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Mu Qing has always hated the summer months. He finds the heat intolerable; it makes him sweat an uncomfortable amount, which means that he can never wear the long-sleeved shirts and baggy sweaters he feels most comfortable in. He much prefers winter, with its chilly air and serene atmosphere. He longs for it, now, as the sun tries to burrow down beneath his skin and burn him from the inside out.

“It isn’t even eight a.m.,” he complains, swiping some sweat away from above his upper lip. “It’s already way too warm.”

Beside him, Feng Xin snorts. “It’s only gonna get worse,” he says.

Feng Xin, unlike Mu Qing, has always thrived in the summer. Mu Qing knows this because he’s seen the proof on social media; countless articles about Feng Xin’s wins at the summer archery competitions he takes part in every year out of town, containing photos in which he’s always grinning and laughing and apparently isn’t at all affected by the heat. They’ve never spent a full summer together, but Mu Qing can’t help but feel grateful. He has no doubt that Feng Xin would be even more insufferable during the summer than he is during the rest of the year, if only because of his own worsened mood caused by the heat.

They pass a cluster of trees on their walk, and Mu Qing immediately jumps at the opportunity to take refuge in the shade cast onto the ground by their dense leaves. This, it seems, is one of the rare positives of summer: the picturesque trees, the flowers in full bloom, and the grass which always feels soft and bouncy beneath one’s feet. It’s nice, Mu Qing thinks. He likes nature. It’s quiet and pretty. It makes him feel at ease.

There isn’t a bench beneath the trees, so he drops his bag onto the ground and sits beside it, stretching his legs out in front of him. Feng Xin hasn’t made a move to follow suit; he continues to stand on the path they’d been walking along, frowning down at his phone.

“We’ll be late if you spend any longer moping,” he says.

“You don’t have to wait for me.” Mu Qing gives a noncommittal shrug. “Go on without me. I’ll just melt here.”

“Dramatic bitch,” Feng Xin grumbles. He finally steps onto the grass, tossing his bag onto the ground beside Mu Qing before crouching down so that they’re eye-level with each other again. He pokes Mu Qing’s knee, then grins at the responding glare he receives.

“It’s too hot for me to be putting up with your shit today,” Mu Qing says. “I suggest you save it for another season.”

“I appreciate the suggestion. But seriously, we’re going to be late for one of the most important exams in our lives if you don’t suck it up and get off your lazy ass.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Sighing, Mu Qing allows Feng Xin to haul him up to his feet again. He basks in the shade for a moment more, before reluctantly picking up his bag and following Feng Xin back to the path.

“If the exam room doesn’t have air conditioning, I’m suing the school.”

“Sure you are,” Feng Xin says.

“I’m not joking. You’ll have my back, right?”

Feng Xin fixes him with an unimpressed look, then shrugs. “Sure. I’ll help you to sue the school if the exam room doesn’t have air conditioning.”

“Good. That’s what I thought.”

A grin flashes momentarily over Feng Xin’s lips, but it quickly disappears as they arrive outside the school gates. Now that they’re actually here, it strikes Mu Qing that this is the last time they’re ever going to walk through these gates. He always thought he might feel relieved at this moment. Perhaps, he’d even feel indifferent.

In reality, he just feels anxious.

It’s comforting to know what to expect each and every day. He’s made peace with his familiar routine of walking to school with Feng Xin, sitting beside Feng Xin in every class, eating lunch with Feng Xin, hearing Feng Xin talk about archery, making fun of Pei Ming with Feng Xin, teaching Feng Xin math, and walking home with Feng Xin. Now, he’s about to sit his final exam with Feng Xin, and then he’ll walk home with Feng Xin for the last time, and then…

Then, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

He’s never liked change. Why alter a perfectly good routine?

“You ready?” Feng Xin asks.

Mu Qing glances over at him—the boy he’s known for six years, the boy he once found unbearably annoying, the boy who eventually became his only friend, the boy he’s seen grow into a man—and, despite how much he definitely isn’t ready, he nods.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Grinning, Feng Xin raises his hand in a fist. Mu Qing smiles as he mimics the gesture, bumping their fists together.

Then, for the final time, they join the sea of students filing through the school gates.

It was autumn when they first met, a week before the new school year began. Mu Qing’s mother accompanied him on the bus to the town next to their own to scope out his new school, because she knew he was too nervous to do it alone—not that he’d ever admit that aloud. He wasn’t attending the junior high school in their town; the kids from his primary school would be going there, and they hated him. He hated them with equal fervour. He was sure that, with time, the kids at this other town’s school would learn to hate him, too. It really wouldn’t make a difference in the end, but at least starting fresh provided a slither of hope that things might be different.

The bus journey didn’t take long, but it still felt momentous. Stepping down from the bus onto the pavement with his mother in tow, Mu Qing had to take a moment to compose himself. This was an unfamiliar environment, and he knew that it was likely going to chew him up and spit him out. He still kept his head held as high as he possibly could as his mother walked him the rest of the way to the school, but he couldn’t help feeling as if everything was wrong.

At the front gates to the school, they both paused. The difference between this town and their own became more apparent the longer they stared at the building in front of them. The school Mu Qing was meant to be attending—the one back in his town, just a five minute walk from his house—was running on its last legs. The benches in the communal lunch areas were rusty, and some of the lockers didn’t have doors. He’d peered through the front gates of that school in the same way he peered through the gate of this one now, and he hadn’t been impressed by what he saw. The school was just as old and tired as the rest of his town.

This was different. This school had a third floor with shiny windows. This school had brand new picnic tables in the lunch areas, as well as a basketball court. Mu Qing even caught sight of a sign pointing to a swimming pool. A swimming pool. What the fuck.

“It’s very nice, dear,” his mother said. “I’m sure you’re going to love it here.”

His shoulders slumped. “It’s so… big. And new.” He turned to face her. “I don’t like it.”

“Silly boy.” She ruffled his hair. “You haven’t even given it a chance. I’m sure you’ll love it here.”

He pouted, returning his attention to the school in front of him. His hands curled tighter around the metal bars of the front gates, but he didn’t say anything more on the matter.

His mother sighed softly, patting his shoulder. “Come, now. Let’s take a quick walk around the town. There might be some interesting places around here for you to visit with your new friends, someday.”

Mu Qing grimaced. It was hard to understand, sometimes, just how easy it was for his mother to be so positive. About the school, the town, making friends—everything. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to see things from the same perspective.

Still, he knew his mother was trying her best to make him happy. If she thought that a new school in a different town was going to do the trick, then he supposed maybe it was best to give things a chance.

After giving the school one last glance, he stepped away from the gates to follow his mother. However, before he could take more than a few steps, a voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey! Hey, you! Wait!”

Mu Qing paused, turning to the source of the shouting. A boy around his age was approaching quickly from the other end of the street, waving his hand back and forth. When he saw that Mu Qing had stopped, he grinned.

Mu Qing’s mother smiled bemusedly. “Is that someone you know?”

He shook his head, frowning as the boy stopped in front of them.

“Who are you?” the boy immediately asked. “Are you gonna be coming to this school, too?”

“None of your business,” Mu Qing said, glaring at the boy. Over his head, his mother clicked her tongue and pinched his ear, soft enough that it only gave him a slight shock.

“Don’t be so rude,” she chastised. “Don’t you think this is a good chance to make a friend before you officially enter this school?”

Mu Qing did not, in fact, think that this was a good chance to make a friend at all. This boy was loud and impolite, which were exactly the kind of qualities Mu Qing had always hated in people his age. Mu Qing was fairly quiet by nature, and preferred to spend time with others like himself. But, faced with his mother’s encouraging smile, he was helpless to do anything but sigh and nod reluctantly.

“I’ll give the two of you some space,” his mother said. She grinned, then finally walked away for a few metres so that she was out of earshot.

“Is that your mother?” the boy behind him immediately asked. “Aren’t you my age, though? Why did you need her to bring you here?”

Mu Qing scoffed, hoping it would distract the boy from the rapid reddening of his cheeks. “Why are you so nosy? I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“Whatever. So, are you coming to this school or not?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mu Qing said.

“Cool. Maybe we’ll be in the same class.”

I hope not, Mu Qing thought.

“Hm. Maybe.”

“If we are,” the boy continued, “then we should definitely sit next to each other. We can eat lunch together, too. I’m sure Xie Lian won’t mind.”

“Who’s Xie Lian?”

“He’s my best friend. But don’t worry, he can be your best friend, too. I don’t mind.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The boy nodded, as if satisfied with Mu Qing’s obviously sarcastic response. He then reached out his hand. Mu Qing eyed it warily for a moment before finally taking it, giving it a weak shake. The other boy grinned as they both let go.

“I’m Feng Xin, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Mu Qing.”

“Cool. I’ll see you at school, Mu Qing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

With one last wave, the boy turned on his heels and took off in the opposite direction. Only when he disappeared around the corner of the street did Mu Qing turn to find his mother smiling at him from a small distance away. He frowned, carefully avoiding her gaze as he walked to her side.

“The two of you seemed to get along well,” she said. When Mu Qing didn’t immediately respond, she reached out to pinch his cheek. “Isn’t it nice to talk to people?”

“It wasn’t horrible,” Mu Qing grumbled. “But he was just so loud.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Loud people are annoying,” he said. “I don’t like them. I don’t like him.”

“He might grow on you. Give people chances. You’ll feel lonely, otherwise.”

She didn’t pester him any more on the matter after that, but she continued to smile softly until the two of them reached the bus stop once more.

Mu Qing’s first day of junior high arrived faster than he could have expected, and with it came torrents of heavy rain. It pelted against the windows of the bus as he made the journey from his town to the next. This time, he did not have his mother to keep him company; he only had a new uniform which scratched at his skin, and a bag which he clutched tightly against his chest. The rain fell harder with every minute that passed, and the lights above Mu Qing’s head flickered each time the bus rolled over a bump in the road.

He’d left early enough that it was still dark outside in order to make it to school on time, but the storm clouds gathering overhead made it impossible for rays of sun to reach the ground even as he stepped back onto the pavement half an hour later. As the bus pulled away behind him, he lowered his head and steeled himself for the rest of his journey. It was only a short walk from the bus stop to the school, but the wind bit at his skin and the rain was already soaking his clothes. He’d only taken three steps before a particularly strong gust of wind almost knocked him to the ground.

Sighing, he gave up on trying to walk through the rain and ducked under the cover of the bus shelter, instead. There was no use in arriving at school on his first day soaked to his bones. The rain would surely cease soon, and then he could run the rest of the way. Hopefully, he’d be dry by then, too.

He planned to wait in silence, but he’d only been standing there for a few minutes when he heard footsteps approaching. He stared out into the heavy rain to see someone gradually walking closer with an umbrella in hand. Though their face wasn’t visible, Mu Qing could see that the figure was adorned in the same uniform as he was. He hoped that the person would walk right past him, but even when he took a step backwards and lowered his head, the footsteps continued on in his direction.

“Hi there,” he heard a moment later, as the person stepped under the bus shelter. “Would you like to share my umbrella?”

Mu Qing glanced up, finally able to get a better look at the person—a boy around his age, with a kind smile and warm, golden eyes. The boy’s hair was dishevelled from the wind, curling around his ears and framing his pale face in a way that emphasised his high cheekbones. For a moment, Mu Qing was so taken aback at the boy’s good looks that he forgot to respond. It was only when the boy thrust his umbrella towards him that he was shaken out of his daze.

“I’m fine. I’ll just wait out the rain,” he said. He took another step backwards and averted his gaze.

“I don’t think it’ll stop for a while,” the boy replied. “You’ll be late if you wait here any longer.”

Mu Qing sighed, then shuffled over to the other boy. He raised his umbrella higher to accommodate Mu Qing, then smiled once they were both sufficiently covered.

“My name’s Xie Lian,” the boy said. “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first day, too?”

“Yeah it is. I’m Mu Qing.”

Xie Lian nodded as he led Mu Qing out into the rain. He didn’t seem phased by the weather at all; in fact, he seemed to take it in his stride. It was almost as if the rain avoided him, not wanting to sully his appearance in the slightest. He seemed like the sort of person who was untouchable, yet here he was, sharing his umbrella with someone like Mu Qing. He didn’t know whether to feel grateful or uncomfortable.

A memory suddenly surfaced in Mu Qing’s mind, causing him to make a quiet sound of recognition. Hearing him, Xie Lian glanced up at him and tilted his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just… Did you say your name is Xie Lian?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re friends with that kid,” Mu Qing said. “The loud one. Feng Qin?”

“Ah, you mean Feng Xin? How do you know him?”

“I met him last week.”

Xie Lian laughed, adjusting his grip on the handle of the umbrella. “You don’t sound happy to have met him.”

“Like I said, he’s loud. And nosy. And rude.”

“He’s never been great at making a good first impression, but he’s a good friend.” Xie Lian reached out with his free hand to pat Mu Qing’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to the way he acts, eventually.”

Mu Qing highly doubted that, but something made him unwilling to contradict Xie Lian. Maybe it was the way he smiled, or the fact that he seemed so sure of what he’d said. In the end, Mu Qing shrugged and continued to walk in silence.

After a few more minutes, however, he could no longer help himself. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something made him curious about Xie Lian. He was so nice, quiet, and polite. Mu Qing couldn’t possibly fathom just how he became friends with someone loud and rude like Feng Xin.

“Have you been friends with him for a long time?” he asked.

Xie Lian seemed confused for a moment, then evidently remembered what they’d been talking about a few moments before.

“Oh, yeah! Our parents have been friends since before we were both born, so we grew up together. Neither of us have any real siblings, so he’s like a brother to me.”

“That’s nice,” Mu Qing admitted.

Xie Lian smiled. “It is. Do you have any siblings?”

Mu Qing shook his head.

“Well, you can think of us like your brothers as well, then.”

Although Mu Qing wasn’t quite sure if that was possible, he thought it might be nice. He nodded, to which Xie Lian grinned.

The school gates finally came into sight at that moment, and Xie Lian and Mu Qing both instinctively slowed their pace as they approached them. A few people smiled at Xie Lian as they passed, evidently knowing him from somewhere or other already, and he waved back. Nobody gave Mu Qing a second glance, but he was fine with that. Xie Lian didn’t leave his side, and that was already unusual enough to distract him from the feeling of being an outcast as they entered the school gates.

The two of them came to a stop once they were at the doors to the main school building, where Xie Lian let down his umbrella and gave it a quick shake to dispel the water clinging to it.

“I’m in class A,” he said suddenly, pointing to the left side of the building. “What class are you in?”

“C,” Mu Qing replies.

“I guess this is where our paths diverge, then.” Xie Lian smiled. “But you should have lunch with us today, Mu Qing. It’ll be fun.”

Mu Qing nodded, finding himself surprisingly eager to agree. “Okay.”

“Great. We’ll meet right here at the beginning of lunch, okay? I’ll see you later, Mu Qing.”

With one last wave, Xie Lian headed off to join his class. As Mu Qing turned in the opposite direction to find his own class, he couldn’t help but smile and look forward to spending more time with Xie Lian later.

His smile, however, rapidly faded from his lips when he arrived at his classroom to find none other than Feng Xin sitting at one of the desks. He immediately spotted Mu Qing and waved, grinning from ear to ear. Mu Qing bit back a sigh as he trudged over to the empty desk beside Feng Xin’s, sitting down before he had the chance to change his mind.

“You’re here,” Feng Xin said. “And you’re in my class!”

“And I’m sitting next to you. Are we done pointing out the obvious now?”

Feng Xin clicked his tongue and pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s no need to be so rude,” he grumbled. “I was about to tell you that I’m glad you’re here, but whatever. Forget it.”

“Fine,” Mu Qing said, imitating the other boy’s whiny tone. He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I met Xie Lian, by the way.”

At that, Feng Xin evidently forgot that he was supposed to be annoyed at Mu Qing. His face immediately brightened into a smile, and he leaned closer to Mu Qing’s desk in his excitement. For some reason, Mu Qing felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Did you like him? I bet you did. Everyone likes Xie Lian.”

“He was nice. I liked him, I guess.”

Feng Xin nodded in satisfaction before leaning back in his seat.

“I knew you’d like him. Now we can all be best friends, like I said.”

Best friends. Mu Qing took a moment to think about that. He’d never been particularly close with anyone his age. Even convincing one person to want to be his friend was a difficult feat, so having two people want to be his best friends? Well, he certainly wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

But Feng Xin seemed so serious that he couldn’t help but believe him. Maybe it really was possible for him to have two best friends, after all. And even if one of them was unnecessarily loud and annoying, he didn’t think he’d mind much in the long run.

Being friends with Feng Xin and Xie Lian didn’t seem like it would be so horrible, after all.

It takes less than three hours for Mu Qing’s school life as he knows it to end, but there is no weight lifted from his shoulders and no lightness in his chest. He leaves the examination room wondering what he’s really been striving for, and whether he actually has whatever it is in his sight now. He wonders if he’ll ever have it.

“You’re thinking too much,” Feng Xin says, appearing beside him so suddenly that Mu Qing jumps a little. “I can literally hear the thoughts rattling about in your head. The exam is over. Relax for once in your life.”

“I am relaxed,” Mu Qing says. They both know he’s lying, but Feng Xin kindly refrains from making fun of him for it.

“Wanna get something to eat?”

Mu Qing shrugs. “Sure. I have nothing better to do.”

They end up at the American-style diner situated a block away from their school. They’ve probably frequented it more than they should have in the last few years, thanks to the fact that the manager is Feng Xin’s cousin and she always gives them free food. Mu Qing thinks that the restaurant’s fries must have contributed to at least eighty percent of his diet over the last few years.

The restaurant is quiet when they arrive, which, given the time of day, isn’t surprising. They snag their usual table by the windows, dropping their bags onto the floor and breathing simultaneous sighs of relief as they take their seats. Neither of them actually bother to order, knowing that it’s no longer necessary at this point; Feng Xin’s cousin waves at them from behind the counter when she spots them, then immediately passes on their usual orders.

It doesn’t take long for their food to arrive. Mu Qing instantly dives into his plate of fries, whereas Feng Xin takes a sip of his drink first. He seems to be pondering something, though Mu Qing can’t imagine what. He watches him chew on the end of his straw for a solid minute before he sighs and grabs a napkin to clean his hands.

“Spit it out,” he says.

Feng Xin startles. “What?”

“There’s something on your mind. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He clears his throat and slides his drink across the table, then takes a fry from his own plate. “Why were you so stressed out earlier?”

“Isn’t it natural to be a little bit stressed after an exam?”

“I thought you’d be more relieved.” He pauses to take a bite out of his burger, then continues. “Are you worried about your grades? Because you shouldn’t be. You’ll be fine. We should be celebrating the fact that high school is finally over.”

“How, exactly?”

“I don’t know. We could have a party?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Oh, definitely! Count me in!”

“Sarcastic bitch,” Feng Xin grumbles under his breath. Then, louder: “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

Mu Qing has never been a fan of parties, and he doesn’t like to make a habit out of drinking alcohol. But, admittedly, it might be nice to spend time with everyone one last time before they go their separate ways. There’s a high chance he may never see most of the people he knows again, and there are a few that he might even miss having around. Others, not so much. But it’ll at least be entertaining to watch them get drunk and make fools out of themselves.

“We’ll invite Pei Ming, obviously—he can provide most of the drinks. Ling Wen should come, too. How about Jian Lan?”

“Your ex-girlfriend?” Mu Qing asks. Unbidden, a frown tugs at his lips.

“No, a different Jian Lan,” Feng Xin teases, rolling his eyes. “Of course that’s who I mean, idiot. We’re friends now.”

Mu Qing isn’t sure why that makes him feel so… weird. He doesn’t have anything against Jian Lan. He even thinks she’s kind of nice. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t like the idea of Feng Xin inviting her to spend time with them.

“Oh, right. Yeah, she should come.”

“Who else?”

Mu Qing shrugs. Frankly, he doesn’t know many other people well enough to suggest inviting them. It’s not something he’s ashamed to admit, but it does highlight the differences between the two of them. Feng Xin has always been popular. It’s why so many people are surprised that the two of them are still friends after all this time.

“I don’t know,” Mu Qing says. “Maybe Yushi Huang?”

“Hm, that isn’t such a good idea. I don’t think Pei Ming gets on with her very well.”

“So?”

“So, inviting her will make things awkward.”

Mu Qing raises a brow. “And why exactly do we have to leave her out just to accommodate Pei Ming?”

“Fine, I guess you have a point. If you really want her there, then we’ll invite her. Just don’t blame me if things end up being weird.” Feng Xin wipes his hands on a napkin and pushes his plate across the table. “Here, you can finish my fries.”

“Thanks. And things won’t be weird. Pei Ming will probably be too busy drinking to notice that she’s there, anyway.”

Feng Xin shrugs. “Maybe.”

Mu Qing enthusiastically finishes their combined fries, then offers Feng Xin the rest of his burger when he’s too full to finish it. This, like the act of coming to the diner itself, is a part of the routine they’ve built for themselves over the past few years. Mu Qing resolutely does not think about how, once the two of them start pursuing different things in the coming years, he might not have anyone to share this routine with anymore.

In the end, Mu Qing has to message three separate people in order to attain Yushi Huang’s number. He wonders if inviting her is actually more effort than it’s worth, but he perseveres. He told Feng Xin that he would invite her, so he’s going to do it.

Fortunately—and, he’ll admit, surprisingly—Yushi Huang accepts the invite. Mu Qing finds her baffling, if he’s honest. She’s hardly spoken to anyone in the entire time he’s known her, yet she seems confident and comfortable talking to him now, as if they’ve been friends their whole lives. She even seems excited about attending their little celebration. Mu Qing wonders if there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Shortly after receiving her confirmation, Mu Qing messages Feng Xin to let him know that Yushi Huang will be attending their party. He receives a thumbs-up emoji in response, closely followed by a link to a mobile archery game.

feng xin (derogatory)
I got a new high score earlier
try beating that one, asshole

You
one day you’ll learn to never underestimate me

Mu Qing takes great pleasure in beating Feng Xin’s new high score three consecutive times. As great as Feng Xin is at archery in real life, he’s always sucked at mobile games. He finally admits defeat when Mu Qing manages to double his score.

An incoming call appears on Mu Qing’s screen after their final game, and he snickers as he accepts it.

“You’re such an asshole,” Feng Xin says on the other end of the line.

“Just admit it. You’re horrible at that game.”

“Never. I’m going to beat you next time. Mark my words.”

Rolling his eyes, Mu Qing nods. “Sure. We’ll see. Goodnight, Feng Xin.”

He hears a grunt, followed by a mumbled, “Goodnight. I hope the bed bugs do bite your ass.”

As Feng Xin hangs up, Mu Qing throws his head back and laughs, loud and unrestrained. It’s only when he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror across from his bed that he realises how ridiculous he looks. He clears his throat and tosses his phone to the other end of the bed, then turns away from the mirror and very determinedly ignores the warmth in his cheeks as he wills himself to sleep.

As it turns out, drinks aren’t the only thing Pei Ming provides for their little celebration. Courtesy of his parents being out of town on a business trip for an entire week, he opens up his house to everyone, too.

They settle on having the party on a Thursday, almost a week after their exams. Mu Qing is pretty sure that Pei Ming’s neighbours won’t appreciate the disturbance on a weeknight, but he’s also sure that none of his peers care.

When Mu Qing arrives at Pei Ming’s house, there are considerably more people in the living room than he remembers Feng Xin saying he was going to invite. That’s not entirely surprising, though. Pei Ming is even more popular than Feng Xin is, and being the host has apparently given him the ability to branch out more and invite as many people as he knows. Unfortunately for Mu Qing, most of those people strongly dislike him at best. It’s a good thing he’s long since mastered the art of avoiding people he doesn’t get along with.

Music blasts from speakers in the living room as people dance, chat, or drink. Some do all three at the same time. Mu Qing carefully skirts around the larger crowds until he reaches the kitchen. It’s quieter by comparison, but nonetheless still crowded. Drinks line the counters, but he grabs an empty cup and takes it to the sink for water, instead. He downs a cupful in one go, then refills the cup before leaving the kitchen.

He doesn’t want to intrude on Pei Ming’s family’s privacy by heading upstairs, nor does he want to sit outside alone, so he’s left with no choice other than to return to the living room. Thankfully, there’s an empty chair pushed against the far wall. He sits down and scans the crowd. Ling Wen is sitting on a couch nearby, drinking what appears to be some sort of clear spirit from a plastic wine glass. Next to her is Shi Wudu, who already looks seconds away from falling asleep. Lang Qianqiu passes them by, stumbling slightly before being pulled into a group of dancers.

Other than that, Mu Qing doesn’t recognise anyone. He can’t even see Pei Ming anywhere, which is odd; usually he’s one of the loudest people in a room, and it’s difficult to not notice him.

Mu Qing checks his surroundings twice, thrice, four times. Feng Xin is also nowhere to be seen.

He huffs and takes another sip of water, then slips his phone out of his pocket. He sends off a quick message to Feng Xin to let him know that he’s arrived, then opens up a random game to kill some time. He’s only been playing for a few minutes before he hears familiar laughter from across the room, and he immediately glances up to see Feng Xin talking to somebody.

Almost instinctively, Mu Qing perks up and switches his phone off. He’s just about to stand and approach Feng Xin when he finally takes note of who he’s talking to: Jian Lan. They both laugh at something she says, and Mu Qing sinks back into his seat with a scowl on his face. Then, he kicks himself for reacting in such an unseemly way.

He isn’t sure what’s stopping him from walking over to the two of them. It might be nice to catch up with Jian Lan, especially now that she and Feng Xin are friends again. Besides, it would be more fun than sitting in a corner of the room by himself. But the mere thought of being around Feng Xin and Jian Lan together again makes something bitter rise in his throat.

It’s stupid, really. They aren’t even dating.

Why would it matter so much if they were? he mentally scolds himself. Stop being so weird.

He swallows down the rest of his water, then crushes his empty cup in his hand. He’s just about to rise and escape to the kitchen again when he glances back in Feng Xin’s direction, only to lock eyes with him this time. Feng Xin brightens inexplicably, waving at him across the room. Mu Qing doesn’t have time to wave back before Feng Xin is turning away from Jian Lan and heading in his direction.

“Hey,” he says, after pushing his way through the crowd and almost colliding with Lang Qianqiu. “What are you moping for?”

“I’m not moping,” Mu Qing says, despite the fact that, until a few seconds ago, he was definitely moping.

“I don’t believe you. Do you want a drink?”

He shakes his head, holding up his crushed cup. “I’ll just stick to water. You don’t have to stay with me. Go back to Jian Lan, if you want.”

“If I wanted to, then I would.” He punctuates his words by plopping heavily onto the ground at Mu Qing’s feet. What must be cheap beer sloshes around in his cup as he crosses his legs.

Mu Qing reaches out to place a hand beneath the cup, but this only results in their hands bumping awkwardly together. He withdraws his hand almost as quickly as he’d extended it, hoping that Feng Xin is already tipsy enough not to notice how pink his cheeks are.

He must still notice, though, because he squints up at Mu Qing and makes a dissatisfied sound.

“Seriously, tell me what’s wrong,” he says.

“Nothing’s wrong, Feng Xin. I’m just tired.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks, glancing around the room. “We can go outside for a while for some peace and quiet, if you want.”

“Alright.”

Feng Xin nods and stands. He reaches out his hand and waves it in front of Mu Qing until he gives in and takes it. He pulls him to his feet, then drags him through the crowd until they reach a door leading outside. Mu Qing tries not to focus on the feeling of their fingers interlocking, or their palms resting flush against each other. Instead, he glares down at the twisted cup in his hand and stays very quiet until they’re outside.

It’s colder outside than Mu Qing expected it to be, and he shivers a little as Feng Xin slides the back door closed behind them. Only then does Feng Xin release his hand, but Mu Qing immediately misses the warmth of Feng Xin’s skin on his. Then, he mentally chides himself for being so silly. Feng Xin is always warm, but that’s no reason to want to be closer to him now. He’s perfectly capable of warming himself up in ways that don’t involve clinging onto his friend.

“Let’s sit around the side of the house,” Feng Xin says. “Nobody will be able to find us there.”

Mu Qing nods and follows after him as he heads towards the left side of the house. Feng Xin is just about to turn the corner when he suddenly stops. If he wasn’t already staring at Feng Xin’s back, Mu Qing would’ve walked directly into him. As it is, he stops himself just in time and frowns, craning his neck to try and see what exactly made Feng Xin stop so abruptly.

“Holy shit,” he hears Feng Xin whisper.

He spins on his heels and shoves Mu Qing backwards before he can ask what’s wrong, making him stumble and flail wildly. He grabs onto Feng Xin’s shoulders to prevent himself from tumbling to the ground, but this only results in the two of them swaying together precariously for a moment in an attempt to regain their balance. Only when they’re both sure that they won’t immediately fall over do they let go of one another. Feng Xin takes a step back and clears his throat.

“Sorry.”

“What the hell was that all about?”

Feng Xin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He turns and points soundlessly to the corner they’d almost turned just a few seconds ago. Mu Qing nudges him out of the way and peeks around the corner. His eyes instantly bulge, and a soft gasp leaves his lips.

“Holy shit,” he says under his breath, because standing just around the corner are Pei Ming and Yushi Huang, and they’re kissing. Thankfully, the two of them are too caught up in one another to notice that they aren’t alone. Mu Qing would be so embarrassed if Pei Ming caught him staring right now, but his shock has left him unable to move.

Mu Qing suddenly feels Feng Xin’s breath on his neck as he comes closer, pressing up against him to stare around the corner as well. He resists the urge to flinch away, not wanting to alert their friends to their presence. Feng Xin’s voice sounds low and deep by his ear when he speaks.

“I can’t believe this,” he says. “I always thought he hated her. He complains about her all the time.”

“Maybe it’s a love-hate thing,” Mu Qing says, just as quietly. For reasons he can’t explain, his voice wavers slightly. Fortunately, Feng Xin doesn’t seem to notice.

“That’s totally unrealistic,” he says.

“Why?”

“It just is. Why would you want to be with someone you hate? It would never work out.”

“I guess you’re right.”

He’s happy to leave the conversation there. Unfortunately, a sober Feng Xin is bad enough in regard to knowing when to put a pin in it. Tipsy Feng Xin has even less awareness, so it’s no surprise when he continues talking.

“Take the two of us, for example,” he says. “We hated each other for years, so it would be weird if we got together now.”

“Hated each other…?” Mu Qing frowns and shakes his head. “But we’re friends now. Why would it be weird if we don’t hate each other anymore?”

“Because, we have all this… history. It just wouldn’t make sense for us to like each other after that.”

“Oh,” Mu Qing says, feeling his throat tighten inexplicably. His gaze drops to the ground as he nods slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”

Now would definitely be the best time to stop talking about this, he decides.

“Like, it would just be wrong,” Feng Xin continues, still showing no signs of stopping. “I’m pretty sure we’d fight all the time if we were together. You shouldn’t date someone if you’re just going to fight them. Can you imagine how horrible that would be?”

“I get it, Feng Xin.”

He isn’t sure why he snaps. It’s just all too much, suddenly. The party Mu Qing never wanted to be at; sitting alone and waiting for the only person he has any sort of connection with, only to be reminded that he’s not the only one vying for his attention; being told, in a twisted sort of way, that a relationship with him would be horrible. He isn’t even sure why it bothers him so much—he doubts he’d care if it was anyone else telling him the same thing.

But this is Feng Xin. He’s… the only person Mu Qing truly has, if he’s being honest. Even if he knows that they could never— that he doesn’t even want—

Well, it just hurts to hear, for some reason.

“Oi,” Feng Xin says, the softness of his voice betraying the genuine concern he feels. “What’s actually wrong with you?”

But Mu Qing doesn’t want his concern, right now. He’s tired, and all he wants is to leave.

“Nothing,” he says. “I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”

He turns and pushes past Feng Xin, who tries to grab his arm in protest. Unfortunately for him, the alcohol in his system slows his movements.

“Mu Qing, wait. It’s still so early, you can’t go yet.”

“I can and I am. I’m just not feeling that good tonight, Feng Xin.”

Feng Xin pouts, but he relents.

“Fine. I’ll come over tomorrow, if you aren’t busy.”

“If you want. I don’t care,” Mu Qing says, even though it’s absolutely not the truth.

“Jeez, okay. Bye, asshole.”

Mu Qing doesn’t look back as he turns away and finds his way back inside. He keeps his head low as he fights his way to the front of the house, trying his best not to catch anyone else’s attention. It’s an easy feat, for most people are already too tipsy to notice anything other than their own drinks, anyway. He books a Didi for himself once he’s outside, even though he’s perfectly sober and capable of walking home. He’s not sure that he’s in the mood for a walk tonight, though. The evenings are still cold in the lead-up to summer’s peak, and he’d much rather not get sick, especially when he’s already feeling so miserable.

His ride arrives within a few minutes, and he glances back at the house as he climbs into the backseat. He thinks he spots someone at one of the windows on the first floor, but they’re gone a split-second later. They probably aren’t anyone Mu Qing knows, anyway.

He wakes up the next morning with a horrible headache, despite having not had a single ounce of alcohol the night before. When he checks his phone as he rolls out of bed, he sees two messages and a missed call from Feng Xin. Oddly, there’s also a message from Yushi Huang. He opens that one first, only to find a blurry image that she must have sent to him while he’d been sleeping last night. He can’t make out anything in the image itself, but the accompanying text reads, thank yoy for invitign ,me!!!

He can’t help but find the message strangely endearing. He sends back a few hearts in response, as well as a mental prayer for her now that she’s potentially dating Pei Ming.

He intends to ignore Feng Xin’s messages for the remainder of the day. He isn’t even really sure why he’s so annoyed at him. So what if he thinks they’d be incompatible together? It’s not like Mu Qing wishes they were dating, either.

Still, Mu Qing is nothing if not stubborn.

His plan to forget about Feng Xin is ruined, though, when there’s a knock at the door to his apartment in the afternoon. His mother won’t be closing the store for at least another two hours, and there’s only one other person Mu Qing knows who remembers the code to enter their apartment building and comes by frequently. Besides, Feng Xin always knocks at the door in the same way: three taps, then a pause, then two more taps. Mu Qing doesn’t need to look through the peephole to know that it’s him waiting on the other side of the door.

“Hi,” Feng Xin says when Mu Qing opens the door. He grins and raises his hand, showing off the plastic bag hanging from his fingers. “I brought you some snacks. They’re your favourites.”

“Thanks.” Mu Qing moves aside, gaze lowered. “Come in.”

After shuffling past him, Feng Xin slides off his shoes as Mu Qing closes the door. He nudges them into place beside Mu Qing’s own shoes, then waits while Mu Qing grabs the slippers he always uses when he visits. They’re meant to be for guests in general, but Feng Xin is the only one who regularly uses them; Mu Qing has secretly been thinking of them as Feng Xin’s slippers for a while now.

“Are you feeling better?” Feng Xin asks, following Mu Qing into the apartment.

“Huh?”

“Last night, you said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess I feel better.”

“Are you still worried about the exam?” Feng Xin asks, to which Mu Qing gives a half-hearted shrug.

“Maybe a little. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I’m trying not to think about anything like that at the moment.”

They enter the kitchen, where Feng Xin places the bag of snacks down onto the counter. He lifts himself up to sit atop the counter a moment later, letting his feet swing and knock against the cabinets loudly. Mu Qing doesn’t bother telling him to stop. He does this almost every time he visits, so he’s used to it by now.

“You know,” Feng Xin starts, “you do have to think about some things.”

“Like what?”

He grins. “Like what we’re gonna do together over the next few months. I’ll be home for the entire summer, so we should have some fun before we need to start worrying about university and other boring adult stuff.”

Something like relief settles deep in Mu Qing’s bones at the knowledge that Feng Xin will be home all summer, but it’s accompanied by a sliver of anxiety. He isn’t sure why he feels it, but he tries his best to ignore it.

“No archery competitions this year, then,” he comments.

Because that’s what summer usually consists of, for Feng Xin: travelling, archery, and spending time with people who aren’t his prickly best friend. For Mu Qing, summers have always been considerably quieter and less interesting. He works shifts at his mother’s shop, occasionally messages Feng Xin to ask how his competitions are going, and spends the rest of his time reading or thinking about how much he resents summer.

This will be the first time since the two of them met that Feng Xin won’t be leaving as soon as summer begins. It really isn’t that big of a deal—at least, that’s what Mu Qing tells himself.

“I thought I’d make the most of this summer at home, instead,” Feng Xin says. He seems almost bashful as he says, “You know, with the people I actually care about.”

Mu Qing resolutely ignores the way that single statement makes his palms clammy and his pulse race. He clears his throat and shrugs.

“Well, I’ll probably be working a lot. I suppose you’ll be spending a lot of time with Pei Ming.”

“I don’t know about that,” Feng Xin says, grimacing. “Given the choice, I think I’d rather help you out at the shop, to be honest. Besides, he and Yushi Huang are probably dating now, so they’ll be spending most of the summer together.”

“Right. I’ll… think of some things we can do together, then.”

Feng Xin smiles. “You’d better. We have a lot of time to waste, and I can’t be the only one coming up with ideas. You need to pull your weight, too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure. That’s a start.”

“Those drinks you like are in the fridge,” Mu Qing says, to which Feng Xin’s face brightens. “I’m picking the movie.”

Mu Qing flees the kitchen before Feng Xin can object, but he still hears his voice chasing after him through the apartment: “You always pick the movie!”

“It’s my house!” he shouts back.

Feng Xin mumbles something unintelligible. A moment later, Mu Qing hears him exclaim with delight, “Ooh, you bought the mango flavour!”

He smiles to himself, only barely managing to hide his expression as Feng Xin walks into the room with two of the aforementioned drinks in hand. He hands one to Mu Qing and keeps the other for himself. Mu Qing finishes loading the movie, then the two of them settle at opposite ends of the couch.

“You’ve Got Mail,” Feng Xin says when the movie loads. His eyebrow raises in clear judgement. “Seriously? A rom-com?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Feng Xin opens his mouth to say something, then apparently thinks better of it. He hesitates for a moment before shrugging and slumping further into the couch in defeat.

“Nothing. It’s not like I care what we watch.”

Mu Qing smirks and, feeling victorious, presses play.

He honestly isn’t a fan of rom-coms either. Like Feng Xin, he finds the plotlines corny and unrealistic, and he thinks that the romance is almost always forced. They’ve only watched a rom-com together once before; they were both slightly tipsy at Feng Xin’s house on the night of his eighteenth birthday a few months ago, side-by-side in his bed with his old laptop warming their legs. They’d watched the movie purely to make fun of it, but Mu Qing had fallen asleep halfway through it because the cheap wine in his system had made him unable to keep his eyes open any longer. When he woke up an hour later, his head was resting against a sleeping Feng Xin’s shoulder, and the laptop had run out of battery.

But that’s beside the point.

They both prefer watching horrors or even documentaries, but Mu Qing has a point to prove. He refuses to figure out why he so badly wishes to prove the aforementioned point, but he knows he won’t be able to rest until he does.

So, they watch You’ve Got Mail.

He glances over at Feng Xin every few minutes, gauging his reaction. At first, Feng Xin watches the movie with a mostly bored expression. As time passes, however, a pensive frown takes over his features. There are only around twenty minutes of the movie remaining when Feng Xin sighs and picks up the remote to press pause.

“Alright, I get it.” He fidgets awkwardly with the remote for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feng Xin rolls his eyes and shifts in his seat, lifting one leg up onto the couch so that he can turn to face Mu Qing properly.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “You played this movie on purpose, right? To prove that two people who hated each other can still date. To prove that Pei Ming and Yushi Huang’s relationship might actually work out.”

Mu Qing certainly was not thinking about Pei Ming’s love life in any way, shape, or form when he chose the movie, but he’s not really sure what other reason he’d have to want to prove his point so badly. All he knows is that he needed to prove Feng Xin wrong. He isn’t sure how else to explain it, so he simply nods in response to Feng Xin’s words.

Feng Xin sighs. “Look, I’m sorry for saying all that stuff about us… dating, or whatever. I’m still not sure why it upset you, but it clearly did. I won’t mention anything like that again.”

Inexplicably, Mu Qing feels disappointment settle over him like a weighted blanket.

“Okay,” he says.

“Also, for the record, I never actually hated you,” Feng Xin continues. “Like, ever. You’ve always been the most annoying person in the world, and for a while it seemed like all we did was get on each other’s nerves, but that doesn’t mean I hated you. I just… Well, you hated me for a long time, so it was just easier to act like that feeling was mutual.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Mu Qing says, torn between laughing in disbelief and rolling his eyes. “I never hated you, either.”

“Wait, really?”

“How could anyone hate you, Feng Xin?”

Feng Xin is, apparently, struck speechless at that. He stares at Mu Qing without blinking, the cogs in his head turning almost audibly. Mu Qing really does roll his eyes this time.

“Anyway, I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I was in a weird mood last night, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re good now, yeah?”

“Yeah, we are. We’re good.”

It almost seems like Feng Xin is about to say more, but then there’s the sound of the front door unlocking. A few moments later, Mu Qing’s mother appears in the entrance to the living room. She smiles when she sees the two of them.

“Oh, Feng Xin! It’s nice to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, Ayi,” he replies, sounding so sickeningly polite that Mu Qing feels the urge to gag. “I hope things weren’t too stressful at the shop today.”

Mu Qing’s mother chuckles and shakes her head. “Not at all. Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

Feng Xin doesn’t immediately respond, and instead glances at Mu Qing.

“Well?” he asks, raising a brow at him expectantly.

“Yes,” Feng Xin says, shifting his gaze back to Mu Qing’s mother in the doorway. He grins. “I’ll stay for dinner, if that’s okay.”

“It’s always okay. You should come over more often! We both love having you around.”

Mu Qing scoffs, but can’t seem to deny her words. Feng Xin shoots him an odd look that he doesn’t have the energy to try to decipher.

His mother heads into the kitchen then, and Feng Xin exhales heavily through his nose. Mu Qing immediately shoves his foot into his ribs, making him screw his face up in pain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“You act like such an angel when she’s around.” Mu Qing snickers. “If only you were actually like that all the time.”

“What, do you want me to be nicer to you? Do you want me to be a suck-up, huh? Want me to treat you like a prince?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes and kicks at him again. Feng Xin dodges this time, laughing as he puts more distance between them.

“Just be your regular self, dumbass,” Mu Qing grumbles. “I like you best that way.”

“Really?”

Mu Qing ducks his head to hide the reddening of his cheeks, choosing not to respond in the hopes that Feng Xin will forget this conversation entirely. They’re both silent for a moment, before Feng Xin finally laughs and reaches for the remote to play the rest of the movie.

“Okay, Mu Qing,” he says, so quietly that his voice is almost inaudible. The satisfied grin on his lips, however, is as bright and all-consuming as ever.

When he was fifteen, Mu Qing’s mother told him about their new apartment.

He’d never considered that his life as he knew it could be packed up into tiny little boxes and moved somewhere else entirely. He’d never wondered what it would be like to live in a different place, to sleep in a different room, or to look out of his window and see a different view. He’d spent his whole life in the same place, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to leave.

Mu Qing liked his town because it was near the beach, and the woman who worked in the convenience store a street away from his apartment gave him free chocolates sometimes, and kids his age were mostly just as poor as he was. Mu Qing didn’t want to leave. But he also didn’t want to see his mother have to put an end to her business, and their shop just wasn’t bringing in customers anymore. A fresh start could give the shop the second chance it needed.

So, in the end, agreeing to the move was easy.

Their new apartment was close to the senior high school he’d be attending, and he soon discovered that he could easily make the journey from home to school on foot. There was a balcony outside the living room window which was just large enough to hold his mother’s collection of plants, and a lock on each of the bedroom doors for some extra privacy. Mu Qing’s new room was slightly longer than his old one, giving him space for a desk at the end of his bed. All in all, it was okay. It still didn’t feel like home, but he thought that it just might, someday.

That weekend, he walked to Xie Lian’s house instead of taking the bus like he would usually have to. It was only during his walk that he realised how close he and Feng Xin lived now; their homes were only a few streets apart from each other. He wondered if that would mean they’d be seeing more of each other. For some reason, the possibility of them spending more time together made him feel slightly less miserable about his new living arrangements.

He was fifteen, too, when Xie Lian disappeared. They’d been attending senior high together for a week when it happened. It was raining on the night that Mu Qing found out; Feng Xin arrived on his doorstep with a single umbrella in his hand and tears in his eyes, and they shared the umbrella as they ran together to Xie Lian’s house. There was a sign in the front garden that read, FOR SALE. The car belonging to Xie Lian’s parents was no longer in the driveway, and there wasn’t a single light switched on inside the house. The entire family of three had packed up and moved away without any warning.

Drenched, tired, and upset, the two of them trudged back to Mu Qing’s apartment. His mother met them both at the door with dry towels and the promise of hot chocolates to warm them up, but the sullen mood between the two of them persisted until Feng Xin’s father eventually arrived to take him back home.

For a while, things were more tense than usual between the two of them. Despite the fact that Mu Qing had met Feng Xin first, Xie Lian had always been the glue that held them together. Whenever they bickered, Xie Lian was there to solve things. Whenever they were silent, Xie Lian was there to start a new conversation. Whenever they needed help, Xie Lian was there to provide it.

His departure left both of them feeling slightly off-kilter. They’d still eat lunch together and sit beside each other in all their classes, and Feng Xin would still occasionally walk to Mu Qing’s apartment on the weekends so that they could complete homework together. But something important was missing, and nothing could change that no matter how much time they spent together.

Feng Xin began spending more time with Pei Ming in their second year. And really, Mu Qing was fine with that. Deep down, he’d always known that he was forever going to be Feng Xin’s second choice. He hadn’t entirely let himself believe that Xie Lian’s disappearance would actually bring him and Feng Xin closer, so he shouldn’t have been disappointed when Feng Xin and Pei Ming became close.

But, somehow, he couldn’t stop himself from harbouring a small amount of hatred towards Pei Ming.

Their second year was also when Feng Xin started dating Jian Lan.

Mu Qing was shocked, more than anything, when he heard the news. He couldn’t imagine spending time with Feng Xin and not wanting to strangle him at least once. But, on the other hand, he could see the appeal of dating someone like him. Feng Xin had always been a fiercely loyal friend, and he was kind. First impressions aside, he was a great guy. Mu Qing was lucky to have him by his side, and he supposed that Jian Lan would feel lucky having the chance to date him, too.

Jian Lan herself was nice enough. She smiled a lot, and she always went to the effort of making conversation with Mu Qing. He just wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to enjoy talking to her. Every time he saw her, he’d feel a heavy weight in his chest. Every time Feng Xin smiled at her or held her hand, Mu Qing tasted bitterness on his tongue.

Maybe he was just envious. Maybe he wanted to be that close to someone, too. It definitely had nothing to do with Feng Xin in particular—that, Mu Qing was absolutely sure of.

In the end, Feng Xin and Jian Lan only dated for a little over five months. To Mu Qing, it felt like years.

It was the week before Feng Xin’s sixteenth birthday when Mu Qing found out that the relationship was over. He’d just started eating his lunch when Feng Xin approached, tossing his bag onto the ground and shoving a slightly crumpled piece of paper into Mu Qing’s hand as he sat down.

“Here,” he said.

“What’s this?”

“A list of people I’m inviting to my birthday party. Add anyone else you want to invite.”

“But it’s your party,” Mu Qing said.

“So? You should have fun, too. You never do anything to celebrate your own birthdays, so think of this as a joint party.”

Mu Qing had never been interested in having his own birthday parties, mostly because he’d never really been sure of who to invite. After becoming friends with Xie Lian and Feng Xin, he still preferred spending time with just the two of them during each of his birthdays. Now that Xie Lian was gone, Mu Qing only really had Feng Xin.

Yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but feel excited about the prospect of sharing a party with Feng Xin. Sure, he may not have had any other people to invite, but that didn’t matter. Nobody else had ever wanted to share a birthday party with him before.

Besides, he was also relieved that Feng Xin would still think to ask him something like that even though they’d been spending less time together since their second year began. Surely that meant, despite all the time Feng Xin had been spending with Pei Ming, he still considered Mu Qing to be a close friend. It eased the tightness that had been steadily growing in Mu Qing’s chest ever since Xie Lian’s abrupt departure. The friendship he shared with Feng Xin no longer seemed to be on the brink of collapsing.

He took another look at the list, scanning the names of other students in their class. He recognised some of the names from Feng Xin’s junior archery club, too. Mu Qing had only met them all once before, but they’d been nice enough to him. He supposed it wouldn’t be so bad to spend time with them again.

However, there was one name that he quickly realised was missing from the list.

“Aren’t you going to invite Jian Lan?” he asked.

Feng Xin winced, shaking his head. “Uh, no. I don’t think she’d want to come, anyway.”

“Why? Did you two fight or something?”

“We broke up,” he said, grimacing. “It happened yesterday.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It was probably for the best, actually. She… made me realise a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the sort of person I like.” He fixed Mu Qing with an odd look. “And how she isn’t that sort of person.”

Mu Qing got the inexplicable urge to ask him what sort of person he did like, but seeing as there was no real reason why he should care so much, he bit his tongue. Instead, he shrugged and decided to let it go.

He never did invite anyone else to their shared party—he still wasn’t entirely sure who to invite, and Feng Xin was popular enough that most of the people in their class would already be attending, anyway. But Mu Qing didn’t mind.

Because, just like that, the two of them finally grew closer. It was simultaneously what Mu Qing had been wanting for years, and what he had been dreading for just as long. It felt… almost too big, too important. Their friendship felt stronger, yet somehow more fragile at the same time. It was now capable of splintering, and leaving them broken in the process. That thought left him feeling equal parts terrified, excited, and relieved.

On Saturdays, Mu Qing opens and closes his mother’s tailor shop by himself. It isn’t difficult to run the shop alone, and he quite enjoys it. He can listen to whatever music he likes, play games on his phone when there aren’t any customers around, and there’s always time for him to work on his own projects when there’s nothing else to be done. The design notes for his latest project are currently strewn over the desk his mother keeps behind the counter, and he glances over them all as he chews idly on the end of his pen.

Helping out at the shop was always just something he had to do when he was growing up, but at some point he started looking forward to it. Once his mother taught him how to sew properly and even showed him how to make simple outfits from scratch, he grew to love working by himself. He hasn’t told anyone else about the clothes he makes now, but he hopes that one day he might be good enough to show off his creations.

He’d tried to teach Xie Lian how to sew once, but he’d been annoyingly bad at it. When Feng Xin had insisted on giving it a go, he’d been annoyingly good. Mu Qing has never let either of them help out at the shop.

This, however, leaves Feng Xin with nothing else to do but sit on the front counter and annoy Mu Qing while he works. He does this by chewing loudly on shrimp crackers, grinning every time he catches Mu Qing glaring in his direction.

“Want some?” he asks after a while, shaking the bag at him.

Mu Qing wrinkles his nose. “God, no. Do you really have to eat those here? I’m sure that’s some kind of health code violation.”

“Shit, really?”

“Some people are allergic to shrimp, dumbass. If a customer has an allergic reaction and sues the shop because you got crumbs on their clothes, I’ll kill you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Damn it, do you have any disinfectant wipes?”

Mu Qing gestures to a row of cabinets behind him. “In the middle cabinet. You can wash your hands in the sink, too.”

Feng Xin does as he’s been told, for once. He retrieves the wipes after washing his hands, then begins cleaning the counter. Meanwhile, Mu Qing pushes his notes aside and shifts his focus to stitching up a hole in a customer’s cardigan, instead.

“Hey, are you free tomorrow?” Feng Xin asks while he cleans.

“No.”

“I know you’re lying. You don’t work on Sundays.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Why even ask, then?”

“Do you want to go to the beach?”

He can think of nothing worse than going to the beach. His skin always burns too easily by the sea, even when he applies sunscreen multiple times during the day. He also abhors the sand and its tendency to stick to everything. But, on the other hand, visiting the beach means visiting his old hometown. It’s been a while since he had a chance or reason to go there. He wouldn’t mind visiting again, especially if Feng Xin would be by his side. He’s always wondered what it might be like to show Feng Xin around his old neighbourhood.

“Oh, wow—you’re actually considering it,” Feng Xin says. “I honestly expected a rejection right off the bat. Does this mean I don’t need to get on my knees and beg?”

“Did you really plan on doing that?”

“That’s irrelevant. So, you want to go, right?”

“Fine, yes,” Mu Qing says. “I’ll come with you to the beach.”

Feng Xin grins. “Awesome. We can leave early and spend the whole day there.” He ponders for a while, then asks, “Do you still have that old camera you brought on that one field trip in junior high?”

“I think so.”

“You should bring it along. We might be able to take some nice photos with it.”

Mu Qing hums, slipping his needle between his teeth to hold it as he raises the cardigan with both hands to inspect his work. Satisfied, he folds it and sets it aside. He turns, only to find Feng Xin watching him silently with an unreadable expression.

“What is it?” he asks.

Feng Xin shakes his head, though he looks slightly dazed. “Nothing. Isn’t it dangerous to hold the needle like that?”

“Not unless you plan on slamming my face into the desk.”

“Obviously I wouldn’t do that, idiot,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips as he turns away to place the wipes he’d been using into the bin.

Mu Qing acts like he hasn’t seen it, but he secretly burns the sight of it into his memory. It’s a nice smile, after all.

Feng Xin picks him up the next morning just as the sun is rising. His car is a second-hand piece of junk that he’d managed to save up for himself just after he’d gotten his license, and the engine is so loud that Mu Qing hears him driving down the street minutes before Feng Xin parks outside.

He grabs the bag he’s prepared, then takes a detour to the kitchen to grab some snacks for the two of them. There are still several more of the drinks Feng Xin likes in the fridge, so he adds two of those to the bag, as well. He receives a message from Feng Xin just as he’s leaving the apartment, which he doesn’t bother replying to. He doesn’t know why Feng Xin bothered to let him know that he’s arrived, anyway—the entire street must know he’s here, with how loud his car is.

Outside, Mu Qing finds Feng Xin parked across the street from his apartment building. He struggles with the door for a moment, then glares through the window at Feng Xin as he realises it’s been locked the entire time. Feng Xin snickers and finally unlocks the door from the inside.

“Asshole,” Mu Qing mumbles as he climbs inside, throwing his bag onto the seat behind him.

“Good morning to you, too.”

Mu Qing immediately takes charge of the music as Feng Xin pulls away from the curb. This is another of their unspoken agreements, put in place ever since Feng Xin got his license and Mu Qing decided that learning how to drive himself would simply be a waste of time and money. It’s rare that the two of them travel further than each other’s apartments anyway, and all that requires is a few minutes of walking. On the odd occasion that they do travel a little further together, Feng Xin always drives without much protest. Meanwhile, Mu Qing always sits in the passenger seat and plays music he knows will get stuck in Feng Xin’s head and annoy him for the rest of the day, because he finds it amusing.

(Also, just maybe, it’s because he likes it when Feng Xin sings the songs he plays. It’s usually quiet, and he doesn’t think Feng Xin even realises that he’s singing, most of the time. But he has a nice voice. Mu Qing likes listening to him, though he’ll never admit it.)

They’ve been driving for a little under ten minutes when Mu Qing finally hears Feng Xin start to sing along to the music under his breath. He grins helplessly, unable to help glancing over at him. Feng Xin is squinting against the sun as he drives, humming despite not knowing all of the words.

“Here.” Mu Qing removes the sunglasses he’s wearing, holding them out for Feng Xin to take. He accepts them with a bemused expression on his face.

“Aren’t these yours?”

“Yes, but I’m not the one being blinded by the sun while driving. Put them on before you crash and kill us both, dumbass.”

Feng Xin obliges, then blinks rapidly once the glasses are covering his eyes.

“Are these prescription lenses?” he asks incredulously.

“Oh, right. Sorry about that.”

“I thought you had perfect vision. Do you wear contacts?”

Mu Qing shakes his head. “My eyes aren’t that bad. I can still see well enough without glasses. I’m just a little short-sighted, that’s all.”

“I’ve known you for years. How am I still finding out something new about you every day?”

“I’ve succeeded in my attempts to remain a mystery, then.”

Feng Xin chuckles. A minute later, he begins to hum softly again. Mu Qing bites back another smile and turns away, focusing instead on the landmarks passing by outside the car window.

Back when he’d had to catch the bus from his old town to the one he lives in now, the journey had lasted around an hour. By car, it only takes them around thirty-five minutes to reach Mu Qing’s old home. Instead of heading north towards where he used to live, however, Feng Xin drives southward. They pass a few signs along the way that announce the name of the nearby beach in big, bold white letters.

Despite it being the beginning of summer, the beach is empty when they arrive. It’s still early in the morning, and it’s surprisingly windy; most people will probably be avoiding the coast today, which leaves Mu Qing and Feng Xin with the entire beach all to themselves.

Feng Xin parks close to a sandy path leading down to the main beach, and they grab their bags before half-walking, half-hobbling along it. The sand is pleasantly cool under their feet, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline is soothing. Mu Qing will admit that, although he doesn’t particularly enjoy coming to the beach, it is rather lovely to look at. As long as he doesn’t get too wet, he might even enjoy their little outing.

“Let’s put our stuff down here,” Feng Xin says once the two of them are closer to the shoreline. He dumps his bag unceremoniously onto the sand at his feet. “You brought your camera along, right? We should go for a walk and see if we can get any nice shots.”

Mu Qing nods and places his bag down beside Feng Xin’s. He rifles through it for a moment, finally retrieving his camera from where he had wrapped it up in a dry shirt to protect it. He also finds the drinks and snacks he’d brought, grabbing those to take along with them. Feng Xin makes a small sound of appreciation when he sees everything Mu Qing has brought. They head off after they’ve both removed their shoes and rubbed a layer of sunscreen onto their arms and faces.

There isn’t actually much to see of the beach; it’s mostly flat and sandy, littered with seaweed and shells. They follow the shoreline, letting the water barely brush their feet. It hasn’t yet had time to be warmed by the sun, and Mu Qing shivers whenever it comes into contact with his bare skin.

They eat their snacks as they walk, and Feng Xin hums happily as he sips at his drink. Mu Qing angles his face towards the ocean in an attempt to hide the fond smile on his lips. He only turns to look at Feng Xin again when they’ve both finished eating, and even then he avoids looking directly at the satisfaction he knows is showing on Feng Xin’s face. He keeps his eyes locked onto the other man’s hands instead as he takes his empty wrappers from him, storing them in his own pockets because Feng Xin’s swimming trunks don’t have any.

“Hey, that shell looks cool,” Feng Xin says suddenly. He strays further away from the shoreline and bends down to prod at a shell, half-buried in the sand.

Mu Qing takes a look, before snapping a photo of the shell. Feng Xin’s hand is still in the frame, his honey skin a stark contrast to the shell’s blinding white.

“Nice,” Mu Qing says.

“Oh, that one kind of looks like a dick,” Feng Xin says, pointing to another shell nearby that does, admittedly, appear rather phallic. He smirks. “I wonder what you’d hear if you put that one up to your ear.”

Mu Qing wrinkles his nose in disgust, turning away so that he doesn’t have to see the shit-eating grin on Feng Xin’s face. “Gross,” he says. “You’ve been spending too much time with Pei Ming.”

“Oh yeah? Are you jealous?”

He scoffs. “Like hell I am.”

“I totally believe you.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Feng Xin stands, and the two of them continue walking. They stop every now and then to look at more shells, and occasionally Mu Qing takes pictures of some. When Feng Xin isn’t looking, he snaps a picture of him alone, walking ahead of him with the sea to his right and golden sand to his left. Though his face is only half-visible, it’s clear that he’s smiling.

And once he’s started, Mu Qing can’t seem to stop. He no longer takes a second look at any of the shells Feng Xin points to, nor does he gaze out across the expanse of the ocean to their right. Feng Xin becomes all he—and, in turn, his camera lens—can focus on.

He only makes a single attempt to take a photo of himself. He prefers being the one taking the photos, rather than the one being in them. Still, he tries his best to look natural, holding up a halfhearted peace sign as he stares into the camera. When he lowers the camera afterwards and turns around, he realises that Feng Xin had been standing a little further along the beach behind him the entire time. He’s staring out at the ocean with a smile on his face, but before Mu Qing can raise his camera again to take a photo of him, he turns and continues walking along the beach. Mu Qing sighs and follows after him.

“We should take some of these home with us,” Feng Xin suggests a while later, as he holds several shells in the palm of his hand. “Keepsakes to remind us of our first full summer together, you know?”

Mu Qing lowers his camera and pretends like he hadn’t just been about to secretly snap another photo of Feng Xin crouching in the sand. He wipes some of the sweat from his brow and forces himself to glance at the shells Feng Xin is holding.

“What am I going to do with a bunch of shells?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe you could make something out of them.”

Admittedly, a necklace might look nice. That might destroy the shells, though. Mu Qing wouldn’t want that.

“Mama might like them, I suppose,” he says. “She can use them as decorations, or something. They’ll remind her of what it was like to live here.”

“Well, then.”

He takes the shells from Feng Xin and squeezes them into his pockets. He’s just about to sneakily take another photo when Feng Xin suddenly cranes his neck and moves, walking on his knees for a few steps as he stares at something closer to the water.

“Hey, look at that one,” he says, pointing to a small conical shell just out of reach of the waves. “I think I saw something move inside it just now.”

Mu Qing wrinkles his nose. To his horror, Feng Xin continues inching towards the shell. He reaches a tentative hand out towards it, and they both watch on as the shell definitely moves.

“Don’t pick it up!” Mu Qing protests, but he only receives a smirk in response.

“Why not? What, are you scared?”

“Shut up. Just leave it alone. Feng Xin, I’m serious!”

Feng Xin maintains eye contact as he picks up the shell out of spite, raising it in the air for them both to inspect. However, while he looks at it intently, Mu Qing takes a small step away from him.

“It looks like a little snail,” Feng Xin remarks. He holds it up higher, and Mu Qing definitely sees something slimy writhing around inside. “See?”

I’d really rather not, Mu Qing thinks, but Feng Xin is standing and moving closer before he can say anything. He takes another step backwards, but Feng Xin doesn’t stop. Mu Qing already knows he’s in trouble when he spots the shit-eating grin taking form on Feng Xin’s lips.

“Stop bringing it over here!”

“Come here and take a look! It won’t bite.”

He shoves the shell closer to Mu Qing, who yelps and takes off in a run. Feng Xin’s laughter follows him as he gives chase. Mu Qing is smart enough to know that this won’t end well, so he makes a quick stop by their belongings to dump his camera and their collected shells into a pile atop the towel he’d brought. He takes off in a sprint before Feng Xin can catch up, yelping when the tips of Feng Xin’s fingers narrowly miss his shirt.

They run along the sand for a while, before Mu Qing suddenly changes direction and leaps into the water. He kicks up spray as he rushes in, until the water rises past his knees. This doesn’t deter Feng Xin, who quickly closes the gap between them. In a last ditch effort to get away, Mu Qing dives forward and faceplants the water.

He struggles for a moment under the surface until he finds his footing again. He stands shakily, wiping the salty water from around his eyes as he gasps for air. When he looks at Feng Xin, the man is staring at him with shock written plainly on his features. He’s so shocked, in fact, that the shell he’d been chasing Mu Qing with falls from between his fingers and lands with a quiet plop! in the water.

They stare at each other in silence for a while, until gradually Feng Xin’s face twists in laughter and his shoulders begin to shake. Mu Qing glares at him as he finally throws his head back and cackles. The sound of it must echo along the entire beach, but only Mu Qing hears it. If he wasn’t currently drenched to his bones and panting for breath, he might be more appreciative of the sound.

Huffing, he kicks up some of the water in Feng Xin’s direction. The spray collides with his side, immediately drenching his shorts and shirt. Feng Xin stops laughing and flinches away, inspecting his own clothes in disbelief.

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, before splashing water right back at him. Though he has a strong kick, he has shit aim. The water barely touches Mu Qing.

He snorts. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“Shut up!”

Mu Qing ducks as Feng Xin kicks at the water again, losing his balance as he swings his leg too hard. He waves his arms in the air in an attempt to stabilise himself, but it’s already too late. He careens sideways, landing with a splash in the water.

He coughs and splutters, scrambling to his feet as Mu Qing clutches his stomach and cackles. His laughter, however, is short-lived; in a flash, Feng Xin leaps towards him and tackles him into the water. They both go under at the same time, but Mu Qing is too startled to close his mouth in time. Sea water rushes past his parted lips, the taste making him cringe as he struggles to lift his head above the surface again. When he finally finds his footing and stands, spitting water and gasping down mouthfuls of fresh air, Feng Xin has already run halfway back to shore.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Mu Qing shouts. He hears Feng Xin shout back something unintelligible, accompanied by a rude hand gesture, before he gives chase.

By the time they make it back to their belongings, Mu Qing is too exhausted to make good on his promise to kill Feng Xin. The latter collapses into the sand, seemingly not minding the way it clings to his damp clothes and skin. Mu Qing carefully moves his camera and shells to take a seat on his towel, avoiding contact with any more sand than necessary.

“Here,” Feng Xin says, pulling a small towel from his bag and holding it out towards him, “you can dry your hair with this. I’ll just let mine dry in the sun. It’s shorter than yours, so it won’t take as long.”

“Thanks.”

He wraps the towel around the end of his ponytail, squeezing as much of the water out of it as possible. When he tilts his head to the side to scrub at his roots, he has no choice but to look in Feng Xin’s direction. He’s removed the band in his hair to let it fall loose over his shoulders, and as he runs his fingers through it to get rid of the knots, Mu Qing watches the way the afternoon sun hits his face in all the right ways and makes his honey-coloured eyes gleam. Mu Qing is embarrassingly enraptured for a moment, before he takes note of something even more captivating.

Freckles.

He’s always known they were there, of course. But he’s never seen Feng Xin during the height of summer; he’s never seen his skin turn bronze under the mid-summer sun, never had the chance to see the way his freckles seem to glow under golden rays of light. During the rest of the year, the freckles have always been faint. Barely noticeable, even. Only now, under the sun’s glow, do they really stand out.

And they’re everywhere. On Feng Xin’s broad shoulders, on his arms and the backs of his hands, and even on his knees. The most striking ones, however, are scattered over the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks.

Looking at them, Mu Qing comes to two realisations. The first is that he would very much like to kiss those freckles. The second realisation, which is even more startling than the first, is that he might be a little bit in love with his best friend.

Mu Qing inhales shakily and forces himself to look away. As his realisations sink in, he frowns down at the sand in an attempt to keep his gaze from straying back to Feng Xin. It only works for a few seconds.

“Hey, does my hair look okay?”

Mu Qing lifts his head to sweep a quick look over Feng Xin’s face once more. He swallows, then turns his gaze back to the sand.

“It’s a mess,” he says. “Makes you look even more stupid than usual.”

“Thanks. What’s up with your face?”

Mu Qing shoots him an incredulous look, which only makes Feng Xin snort. He reaches out to poke at Mu Qing’s cheek with the tip of his pointer finger. The contact makes his face burn even hotter than it was a second before.

“Your cheeks are so red. Did you apply enough sunscreen earlier?”

“Of course I did.”

Feng Xin scoffs. “Yeah, right. Luckily for you, I happen to have aloe lotion in my bag because I knew you’d burn.”

He removes a green bottle from his bag, and Mu Qing tries desperately to crush the warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach as Feng Xin uncaps it. Instead of handing the bottle to Mu Qing, he squeezes some of the lotion into his own hand and rubs it between his fingers to warm it up. Mu Qing averts his gaze and desperately hopes his heart will stop trying to beat out of his chest sometime soon.

“Hey, turn your face towards me, dumbass,” Feng Xin says.

Mu Qing reluctantly does as is requested of him, angling his face towards Feng Xin while stubbornly keeping his eyes lowered. A moment later, he feels something cold brushing against his cheeks. He inhales a startled gasp and raises his gaze instinctively, only to immediately meet Feng Xin’s eyes.

Feng Xin’s fingers pause where they’re still pressed against Mu Qing’s cheeks. He swallows with an audible click, then gently begins rubbing circles into Mu Qing’s skin.

“Sorry. I tried to warm it up a little beforehand.”

“It’s okay,” Mu Qing breathes. “It feels nice.”

Feng Xin ducks his head and focuses on coating as much of the redness on Mu Qing’s face as possible—a feat made more difficult as Mu Qing’s blush only grows in size and intensity the longer Feng Xin’s fingers brush over his skin. However, his focused gaze does leave Mu Qing with plenty of time to study the freckles on the bridge of his nose from much closer than he ever has before. Perhaps, if he had a little more time, he could even count them. There must be at least close to a hundred.

After what feels like both forever and no time at all, Feng Xin pulls away. Mu Qing’s cheeks no longer feel as warm, but he thinks that it has less to do with the aloe vera rubbed into his skin and more to do with the absence of Feng Xin’s hands. Neither of them speak for a long time as Feng Xin puts away the bottle of lotion and wipes his hands on the towel Mu Qing had used to dry his hair.

Finally, Feng Xin clears his throat and says, “I’m going to take a look around one of the universities I’m applying to this weekend.”

“Good for you,” Mu Qing says, grateful for the distraction provided by the shift in conversation.

Feng Xin rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem perturbed at all by Mu Qing’s sarcasm. His hands twist anxiously in the towel he’s still clinging to. He clears his throat.

“What about you, huh? You haven’t told me what university you plan on attending.”

Mu Qing shrugs. “That’s because I don’t plan on attending one at all.”

Feng Xin’s hands freeze, and he’s silent for a moment. A particularly large wave crashes into the shore, sending spray up into the air. Mu Qing tracks it with his eyes as he waits for Feng Xin’s reaction, feeling nerves coiling in his gut.

“You don’t?” Feng Xin eventually asks. “Like, ever?”

“No. Got a problem with that?”

“Of course I don’t have a problem with that.” Feng Xin sighs—it’s unclear whether it’s out of fondness or exasperation. “It’s not like it’s any of my business. What are you going to do, then?”

Mu Qing’s shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. It’s not like he’d expected Feng Xin to judge him, but he always does expect the worst out of situations. He doesn’t want Feng Xin to look down on him, and though he knows, realistically, that his friend would absolutely never do that, he’d still been hesitant to tell him about his plan to stay home instead of attending university.

“I’ll stay and help take care of the shop,” he says. “I’ve been making a lot of my own stuff, and I’m good at it. Maybe I’ll start selling it for a little extra money.”

At that, he gets an inquisitive hum.

“You’ve been making your own clothes?”

He nods. “Uh-huh.”

Feng Xin is silent for a moment. Contemplative. His hands move again, leaving the towel to trail through the sand at his side instead. He grabs a handful, letting it cascade through his fingers.

“Can I see them?” he finally asks. “The clothes you’ve made.”

“Sure, why not? I’ll show you when we get back to my place later.” He sighs and begins gathering his belongings, cringing when he feels sand sticking between his toes. “Come on, it’s getting too hot out here. We can drive to the convenience store near where I used to live; they sell cheap ice cream in the summer.”

Feng Xin nods, satisfied, and helps him tidy their things.

When they pull up beside Mu Qing’s apartment building a few hours later, Feng Xin shuts the engine off and follows Mu Qing inside. They leave their bags in the entryway once they’re inside the apartment. Then, as promised, Mu Qing leads Feng Xin into his room to show him some of the clothes he’s made.

Although Feng Xin has visited the apartment plenty of times before, he’s never been inside Mu Qing’s room for longer than a few seconds. Mu Qing has always been a more private person than he is; whenever the two of them are at Feng Xin’s house, they spend most of their time in his bedroom, but Mu Qing prefers hosting Feng Xin in the living room of his own home. It’s not that he has anything to hide, exactly. He isn’t really sure why he feels so awkward inviting Feng Xin into his room, if he’s honest.

Well, perhaps it might have something to do with the feelings he only just realised he has. But he doesn’t have time to delve into those too much right now.

The apartment Mu Qing shares with his mother isn’t big enough for a separate work space, so he’s taken to making clothes at the desk in his room. Rolls of fabric are piled high at the end of his bed, and a sewing machine takes up most of his desk. Laid out across the remaining free space of his desk are dozens of sheets of paper, each depicting a different design. He hasn’t been able to actually create as much as he’d like to so far, but he certainly has enough ideas.

In the left side of his wardrobe are his finished designs, and he pulls those out first to show Feng Xin, who seems to still be taken aback at a) the sheer amount of materials in Mu Qing’s room and b) the fact that he’s even in Mu Qing’s room to begin with. When he sees the shirts draped over Mu Qing’s arms, his eyes brighten and he steps forward to take one of them from him carefully.

Mu Qing doesn’t have to remind him to handle his clothes with care—Feng Xin is always careful, when it truly matters. He runs the tip of his index finger along the material of the shirt he holds, mouth agape.

“You really made this?” he asks, inspecting the complicated pattern stitched into the breast pocket and the detail around the collar. He then scans the rest of the shirts Mu Qing carries. “You made all of these?”

“I’ve been practicing a lot,” Mu Qing says, feeling an odd mixture of bashfulness and pride. “Like I said, I’m good.”

“Yeah. You could totally make a living out of doing this.”

“Maybe. Someday.”

Mu Qing bites back a grin. He takes the shirt back from Feng Xin, then places it and the others back into his wardrobe while Feng Xin approaches the desk.

“Are these all new things that you’re working on?”

“En. I have most of the materials, as you can see. I just haven’t decided which one to start on first.”

He joins Feng Xin at the desk, scanning the designs one by one. Beside him, Feng Xin picks up a design of a jacket and hums approvingly.

“I like this one. It would be great with some pockets added to it,” Feng Xin says.

“It does have pockets. They’re hidden on the inside of the jacket.” Mu Qing flips over the page, pointing to a different sketch showing the jacket’s inner design. “See?”

Feng Xin raises his brows. “That’s cool. And, like, super smart. I wish I had a jacket with hidden pockets.”

He returns the design to the rest atop the desk, then picks up another to inspect that one more closely, too. He makes a few comments about the colours and fabrics Mu Qing has chosen, but he’s no longer listening; instead, he’s sweeping his gaze over his friend’s shoulders and chest, wondering what his measurements are. He’s pretty sure he could make an accurate guess, if he tried. Actually measuring Feng Xin would be better, but he’s not sure he has the confidence to ask whether he can. It shouldn’t matter too much. His mother has always told him that he’s good with estimations, anyway.

After discussing a few more of the designs Mu Qing has made, they leave his room in favour of looking for something to eat in the kitchen. Neither of them can be bothered to make anything too complicated, and it’s well past lunchtime now anyway, so Mu Qing grabs a bunch of snacks from his pantry again before the two of them settle on the couch in the living room to eat. The television plays reruns of shitty American shows while they eat, and Mu Qing makes snide comments about the main characters until Feng Xin is laughing so hard that he chokes on his third muesli bar.

Mu Qing’s mother arrives home in the late afternoon, poking her head into the living room with a grin.

“Was the beach nice?” she asks.

Mu Qing nods. “Here, Ma. We brought some shells home with us.”

He retrieves them from his pocket and holds them out in the palm of his hand for her to see. Her smile widens as she steps closer to take them from him.

“Oh, how pretty! I’ll clean them up a little, shall I?” She turns towards Feng Xin and asks, “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

“Not tonight, Ayi.”

Mu Qing tries his best to suppress his disappointment.

“Another time, then,” his mother says. “I’ll be in the kitchen, so call if the two of you need anything, hm?”

“Thanks, Ma,” Mu Qing says. Once she’s left the room, he turns to Feng Xin. Whatever words he’d planned to say die on his tongue as he sees him already staring back, a softness in his eyes. Mu Qing squints at him, asking warily, “What’s that dumb look about?”

“Nothing. It’s just nice watching you and Ayi together. You always seem…”

“Seem, what?”

“I don’t know.” Feng Xin shakes his head, smiling. “You’re just softer when you’re around her. I hardly ever get to see your softer side.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Is seeing that side of you such a bad thing?”

“No, I just— Never mind.” He turns his head away, too embarrassed to say anymore.

Feng Xin chuckles softly. He stares at Mu Qing for a moment, and it’s unclear what exactly he’s thinking, but he’s still smiling when Mu Qing glances back at him. Finally, he looks away and sighs.

“I should go,” he says, standing. “I’m helping with dinner tonight.”

“Okay.” Mu Qing stands as well, and the two of them head towards the front door. He waits for Feng Xin to slide his shoes on again, then says as he grabs his bag, “Hey, today was fun. I… had a really nice time. Thanks, Feng Xin.”

Feng Xin grins. “I had a nice time, too.” Then, quieter: “Bye, Mu Qing.”

Mu Qing watches him walk away along the hall outside his apartment door. Then, once Feng Xin has descended the stairs at the end of the hall, Mu Qing heads back inside. He stands at his bedroom window, looking down onto the street outside as Feng Xin gets into his car and drives away.

Sea water dries in his hair and warmth expands in his chest as he waves, despite knowing that Feng Xin can no longer see him.

A week after their trip, Mu Qing prints the photos he’d taken on the beach. It’s only when he sees them all that he realises just how many of them are of Feng Xin alone, and he decides that he can absolutely never let anyone else see them. Especially Feng Xin.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says later, when Feng Xin calls him to inquire about the photos. He scans them all; dozens are laid out atop his desk, most of them of Feng Xin. Mu Qing feels only a little guilty as he lies through his teeth. “The camera must’ve gotten wet. Or maybe it was really just too old.”

“So you don’t have anything? Not a single photo?”

He brushes a fingertip lightly over the nearest photo—the one he’d taken of himself, which he was both thrilled and relieved to discover contained Feng Xin smiling at the ocean in the background. A dull sort of ache begins to spread throughout his veins as he stares at the image. He swallows audibly.

“Nope,” he replies.

“Damn. That really sucks.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Feng Xin says. “We’ll just take photos on our phones next time. It’s a shame about your camera, though. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Mu Qing blanches. “What on earth would you do that for?”

He hears shuffling on the other end of the line, before Feng Xin says, “I feel like it’s partly my fault that it broke. I made you bring it along.”

“Please don’t buy me a new camera,” he says. Then, before Feng Xin can interpret his words badly: “It wasn’t your fault that it broke. It was just super old. I don’t even need a camera, anyway.”

Feng Xin sighs. “If you’re sure.”

Mu Qing feels a little guilty lying to Feng Xin. He really hopes he listens to him and doesn’t buy him another goddamn camera.

“I’m sure. But thank you.”

There’s another sigh, followed by a quiet, “Okay.”

Neither of them mentions the camera or the photos again.

It’s mid-summer when Xie Lian returns.

Mu Qing spends his Saturday manning the shop singlehandedly, as usual. He spends his lunch hour with Feng Xin, after which the latter lingers for another hour or so while Mu Qing adjusts the hems of a pair of pants. When Feng Xin eventually gets bored, he heads across the street to buy snacks for them both. He leaves once he’s finished two-thirds of the snacks. Not that Mu Qing really minds, because Feng Xin only leaves his favourites behind.

The shop closes at four p.m. on a Saturday. As soon as the clock on the wall strikes four, he flips the sign on the door over to signal that the shop is closed, then begins cleaning behind the counter. There’s never much to do in terms of cleaning, for the shop doesn’t exactly do messy work. He’d rather not leave too much for his mother to clean up, though.

He’s been cleaning for less than ten minutes when it happens. The door opens with an accompanying jingle of the bell above it, but Mu Qing doesn’t have time to inform the newcomer that the shop is closed before he’s being tackled in a hug. His nose is pressed against a head of lavender-scented hair, and familiar laughter trickles into his ears. He shoves himself backwards, just far enough to see the person’s face and confirm his suspicions.

“Xie Lian?”

The man in question grins as he nods. “It’s me! Mu Qing, it’s so good to see you.”

“What the fuck?” Mu Qing asks. He shakes his head, blinking rapidly, but Xie Lian remains standing before him. Mu Qing barks out a laugh in disbelief. “What the fuck? When did you get back?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Xie Lian says. “I would’ve come to find you right away, but I wanted to show San Lang around first.”

It’s then that Mu Qing finally notices the man standing behind Xie Lian. He’s tall enough to be imposing, but the softness in his single eye as he gazes at Xie Lian is enough to diminish his intimidating aura. He’s also wearing so much red that Mu Qing can’t help but snicker internally. Trust someone like Xie Lian to attach himself to a human traffic cone.

“And San Lang is…?”

Xie Lian’s eyes go wide. “Ah! That’s right, I haven’t told you! San Lang is my boyfriend.”

“San Lang is your what?”

The man in question chooses that moment to finally take his eye off Xie Lian, stepping forward to say, “His boyfriend. Call me Hua Cheng.”

“Uh. Okay?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t offer his hand for Mu Qing to shake, which he can’t say he isn’t glad about. The man seems… really fucking peculiar, if he’s honest. His expression is impossible to read, but if Mu Qing had to hazard a guess, he’d say that it means, I’m secretly plotting all the ways I’m going to try to kill you when Xie Lian isn’t looking. Mu Qing shivers.

Fortunately, because the gods must be looking down on Mu Qing and deciding that he won’t die by his friend’s boyfriend’s hands today, the door to the shop is pushed open at that moment. All three of them turn towards the sound to see Feng Xin walking through the door, a frown directed at the phone in his hand.

“You won’t fucking believe what I just—” he starts, but he pauses as soon as he glances up from his phone. His eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Xie Lian?”

“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian runs up to him and practically leaps into his arms, beaming from ear to ear. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again!”

Feng Xin, to his credit, manages to hug back despite his state of shock. His eyes find Mu Qing’s over Xie Lian’s shoulder, and he sends him a questioning look. Mu Qing, still reeling from the shock himself, can only shrug as Xie Lian pulls himself out of Feng Xin’s arms and reaches up to pat at his head.

“What the hell?” Feng Xin finally manages to ask, voice shaking slightly. “Where have you been?”

“Ah, I’ve been to a few different places over the last few years.” Xie Lian shakes his head. “Anyway, that isn’t important. I’m back now.”

“For how long?”

“We aren’t sure, yet. We’ll be spending the summer here, and then we’ll decide whether we want to stay or continue travelling for a little longer.”

“We?” Feng Xin raises an eyebrow, then glances over at Hua Cheng. “Wait, so this…?”

Xie Lian’s face lights up again as he says, “Oh, this is San Lang! He’s my boyfriend.”

“Wow. Holy shit. Nice to meet you.”

Hua Cheng hums. Before Feng Xin has the chance to be offended at his lack of response, Xie Lian is grabbing onto his arm and pulling him towards the shop door.

“You drove here? Is that your car outside? It’s so cool.”

Feng Xin glances at Mu Qing behind the counter as he’s led outside, raising a brow in another silent question. Mu Qing shakes his head, still completely lost for answers, too.

Nobody has ever been able to put up a fight against Xie Lian, so it isn’t long before he’s succeeded in dragging Feng Xin away. This leaves Hua Cheng as the only other person in the shop apart from Mu Qing himself. An awkward silence settles between them. Outside, Xie Lian laughs at something Feng Xin has said. The corner of Hua Cheng’s lips curve upwards when he sees the glee on Xie Lian’s face through the glass storefront.

Honestly, Mu Qing can't figure Hua Cheng out. He isn’t particularly sure that he wants to. But he’s Xie Lian’s boyfriend, so he kind of has to be nice to him if he wants his old friend to stick around this time. Even if his taste in fashion is atrocious, and he might secretly be planning to kill him… Mu Qing will try his damned hardest.

For Xie Lian, he thinks. Another, smaller voice at the back of his mind adds, And Feng Xin.

“So… how did you and Xie Lian meet?”

“At school,” Hua Cheng says. Apparently, he isn’t interested in revealing much more than that.

“Right.” After a long pause in which he struggles to think of something else to say, he finally asks, “Has he introduced you to his parents yet?”

The smile falls from Hua Cheng’s lips. He levels Mu Qing with a complicated look, then shakes his head.

“Gege doesn’t like talking about his parents,” he replies.

Mu Qing frowns. “Why? They’ve always been so close.”

Hua Cheng seems to be considering something for a while, though he doesn’t say anything. In the end, he looks away as if to end that topic of conversation there. Mu Qing decides not to push. Apparently, Xie Lian’s parents are no longer a good topic to bring up. He’ll have to mention that to Feng Xin later—no doubt he’d also ask after them, eventually.

Outside, Xie Lian and Feng Xin show no signs of ending their conversation. Xie Lian leans against the side of Feng Xin’s car and says something that’s impossible for Mu Qing to decipher, but he clearly sees the way Feng Xin’s face reddens in response. Mu Qing can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. It isn’t often that Feng Xin shows signs of embarrassment.

He forces himself to look away and focus on something else; without much else to shift his attention to, he ends up glancing again at Hua Cheng on the other side of the counter. He’s leaning against it with his elbow, reading over the list of services and prices offered atop the counter with minimal interest. Standing like this, Mu Qing gets a better look at the eyepatch he wears; simple black cloth, a little frayed at the edges from use. He wonders how long Hua Cheng has been wearing it. It certainly must have seen better days, he thinks.

“Hey,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the counter to get Hua Cheng’s attention. When he hums an acknowledgement, Mu Qing clears his throat and points up to his eyepatch. “I can fix that up for you, if you’d like.”

“Fix it up?” Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow.

“It looks like it’s on its last legs. I can repair it a little—it’ll save you having to buy a new one. You clearly have an attachment to that one, if you’ve been wearing it for a while. The quality isn’t that bad, so it’ll be a quick and easy fix.”

Hua Cheng ponders this for a moment, reaching up to toy with the strap of his eyepatch. “How much would it cost?”

“Oh, uh. Don’t worry about that.”

“You’re doing your job. I’ll pay.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Mu Qing insists, feeling himself become flustered. Negotiating is always so embarrassing. “I’m not going to charge my friend’s boyfriend for a job that will take less than ten minutes and an amount of thread so small that nobody will even notice it’s gone.”

For a moment, they simply stare at each other, as if daring the other to protest. Hua Cheng backs down first, thankfully.

“If you’re sure,” he says, shrugging. In one fluid motion, he then unties his eyepatch and slips it off to hand it over to Mu Qing.

It really does take less than ten minutes, as he’d predicted. All he really needs to do is reinforce the stitching on the straps and slice away some of the frayed edges. By the time he’s done, the eyepatch looks practically brand new again. He slides it back across the counter to Hua Cheng, who gives a pleased hum as he secures it around his head once more.

“Thanks. You know, my mother ran a store like this when I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Hm.” Hua Cheng nods, slipping his wallet out from his pocket. Without another word, he takes a few bills and places them into the tip jar atop the counter. It’s far too generous, but Mu Qing finds himself unable to protest.

“Gege and I will get out of your hair, now. I have no doubt that we’ll all see each other again soon,” Hua Cheng says. He turns on his heels with a satisfied smirk, leaving Mu Qing staring dumbfoundedly at the tip jar.

He’s still in shock when the door opens again a few minutes later, and Feng Xin walks inside looking like he’s just seen a ghost. Their eyes meet once he arrives at the other side of the counter. Feng Xin is the first to break the silence.

“What,” he whispers, “the absolute fuck just happened?”

Mu Qing shakes his head. “Xie Lian is back. He has a weird boyfriend. I fixed his eyepatch.”

“Xie Lian is back,” Feng Xin says, and then he’s laughing breathlessly. “Wow. I can’t believe he’s back. His boyfriend really is weird, isn’t he?”

“So fucking weird. I think he might have been a serial killer in his previous life.”

“Don’t immediately rule out the possibility of him being a serial killer in this life.”

They both laugh, the shock still lingering in their systems making the last twenty minutes seem even more ridiculous. Mu Qing glances one last time at the tip jar before turning to grab his belongings.

“Let’s go. You still want to go bowling, right?”

“Oh, definitely. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you simply because we both just received the shock of our lives.”

Mu Qing snorts. They both know that bowling is the one thing they’re equally terrible at, so a win from either of them is never guaranteed. Still, he’ll let Feng Xin trash-talk as much as he wants.

Ten minutes later, when the two of them are in Feng Xin’s car on their way to the rundown bowling alley on the edge of town, Mu Qing asks, “What were you and Xie Lian talking about outside?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

Mu Qing squints at him in suspicion, but Feng Xin keeps his eyes fixed on the road. He’s quiet for a while, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in an irregular rhythm.

“Hey, do you remember the time you had a crush on Xie Lian in junior high?” he suddenly asks.

Mu Qing barely stops himself from choking on air. “What?”

“You know. Our first year of junior high, when you liked him.” He inhales sharply. “Or— Unless it wasn’t just our first year. Was it?”

“Feng Xin, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never had a crush on Xie Lian.”

“Uh, yes you have? You were always blushing and stuttering when he was around. It was so fucking obvious that you liked him.”

Mu Qing laughs, unable to help himself. Shocked, Feng Xin finally tears his eyes away from the road to look at him incredulously.

“You must’ve been imagining things,” Mu Qing says, shrugging. “I thought Xie Lian was cute, sure, but that’s it. I’ve never had any romantic feelings for him.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Oh. Wow, okay. But if he wasn’t the reason why you were always acting so weird, then…”

As quickly as it had appeared, the smile on Mu Qing’s face dissipates. He clears his throat and turns to stare out of the window, willing his cheeks not to redden.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he mumbles. “You’re giving me a headache. Take the next left.”

Feng Xin nods dumbly and takes the left turn. Thankfully, the action seems to make him forget his previous train of thought completely. Now would certainly be an inconvenient time for him to realise that, other than Xie Lian, there really could have only been one other person who made Mu Qing blush and stutter so much back in junior high.

Because, here’s the thing: shortly after Mu Qing came to the heart-stopping realisation that he’s in love with Feng Xin, he also realised that he might have been feeling that way about him for a long time. Since almost the very beginning, even. He isn’t sure how he never knew it before, but he’s undoubtedly liked his best friend for much longer than he initially could’ve imagined.

“Oh, Xie Lian invited us to have lunch with him and his boyfriend, by the way,” Feng Xin says, startling Mu Qing out of his thoughts. “He mentioned something about a picnic.”

Mu Qing hums as his heart rate finally slows. “That would be nice.”

“Yeah. He gave me his new number, so I’ll let him know we can make it. I’ll forward you his number, too.”

“Thanks.” He keeps facing the window, hoping Feng Xin won’t notice the blush intensifying on his cheeks.

We, he thinks. Like Feng Xin believes, just as much as Mu Qing does, that the two of them are a package deal. Not to be separated. Together, always.

Mu Qing wishes and hopes. He carves that little two-letter word into his heart; a symbol of what he could have, if only he had the courage to pursue it.

Their picnic, as it turns out, isn’t truly a picnic at all. Xie Lian brings homemade snacks for the four of them to eat, but they taste so bad that Mu Qing hides his portion behind a bush while nobody else is looking. Only Hua Cheng is able to stomach everything without protest, and he even genuinely seems to enjoy the food. After the four of them have eaten—or not, in Mu Qing’s case—Xie Lian suggests that they take a walk through the woods close to the spot they’ve settled down in.

While Xie Lian packs their meagre picnic away into the back of Hua Cheng’s car, Hua Cheng retrieves an umbrella from the backseat. Feng Xin scoffs at the sight of it.

“You do know that it’s the middle of summer, right?”

“You never know when you’re going to need an umbrella,” Hua Cheng says, grinning in a way that can only be described as fiendish.

Feng Xin rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude.”

Their trek begins slowly; though it’s still fairly early in the afternoon, the sun is already shining high in the sky and the heat is blistering. Mu Qing is grateful for the shade cast by the trees as they walk, but even that doesn’t do much to quell the heat. He wonders if they should have brought some water along with them, but he knows it would be pointless to raise concerns about that now.

Xie Lian is just as clumsy as Mu Qing remembers him being. He trips over a new tree root every few seconds, and is saved from colliding face-first with the ground only by Hua Cheng’s arm that seems to be permanently ready to catch him. Mu Qing averts his gaze to where Feng Xin is walking ahead of him, and tries not to think about how there wouldn’t be anyone to catch him if he tripped.

Around an hour into their walk, being around Xie Lian and Hua Cheng begins to feel a little unbearable. Having known Xie Lian since they were kids, Mu Qing had no idea the guy could flirt so much. Judging from the disgusted look that seems to be a permanent fixture on Feng Xin’s face, he’s thinking the same thing.

The two of them share a look containing a silent agreement. While Xie Lian and Hua Cheng continue walking ahead, Mu Qing and Feng Xin drop back a little to give them some space. The flirting ahead of them becomes gradually quieter as the distance between the two pairs grows, and Mu Qing sighs in relief.

Feng Xin moves a fraction closer to him to whisper, “Maybe we should just go back. I doubt they’d even realise we were gone. I feel like we’re just intruding on one of their dates.”

Mu Qing hums. He doubts that Xie Lian means to leave them out, but it’s clear enough that Hua Cheng is taking up most of his attention. That’s fine, he supposes. It’s still nice to spend time with him.

“Let’s just keep walking for a while. The shade is nice,” he says.

Feng Xin stares at him for a moment more, before nodding and glancing away. Mu Qing notices that he remains close even after they’ve finished talking. Though it’s cool beneath the shade of the trees, he can still feel Feng Xin’s warmth surrounding him.

They’ve been walking for another twenty minutes when Mu Qing feels the first drop of water land on his nose. He startles and halts in his steps, wiping his nose dry with his hand. Feng Xin notices a moment later that he’s no longer beside him, and he turns around with a raised brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think it’s raining,” Mu Qing says. Another droplet lands in the centre of his palm, as if to confirm his suspicions.

“That’s impossible. Come on, we’re losing them.”

Mu Qing lowers his hand and follows Feng Xin. Only a few seconds later, there’s a low rumbling sound. They both pause and glance at each other, and that’s when the rain finally begins to fall harder.

“Shit,” Feng Xin says. “Can you see Xie Lian and Hua Cheng anywhere?”

Mu Qing searches the trees ahead, then sighs. “No. They’re too far ahead.”

“The rain is getting heavier.” Feng Xin grimaces and pushes strands of hair away from his eyes. “Damn it, you told me earlier that you checked the weather forecast!”

“I did! It wasn’t meant to rain! Besides, how is this my fault?”

Feng Xin sighs. “It doesn’t matter. Neither of us have an umbrella, so let’s just find some sort of shelter.”

They both begin scouring their surroundings for any sign of a shelter, but the heavy rain obscures their vision. Feng Xin suddenly grabs onto Mu Qing’s hand and tugs, until the two of them are pressed against each other.

“We should stay close so that we don’t lose each other,” he says.

His voice is barely audible over the sounds of wind and rain, and Mu Qing might not even have heard him were it not for his lips being so close to his ear. He shivers, and warmth floods his cheeks. The rain must be making him sick already.

“Let’s continue walking. There must be some kind of building around here.”

Mu Qing nods and points in a random direction. They head off together, attached at the hip as their footsteps fall in sync. The rain numbs Mu Qing’s skin, until the only thing he can feel is Feng Xin’s rough palm against his.

When they’ve been walking through the rain for around five minutes, taking care not to trip over any tree roots or slip on mud, Mu Qing finally spots something in the distance. He comes to a stop and tugs at Feng Xin’s shirt to catch his attention, then points to their left. Beyond a small hill, there’s what looks to be a small building made of wood.

“Up there! It looks like an old shack.”

Feng Xin nods. “Let’s go. Hopefully it doesn’t belong to an axe-murderer, or something.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. Together, they push harder against the force of the wind and rain until they finally reach the shack. They both release a breath of relief as they reach the door, then step away from each other to wring the rainwater out of their shirts as they stand beneath the overhanging roof. The door to the shack is, thankfully, unlocked; Feng Xin only has to wriggle the handle twice before the door swings open with a loud creak.

“You go in first,” he says.

Mu Qing scrunches his nose. “Why me? You should go in first.”

“It was you who found the fucking shack in the first place! Besides, why should I go in first?”

“Duh, because you’re slower than I am. If there really is an axe-murderer in there, I can make a quick getaway while he hacks you to death.”

“Nice,” Feng Xin says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Thanks a lot for immediately ditching my ass in this hypothetical scenario.”

“Might not be hypothetical. Now, get your ass in there before I freeze to death.”

Feng Xin huffs an exasperated sigh, but doesn’t protest any more. He shoves past Mu Qing and disappears into the shack. Mere seconds pass before he appears at the door again, reaching out and grabbing Mu Qing’s wrist to tug him inside. The door slams shut behind them, blocking out the wind and rain and leaving them in darkness.

“Well, there’s no axe murderer,” Feng Xin says. “Hopefully there is a light, though.”

The shack isn’t particularly large, and there isn’t much space for the two of them to move around in. They bump into each other several times before Mu Qing finally hears a sound of triumph leave Feng Xin’s lips, and a light flickers to life above their heads.

Now that the interior of the shack is visible, Mu Qing spots a stool in one corner and a tattered rug on the floor. Beside the door is a shelf, displaying only a few empty pots and a rusty hunting knife.

“This place must have been abandoned a while ago. It doesn’t look like anyone comes here, anymore.”

“I wonder if we can get any signal here,” Feng Xin says. He takes his phone out of his pocket, then taps the screen a few times. It remains black.

Sighing, Mu Qing takes his own phone out of his pocket and switches it on. Fortunately, his phone is still dry thanks to him having kept it in his left pocket—the side Feng Xin had been pressed up against on their way here. Unfortunately, his phone is showing zero bars of signal. He signs in defeat and returns his phone to his pocket.

“We won’t be able to call anyone. Our only option is to wait here until it stops raining.” He puffs his cheeks, blowing air through his lips. “I wonder whether Xie Lian and Hua Cheng made it out of the rain in time.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m starting to think that that asshole caused all of this just because I laughed at him for bringing an umbrella,” Feng Xin says.

“What do you have against Hua Cheng?” Mu Qing asks, brow raised.

“Are you telling me you don’t have anything against him?”

Mu Qing frowns, considering the question for a moment. Sure, Hua Cheng is far from the friendliest person in the world. He’s snappy and arrogant and seems to look down on anyone who isn’t Xie Lian. But it’s also evident from today alone that he treats Xie Lian like he’s the most precious thing on earth, and he seems to make him genuinely happy. Mu Qing can’t help but be grateful to him for that.

There’s also the matter of the tip he’d given at the shop.

He still can’t honestly say that he would willingly be friends with Hua Cheng, but he also thinks his first impression of him might have been a little harsh. There’s no real reason for him to hate the guy.

In the end, Mu Qing shrugs. “I don’t know. He may be an asshole, but I definitely think Xie Lian could do worse.”

When Feng Xin doesn’t immediately respond, he glances over at him only to see him already staring back. The expression on his face is difficult to read—if Mu Qing had to hazard a guess, he’d say that the look is one of astonishment. Whatever it actually is, it’s intense. Mu Qing isn’t sure how he’s meant to respond to it.

“Hey, did you even listen to what I just said? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Huh?” Feng Xin blinks rapidly a few times, then shakes his head. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

He’s always been a shit liar. Mu Qing frowns.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Feng Xin insists, which only cements the fact that there is, in fact, something he isn’t telling Mu Qing.

“No, it isn’t nothing. Tell me.”

“Mu Qing.”

“Feng Xin. Tell me.”

“Why the fuck are you so stubborn all the time?” Feng Xin snaps. “Just let it go.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Ugh, it’s really nothing! It’s just that you— I just never noticed something about you before, that’s all.”

Mu Qing fights his initial instinct to recoil; he knows that Feng Xin isn’t the sort of person to bring attention to Mu Qing’s physical insecurities, so he can’t be talking about anything like that. But then… what?

Feng Xin turns his head towards the wall so that Mu Qing can no longer see his expression. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and hesitant.

“It’s your moles,” he explains. “I never noticed how many you have, because you don’t usually— I mean, you’re normally pretty covered up. Even when we went to the beach, you were wearing dark clothes, so I couldn’t see them. But I can kind of see them through your shirt, now, because the rain has made it… uh, see-through. N-not that I was purposefully looking, or anything. I just happened to catch sight of them.”

“Okay,” Mu Qing says, because he’s reeling so much from Feng Xin’s words that he isn’t sure how else he can possibly respond.

“Yeah. I just never noticed them before, that’s all. Well, not the ones on your collarbones, anyway. Or your, uh, chest. I’ve only ever really seen the ones on your arms. Anyway, they’re cu— Nice. They’re nice, I guess. They’re pretty cool.”

Something in Mu Qing’s chest tightens. He heaves a breath and asks, “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Feng Xin.”

Feng Xin groans as he turns to face him. “Cute, okay? I was going to say that they’re cute.”

“Oh,” Mu Qing breathes.

“N-not that I think you’re cute, or anything. Wait, shit, I mean—”

“Shut up, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing spits, because wow. That stung. “God, why do you always have to take things one step too far? Do us both a favour, and shut your mouth for once.”

Feng Xin does, in fact, shut his mouth. This lasts for all of five minutes before he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Feng Xin frowns. “I… don’t know.”

“Why apologise if you don’t know what you’re apologising for?” Mu Qing scoffs. “Just be quiet. The rain should ease off soon, and then we can leave.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Silence settles between them, oppressive and suffocating. Mu Qing’s fingers twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to glance over at Feng Xin. He can feel the other man’s eyes on him, and it makes him want to scream.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“Sorry.”

He sighs. “Why are you being so weird all of a sudden, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Feng Xin says. Then, once more: “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

Mu Qing fixes him with a glare before he can offer him another apology. Feng Xin’s face twists, as if staying quiet is physically painful, but he thankfully doesn’t apologise again.

It rains for so long that Mu Qing gives up on keeping track of the time. By the time it finally stops and the sky above the little shack clears, the sun is already about to set. Mu Qing would be more appreciative of the sunset if he wasn’t so frustrated; it’s been years since he and Feng Xin acted so awkward and stiff around each other. He hates that he doesn’t know what Feng Xin is thinking. He hates that neither of them say a word as they leave the shack and find their way back to the edge of the woods, where Hua Cheng and Feng Xin’s cars are parked beside each other. Most of all, he hates how Feng Xin drives him home in silence, only muttering a quiet farewell outside Mu Qing’s apartment building.

They don’t talk for three days.

And sure, Mu Qing is stubborn, but he misses Feng Xin. Part of him had hoped he’d drop by the day after their picnic with Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, but he hadn’t even received a single message from him. Then, he hoped that he’d call the next day to ask if he wanted to hang out. But, after checking his phone every few minutes for half the day, he gave up hope.

He’s close to either losing his mind or admitting defeat and calling Feng Xin first when there’s finally a knock at the door. Mu Qing’s mother is at the shop, but he almost wishes she was at home as he goes to open the door. Maybe things would be less awkward if she was here to offer Feng Xin a drink and ask if he’d like to stay for dinner.

Feng Xin looks tired and sheepish when Mu Qing opens the door. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Mu Qing steps aside. “Come in.”

They’re silent as Feng Xin enters the apartment. In fact, neither of them speak until they’re both sitting on the couch in the living room. Feng Xin, like always, is the first to break the silence.

“Look, I know you told me to stop apologising, but I really am sorry for making things so awkward the other day,” he says. “I said some pretty weird stuff, and I should’ve known when to stop. But can you please just talk to me about why you were upset at what I said, instead of bottling everything up and avoiding me?”

Mu Qing bristles, but tries not to let his discomfort show. He nods slowly.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you. There’s just been… a lot on my mind recently, and I guess it’s made me act weirdly. But I shouldn’t have taken things out on you.”

“What’s been on your mind?” Feng Xin asks, shuffling closer with concern evident in his eyes. “I thought you were trying not to think about anything stressful for a while.”

“I know. But it’s not— Um. I’m not thinking about the same things as I was at the beginning of summer. It’s something else. I don’t want to talk about it.”

How can he? Though it hasn’t been long since he realised them for the first time, the feelings he’s had for Feng Xin have been clinging to him for so long that he can’t even figure out when they first appeared. He’s been fortunate that nobody else has ever noticed them, so he must have done a good job of hiding his feelings so far. Even since acknowledging them, he’s been able to pretend that they aren’t there whenever Feng Xin is around. He hasn’t yet been stupid enough to entertain the possibility of his feelings being mutual, and he’s been hoping that they might someday disappear if he keeps them at bay for long enough. If he told Feng Xin about how he feels now, wouldn’t all of his efforts go to waste?

But spending so much time with Feng Xin has only made those feelings more intense, and ignoring them is becoming harder and harder. He knows that they’ll never really go away. They’re a permanent part of him, and the only thing he can do is embrace them. And maybe that’s what he’s been doing without even realising it, but talking about them still feels daunting.

Feng Xin sighs. “Okay. But you know that I can still be there for you even if you don’t want to talk about things, right? We’re friends—we support each other. No matter how, and no matter why. That’s just what we do.”

“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” The tension visibly drains from Feng Xin’s shoulders as he smiles. He lands a weak punch against Mu Qing’s shoulder. “Can you go back to being your regular asshole self now? I kind of miss that version of you.”

“Sure, whatever.” Mu Qing scoffs. “Dickhead.”

“That’s more like it. D’you wanna watch a movie?”

Mu Qing nods. “You pick. I’ll grab some snacks.”

He ignores Feng Xin’s delighted gasp as he stands, already walking towards the kitchen.

“Wow, you’re actually letting me choose the movie? I must be dreaming.”

“Shut up and pick one before I change my mind,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his face as he leaves the room.

He grabs as many snacks as he can carry, as well as a few more of the drinks Feng Xin likes from the fridge. He’ll have to restock soon; they’ve spent so much time together over the last few weeks that there are only two of the drinks left now.

Feng Xin has chosen a horror movie that they’ve both seen before, and by the time Mu Qing returns to the living room with his supplies, the movie has already loaded. He sits as Feng Xin presses play, and the two of them spread the snacks over the empty space between them.

It’s easy to settle back into their old routine. They make fun of the movie’s protagonists together, passing each other snacks they know the other will like as usual. Feng Xin flinches each time there’s a jumpscare on screen, and Mu Qing has to stifle his laughter in response.

Things feel normal, but they also don’t—not at all. Because Mu Qing still doesn’t understand what made Feng Xin act so weirdly in the woods a few days ago. Moreover, he can feel his own feelings beginning to burn uncomfortably in his chest. Feng Xin wants him to be honest with him, to say what he’s feeling. He wants to know what goes on in Mu Qing’s mind, and Mu Qing so desperately wishes that he could tell him.

But he’s so, so scared. Mu Qing won’t be able to bear it if he loses Feng Xin.

Here’s the thing, though: every time Mu Qing has ever had something on his mind, he’d tell Feng Xin. Every time he’s been scared about something, Feng Xin has been by his side, comforting him. They’ve been through everything together. Would Feng Xin really leave if Mu Qing told him his true feelings? Would telling him really change anything? Or would he help him work through his feelings like he always has?

The flames in Mu Qing’s chest enter his veins, spreading to every inch of his body. When he can no longer bear the feeling of burning beneath his skin, he makes his decision.

Just as one of the movie’s minor characters is about to fall victim to a resentful ghost, Mu Qing grabs the remote and presses pause. Feng Xin makes a sound of protest around the bar of chocolate he’s eating.

“I changed my mind,” Mu Qing says.

Feng Xin finishes chewing and tosses his empty wrapper aside. “About what?”

“I want to talk about what’s been bothering me.”

Feng Xin stares at him silently for a moment, then shifts to face him fully. He offers an encouraging nod.

“Alright. Go ahead, I’ll listen.”

Mu Qing takes a deep breath and says, “It’s you. You’re the problem. You’re the thing that’s been bothering me.”

“Very funny, asshole.” Feng Xin rolls his eyes, turning away from him again with a scowl on his face. “Shut up and play the movie.”

“No, Feng Xin. I’m serious.”

“Oh,” Feng Xin says. He glances over at Mu Qing, and his scowl morphs into a look of utter disappointment. “Wow. Have you really hated spending this summer with me that much?”

“What? No! No, listen, it’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“Then what is it?”

“I—!”

He struggles for a moment, trying to decide the best way to say what he needs to say. Feng Xin watches him flounder, gradually becoming more agitated.

“Mu Qing, what is it?”

“I think I like you,” Mu Qing blurts. He slams his mouth shut as soon as the words are out, eyes widening. A blush rises to his cheeks almost instantly.

Feng Xin freezes. “Huh? You… you think…?”

“I do like you,” Mu Qing corrects himself. “I… really like you. A lot.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Mu Qing groans and picks up the cushion at his back to swing it at Feng Xin’s head. He doesn’t dodge. It collides with the side of his head with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t stop staring dumbly at Mu Qing.

“What’s so hard to understand? Do you need me to spell it out for you? God, why do I even bother?”

“You like me? Seriously?”

“Yes. Stop being so weird about it and reject me already.”

“What?” Feng Xin recoils, looking completely affronted. “Why would I reject you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I like you, too. I have for a long time, dumbass.”

Mu Qing’s breath leaves his lungs in an instant. Winded, all he manages to say is a quiet, “Oh.”

Then, frustrated, he swings his cushion at Feng Xin again. It collides with his chest, then again with his shoulder when he doesn’t react quickly enough. He finally grabs onto the cushion before the third swing can land.

“Stop fucking hitting me!”

“Fuck you!” Mu Qing shouts back. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you liked me?”

“Probably the same reason that you never told me!”

Mu Qing finally drops the cushion in favour of glaring at Feng Xin. He stares back in disbelief, still holding onto his end of the cushion. Only after wordlessly standing off against each other for a few excruciatingly long moments does Mu Qing slump forwards, closing the distance between them to rest his forehead against Feng Xin’s shoulder. He feels Feng Xin stiffen momentarily before relaxing. A second later, he begins gently stroking Mu Qing’s hair.

“Do you remember the conversation we had on the day Xie Lian returned?” Mu Qing asks quietly.

“You mean when I asked you whether you remembered your crush on Xie Lian, and you told me it never existed?”

He nods. “Exactly. Well, I was telling the truth. I never had a crush on Xie Lian.”

“Right.”

“I had a crush on you.”

“What? Even back then?”

“I didn’t realise it straight away,” Mu Qing explains. “I found you so fucking annoying, how could I know that I liked you? But… you were really nice to me, and you tried so hard to be friends with me even when I made it almost impossible. Whenever I was around you… even back when we first met, you were all I could focus on. You were on my mind all the time, and you made me feel things I’ve never felt for anyone else before. You still do.”

Feng Xin places his arms around him and draws him in closer, hugging him tightly. Empty wrappers crinkle beneath them, but Mu Qing can’t seem to find it in himself to care.

“You know, I asked you about that because I’d always felt kind of jealous,” Feng Xin admits. “I hated the idea of you having a crush on Xie Lian, but I was too dumb at the time to realise why. I only discovered the reason when I started dating Jian Lan.”

Mu Qing pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

“When I was dating her, I sometimes couldn’t help but wish that I was with you, instead.” Feng Xin’s confession is quiet, as if he’s afraid that he’ll scare Mu Qing away if he talks any louder. “I’d hold her hand and wish it was yours, or I’d make her laugh and wish I could do the same to you. I made the mistake of asking her why I felt that way, and that was why she broke up with me.”

Mu Qing stares at him blankly for a few seconds, before finally bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh my god,” he manages to say, wiping dampness from his eyes. “Feng Xin, you absolute moron.”

“Come on, I was fifteen! How the fuck was I supposed to know any better? It’s not like I’d ever really questioned my sexuality before that, so I was just confused.” He reaches up to flick at Mu Qing’s ear, which finally calms him down. “Anyway, we’ve gone off-topic. My point is… when Xie Lian came back, I was worried that your feelings would resurface. And that would really suck, because I was planning to ask you out at the end of the summer, and I was really hoping you’d say yes.”

“Why were you waiting until then to ask me out? So that you could run away to university and never face me again if I rejected you?” Mu Qing can’t help but tease him a little. To his surprise, Feng Xin winces.

“It sounds really bad when you put it like that,” he says.

Mu Qing slaps his arm. “That’s because it is bad, you idiot. It’s horrible, even. Do you think so lowly of me that I would let our friendship rot just because you asked me out?”

Only when he asks the question does he realise how hypocritical he’s being—after all, he was terrified of the exact same thing.

“No,” Feng Xin says adamantly. “I just… I was scared.”

Mu Qing’s expression softens, and his voice is quiet when he asks, “How? Did you really think I could ever say no to you?”

“I don’t know.” Feng Xin stares at a spot over Mu Qing’s head, swallowing thickly.

“Feng Xin. You…”

But, in the end, he can’t find the words to express everything he’s thinking and feeling. It’s all too much, yet none of it would be enough.

He can’t find the words, so he does the only other thing he can think of to get the scope of his feelings across. He squeezes his eyes shut and cranes his neck upwards to press his lips against Feng Xin’s in a desperate kiss.

It takes a while for him to respond, but just when Mu Qing is about to pull away, Feng Xin finally kisses back. He has some experience, unlike Mu Qing, but it still isn’t much. They’re both a little stiff, and the angle isn’t quite right, but it’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

Mu Qing thinks he could get used to this.

It’s late August when Mu Qing walks into Feng Xin’s bedroom, raises a judgemental brow at the latter’s figure stretched out across his bed, and asks, “Shouldn’t you be packing? I thought you were leaving in a week.”

Feng Xin told him about his acceptance into his preferred university two weeks ago, and Mu Qing has been dreading this moment ever since. Actually, he’s been dreading it since the start of the summer. Possibly even since they both sat down to complete their exams. But ever since Feng Xin showed him the email telling him he’d actually been accepted, the fact that he’ll be leaving feels so much more real.

“You think it would take me a week to pack?” Feng Xin asks, looking wholly unimpressed and offended.

“No, it would take you two days at the most.” Mu Qing messily folds the jacket he’s carrying, placing it on the nearby dresser before approaching his boyfriend. “But then you’d have me check your bags to make sure you haven’t missed anything, and I’d end up repacking everything for you.”

Feng Xin scoffs. “Whatever. That’s not gonna happen, because I’m not going.”

Mu Qing freezes, caught halfway between standing and sitting on the edge of Feng Xin’s bed. Feng Xin chuckles as he reaches out to tug on Mu Qing’s sleeve until he drops onto the bed.

“What are you talking about?” Mu Qing asks. “Why aren’t you going?”

“I, uh, decided to defer for a year. I’m not desperate to start studying again right away—I’m still not even sure of what I actually want to do. I’ve already spoken about it with my parents, and they’re happy for me to do whatever’s best for myself.” He brushes his thumb over Mu Qing’s knuckles and adds, “Besides, I want to spend more time with you before I go away.”

It takes a moment for everything he’s said to process in Mu Qing’s brain. When it finally does, he squeezes Feng Xin’s hand tightly in his own.

“You’re staying here?” he asks.

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Huh. Okay.”

The smile on Feng Xin’s face is quickly replaced by a frown. “Jeez,” he says, “thanks for the warm response.”

“No, I— I’m glad, of course I am. I just don’t want you to make the wrong decision.”

Feng Xin sighs and releases Mu Qing’s hand. He only feels disappointed for a second before both of his hands are cupping his face, instead. Feng Xin swipes his thumbs over his cheeks, smiling.

“I promise you, this is the right decision,” he says with conviction. “I want more time to think about what it is I truly want to do. Rushing into anything has never gotten me very far, anyway. And… getting to spend more time with my boyfriend is definitely an added bonus.”

Swallowing hard, Mu Qing nods. He leans further into Feng Xin’s touch and sighs.

“Well, if you’re sure. Oh, but that means that I brought you your leaving gift for nothing.”

“You got me something?” Feng Xin asks, suddenly perking up.

“I made it, actually.” Mu Qing reluctantly pulls himself out of Feng Xin’s grasp and stands, retrieving the jacket he’d left on the dresser earlier. He tosses it at Feng Xin, who catches it effortlessly. “Here.”

Feng Xin seems confused for all of five seconds before he unfolds the jacket and gasps. It’s obvious that he recognises it almost immediately, which is a relief.

“This is the one you designed before. The one with the hidden pockets,” he says, opening up the jacket to inspect the inside. Sure enough, there are two pockets incorporated into the inner lining. “You’re actually giving me this?”

“You said you wanted it.”

Feng Xin laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know, but I still didn’t expect you to give it to me. It looks like it’s my size, too.”

“Obviously, idiot.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “What would be the point of giving it to you if it wouldn’t fit? I guessed your measurements, but it shouldn't be a problem. I’m good at estimating.”

Not to mention the fact that he’s spent more than enough time already getting familiar with Feng Xin’s body. He could probably picture every line and curve of his torso and arms in his sleep. Feng Xin grins at him, obviously thinking the same thing. Mu Qing ducks his head to hide his blush.

“Wait, what’s in the pocket?”

“Oh, wait—” He snatches the jacket away in a panic before Feng Xin can reach into the pocket, clutching it against his chest. “You can’t look right now.”

“Come on, I want to see.” Feng Xin pouts at him, which is not adorable. It’s not. He looks like an idiot.

An adorable idiot, says the traitorous voice in the back of Mu Qing’s head. He clears his throat.

“You weren’t meant to look until you’d left,” he says. “It’ll be embarrassing for me if you look now.”

“Well, that sucks for you, because I’m not leaving, am I?”

God, Mu Qing hates it when he’s right. Accepting his fate, he gingerly hands the jacket over. Feng Xin takes it with a grin, immediately reaching into the pocket. From it, he produces a photograph and a small white shell. He drapes the jacket over his arm and transfers the shell into his left hand, glancing between both objects with his lips parted and a soft look in his eyes.

“Did you take this on the beach that day?” he asks, waving the photo at Mu Qing.

In it, Mu Qing is looking at the camera with his free hand raised in a peace sign. He’s squinting against the sun, and he isn’t quite smiling, but it’s a near thing. In the background, Feng Xin is standing on the shoreline and smiling towards the sea. Mu Qing has his own copy pinned to one of his bedroom walls at home, because despite his own face taking up most of the image, it’s one of his favourite photos from that day.

He nods in response to Feng Xin’s question. He ducks his head in embarrassment, but he still sees the way Feng Xin’s brow furrows in confusion.

“But you said that the camera was broken,” he says. “You said that all of the photos you took were lost.”

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t exactly let you find out that most of the photos I took were of you, could I?”

Feng Xin swallows and shifts his attention to his other hand. “What about this? Was this one of the shells we picked up that day?”

The shell in question is vaguely heart-shaped, with a light pink streak across it. Mu Qing hadn’t even taken note of its shape until he and his mother were inspecting the cleaned shells after Feng Xin had left that day. He’s still not sure what prompted him to keep it for himself, but he’s glad that he did now.

“Yeah, it is. I thought about making a bracelet or something with it, but I didn’t want to risk breaking it. Plus, I figured you’d eventually lose it, either way.”

“Nope. I’m gonna cherish this forever. It’s never leaving my person.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but he’s sure the persistent blush on his cheeks gives away his true feelings—happy, happy, happy. And so in love.

“If you say so, dumbass,” he says, unable to hide the softness in his voice.

Feng Xin places the jacket aside, along with the photograph and the shell, then pats his lap. Mu Qing knows there’s no use in feigning reluctance by now; they’re both aware of how much he enjoys being held by Feng Xin. He carefully situates himself in Feng Xin’s lap, leaning against his chest as he’s enveloped by Feng Xin’s arms. A kiss lands on his temple.

“Thank you,” Feng Xin whispers into his hair. “I love your gifts, even if they are a year early.”

Mu Qing slaps his chest, but it’s so weak that Feng Xin only laughs.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” Mu Qing asks. “And the day after that, and the day after that? We have a lot of time to killl now that you aren’t leaving.”

Feng Xin is silent for a while as he ponders the question.

“This,” he eventually says, shifting closer. “I want to do this. I just want to be with you.”

“Sap,” Mu Qing says, but he can’t help but smile.

Because he wants exactly the same thing.

Mu Qing has always hated the summer months. But, this year, he thinks that they haven’t actually been all that bad.