua Cheng from throwing it at her.
"Vulnerable," Xie Lian corrects.
Also because Hua Cheng and Mu Qing kind of have this. Arrangement? Thing – they don't have a thing, but there's this. Truce, maybe. An understanding. Feng Xin is on the outside of it, and she hates it because Mu Qing never tries to explain it to her.
Feng Xin ignores her. "How am I - how should I-?"
"Be nice to her?" Hua Cheng says unhelpfully.
Feng Xin twitches. Xie Lian encouragingly nods, so Feng Xin says, "Yes. That."
"You just have to treat her like you treat anyone else!" Xie Lian claps her hand, clearly relieved that Feng Xin is buying into this dumb, straightforward idea.
"Not everyone," Hua Cheng says, because, yeah, true, Feng Xin isn't the pinnacle of niceness when it comes to Hua Cheng. "Maybe like how you'd treat Jie-jie."
"No." The response is instinctive. She knows Mu Qing would – it would get really bad, if she did. Because Mu Qing would know, and Mu Qing would get- it would be like their fourth year, when Mu Qing got in her own head and Feng Xin was too prideful, too stubborn, burning with pathetic self-righteous indignation and they weren't speaking and Mu Qing had looked at her like – like how she did when Mu Qing's mother had passed, and she'd allowed Feng Xin to hold her, limp, lifeless.
Hua Cheng looks at her considering. There's none of her usual disdain, which is just strange. Feng Xin looks to her side, and finds nothing there. "There might be hope for you yet."
"What the fuck do you-"
"There, there," Xie Lian holds her hands up in a placating fashion. Hua Cheng takes one of it and kisses her knuckles. Xie Lian blushes prettily. Mu Qing would decapitate Feng Xin if she tried that.
Xie Lian continues, unaware of the odd ache in Feng Xin's stomach as she tries to process that thought. "The point is, to treat Mu Qing nicely. Like how you'd treat any of your other friends. Friends you've known since- oh, well, how about how you treat Huang Yushi?"
"But," Feng Xin frowns. "But she's Mu Qing."
"She's your friend, right? We've all been friends for the longest time," Xie Lian explains.
Xie Lian is conveniently skipping over the hormone-infested turmoil of their high school years. And Xie Lian's suspension – the gap years when Xie Lian went completely uncontactable and Mu Qing might as well have done the same.
"Yeaaaah," Feng Xin says. "Mu Qing's gonna think I've grown a third head."
Hua Cheng mutters something under her breath that Feng Xin doesn't catch, but Xie Lian does, and she smacks Hua Cheng squarely in the stomach. It gives Feng Xin some small joy to see Hua Cheng choke.
"You know that Mu Qing doesn't mean half the things she says. To you, that is," Xie Lian points out.
"Yeah, she's all claws and barb." Feng Xin scratches the back of her neck. God, why is this so difficult. "She'll curse me nine ways to hell but save my ass when I need it."
Xie Lian gives her a look.
"Ok, fine, yes, I'll be good," Feng Xin shrugs.
"Great!" Xie Lian smiles, radiant and warm like the sun. Still, Feng Xin wonders why she can feel a terrible chill run down her spine.
Hua Cheng smirks, as if knowing exactly the whirlpool swirling in Feng Xin's mind. "And you can't tell her we've told you to do so."
Feng Xin glares at her. "I'm not an idiot, fuck off."
Strangely, Xie Lian turns serious now. "Yes, Feng Xin. You can't lie to Mu Qing, okay. This isn't about-"
"I know!" Feng Xin snaps, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm not trying to- to deceive her or fuck, I can't lie to Mu Qing, you know that, I'm just, I'm just."
"Being patient," Hua Cheng says, and voice even and neutral. "Even when she's trying to rile you up."
"Yeah, fuck, whatever," Feng Xin grunts. "Because when is she not trying to?"
It's simultaneously familiar and new, because now Feng Xin has to grapple with the connotations of every single act and word posed to Mu Qing. It's weird, scrutinising her behaviour when she knows Mu Qing does enough of that for the two of them. It makes buying boba for Mu Qing, a careless thing of routine, perplexing now. Feng Xin doesn't usually second-guess herself, and it feels a bit late to start now.
"Fuck it," she says and slaps her card against the terminal with a little too much force. Then adds, "Sorry."
The underpaid part-timer blinks up at her and sputters. Mu Qing will just have to live with her stupid pu-er milk tea, large, 100% sugar (who the hell gets that) and less ice. Feng Xin has Mu Qing’s order pinned in their chat, visible only to her so Mu Qing doesn’t mock her for having Alzheimer’s at such an early age.
She swings back to their apartment. Mu Qing is unsurprisingly perched on the couch, working on another commission. She doesn't look up even when Feng Xin places her boba on the coffee table.
Feng Xin waits a second. Or a minute.
"What," Mu Qing says, still not looking at her; she does pick up the boba for a sip though. The rim of the straw is pink when she sets it down.
It's a nice thing she's done, right? Feng Xin struggles to- to. No, it's, it's not like she needs Mu Qing to acknowledge it, really. They'd spent months before Mu Qing finally stopped fretting over transferring Feng Xin money for boba every time Feng Xin bought some back for Mu Qing after gym:
"I'm gonna go broke if you keep getting me food whenever you eat out," Mu Qing says. It's not, ‘stop buying me free food and drinks’, though.
Feng Xin's stretching on the living room floor. Mu Qing coughs and miraculously looks away without nagging at Feng Xin to mop it down later.
"What," Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing tsks, pink lips pursed. Her bangs flutter as she huffs. "You buy me food. And boba."
"Yeah, well, you eat them?" Feng Xin says, confused. Because if Mu Qing is trying to start a fight, she's being very cute about it.
Coy. Coy about it. Feng Xin shakes her head. Probably.
"Yes, that's, that's not the point," Mu Qing says. "You- you never tell me how much they cost-"
"Because I don't remember?" Feng Xin says, and that's probably not the right thing to say because Mu Qing immediately swivels to glare at her.
"Of course, because such frivolous expenses are beneath your notice," Mu Qing says.
"The fuck," Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing huffs again. It is really very. Coy. "So I have to search up those stores and look through badly taken photos of their menus-"
Feng Xin stares at her, until it clicks. "Mu Qing. Have you been transferring me money for those-"
"Yes, because I'm not a leech," comes the reply quickly. "I don't want to owe you, of all people-"
"For fuck's sake!" Feng Xin says. "I- fuck, I wasn't expecting you to-"
"What, didn't think I had principles-"
"No! I mean, not- I don't buy you things because I expect you to pay me back, what the fuck, that's like a scam-"
"Then why!" Mu Qing says hotly, crossing her arms. Sparring practice with Xie Lian has been good for Mu Qing, Feng Xin thinks randomly.
"Because!?" Feng Xin rolls her eyes. "Because you'd- when I- I'd see things on the menu I know you'd like?"
Mu Qing doesn't reply, but her eyes are still narrowed and trained on Feng Xin.
"It doesn't make sense to- why would I make you watch me eat-"
"I never watch you eat," Mu Qing says, face stony as ever.
"Yeah, because we're always eating together?" Feng Xin rubs a hand over her face, exasperated. "This- I never expect anything in return, fuck, I just think oh I'm hungry and oh maybe Mu Qing would love this too and then I order takeaway for us both because it's more convenient, and then we eat together and you bitch at me about your day properly, okay?"
A beat, and then, "Convenient."
Feng Xin throws her hands up in the air, because that's explanation enough, surely.
Mu Qing slowly says, "You order takeaway for other people too."
It sounds like a question.
"Uh," Feng Xin thinks on it. "I mean, it's mostly you because I get these cravings after my sessions and then I come back home straight, you know."
They stare at each other. The rise and fall of Mu Qing's chest looks a little more even now.
"Fine," Mu Qing says, spinning on her heels and going back into her room. She slams the door shut, but there's no anger in it - what Feng Xin can detect, after months of living with Mu Qing. She's mostly right nowadays, ha. The charms of house-sharing; learning to read every micro-expression stupid, guarded Mu Qing’s stupid, pretty face.
In conclusion: Feng Xin does buy Mu Qing boba all the time. It's a completely nice and normal thing to do – hey, doesn't that mean Feng Xin's always been nice to Mu Qing?
Mu Qing scowls. "What is it? Spit it out."
"No, uh," Feng Xin says, because she can't just say, ‘hey, look, I'm capable of being nice to you’. "That's the right- I got the right order right?"
Mu Qing scoffs, picking the drink up again to check the label. "Yeah, well, this is what you get me every time." Her eyes narrow into suspicion. "Why, did you-"
Eager to avoid Mu Qing's spiral into thinking that Feng Xin's pranking her (and ruining months of trust-building), Feng Xin shakes her head quickly. "No, just, they had this new peach flavour – it's seasonal, so I didn't know if you wanted that instead."
Mu Qing softens, imperceptibly, to the untrained eye. "No, that's fine. Maybe next time."
"Okay," Feng Xin says, glad to end the conversation there.
She's halfway to her room when she hears Mu Qing clear her throat.
"Thanks, by the way."
Feng Xin pauses. "Yeah, no problem."
It's actually easier than she'd thought it would be, being nice to Mu Qing. Because Feng Xin's already doing most of it, you see, before this whole intervention from Xie Lian. So that just proves her point that-
Mu Qing is standing at the dining table, arms folded. She doesn't look pleased. Which is to say, a person lesser than Feng Xin might cave and fall to their knees at the icy stare Mu Qing is fixing her with, and the dissatisfied curl of her lips - more pink than red today, and looking less shiny, so maybe that's a tint? It gets kind of confusing because Mu Qing has all these lip products on her vanity and she uses all of them, somehow, which is a testament to both her-
"So," Mu Qing says, and expects Feng Xin to immediately prostrate herself on their hardwood flooring for some unimaginable, but undoubtedly trivial crime she's committed.
Feng Xin tries for neutral, "So?"
Mu Qing rolls her eyes, and her long lashes glint in the sunlight. It's actually kind of insane, Feng Xin thinks.
But then Mu Qing is talking again, voice cool and unaffected, "Well, if you so insist on showing up like an oaf to the Mandarin Oriental."
As she speaks, she reaches up to primp her ponytail, and Feng Xin feels her chest do strange somersaults at the sight of silver hoops winking back at her. I got her those for her birthday, Feng Xin's brain supplies weakly. It's so much like Mu Qing to keep things from decades ago. Stupid anal bastard probably has a ledger of all her assets, is the conclusion Feng Xin firmly settles on.
"It's just lunch," Feng Xin says, carefully moderating her voice in mimicry of neutrality. "With Xie Lian."
It's also with Hua Cheng, but there's really no need to specify - it would take a meteorite hitting earth to separate the two, and even then they'd probably be found holding each other as dumb fossilised skeletons. And future archaeologists will say, here we see the remains of a loving pair of sisters.
"I won't be seen out together with someone who's pairing that shirt with those... bermudas," Mu Qing wrinkles her nose, spitting the last word out with derision. "Really? White and camel? You're gonna stick out like a sore thumb against the dining room."
Feng Xin wants to snort, because this is where she'd say they can get in separate cars if her oaf sensibilities offends Mu Qing's inane princess syndrome.
Instead she says, "You said this was a good brown for me!"
Mu Qing purses her lips. "You truly can lead a horse to water..."
Feng Xin looks down at herself. It's not incredibly formal, but Xie Lian won't care. Hua Cheng has never given a single fuck in her life about anything besides Xie Lian. So.
"Well, whatever, if they kick you out of-" Mu Qing slings her purse over her shoulder.
"Fine, I'll get changed, just tell me what to wear," Feng Xin spins on her heels, taking her crossbody bag off in an easy swing.
Mu Qing follows after her into her room shortly, steps short and soft. Mu Qing looks slightly dazed, confused at this sudden change, and Feng Xin feels a surge of victory at taking her aback. Feng Xin tugs her t-shirt off by the collar, and Mu Qing is immediately looking at the cerulean ceramic bowl on the dresser where Feng Xin keeps her accessories. It's really just that watch that Mu Qing got her for Christmas, and a few assorted hair ties or rings.
"The shirt you wore for your office's New Year lunch, the champagne satin," Mu Qing orders. "And the white tapered pants that stop at your ankle."
Feng Xin sighs under her breath but digs through her closet anyway. When she's done dressing, Mu Qing hands her the watch, rimmed with gold and a brown leather belt.
"You'll wear the tan loafers," Mu Qing continues, "and- come here."
Mu Qing helps to roll her sleeves up, fingers practiced and slim, brushing over Feng Xin's forearm in the slightest. When Mu Qing finally steps back to examine her work, Feng Xin takes a quick breath.
"Okay," Mu Qing says, more to herself than to Feng Xin, eyes trailing slowly in what must be critique.
The fabric is cool against Feng Xin's neck. There's a light breeze, and Mu Qing's curtain bangs flutter lightly. Mu Qing's hair is dyed a dark, subtle tinge of purple. It's box dye, and Feng Xin helps her get the parts of her head she can't full reach. Sometimes when she bunches up the back of Mu Qing's hair in a plastic gloved fist, she can see the way the foam threatens to spill onto Mu Qing's pale nape.
Finally, Mu Qing nods stiffly and walks out, finished with her assessment.
Feng Xin follows after her, throat dry. Mu Qing is putting on her heels, light pink and strappy.
Mu Qing doesn't talk to her for the entire cab ride, choosing to turn her face this way and that, peering into her compact mirror. Usually this would inspire a wry remark from Feng Xin about the amount of powder Mu Qing's caked her face in, and in turn a squawk from Mu Qing about Feng Xin's lack of discernment (she can tell Mu Qing looks fine, so what's up with that anyway?!).
"You look fine," Feng Xin says, and clears her throat because her voice is too raspy. "You look-"
"I heard what you said," Mu Qing says and snaps her compact shut. "Sorry for wounding your eyes with my vanity."
"Don't put words in my mouth!" Feng Xin says, and then attempts to remedy, "I don't care about that."
It's the wrong thing to say, because Mu Qing sneers, "Right, unfortunately, not all of us can afford not to care about looking presentable."
"You-" Feng Xin counts to five, because the line of Mu Qing's pale shoulders are tensed. "I'm saying you look pretty."
Mu Qing flinches, her grip on her compact dangerously white-knuckled.
"You- you know I don't know anything about makeup-" and Mu Qing looks like she's about to conjure some left-field retort, so Feng Xin hurries, "Not because- not because it's stupid, because I don't- it's not my kind of- what I'm trying to say is that you're good at it, and you look pretty, okay?"
"Well," Mu Qing says, chilly. "That's what the makeup's for."
Feng Xin rolls her eyes, finding patience in the trees passing them by. "You always look good."
When Feng Xin looks back, Mu Qing is pointed looking out of her side of the window, the tips of her ears pink.
Feng Xin sighs. Maybe it's not as easy as she thinks.
Xie Lian is sitting on Hua Cheng's lap when they reach, eating cherries out of her hand. When Xie Lian sees them, she jumps out and hurries to welcome Mu Qing with a tight hug. Mu Qing doesn't shy away, but she doesn't move to reciprocate either.
"Mu Qing!" Xie Lian smiles, doe eyes glittering, baby pink on her cheeks. "Feng Xin, hey!"
"We've just seen each other on Friday," Mu Qing says, her hand cupping Xie Lian's elbow - the arm still easily wrapped around Mu Qing's thin waist.
Behind them, Hua Cheng has sauntered over, nonchalant. At least it's not that gaudy red that she usually sports. Feng Xin sees the way Hua Cheng's eyes soften at the sight of Mu Qing in Xie Lian's arm, and feels something bitter rise in her throat.
"Yes, well," Xie Lian pauses, and then her eyes are big and shining. "You're matching!"
It's true, well, sort of - because Mu Qing's dress is also a slinky satin thing, a shade darker than Feng Xin's own shirt, draped effortlessly over pale, cream calves. And her bag's a brown leather, matching Feng Xin's watch.
"Well, Mu Qing dressed me," Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing flushes bright red in indignation.
"Only because you looked like you were ready to go fishing," Mu Qing says, catching Hua Cheng's eye and coughing.
Feng Xin doesn't like that, reaching over to take Mu Qing's purse. "And you looked like you were almost gonna get an aneurysm."
"Better an aneurysm than to live with your inability to tell one colour from another," Mu Qing says, letting Feng Xin take her purse. More importantly, she's looking back at Feng Xin - albeit with a victorious smirk.
Feng Xin snorts, and feels a tinge of joy when Mu Qing wrinkles her nose at the noise. "Oh yes, great merciful goddess of colour matching, what would I do without you."
"Probably trip over your stupid bermudas and die," Mu Qing says.
Xie Lian looks amused, which, shit, Feng Xin's supposed to be nice to Mu Qing.
"Well," Feng Xin struggles to find something nice to say, pulling Mu Qing's chair out for her as the group settles down. "Thanks. For saving my life."
It lands a tad too sincere. Mu Qing raises a brow.
Surprisingly, Feng Xin finds that she means it. Even though her shirt and Mu Qing's dress aren't the same exact shade of... beige (because contrary to popular belief, they do their shopping separately on occasion), Mu Qing's paler than Feng Xin. The respective colours look complementary on their skin tones. It's also impressive that despite having only ten minutes in the morning before departing, Mu Qing managed to find a suitable look in Feng Xin's wardrobe. Half the time Feng Xin's not sure what she has in that closet. It's scary how well Mu Qing remembers things.
"You're ... welcome," Mu Qing says, slowly turning her gaze to the menu.
When Feng Xin looks up from her own menu, Xie Lian is mouthing 'good job' to her in an embarrassingly obvious manner. Even Hua Cheng looks like a proud parent at the sight of her snivelling child's first words, which is mildly encouraging and mostly disturbing.
"What are you getting?" Feng Xin says, turning to Mu Qing instead, because at least Feng Xin won't feel like throwing herself out the window in a fit of awkwardness.
Mu Qing shrugs. "Undecided between the sea bass and the lamb."
"I'll get the lamb, you can get the sea bass," Feng Xin says. "Do you want the Hokkaido scallops to share?"
"Mm," Mu Qing says, flipping the menu. She's even got her nails done, Feng Xin realises belatedly, with matching white flowers and a light golden shimmer. "Heard the bisque is good. I want the osmanthus macarons for dessert."
She glances up at Feng Xin, as if daring her to comment on Mu Qing's insatiable appetite. But all Feng Xin can think about is how preoccupied Mu Qing was the same night Xie Lian invited them for lunch, scrolling through her phone and reading out that one Google review about life-changing macarons. She'd been curled up on the couch, their pink throw pillow in her arms, nerdy reading glasses on and hair spilling out from her claw clip. Even in the low lamp light of their tiny apartment, Mu Qing manages to look like a painting.
"Sure," Feng Xin says. "Sounds good."
Mu Qing gets a commission. It's a pretty big deal, and it also means that both the living and dining room (they're the same room) are covered in swathes of fabric, stray pins and too many sketches. Feng Xin almost trips on chalk, and the worst thing is that Mu Qing doesn't even chide her for it.
Mu Qing, bent over her sewing machine, arms probably cramping from the angle she's holding them at, hair sticking to her forehead. Feng Xin remembers the days when the mess was contained to Mu Qing's room, and the pallor of her face visible even through carefully fluffed brows and pink blushes. Mu Qing had almost been admitted to the hospital when Feng Xin found her collapsed on the kitchen floor, and Mu Qing had finally stopped pretending everything was fine after letting Feng Xin fuss over her. Too much pride to show any weakness, Xie Lian had sighed, stubborn, just like you.
So. While it is majorly inconvenient that Feng Xin has to play obstacle course in their apartment, it's better than the alternative. At least Mu Qing isn't struggling to balance her project with keeping up an image of perfection. Anyway, it's not like Mu Qing has anyone to impress – it's just Feng Xin, and Feng Xin already knows that Mu Qing is a stack of sharp, witty nerves and insecurities precariously balancing on top of each other in a trench coat. And Feng Xin knows how much work she puts into her craft – what others would call 'talent', Feng Xin acknowledges as hours of stubborn, dog-headed spite. You could grab any number of the people on the Forbes 100, and Mu Qing would raze them all to the ground. That's her girl.
Feng Xin brings her her thermos. Mu Qing blinks up at her, bleary-eyed. Mu Qing looks so soft like this, for a moment.
"Thanks," Mu Qing says, brushing hair out of her face in a way that somehow manages to look pretty. "I'll – oh, I see you managed not to lose your limbs in the satin."
"That was once," Feng Xin says without much bite - it's as close to an apology as Mu Qing will give for the mess in their space. "Drink."
"Bossy." But she does. "Oh."
"It's the new osmanthus latte from the boba place on 5th street," Feng Xin shouts from her room. "Let me know if it's any good."
"What am I, your guinea pig?" A pause. "It's fine."
"I'll take it that you approve," Feng Xin says.
She doesn't need to hear it to know Mu Qing's making a quiet 'humph' of non-committal approval.
"I'm starving, christ, there was this whole shit at work today and we had to skip lunch to settle it," Feng Xin says when she's done changing out of her work clothes. "What did you get for lunch?"
Mu Qing pointedly takes another sip from her thermos, laser-point focus on sewing a straight line.
"Don't tell me you skipped lunch," Feng Xin says.
"I know how to take care of myself," Mu Qing grits out, forcing her sewing machine into submission.
"You-" Feng Xin takes a calming breath. "I know you want to do a good job- and you always do, but you have to eat something."
"Later," Mu Qing dismisses.
Feng Xin rounds on her, a hand on the back of her chair. Mu Qing stubbornly refuses to look up. "I'm going to order Thai. Do you want prawns with your pad thai?"
"What-" Mu Qing looks affronted, and for what? It's what Mu Qing always gets from the Thai place next to the park. "Fuck off."
Feng Xin utters a silent apology under her breath to Xie Lian, and flicks Mu Qing on the forehead. "Is that a yes or no?"
Mu Qing bats her hand away. "Stop it. I'm not in the mood."
"Sorry," Feng Xin says. "But I am going to order."
"Whatever," Mu Qing says, pushing her further up her nose. Even at this distance Feng Xin can see the indentation it's left on Mu Qing's skin.
Feng Xin settles in the chair opposite Mu Qing and dials the number for the takeout. For good measure she makes another call to their local cafe. Mu Qing stiffens at the sound of the cashier's greeting, and steals a quick glance at Feng Xin, both perplexed and upset when she orders a chocolate mousse.
"What's that for?" Mu Qing accuses.
"The cake?" Feng Xin says, "for you."
"For- for-" Mu Qing's face is pale and scrunched up. "Why the fuck would you do that?"
A series of blazing question marks run through Feng Xin's mind. "Why not?"
"You don't- I'm not eating that."
"You don't have to eat it now, we can keep it in the fridge."
"No! I’m not eating that," Mu Qing stabs a pin in her red tomato pincushion, and Feng Xin almost wants to laugh at her internal comparison of the two – Mu Qing, shaking, on the verge of some uncalled for aneurysm. "You can't just get a cake!"
"Why not?!" So maybe Feng Xin'll go to Xie Lian for confessional tomorrow - she's mirroring Mu Qing, palms pressed into the table, halfway standing.
"Because I'm not done! Are you an idiot?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I've still got the fucking train and sleeves to hem, and I haven't even figured out the dumb lace situation-”
"But you've been working on this for five days straight-"
Mu Qing straightens, voice icy cold. "Well, I'm sorry for being fucking incompetent."
"That's not what I-"
"Because perfect, functional Feng Xin thinks she can do my job more efficiently than I can-"
"Will you shut up and-"
"-if you're just tolerating my inaptitude I advise you-"
"Mu Qing!"
"-to give up on the venture," Mu Qing looks down at her fabrics, and reaches to turn the sewing machine off. "Never mind. I'm just wasting time."
Feng Xin finds herself out of her seat, walking back to Mu Qing. Her hand's around Mu Qing's wrist, slender and pale – Feng Xin's thumb and middle finger touch.
"Mu Qing," she tries.
"Let go." Even single-handedly, Mu Qing is packing her things with cold precision.
"Mu Qing."
"Let go."
"I love watching you sew," Feng Xin says, tired from the effort of gentle honesty. Is this how Xie Lian feels all the time when watching them quibble? It can’t be, because half of Xie Lian’s mind is occupied with Hua Cheng at any one time, and Mu Qing is always facing her with full strength when they fight; if Mu Qing’s laser-sharp focus were to come to live, Feng Xin would have been eviscerated already.
Mu Qing freezes.
"Because you look so happy and accomplished when you're doing it. And it is! It's something to be proud of."
Feng Xin lets go of Mu Qing's wrist to scrub at her face. But Mu Qing's still frozen, looking down.
"But you get so - it's like you're punishing yourself, and I don't like the part that's treating you like this."
"Unfortunately," Mu Qing clears her throat. "This comes in a set-package."
"I know. I'm just- I-" what was it Xie Lian said? That it's hard for Mu Qing to be vulnerable? "I worry because I want to see you happy," Feng Xin reaches out to tug at Mu Qing's hands, watching stiff fingers thaw in her hands. "You're so smart and you can do whatever you set your mind to."
Mu Qing scoffs, but says nothing. It doesn't matter - her hands are pliant and warm against Feng Xin's.
All of it, and especially this, is true: "Even if it means hurting yourself."
It hits the mark. Mu Qing looks at Feng Xin finally, eyes wide and terrified.
"I'm not-" Mu Qing's fingers curl around Feng Xin's own. "I'm just trying to mitigate expectations-"
"You're an idiot," Feng Xin continues, heart numb and tingling from Mu Qing, "if you think no one can see how much hard work you put in and how good things turn out because you're so careful and good with your hands and your brain. So- just, what I'm trying to say is that you need to take a break and eat some goddamn food."
It's so dumb, what she's saying, and even Mu Qing looks like she's personally insulted by the lack of intelligence in Feng Xin's ramble. Disdainful, but also shocked, which is good because at least that means the anxious running captions in Mu Qing's brain have come to a pause.
"You and I know," Mu Qing says, quiet. Mu Qing is always quiet in opposition to everyone, Feng Xin realises with a twinge, even when they're hurling insults at each other from across the dining table. "That hard work doesn't mean shit."
"Yes," Feng Xin says, sharper than she intended to. (Why does Mu Qing look betrayed? Why is it that Feng Xin can never get anything right when it comes to her?) "It doesn't mean shit if you're killing yourself with it."
"Don't be dramatic," Mu Qing says, tearing her eyes away.
Feng Xin sits in silence as the slow trot of the sewing machine comes back to life. Maybe it is impossible for Feng Xin to be nice to Mu Qing. And Feng Xin is so, so angry at herself. Maybe if she were Xie Lian, even Hua Cheng, she'd have the right things to say, and Mu Qing wouldn't be looking like this.
When the doorbell rings, Feng Xin gets up clumsily from the chair, scraping a harsh line against the floor. It's the mousse, which really, just, wow, impeccable timing. She sets the box on the table, wry, and changes her mind, turning for the fridge instead.
"You said you hadn't eaten," Mu Qing's voice spills into the silence.
"No," Feng Xin agrees.
"Why- why are you angry?"
"Maybe because you're being a piece of shit to my friend," Feng Xin snarks back, shoving the glace to the back of the fridge shelf.
"Ha, very funny."
Feng Xin is so tired. Mu Qing steps around her and begins taking out two spoons from the drawers.
"What are you doing," Feng Xin says, when Mu Qing nudges her to the side with her hip and opens the fridge.
"We'll share it. On the couch."
"No."
"What, so sorry the thought of sharing a mousse offends you-"
"My bed," Feng Xin says. And slaps herself internally at the sight of Mu Qing tensing up. "My room. All your silks are on the couch, and I'm sure Dolly the decapitated mannequin is on your bed. Mine's- I changed the sheets last Sunday."
"Oh, well, fine, we'll do that then." Mu Qing shoves the spoons towards Feng Xin and rescues the poor mousse from the cold depths of the fridge.
Feng Xin can only follow after her into the room. Feng Xin's bedroom. It's still messy - blankets tossed on the ground from the morning, a pile of clothes sagging in the laundry chair, takeaway cups littering the desk. Shit. Mu Qing wrinkles her nose at it all, and while Feng Xin finds that cute, she scurries to shove the shirt on the floor onto the laundry chair, spinning it to face the wall in repentance. She also turns on the sunset lamp that Mu Qing got for her ("it was on sale, okay, it was b-buy one get one free").
"I already know you live like a slob," Mu Qing says as Feng Xin panics about dragging out her sit-up bench from its corner for Mu Qing to sit on. “Too late to impress anyone, if you’re even trying to do so.”
Mu Qing plops onto the corner of Feng Xin's bed, and somehow that is better, but also so much worse. "Stop standing around like a fool. Sit down."
The with me is silent, but Feng Xin feels it bounce off the walls of her mind a little too eagerly. Mu Qing shifts further back on the bed, crossing her legs. Mu Qing is occupying at least one-sixth of her bed now.
They eat in silence for a bit. Mostly it's Mu Qing, because Feng Xin's just holding the cup for her – Mu Qing's fingers get icy cold too easily – and one of Mu Qing's big three weaknesses happens to be chocolate.
"Eat," Mu Qing says bashfully when she's halfway through the cup.
Feng Xin obliges, keeping her scoops small.
"It's a big deal," Mu Qing whispers, licking her spoon clean. Feng Xin stares up at her. Her tongue is bunny-pink in this light. "The commission."
"It looks intense," Feng Xin agrees.
Mu Qing nods. "It's complex, which is a good challenge. I've got it all figured out. I've planned it out."
Feng Xin fixes her gaze on Mu Qing's wrist, where the tomato pincushion still resides.
"I, uh, and it's going to help with the debt," Mu Qing says. "And if I do it well, it'll be good for my portfolio."
"You're gonna crush it," Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing 'tsk's at the interruption, but otherwise looks quite pleased. "So, it's important. But good to be- careful, I guess."
"You're always careful."
"More so than you," Mu Qing says, straightening up. "But. But I did make some- mistakes-" Mu Qing looks at Feng Xin, as though daring her to laugh or mock or hold it over her head. "And I had to, the schedule, it had to be adjusted, so I was, having to rush, while being good."
When Feng Xin doesn't immediately reply, Mu Qing adds, "I mean, it's- I wouldn't want to rush, if I had a choice. But when it's just me in this, when I, it gets easy to tunnel ahead."
Mu Qing licks her lips, dry and bitten. Feng Xin leans in.
"Let me," Feng Xin says, pushing a stray strand of Mu Qing's hair behind her ear. "I, uh, we give massages - me and Pei Ming - I can give you a hand massage."
Mu Qing rolls her eyes. "It's like talking to a wall. Why do I even bother."
"I was listening!" Feng Xin protests. "You've worked really hard."
Mu Qing humphs, before setting the finished cup and both their spoons on an undisturbed patch on Feng Xin's table. When she's back she sits even closer to Feng Xin and shoves her hand in Feng Xin's lap unceremoniously.
"What," Mu Qing wriggles her fingers at Feng Xin. "Get on with it."
Feng Xin laughs, more to huff the tightness out of her chest. She takes Mu Qing's hand, envelopes it – Mu Qing's palms are smaller than Feng Xin's, but her fingers are long and slender and plastered. She looks so much smaller in Feng Xin's hold.
"Yes, your highness," Feng Xin jokes, but it's starting to feel less like it.
Mu Qing pouts. It's probably intended to be a frown. Feng Xin can't get it out of her head that maybe Mu Qing is enjoying this. That maybe Mu Qing likes being called that. Likes being treated this way.
"What am I, a dog learning to shake hands?" Mu Qing asks when Feng Xin doesn't move.
There must be something wrong with her guts, because Feng Xin feels like it's rearranging itself into some contorted shape. Her heart, too, really – squished this way and that. She recognises it as nervousness, but she's not sure why.
"Good girl," Feng Xin laughs to cover the tremors in her voice, shaking Mu Qing's hand up and down.
Before Mu Qing can snatch her hand back, Feng Xin tightens her grip and begins to work in earnest. Mu Qing doesn't say anything for the longest time, though she does remain pliant.
The pad thai does come, and Feng Xin eats with a ferocity that drives Mu Qing to snorting. Mu Qing complains about the takeaway boxes and cups, and helps Feng Xin clean up – begrudgingly, still sharp-tongued and frowny. But when the last of the trash is taken out, Mu Qing follows Feng Xin back to her room, sits on her bed, so close their knees are touching. And offers her other hand to Feng Xin.
When Feng Xin removes the pincushion from her wrist, and Mu Qing’s breath hitches, it doesn't feel like a joke anymore.
Mu Qing retreats to her room for the night - and pauses at the door. “Thanks.”
Feng Xin shrugs, sitting awkwardly in her bed. At this angle it feels like she’s waiting for Mu Qing to join her. The dip in her sheets, creases from where Mu Qing sat earlier, remain. “It’s no trouble. I can give you massages anytime.”
Mu Qing waves it away, but stays standing. Feng Xin wants to join her, for some reason. It doesn’t seem right to leave Mu Qing at a distance.
“No, I mean,” Mu Qing tucks her hair behind her ear, glancing down at the floor instead. “For getting angry.”
“Huh? You’re thanking me for getting angry?”
Mu Qing ‘tsk’s. “You usually get angry at me.”
“Yeah, well, you get angry at me too! All the time!” Feng Xin says, too shocked to filter her words.
“Whatever, it’s, talking to you is almost never worth the herculean effort to get through your thick skull,” Mu Qing mutters, still looking down.
Feng Xin waits, the sound of her heartbeat suddenly too loud in her ears. Mu Qing’s legs are bare. Her shirt is hitched up against her right hip. The tomato pincushion is in her hands now, and her fingers are curled up around it.
“Goodnight,” Mu Qing finally says, “Feng Xin.”
“Goodnight, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin says, staring.
Mu Qing turns and heads back to her room. Feng Xin gets up clumsily, legs feeling weak. It must be all the sitting. She pushes her own door close, slowly, just in case.
It kind of becomes a thing. For the next weeks or so, Mu Qing lets Feng Xin manhandle her into Feng Xin's room, they eat, and Feng Xin works loose the muscles in Mu Qing's hand - arm - shoulder - back. Feng Xin swears it sounds more salacious than it actually is, because the whole time Mu Qing is quiet with effort when she’s not complaining about how rough Feng Xin is. Feng Xin gets used to the proximity and the light scent of Mu Qing's shampoo (jasmine and white tea).
So when He Xuan's fitting Shi Qingxuan in Mu Qing's creation at the agency, and Mu Qing is stone-cold anxious outside the dressing room, Feng Xin just takes her hand and squeezes.
It's just Mu Qing, it's just Mu Qing, she thinks. But that's an unfair qualifier. It's never just Mu Qing.
Mu Qing squeezes back, her hand loose and precious in Feng Xin's.
Mu Qing is in a simple black turtleneck, black slacks and the silver hoop earrings. Her hair is tied up neatly in a high ponytail as always. She's even got those black sleek glasses on. Feng Xin wants to take them off and carefully run her thumb between Mu Qing's brows, smooth the creases out. The want hits her so hard she can't help but hold onto Mu Qing's hand even more tightly.
"You're more nervous than me," Mu Qing says, smirking. "Relax, they'll love it."
"I know," Feng Xin says, short of a grumble.
Mu Qing laughs, an airy creature of elegance. She reaches up to pat Feng Xin on the shoulder, and then her hand reaches further up-
"Oh, you've truly outdone yourself, Mu Qing!" Shi Qingxuan's trill rings through the room.
Mu Qing lets go first, surging forward to examine Shi Qingxuan this way and that. Despite the flush on her face, Mu Qing falls easily into the role of a critic and craftsman. She looks happy, even if she's busy murmuring measurements and jargon-filled comments at Shi Qingxuan's arm. He Xuan stays a practical distance away from the heiress, just enough to give Mu Qing space to fuss over her model.
It's true. The gown is gorgeous, made to complement Shi Qingxuan's sunshine smiles and giddy personality.
Feng Xin suddenly feels an urge to see Mu Qing in something like that too. He Xuan looks over, her blank gaze betraying the slightest hint of – oh. Feng Xin raises her hands in surrender, shrugging. He Xuan returns to looking over Shi Qingxuan with the kind of intensity Feng Xin can somewhat relate to.
(Mu Qing doesn't seethe if Feng Xin so much as breathes in her direction anymore, doesn't unleash a barrage of cutting, witty barbs as much if Feng Xin happens to let her gaze linger a little longer than usual. Instead, Mu Qing flushes prettily and tucks her hair behind her ear – the sting of not letting Feng Xin do it for her, perhaps, in some twisted way, doesn’t go unregistered – and sometimes she glances back at Feng Xin with an indecipherable but definitely soft look.)
"Fucking guard dog," Mu Qing complains later while they're on the bus, her bag of supplies balancing on Feng Xin's knees. "Thank god they didn't tear anything during the fitting. Wouldn't even let me in to check."
Feng Xin shrugs. "Rich people things."
Mu Qing rolls her eyes at her and wriggles her fingers. "Pot, kettle. I'm buying us mala tang tonight."
"Look at you, one taste of wealth and you're already dabbling in nepotism," Feng Xin nudges against Mu Qing's shoulder.
"Dumbass," Mu Qing sighs, pushing back - a comfortable weight against Feng Xin's side. "Nepotism's only for family."
Yeah, and? is not the first dangerous thought Feng Xin comes up with today. But it is close to being the most dangerous one.
To Mu Qing, she says, "Congrats, by the way. I knew you could do it."
Mu Qing makes a petulant noise, and sidles up so that her head's leaning against Feng Xin's shoulder. Feng Xin automatically shifts down so Mu Qing can rest her head better.
"Don't think about riding my coat tails," Mu Qing warns.
"I'll show everyone our rental agreement," Feng Xin says very seriously. "I was a fan before it was cool."
"More like captive audience."
Feng Xin puts on a silly little voice that she knows Mu Qing absolutely hates. "It was because of Master Feng Xin's brilliant massaging techniques that Lady Mu Qing could finish her sewing projects without swollen hands!"
(Mu Qing calls it the Australian Kermit voice. It’s absolutely fatal.)
Mu Qing giggles. It's the sweetest, smallest sound. Like bells. She smacks Feng Xin's forearm, which Feng Xin takes as invitation to hold her hand.
"As if!" Mu Qing says without much bite. "My hands are all swollen because you can't keep your paws to yourself."
Mu Qing immediately blushes. Feng Xin tries biting down a smile.
"Woof," Feng Xin says plainly.
Mu Qing blushes even harder. "What are you, my guard dog?"
"Woof woof!" Feng Xin agrees heartily, interlocking their fingers when Mu Qing doesn't shift her head away.
"Do as you wish," Mu Qing huffs. "Wake me up when we reach our stop."
Mu Qing doesn't move her hand away. Instead, she leans all her weight against Feng Xin, heavy and limp, her hand tangled in Feng Xin's own. Suddenly Feng Xin worries if her own hands are too rough, too callused – not that Mu Qing's have escaped unscathed from hours of dealing with stray needles and coarse fabrics. But. It's a silly, silly thought that refuses to go away.
Feng Xin wills herself to look away, to watch the setting sun trickling against Mu Qing's dark hair.
"Um, sorry, Feng Xin?" comes a contrite whisper from the front.
"...how long have you been there, Xie Lian?"
Xie Lian turns around fully, and smiles at the sight of a napping Mu Qing. "She's out like a light."
"It's the all-nighters," Feng Xin says, and yawns. "But Shi Qingxuan was happy with the gown."
"Oh, I know, she called me earlier to fawn over the dress," Xie Lian says, eyes lighting up with the same pride Feng Xin must be showing now. "I was going to congratulate Mu Qing when I got on the bus, but-”
Feng Xin can feel her pride slowly crumbling. Not in a bad way, though. "You heard all of it."
Xie Lian immediately shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, just. Um, well, you've gotten closer! So it's been working out?"
Xie Lian is very kind not to directly point out that Mu Qing is almost fusing into her side, or that Feng Xin still has Mu Qing's hand curled up within hers.
"She's tired, is all," Feng Xin says lamely.
Xie Lian huffs and shakes her head. "You know as well as I do that she's capable of lashing out if she doesn't want something, even if she's heavily sleep deprived."
Feng Xin has to admit to that. She’s survived a senior-year Mu Qing, who was practically living on five cups of black coffee to work four part-time jobs. Back then Feng Xin didn’t know Mu Qing was doing all that. She still feels a little guilty for that time, when she called Mu Qing a self-absorbed, stone cold bitch who couldn’t spare time for even the people who considered her a friend, but then they also had a really big fight and Mu Qing managed to give Feng Xin a black eye and a bruise the size of a zucchini on her side, so.
"It's... nice," Feng Xin says, "she's still a bitch at times, but it's like, not mean?"
Xie Lian chuckles. "Do you like it?"
"Like what?"
"Being nice to Mu Qing?"
"Yes, well," Feng Xin pauses. "I mean, I'm not doing much, really."
"Mmm," Xie Lian hums.
“Really,” Feng Xin insists. “I’m just. It’s really hard, I don’t know how you do it.”
Xie Lian raises a brow. “Really?”
The bus comes to a stop, and the passenger beside Xie Lian awkwardly makes his way out, barely tripping over himself. As he leaves, there’s a shuffling of fabrics. Feng Xin scrunches up her face to try and find a way to explain her situation without shrivelling up in embarrassment.
“You’re always so nice and patient,” Feng Xin says, and corrects, “I mean, I say that but I’ve also seen you really snap. It doesn’t come naturally to me, you know? I- I don’t know what to say sometimes. Most times.”
“Oh Feng Xin,” Xie Lian says, voice melting into gentler tones. “It doesn’t come easy – kindness takes effort.”
“I thought we were talking about being nice?”
Xie Lian chuckles haltingly, a finger reaching up to scratch her cheek. “Well… um, maybe? Anyway! It’s totally fine, Feng Xin. I’m sure that Mu Qing appreciates you just being there for her. When I was, when I left school, it gave me a lot of strength to just have San Niang beside me.”
Feng Xin checks to see if Mu Qing is still asleep. She is, mouth slightly agape. Her body is still slack against Feng Xin’s. The whole situation is kind of ridiculous. Xie Lian looks expectant when Feng Xin turns back to face her.
“I can be nice,” Feng Xin says lamely.
“You’re always so open when it comes to Mu Qing,” Xie Lian giggles. “It’s good, Feng Xin. I like seeing the two of you together.”
The conversation is steering into murky currents. Her shoulder is starting to ache at the weight of Mu Qing’s head, but Feng Xin can’t move too much right now. That, and Feng Xin hasn’t quite figured some things out. Exhibit A: a part of Feng Xin is haunted by the thought that Mu Qing will no longer require her massage services now.
Feng Xin thinks of something to steer it back to calmer waters.
"Is Hua Cheng with you...?" Feng Xin can't really crane her neck to check if Xie Lian's ominous other half is anywhere - it's quite implausible, in part because Feng Xin suspects she's quite inseparable from her electric-red Maserati.
"Oh! No! I was just going to, um, San Niang doesn't know."
"Did you run away from home?!" Feng Xin whisper-shouts.
“No…?” Xie Lian grimaces. “I mean, I’m just kind of, taking some time?”
It’s then that Feng Xin realises the duffel bag that Xie Lian’s holding in her lap. A runaway bag. Good. Hua Cheng’s positively going to hunt Feng Xin down if she finds out. The bus jolts as it runs over a bump in the road.
Mu Qing’s hand slips out of Feng Xin’s hold. The loss is felt keenly, quickly.
“It’s a good thing for you that I’ve got enough to treat another person to mala tang,” Mu Qing announces, voice still drowsy with sleep.
She’s not looking at Feng Xin, but Feng Xin definitely is – torn between fear and fondness, like when one sees a cat stretching in the sun.
They get mala tang, miraculously, without any intervention from a possessive red-clad lesbian. And then, at Mu Qing’s insistence (shockingly), the three are camping out in Mu Qing’s room. It started with Xie Lian suggesting she find a hotel, Mu Qing and Feng Xin denying her immediately, Xie Lian settling to sleep on the couch (for just one night!), Mu Qing crossing her arms and glaring, and.
Well, it was cute to see Mu Qing stutter an order for the three of them to sleep together like the old days. Feng Xin’s sure she’s still not wiped off the dopey smile on her face.
Xie Lian’s between the two of them, lying on her back and staring up at the fairy lights Mu Qing’s put up. Her hands are placed above her stomach, as she breathes in and out. Mu Qing plops a face mask on Feng Xin, but takes care to smooth it out over Xie Lian’s blank face. Feng Xin grumbles, and reaches over to wipe her wet hands against Mu Qing’s arm.
“It’s been a while since we did this,” Xie Lian says, effectively stopping Mu Qing from jumping over and strangling Feng Xin.
“The last time was when we were still in elementary school,” Feng Xin muses. “That’s what, almost two decades ago?”
“Nothing stopping us from doing it now,” Mu Qing says, easy.
Xie Lian laughs. “Yes, well, I’m glad we’re doing it now.”
Xie Lian sighs, and Feng Xin can smell Mu Qing's shampoo on her. It makes her heart stammer all over again. When she turns she can see Xie Lian's profile - the delicate tip of her nose, the soft parting of her lips. Xie Lian has always been pretty, and while she's gotten used to it, there are moments when she realises it all over again. And beyond the range of Xie Lian's profile, she can see the flutter of Mu Qing's lashes. Mu Qing, whose eyes are long and unfocused, halfway to sleep. Mu Qing rearranges herself, balancing her chin on a palm, the skin of her fair cheek beautifully softened with pinks.
Xie Lian reaches to hold both of their hands. Mu Qing lets her, and Feng Xin has never had a reason to resist.
"I missed you," Xie Lian says, even though they're never farther than a phone call away now.
Feng Xin knows what she means, and she can tell that Mu Qing does too - worrying her lip. Before Mu Qing can retreat into her mind, before too much of that distress falls like a veil over Mu Qing's face, Feng Xin props herself up, just enough to slide her other arm under Xie Lian's shoulders.
"Come on," she says to Mu Qing, beckoning with her hand.
Mu Qing hesitates, but shuffles closer to Xie Lian and allows Feng Xin's hand to barely encircle her neck.
"Qing-er, A-Xin," Xie Lian says, eyes glassy. She holds their hands together in a silent prayer.
Mu Qing curls in. The warmth of her nape too tempting for Feng Xin's fingers. She rests her hand in the back of Mu Qing's hair, pressing her fingers against scalp.
"Thank you," Xie Lian says. "For everything."
"You don't have to thank us," is what Feng Xin says, just as Mu Qing scoffs, "You say it like you're gonna drop dead tomorrow."
Feng Xin almost raises her voice when Xie Lian intervenes, "Oh, no, I'm just being sentimental. I assure you I'm of great health! San Niang brought me for a check-up, you see."
Xie Lian raises her left arm and tries (failingly) to flex a bicep. Mu Qing laughs, and this is how Feng Xin realises she knows the word petulant after all.
“So what’s up with Hua Cheng,” Mu Qing says. “Why are you cuddling with us instead of your girlfriend?”
Xie Lian drops her arm, and Feng Xin takes it as cue to stay silent. Mu Qing is perceptive, and sometimes Feng Xin feels like she might use it for evil, or to her own detriment.
“She asked me to marry her,” Xie Lian whispers, and she can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips – or at Feng Xin (and more likely, Mu Qing’s) heartstrings.
“Congrats,” Feng Xin says, when Mu Qing levels her with a glare.
“You’re having second thoughts,” Mu Qing says.
Xie Lian shakes her head. “I mean, no? But I did- I couldn’t say yes there and then. For some reason! I know it’s silly, because San Niang has always been so accommodating-”
“Don’t say that,” Mu Qing says, a touch irate. “She’s always been loving.”
Xie Lian and her big doe-eyes gaze at Mu Qing. “You’re right. She’s been nothing but loving.”
Mu Qing places her hand over Xie Lian’s. “Are you scared?”
“Hey,” Feng Xin interferes, because Mu Qing’s eyes are a little too bright with curiosity. “No but, I don’t get it either. You moved in after the first week.”
“I suppose I don’t get it either,” Xie Lian chuckles weakly. “Maybe it’s just nerves.”
“You know she’d wait for you regardless, right?” Feng Xin says, trying to be reassuring.
“I’ve been keeping her waiting for so long,” Xie Lian sighs, retreating into her shell. She lets go of Feng Xin’s hand and pats it gently instead. “And now I’m running away.”
“Xie Lian,” Mu Qing says, “Do you love her at all?”
“I do,” Xie Lian says without missing a beat, just as Feng Xin shouts, “Mu Qing!”
“Do you think she’s deserving of it? Does she love you at all, then?”
“Mu Qing, enough-”
Xie Lian falters, and nods. “I- yes.”
“So it’s true, then,” Mu Qing plops back down. “All are fools in love.”
“What the actual fuck are you-”
Xie Lian pats Feng Xin’s cheek placatingly.
To no one in particular – Mu Qing stares at the ceiling, voice light, “Someone once said to me: there is generosity in receiving. It doesn’t matter if someone is deserving if they are in need of it.”
Xie Lian is silent for the longest time. Feng Xin looks between them, worried. There’s also something darker bubbling in her throat, and she recognises it at its core as frustration. A burning itch to know what the hell is going on, a deep unsettling anxiety of being left out of this cryptic conversation. Like a dance between Mu Qing and Xie Lian that she’s not privy to.
But, and here Feng Xin pulls back from the recesses of her mind, it seems like it’s helpful to Xie Lian. While Mu Qing is capable of malice, Feng Xin trusts her not to execute it in her own bed. Probably.
“I remember,” Xie Lian says, barely a whisper. “You remembered.”
“We should sleep,” Mu Qing says, reaching over to turn off the lights on her side table.
Feng Xin sighs as the room falls to a pitch black. The sound of a stray car outside, marbles in the ceilings, and the shuffling of bodies against Mu Qing’s plush duvet.
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Xie Lian promises.
“Good.”
Because Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are that kind of couple, ‘talking to her tomorrow’ escalates into ‘wedding in a month’; Feng Xin’s sure they’d have eloped, if not for the fact that Shi Qingxuan caught wind of it, and somehow negotiated it to a small intimate ceremony, preying on Hua Cheng’s weakness to offer nothing but the very best to Xie Lian. Xie Lian’s sentimentality is the only thing saving it from becoming a full-blown gala. Feng Xin is sure that Hua Cheng’s already planned for all their anniversaries for the decades to come. Probably bought adjacent tombs too.
(Xie Lian had asked the two of them to be her maid of honour. Feng Xin said yes immediately, without question.
“I’m not going to make you a dress,” was what Mu Qing blurted out, hands undoubtedly turning clammy again. Feng Xin wanted to warm them up in reassurance, but held back. “I- one month- I’ve already-”
“No, no,” Xie Lian laughed, holding her hands up. “I wouldn’t demand that- it’ll be simple! A simple gathering with the people we love.”
Mu Qing’s face fell, and she picked at the hem of her skirt sullenly.
“I mean, um, if you want-?” Xie Lian glanced at Feng Xin for help, and that’s definitely new.
Feng Xin nudged Mu Qing gently, their knees knocking together. “I can hear the gears in your brain churning. You’ve got plans?”
Mu Qing pouted, cheeks flaring pink again. “I mean, I can definitely handle a veil. And you’d need someone actually meticulous enough to restrain Shi Qingxuan.”
Xie Lian and Feng Xin helpfully avoided commenting on the fact that it wouldn’t just be Shi Qingxuan: pertinently, there’d also be Hua Cheng.)
So here they are – a week before the wedding, Mu Qing bundled in several layers on Feng Xin’s bed. Because her own is occupied with Dolly the decapitated mannequin, and because it’s just easier. Also, Mu Qing’s been hiding something from Feng Xin in her room, which shouldn’t be a issue because Mu Qing’s about as open as a clam. It’s just annoying, is all, when Feng Xin offers to help and Mu Qing immediately stutters excuses and jumbled reasons for why Feng Xin just won’t be helpful at all.
Mu Qing looks halfway to death, and makes that very clearly known too, with her many teary-eyed requests for Feng Xin to fetch her jellies from the fridge.
“You overachiever,” Feng Xin says, pressing a hand to Mu Qing’s burning forehead. “If you don’t get well before the wedding-”
Mu Qing actually hisses at the idea.
“Woah, stop, don’t,” Feng Xin works a thumb between Mu Qing’s brows. “Okay, okay, I won’t jinx it. Stop stressing.”
Mu Qing pulls the duvet up to her chin. “They’re all useless. They’d fumble the simplest thing and call it divine intervention.”
Feng Xin brushes Mu Qing’s sweat-slicked hair out of her equally sweat-slicked face. “Not very convincing, Little Miss Burrito.”
Mu Qing grunts. “You’re being mean to me.”
“Really? I think I’m pretty magnanimous, all things considered,” Feng Xin turns away to fetch Mu Qing’s medication from the side table. “You’re in my bed, in my hoodie, wrapped in my blankets, wearing my socks-”
“I got you them,” Mu Qing rasps, wriggling her toes.
“Yes, and you’ve been wearing them ever since,” Feng Xin says. “I’ve been getting you water and medication and I’ve also got your strawberry jelly here.”
Mu Qing looks up at the mention of the treat, but sulks when Feng Xin waves the pills at her. “Begone…”
There’s a tower of snot-filled tissue crumpled next to Mu Qing, and the dark, purple circles under her eyes are in full view without the usual Mu Qing concealer treatment. All in all, there’s no reason Mu Qing should look cute to Feng Xin, not when Feng Xin’s held her greasy hair back while she retched into the toilet bowl last night.
“C’mere,” Feng Xin has to drag her up until she’s sitting against the headboard. “Be good.”
“You’re never nice to me,” Mu Qing whines, relinquishing her hands from the furnace of the burrito to take the mug. “You’re always so mean to me.”
“Yes, yes, I’m the worst,” Feng Xin can’t keep her hands from stroking Mu Qing’s hair, even if it’s all gross and plastered to her skull. Even if Mu Qing is glaring at her with glassy eyes.
Mu Qing takes a deep breath, and then downs the water. But she doesn’t swallow any of it yet, cheeks puffed out. Feng Xin offers her hand and Mu Qing grips down hard just as she makes the exaggerated motion of swallowing the pill.
“Not the worst,” Mu Qing whispers, and coughs. She sticks her tongue out, “Bitter.”
Feng Xin sighs. “Biggest baby I’ve ever seen.”
“Jelly. Now.”
Mu Qing visibly lights up, and it’s so adorable and soft Feng Xin wants to take a video for posterity. She sears it into her brain instead, memorising every detail, every fleck of light in her pupils, the way her hands curl around the tiny plastic cup, fingers pink, the sheen of sweat on her cheekbones. Feng Xin’s fingers return to the skin just behind Mu Qing’s ear, curling against damp hair.
“Am I forgiven now?” Feng Xin says.
“Mm, considering it.” Mu Qing’s smile is teasing, and Feng Xin watches her pink tongue dart out to lick the rim of the cup.
This is beyond niceness, Feng Xin figures too late, her lips pressed against Mu Qing’s forehead.
The wedding is everything. Xie Lian’s veil is a delicate chiffon with lace butterfly details, and Hua Cheng’s corsage is an unconventional arrangement of elegant silk, like two butterflies resting, pearls masquerading as dew drops. Hua Cheng had looked surprised when Mu Qing fixed it to her wrist, but uttered thanks with the most sincerity Feng Xin has ever seen her display to someone besides Xie Lian.
“Was that what you were working on secretly?” Feng Xin asks – it would be a lie if she said she was only curious.
Mu Qing purses her lips, shaking her head. “Come here.”
Feng Xin lets her tug her around, fingers working to smooth each and every invisible crease on Mu Qing’s suit. Mu Qing’s wearing a pretty blue number, and the fabric silky and inviting. Feng Xin rests her hand against Mu Qing’s hip mindlessly, watches the way the dress slinks under her palm.
“You’ll c-crease it,” Mu Qing complains, eyes down. “Stop shifting around.”
Mu Qing doesn’t push her hand away, so Feng Xin keeps it there. It’s a cowl neck, she thinks breezily, having been trained by Mu Qing’s exacting standards for precise terms of fashion. There’s a slit, it looks high. Feng Xin swallows uselessly. It’s not entirely visible at this proximity, but Feng Xin is acutely aware of the fact that Mu Qing’s wearing those silver strappy heels.
The bodice is embroidered, Feng Xin muses, letting her hand travel up to trace the pattern. Delicate, like someone took a brush and stippled it all over. It’s a little strange, to have this design in particular, when it’s so small and painstaking. It looks like stars.
Finally, when she’s done fussing, Mu Qing meets her eyes. Feng Xin almost reaches up to brush her thumb against the swell of her lower lip when Mu Qing reaches into her purse and retrieves a neat square of- oh, that’s for her, the pocket square.
Feng Xin looks down at where the corner is peaking out from her suit pocket, and sees a familiar speckle of flowers keenly embroidered. She’s about to ask Mu Qing what that means, but they’re ushered away towards the doors for the ceremony.
Shi Qingxuan’s outdone herself: The hall is decked in flowers, faux silver butterflies and candles. High glass ceilings of the hall and the glow of the moon overhead add to the surrealism and the sudden nervousness in Feng Xin’s chest. There’s someone playing the qin.
Mu Qing looks awed. Feng Xin wants to bump her elbow and say, you planned this, didn’t you? but spots Mu Qing worrying at her lips again – a sure sign of distress. Maybe a level two distress. Feng Xin takes Mu Qing’s hand instead.
Maybe she presses a quick kiss to Mu Qing’s bony knuckles too. No one’s watching them, not when Xie Lian and Hua Cheng enter the hall with great fanfare, spotlit but a luminescent glow from some unseen fixture, and Shi Qingxuan is whistling as loudly as she can while He Xuan tosses petals with a blank face. Xie Lian is beautiful, happiness radiating off her in waves. Xin fu.
Feng Xin smiles when two of the petals lodge themselves in Hua Cheng’s hair like a devil’s horn as she’s making her vows through half-restrained sobs. She turns to Mu Qing to point that out, and sees Mu Qing watching on seriously, a complicated array of emotions sweeping past her face.
Feng Xin is still holding onto Mu Qing’s hand. She rubs her thumb across clammy skin, barely tracing the letters “S-A-P”.
Mu Qing rolls her eyes, and leans over to wipe Feng Xin’s tears with her free hand. She squeezes back.
Xie Lian’s vows in turn are simple, and Feng Xin barely hears it over her own sniffles. That, and Hua Cheng’s sobs.
They speak, of course, although Feng Xin’s speech is more akin to blubbering. Mu Qing records her mini breakdown, a playful glint in her eyes. Xie Lian has to get up from the table to hold Feng Xin together by the shoulders.
Mu Qing is far more composed. Feng Xin glares at her, and then at other guests who appear to be sizing Mu Qing up.
After the main ceremony, there’s conversation to be made everywhere. Feng Xin helps the live band with some technical issues; Xie Lian and Shi Qingxuan show Mu Qing and her crafts off to other guests; Pei Ming challenges Feng Xin to a drinking contest that Ling Wen shuts down almost immediately; Mu Qing is occupied with telling the server to refill the fruit punch (which is definitely not 100% fruit punch).
The blue looks good on her.
Feng Xin cuts between Mu Qing and a gentleman, shakes his hand by way of introduction. And if she uses a little more force than necessary, that’s- a harried staff jogs over to Feng Xin, pulls her away to help. Mu Qing’s fingers brush against hers in promise.
Fuck. I can almost see her thigh.
Mu Qing, and Ling Wen beside her, sauntering over to tell Pei Ming to fuck off – elegantly, of course. Mu Qing’s hand lingering on the small of Feng Xin’s back to keep her from stumbling. But it’s gone too soon; someone pleads for Mu Qing’s help with Xie Lian’s veil.
She looks so good tonight.
A cold glass pressed against her nape – Mu Qing yelps, straightens up and takes the offering from Feng Xin’s hand. She nods appraisingly at the choice of gin, her other hand reaching out to straighten Feng Xin’s blazer, the collar of her shirt, the pocket square. Each adjustment cruelly slow, painfully careful. And then someone is dragging Feng Xin off to handle a drunk guest.
Mu Qing.
The camera flash goes off. Mu Qing looks up, lips quirked in a stiff but undoubtedly photogenic smile, and catches Feng Xin’s gaze for the umpteenth time this evening. In this light Mu Qing’s braided hair sparkles indigo. Her eyes are – Feng Xin thinks of the golden confetti of a New Year’s countdown, gets overwhelmed by the prospect of spending yet another year, another unnamed anniversary with Mu Qing.
The intensity of her own focus throws Feng Xin off, and she licks her lips. Her arm is still around Mu Qing’s waist, thumb stroking at the satin of Mu Qing’s dress, addicted.
“You,” Mu Qing leans in, a hand balanced on Feng Xin’s chest. “You’ve been looking at me all night.”
“Yes,” Feng Xin confesses.
What’s another year when they’ve known each other almost their whole lives? Suddenly the brief childhood years spent apart is a loss keenly felt. Feng Xin takes it like a personal offense.
Mu Qing flushes. It’s not the alcohol – it’s Feng Xin. The realisation lights something inside her. It burns greedily, chases after the flutter of Mu Qing’s lashes, winds itself around Mu Qing’s wrist. Her pulse, Feng Xin thinks weakly, feeling it rabbit under delicate skin.
Shi Qingxuan is pulling as many people as she can onto the dance floor, and they follow – Mu Qing glancing back to check if Feng Xin’s following, and Feng Xin meeting her resolutely in answer. She lets Mu Qing guide them both to a corner away from more ambitious dancers.
“They look so happy,” Mu Qing whispers finally, and there’s something wistful about it, about the way Mu Qing’s eyes trail all over the hall, mesmerised and lost all the same.
Feng Xin pulls her into a hug – or some equivalent – before she can make any absurd promises. They’re swaying to a song at an inappropriately high BPM, and Mu Qing squeaks in surprise at being forced against Feng Xin’s neck. Mu Qing’s forehead is right there, so Feng Xin buries her face in her hair, and sneaks a kiss. She smells of jasmine and white tea. It’s comforting. It’s what she’s allowed to give right now.
“Yeah.”
Mu Qing is moody on the ride back, looking out the window. The passing lights cast ochre caresses against her skin, each lingering longer than the previous. She’s holding onto the aux cord, gentle ambient jazz filling the car. Feng Xin sneaks a gaze at her through the mirror, although it’s not very effective. Her hands are starting to cramp in their unnatural position against the steering wheel, but Feng Xin knows if she doesn’t grip tightly, they’ll find their way to Mu Qing’s exposed thigh.
(“Xie Lian!” Feng Xin had exclaimed, pushing herself off the wall outside the restroom – Mu Qing was fixing her lipstick or something. “You should be inside-”
“I just wanted to check on my best friends,” Xie Lian says.
Feng Xin snorts. “Think Mu Qing’ll run if she heard you.”
Xie Lian grins, alight with some conspiratorial glee. “So…”
Before Xie Lian can say anything, Feng Xin says, “Congrats, I don’t know how I haven’t said it already. You really- you look really happy.”
Maybe it’s plagiarism, but she thinks Mu Qing would forgive her for this.
Xie Lian flushes. “I am. I am really- happy.”
They stand in silence, before Feng Xin pulls Xie Lian in for a hug. She’s careful not to touch Xie Lian’s veil, but she’s sure Hua Cheng won’t mind the creasing to the million dollar gown. After all, it’s not like she won’t be the first to rip it off when the night’s over.
“You look happy, Mu Qing too,” Xie Lian says, already tearing up when she pulls back. “I’m glad it’s working out.”
“Well,” is all Feng Xin can offer, because, they still fight, but they also cuddle a lot more now, and Feng Xin’s not sure where they stand, but it must mean something, probably.
Xie Lian fixes her with a firm glare, and then punches her arm jokingly. “Be good to her.”
“Uh.” First nice, now good?
“Be good to each other,” Xie Lian continues. “You’re both precious to me, and I want to see you two be happy.”)
Mu Qing breaks the silence. “I used to hate weddings.”
“I know,” Feng Xin says, and immediately regrets it.
But Mu Qing doesn’t flare up at her for the interruption. Instead, she continues, as though Feng Xin hadn’t spoken at all. “I thought I’d feel worse today. You know, seeing- all that, and Xie Lian-” Mu Qing chuckles bitterly. “A part of me probably still resents, still thinks it’s because it’s Xie Lian, that’s why. The whole, perfect fairytale happily ever after.”
“Uh.”
“But I was really- I had fun,” Mu Qing whispers, curling in on herself a little more. Feng Xin releases a hand and proffers it to Mu Qing. Mu Qing doesn’t take it, and Feng Xin leaves it there between them anyway. “I felt genuinely glad that Xie Lian found s-someone. And that I wasn’t so- so opposed-”
Mu Qing cuts herself off. Feng Xin waits, turning into the street, and then the next.
“Maybe,” Mu Qing lowers her hand into Feng Xin’s open palm, still balled into a fist. Fuck, her blood circulation’s absolute shit. “Maybe I could- I, maybe be deserving? It’s just, to spend a lifetime with someone sounds so terrifying.”
The light turns red. Amber. Green.
“It sounds so nice,” Mu Qing finishes.
The song fades into the next. Feng Xin releases her foot on the brakes, winds the car on familiar paths towards their apartment.
The realisation hits her too hard. This is what Xie Lian meant. This is what- Feng Xin doesn’t just want to be nice to Mu Qing anymore. She hasn’t been just nice. Fuck. And Mu Qing, she doesn’t know if Mu Qing wants to- wants Feng Xin more than the better friend she’s tried to be.
“You deserve someone too, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin says, the words escaping her. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve – even if you think you don’t for some stupid reason – you deserve someone who’d treat you right. Someone who’s good for you. And honestly, the whole street would fall at-”
“If this is you trying to be nice,” Mu Qing’s voice quivers, but delivers the sting efficiently anyway. “Don’t.”
She pulls the car into the parking lot in front of the apartment. The beeps of the car as she tries to parallel park singlehandedly mock her, but all she can think is how she has to let go of Mu Qing’s hand. Mu Qing scoffs, pulls her hand away to wipe at her – fuck, is she crying? Feng Xin masters a parallel park so good her trainer would have wept.
Feng Xin turns to Mu Qing immediately, tugs her hand down from her face. Her eyes aren’t wet, but she looks torn between several emotions.
At Feng Xin’s stare, Mu Qing continues, “You’re not quiet even when you try to be – I was awake, on the bus. Because of your yapping.”
“But you didn’t let go of my hand.”
“What? I was pretending to be asleep!” Mu Qing shrieks. “I couldn’t just- let go, it’d be too obvious.”
“So you held my hand in front of Xie Lian.”
Mu Qing turns lobster-red. “I was- you were holding my hand throughout the ride!”
Feng Xin stares at her – in part because she doesn’t really know where this is going, in part because her heart, overeager with panic for the past few days, now shudders to a halt. Mostly because Feng Xin just likes looking at Mu Qing, with her sleek black hair and splotchy cheeks. Her pupils are really big, Feng Xin thinks lamely. She’s no poet, and she thinks Mu Qing wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole if she did try.
“You’re fucking hard to understand,” Feng Xin says, because she’s Feng Xin and clearly not fluent in niceties.
Mu Qing flinches too visibly, and Feng Xin catches her hands. This – the clammy skin of Mu Qing’s palms, the way she squirms as she tries to pull back. This is what Feng Xin is fluent in.
“God, your palms are sweating so much.”
Mu Qing shakes her hand, trying to drop Feng Xin’s grip on it. It’s a bit worrying that Mu Qing doesn’t seem to have paid attention to when Feng Xin tried to teach her self-defence. “You- you, if this is what you really think about me, if you’re done trying to humiliate me-”
“I’m not! I swear. I swear, I wouldn’t – not like this, I wouldn’t,” Feng Xin pauses – it’s true, she hasn’t had the best track record. It’s insane to think it was just months ago when Xie Lian and Hua Cheng held that intervention. “Oh shit. Yeah, I’ve been shit to you.”
“Not recently,” Mu Qing says, despite herself. She’s colder when she delivers, “But yes, we’ve never been good for each other.”
“No, shut your fuck up, let me just think,” Feng Xin says, “But also you’ve been mean to me, so like, maybe we can call that quits.”
Mu Qing purses her lips, clearly trying to hold in an insult. Which is kind of impressive, and it also means Feng Xin wants to choose her next words very, very carefully because it kind of feels like Mu Qing might be? Holding out hope?
“I like you, like, a lot,” Feng Xin says quickly before the ingenuity of the thought vanishes. “And I think you like me too. I mean that I like your hands, I like how they feel, I think it’s fucked up that I can’t hold them all the time – even though you do get really clammy and cold really quickly. And, uh, fuck, I like it when you lean on me, also, you’re really pretty, and I’ve been seeing you smile a lot and also you blush a lot now, and your neck gets all pink, and also you’re shit at taking compliments and I’m worse at giving them. So it’s, oh shit, I’ve been- okay, wait, I need to say this: you’re also smart, and your hands are really good at what they do- I mean sewing. I mean not just that, but you could also kick my ass on a bad day, and maybe, why aren’t you saying something? I think you should say something.”
Incredulous is a better look on Mu Qing than whatever it was minutes ago. Feng Xin tries intertwining their fingers together.
“Get out,” Mu Qing snaps.
“What?”
“Get out,” Mu Qing is unclipping her seatbelt. “Let’s talk at home.”
Mu Qing’s out of the car, slamming the door close, and storming over the front of the hood to their apartment. Feng Xin scrambles after her, almost tripping over her own shoes.
When they get home, when Mu Qing’s done meticulously peeling her heels off and Feng Xin’s kicked her shoes (she doubled back to place them neatly on the shelf upon Mu Qing’s glare). Feng Xin waits patiently by the hallway, unsure if Mu Qing is about to serve a pre-prepared eviction notice or something equally heartbreaking.
“Come here,” Mu Qing says, huffy and impatient.
Feng Xin can’t help but laugh, even when Mu Qing’s holding her by the breath, even as Mu Qing has her heart in her hands. “Bossy.”
Mu Qing grunts, grabs Feng Xin by the collar before she can make it fully.
Mu Qing’s lips are soft. Warm. She’s sweet, a fruity (cherry? Must be the Clarins-), tacky. That’s her gloss. Oh, god. Feng Xin reaches up to cup Mu Qing’s cheek, the other hand rubbing circles along her waist. Mu Qing is so warm. Feng Xin wants to bury herself in that warmth forever, taste the softness on the plane of her tongue, yield to the tart sweetness of Mu Qing’s clumsy teeth. Mu Qing’s tentative fingers trail the back of her neck in return, plush lips murmuring against the relentless current of Feng Xin’s eager lips.
“Enough,” Mu Qing says when they break apart, and her hair’s still perfect.
Feng Xin pulls her back in, hands tangled in Mu Qing’s hair – silky, soft, far too tidy in its many intricate braids. Feng Xin attempts to untie them, feverish.
“Ow!” Mu Qing gasps, and Feng Xin laps at the corner of her mouth in apology.
Mu Qing melts back in her arms, and everything is right with the world.
end.
“What did you want to talk about?” Feng Xin asks later, when Mu Qing’s on her lap, scrolling lazily through Tiktok.
Her thighs are firm, Feng Xin thinks, squeezing experimentally, but not supple enough.
Mu Qing flushes. “Hm?”
“When you said to talk at home,” Feng Xin explains.
“Oh,” Mu Qing rolls her eyes. “I didn’t want my first kiss to be in your c-car.”
“Hm,” Feng Xin says, pushing Mu Qing’s hair (a little more ruffled now, she notes with satisfaction) to the side and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Mu Qing sighs, turns her phone off, and tilts her head to better offer Feng Xin access.
“So you wanted your first kiss in our home,” Feng Xin says, and the way Mu Qing burns red instantly is worthy of medical attention.
Feng Xin is sucking on Mu Qing’s lower lip before she can protest further.