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Mu Qing planted his knees on the mat, bent himself in a backward arch, then caught an ankle in each hand. The pervert beside him very unsubtly averted his gaze.

Mu Qing scowled.

”Hey dickwad,” he whisper-hissed, “keep drooling over my ass and I’ll stick my foot up yours.”

Feng Xin, the dickwad in question, blushed furiously as he hurried to match Mu Qing’s pose.

“You’re butchering your ustrasana,” Mu Qing sneered.

Feng Xin cast him a fiery glare. “What’s your problem?”

Seriously? You have to ask?

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. Feng Xin wasn’t even supposed to be here. Xie Lian’s early morning practices were for staff only, and Feng Xin sure as fuck wasn’t staff, but before Mu Qing could fire off another vicious remark, Xie Lian spoke up.

“Feng Xin, Mu Qing,” he addressed serenely, “is something the matter?”

“No,” said Feng Xin at the same time that Mu Qing straightened out of his own ustrsana and answered, “Yes.”

With his back bent and his head still hanging upside down, Xie Lian raised (lowered?) a brow.

“Forgive the interruption,” Mu Qing said politely. “Do you mind if I move? There’s a. . .” his gaze flicked to Feng Xin, then back to Xie Lian, “. . . an odor coming from this corner of the room.”

Shi Qingxuan, having abandoned her ustrasana the moment Xie Lian’s attention was redirected, covered her mouth and snickered.

“Oh, um. . . sure. Go ahead,” Xie Lian said (though Mu Qing had already picked up his mat and started across the room). Feng Xin clenched his fists, and an angry vein popped on his forehead.

Noticing this, Xie Lian tried to ease the tension, “It did rain recently, and you know how these old buildings can be.”

“Of course,” Mu Qing said pleasantly (even though the building wasn’t old at all).

Feng Xin grumbled something unintelligible as Mu Qing laid out his mat on the other side of the room. He couldn’t help the surge of ruthless satisfaction he felt at having embarrassed and thoroughly enraged his old rival—if one could even call him that. Beyond their tireless bickering, they’d never been very involved with one another. Mu Qing had the yoga studio and Feng Xin had. . . whatever it was he did for Xie Lian’s father. It was only in rare moments like this that they ever interacted, and it was always like this. No Exceptions.

Mu Qing simply, intrinsically disliked Feng Xin, and he was sure the feeling was mutual (ass-leering aside).

From the front of the room, Xie Lian continued the session, sinking down onto his back, aligning his hips and feet. Mu Qing did the same, matching the other’s bridge pose.

“Release,” Xie Lian said after a few seconds. “We’ll do one more, either another bridge pose or you can take urdhva dhanurasana.”

Mu Qing chose the latter, planting his palms flat on either side of his head before pushing up into a backwards arch.

Feng Xin, who had chosen to do another bridge, met his gaze from across the studio and scowled bitterly.

Mu Qing made no attempt to quell his triumphant smirk.

“Hands to your heart,” Xie Lian instructed as the session drew to a close, “reminding ourselves to have clear and loving intentions, to send positive energy to all beings everywhere.”

Mu Qing lowered his hands after a few seconds. He really didn’t care for this part—not the way Xie Lian did it. He preferred his own practice, which usually ended with a minute or two of reflective, meditative silence.

When Xie Lian dismissed his staff a moment later, Mu Qing quickly rolled and packed his mat, but before he could make his escape to prepare for his own morning class, Xie Lian called out to him.

“Mu Qing! Can you spare a minute?”

That dickwad Feng Xin was standing next to him, arms crossed and gaze pointedly averted. Shi Qingxuan was there too, smiling too much and tipping back and forth on the balls of her feet.

Mu Qing approached the trio skeptically. “What is it?”

“Feng Xin’s here,” Xie Lian said with a grin.

Mu Qing looked him up and down, lip curled with distaste. “I gathered that.”

Xie Lian’s smile turned a little nervous. “Right, right,” he said quickly. “I’ll cut to the chase. My father’s been working poor Feng Xin like a dog lately—“

Mu Qing looked down to hide the amusement surely playing across his face.

“—and his neck and shoulders are a mess.” Xie Lian stepped behind Feng Xin, poked at the stiff muscle. Feng Xin batted him away. “I was supposed to give him a private lesson this morning, but something’s come up and I can’t do it. Would you—“

“I have the morning class,” Mu Qing interjected, dread sinking in his gut like a block of concrete.

Xie Lian gestured one hand to Shi Qingxuan. “No problem. Qingxuan’s offered to pick it up for you.”

Mu Qing’s complete and utter aversion to the idea must have shown on his face because Xie Lian clapped his hands together and bowed shallowly.

“Please, please Mu Qing! Have some compassion for this poor, stiff-shouldered oaf.”

“Hey!” snapped Feng Xin, who’d been quiet until now, surely just as embittered by this as Mu Qing.

“If you’re free to pick up my class,” Mu Qing addressed Shi Qingxuan, “why don’t you do it instead?”

“I’d love to,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

“Impossible,” Xie Lian lamented. “Our poor, poor Feng Xin is afraid of women.”

Feng Xin’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t argue.

Mu Qing matched his scowl, but unlike Feng Xin, he wouldn’t swallow his protests or his venom. “Excuse my bluntness, but this is a really terrible idea, Xie Lian. Like really terrible. Make-everything-worse terrible.”

“Can you not be an asshole for five fucking seconds??” Feng Xin snapped, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

Mu Qing scoffed. “Don’t act like you want to do this anymore than I do. Why don’t you try being honest with Xie Lian for a change?”

“Asshole!” Feng Xin reiterated. “Being rude and being honest aren’t the same fucking thing! Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up for once in your damn life?!”

“Guys—“ Xie Lian started, though neither acknowledged him—except Shi Qingxuan, who patted his shoulder sympathetically (though sympathy was all she would offer as she knew better than to intervene).

“Sure,” said Mu Qing, “when you stop following Xie Lian around like a lost puppy. We all get it, Feng Xin. You’re in lo—“

Feng Xin shouted something unintelligible as he lunged for Mu Qing, who was regrettably ill-prepared. Feng Xin caught him by the scruff of his shirt, pulled his fist back to throw a punch.

Mu Qing squinted his eyes shut, tensed up for a blow that never came, then blinked one eye open again. Xie Lian had caught Feng Xin’s arm before he could bring his fist down on Mu Qing’s face.

“Feng Xin,” he said, exasperated.

Mu Qing’s shirt was still trapped in Feng Xin’s iron grip. “Did I touch a nerve?” he asked, breathed a mirthless, cutting laugh. “God, what are you? Twelve?”

“Wipe that fucking grin off your face—“

“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian barked. At that, the former immediately released Mu Qing, who took a step back and smoothed down his shirt.

“Sorry,” Feng Xin said. “But he pisses me off. He always spouts the rudest shit, and no one ever puts him in his fucking place.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes again. Sometimes it felt like that’s all he did when Feng Xin was around. “That’s rich coming from you—“

“Will you both just cut it out?!” Xie Lian snapped, having finally lost his patience.

Beside him, Shi Qingxuan leaned to the right, peeking around Mu Qing and toward the door. “Hua Cheng?”

Mu Qing twisted around so quickly his neck twinged, spotted Hua Cheng approaching with a swift stride and a deceptively pleasant smile. He hastily sidestepped him before he was bulldozed.

Hua Cheng ignored him entirely. “Gege,” he said brightly, to which Xie Lian beamed. Hua Cheng reached one hand out to Xie Lian, who immediately let go of Feng Xin in favor of clinging lovingly to his husband, while Hua Cheng’s other hand subtlety but roughly shoved Feng Xin away.

“Ready to go, Gege?”

Xie Lian’s smile fell. “I want to, but I can’t find anyone to cover Feng Xin’s private lesson.”

Hua Cheng’s already dangerous demeanor darkened considerably.

“I should go set up for the morning class,” Shi Qingxuan said before hurrying out of the room.

Mu Qing frowned, annoyed that he hadn’t thought to say that first, as Hua Cheng leveled him with a chilling glare. “Wasn’t Gege going to ask him?”

“He said no.”

Mu Qing jutted out his chin, trying to look resolute. “I don’t see why you can’t reschedule.”

“I was trying to tell you,” said Xie Lian. “San Lang surprised me with a trip. I’ll be gone all week, and Feng Xin’s schedule is so overloaded with work for my father that today’s all he has free.”

“Oh,” was all Mu Qing managed to say as his gaze darted nervously to Hua Cheng.

He was definitely plotting Mu Qing’s murder.

“It’s fine,” Feng Xin said, having collected himself after being shoved. “Take your trip. It’s really fine.”

“But if you’re in pain—“

“Was there something you wanted to say?” Hua Cheng interjected, glare still trained on Mu Qing.

There certainly fucking wasn’t.

Until he looked to Xie Lian, realized he was maybe being a little unreasonable here (and that Hua Cheng would definitely kill him if he didn’t backtrack).

He clicked his tongue. “Fine,” he at last acquiesced. “I’ll do it.”

“Piss off. I don’t—“ Feng Xin zipped his mouth shut when Hua Cheng cast that chilling glare on him. Then, “Okay. Whatever. Fine.”

“Great!” Xie Lian exclaimed. Hua Cheng, eager to leave, began to usher him toward the door. “We really have to go,” he told Mu Qing. “Feng Xin’s scheduled for a one-hour appointment, but don’t charge him, okay? Okay. Good luck!”

A moment later, they were gone, but even with Hua Cheng outside the building, none of the tension of his presence eased. Mu Qing and Feng Xin fell into an awkward and mutual silence.

Then, absurdly, Feng Xin broke said silence with: “I wasn’t looking at your ass.”

Mu Qing could hardly believe how ridiculous Feng Xin was. “Right,” he said with a grimace.

Feng Xin cleared his throat.

Sparing them further chit-chat, Mu Qing cocked his head toward the door. “If you actually want to do this, then let’s get it over with. My office is across the hall.”

“An office? Won’t that be too small?”

The question annoyed Mu Qing more than it should have. “Not for a one-on-one.”

“Oh.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes for the millionth time. “Is that a yes, we’re doing this or a no, we’re not?”

Feng Xin rubbed his neck with a scowl. “If you can be professional—“

“Don’t insult me.”

“That’s not—“ Feng Xin groaned, balled his hands into tight fists. “You know what? Never mind!”

Mu Qing faltered. “But Xie Lian—“

“Tell him whatever you want! I don’t care!” Feng Xin stormed toward the door, shoulders hunched with rage.

“Fine!” Mu Qing shouted back, but Feng Xin was already gone. Whatever.

Mu Qing didn’t care. Let Feng Xin’s shoulders ache. Let his neck twinge. It wasn’t Mu Qing’s problem. It wasn’t.

He spun on his heel, left the room and started toward his office.

It wasn’t his problem.

He could see the studio’s front door at the end of the hall, spotted Feng Xin pushing it open.

It wasn’t his problem.

It wasn’t his problem.

Goddammit.

“Feng Xin!”

He paused, looked over his shoulder at Mu Qing. “What?”

Mu Qing clenched his fists. “I don’t want to lie to Xie Lian.”

Feng Xin turned around, straightened. “So?”

”So—“ he sniped, paused to compose himself, “So let’s just put our shit aside and do the lesson.”

Feng Xin didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, “Fine.”

The office was small and modestly decorated, with a floor-to-ceiling window along one wall. Mu Qing laid his black mat next to the window, gestured for Feng Xin to lay his parallel. They started simply, though they’d already warmed up during Xie Lian’s class, so Mu Qing didn’t linger on the basics.

“Your shoulders are bothering you?” he asked, straightening out of his forward fold. Feng Xin followed, rubbed his neck.

“Yeah. Muscles are stiff, I guess.”

Mu Qing stepped toward him. “Can I feel?”

“Will that help?”

“It won’t hurt.”

Feng Xin looked away, pursing his lips tightly. “Go ahead.”

Mu Qing grabbed his shoulders, prodding his thumbs between the other’s shoulder blades.

“Ow! Mu Qing!” Feng Xin hissed, wriggling away.

“What? If you’re tense, you have to loosen the muscle. I was helping.”

Feng Xin rubbed the afflicted shoulder. “Fucking hurt,” he mumbled.

“Maybe get over it, idiot.”

Feng Xin cast him a vicious glare, to which Mu Qing raised both his hands innocently.

“Have you seen a doctor about it?”

“Yeah. She told me to get a deep tissue massage. That worked for a bit, but now it’s bothering me again.”

Mu Qing considered this. “How’s your circulation?”

Feng Xin knitted his brow. “Fine?”

“Does the pain get better when you lie down?” Feng Xin nodded. “Could be a circulation issue. I’ll show you a few stretches that’ll help with that.”

They went into another forward fold. Mu Qing’s was deep enough that his chest touched his thighs while Feng Xin couldn’t even reach his toes.

“Here,” said Mu Qing, straightening up before pressing a hand to Feng Xin’s back, deepening his stretch. “Deep breath. Just relax.”

Feng Xin breathed a deep sigh, tapped his fingertips to his toes for just a second.

“Good.” Mu Qing folded him further. “Grab your elbows. Let your head hang.”

He held Feng Xin like that for a minute or so, let his gaze linger on the sculpt of his back, the lines of muscle and curve of his shoulder blades. Mu Qing lifted his hands.

“Deep breath. Inhale as you rise.”

Feng Xin did, and Mu Qing noticed his cheeks were pink. All the blood must have rushed to his head.

They continued, focusing on the upper body. Occasionally, Mu Qing would have to get close, adjust Feng Xin’s pose or press down to deepen a stretch. It was. . . awkward to say the least. Yes, Mu Qing had given Feng Xin shit about looking at his ass earlier, but he didn’t actually think Feng Xin was ogling him. He was certainly the last person Feng Xin would ever sincerely admire, so the contact seemed to change the air, thicken it somehow until Mu Qing let go again.

He couldn’t wait for this to end.

“When your neck starts to bother you, it will help if you lie on your back with your legs up against the wall,” said Mu Qing. “To get the blood flowing again. Forward fold also helps, though it would help more if you weren’t so inflexible.”

Feng Xin scoffed.

“Stretching your shoulder blades will help as well, like we did just a few minutes ago.” Mu Qing went on to list several other stretches to ease the tension and pain in Feng Xin’s neck, but then he caught the dumb look on Feng Xin’s face and paused. “What’s with your face?”

Feng Xin fixed his expression. “What do you mean? My face is normal,” he argued.

Mu Qing had half a dozen biting remarks playing on the tip of his tongue, but to his credit, he held them back.

“Don’t worry about remembering all that,” he said. “I’ll send you a list.”

“I can remember. I’m not stupid.”

Stop putting words in my mouth!

“I didn’t say you were,” Mu Qing gritted out. “I’ve done one-on-one sessions like this before, and I always cover a lot of information. I would have offered to send you a list regardless.”

Feng Xin looked skeptical, then accepting. “Okay.”

Mu Qing physically forced his eyes not to roll. He glanced at the clock.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “I think we can still loosen you up a bit. Sit with your legs out straight.”

Feng Xin curled his lip but did it anyway, which had become a reoccurring thing with him. He really disliked Mu Qing—of that, the latter was certain—but Feng Xin detested following his instructions even more. He obviously couldn’t bear the idea that Mu Qing was better at something than he was, that he knew things the other didn’t. Childish, yes, but Mu Qing would feel the same way if their roles were reversed.

“Can you touch your toes?”

Feng Xin bent forward, but his fingers came a few inches short.

Mu Qing stalked behind him. “Deep breath in,” he said, watched Feng Xin’s ribcage expand as he inhaled. Mu Qing placed both hands on his shoulders, planted a knee along his spine. “Slow breath out.”

As Feng Xin exhaled, Mu Qing pressed down with his knee, used his hands to make sure Feng Xin didn’t hunch his shoulders too terribly. Mu Qing held that pressure without forcing him down any farther.

“Any pain?”

“No,” said Feng Xin, though it sounded strained.

“Good. Just relax. Make sure you’re not tensing up.”

Feng Xin seemed to loosed up a little more.

“Good,” Mu Qing praised, felt something stir inside him but quickly stamped the feeling down. “Deep breath in. Try to lengthen your stretch when you exhale.”

Feng Xin released his breath, and Mu Qing added a little more pressure. The tips of Feng Xin’s fingers tapped his toes.

“Look at you,” he said, sounding way too impressed. He amended with: “Guess you’re not a total lost cause.”

“Piss off.”

Mu Qing ran his thumbs over the curve of Feng’s Xin’s spine, felt the tension in his muscles leading from his shoulders up into his neck.

“You hold all your stress in your neck,” Mu Qing said, absently massaging away the tension.

“So my doctor says.”

“You would benefit from a one-on-one with Xie Lian.”

“That was the original plan,” Feng Xin griped.

Mu Qing hummed, traced a finger along the meridian in Feng Xin’s neck, followed it down his back. “You might not buy into all this, but Xie Lian knows what he’s talking about,” said Mu Qing. “Most of time.”

Feng Xin made a disgruntled noise.

“Your circulation is poor because your energies are imbalanced. Your qi isn’t circulating like it should.”

Feng Xin huffed out a dry, mocking laugh.

“I’m telling Xie Lian you did that,” said Mu Qing.

“Prick.”

“Dick.”

Feng Xin laughed again, short and soft. Mu Qing’s heart did something very strange.

“Xie Lian was right to bring you here, though. Obviously it would have been better had he stuck around and worked with you himself, but whatever. The point is your energy’s fucked and you need to come back.”

Mu Qing finally released the pressure on Feng Xin’s back, straightened to a stand. “Come back up slowly,” he said. “Give yourself a second to adjust.”

Feng Xin did, exhaling deeply as he sat up.

“Here,” said Mu Qing, tapping the front of Feng Xin’s shoulder. “Lie back.”

Feng Xin did, and Mu Qing immediately had him adjust the lay of his shoulders and arms.

“What? I can’t even lie down right??”

Mu Qing did roll his eyes this time. “Maybe you could if you were at all in tune with your body.”

“I know my body very well,” Feng snapped back.

Mu Qing’s gaze lingered on the toned muscle of his arms, his chest. He looked away again, berating himself.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said dismissively, rising to a stand. “Shut up and close your eyes. You’re supposed to be reflecting.”

“Right,” Feng Xin said sardonically.

Mu Qing fished his phone out of his bag and started a list of stretches to send Feng Xin. He really did do this all the time, so it didn’t take long to edit down a list he’d already created for a previous client.

Before long, their hour was up.

“You can get up now.”

Feng Xin didn’t do it right away, and Mu Qing caught himself staring again.

What was wrong with him??

He looked away as Feng Xin rose.

“Any questions?”

“Probably,” said Feng Xin, though he didn’t ask any.

“Well, I’m sending you these stretches so just text if you think of anything.”

Feng Xin rolled up his mat. “Okay.”

two weeks later

How Mu Qing ended up here, he really couldn’t say. A lot of things came together for the sole purpose of screwing him over, the worst of which was Xie Lian, who seemed to think that Mu Qing’s attitude toward Feng Xin was a product of his prickly personality and not the fact that Feng Xin was an asshole who’d had it out for him since day one.

Whatever.

Whatever.

Xie Lian returned from his trip around the same time Feng Xin wanted another one-on-one. Perfect, right? Of course not.

“Obviously you did something right if he wants another session,” Xie Lian had said.

“He wants another session because I told him to schedule one with you.”

“You’ve already worked with him. It would be easier for everyone—“

“Everyone?! It certainly wouldn’t be easier for me!”

“Right, sorry,” Xie Lian said amiably. “But I already scheduled him with you. I really didn’t think you would mind.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because Feng Xin asked to see you.”

Now Mu Qing was sitting in his office, tapping an anxious finger to his knee while he waited for Feng Xin. He couldn’t fathom why the latter would ask for him. He’d been so argumentative during their first session—they both had. And it wasn’t like Mu Qing had done or said anything Xie Lian wouldn’t have also said had Feng Xin’s session been with him.

Mu Qing opened his phone, pulled up his text thread with Feng Xin.

They’d spoken a little, he supposed. Had Feng Xin warmed to him or something? He didn’t think that was possible. Feng Xin hated him. He hated Feng Xin.

He set his phone down. His fucking stomach hurt.

Three knocks sounded from the door. Shi Qingxuan poked her head in.

“Your appointment’s here,” she said, grinning.

“Let him in.”

Mu Qing rose to his feet as Feng Xin stepped through the door, yoga mat tucked beneath his arm. His hair was tied back in a loose knot, and he wore sneakers, exercise shorts, and a red t-shirt.

“You dressed for the gym,” said Mu Qing. “Not yoga.”

Feng Xin narrowed his eyes, looked Mu Qing up and down. The latter wore black exercise leggings and a black tank-top.

“I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” Feng Xin gritted out.

Mu Qing turned to face the window, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder as he did. “There’s not, but it’s easier to spot mistakes in fitted clothes.”

Mu Qing drew the curtain half-closed, allowing some sun into the space without making it too bright.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” said Feng Xin casually.

Next time.

Mu Qing’s heart thundered in his chest. His cheeks burned white-hot. Why??

“If you think I’ll need to come back again.”

Mu Qing was still facing the window. “We’ll see how it goes today.”

They warmed up with a few simple stretches. Then Mu Qing led them into something a bit more complicated, more intensive. Feng Xin’s breathing picked up, and sweat was beading at his brow.

“Need a break?” asked Mu Qing. “You can switch to child pose for a few minutes if you want to.”

“No,” Feng Xin gritted out, “I’m an adult.”

Mu Qing just rolled his eyes and had them take lotus pose. “Xie Lian said you asked for me when you scheduled your appointment.”

“Yeah,” Feng Xin answered like it was obvious. “It went fine last time.”

It did?

“Can you do a split while you’re standing?” Feng Xin asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Mu Qing raised a brow. “Yeah. Why?”

“Xie Lian showed me, but he said you can’t do one.”

“He what?! When did he say that??”

Feng Xin smiled a little sheepishly. “A few days ago? I don’t remember.”

“I can do a standing split,” Mu Qing countered. “Why would he say that?”

“Can I see?”

He glanced Feng Xin’s way, feeling mildly suspicious but unsure why. He wanted to prove Xie Lian wrong, though, so he stood.

“Fine. I don’t know why Xie Lian suddenly thinks I’m not as flexible as he is, but he’s wrong. Look.”

Mu Qing bent forward, grabbed one ankle with both hands, then lifted his opposite leg high into the air until it pointed straight up and his body made a perfect line from toe to toe.

“See? Simple. Xie Lian shouldn’t say things like that if he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The prick.”

“Don’t be mean,” Feng Xin said. He was standing now too, admiring the pose from a less than polite distance, but just as Mu Qing was about to lower his leg and step away, Feng Xin lightly touched his calf, which in turn made Mu Qing jerk forward, enough that he tipped to the side. Feng Xin caught him, one hand locked firmly around his ankle while the other steadied his waist.

“Maybe Xie Lian just meant you couldn’t hold this pose.”

“I can hold it!” Mu Qing barked. “You just startled me! Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself!”

The hand on his waist seemed to tighten. “If I’d done that, you would have toppled over, stupid.”

“If you’d never touched me to begin with, I wouldn’t have lost my balance!” Mu Qing bent his leg, meaning to get out of this pose, but Feng Xin still held onto his ankle. “Let go so I can stand up,” he demanded.

“If I let go, you could fall.”

Mu Qing gaped, thoroughly dumbfounded. What kind of stupid fucking logic was that??

“I will not! Don’t be ridiculous.”

Feng Xin was doubtless grinning ear to ear. Mu Qing was going to kill him.

“Are you just gonna stand there holding me in place for the rest of your damn appointment??”

Feng Xin’s voice was light and amused and unambiguously flirtatious: “Maybe.”

Mu Qing’s cheeks burned. What the fuck was happening??

“Feng Xin—“ Mu Qing sniped, but then he did let go, and Mu Qing dropped his leg and rose to a stand. “What’s wrong with you??” he snapped, poking Feng Xin’s chest with his finger, then belatedly realizing the latter’s hand was still holding his waist.

Feng Xin looked like he was only realizing it now too. He quickly let go, looking away with flushed cheeks.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just giving you shit. Like always.”

Mu Qing tightened his stare, scrutinizing Feng Xin like he could glean a clear answer from his expression. He couldn’t. He took a step back and crossed his arms.

“Asshole.”

Feng Xin looked at everything except Mu Qing. “Anyway, where were we? Only got an hour, right?”

“Mn,” Mu Qing hummed, still annoyed.

He had Feng Xin do a few poses he knew would hurt, just to get back at him for whatever the fuck that stunt was before, but the idiot kept zoning out.

“You’re not even trying.”

“Yes, I am,” he said resolutely.

“No you’re not. You keep spacing out. What the hell are you daydreaming about??”

“Nothing!” Feng Xin said defensively.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying. You’re making this too difficult!” Feng Xin said, straightening to a stand.

Mu Qing did the same. “I am not. You’re just being incompetent.”

“Why are you such an asshole all the time?!” Feng Xin snapped, taking a step closer. Mu Qing held his ground, lifted his nose and jutted his chin.

“I could ask you the same thing. Besides, it isn’t like I’m the one wasting your time. At least I’m taking this seriously.”

Feng Xin scoffed. “Maybe I should have just booked with Xie Lian instead.”

“Of course you should have! Why was that ever a question??”

Feng Xin leveled him with a glare. “You really are awful.”

Mu Qing scowled. “It isn’t my fault you can’t focus. If you’d rather work with Xie Lian, go work with Xie Lian.”

“I wanted to work with you, you idiot!”

Mu Qing froze, stunned. He what?

“And it is your fault I can’t stay focused!” Feng Xin’s gaze darted down for just a moment. Then he looked off entirely. “But whatever! Whatever!” He threw his hands in the air and made to leave.

It took Mu Qing a moment to find his words again. “Your hour’s not up yet.”

“I don’t care.”

Then he was through the door and slamming it shut behind him. Mu Qing flinched at the sound, then crossed his arms.

“Asshole,” he hissed, digging his nails into the skin of his forearms. He was so tired of that guy. If he never saw him again, it would be a miracle.

The door swung open and Feng Xin stormed back in (because of course he did), kicking it shut behind him.

“What now?” Mu Qing sniped. “Haven’t you shouted enough for one d—“

Feng Xin had taken Mu Qing by the face and cut off his angry rambling with a kiss.

A kiss.

It was aggressive and desperate and a little clumsy, but Mu Qing found himself kissing back all the same.

Feng Xin pulled away. Mu Qing leaned forward, following unconsciously, only to realize a moment later that Feng Xin’s hands were holding his head in place. Mu Qing’s flush deepened, but Feng Xin just smirked, kissed him again.

Mu Qing melted into his touch. Feng Xin’s hands slid down, crested the curve of his shoulders, teased his chest before grabbing his waist, pressing their bodies closer. Mu Qing made a deeply humiliating sound—muffled by their kiss but no less embarrassing—as something hard twitched against his hip. Feng Xin hooked his fingers under the waistband of Mu Qing’s leggings, brushed calloused hands against smooth, fair skin.

Mu Qing bit Feng Xin’s lip as he started to pull back, grabbing Feng Xin’s wrist so he could lead them further into the room and away from the window, but then someone knocked on the door, and they swiftly ripped away from one another, each looking mussed and very guilty as Shi Qingxuan let herself in.

“Mu Qing? Just checking in. We heard a slam—“ She stopped short when she saw them, neither standing on their mats, both looking flushed and freshly kissed and thoroughly embarrassed. Her tone shifted from concerned to teasing when she asked, “Everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” Mu Qing said quickly. “Thanks for checking.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry to interrupt your session.” She smirked as she shut the door again.

Mu Qing burned with shame and humiliation—until Feng Xin took his hand, intertwining their fingers as he leaned close to his ear.

“Have any other classes today?”

Mu Qing shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Feng Xin slid his other hand over Mu Qing’s hip. “Come to my place?”

“No,” Mu Qing said, twisting his head to catch Feng Xin’s disappointed look. He squeezed his hand, kept him close, and stammered, “Mine’s closer.”

Mu Qing’s apartment was a ten minute walk away, and for all his speed and determination to get there in half that time, it ended up taking more than twenty minutes because Feng Xin wouldn’t stop touching him. He kept a hand on Mu Qing’s back as they walked, as if to usher him along—like he could go any fucking faster than he already was! And he wouldn’t stop casting Mu Qing these obscene looks he had no business showing off in public. Mu Qing’s resolve really couldn’t take it, so he shuffled closer to Feng Xin in retaliation, slinked a hand into the back pocket of his gym shorts. Feng Xin’s resolve didn’t last much longer either, because a minute later, he’d ducked into an alley, which wasn’t private by any means, but it was dark, and nobody else on the streets seemed to notice them.

Feng Xin dragged Mu Qing into another desperate kiss. Their teeth clanked together, and Mu Qing couldn’t help grinning as the kiss turned playful and clumsy.

“Eager much?”

Feng Xin grinned too, sliding his hands underneath Mu Qing’s shirt as his kisses wandered down, lips and teeth sliding along Mu Qing’s jaw, his neck, sucking and biting with total disregard.

Mu Qing tilted his head back, pushed Feng Xin’s face away. “Cut it out. Don’t leave a mark.”

Feng Xin frowned. “What are you gonna do about it, Qing-er?”

Mu Qing’s flush deepened. “What an embarrassing thing to say,” he grumbled, to which Feng Xin just laughed, continued his assault on Mu Qing’s neck. He pressed their chests together, their hips, and that unambiguous bulge under his shorts.

Mu Qing knew he wasn’t far behind, and he was wearing leggings.

“Feng Xin—“ he broke off with a hiss as Feng Xin rolled his hips, rubbing the arch of his cock against Mu Qing. Electric pleasure zipped up Mu Qing’s spine. He exhaled a shaky breath. “Not here, idiot. There are people everywhere.”

“So?”

“Fuck off.”

Feng Xin pouted as Mu Qing shoved him away. “Is it much farther?”

“No.” Mu Qing grabbed Feng Xin’s hand, led him out of the alley and back down the street. He took a sharp turn, then they were rushing into his apartment building, climbing the stairs as Mu Qing dug for his keys.

His hands were a little shaky as he tried to fit the key in the lock—which had everything to do with the pervert standing behind him, shamelessly leaning into Mu Qing’s backside, gripping his hips.

When he finally got the door open, Feng Xin followed close behind, kicked the door shut again. Mu Qing started forward, but then Feng Xin’s hand snaked around his waist, slid down, teased Mu Qing’s erection through his pants. He stalled, heart pounding with thrill and anticipation as Feng Xin’s palm closed over his cock.

With his other hand, Feng Xin pushed Mu Qing’s hair out of the way and went back to kissing his neck, to sucking and biting and definitely fucking marking.

Mu Qing reached for him, but the angle was awkward, and despite grabbing the back of Feng Xin’s head, he couldn’t pull him away.

Then Feng Xin’s hand found Mu Qing’s jaw, held it in place as he forced his index and middle fingers into the latter’s mouth. He inhaled sharply, surprised then pleased then pissed off because why was he so into this??

Feng Xin pressed his fingers to Mu Qing’s tongue, gathering his saliva, driving his fingers farther, farther, too far—

Mu Qing gagged, and Feng Xin’s hand retreated, trailing a thin string of saliva between his fingertips and Mu Qing’s tongue.

“Aren’t you being good?” Feng Xin teased, to which Mu Qing flushed with rage and embarrassment. He elbowed Feng Xin in the ribs, and the latter winced but didn’t budge.

He pulled his hand away from Mu Qing’s pants before sliding the other, still slick with saliva, beneath the waistband of Mu Qing’s leggings.

Mu Qing sucked in another sharp breath, absently pressed into Feng Xin from behind as the latter’s long, calloused fingers closed around him, lathered his shaft and thumbed achingly at his tip.

Mu Qing bit his lip as Feng Xin’s hand tore a breathy moan from the depths of his chest.

Then Feng Xin was grinding against his backside, every roll of his hips pressing his own trapped cock against the tight fabric of Mu Qing’s pants.

”Fuck—“ Mu Qing whispered, hunching his shoulders as Feng Xin’s fist and hips adopted a steady, blissful pace. It was unreal, and he didn’t know if it was because they hated each other so much or if it was something else entirely, if it was the opposite and they’d just been too dense or oblivious to explore anything below the surface of their dislike.

Ridiculous, Mu Qing admonished himself. Even if be did feel something beyond dislike or primal desire for Feng Xin, he couldn’t just assume that feeling went both ways. In all likelihood, he was just a hate-fuck for this asshole, so why should it be anything more than a hate-fuck for Mu Qing?

Feng Xin picked up the pace, and Mu Qing couldn’t help the way he staggered and swayed, held upright by the other’s unwavering hold. Mu Qing burned all over, felt his blood boiling under Feng Xin’s touch, his embrace. He was losing himself, devolving as his pleasure thickened and swelled.

He covered his mouth, moaned into his palm. Feng Xin grabbed his elbow and dragged his hand away from his face.

”Ah! Feng. . . Xin—“ he broke off with a tight-lipped mmm!

“Hm?” Feng Xin’s voice was low and sensual. Mu Qing’s knees went weak. Weaker. “Close?”

He was. He was so—

Feng Xin abruptly—villainously pulled his hand away, backed up a few steps as Mu Qing staggered, caught himself on the wall as his entire body tensed and trembled.

When the sensation eased off a few seconds later, he gave a stuttered breath.

“Asshole.”

“What?” said Feng Xin blithely. “Don’t tell me you want to come already. We’re just getting started.”

Mu Qing was panting like a fucking dog. He gave himself a moment to even out his breathing, then said, “Don’t make it sound so ominous.”

Feng Xin took Mu Qing’s hand, pulled him farther into the apartment. “Nervous?”

“Like hell.”

“Good.”

Mu Qing couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Could you be any cockier?”

Feng Xin shrugged. “Not cockiness. I’m just really good at this.”

“Who told you that?”

“You will—sometime in the next few hours.”

Mu Qing huffed. “Don’t be so sure.”

“Ah, Qing-er,” Feng Xin smirked, leaned in to kiss Mu Qing, then paused less than an inch away. “I’m going to make you cry.”

Mu Qing’s eyes went a little wider, but then Feng Xin was kissing him again, pulling him close, licking at the wall of his teeth until he parted them.

What a cocky fucker.

Mu Qing tangled his fingers in Feng Xin’s hair before wrenching his head back, biting hard on his bottom lip as he did so. Feng Xin winced, fingers digging into Mu Qing’s waist.

The latter released his bite. “Maybe,” he said, “but I’ll have you on your knees before that happens.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Feng Xin said with a thin chuckle.

Mu Qing mirrored his smug expression. “I like that. Keep begging.” Then he untangled his fingers from Feng Xin’s hair and broke away, cocked his head toward the hall.

“Bedroom’s down there,” he said, and Feng Xin wasted no time following at his heels.

Feng Xin closed the door behind them as Mu Qing rounded the bed, sifted through the drawer to his nightstand. Feng Xin was busy taking off his shirt, then his shorts, and when Mu Qing turned back to him, having at last retrieved the bottle of lube he kept in his nightstand, he found Feng Xin in just his boxers, which were tight-fitted, leaving very little to the imagination.

Mu Qing’s gaze wandered down, and Feng Xin put a finger to his chin, lifted his head. “Now who’s leering? Where’s your class?”

Mu Qing scowled. “Says you.”

Feng Xin kissed him, taking the bottle from his hand and tossing it onto the bed. Then he lifted the hem of Mu Qing’s shirt over his head, tossed that aside as well.

His hands roamed Mu Qing’s chest as they kissed, traced the grooves of his muscle, thumbed the peaks of each peck teasingly. Then he was taking down Mu Qing’s hair, pulling the tie out with one hand and tugging at the waistband of his pants with the other.

“Just take them off already,” Mu Qing hissed between kisses. Feng Xin shoved him—none too gently—onto the bed before pulling him out of both his leggings and boxers. He wasted no time removing the rest of his own clothing then filling the space between Mu Qing’s legs.

He grabbed the bottle of lube and coated his fingers, tapped Mu Qing’s knee so he’d spread himself further.

He looked away with a sneer but did it anyway.

“Always so sour. Why don’t you smile?”

“Why don’t you get yourself off?”

Feng Xin slowly dragged the tip of his index finger from the base of Mu Qing’s cock up to the head. Mu Qing pursed his lips into a thin line, stifled his rising moan. Feng Xin lowered his hand, pressed a finger to Mu Qing’s entrance, traced circles around his rim.

The anticipation was torture.

Mu Qing dropped his head against the bed, and Feng Xin leaned over him, massaging his hole with one hand while caressing the thin skin over his ribs with the other.

Mu Qing knitted his brow. “Get on with it. You’re just trying to make me squirm.”

Feng Xin slid a finger in, fucked him in slow, shallow pulses while he trailed kisses down Mu Qing’s sternum, then his abdomen.

It wasn’t a new sensation, but it was another realm of bizarre knowing Feng Xin was the one doing it. Mu Qing pursed his lips into a thin line, chanced a glance down. Feng Xin flashed a grin before licking up Mu Qing’s cock at the same time he inserted a second finger, which he bottomed out to the knuckle immediately.

The dual sensations tore a coarse moan from the back of Mu Qing’s throat. “Feng Xi—“ he sneered, the start of an admonishment, but then Feng Xin’s fingers were moving, their pace quick and brutal. Mu Qing clamped his mouth shut, barely silencing his resulting groan.

Feng Xin’s fingers curled.

Mu Qing bunched his fists in the bedsheets.

Feng Xin scissored his fingers apart.

Mu Qing gave a breathy, blissed-out ”hah!”

“Can Qing-er take a third?”

Mu Qing cast Feng Xin a vicious glare, to which the latter smiled innocently.

“Just checking.” He slid a third finger in, stretching Mu Qing until he could feel himself clenching around Feng Xin’s knuckles.

Feng Xin found a slow pace as he leaned over Mu Qing again, kissed at his collar bone.

“Feel like crying yet?”

“Of course not,” Mu Qing snapped.

Feng Xin hummed, removed his fingers. Mu Qing exhaled a steady breath, but then Feng Xin grabbed him by the thighs and dragged him closer, pressed the head of his cock to Mu Qing’s entrance with enough force to punch right through.

“You—“ Mu Qing started, broke off with a choked uhn! as Feng Xin pressed in, bottomed out after no time at all. Mu Qing tensed all over, scrunched his face and fisted his hands in the sheets. “Fucker!”

Feng Xin stroked Mu Qing’s thigh. He trembled under the former’s touch, exhaled a stuttered breath as Feng Xin’s hand wandered up, closed around his cock.

“Hold on,” he groaned, grabbing Feng Xin’s wrist. In response, Feng Xin squeezed. ”Agh!” Mu Qing’s back arched off the bed, knees knocked against Feng Xin’s sides.

It was too much. He was drowning in sensation, roiling in pleasure and pain, burning with want and defiance. He could feel tears stinging the backs of his eyes, so he screwed them shut, refusing to give Feng Xin the satisfaction of actually making him cry. It wasn’t fucking happening.

“Relax,” Feng Xin lulled, leaning in close to Mu Qing’s ear. “Deep breath. Don’t tense up.”

“Piss off,” Mu Qing hissed. Feng Xin was messing with him, just repeating the things he’d said during their sessions.

“Open your eyes.”

“Piss off.”

“Please.”

Mu Qing scowled. Enough of this. Feng Xin wasn’t the only one who knew how to torment his partner.

Mu Qing hooked his feet around Feng Xin’s waist, grabbed his biceps with enough force to leave bruises, and shoved, effectively flipping their positions so that he was the one pinning Feng Xin. He planted his palm on the latter’s abdomen to hold him down, then positioned his knees to either side of Feng Xin’s hips.

“Who’s really good at this again?” Mu Qing asked sharply. “Because it’s definitely not you.”

“Don’t say that, Qing-er. I’m just getting started.”

“Bad start.” Mu Qing rolled his hips, driving Feng Xin deeper then not, keeping a slow pace, easing himself into it as—and he would never admit this aloud—Feng Xin was big. Almost too big.

Almost.

It was overwhelming all at once, but if he could take his time, he might actually experience whatever the fuck Feng Xin was bragging about.

Mu Qing breathed deep, reluctant to drop his hips all the way. Feng Xin was already filling so much of him—how much space was left?

“Can’t take more than that, huh?”

He ground his teeth.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Feng Xin grabbed Mu Qing’s ass with both hands and dragged him down the inch or two he’d been neglecting. He groaned, raked his nails down Feng Xin’s abdomen.

“Why? I’m already fucking you.”

Mu Qing’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “When did you become such a smart ass? Aren’t you supposed to be the dumb one?”

Feng Xin rolled Mu Qing’s hips for him this time, lifting him higher then dropping him lower.

“Asshole,” Feng Xin replied.

“Dickwad.”

Feng Xin squeezed Mu Qing’s ass, slammed his hips down hard. “Slut.”

Mu Qing set his jaw. “Cocksucker.”

Feng Xin flipped them again, albeit gracelessly. He slid out completely, and Mu Qing landed on his side, though that might have been Feng Xin’s intention as he then pushed Mu Qing onto his stomach, lifted his hips.

Feng Xin lined himself up, pressed into Mu Qing slow (thankfully). He ran his hand along Mu Qing’s spine, settled it at the nape of Mu Qing’s neck.

“Can you take it?” Feng Xin mocked.

“You really should just get yourself off,” said Mu Qing. “Dickhead.”

“I was only teasing,” Feng Xin said, leaning closer, dropping kisses along Mu Qing’s shoulder. “I know you can take it.”

Mu Qing didn’t reply—couldnt reply even if he wanted to. Feng Xin adopted a ruthless pace, pumping into him with force enough to jerk him forward with every thrust. He cried out, fisting his hands in the sheets. He didn’t realize he was inching forward until Feng Xin dragged him back, resumed his animal fucking pace.

Mu Qing could hear himself, his every coarse, high-pitched moan, his breathy panting, but he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. Feng Xin was consuming him, the punch of his cock—the feel of it filling him, ramming into him, into that one spectacular fucking spot—was consuming him, eating him alive.

”Fuck,” Feng Xin groaned, tightening his grip on Mu Qing’s neck as he pumped faster still.

”Hah! Feng. . . ngh!” he whined, like his voice wasn’t his own, like Feng Xin had taken control and was dragging out whatever sounds he wanted to hear. Mu Qing buried his face in the sheets.

But no sooner had he hidden himself that Feng Xin pulled out, flipped him over again. Mu Qing let him, let his legs be lifted by the knees, let himself be folded in half as Feng Xin pressed in once more. He drove himself farther and farther, pressed Mu Qing’s knees in until they touched his chest, until his hips were lifted off the bed, his body curved and folded and pinned—and Feng Xin just kept pushing deeper.

Mu Qing made a choked sound, like all the air had been punched out of him.

“Feng Xin,” he said quickly, “you’re too—uhn!”

Mu Qing couldn’t speak. It was too much. He couldn’t breathe. Or maybe he was breathing too much. He held onto Feng Xin’s arms like they were keeping him anchored, like they were all he could reach. He felt like he was coming apart, unraveling at the seams, dissolving and drowning and melting and burning. Feng Xin didn’t need to touch him. He was crashing toward rapture, would obliterate himself upon impact or else burn up first. His throat hurt for how loud he was.

How embarrassing.

He was shaking all over, though it was hardly noticeable for all Feng Xin’s speed and motion, all his jostling and carelessness.

Except, he wasn’t being careless, was he? He couldn’t be. Because Mu Qing had never felt like this before. It had never been like this before. He was losing himself, and Feng Xin had done that to him, was actively unraveling him.

Fuck, he really was good at this. And shit, it was a lot. Mu Qing was feeling so much and it was too much and he was really really close and there were tears in his eyes that he was sure would be pushed out by more tears and there was no way Feng Xin wouldn’t see.

Then his pleasure overtook him, swelled and thickened and washed over him with an intensity he’d never experienced before. His vision went white. His body went rigid. He could hardly hear anything over the sound of his own whimpering breaths—fuck, he sounded like he was sobbing.

Feng Xin finish a second later, which was a feeling that Mu Qing didn’t welcome as he was decidedly overstimulated and hypersensitive. He heaved deep, stuttering breaths as Feng Xin pulled himself away, landed next to him with a thud.

It jostled the whole fucking bed, which was annoying.

They were both trying to catch their breath, ease themselves back down.

Fuck, Mu Qing thought to himself. He wasn’t being cocky.

Mu Qing balled his hands into tight fists, no doubt stabbing tiny half-moons into each palm. He wanted to do it again.

Feng Xin rolled onto his side, played with a lock of Mu Qing’s hair.

“Told you,” he said smugly.

Mu Qing cast him a quick glance, then turned his head away to wipe his eyes.

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

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mu Qing reiterated. “Too overbearing. Doesn’t listen. Rotten lay.”

Feng Xin gaped, affronted. “Qing-er doesn’t mean that,” he said, slinking an arm around Mu Qing’s waist.

“Quit calling me that. You sound like my mom.”

Feng Xin kissed the back of his neck tenderly, which was weird. Mu Qing turned to look at him, felt his lips part slightly at the adoring look in Feng Xin’s eye.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he asked, cuddling closer, burying his face in the crook of Mu Qing’s neck.

Like you like me.

“Like you don’t hate me.”

Feng Xin snorted. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

Mu Qing’s brow creased in confusion.

Feng Xin pulled his head back, cast him a discerning look. “You think I hate you?”

“Yes,” said Mu Qing matter-of-factly. “Because you do.”

“Did it seem like I hated you a minute ago?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Mu Qing averted his gaze. He’d lose all face if he said it aloud, so he didn’t say anything.

“Mu Qing.”

“Forget it. Never mind.”

He started to get up, to pull the soiled sheets off the bed and clean himself up, but his battered lower half immediately protested, and he settled back down.

Feng Xin’s hand never left his waist. He ran his thumb along Mu Qing’s navel, which was weird. Everything this fucker did was weird. Mu Qing couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He turned back to Feng Xin. “Fine, but if you don’t hate me, then how do you feel? What is this?”

Feng Xin’s cheeks pinked. “Straight to it, then.”

“I don’t beat around the bush.”

“Yeah,” said Feng Xin, chuckling lightly. Mu Qing didn’t think they’d ever gone this long without cursing each other to hell. (Shit, was it all only hitting him now? What were they doing??)

“I like you,” said Feng Xin. “Thought you’d picked up on that to be honest. What with the whole staring-at-your-ass thing.”

Mu Qing thought his face burned hotter than it had thus far. He looked down, covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

“I didn’t even realize until last week. Just the sight of you always pissed me off, but when you were leaning on me during our session and saying all those things and touching me, I figured it out. Should have been obvious, honestly. You’re so fucking pretty. Sorry for giving you shit all the time.”

Mu Qing covered his entire face with both hands. He thought he felt steam rising off his skin. Why was this the most thin-faced he’d been so far?? Why was this the thing that left him a blushing, stammering mess??

Could he. . .

No.

Or. . . maybe.

No!

No way.

Fuck.

Noticing Mu Qing’s turmoil, Feng Xin scooted back a bit, withdrew his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drop that on you right now. It’s probably a shock—an unwelcome shock if I know you—“

“Don’t just assume that, stupid.”

Feng Xin paused as Mu Qing peeked out from behind his hands.

“Which part?”

“That it’s unwelcome. You don’t know me that well.”

Feng Xin furrowed his brow, confused, conflicted.

“I feel. . .” Mu Qing started, embarrassed beyond words, also conflicted and confused because what did he feel? Clearly this wasn’t just a hate-fuck for Feng Xin, and it wasn’t for him either, but if not a hate-fuck, then what? A casual thing? More?

They hated each other.

He hated Feng Xin.

Feng Xin hated him.

The feeling was intense and overbearing and entirely mutual.

Intense. Overbearing. Mutual.

Oh. Oh. He was so fucking stupid.

“I feel the same,” he admitted. “Or similar. I don’t know.”

Feng Xin’s face lit up, which was weird. Nice. It was nice. Mu Qing liked being looked at like that.

“And I think you’re pretty too,” he said, then regretted it as Feng Xin cuddled close once more, squeezing Mu Qing tighter than he’d like, tangling their legs beneath the sheets.

Mu Qing cringed at the mess between them but let himself be held anyway, face burning as surely as his heart was pounding. Could Feng Xin feel it? He hoped not. How embarrassing. God, what were they doing? If Xie Lian ever found out—

Mu Qing narrowed his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hm?” Feng Xin hummed, sounding contented.

“Xie Lian never said I couldn’t do a standing split, did he?”

Feng Xin didn’t say a damn thing.

Mu Qing chuckled despite himself, wrapped his arms around Feng Xin’s torso to return his embrace. “You dickhead.”