mu qing pressed the back of his hand against feng xin's forehead without a forewarning. he let the warmth permeate through his skin. obsidian eyes fluttered shut, remaining there until it settled into the comfortable heat of those lingering summer days in xianle.
except it didn't settle: it announced itself abnormally hot.
mu qing frowned when he removed his hand. β are you ... getting sick? β he peered at feng xin with an expression softened at his usual edges. the young servant then glanced over at xie lian who was resting after training with guoshi. he crossed his arms over his chest & thought for a while. it's been a few weeks since their last heats ... he hummed as he counted the exact days.
yeah, it was soon. β i'm heading out soon for errands. it won't be good if you're sick & in heat at the same time. let me pick up some medicine. do you want something stronger or should i get the usual for you? should i just get both? β his whispered voice lifted β the gesture contained in those words soared like wild geese across clear skies.
β either way, you should rest, β mu qing curled his lips up into a smirk, β i don't want to imagine the scene you'd create at those alphas if you suffer from two afflictions. i'll be back as quick as possible. β he stood up & performed a formal bow, unable to drop the formalities even in front of the two he'd spent years with now.
Exhaustion weighs down his his every movement as the sun scorches the sky above and earth below. His eyes itch with with the desire to let himself succumb to it.
What he wants, however, is irrelevant in light of his duties.
Allowing himself this reprieve, sitting under the shade of a ginkgo tree as Xie Lian rests and meditates, is barely allowable. Between the location, deep within the protection of the Royal Holy Pavilion, and the nearby presence of both Guoshi and Mu Qing, him acting as a bodyguard is mostly superfluous. Mostly.
Under normal circumstances, the cool hand laid suddenly across his forehead would send him jolting upright and reaching for one of his hidden knives. Yet he would know this particular touch and the silent there-but-not there footsteps that preceded it almost as well as he knew the sound of his own gait.
He allows himself to languish in it for as long as he can, but Mu Qing pulls away all too soon.
β You're going now...? β Feng Xin asks, unable to keep the disappointment from seeping into his tone. He wants that hand back on his forehead. He wants to lean against Mu Qing's side and let the rigor which he trained his body to hold no matter the circumstance to fall away.
It was a silly notion, he knew. If Mu Qing was leaving, then he really did have to compose himself, not mourn the loss of this shred of comfort.
β Mmm... usual one. Stronger one makes me feel like shit...Can you get that tea with ginger again though? Spicy, but made my bones hurt less last time. β
It would do neither of them any good to delay Mu Qing in his task. Murky as his head may be, he moves to stand, sitting will do him no good, tempting him back to dozing. β Rest when you get back... Gotta watch Dianxia. β
When Mu Qing got back, he fully intended on going back to his room and making a nest to nap for the rest of the day. Dianxia wouldn't mind.
