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Mu Qing flops into a seat on the bus with a huff and lets his head clunk softly against the foggy window.
This entire day has just been shit.
Awakened by the first alarm on his phone, he rolled over to find the sheets rumpled but empty beside him and heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom adjacent. That alarm was quickly silenced in favor of five more minutes of sleep. His next wake-up was far more pleasant—his bangs being gently swept from his forehead and a soft kiss placed over his left eye. He opened the other eye a crack to see Feng Xin's tired but smiling face.
"Good morning, beautiful."
Mu Qing grunted in response.
"I know, I know, you hate Thursdays," Feng Xin said with a laugh, his hand still cradling Mu Qing's cheek. "I do, too. But hey, I'll stop for your favorite takeout on the way back from my last class. Chicken biryani makes everything better, yeah?"
"Maybe not everything, but—" Mu Qing was cut off by his alarm going off again, the screen flashing 7:50 am.
Feng Xin glanced at it and his eyes widened. "Fuck, I gotta go. Try to have a good day, baobei." Clearly not giving a damn about morning breath, Feng Xin pressed a kiss to his lips and called out one last "I love you" over his shoulder before he was gone and their apartment was silent.
Thursdays are the worst.
Even under duress, Mu Qing would never admit that it's because Thursday is the only day of the week that doesn't begin with morning cuddles in the warmth of their bed. He'll say it's because it's the day he works his longest shift of the week at the coffee shop and bakery where he's had a part-time job for most of the past year. He'll say it's because Feng Xin has to wake up way too early for class because the dumbass accidentally scheduled a summer term course that included an 8 am lab on Thursdays. He'll say it's because it's not quite Friday and not yet the weekend, so what's good about it?
Thursdays always end with takeout and Netflix, usually curled around each other on the sofa. That is the good part. It just takes surviving the long day to get there.
And today, as mentioned, has been shit.
Upon dragging himself from bed, cuddleless and grumpy, he shuffled to the kitchen to discover that the box of his favorite sour cherry tea was empty. And he couldn't even be annoyed with Feng Xin for it, because Mu Qing is the only one who drinks it. (There's nothing worse than being the only one to blame for your own aggravation!) The cup of Feng Xin's favorite Yellow Mountain green tea that he had instead was perfectly fine, but it wasn't what he wanted.
It was Thursday, dammit. On Thursdays, Mu Qing was allowed to be picky. (Okay, fine, pickier than usual.)
University was no better. This was one of those days when he wondered what he was thinking when he talked Feng Xin into each of them taking a summer term course to get ahead. Future Mu Qing might be glad for a lighter course load in his last year of college, but current Mu Qing has regrets.
He'd studied, but he wasn't confident at all about the exam he'd just taken. Part of that is because he finished far earlier than he'd expected, the sounds of his classmates' pencils still scratching on their own exam papers. He checked, rechecked, and triple checked his answers before deciding all he could do was hand in the test and leave.
More than an hour early for his shift, he took his time walking from school to the café, thinking he'd stop for a break on a shady park bench on the way. But in the heat of the late-morning midsummer sun, every shaded spot was taken, from benches to low stone walls to the bases of the trees, where people sat resting their backs against the trunks under the cool canopy of leaves.
Mu Qing may or may not have glared at every one of them as he walked by. He didn't actually begrudge them their respite from the heat. This whole day was just becoming frustrating, that's all.
Which was why, when he walked into the coffee shop forty-five minutes before his shift to find it jam-packed and his harried coworker manning the counter by herself, he may or may not have done some more glaring at some more people as he pushed his way through the crowd to the employee door.
And thus began the shift from hell.
Soon he was the harried employee running everything out front by himself. The customers were especially cranky today—not that Mu Qing himself wasn't, but still—one even demanding to speak to his manager on the grounds that his Americano was too diluted and Mu Qing's attempt at resolution (making another one—what else was he supposed to do?) was unsatisfactory.
Some kid got sick after eating half a bagel and Mu Qing was tasked with cleanup. No less than three customers insisted that he make them drinks found only at Starbucks. With the end of his shift in sight, the coworker there to relieve him had fumbled a full filter of used coffee grounds onto Mu Qing's shoes and the bottom of his jeans.
Thursdays sucked. This Thursday in particular was one thing after another, and Mu Qing had had it.
It can't be scientifically proven that the early-morning cuddles he'd missed out on would have changed the course of the day, but he knows for a fact that waking up wrapped in Feng Xin's arms has never been a bad way to get the day started. Truly, it could only have helped.
Mu Qing was just considering the merits of setting his Thursday alarm to an ungodly hour to squeeze in those cuddles when he opened the door to leave the café. The humidity covered him like a damp woolen blanket as soon as he stepped outside, and he grimaced against the sticky heat. Turning west toward home, he found the sun low on the horizon and blazing into his eyes.
Was even the goddamn sun in on the scheme to make Thursdays the absolute worst?
He only made it half a block when the bus passed him and pulled to a stop just ahead, the whoosh of the air brakes a siren song, an invitation to escape the heat. It's always a trade-off, of course—the at-least-slightly air conditioned bus ride shortening his trip home in exchange for the body odor and uncovered coughs of the teeming masses around him.
Mu Qing decided to take his chances.
So here he is, temple pressed to the window cloudy with condensation as the cool air inside wars with the heat outside. This really will be a short ride; his stop is coming up so soon that he can't even afford to close his eyes.
A woman carrying two grocery bags plops into the seat next to him and heaves a sigh. Mu Qing hopes against hope that she won't try to talk to him. His resting bitch face usually serves as a fantastic deterrent against unwanted discussions with strangers, but some people are oblivious.
"Well, you sure look like you've had a long day, honey."
Dammit.
He considers it, nixes the idea, then goes for it anyway, making semi-uncomfortable eye contact and responding in Mandarin that yes, it sucked.
"Oh! Oh...okay," the woman says, wide-eyed.
Mu Qing returns his head to the window and smiles a little half-smile against the glass that no one else can see.
The bus slows a few minutes later a block from his apartment, and Mu Qing begins to stand up. "This is my stop," he tells the woman, stifling a laugh at the look on her face as she stands in the aisle to let him out.
He really does laugh when the bus pulls away, an inelegant snort that he covers with his hand. Mu Qing knows he can be a bitch sometimes, but the people who matter still love him, and beyond that, who cares? Xie Lian might give him a look of disapproval for that, especially since the woman meant well, but Dianxia would secretly be amused. And Feng Xin? He would laugh his bright, beautiful laugh that does things to Mu Qing's heart. When it isn't directed toward him, Feng Xin finds his pettiness endlessly amusing.
Mu Qing drags himself up the two flights of stairs to their apartment. Just the sight of the door makes his steps feel lighter. They've only lived here since they moved off-campus over the winter holiday, but it still makes his heart flutter some days, knowing the key in his hand will open the door to a home he shares with someone he loves, who loves him in return. This just might be the first of many homes they'll share together, and that's—well, that's pretty amazing, honestly. Not that he says any of that out loud, ever. Obviously.
The air is blessedly cool in the apartment, but it smells spicy and warm. Maybe biryani does make everything better. Mu Qing kicks off his coffee-encrusted shoes at the door, then begins to peel off his socks, too, throwing them on top of his shoes to be dealt with later. He's about to bend down to take off the second sock when strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.
"You're home," Feng Xin murmurs into Mu Qing's ponytail. His hair must smell like coffee, but Feng Xin still seems to love the scent after all these months.
"Ugh." Mu Qing tosses his gritty sock in the direction of his shoes and turns in Feng Xin's arms. He heaves a mighty sigh and lets his head fall to Feng Xin's shoulder. "Finally," he says, voice muffled by cotton.
Feng Xin squeezes him tightly. "Oooh," he coos, "my poor little QingQing."
"We're exactly the same height, asshole," Mu Qing mumbles into Feng Xin's shoulder.
Feng Xin's big hands slide from Mu Qing's back to wrap around his sides, thumbs brushing the warm skin beneath his t-shirt. "Ah, but this waist is snatched."
Mu Qing snorts a surprised laugh. "You're goddamn right it is." He leans back to get a proper look at his boyfriend and finds Feng Xin's half-smile is teasing but his eyes are concerned.
"What's wrong, baobei?"
His head thunks against Feng Xin's shoulder once more, but this time he wraps his arms around Feng Xin's back and melts into his embrace. "Nothing, just...today was shit," he says.
He feels Feng Xin nod against his hair. "The Thursday Curse strikes again."
Mu Qing groans.
"Look on the bright side, love. Only two more weeks of the summer term you forced me to take!"
Mu Qing groans again, this time with the addition of a smack to his boyfriend's ass cheek. "I didn't force you to do shit."
"Force, persuade, same difference," Feng Xin laughs. He reciprocates with a light slap of his own to Mu Qing's backside. "Come on, dinner's still hot and I want to eat good food while I grope my sexy boyfriend. Wash up and join me."
Mu Qing huffs a laugh as he disentangles himself from Feng Xin's arms. "Telling me to wash up? What are you, my mother?"
"I hope your mother would never call you sexy."
Feng Xin gets a halfhearted punch in the arm for that and he walks away laughing. Mu Qing suddenly remembers being on public transport barely five minutes ago, with his face against the bus window, no less, and heads off to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face.
Within ten minutes, he’s curled up on the sofa in comfy clothes that aren’t covered in coffee grounds, his legs tangled with Feng Xin’s. The sound Mu Qing makes when he takes his first bite of dinner is borderline obscene.
“Told you it makes everything better,” Feng Xin says with his mouth full.
Mu Qing has to agree, but he waits until after he swallows his food to say it. “You’re not wrong. I swear, this is the only good thing about Thursday.”
Feng Xin pokes him with the handle of his fork. “I see where I rate.”
“Damn right. Biryani before boyfriends.”
“Rude.”
Mu Qing just laughs, his heart feeling lighter than at any previous point in the day, especially when Feng Xin joins in.
They’re two episodes into a new series on Netflix when something reminds him of class earlier. He tries to pay attention to the show, but minute by minute he’s thinking more about how wrong it felt to finish the test before anyone else, wondering now if maybe he’d missed a page or an essay question or…something.
And that leads to the memory of the customer who berated him, the horrible things Mu Qing cleaned up, the fact that he still has to clean the coffee grounds out of the shoelace holes in his sneakers.
He’s snapped from his thoughts when Feng Xin pulls him across the sofa cushion and in a blink he finds himself settled against his boyfriend’s chest, wrapped in his arms.
He glares at Feng Xin over his shoulder. “What the f—”
“You were thinking louder than the tv.” Feng Xin kisses his cheek. “Are you okay? Did dinner not solve all the problems of the world?”
Mu Qing closes his eyes and leans his head back. “It was just a bad day. It happens.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t complete bullshit when it does,” Feng Xin says with a shrug.
It’s quiet for a long moment, and Mu Qing realizes that Feng Xin has already turned off the tv. He’s about to tell him they don’t have to stop watching when he feels Feng Xin’s breath at his ear.
“I have an idea to make you feel better.” His voice is low and his lips brush the shell of Mu Qing’s ear and Mu Qing shivers just a little.
Oh, yeah. He’s amenable to that. He doesn’t have to sound too eager, though.
“Fine, but you’re doing all the work.”
There’s a moment of silence before Feng Xin sputters. “I…what? No, I—” and then he’s laughing. “I was going to suggest a bubble bath!”
“Oh.” Mu Qing can feel his cheeks heat. He shrugs one shoulder and looks back at Feng Xin. “I’m good with that, too.”
By the time the leftovers are put away and the kitchen is tidied up, the bath Feng Xin insisted on preparing for him is ready. The bathroom smells like jasmine and the tub is filled with fragrant foam. It’s the perfect way to wind down a difficult day.
Mu Qing sighs as he slips beneath the bubbles. Yep, perfect.
Feng Xin leans down for a kiss and pats the pile of hair on top of Mu Qing’s head before standing up. “Enjoy, Qing-er. Relax, but try not to fall asleep and drown.”
“Get out, you morbid weirdo.”
He leaves the bathroom door ajar and Mu Qing can hear his laughter all the way down the hall.
Maybe he does fall asleep, because some time later when a noise in the kitchen rouses him, Mu Qing finds his fingers pruney and the water only tepid. He looks up when the bathroom door swings open.
Feng Xin enters carrying Mu Qing’s favorite mug, the one with a line drawing of a cat holding up two middle fingers that says “I do what I want”. The mug and the tea are not unusual. What is odd is that Feng Xin looks like he just came from a particularly grueling workout at the gym.
He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, patches of perspiration visible on his grey t-shirt. His hair is falling haphazardly from its usual bun, the shortest pieces curling at his damp hairline. He looks very hot and very tired.
Mu Qing takes the tea and eyes him up. “You gonna explain this, or…?”
Feng Xin shrugs. Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
He takes a sip of tea, delighting in the flavor of his favorite sour cherry infusion.
Wait.
His eyes widen, then snap to Feng Xin, who’s now sitting cross-legged on the bathmat with his arm propped on the lip of the tub.
“I thought we were out.” He gestures to his mug. “I was going to get more this weekend. Did you…did you find more?”
“Yeah, we, um…” Feng Xin trails off, looking at his shampoo in the corner of the bathtub. “We have more now.”
Mu Qing will blame the long, rough day for how long it takes him to put it all together. When he does, his chest squeezes with emotion that overflows to light his nerves and sing along his veins. He’s so full of love that it takes a very long moment to be able to speak around the lump in his throat. He takes that moment to set down his mug on the edge of the tub.
“You just went to the store.”
Feng Xin meets his gaze and nods.
“A-Xin, you look like you literally ran to the store, which I know for a fact is seven blocks away.”
He looks away again, sheepish. “You’re…not wrong.”
“I can’t believe you went out there at all. It’s disgustingly hot outside.”
“Says the man currently lounging in a bath.”
“The bath was your idea!”
Feng Xin shrugs again. “Did you enjoy it?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes and knows Feng Xin will understand the affirmative response.
“I just wanted you to have all your favorite things, love.” He reaches for Mu Qing’s wet, soapy hand and holds it in his own. “You had a shitty day. It’s the least I can do. Plus, I got up so early I didn’t have a chance to go for a run. It all worked out.”
Overwhelmed with fondness, Mu Qing can’t help but smile. He leans forward and Feng Xin meets him halfway in a sweet, soft kiss that says all the things he can’t quite find the words for when he needs them, and might not admit anyway.
But sometimes his heart works faster than his brain.
“You’re my favorite thing,” Mu Qing breathes against Feng Xin’s lips.
Feng Xin breaks away, beaming. “What a coincidence,” he says just as softly. “You’re my favorite thing, too.”
His expression is open and earnest, and god, Mu Qing loves him so damn much it aches. It almost feels wrong to close his eyes again and stop gazing at him, but nothing could keep Mu Qing from kissing him silly right at this moment. Which is exactly what he does.
Feng Xin tastes like green tea and warm spices when Mu Qing licks into his mouth. He’s delicious and intoxicating, and Mu Qing wants more. Feng Xin’s hands are in his hair, pieces falling from the messy bun on top of his head to skim the surface of the bath water. Mu Qing wraps his arms around his boyfriend and feels his back wet with sweat. He has to admit that it’s kind of sexy, but—
“You’re not coming to bed like this, A-Xin.”
“Like what?” he asks, brows furrowed.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Like a sweaty mess.”
Feng Xin levels him with a deadpan—albeit amused—stare. “We have both gone to bed sweaty many, many times, Qing-er.”
“That’s beside the point.” Mu Qing is not blushing, it’s just the heat from the bath.
“Do you want me to drain that and take a shower?” Feng Xin points to the nearly-clear bath; the bubbles have long since dissipated. He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “I’ll wash your hair if you shower with me.”
Mu Qing concedes with a nod. “Do you want to take off your sweaty-ass clothes and make out until it drains?”
“Yes,” Feng Xin says, already stripping his shirt as he speaks. “Absolutely yes.”
Mu Qing is laughing when he pulls the drain plug.
Later, after the hot water tank is depleted and they’ve dried off enough to put on their boxers, they settle in bed and Mu Qing can finally have what he’d missed out on all those hours ago. Somehow it’s easy to forget all about school and work and rude customers when he’s wrapped up in Feng Xin’s arms like this.
Mu Qing presses a kiss to his chest before looking up to find Feng Xin gazing at him with soft, shining eyes.
“I miss this on Thursday mornings,” he says, holding Mu Qing just a little bit closer. “My day is always kind of shit when I don’t get my QingQing cuddles.”
Mu Qing has never told Feng Xin exactly why he hates Thursdays. But maybe he didn’t need to after all. The thought makes his eyes prickle, so he hides his face in the crook of Feng Xin’s neck. “You’re such a sap,” he teases. “And please don’t ever say ‘QingQing cuddles’ again.”
Feng Xin laughs, and Mu Qing can feel his laughter vibrate in his chest. “What should I call it instead? FengQing Time?”
“God, no.”
“Sunrise delight?”
“What the fuck, Feng Xin? No!”
Feng Xin can’t think of any other ridiculous names, and after a beat, they dissolve into giggles.
“I don’t know why I love you, dumbass,” Mu Qing says through his laughter.
“I don’t know, either, but damn, I’m glad you do.” Feng Xin’s own laughter turns into a happy sigh, then he presses a kiss to Mu Qing’s forehead, his nose, and finally, his lips.
“Same,” Mu Qing whispers when they break apart.
Nothing else really needs to be said after that. Their breaths sync up, their eyes close, they drift off together.
Thursday is over, thank goodness. And the best part about Friday is that they’ll start it just like this—wrapped up in each other.