Archive of Our Own

Feng Xin can admit, without even trying to score points for being the bigger person or whatever, that the current issue between herself and Mu Qing is her own fault. 

And it’s rarely Feng Xin’s fault, is the thing. Mu Qing is the one who dreams up problems without Feng Xin even knowing about them and then acts like it’s Feng Xin’s responsibility when Mu Qing explodes from the tension. Mu Qing is the one whose thoughts seem to come from some bizarre parallel universe and expects Feng Xin to read her mind anyway. Mu Qing is the one who brings every little argument over dishes or utility bills or fucking tea steeping times back to raw old history that, in Feng Xin’s opinion, is all better left in the past.

But, well, Mu Qing isn’t the one who walked in on her roommate shirtless in the kitchen and screamed so loud the upstairs neighbors almost called the fire department. 

That would be Feng Xin. 

Mu Qing had tried to explain - loudly, even though Feng Xin had only raised her voice first to shout reassurances to the neighbors - that she’d been about to get in the shower and Feng Xin’s phone alarm had gone off and she’d gone to silence it because she knew that Feng Xin had already gone out for a run, and how was she supposed to know that Feng Xin would realize halfway down the block that she’d left her phone and come back after five minutes? Here Feng Xin had, admittedly, tried to defend herself, because she’d only come back to the apartment because of Mu Qing, who’s been on-and-off irritated at her about setting alarms and then forgetting about them for years . Mu Qing hadn’t needed to raise her voice even louder to convince Feng Xin that screaming to wake the dead had been a disproportionate response to seeing Mu Qing’s naked chest (she’d raised her voice even louder anyway).

Then Mu Qing had thrown Feng Xin’s phone at her so hard Feng Xin barely kept it from hitting the lamp behind her and stalked off, and Feng Xin had been too mad and miffed and stunned to even think about apologizing even though, she’s aware, this one is on her. 

“Feng Xin? Did you hear me?” Xie Lian asks. She ducks back into Feng Xin’s line of sight, interrupting Feng Xin’s intense stare at the corner of the conference room. Feng Xin blinks and looks back at her. She looks perfect as ever, symmetrical and polished and bright, as if the long years between college and meeting back up at Jun Wu’s firm had never happened. “I asked if there’s something going on between you and Mu Qing.”

Feng Xin scoffs. “You know us. There always is.” 

“Yeah, I know, but…” Xie Lian trails off, her own gaze suddenly intent on the wall behind Feng Xin.

“What did she do?” 

“Ah…one of her interns misfiled a bunch of environmental policy reports in with the science policy stuff. I found him crying in a supply closet.” 

“Mu Qing’s a shit supervisor. We’ve both known that she would be since we were twelve. How is her intern’s emotional damage my fault?”

“Feng Xin.” Xie Lian’s tone is cajoling. Feng Xin sends her a halfhearted glare. It’s hard, even now, to try to oppose or rebuke Xie Lian. Feng Xin’s instinct is always to protect her from the entire world, starting with herself. “Mu Qing isn’t a bad supervisor. She won that mentoring award last year -”

“Gamed the system.”

“- but when she’s upset, she has a tendency to make it everyone’s problem, and she only ever gets this riled up over me or you.” 

That night, Feng Xin shows up prepared to apologize. She has one of Mu Qing’s favorite poncy chocolate bars in her bag and the words all planned out in the hopes that Mu Qing will let this go without making Feng Xin, like, explain herself. 

But when she gets home, all thoughts of apologizing vanish.

Mu Qing is in the kitchen of their tiny apartment, which is typical. She cooks, Feng Xin cleans up - that’s how it’s been since they first became roommates years ago. 

She’s wearing a bikini top, which is not typical. 

“What took you so long?” Mu Qing asks as Feng Xin stands slack-jawed, still in her coat, in the doorway. “Was it Xie Lian’s recycling policy white paper again? You don’t work for her, you know.” 

Mu Qing is wearing a bright pink bikini top, triangles cupping her chest and leaving nothing else in her athletic figure to the imagination. It’s tied at the back by two thin strings, easily ignorable distractions from the defined musculature of her back, the soft curve of her waist. There’s a strip of skin between her boobs completely exposed, and the shape of the bikini top is supple and natural. She may as well not be wearing anything. 

It takes Feng Xin a long moment to realize that Mu Qing is staring at her, and another to realize that this is a deliberate attempt to get a rise out of Feng Xin, not…well, there’s no other explanation for this. 

Feng Xin feels her face heat, and something starts to itch under her skin, but she tells herself to keep her cool. Of course Mu Qing would prefer petty revenge to a sincere, well-considered apology! “Aren’t you cold?” Feng Xin asks. 

“Oh, nope. I was frying tofu and got too hot, so I changed into something more comfortable.” Mu Qing interlaces her fingers and pushes her arms up toward the ceiling, as if she’s innocently stretching her wrists. One of the cups of the bikini top bends outward, making a shadowed pocket inside - 

Feng Xin turns away. 

“I thought you’d appreciate the consideration,” Mu Qing snaps. Feng Xin hears her turn back to the griddle, where she actually is frying tofu, probably just so that she would have an excuse for this. She’s never needed to strip down past a t-shirt to cook over heat, even in the summer, so Feng Xin is extra certain this is just for her. 

Feng Xin wordlessly hangs up her coat, takes off her shoes, and hides in her room until dinner’s ready.

It happens again. And again. 

After the third time Mu Qing prances around the apartment without a proper shirt on, Feng Xin decides that Mu Qing is the one in the wrong now. If Mu Qing had been civil for even a single minute since the morning of the incident, Feng Xin would have swallowed her pride and told her that it had nothing to do with Mu Qing in particular; the issue was women; all women; the general concept of boobs. But Mu Qing seems determined to take it personally. It’s been a week, and the goddamn chocolate bar is still in Feng Xin’s briefcase. 

So, that’s how things are on the morning Ling Wen decides to leak all of the firm’s private data on the Internet and ruin all of her (former) coworkers’ lives. 

Feng Xin and Mu Qing are on the train, sitting side by side but ignoring each other, when they get the text about it from Xie Lian. 

“Please tell me it’s April Fool’s Day,” Mu Qing mutters. 

It takes Feng Xin several seconds to understand that Mu Qing is making a joke - now of all times, why is she like this - but the more immediate puzzle pulls Feng Xin out of her head, smothers the worry that’s risen as she tries to make sense of the text. “It’s only February,” she manages to reply, “But maybe Xie Lian got excited?” It’s not even a good continuation of the joke, but still, Mu Qing smiles for a fleeting, precious second before turning back to her phone with her lips pressed in a thin line. Feng Xin turns back to her incoming texts too, trying to accept that making Mu Qing smile is probably going to be the best thing that happens all day. 

The rest of the day sucks. 

Mu Qing is assigned to take point on trying to make sense of Ling Wen’s records and getting the important information to Jun Wu. Feng Xin, who is aware that her skills lie elsewhere, is constantly on her feet setting up temporary communication avenues between departments whose normal operations have broken down pretty much entirely. Xie Lian is assisting Jun Wu with the public response, and Feng Xin passes her several times in the hallways, running between Mu Qing in Ling Wen’s office and Jun Wu in his own. 

Even with hours of prep, the press conference doesn’t go well. Feng Xin only catches glimpses of it on random computer screens as she rushes from place to place, but even she can tell that the reporters are asking questions about the allegedly leaked documents that Jun Wu doesn’t have good answers for. 

Somehow this leads to Jun Wu screaming at somebody so explosively that Feng Xin can hear it from a floor away. She’s tied up in helping to reboot the payroll software, which Ling Wen seems to have messed up just to be a dick, so all she hears is Jun Wu’s thundering voice and occasional silences that, if she knows anything about this workplace, she can guess are interruptions where Xie Lian tries to talk him down. 

That whole thing is long over by the time Feng Xin finishes with the payroll software, which is good because by then the sky outside is completely black. Almost everyone seems to still be in the building, though, putting out various fires. 

Feng Xin is sort of just wandering around trying to see if anyone needs her help when Xie Lian finds her. She must be just as exhausted as everyone else, but it doesn’t show in her easy smile as she waves Feng Xin into an empty conference room. 

“You should get Mu Qing and go home,” she says once she’s glanced around to make sure no one is eavesdropping from the hallway. 

Feng Xin narrows her eyes. This conversation requiring this much privacy can’t mean anything good. “Why do I need to get her? She’s an adult, she knows where our apartment is.” And actually, now that she thinks about it, Mu Qing’s constantly irritating personality is sure to be escalated to nightmarish after a day this stressful, and Feng Xin would prefer to make sure that they take separate trains. This shouldn’t be difficult to achieve, because Mu Qing will almost certainly have the same plan. 

Xie Lian scans the hallway again before returning her gaze to Fen Xin’s. She’s still smiling, but Feng Xin has known her long enough to not let that fool her. “Jun Wu blamed her for the fact that he didn’t know about the evidence of bribery that got brought up at the press conference. Nobody could have processed all that information in the time we had, and I thought we should have just claimed that we suspected all of the financial information was faked - which it probably was - but Jun Wu wanted to respond to each point individually to keep people assured of our competence, and it backfired. Anyway, Mu Qing is still working in Ling Wen’s office, and there’s really no point in trying to sort through more of it tonight, and…I thought you could probably get her to go home.” 

Feng Xin raises an eyebrow. “You think that I of all people could get Mu Qing to do fucking anything?” 

Xie Lian just smiles. 

Ling Wen’s office is barely recognizable after fourteen hours of being torn apart by Mu Qing and whatever interns she’d managed to keep from fleeing the scene early on. The neat polished wood of the desk is completely invisible under the papers and files that have been unearthed and are still spilling from the open drawers and surrounding cabinets. The floor near the desk is an obstacle course of papers and empty coffee cups, and every chair in the office is similarly buried.

Only Mu Qing is still there, standing behind the desk, splitting her attention between three open files and two desktop monitors, surrounded by dozens of haphazard stacks of paper. “What are you doing here?” she asks, taking her eyes off the files for only the briefest of moments to glance toward Feng Xin. 

“Xie Lian says that it’ll take ages to sort through all this. Trying to push through it all in a day only hurts you and whoever you end up taking out all the stress on. Come home and sleep.” 

Mu Qing doesn’t even look up. “You’re not in charge of me, and neither is Xie Lian.”  

“Did Jun Wu order you to keep doing this all night, then?” Feng Xin asks, figuring she might as well get to the heart of the matter. That earns her a moment of eye contact in the form of a glare. 

“Mind your own business, Feng Xin.” 

She wants to. She really wants to. But even from across the room, it’s clear that Mu Qing is exhausted and tense and upset, and Feng Xin remembers feeling a flicker of concern for whoever it was that she could hear Jun Wu yelling at from all the way upstairs, before she even knew that it was Mu Qing. And it was Mu Qing, who spends what seems like every single second of her existence worrying about how other people perceive her, who still walks on eggshells around Jun Wu even though they’ve been working here for two years, who has always seen any lack of competence she expresses as dangerous in a way Feng Xin still thinks is stupid, even though they’ve been arguing about it for years. Mu Qing is infuriatingly good at hiding any real feelings she may or may not ever have behind contempt and feigned apathy, but Feng Xin knows her well enough to be certain that today had not been a good day for her. 

Recognizing even in the moment that it probably isn’t the kindest expression of her thoughts, Feng Xin reaches down and unplugs Ling Wen’s computer cord from the wall. 

Mu Qing’s reaction is immediate. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sputters, lunging toward the cord by Feng Xin’s feet. Before she can plug it back in, Feng Xin steps on it, holding it against the ground. Mu Qing, not surprisingly, redirects her momentum toward trying to push Feng Xin away from it. Feng Xin reaches out and grabs Mu Qing’s arm just for the sake of keeping her balance, and then they’re both shoving at each other in the kind of tussle that Xie Lian hasn’t let them get into since middle school. 

A minute later Feng Xin has Mu Qing, shaking with anger, pinned against the wall. Both of them are breathing hard. Mu Qing’s hands are curled into fists, like she could strike out any minute, but she hasn’t actually hit Feng Xin, and as the seconds pass, Feng Xin becomes more and more sure that she won’t. It’s not actually Feng Xin that she’s angry with. 

“What happened today wasn’t your fault,” Feng Xin says. She doesn’t expect that Mu Qing will believe her, but it’s true, and she doubts that anyone else has bothered to say it. Mu Qing flinches and looks away, twisting so hard that Feng Xin is forced to adjust her grip on her shoulders. She opens her mouth, probably to say something cutting about Feng Xin’s intellect, but Feng Xin interrupts before she can get a word out. “I don’t even like you and I still think it isn’t.” 

Feng Xin is immediately aware that she’s made a mistake. It was supposed to be a joke, a hint of their normal banter to indicate to Mu Qing that today hasn’t changed anything, that even though work right now is a clusterfuck, life will go on. But Feng Xin must have underestimated how angry Mu Qing already is, because her expression goes from irritated to downright dangerous. 

Mu Qing reaches up. Feng Xin braces for Mu Qing to try - seriously this time - to shove her away, but Mu Qing reaches for her own chest. By the time Feng Xin figures out what she’s doing, she’s unfastened the top two buttons on her blouse, exposing a lace-edged bra line and the slightest curve of breast.

Feng Xin releases Mu Qing’s shoulders like they’re on fire and steps back. In the same second she realizes that she’s been played. 

Mu Qing’s expression is still nasty, but she’s managed to contort her lips into a mockery of a triumphant smile. She laughs, false and shaky and bitter, and says, “But you still can’t stand me.” 

The words hit Feng Xin like an electric shock, like they’ve charged up the air between herself and Mu Qing enough to sting at the slightest touch. Feng Xin already knew that the reason Mu Qing is so upset about this whole thing is because she thinks it’s personal. It’s not even like it’s one of the crazier things Mu Qing has thought - Feng Xin and Mu Qing have been getting on each other’s nerves pretty much constantly for more than a decade. From Mu Qing’s perspective, the explanation for Feng Xin’s behavior that makes the most sense would be that Feng Xin is genuinely disgusted by her. 

But that’s so far from the truth. Mu Qing’s sudden - and deliberately cruel - advance had startled Feng Xin. But before that, when she’d had Mu Qing pinned to the wall, resisting Mu Qing’s obviously halfhearted attempts to break her hold, she’d felt nothing but care and concern for her friend. She wouldn’t use that particular f-word out loud unless she really wanted to set Mu Qing off, but Feng Xin doesn’t think you can build a life so intertwined with someone else’s without being something to each other. 

And, she realizes, this whole thing is only a problem because Mu Qing cares too. Sure, she’s prickly about the way she’s perceived by everyone, but this has been going on for weeks. This - unbuttoning her blouse - can’t have only been an attempt to scare Feng Xin off because, despite her earlier attempts to get free. she hasn’t moved an inch from where Feng Xin had her pinned. Her hands are still clenched and her mouth is set in an angry line, and she’s looking at Feng Xin; not through her, not past her, but at her. Returning that stare, in that moment, is like watching the sun rise and a world previously rendered in shades of gray explode into color. Feng Xin’s behavior had hurt Mu Qing, could hurt her, because Mu Qing cares. 

Easy as breathing, Feng Xin steps forward and kisses Mu Qing. 

Immediately, Mu Qing’s hands are on Feng Xin’s arms, drawing her even closer. Feng Xin grabs Mu Qing’s hips to steady her balance and Mu Qing melts into the touch, letting Feng Xin hold up some of her weight as she presses further and further into Feng Xin’s space. Feng Xin, for one blissful moment, loses herself completely to it - yes, she supposes that Mu Qing is the first woman she’s kissed since that awful night with Jian Lan, but it’s not like she’s just any woman. She’s Mu Qing, Feng Xin’s ridiculous roommate and oldest frenemy, the thorn in her side who carries a piece of her soul and has for half their lives. Feng Xin’s anxiety is washed away by the storm of information about how Mu Qing kisses - surprisingly soft and open and inviting, neither pulling away nor trying to dominate, clearly wanting the assurance and security and care that Feng Xin, in turn, wants to give her. 

Then their chests rub together with friction that Feng Xin feels all over her body. With the flicker of arousal comes a lightning bolt of panic, and it’s all Feng Xin can do to pull back slowly, like she just wants some air, rather than run out of the room. Mu Qing looks at her, curious and suspicious as ever, but definitely not angry anymore. Feng Xin tries hard not to give away her racing heart as she says, “Can we go home and sleep now?” 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes, and just like that they synchronize, the moment stabilizing into the usual rhythm between them. That and the space between their bodies calms Feng Xin enough that by the time Mu Qing nods, she’s remembered how to breathe.

“So was that a pity kiss?” Mu Qing asks. 

It’s a little after midnight three days later and they’re cleaning up the kitchen. It’s been three days of barely being home enough to order takeout, eat it, and sleep. Things aren’t slowing down at the office, but the kitchen can’t wait any longer - they’re out of clean mugs and the sink is beginning to smell. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Feng Xin asks almost automatically. Usually when Mu Qing accuses her of things that don’t make sense she just needs to rant about it for a bit. 

“You’re disgusted by me, but you kissed me. Why? To shut me up? You think you can beat me at gay chicken?” 

There’s a long pause, and after a moment Feng Xin realizes that she’s expected to actually answer that. “I don’t think it counts as gay chicken if we’re actually gay. Also, no, it wasn’t either of those things, what is wrong inside your head?” 

“My head? You’re the one sending these crazy mixed signals.” Mu Qing stops loading the dishwasher and looks Feng Xin directly in the eye. “Do you want me or not?” 

Feng Xin sighs, flicks her gaze to a corner. “I think you’re gorgeous,” she starts. “Seeing you…like that, that day…I reacted the way I did because I think you’re beautiful, and that terrifies me.” There’s an achingly long stretch of silence, and she haltingly raises her eyes to appraise Mu Qing. 

“Oh,” Mu Qing says belatedly, expression wary but, at least, not angry. “You could have just told me.” 

Feng Xin laughs, just a little. “Would you have believed me before the other night?” 

“I’m not sure I believe you now. Isn’t that level of internalized homophobia a little old-fashioned?” 

Feng Xin turns away again. “Believe me or not, it’s up to you.”

“Well, if you’re telling the truth - and I’ll ruin you if you aren’t - I wouldn’t mind kissing again. Or, you know, fucking.”

Feng Xin nearly smashes the mug she’s trying to rinse against the bottom of the sink. “But you hate me!”

Mu Qing has gone back to arranging the dishes as if this is just a normal conversation. “So? People who can’t speak civilly to each other have sex all the time.” 

That is a ridiculous argument, but Feng Xin can’t think of a way to counter it. Also…she doesn’t want to? “I’m going to be weird about it,” she says instead, a warning.

“You’re weird about everything.”

“Am not. You’re the weird one. Fuck you.” The last is a throwaway insult, a turn of phrase that comes as naturally as Mu Qing’s goddamn eyerolls after all the time they’ve spent laying into each other, but Feng Xin winces the second it comes out of her mouth. Mu Qing’s lips quirk with amusement.

“So you’re interested?”

Feng Xin looks down, pretending to be very interested in the dishes. “If you think you can handle me.” 

To Feng Xin’s surprise, Mu Qing actually laughs. Her laughter is so much better when it isn’t throttled by mockery and spite. “You’re on.” 

Work for the next week is so brutal that Feng Xin and Mu Qing hardly have time to touch base (okay, argue) about grocery shopping, let alone fucking, but the subject doesn’t leave Feng Xin’s mind for long. Every time her thoughts drift from work, they go to Mu Qing and jump from excitement to terror and back again. She had liked kissing Mu Qing, and the concept of being close to her, with her like that, again, is enthralling. But it’s never long before she thinks of Jian Lan, of the costs of acting on feelings like these, and feels sick. She decides over and over again that there’s no way she can go through with it, and then finds herself slipping into daydreams about kissing Mu Qing, about the warm intensity of the kiss before Feng Xin’s sudden rush of desire had ruined it, about how incredible it might be if that was only the beginning.

Finally, there’s a break in the chaos and Feng Xin and Mu Qing both have a night off. They bicker over grocery shopping while Mu Qing whips together a quick stir fry and Feng Xin catches up on several days worth of dishes, and when ordinarily they’d go to their separate rooms or put on a TV show and bicker over that, Mu Qing puts on music and lays a gentle hand on Feng Xin’s wrist. Feng Xin steps readily toward her and their lips meet in a kiss in the middle of the living room. 

It’s different this time. Different, and still good. Feng Xin had been a little worried that she would immediately be scared off or that Mu Qing would immediately realize what a dumb idea this was without the heightened emotion of the previous week, but instead the kiss is something approaching tender, and after a few cautious, exploratory seconds, it stays that way. Time bends around the two of them, loose and peaceful, in pleasant contrast to the constant frenetic stress of work these days. The affection Feng Xin knows that she feels for Mu Qing, which she tends to forget about when Mu Qing is saying things, bubbles to the surface. The kiss is curious and reassuring and unheated, and Feng Xin is surprised, again, to find that she’s actually enjoying herself. 

Then Mu Qing’s hand shifts from Feng Xin’s arm to her waist. 

Feng Xin is suddenly all too aware of her body and of the warmth of Mu Qing’s skin and of the all-too-fragile muscle and bone behind it and of the thinness of the layers of fabric between them. Her heart starts to pound. It’s okay, she tries to tell herself. They’re not in danger. No one is going to see them. They’re in the fourth floor walk-up they’ve lived in for two years. They’re safe. Mu Qing is pressing closer against Feng Xin’s chest, body active and alert but languid, loose, trusting. Jian Lan’s bandaged head, twisted-pained-angry expression, burning words, all flash through Feng Xin’s mind. 

She stiffens, then pulls away. “I’m sorry. I just need a minute.” Mu Qing keeps a hand on Feng Xin’s hip but waits, with a patience Feng Xin knows she herself wouldn’t be able to muster. But the sticky, buzzing panic that’s been inextricable from desire ever since that night doesn’t recede. The thought of kissing Mu Qing again makes Feng Xin feel like a monster and finally, she slips fully away. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Mu Qing asks, voice icy. She’s tense too, hands curled into fists at her sides, standing alone in the middle of the room. Feng Xin wants to go to her, to hold her, but that want only registers as a faint whisper behind everything else.

“No.” Feng Xin says automatically. Talking about it will make it real, will invite her ghosts in here to stay and ruin this emerging whatever it is, forever. Feng Xin doesn’t need to talk about it, she needs to calm down and get over it. 

Mu Qing scowls. Feng Xin belatedly realizes that of course she’s going to hear that answer as a rejection of her rather than a rejection of talking. It’s not that she doesn’t want Mu Qing to know. She’s not actually ashamed about her part in what happened, when she thinks about it with her brain instead of her body. She knows that it wasn’t her fault. Mu Qing wouldn’t judge her or think less of her for it, and at this point, it would probably be better if she knew. 

But Feng Xin’s heart is pounding like there’s a lion in the room with them and she doesn’t know how she would go about stringing together a full sentence right now, let alone describing the worst day of her life. 

“Okay, then.” Mu Qing is several steps away now, and Feng Xin doesn’t remember which one of them moved. 

“It’s not you,” Feng Xin says, hoping against hope that Mu Qing believes her. “I promise, it’s not you.”

Without responding, Mu Qing turns around and goes into her own room. She shuts the door behind her. 

When Mu Qing approaches Feng Xin again, Feng Xin almost stops her. Almost. She feels like they’re teetering on the edge of turning this into another painful, unnecessary, mutually destructive habit, like trying to go shopping together or talking about the past. But on the other side of that is the delight and closeness and desire that Feng Xin is just remembering that she can feel, and she wants. She wants. 

And so Feng Xin lets Mu Qing draw her into a kiss, lets Mu Qing pull them into a near-mimic of the position they’d been in when they’d first kissed in Ling Wen’s abandoned office, with Mu Qing’s back pressed against the wall and Feng Xin between her and the rest of the world. It’s good like that, so good that Feng Xin feels a flicker of real desire for what she could find beyond the warmth of Mu Qing’s tongue and lips and hands, and with that desire thrumming through her, she guides Mu Qing’s hand to the hem of her t-shirt, steps back just enough for Mu Qing to pull it over Feng Xin’s head and then steps back in to reach for her again. Incredibly, it’s still good with Mu Qing’s hands on the bare skin of her hips, feeling the buttons of Mu Qing’s top press deep into her skin where it isn’t covered by her sports bra. 

Then Mu Qing guides Feng Xin’s hand to the top button of her shirt. The next thing she does is unfasten the button herself, as if she thinks Feng Xin is actually too stupid to know how to. Feng Xin is so amused and affronted by the so characteristically Mu Qing gesture that she’s unfastened the second button just to prove that she can, thank you very much, before she really takes in what’s happening.

Feng Xin’s fingers are resting against the warm, smooth skin of Mu Qing’s sternum. Her heart starts to pound, and she tries to convince herself that it’s good, that she’s excited, that this is normal, but the thought of moving her hand to that third button, being in a position to see and touch Mu Qing’s chest, makes her dizzy with panic. 

Avoiding Mu Qing’s gaze, she steps away and stumbles to the couch, where she sits with her head in her hands until the world stops shaking quite so badly. She tries to breathe, rehearses what she’d planned to say if this happened again. 

When she’s ready - or at least ready enough to speak without her breath hitching - she sits up, takes a blanket and pulls it around her shoulders to ease the chill she suddenly feels. She doesn’t look at Mu Qing, but she knows she’s still there; she would have heard her leave. “I need to tell you why I’m like this,” she says quietly. 

Mu Qing sits carefully beside her, no closer than she would sit if they were watching a show together like on normal nights. “I wasn’t expecting there to be a reason,” she says. Her shirt has been rebuttoned and her hair almost perfectly smoothed. The only sign of what just happened is a slight puffiness in her lips. Feng Xin does her best to ignore it. 

“Well, you were right that it’s not just…old-fashioned internalized homophobia or whatever.” Feng Xin pauses. Mu Qing waits. “Something happened.” 

“When?”

It’s not the question Feng Xin had been expecting, but, she supposes, they have known each other since they were kids. There have only been a few periods where, enemies or otherwise, they hadn’t basically been living in each other’s pockets. “My last year of college, after Xianle was bought out.” Mu Qing winces. That had been a difficult year all around. Mu Qing had been in a different city, interning for a law firm, and, they’ve confirmed since, neither of them had been in contact with Xie Lian. “I was with this girl.” It takes effort for her mouth to form the sounds of her name. “Jian Lan. It was the first real relationship I’d had. I’d hooked up with people before, but…”

“Xie Lian,” Mu Qing says softly. 

Feng Xin smiles faintly in acknowledgement. The longstanding crush she’d had on their friend had been kind of brutal, considering that Xie Lian had been certain that she was ace prior to meeting Hua Cheng, but Feng Xin has mostly fond memories of the quiet thrall of near-worship she’d felt for her, the security and peace and joy that had felt like they fed off of Xie Lian’s very existence, all the way up until the (temporary) shattering of their friendship after Xianle’s collapse. It hadn’t been healthy, Feng Xin can acknowledge in hindsight, to have tied her own sense of identity so intricately with someone else, but it had been a balm against the normal pressures of growing up. “Yeah. But Xie Lian.” She takes a deep breath and exhales it in a sigh. “Jian Lan was in a couple of classes with me, and she was…so different from you and Xie Lian.”

“What are you talking about? Xie Lian and I are nothing alike.” 

“Don’t be stupid. You’re both stubborn and driven and care about big things, like saving the world and planning out the whole rest of your life. Jian Lan was more like me. The thing that was most important to her was whatever was right in front of her eyes. She wanted to spend her time appreciating beautiful things, and being happy, and didn’t care to think about the future. It was refreshing to be with her, after spending so much time with the two of you.” 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes, hard. “Thanks.”

“That’s not the end of the story, dipshit.” Feng Xin pulls the blanket a little bit tighter around herself. “The night Xie-xiansheng and Xie-furen died, Jian Lan kissed me goodbye at the bus stop, the one on the street right off of campus. I got on the bus to go meet Xie Lian, and she stayed behind, because she’d never even met Xie Lian, and.” Feng Xin’s throat closes on the sentence, and she focuses on taking deep breaths until her muscles loosen a little. “Some thugs had seen us kiss goodbye. They decided to teach Jian Lan a lesson. They tried to drag her off somewhere to rape her, but she resisted, so they beat her up instead. Someone saw from a building and called the police, and the attackers ran off when they heard the sirens. No one ever found out who they were. Jian Lan was taken to the hospital. She had a concussion, and was either unconscious or too out of it to contact me. I texted her that I’d made it to Xie Lian’s, and she didn’t respond, and I thought that maybe she was jealous. I didn’t find out until three days later, when I was back in class and she wasn’t, that she’d been attacked. Her parents blamed me, and by then she agreed with them. I’d put her in danger, by being her girlfriend, by kissing her, and then I’d left her alone.”  Feng Xin’s throat closes up completely, and it’s all she can do to take a shaky breath. Warm fingertips brush at the edge of her hand, and Feng Xin folds Mu Qing’s hand into hers. Mu Qing adjusts her grip so that they’re both holding on.

“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought if you actually believe that was your fault. They were in pain, and you were the easiest target. If they could believe you had done something wrong, then that terrible thing could have happened and the world would still feel fair. The world isn’t fair, and Jian Lan’s parents weren’t strong enough to face that.”

Feng Xin knows all that. She knows. “But if I hadn’t kissed her, they wouldn’t have - if it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t even have been at that bus stop.” 

“You didn’t hurt her.” Mu Qing’s voice is more intense than Feng Xin had expected - she’s not used to Mu Qing using that tone of voice to defend her, rather than accuse her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Other people chose to be violent.”

Feng Xin shakes her head to dislodge the lump in her throat. On some level, she knows all this; she has for years. “Jian Lan broke up with me and swore that she would never be with a woman ever again. Since then, sex hasn’t felt…safe. It feels like I could hurt someone with it. I know that must sound stupid.”

But Mu Qing is looking at Feng Xin wide-eyed, as if seeing a stranger where her frenemy-nemesis used to be. After a moment, she shakes her head and her expression returns to neutral. “Suddenly you care about my safety?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I always have.” 

Mu Qing frowns but doesn’t try to argue. “So when you start to really get into it, you also get scared.”

“Yeah.” 

“I can work with that.”

“Are you ready for the cuffs?” Mu Qing asks, voice smooth and controlled and practically bored. 

Feng Xin nods, then punches out a “Yes.”

Feng Xin is wearing nothing but a strapless bra that clasps in the back and light, comfortable trousers. The air feels pleasant against her bare skin. Mu Qing must have warmed the room up in preparation. She, however, is fully dressed in dark jeans and a night-black blouse, one that highlights her upper arms but buttons up to the neck, leaving the familiar, enticing curves of her chest to Feng Xin’s imagination. She looks powerful to Feng Xin, confident and strong, untouchable, unbreakable. 

Feng Xin had thought it would be difficult to get used to Mu Qing like this, more so to trust her. But when she’d walked into the living room in this outfit, heavy eyeliner intensifying her gaze, Feng Xin had been immediately enthralled. She and Mu Qing would forever disagree on many things and quite possibly would never learn to express and deal with them like adults, but Feng Xin knows Mu Qing. She trusts her, not to make the best decisions in all or even most circumstances, but to not hurt Feng Xin, and to be herself; to plan carefully and never step intentionally into a situation she isn’t more than prepared to handle. 

Feng Xin nods again. Cuffs, actually, sound really good. 

Mu Qing’s touch is deft and strong as she secures Feng Xin ‘s wrists to the headboard. It’s a touch Feng Xin is used to feeling when Mu Qing is grabbing her to pull her away from some intriguing display in a store window or steering her toward a conference room to make sure Feng Xin isn’t late for a meeting. Feng Xin can feel herself trying to shy away from the sexual side of what’s happening with those comparisons, even though what’s happening now is that Mu Qing is on Feng Xin’s bed, leaning over Feng Xin’s chest with her head close enough for Feng Xin to smell her shampoo and see the faint freckles scattered across her cheeks, tightening a soft but stable handcuff around Feng Xin’s wrist. 

They’d talked about this, at length, before Mu Qing had set it up. Mu Qing had gotten Feng Xin’s confirmation that it wasn’t her own vulnerability, but her partner’s, that scared her so much about sex. Mu Qing had said, “Hypothetically, what if you were the only vulnerable one? Like, if I were fully dressed and you were naked and tied to the bed while I went down on you?” Feng Xin had stared at her open-mouthed long enough for it to be an answer in itself, but Mu Qing had still pressed her for verbal confirmation before ordering the cuffs through Feng Xin’s Amazon account. 

Mu Qing pulls at one of the cuffs to test the tightness, then slides a finger between the cuff and the sensitive skin on the inside of Feng Xin’s wrist. Feng Xin gasps and Mu Qing meets her eyes with a flat look. “Everything okay?” 

“Your hand’s fucking cold.” That certainly wasn’t what had made Feng Xin’s head spin and a nerve in her belly flare with sudden arousal, but it was true. 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes. It’s stupidly, unfairly, illegally hot with all that eyeliner. Then she smirks, which is even worse, and sticks her chilly index finger in front of Feng Xin’s closed lips. “Then warm it up.” 

Feng Xin takes Mu Qing’s finger slowly into her mouth, presses the short curve of her nail to the roof and her tongue to the bumps of her fingerprint and the soft flesh underneath. It’s surprisingly nice, aside from Mu Qing’s finger being the temperature of an actual fucking icicle. Feng Xin feels useful, and it grounds her in her body and the moment in a way she’d all but forgotten it was possible to experience. Mu Qing keeps eye contact with Feng Xin as she sucks on Mu Qing’s finger. It’s as if Mu Qing is staring all the way through her, illuminating every dark corner of Feng Xin’s psyche.

After a minute, Mu Qing pulls away and uses her slightly wet, but now warmer, finger to test the tightness of the other cuff. “How do you feel?” she asks when she’s finished. 

“Good. Green.” Feng Xin feels kind of floaty, like she’s bobbing on an ocean of desire, but she’s certain that Mu Qing wouldn’t want to hear her say such useless things. What’s important is that she doesn’t feel that panic that comes with seeing Mu Qing as a sexual equal and all the more vulnerable for it. From Feng Xin’s position locked to the bed, Mu Qing has all the power in the world. 

Mu Qing reaches over to the nightstand and fiddles with her phone, and a moment later soft music fills the room. Feng Xin feels her heart start to pound, but for once it’s actually good, a pleasant sort of arousal filling her, one that she knows can be tamed by Mu Qing’s lips on hers. Distantly, cerebrally, she almost wants to cry - it’s been so long since she’s felt like this. 

Mu Qing meets her eyes once more, smiles, and bends down. 

Feng Xin strains her shoulders pushing up into the kiss, and Mu Qing pulls back enough to elicit a whine from Feng Xin before pushing her back down onto the bed. One of her hands, still extremely fucking cold, traces the bottom of Feng Xin’s bra, and the other cups her ass with slight, rhythmic squeezes to the music. Feng Xin’s world shrinks down to the music and the dim lights of the room and the sensation of Mu Qing on top of her - the seam of Mu Qing’s jeans scraping against her calf where her own pants have rucked up; the softness of Mu Qing’s lips, the decisiveness of their motion, the warmth of her tongue; her cold hand creeping around to the back of Feng Xin’s ribcage until Feng Xin arches up from the bed so that Mu Qing can undo her bra clasp. 

Mu Qing switches hands, placing the cold one that had been exposed to the air on Feng Xin’s thigh where her pants provide some small protection, and using the warmed one that had been between Feng Xin’s ass and the bed to trace semicircles around the underside of her breast. It’s so considerate Feng Xin wants to like, stop and congratulate her, maybe call Xie Lian to squeal about how Mu Qing does care . But then Mu Qing’s thumb brushes over Feng Xin’s nipple and a tide of desire sweeps away any remnants of thoughts in her mind. 

Feng Xin doesn’t really notice Mu Qing untying the drawstring on her pants and slipping them down her thighs, lost as she is in the storm of sensation, but she certainly notices when Mu Qing settles over more of her, her thigh nestling between Feng Xin’s, the rough fabric of her jeans just barely brushing against Feng Xin’s clit. Feng Xin gasps in warm air, Mu Qing’s lips millimeters from hers. Mu Qing doesn’t go in for another kiss, but lingers over her, expression keen and searching under the intensity of her makeup. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Mu Qing asks.

Feng Xin should probably think about it. It’s actually a pretty big deal, getting this far and still feeling okay, still wanting more. But she doesn’t want to think about it. And, unbelievably, she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to remind herself that it’s okay, that her wanting Mu Qing has nothing to do with what happened to Jian Lan, that she isn’t doing anything wrong. She only wants. 

“Yes,” she whispers. Mu Qing, seeming to want more, doesn’t move. “Fucking yes, fucking green, yes, you overthinking freak, fucking yes, please.” That lights up Mu Qing’s features with a slow smile. “Fuck you, is that what you were waiting for? Please, Mu Qing, please.” 

Mu Qing’s smile quirks upward once more and then she moves away, dropping a trail of kisses on Feng Xin’s chin, and neck, and collarbone, and breast as she grinds her thigh into Feng Xin’s crotch, making her gasp. This gives Feng Xin free reign over her own mouth, which she expects Mu Qing to regret before she even opens it. “You’re pretty good at this, for a fucking vampire.” 

Mu Qing stops kissing Feng Xin’s belly to stare at her, incredulous. “Icy fucking hands,” Feng Xin explains. 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes, which Feng Xin thinks is a good sign, in context, then she smirks. Her hands, which Feng Xin only now notices had been pressed safely into the blanket on either side of her, shift. One of them moves to secure Feng Xin’s hip, making her flinch from the temperature, and the other replaces the coarse fabric moving against her labia. 

It feels fucking amazing. It’s the first time since before everything happened that she’s been so aware of that part of herself. Bodies are incredible, she thinks dimly. The press of Mu Qing’s knee against the side of her thigh, the intense chill of her fingers against her wet folds, the slight smirk still on her face as she watches Feng Xin are the only things that matter in the world, in this moment. She shivers, not just from the temperature. “Please.” 

Mu Qing maintains eye contact for the first few seconds after she slips her index finger into the wet heat inside Feng Xin. Feng Xin stares back in a daze, wondering if she actually has a thing for vampires, or maybe, like, ice cubes. Mu Qing strokes her finger up and down, adds a second one, curves them into a spot that makes Feng Xin arch to grind down on the sensation. Gaze on the ceiling, she doesn’t notice that Mu Qing has moved until she feels the familiar softness of her lips teasing at the skin around her clit. Straining against the cuffs, Feng Xin pushes closer. 

Mu Qing’s hand on her hip, fingers inside her, tongue moving in smooth circles against her clit, all bleed together into a rush of sensation that collapses Feng Xin - where she is, who she is - into a single experience of bliss. The orgasm shocks her when it emerges, insistent, first in her clit and then flowing through all the nerves in her body, dazzling and unstoppable. Through it all Mu Qing keeps her fingers pressing gently, her tongue moving, until Feng Xin sags, boneless, into the bed. She is her body and the places where it touches the soft fabric of the bedding and the places where it touches the air and the places where it touches Mu Qing. Her breaths come easy and deep. She’s here. And Mu Qing is here, the warm weight of her making Feng Xin feel more alive than she has in years. 

She looks down past the curves and planes of her upper body and meets Mu Qing’s eyes. Mu Qing is smiling with perceptible satisfaction, but the expression quickly softens. “Hi,” Feng Xin croaks out, her voice shot from - oh, it must have been her making those noises as she came. 

“Hi,” Mu Qing says. She slides her fingers out of Feng Xin, the sensation awkward without the buzz of arousal encouraging it, and wipes them on Feng Xin’s discarded pants. 

Feng Xin makes sure Mu Qing is looking at her then rolls her eyes. “Diva.” 

Mu Qing’s responding snort of contempt is reassuring - she looks a little on edge, distracted, maybe worried, which makes sense, considering - holy shit - she’d just given Feng Xin her first orgasm with another person since she’d developed that whole hangup about touching women in the first place. “Slob. How are you?” 

“Amazing. You’re amazing. I can’t believe that worked.” At the compliment, Mu Qing’s expression regains a twinkle of that self-satisfied pride, but it’s quickly replaced with her more typical distant scowl. “A little cold, though.” 

That gets Mu Qing to roll her eyes, an expression so familiar it’s comforting even when it’s at Feng Xin’s expense, and Mu Qing reaches down for a blanket that she then tosses over Feng Xin. Feng Xin only remembers about the cuffs when she accidentally tugs at them, wanting to fold the blanket around her rapidly chilling skin. “Ready for those to be off?” Mu Qing asks, her voice distant and dull in a way it hasn’t been all evening. 

“Yes please,” Feng Xin says, desperate for life to come back to Mu Qing’s bearing. It does, in a brief flicker of a smirk. 

Mu Qing undoes the cuffs quickly and clinically, examining each of Feng Xin’s wrists before gently placing her arms down next to her on the bed. When she’s done, she rises as if to leave. 

Feng Xin takes advantage of her newly freed hand to catch Mu Qing’s wrist before she can get too far. “Wait!”

But the space under Feng Xin’s skin is still buzzing with the remnants of what may just have been the best orgasm of her life, making her grip slack and weak. Mu Qing rips her wrist away easily, stepping away from the bed and out of range. She turns back to face Feng Xin, eyes wide and - scared?  

“Are you okay?” Feng Xin asks. It’s obvious that Mu Qing is trying to leave, but - they hadn’t talked about after. Probably neither of them had actually believed that they would get this far. Feng Xin would be okay if Mu Qing leaves to shower or jerk off or do whatever she wants to do, but Mu Qing doesn’t look like she’s just disgusted by the fluids drying on her hand or horny and unsatisfied. She looks upset, genuinely upset in a way Feng Xin has only seen a few times behind Mu Qing’s tendency to hide it behind scathing mockery and general unpleasantness. 

Mu Qing looks away from Feng Xin, sets her jaw. “Am I okay? Did your idiot brain forget that you’re the one using this to get over a traumatic experience?”

“Don’t be so pigheaded. That was really intense, it makes sense to check in.” Horribly, Feng Xin realizes only now that she maybe should have checked in before, while it was happening. Mu Qing had asked for a color a few times, like they’d discussed, but it hadn’t occurred to Feng Xin to ask in return. Mu Qing had seemed so confident, and she’d been fully in control, not to mention not wearing handcuffs. 

Mu Qing doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t leave either. Feng Xin can feel herself start to get angry, but it’s muted under the pleasant looseness in her body. It gives her space between the anger and her actions, space to think. Mu Qing refusing to say what she’s thinking will forever be the most annoying thing about her, but maybe not saying anything at all is her idea of a compromise. 

For a long moment, Feng Xin stares at Mu Qing and Mu Qing stares at Feng Xin. Mu Qing is the first to break her gaze away, ducking her head and fleeing the room. Feng Xin surprises herself by not feeling even the faintest wisp of triumph. 

Feng Xin decides to get dressed before going to find her roommate. She hasn’t heard the apartment door shut, so Mu Qing can’t have gone far, but she suspects that strutting out of her bedroom without clothes on is more likely to make the situation worse than better.  

She finds Mu Qing on the couch, staring straight ahead, hands fisted in her lap.

“Mu Qing?” 

“I’m sorry.” It’s muttered so low she might later try to deny that she said it. 

“Sorry for what? The best orgasm I’ve had in years?” 

“Shut up. You know for what. For leaving.” 

Feng Xin sits gingerly beside Mu Qing on the couch, half expecting her to bolt. Mu Qing tenses but stays exactly where she is. “Mu Qing, it’s okay. We didn’t talk about what we’d do after, and maybe we should have, but I’m really fine.” Feng Xin takes stock while she says it, and finds that it’s still true. Her nerves buzz pleasantly and her muscles are more relaxed than she can remember them ever feeling. “I’m a little worried about you, but that’s all.” 

“So I fucked that up too.” Mu Qing ducks away and knots her fists in her hair. 

It takes Feng Xin a second to parse Mu Qing’s words. “You didn’t fuck up,” she says. For a moment she resists the impulse to reach out and touch Mu Qing, weighing the strong possibility that Mu Qing will bite her head off against the urge to soothe, to encourage her to be gentler with herself. She reaches out and folds her palms around Mu Qing’s wrists, starting with just the pads of her fingers. Mu Qing doesn’t move. “What can I do to help?” Feng Xin asks after a few seconds.  

That’s when Mu Qing jerks away from Feng Xin’s grip. Feng Xin lets her go. “You can’t do anything!” Mu Qing says, cutting ribbons through the air with her tone as she hunches down on the couch with her back to Feng Xin. Still, though, she doesn’t leave. 

Feng Xin doesn’t leave either. Feng Xin relaxes against the back of the couch and focuses on the looseness of her body, the flickers of sparks still running through her nerves. Mu Qing stays where she is, and Feng Xin listens as her jerky breaths even out little by little. 

“You were scared,” Feng Xin says when it seems like maybe, maybe having an honest conversation won’t set Mu Qing off again. That’s an uncertain prospect at the best of times, but Feng Xin doesn’t know what to do but try. 

Mu Qing’s shoulders tense up like a wire pulled taut. Feng Xin aches to hold her. The rush of affection takes her by surprise. She’s gotten used to the brief pinpricks of fondness she’s felt toward Mu Qing during the past few weeks - those moments had felt like progress, like their decade-long friendship, or whatever it was, might finally be turning into something less destructive. 

It had always been easy to hate Mu Qing, like it was easy to love Xie Lian. The two of them had given Feng Xin’s emotional landscape clear, safe borders, and venturing beyond them has never ended well.

But now, seeing Mu Qing this upset because she was worried about doing wrong by Feng Xin, Feng Xin wonders if maybe there’s a reason other than familiarity that the two of them stick so close to each other. Maybe there always has been. Right now, two feet away from Mu Qing and aching to be closer, Feng Xin can almost imagine what the two of them look like from the outside. It’s absurd. If they hated each other as much as they claim to, they could at least make the barest effort at avoiding each other. Instead, they’ve knit each other inextricably into their worlds like they need each other to survive. 

“Can I kiss you?” Feng Xin asks on an impulse. There’s no way she’s going to be able to make sense of, let alone counter, whatever spiral is going on in Mu Qing’s thoughts right now, but maybe she can let Mu Qing be Mu Qing, and she can be herself. Maybe she can reach for Mu Qing in the way that makes sense to her, in the way that she wants to, and maybe Mu Qing will want it too. Maybe that’s why they’ve kept coming back to each other, over and over, for all these years. The differences between them have been the foundation of all their many bitter fights - Mu Qing overthinks everything, Feng Xin apparently doesn’t think enough - but together, in the end, they usually get it right. 

Mu Qing turns toward Feng Xin at the question, her expression torn between skepticism and vulnerability. Feng Xin waits, does her best to project earnestness without moving toward her and scaring her off. 

Then Mu Qing kisses her, heartbreakingly tentative at first then soft and warm as she relaxes into it. Feng Xin pulls her closer, lets herself feel Mu Qing’s body relax in stages against hers. I can’t - she starts to think, but then Mu Qing’s hand wraps around hers and stops the thought in its tracks, and Feng Xin finds that she can, because she’s the only one who can. She’s the one Mu Qing trusts with this moment because she knows Mu Qing all the way through to her bones. It’s still a frightening position to be in, but it’s a new kind of fear - not the overwhelming panic of before, but invigorating, motivating, the kind of fear she’s made a point of pushing through all her life. 

Feng Xin loses herself to the sensations for a while, and her neck is stiff from the awkward angle by the time Mu Qing pulls away. Her expression is still wary, but softer now, more settled. “I still want to talk,” Feng Xin says.

“Of course you fucking want to talk.” The muttered sentence is so barren of the expected vitriol Feng Xin almost laughs.

“I don’t need to know exactly what’s going on in your head - I don’t even know if you can tell me in a way I’ll understand - but what you just did was fucking amazing and I want to be good to you too. Whatever that means.”

Mu Qing stares at her with naked skepticism for a moment. Feng Xin tries to project her sincerity, even though that’s tended to make Mu Qing, who’s pretty much incapable of letting things be easy, more aggravated in the past. 

“It’s actually that simple,” Feng Xin says. 

That gets a familiar scowl out of Mu Qing, a moment of normalcy that lightens the air in the room. “I wasn’t scared,” she says. 

Feng Xin resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Right.” 

Mu Qing’s scowl deepens. “I just - I wasn’t expecting you to look at me that way, at the end. Like.” She pauses, swallows. “It probably didn’t even mean anything, knowing you, but you looked like you’d just been handed the moon. And you were looking at me. I didn’t - I don’t deserve that look. I don’t even know if I could do that for you again, if it would be the same a second time.”

“Mu Qing.” Feng Xin places her hand in hers, like Mu Qing had done the night Feng Xin told her about Jian Lan. “Will it help if I say it didn’t mean anything?” 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes, huffs a tiny laugh. “Yes.”

“I’d be lying, though,” she goes on. Mu Qing scowls but doesn’t let go. “When I looked at you, after, I was thinking that you’re incredible. I was thinking about how lucky I was that I had someone in my life clever enough to come up with exactly this idea, and willing to follow through on it. I wasn’t expecting anything of you, or wanting anything from you, I was just happy that you were there.” 

For a long moment, the only noise in the room is their breathing. Then Mu Qing mutters, “That’s a lot of thoughts at once, did I blow a circuit or something?” 

This time, Feng Xin can’t help but roll her eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

Mu Qing smiles at that, though, so Feng Xin can tell that she heard Feng Xin’s little speech, even if it didn’t reach all the dark corners of her suspicious little mind. Maybe next time, she’ll get there.

A few weeks after Ling Wen’s explosive departure, work manages to get even worse. 

It turns out all the shady financial records Ling Wen leaked were real. The day the fact check is published, Jun Wu resigns without a word to his staff. Not only did Jun Wu have his hands in all sorts of shady dealings, he had also brought the firm to near-bankruptcy. The remaining employees are probably going to be evicted from the building at the end of the month, but they still have all their clients to serve. Feng Xin hasn’t felt so much like a crewmember on a sinking ship since the year she’d spent interning for Xie Lian’s parents’ failing business, and she suspects that Xie Lian and even Mu Qing, who was only there for a summer, are feeling the same way.

Mu Qing, of course, is pretending she doesn’t care, and it’s infuriating. Feng Xin recognizes that focusing on Mu Qing’s infuriating behavior is just a pleasant, familiar distraction from all the rest of the problems, but that doesn’t stop her from getting drawn into petty arguments with her basically whenever they see each other.

Feng Xin doesn’t even remember who started this particular fight, but it had escalated precipitously by the time Xie Lian had walked in with a question for one of them and hesitated just inside the door as if she’d prefer to turn back time and never encounter the two of them at all. 

It was supposed to be a normal meeting about a case that they were collaborating on, but Mu Qing had waltzed in and said that the firm should be closing out or transferring all of the active cases rather than trying to pretend things were normal, and the conversation had never actually gotten around to this particular case at all. 

“Businesses fail all the time,” Mu Qing had said. “The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be on everyone.”

“There’s nothing to accept. We don’t know what’s going to happen,” Feng Xin had countered. “And this isn’t just a business, it’s our jobs, our lives. And I’m going to keep doing my job until somebody tells me to stop.” 

“If the Board of Directors told you to jump off a bridge -” 

“Don’t mock me. I bet you want to quit and move on before things get too bad, right?”

“Of course I do! It’s the only logical response!” 

“There’s more to life than what’s logical.”

“That’s the kind of thinking that fucks up your career forever .” 

“I’d rather do that than abandon people who need me whenever things get too difficult!” 

And that’s when Xie Lian had the misfortune to enter the room, stopping the argument cold. Mu Qing’s face is twisted with irritation and Feng Xin is torn between glaring at Mu Qing and apologizing to Xie Lian.

Xie Lian hovers in the doorway for a moment, then sighs and sits down. “So, are you talking about this company or Xianle?” 

“Both, I think,” Mu Qing says, glaring at Feng Xin. “And I don’t know how you could have possibly walked away from that wreck expecting things to somehow go your way this time.” 

“I’m not expecting anything,” Feng Xin says. “You wouldn’t understand because apparently you don’t care about anything, but when you care about things that means you’re willing to fight for them. This company gave all three of us a place, and I’m not giving up on it. There’s still a chance things could work out. We have a good track record with clients and we have enough competent people that the CEO seat being vacant isn’t even that big of a problem. All we really need right now is money, and everything could be okay.” 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes. “Oh, then that’s easy enough. We’ll just go outside and find a money tree -”

“Fuck off. If you don’t want to be here, then leave!”

Mu Qing stares at her for a long moment and Feng Xin stares back. Then Mu Qing stands, and she leaves.   

Feng Xin turns to Xie Lian. “Any chance we can ask any of your family’s old contacts for help?”

Xie Lian tilts her head, thoughtful. “Actually, I might have a contact of my own…”

And that’s the beginning of a conversion that ends twelve hours later with a temporary operational loan for the company and Hua Cheng on the Board of Directors. 

Feng Xin isn’t expecting the light to be on in the main area of the apartment when she gets home well after midnight that night. She’d assumed that Mu Qing would avoid her until both of them cool off a bit, as is their habit after big blow ups like the one this morning. But Mu Qing is sitting on the couch, right out in the open, curled in on herself as she watches Feng Xin ditch her coat and shoes. 

Feng Xin could still try to ignore her, but the possibility is just a passing thought. She crosses the room until she’s standing just a few feet away from Mu Qing, and she waits. 

“I heard the news,” Mu Qing ventures after they stare at each other for a few seconds. “Congratulations, I guess. At least for now. I reserve the right to revoke my congratulations if it turns out this is all some kind of elaborate plot to orchestrate our downfall.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an elaborate plot to elevate Xie Lian to CEO,” Feng Xin replies. “Well, it’s not that elaborate. It’s pretty straightforward. Xie Lian is in for at least a few weeks of negotiations with the board before she manages to convince Hua Cheng that she would hate being in charge. But I’m pretty sure our jobs are safe.” 

Mu Qing scowls at that, because of course she does. 

“You're welcome,” Feng Xin says as obnoxiously as possible, just to get a reaction. Mu Qing gives no sign that she heard and continues scowling at the wall in front of her.

This is the part where Feng Xin would ordinarily lose her temper. She was the one sitting in tense budget meetings all afternoon and evening, with Xie Lian’s horrible girlfriend shooting her disgusted looks every so often, saving their jobs while Mu Qing was here doing nothing. It’s not like she’s expecting Mu Qing to do anything impossible like apologize or admit that she was wrong - she wants the bare fucking minimum, which is for Mu Qing to not actively be an asshole about it. 

But she knows exactly what will happen if she rises to the bait, which is what this behavior is. Mu Qing is trying to goad Feng Xin into yelling at her so that she can yell back until they’re arguing about something entirely different and eventually one of them will storm out of the room and the other one will shout a retort that isn’t even very good through the door just for the sake of having the last word, and in the morning they'll act like none of it ever happened. 

And maybe that’s not the way this conversation has to end. Feng Xin knows that there are other sides to Mu Qing, and maybe if she’s careful she’ll be able to draw out the version of Mu Qing who treats Feng Xin gently, who cares about her, who almost admits to ever experiencing feelings. Remembering that that version of her exists makes Feng Xin realize that unlike the time with the bikini tops, Mu Qing probably isn’t acting like this just to get a rise out of Feng Xin. She didn’t bolt into her room when she heard Feng Xin’s key in the door, so she must want to talk to her. And arguing over whatever comes up is one way of talking, but it isn’t the only one they’re capable of. 

Feng Xin thinks. “Do you actually want to leave the company?” she asks, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “Is that why you’re mad about this?”

“I’m not mad,” Mu Qing says immediately with a glare. 

“Fine, then. What are you thinking?”

The silence stretches, and stretches, and stretches, until Feng Xin’s skin crawls with it. She distracts herself by wracking her brain for the last time she actually asked Mu Qing that sort of question - she complains about Mu Qing refusing to speak her mind pretty much every day (which is a reasonable amount, given how frustrating it is!) but every time, after years of this, she expects Mu Qing to suddenly possess whatever it would take to break the pattern. She demands. She doesn’t ask. 

So Feng Xin endures the silence. She waits. 

Finally, Mu Qing speaks. “I don’t want you to give up on me.” 

Feng Xin must look as confused as she feels, because Mu Qing takes a sharp breath and continues. 

“What you said earlier, about not wanting to give up on the company because it was worth fighting for, or whatever. I still think that’s stupid, it’s just a business, but then you told me to leave, and I - I don’t want you to want me to leave.” 

It takes Feng Xin a moment to parse all of that. Despite still being borderline incomprehensible, it’s more emotional honesty from Mu Qing in fifteen seconds than she’s expressed in the past decade, and sorting through it makes Feng Xin’s head spin. So when she realizes that she really ought to respond, all she can think to say is, “You could just say ‘I like you,’ like normal people do.”

Mu Qing throws a pillow at her, but not very hard. Feng Xin catches it and hands it back. 

She waits a moment for Mu Qing to verbally deny it. It’s more of a shock than the sort-of declaration was in the first place when the silence makes it clear that she isn’t going to. Mu Qing likes her. 

“You already know that I feel the same way about you,” she says, trying to convey through her expression the things Mu Qing will refuse to hear if she tries to put them into words. “Today, I said you should go because you were making annoying comments instead of helping. I hate it when you do that, but that’s because I want you not to do that. Not because I hate you. Today, I didn’t want you gone at all. In my ideal version of this afternoon, you would have been there the whole time and we would have had a secret tally under the table of every time Hua Cheng looked at one of us with that death glare. The meeting would have been at least two hours shorter because you would have realized way before anyone else what Hua Cheng was up to when she started talking about leadership restructuring. I didn’t - I don’t want you to leave. And I’m not going to give up on you, no matter what crazy nonsense you throw at me. I’ve already seen it all.”

Feng Xin isn’t sure if Mu Qing is suddenly overtaken with the desire to kiss Feng Xin or if she just wants to force Feng Xin to stop talking about feelings by keeping her mouth otherwise occupied, but either way, she reaches toward her, slowly enough the Feng Xin could easily stop her if she wanted to, and draws Feng Xin closer, until it’s a simple matter of following gravity for Feng Xin to cover Mu Qing’s lips with hers. And fuck, maybe Mu Qing was right for once, this is much better than talking. At least Feng Xin doesn’t have to admit it. Like this, Feng Xin can communicate without worrying about how Mu Qing will misinterpret it, and maybe, in turn, Mu Qing can say what she means. Like this, Mu Qing is all warmth and tension and motion, kissing with a deliberateness that borders on urgency, her hands curled tight in the back of Feng Xin’s shirt, pulling Feng Xin closer, her leg tangled with Feng Xin’s. Mu Qing had said: I don’t want you to want me to leave. Mu Qing’s body says: I don’t want you to leave. 

And Feng Xin is happy to oblige her. The mental block she’d put around sex isn’t gone, exactly, but it’s as if Mu Qing has snuck and hacked her way through it, laid a road between herself and this part of Feng Xin, a road that only she can traverse. She knows what happened and it didn’t scare her away from Feng Xin, and she’s proven that Feng Xin has nothing to fear from her. The bitter words and white hot guilt of her last encounters with Jian Lan aren’t in this room with them anymore; they’re far away and in the past, where they belong.

“I want to try,” Feng Xin says when Mu Qing shifts away to breathe. “No plan. No power games. Just us.” 

Mu Qing’s reaction is a panoply of red flags. Her shoulders tense and she shifts back, gaze sliding downward. 

“You don’t want to.” Feng Xin guesses. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Mu Qing says, glancing at Feng Xin and then looking back down at the floor. She bites her lip, clenches her fists tighter in Feng Xin’s shirt. She looks at Feng Xin again. Looks away. “I’m scared.”

Feng Xin feels her expression soften into a smile. 

Mu Qing glares. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what? Like I’m happy that you’re actually communicating with me so that we can figure out a way to make both of us feel good?” Mu Qing bristles at that, and Feng Xin takes pity and shifts away, giving Mu Qing some breathing room. “What are you worried about? That I’ll freak out again?” 

Mu Qing shakes her head. “I could handle that.”

“Then what is it?”

Feng Xin waits through a long hesitation. It’s as if years of trying to out-stubborn Mu Qing over stupid shit have all been preparing her for this moment. Finally, Mu Qing answers. “It would be different, this time.” 

“Different how?” 

Mu Qing glares down at the couch cushion, determinedly avoiding eye contact. “I know how sex is supposed to feel. It’s about touch and pleasure and the satisfaction of figuring out what makes each other tick. This whole time, with you, it’s been more than that. For a while, I thought it was because it was kind of a challenge, like I was trying to make you blink before I did. And I guess it was a challenge, but it wasn’t me versus you, it was you and me versus your phobia. I know it was hard for you, but I liked being there, with you, in that. What you’re proposing now - just trying to have a good time together - it’s different.”

Feng Xin braces herself for the answer as she asks, “Is it because you don’t like me that way?” 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Mu Qing says, which isn’t an answer. Mu Qing glances at Feng Xin’s expression and huffs an exasperated sigh, at the same time as she hooks her ankle around Feng Xin’s. “I’ll spell it out for you, if you’re going to be that dense. It’s because I do like you. I like you way too much for this to be, you know. Normal.” 

Feng Xin thinks about just trying to have a good time together and normal and what she knows of Mu Qing, and puzzle pieces click together. “You’ve never really been in a relationship before, have you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, this isn’t -”

“I’m not talking about this,” Feng Xin interrupts while thinking that they would have to talk about it, eventually. “I mean in the past. When you really like someone, and you really know them, sex can be more than just having a good time together. It is different from the kind of sex you’re talking about, but in a good way. You get to see more of each other.” 

Mu Qing actually flinches at that, her ankle tightening around Feng Xin’s then quickly retracting. 

“That’s what scares you?” Feng Xin asks. She only gets a scowl in response, which is what she probably should have expected. It’s obvious, when she thinks about it. Mu Qing has always had this idea that her innermost thoughts and feelings are somehow unfit to see the light of day. Feng Xin doubts that there’s any truth to this, since in her experience Mu Qing is actually much nicer under the surface than she is on it, but that hasn’t stopped Mu Qing from erecting all sorts of elaborate traps and blockades around herself to keep everyone at a comfortable distance. And Feng Xin is proposing that she crash through them like a wrecking ball. 

No wonder it scares her. 

“I’ll still like you even if it goes horribly,” Feng Xin says. “I mean, I’ll still be annoyed with you a lot of the time and call you an asshole when you’re being one, but there’s nothing you could possibly do that would make me not want to have you in my life anymore. If you really don’t want to do this that’s obviously fine, but -” 

Mu Qing shuts her up with a firm kiss. She uses the leverage that she has on Feng Xin’s ankle to upset her balance, and the next thing Feng Xin knows she’s sprawled against the side of the couch, Mu Qing pinning her down from above. The rush of desire at Mu Qing’s decisiveness is deliciously uncomplicated, and Feng Xin is finally free to notice the details that make up Mu Qing, up close like this. The soft pads of her fingers. The swoop of her collarbone before it disappears under her t-shirt. The strength with which her legs pin Feng Xin to the couch. 

It takes Mu Qing physically moving Feng Xin’s hand onto Mu Qing’s thigh for Feng Xin to remember that she is allowed to touch her. Mu Qing is wearing soft, light sweatpants that barely blunt the warmth of her skin or the vibrating tension of her muscles. Mu Qing pulls away from kissing her to check her reaction. Feng Xin grins, squeezes her thigh, and pulls her back down. 

Feng Xin maintains a careful awareness of her own reactions for a bit after that, because this is wonderfully, beautifully, entirely different from last time. Touching Mu Qing, even through her clothes, is just short of overwhelming. But every time she checks in with herself, she finds that her wild elation is just that; the rush of feeling is because it’s Mu Qing here with her, not in spite of her acting as a stand-in for someone else. Feng Xin is here in this fourth floor walk-up where she and Mu Qing have lived for two years, with her hands on Mu Qing, learning what it feels like to touch and grasp the curves of her thighs and hips and waist, which, it seems, she’s been taking notice of for a long time. 

Feng Xin’s hand, soon enough, finds the soft weight of Mu Qing’s breast. Her thumb grazes over a nipple with the slightest pressure through her t-shirt, but it’s enough to make Mu Qing shudder. She breaks the kiss to regard Feng Xin with a soft, fond expression that Feng Xin could never have imagined before seeing it in real life. If that expression is what Mu Qing spends so much time and energy hiding, Feng Xin wants nothing more than to keep finding ways to bring it to the surface. She wants to protect it with her life. 

“Bedroom?” Mu Qing murmurs, her face still hovering right above Feng Xin’s. 

“Mine has a bunch of dirty clothes on the bed,” Feng Xin admits, answering the question no matter whether it was should we or which. 

Mu Qing rolls her eyes in a way that Feng Xin chooses to interpret as more fond than usual and drags Feng Xin off the couch by the front of her shirt. Feng Xin stumbles after her into her bedroom, where they tumble gracelessly together onto the bed. Feng Xin doesn’t even have to think before grasping the edge of Mu Qing’s t-shirt where it’s rucked up against her back and giving it a questioning tug. Mu Qing shifts her weight, letting Feng Xin drag the shirt over her shoulders and toss it aside. 

There’s a guarded edge to Mu Qing’s expression that reminds Feng Xin that the last time she actually saw Mu Qing topless was the hideously awkward morning that had started all this. Mu Qing had spent weeks thinking that Feng Xin had been disgusted by her, but between the spike of panic that had led to her screaming and the confused aftermath, she hadn’t actually taken in the sight of her at all. Like this, Mu Qing is all soft skin with soft edges, raw and real and whole. Feng Xin slides a finger across a nipple because she knows it will get a reaction; Mu Qing shivers and pulls her closer. Mu Qing starts on the buttons of Feng Xin’s shirt while, just for fun, Feng Xin does her best to distract her with flicks to her nipples and light kisses on her neck and chest, teasing a bit at every sensitive spot she finds. 

Eventually Mu Qing wrestles the shirt off and Feng Xin breaks away for a moment to shuck the sports bra she’d had on underneath. She returns to teasing, pressing closer now, making Mu Qing writhe without the distraction of Feng Xin’s shirt buttons. The rush of skin on skin is enough to lose herself in for a bit, until Mu Qing takes Feng Xin’s hand and guides it between her legs, slightly damp even through the barrier of her pants. Feng Xin presses down and is rewarded with a slight shudder, strokes a finger upwards and feels Mu Qing’s entire body jolt when she finds her clit. 

“You don’t have to look so satisfied,” Mu Qing says. “You’ve got one, you know how it works.” 

“Keep making fun of me and that’s as much of my fingers as you get.” 

Mu Qing’s face flashes through a few expressions and settles on guarded interest. “And if I stop?” 

“Whatever you want.”

There’s a long, weird few seconds where Feng Xin waits for Mu Qing to tell her what to do and Mu Qing just stares at her. Feng Xin moves her hand to the outside of her thigh and gives it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. “I don’t want you to think -” Mu Qing starts.

Feng Xin doesn’t let her get any farther. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Mu Qing laughs her rare laugh of real enjoyment. Then she bends close to Feng Xin’s ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me with your fingers, and you can ride my thigh if you want to.” 

Feng Xin feels the words hit right between her legs, and she immediately moves to tug at Mu Qing’s pants, which are in the way of the scenario Mu Qing just spelled out and therefore a crime against humanity. Mu Qing works at Feng Xin’s, and after a few moments’ struggle both pairs of pants are tossed somewhere on the floor. 

Feng Xin pushes Mu Qing onto her back and straddles her. She bends down and kisses Mu Qing, skin touching skin all the way down their torsos, legs braced against each other. Feng Xin reaches a hand down to Mu Qing’s wet folds and feels her stiffen when the tips of her fingers make contact. 

Nervousness is part of the reason Feng Xin’s heart is hammering in her chest as she guides her fingers inside of Mu Qing, and it’s such a novel feeling that Feng Xin could cry with relief. She’s nervous for no other reason than because this is the first time she’s done anything like this with Mu Qing and Mu Qing was obviously reluctant to ask for it. The nervousness blends seamlessly with all the other emotions and sensations of the moment, grounding her even more firmly in the present. She can only hope that Mu Qing feels a fraction of the way she does, that she in return wants not just another warm body, but Feng Xin, here with her. 

Feng Xin thrusts with her fingers, and the noise Mu Qing makes sends sparks through her whole body. Feng Xin’s groin finds Mu Qing’s thigh, and Mu Qing’s hands take Feng Xin’s hips, and Feng Xin’s whole world narrows to the song of skin on skin. 

The flood of information she’s getting from Mu Qing, from the tiniest signals of her body, is enthralling. Feng Xin picks up her pace and slows down and speeds up again, interpreting Mu Qing’s reaction from the fervor with which she shifts to pursue Feng Xin’s fingers, the force with which she grinds her thigh on Feng Xin’s clit, the rhythm of the tiny gasps she breathes in. Soon enough Mu Qing’s grip on her hips tightens and she shifts as if to drive Feng Xin’s fingers even deeper. Feng Xin keeps up her rhythm and brushes her thumb over her clit with each thrust until Mu Qing is arching off the bed, surrounding Feng Xin’s fingers with pulses of pleasure. The sight of her hits Feng Xin like lightning, and a few more seconds of grinding down on Mu Qing’s thigh is enough to set off her own orgasm. 

Feng Xin hovers over Mu Qing for another moment, both of them panting, and then Mu Qing pulls her down into a kiss. It’s slow and soft this time, with none of the urgency of before, and Mu Qing only breaks it when Feng Xin has come down enough to feel the chill of the air on her bare skin again. 

“You better be paying attention, because I’m only going to say this once in this lifetime,” Mu Qing murmurs against Feng Xin’s neck. “You were right.” 

Feng Xin laughs and kisses her one more time. 

“You’re okay?” Mu Qing asks after a moment, running a hand up and down Feng Xin’s arm. Feng Xin nods. “I don’t understand how you went from…what you were like, to this, that fast.” 

“You helped,” Feng Xin says, even though she knows Mu Qing will try to squirm away from the naked affection in her words and tone. True to form, her curious expression retreats in favor of a scowl. “I wasn’t trying to change, before. I just let myself be like that, for all that time, because it was easier. You made me want to try. Even though you were really mean about it.” 

“If you’re expecting me to apologize, forget it. I think my tactics worked out well for both of us,” Mu Qing says indignantly. 

“I was actually going to apologize to you before you started being an asshole about it.” 

Mu Qing perks up. “You were? Let’s hear it, then.”

“No! You canceled it out by being mean.” 

“Fine, then I guess that makes us even.” 

Feng Xin giggles at the discordance between the familiar banter and the fact that they’re naked and tangled up in each other, which is wonderfully new. But it’s easy to imagine getting used to it.