all of this was new to muhai. well… not all of it, but the majority of it. he wasn’t used to wanting to meet the same person more than a total of three times, and here he was, meeting jianhao for the fifth time already. it was new territory, especially given that these were meetings where they were starting to do more than just flirt before leaving to fuck in either the bathrooms or back to one of their places. instead, there was time for muhai to spend on remembering the way that jianhao’s lips twitched when muhai made a particularly bad pun, or how there was sometimes a flame behind his dark and unreadable eyes.
and he was running late, he knew that. but he would always say that it was always acceptable to be fashionable late, especially when part of the reason was that he had some trouble not only picking out which jeans to wear, but getting into them. (he liked this particular pair the most. they made him look like he had a bit more of an ass than he truly ever would have. the universe truly had done him dirty there). but at long last, he was pushing open the door, his eyes immediately going to scan the room for the one face he cared about.
when his eyes finally do land on jianhao, it was as if everyone else evaporated into thin air to leave them alone. which, as far as muhai is concerned, is perfect.
he stayed still as he watched jianhao make his way over to where he is, a reverent ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “of course,” he murmured in response. he wouldn’t have preferred to be anywhere else right now, possibly ever. as rough hands held his face, muhai instinctively took a step closer and he wrapped his arms around jianhao’s waist, holding the other closer as he met him half way for a kiss. he feels the butterflies in his chest erupt, which in turn, made him feel like the tightness of his shoulders had begun to uncoil as well. in all of the people that he had been involved with, jianhao was the only one to have this easy of a time effecting him like this.
there are times where jianhao wonders what it would be like if his soul wasn’t a roadmap of scars; if for every fissure in his chest, there wasn’t a grisly story; if for every frown, there was no suffering. he wouldn’t be guo jianhao if he wasn’t built from the ashes of bloodshed and war; he wouldn’t be the guo jianhao who had managed to capture the attention of one qiang muhai. truth be told, every fibre of jianhao’s being knows he is not worthy of touching someone like muhai; he should not be digging his dirty fingers into his sides, should not be tarnishing something as holy, something as beautiful as muhai with his war torn presence.
and yet, like all monsters, jianhao is selfish. as muhai’s lips slot against his own, hands resting against jianhao’s waist — he is unwilling to let go. the steadiness of muhai’s voice entices him, the surety with which he speaks; jianhao’s world is surmised of earthquakes, volcanoes, natural disasters. every step could very well be a misstep, one false move and his entire world shifts. he pushes aside the thought of the time it had happened, the way the house had exploded behind him, shrapnel lodging against his cheek as some flew out of the disaster site. he’d been told a million times to get out of the situation before it exploded, and he had meant to. he had meant to, but the house was supposed to be empty; nobody had told him there was a baby, there was a little girl who would have gone up in smoke with the bomb jianhao had installed.
he’d left the girl on the sidewalk; police would be on the scene soon enough and jianhao needed to be as far away from the situation as possible. he was already a stain on his father’s reputation, he couldn’t become the scar by getting himself hauled off to jail. anyone else would ask what a seventeen year old was doing setting off bombs in the first place; for that jianhao had no answer. he swallows the horrors of his life once he pulls away from muhai, hands falling to his side as an infamous dimple peeks out from its hiding spot. “ buy you a drink? ”
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