@enigma-the-mysterious @theembergazer @lonesome-greenery @somefishycat @kitten-kokomo AIGHT I figure I've written at least 15 sentences here. Welcome to some fake dating shenanigans. Sort of.
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There was a hairpin, intricately forged and set with amber stones, rich brown and warm gold.
If Liu Qingge was a poetic man -- which he wasn't -- he would compare them to Shang Qinghua's eyes. The way they looked when they caught the setting sun, when Shang Qinghua had triumphantly stormed Bai Zhan, the head of a legendary beast in hand, the edge of a grin on his mouth. Look, I did it just like you wanted me to. I did it just like how you never expected. Isn't it impressive? Aren't I impressive?
Liu Qingge put the hairpin down and walked away.
Five minutes later, Liu Qingge came back and bought the stupid hairpin.
What am I even doing, he thought, even as he handed the money over and carefully tucked the hairpin away in his qiankun pouch. I don't even like Shang Qinghua.
Even if he did like Shang Qinghua -- not that he liked Shang Qinghua -- it... wasn't enough.
A hairpin was traditional in a way that was significantly less impressive than three weeks of paperwork. It was proper, but it wasn't proper. It was. Sentimental. Sweet. It wasn't making an effort, and An Ding demanded effort.
It was still something. Surely a gift had to be better than no gift at all?
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Liu Qingge came to An Ding at sunset.
How romantic. Shang Qinghua wondered if Liu Qingge had timed it, just like Shang Qinghua had when he visited Bai Zhan -- but nah, probably not. Liu Qingge wasn't really good at figuring out optics. If he was, he would have made this nice and public, so they could flaunt how much time they were spending together because clearly they were in love. Something like that, anyway.
Oh well, it didn't really matter. Shang Qinghua could still spin a nice little story about it. Gush a bit about how Liu-shidi had come to see him. The brave warrior returning home, eagerly rushing to see his lover's face, the first thing he did above anything else. Very nice. Now, if Liu Qingge could give him a dramatic declaration of love, it would be perfect.
"Welcome back, Liu-shidi," Shang Qinghua said. "How was your mission?"
"Fine," Liu Qingge said, and then, in a more constipated-sounding voice, he said, "Shang Qinghua."
Shang Qinghua waited with bated breath. This would be the perfect time to say something sentimental like, "I missed you! My love, my life, our parting was a deep sorrow that condemned my heart to the deepest, darkest abyss. What joy seeing your countenance does me! Let us passionately celebrate our reunion with etc etc to be continued, please check under the biggest stone under the most interestingly-shaped tree between Xian Shu and An Ding if you want to continue reading, pay a fee of one spirit stone."
"Yes?" Shang Qinghua said leadingly. He smiled his best smile.
This somehow seemed to be too much for Liu Qingge. "Here," he said brusquely, shoving a little bundle of wrapped cloth into Shang Qinghua's arms. Then he stalked off without another word.
Rude???
Rude! Rude!! Incredibly fucking rude! Okay, it wasn't like Shang Qinghua was actually expecting some kind of romantic confession, especially when there was no audience here to pretend for besides Shang Qinghua himself, but come on! What was that? Not even a hi, good to see you? What was even the point visiting An Ding, then? Seriously, just package delivery?
Shang Qinghua looked down. The little of wrapped cloth was, in fact, a neatly-wrapped package, which he wouldn't have paid much mind to if it had not been a prettily-wrapped package. Less routine delivery and more gift.
He tilted this situation around a bit in his head to see if there was literally any other way he could interpret it, but no, it seemed Liu Qingge really had just gotten him a gift and ran off, sort of like a shy maiden deeply afraid of rejection.
Shang Qinghua was torn between laughing at this picture in his head (Liu Qinge, shy maiden?) or staring confusedly at it (shy maiden? Liu Qingge???). He could have spent some time overthinking it, but instead, he decided just to open the package.
"Huh," Shang Qinghua said aloud.
There was no one around to hear him. It was just him, and a very beautiful hairpin between his fingers. That Liu Qingge had apparently gotten him.
A hairpin. From Liu Qingge.
Was it possible Liu Qingge meant to give it to someone else? Like his sister? His sister would probably like a hairpin. Maybe Liu Qingge had meant to give something else to Shang Qinghua, and had mixed up the packages.
But the gemstones on it were in An Ding colors.
There was a weird, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It couldn’t be true, Mobei-jun wanted to say. But he could only deny it for so long, in the face of reams of documents, trails of notes, confessions of spies, all evidence pointing towards Shang Qinghua. What was he supposed to do?Â
@theembergazer hi there it's been a while here you go
Kim Dokja didn’t get up, because why the hell would she ever do anything he suggested. Instead, she looked at him. Actually, she looked at him so long that Han Sooyoung started getting uncomfortable. Not that he was a stranger to getting looked at, but what was that expression on her face? Was there something on his face? Did the magical lighting not do flattering things for him? Was she thinking something weird?
“Hey,” Han Sooyoung said, and regretted it, unsure what to say next.
“I suppose we should,” Kim Dokja said at the exact same time, agreeably standing up.
Immediately, Han Sooyoung was overcome with relief that he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. “Great,” he said, and proceeded to somehow walk directly into a fucking wall.
From my November 20th post here; Study Time for @theembergazer and @enigma-the-mysterious, thanks!
Hotaru nodded, leaning back, though she didn’t release Masaki’s arm. He turned the page with his left hand, fingers splayed to keep the book balanced on his knees.
Mizuki took a slow breath, the soft, amused affection she felt for them - these kids, though now grown, who had become her family - fluttering around the achy edges of memory.
Lost in that feeling, she missed what Hotaru had said, but she was leaning forwards around Masaki, almost in his face. Mizuki’s lips twitched.
‟I’m trying to study.” Masaki said gently, though he only reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers over Hotaru’s cheek.
