Thread by @alarming_prism

#FengQing modern au with human!Mu Qing and vampire!Feng Xin. Ft. Pei Ming + marriage of convenience + fuck or die 😌

CWs: blood, nonconsensual blood drinking, will be 🔞 in later updates

By the time MQ locks the building behind him, it's late enough to be early.

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1534339570879406080

Late enough that the streets are deserted, early enough that they haven't populated again.

MQ used to hate the closing shift at the bar he works at. It meant shoving out drunk customers who didn't want to move, cleaning up the messes they'd made.

But it also means quiet.

Peace.

Not something he finds often, between working nights and studying days and living in a cramped apartment with too many roommates. He's tired enough to fall asleep where he stands, but often this is the only time he can really breathe.

Mu Qing leaves the bar.

He sets off down the street, keys clanging in his pocket. The night is dark, lit only by dim streetlights. He's the only person still around.

Alone. Wholly, completely alone, Mu Qing thinks as he passes the alley beside the bar.

Except -- fuck, that's a shadow.

The thought hardly processes before the shadow moves towards him, too fast to be natural.

MQ barely blinks before something solid, heavy slams into him and pushes backwards. He stumbles into the alley.

The dim streetlights highlight the shadow's face for a split second.

The shadow -- a man -- is devastatingly attractive.

So attractive, MQ thinks, that when they fish his body out of the dumpster in two week's time they won't even think of accusing him.

MQ almost laughs.

The next thing he knows is pain blossoming at the back of his head.

A weight presses MQ into the brick wall of the alley. He gasps at the rough hands holding his shoulders tight, fear flooding every inch of him, that *this* is how he's going to die, nobody will know, nobody will care --

"Please, please, please, *please* --"

MQ wonders how he can hear pleading without opening his mouth, but then the man leans forward into his neck and -- a pinch like twin sewing needles -- and --

Oh.

*Oh.*

MQ's brain whites out.

Dimly, he's aware of a sound wrenching itself from his throat, of his hands grasping at the man's arms. His knees go weak, held up only by the grip tight on his shoulders.

Blood flows from his body into the man's mouth. MQ feels it with a dizzying exhiliration, that slick rush.

Like when he fell on a nail on a kid, slicing through his skin like bread. The blood didn't clot, just flowed so heavy he felt it from his veins.

The man's skin is hot against his. MQ shuts his eyes, heartbeat loud and sluggish, mouth parted.

He becomes a swallowed drink.

Slowly, MQ relaxes.

The exhilaration fades to a soft contentment, a hazy feeling in his head that erases all the stress he's used to. The feeling is -- it's nice. He likes it. He --

The man pulls off MQ's neck with a pop.

Coldness washes over MQ, the only points of heat where the man still holds him by the shoulders.

"I --" the man doesn't meet his eyes. His voice is thick, his tongue slipping out to lick a smear of darkness off his lip. "Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry."

MQ stares, uncomprehending.

"Listen," the man continues. "Please don't press charges. I swear I don't do this sort of thing, I'm good, I -- I get all my blood from the bank, but there was a fuckup this week and I was just so, so hungry."

The man's eyes slip down to MQ's neck. His cheeks darken in shame.

"Please," he says again. MQ realizes that his voice is the same -- he was the one pleading earlier. "You won't turn. You're safe."

MQ swallows heavily. His throat is dry, head still hazy with the aftereffects of being bit like that. Devoured, wanted desperately.

"Idiot," MQ manages to say. "What kind of vampire are you, skipping weeks at the blood bank?"

The man's head shoots up, indignation crawling over his face. "Hey, it wasn't my fault. Shit happens."

MQ raises an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you'd make that my problem."

The man's cheeks are blazing, darkened in the dimness of the night. "If I knew you were such an asshole, I would have held out for the next one."

"What, I didn't taste good enough?" The question burns. MQ isn't sure why.

The man's eyes drop again to MQ's neck.

This time, there's something predatory in his gaze, something that brings back that full-headed haziness full force.

"You work here?" The man asks.

MQ blinks. He's an idiot to answer, but something in his heart just wants to be close. "Bartender."

"No wonder you're a good drink," the man says, sounding as if to himself.

MQ shouldn't feel satisfied at that, but his legs are still weak. And -- he is. He's satisfied.

He's satisfied.

All that tiredness has vanished, all that dread at waking up in the morning with mountains of work. For a moment he felt -- calm. Content.

MQ wants it again.

"Remind me to stay away from here," the man says quietly, eyes flicking up. "I might do something I regret."

MQ's veins thrum. A hint of some deep, desperate need claws up from his chest and sits in his throat.

"I could report you," MQ says. There are laws regarding which humans vampires can feed from. Namely, spouses and legal donors.

"Will you?" Resigned, not panicked like before.

MQ is all too aware that the man's hands are still on his shoulders, his own clutching his arms. Almost an embrace.

"Obviously you're dangerous," MQ deadpans. "Who knows who you'll drink from next."

The man sighs.

"So," MQ says, "you should kidnap me. To be safe."

The man freezes. "I should what."

"Kid. Nap. Me." MQ says it slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "Take me to your bat cave or whatever the fuck. Feed on me instead of some poor, hapless person you stumble on the next time you're hungry."

The man really is slow. He keeps staring.

"Yes? No?" MQ doesn't have time for this. He feels fidgety. He wants him to say yes, wants him to steal him away.

All the tension drains from the man. "What's your name?"

MQ doesn't even hesitate. "Mu Qing."

The man nods. "Feng Xin."

"So? I don't have all day."

FX's eyebrows scrunch, looking serious. "You actually want to?"

MQ rolls his eyes. "Now you ask consent. How chivalrous." Yes. *Yes.*

"Hey, I apologized already. I'm not a dick."

MQ just looks at him.

FX sighs. His hands drop from MQ's shoulders. "Fuck. Fine. Let's go."

Mu Qing tries not to feel relieved.

The feeling sits in his chest anyway.

(not sure how long this will be exactly but dw, we'll get to the fun trope part of it soon 😌 in the meantime, the best way to make sure you know when it updates is to follow me 👉👈 aand a link back to the top)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

FX's apartment is four blocks away. Yes, he has a car. No, he wouldn't drive it starving. Yes, he went out with the intention of feeding. No, he wasn't in his right mind.

MQ gathers as much, at least, by FX's clipped responses to his numerous complaints.

He's already dead on his feet, why the hell is FX making him walk a quarter mile just to be kidnapped?

To that, FX's brow furrows and he stops responding.

The apartment, at least, is nice. Nicer than MQ's, which is in a bad part of town and boasts four bedrooms to six people.

MQ almost says this in a moment of sleep deprived delirium, but shuts his mouth tight.

Looking at FX's unstained furniture and sturdy hardwood floors and it's clear who has the better life. This -- MQ offering himself -- is just one more privilege for an already privileged man.

Yes, he's a vampire. Yes, that probably sucks. No, he's never had to work nights on top of going to school full time for even the slightest chance of a good future.

The hazy comfort MQ felt when FX bit him has completely vanished. He sways on his feet.

FX puts his keys on the kitchen table. MQ watches him like seeing through clouded water. His head aches.

"Where's your bedroom?" MQ doesn't even care how it sounds.

FX raises an eyebrow. The look he's given MQ this whole time is somewhat guarded, somewhat surprised.

Like he's not sure what to make of MQ. Not that MQ blames him, but right now he's reduced to his barest instincts -- fumbling in the dark, desperate for a good meal or a good night's sleep or a good fuck or a good two fangs in the neck.

"Down the hall to the left," FX says.

MQ doesn't give any sign that he heard, just heads in the direction FX said. The first door on the left leads to a surprisingly tidy room with thick curtains blocking the streetlights outside.

The bed. The fucking *bed* is a king size with soft covers and -- holy sweet fuck.

MQ collapses onto it. All his fucks have flown out the window. He only has the presence of mind to kick off his shoes before he's climbing under cologne-scented covers and burying his face in FX's soft, pleasantly plump pillow.

MQ dives towards sleep.

--

When MQ wakes, a weight presses him into the bed. Heavy on him, something soft yet sharp pressed into the juncture of his neck right above his collarbone.

When MQ wakes, it's blearily, like gradually wading into the ocean. One second he knows nothing, and the next he's flooded.

MQ's hand is in FX's hair. FX breathes heavily against his neck, hand splayed on his cheek. He all but straddles MQ, one leg between both of MQ's.

God. MQ feels every point of contact, every sensation heightened tenfold by the flow of blood from his neck. He's in trouble.

He's insane. He's half hard, kept from grinding against FX's leg only by the last dregs of his dwindling willpower.

FX pulls off. He raises his head, meeting MQ's eyes. Before he was apologetic, but now he just -- looks at him, matter of fact, no sorry to be found.

"You stole my bed," FX says.

MQ struggles to speak normally. "I was tired. Sue me."

"Yeah? I'm fucking exhausted." Only now does MQ notice how FX's eyes are glazed over. "If you want to sleep so badly, take the couch. I'm not giving over my apartment to you."

"Wow," MQ drawls. "You're an incredible host. Truly."

FX gives him a half hearted glare. MQ feels the tension, senses that FX wants to fight, but instead FX shifts off MQ and lays down next to him. He buries his head underneath a pillow.

MQ is, unfortunately, very awake.

For a while, he lays there. The slightest glimpse of sunlight escapes through a crack in the curtains. MQ isn't sure how long he's been asleep. Less than a few hours, surely.

Now that the sun is up, however, it's harder to deny the rashness of insisting FX kidnap him.

For one, MQ has a job. He can't not show up to work. For another, MQ has school. He has more than one big project coming up, all of which are significant portions of his grades.

MQ can stay here, sure, but he can't pretend it's a fucking vacation.

MQ nudges FX's arm. He lets out a soft groan that curls in MQ's chest.

"Do you have a computer?" MQ asks.

FX groans again. With a sleep-heavy voice he says, "I'm not a maniac."

"I need it," MQ says. "Where is it?"

FX turns his head and opens a single eye. The suspicion is written all over his face, even half asleep. "What for?"

"I have assignments due," MQ says, impatience seeping through. "I can't just sit around all day. Did you expect me to be your docile little captive?"

"Mm." FX buries his face in the pillow. "Bartender, huh?" The words are so muffled MQ barely understands them.

"So I can afford to be in school, yes," MQ says. "Feng Xin, where's your fucking computer?"

Silence.

MQ is about one second away from dragging FX away from the bed when he finally says, "Left drawer of my desk. Password is 'nanfeng.'"

Thank fuck. MQ finds it and leaves FX to sleep, heading to the living room. The place is so nice MQ is almost afraid of touching anything.

The apartment reminds him of the houses his mother used to clean. The dwellings of those with enough money to be comfortable, but not enough conscience to pay his mother a living wage.

MQ swallows down the bitterness. FX's bed was soft. FX's couch is softer, his computer sleek.

Maybe it's an oversight that MQ has never given much thought to vampires. Everyone knows they exist, but more from their presence in laws than their presence in everyday life.

MQ never considered how a vampire would make a living. If they would live in comfort or poverty.

If they would be starving or well fed from the blood bank. If there's a reason vampires can only feed from live sources if it's their spouse. MQ isn't, obviously, he's a fucking stranger, but he just --

Being fed on felt so good.

MQ logs into FX's computer. He's able to access his school accounts, thank god, and pays no mind to any of FX's bookmarks or history. It'll just make him wonder more. So, he immerses himself in research for his upcoming projects.

Not having his paper notes sucks, but it's fine.

Not knowing why FX has to marry to legally drink from a live human being taunts him, but it's fine.

Several hours later, when the clock hits noon and sunlight blares through the cracks in the light blocking curtains, a door slams in the hallway. MQ's heart jumps.

FX isn't the one who enters the living room, though. It's a shirtless man who, upon seeing MQ, pauses, stares at his neck, and promptly sports a shit eating grin.

"Ho ho," the man says. "Feng Xin couldn't take it anymore, could he?"

MQ's headache returns with a vengeance.

(link back to the top -- it's possible i might update again later today, but if not then definitely tomorrow lol.)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

MQ rolls his eyes and goes back to his research.

The man grins wider, if that's even possible. "You'll want some ointment for that pretty little neck of yours. It'll bruise."

A tiny thrill shoots through MQ. He resists the urge to press against the pinpricks FX left.

He glares at the man instead. "Mind your business."

The man throws his head back, laugh filling the room. He walks to the kitchen, separated from the living room by a half wall.

MQ hears him chortle to himself. "Kids -- they never know what they're getting into."

So, FX is a vampire who has a vampire roommate. MQ can't help but watch said roommate from the corner of his eye.

He makes coffee, like a normal human being. He puts sugar in it. He opens the fridge, takes out a pack of blood, and bites into it with a practiced ease.

There's -- blood. In the apartment. In the fridge. Blood that doesn't belong to MQ, blood that is easily available.

MQ's hand twitches on the keyboard. His mind has gone blank, filled with white noise. It can't be that -- no, FX was too desperate to be lying.

He apologized. He begged MQ not to turn him in. Those aren't the actions of someone who has nourishment.

MQ should know. He's been that starved more than once, will likely be that starved again if he doesn't do well enough in his classes to keep his scholarships and grants.

With that, MQ focuses on his research again. He pays the man no mind, not even when he stops on his way back to his room, turns to MQ, and says "By the way, the name's Pei Ming."

MQ doesn't give a shit about PM. He gives a shit about finding evidence to support his thesis.

Around seven, MQ is forced to admit defeat. All the sources and notes he already has are in his apartment. He's done all he can without them.

Not to mention he hasn't eaten since before his shift the previous day. He's positive FX doesn't have any real food.

Besides that, he doesn't have money to buy food from anywhere around here.

MQ deals. He always does. He ignores the pounding of his head, the way he's disoriented just from standing. He deals. He's fine. He's fine.

"Morning." FX leans against the wall, arms crossed.

MQ sits back down. FX's hair is sleep-mussed, far more endearing than it should be. His heart does an embarrassing little patter in his chest.

Maybe it's the lack of blood getting to him. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

"Are you." MQ clears his throat. "Hungry."

FX's gaze slips to MQ's neck. "I'm fine." His voice is a little strangled.

"Right." MQ clears his throat again. Without the feeding between them, he's not sure what to say. Except -- the blood. "Your roommate was --"

"Fucking Pei Ming," FX says. "He didn't hit on you, did he?"

MQ takes a moment just to breath. "If he'd hit on me, you wouldn't have a roommate anymore."

"Uh." FX uncrosses his arms, then recrosses them. "Good? He's just -- and you're very -- pretty."

Okay. Okay, that's fine. MQ tosses it away with a roll of his eyes.

"Shut up," MQ says. "Don't interrupt me. Your creep fucking roommate has blood."

FX nods hesitantly. MQ grits his teeth.

"Why are you starving," MQ says slowly, "If your roommate has blood."

FX stares. Then -- "Oh. Fuck. Listen, I swear it's not like that."

"Enlighten me."

"The way the blood bank works," FX says, "It's not like we get unlimited blood. There's a set amount of rations we're given weekly. If I dig into Pei Ming's part, he goes hungry too." FX's brows furrow. "I'm not a shitty enough person to do that to a friend."

"And yet you're a shitty enough person to kidnap a stranger to be your personal blood bag," MQ says. "Are you enough of an idiot to not ask the blood bank for what you need?"

FX glowers. "You think this is ideal for me? They think I've already picked up my goddamn rations."

"Convenient."

"Fuck off."

"I can't. You kidnapped me."

FX's cheeks darken. "You begged me to take you." MQ's heart stutters in his throat. "Don't act like this is against your will. You offered. You *wanted* me to."

"What, and I don't deserve an explanation because of it?" MQ snaps, the force leaving his hunger-addled mind reeling.

"Yeah, maybe you don't!" FX raises his voice. "You come in here and demand I give you free rein to all of my personal shit because what? You think you know

my situation better than I do? Fuck you! Just, fuck you."

"Right, yeah, I'll just take your word for it. My bad. I'm so sorry for not wanting you to go hungry."

"You don't know me! I have never met you before in my fucking life!"

"So what?"

FX shuts his mouth. He just stares, eyes glittering. MQ's chest heaves. This is too much. This was a bad idea. He should -- he should leave before FX makes him.

MQ stands. Stars cloud his vision; a single step forward brings him swaying on his feet, fighting for balance.

"Dude, what the fuck." FX's voice is suddenly beside him, a hand on his shoulder pushing him back onto the couch. "What did you do?"

MQ is seized by a burning, indignant shame. This isn't his fault. It isn't.

"You don't have any *fucking* food in this place," MQ spits.

"And you didn't think to buy any?" FX's hand is still on his shoulder, voice accusing.

MQ presses a hand to his forehead. He doesn't have money. Rent is too expensive, tuition is too expensive -- his groceries are in his apartment, his notes are in his apartment. Everything.

"I'm not a fucking vampire," MQ says. "I can't get a meal from anyone on the street."

"Do you not have money?" FX cuts right to the heart of it, of fucking course. "I can go out and buy you something, okay? Fuck, I should have thought before --"

"Oh my god." MQ lets out a bark of laughter. "Do you have anything in your head? Is it just fucking empty up there?"

FX opens his mouth to respond, but at that moment PM emerges from the hallway whistling a jaunty tune. He watches the two of them, eyes glittering.

"Lover's spat?" PM flashes them a grin, taking a turn into the kitchen. He opens a drawer. "You sure chose a feisty one, Feng Xin."

"Shut up," FX says. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"

PM hums a note. He retrieves a pair of scissors and shuts the drawer.

"Laws are laws for a reason." PM makes his way to the hallway. "You two are going to have *lots* of fun."

MQ swallows down the disgust rising in his throat. FX looks as though he's doing the same.

"You going on a date?" FX asks.

PM stops. Turns, scissors waving. He nods.

"Not that fucking Xuan Ji again," FX says. "Last time she nearly broke down the door."

"Feng Xin." PM sighs. "You know little about affectionate women. They're very - ah, particular. Angry when they're unsatisfied. But anger in bed can be --"

"Fuck you. Shoo." FX waves him off.

PM gives one last grin before slipping down the hallway, whistling as he goes.

In his absence, the apartment is too quiet. There's a ringing in MQ's ears.

"I have an old friend," FX says abruptly. "I haven't seen him in years. He was desperate. He needed blood more than me."

MQ stays quiet.

"There's a waiting period to get registered at the blood bank," FX continues. "Not long, but long enough that my friend couldn't... it's a long story. It's been a long few years for him." FX avoids MQ's eyes. "I thought a week wouldn't be a big deal."

"Clearly you thought wrong," MQ says. Feeling like shit only fuels his need to be a shit. Never mind that FX is actually making an effort.

"Christ, you're impossible. We only eat twice a week, you know that? Any law abiding vampire is used to being hungry."

Twice a week. Twice a *week.* FX has fed on MQ twice in one day.

"So today," MQ says slowly, "Is enough for you."

"No." FX's answer is quick, harsh. "Feeding from someone is different. I'd never take more from you than I need to. Not anywhere near the amount from a blood bag."

"Why not?" MQ surprises himself with the violence of his tone.

"I don't fucking want to," FX says, something hurt about the way he says it. "There's nothing natural about gorging yourself twice a week. If I could have you as often as I needed, I'd never take as much as that."

This is the first time FX has explicitly said he wants MQ. It shouldn't feel nearly as pleasing as it does.

Something about the way FX talks, though, is frightening. "You're saying the blood bank is fucking you over."

FX sighs. He runs a hand through his already mussed hair.

"It's not that simple," FX says. "No, the way they do things isn't right. But it's keeping us alive and out of harm's way."

MQ thinks again of his mother. The way she worked herself to the bone wasn't right, but it kept him fed and safe and loved. Mercy isn't always kind.

He's not stupid enough to miss what FX is insinuating -- the blood bank isn't ideal, but it's a measure to keep vampires from feeding on humans. To protect humans. To keep them safe.

So long as vampires aren't hurting humans, they aren't even noticed. Invisible, silent.

MQ's heart constricts in his chest. Minutes before he'd second guessed himself, but now he knows the truth -- it's better if FX keeps him. Healthier, a safety measure to ensure he's not just surviving, but thriving.

"Don't yell at me again," MQ says. "I'll bite your dick off."

"Yeah, you think I'll let you close enough to do that? I see your teeth." FX almost smirks, but it's clouded by the subdued anger in his voice.

At least MQ knows it isn't at him. "Drive me to my apartment," he says. "I can't stay here with nothing. And I work tomorrow."

"Fine," FX says. "Only if you let me buy you some fucking food. Blood tastes like shit when you haven't eaten."

That, at least, is reasonable enough for MQ to agree. It's for the good of FX, not for the good of himself.

Clearly, MQ is doing FX a favor.

(next update will finally be fun trope stuff, as promised 😌 thanks to everyone reading, all the likes and rtwts and replies are amazing 😭 and as always, a link back to the top!)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

FX buys MQ fast food and drives him to his apartment. His car is so nice MQ is almost hesitant to eat in it, but his hunger ultimately drowns out his qualms. FX signed up for this, after all.

Once in his apartment, MQ gathers all the essentials.

His laptop, his chargers, his notes, his textbooks, his backpack, his his toiletries, his entire one sparse shelf of groceries, the antidepressants he keeps forgetting to take, at least a few changes of clothes because what's the protocol for when a vampire kidnaps you, really --

Is it moving in? Is MQ moving in with FX? Is it weird if he brings more than a few shirts? Is he overthinking it? Is he panicking a bit? Is the one roommate who actually talks to him staring at him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised judgmentally?

The answer to the last one is yes.

"Fuck off," MQ says.

Hua Cheng's judgement only increases, wafting towards him like bad air. "You have a bite on your neck."

MQ doesn't answer, just roots through his stuff until he finds his full-coverage concealer instead of the sheer one he usually uses.

Not that he's had time to put on makeup lately, but it's necessary unless he wants more questions.

"Just let me know if I can have the other half of the room," HC says. "I'll keep a lookout on the news for your dead body."

"Shut up." MQ hoists his bags onto his shoulders.

"I give you a week with whatever the fuck you've gotten yourself into."

MQ drops the bags and sends HC his nastiest glare. He's only known him since HC transferred colleges four months ago, but it's enough time to build the kind of rapport that has MQ snarling before speaking.

If MQ could afford not to share a room, it would be different, but as is HC's art supplies are spread across the floor. He's grown used to sleeping with HC's muttering as a background.

He envies his housemates who have a bedroom to themselves.

"I'll chuck your canvases out the window if I come back to even a single paintbrush on my side of the room," MQ says.

HC snorts. He pivots and leaves. MQ stares after him, cheeks red and fuming. Fucking asshole.

Still. MQ has FX waiting for him downstairs.

MQ carries his bags down, throws them in the back of FX's car, and off they go, FX backing out of the apartment parking space with one hand braced on the passenger seat.

MQ tries not to stare. He almost succeeds. At least FX is too busy focusing to notice MQ's eyes on his mouth.

Not for any other reason but the fact that he hasn't actually seen FX's teeth. He's curious. It's purely scientific. Those are piercing his skin. It's only fair.

MQ has enough excuses that he doesn't feel bad about it. He has enough excuses that he doesn't mind taking up space.

Not when he puts away his groceries in FX's kitchen, not when he shoves his makeup and toiletries on the counter in the guest bathroom.

And it's -- it's fine. It's really, genuinely fine, the way he stays and scatters papers all over the kitchen table, deflecting looks from FX.

MQ makes food in their kitchen and walks to work. Even sleeping is fairly comfortable -- MQ and FX have opposing schedules, meaning FX sleeps while MQ is in class and MQ sleeps in those last few hours before the dawn breaks and FX stumbles into bed.

Four days pass. MQ is fine.

"You look exhausted," FX says on day five, passing him in the doorway during their sleep-wake tradeoff.

MQ doesn't answer. He knows FX means it as a question, poised gently to be probing rather than gripping. He can delude himself it's about concern of FX's own behavior, even.

Yes, MQ is exhausted; but is it from the routine interruption halfway through his rest when FX bites his neck, or is it something else? The fact that he only sleeps in short, four-hour bursts perhaps?

MQ is fine. He's fine with the situation, fine with himself, fine with FX.

Sleep is a luxury, one that MQ can't afford. Saying this inspires a pity MQ hates with a passion. So he doesn't.

FX doesn't ask again. MQ has no classes on Thursdays, so he busies himself at the kitchen table. The only disturbance is PM, who MQ strongly suspects is unemployed.

PM, at least, isn't quite as overbearing as MQ thought from their first meeting. He asks honest to god questions about his research, and only says something suggestive once.

Then he leaves -- off to another date -- and MQ is left to work until the sun dives under the horizon.

Finally, a half hour before MQ's shift starts, he closes his computer. Like clockwork, FX stumbles into the room with sleep-mussed hair and sits so close MQ can smell his bodywash.

"Morning," FX says in a sleepy mumble before gripping MQ's face and burying his teeth in his neck.

MQ forces himself to breathe. In, out. In, out. Get rid of the goosebumps crawling down his spine, the thought that if he struggled FX would force him to still.

MQ is fine.

Everything is so fucking fine.

If he tells himself for long enough, it will start to be true.

FX releases MQ no more than a minute later. He's gotten better at ensuring no blood spills from the corner of his mouth, which is good, but it also means no tongue flicking out to taste it, which is less good.

Now is when MQ leaves for work, FX too tired to speak real words.

Today, though, he's staring at MQ's neck, one hand still on his cheek. MQ doesn't dare move. Something about his gaze is possessive at the same time it's defeated, like looking at something he wants but can't have.

"How long are your breaks?" FX asks, flat.

MQ struggles to even his voice. "Fifteen minutes. I get two of them."

"Come back here," FX says.

The words are so demanding MQ has to shut his eyes and get his breathing under control. Everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is so fucking fine.

"I didn't say I actually took them," MQ says. "Half the time someone doesn't come in and I have to skip my breaks to cover them." It's easier to be exploited than unemployed.

FX makes a sound halfway through a sigh and a grunt. "Fuck them. Take it anyway. Come back here."

"No." If only it was that easy. "It's not my fucking responsibility to skip work for you. If you want it that bad, come by."

FX releases his hand, brow furrowing. He's quiet. MQ knows he should leave, but the look on FX's face keeps him still, waiting.

Finally, FX says, "I'm going to the blood bank tomorrow."

MQ stares. Then says, "What the fuck."

"I have to." FX doesn't meet MQ's eyes. "Legally, I can't not pick up blood once a week. If I don't, they have the right to check up on me, make sure I didn't break the law."

MQ digests this. Looks at him. Waits.

"I signed a waver and everything," FX says. "Look, it makes sense. I can't take blood from you in public and I can't stop going to the blood bank. Maybe you should just --"

*Go home,* MQ knows he'll say, so he cuts him off. "Fuck that."

"You don't know what's best for me," FX says, words cutting a dangerous edge. "If we get caught, you get off easy. I'm the one whose whole life is ruined."

MQ presses a hand to his forehead, eyes shut. He's trying to think, which is hard when FX is yelling in his ear.

FX can't feed from MQ in public, because it's illegal. FX can't stop going to the blood bank, because it's illegal. He gets his whole life ruined, because it's illegal.

Illegal because MQ isn't his partner, isn't his spouse, is just some guy off the street that FX wanted.

MQ is going to be late to work. He's going to come back to his stuff outside the apartment and FX refusing to answer the door. He knows how breakups work. He's been through them before.

Finally, MQ opens his eyes, drops his hand, and looks at FX. His heart beats in his throat.

"Feng Xin," MQ says. "Are you straight?"

FX's brow furrows deeper, anger vanished into confusion. "No."

"Seeing anyone?"

"No. If I was seeing someone, you would have met them already. I'm not that absent of a boyfriend." FX eyes MQ's neck again. "What is this about?"

MQ ignores him, gritting his teeth and pushing through. "Are you planning on seeing anyone?"

"No? Seriously Mu Qing, what the fuck?"

A beat of silence. MQ picks up his computer like all he intends to do is put it away and leave for work. It's a good distraction.

Calms his nerves when he turns to FX and says, "Good. Marry me."

Complete and utter silence. FX's face has frozen in an expression of shock, eyebrows raised and mouth parted like he's begging a bug to fly in. MQ makes to stand. Now is as good a time as any to leave.

As MQ passes, though, FX unfreezes and grabs his wrist.

"You're fucking serious," FX says. "You want me to marry you."

"For legal reasons, yes," MQ says. He tugs his arm away. "Don't read into it. You're not so special I'm clamoring for your attention."

"You'd do it," FX says, sounding like a broken record. "You would marry me."

"As previously stated, yes. Is your brain functioning?"

"I could stop going to the blood bank." Stating the obvious. MQ really chose a keeper. "I could see you at work."

MQ is done. He puts his laptop in his backpack, puts on his shoes, and is halfway to the door when he hears FX get up.

"You can't divorce me next week," FX says. "This can't be some fucking whim of yours. If you change your mind after it happens, I'll break your fucking wrist."

"Fine." MQ turns to face him. "You can't kick me out when you get tired of me. If you try, I'll hit your head against the wall so hard you won't be able to walk for a week."

"Fine."

They stare at each other. MQ breaks first, opening the door -- he's nearly late for work.

This has got to be the weirdest fucking thing MQ has ever done in his life, but oddly, it feels safe. Like he trusts FX to give him a home so long as he gives FX a steady source of blood.

So. MQ is getting married.

Everything is fine.

(😌😌😌)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

Normally after work, MQ passes out in FX's bed until his alarm goes off four hours later to get up and be productive. Today, he sits next to FX at the kitchen table and brings out his computer.

FX is on his own. MQ hasn't asked what he does for work, but clearly it exists.

"The fastest way to get married is to make an appointment at the county office," MQ says. He looked it up on his phone during his walk back. "We can get a certificate as soon as tomorrow."

FX blinks blearily at him, frowning. "You still sure you want to?"

"I have class in the morning and a shift tomorrow night," MQ continues, head full of too much cotton to snap. "I assume you can't go out when the sun is, so that leaves us with a narrow gap after the sun goes down and before the county closes."

"It's cloudy tomorrow," FX says.

MQ would dispute this, but he's running on reserves of already empty energy. "Still sunlight."

"Don't get me wrong, it hurts," FX says, "But it's not unbearable when it's cloudy. It's like when you're out in the sun too long and you can feel a sunburn developing."

"Okay," MQ says slowly. That gives them more leeway, but FX admits to it's pain. MQ is unsure how to reconcile the two.

"I'll wear long sleeves," FX says, as if he can see MQ's reservations. "I have a hat somewhere. It's not a big deal, get that fucking look off your face."

"A hat."

"Yeah, a hat. You have a fucking problem with it?"

MQ stares at FX. Fine, he can burn all he wants, but -- "You're going to get married in a hat?"

FX hesitates. Slips his gaze to the left of MQ's eyes. "It's only legally a marriage. What, were you going to dress up?"

When he puts it like that, it sounds stupid. MQ's cheeks burn. He'd thought about putting on eyeliner, just to feel nicer than he does on any normal day.

But it's not a marriage. Just an arrangement.

"Obviously not," MQ says. "You're just going to look stupider than usual."

"Fuck you," FX says.

MQ looks down at his computer. Finally, he opens it and brings up the county's website. It's easy enough to make an appointment online for after he gets out of classes the next afternoon.

"You're waking up early," MQ says. "I'll divorce you if you're late."

"Fine," FX says. "Do you have anyone you want to invite?"

MQ's finger slips when he closes out of the page. He misses the X and has to click it again.

"It's only legally a marriage," MQ says, head heavy. "Why does it matter if anyone sees?"

FX looks at him. Really looks, and MQ realizes how bitterly he'd said it.

"You're exhausted," FX says softly.

MQ burns with it. He scrounges for an explanation, something that means he isn't upset. He almost says *my mom is dead and my dad is gone* but that's definitely worse.

"Nobody important would be able to come even if I did invite them," MQ says, which sounds nicer than giving a wedding invitation to his mother's grave. And then, because it's a distraction, "Do you want to invite someone?"

"Uh." FX rubs the back of his neck. "Not really, no."

This is somewhat surprising. MQ assumed someone like FX would have a well established system of community and support.

"Parents?" MQ asks.

"Haven't talked to them since I turned," FX says. "We were never on the best of terms. They weren't bad, just -- never there."

MQ tries to imagine it and can't. His mother is only distant because she has to be.

"Pei Ming," MQ says.

FX grimaces. "Not unless you want him begging us to consummate our marriage and let him watch."

MQ's cheeks color. They're getting married. Married couples consummate.

They have sex. They fuck. MQ hasn't fucked FX and he likely isn't going to, but damn if the briefest thought doesn't shatter his composure.

MQ struggles to hang onto it, for any change of topic. "What about your friend? The one you fucked yourself over at the blood bank for?"

FX stills. The hesitance is unlike any MQ has seen from him before, like it's something he'd rather not think of, let alone talk about.

MQ should be sympathetic, but it's late and he's tired and he can't deal with it, not when it got them into this situation in the first place.

"Never mind," MQ says. "It'll just be us. No point inviting them if they aren't even your friend."

"Hey, don't put words in my mouth," FX says. "It's complicated."

MQ slams his laptop shut. "Fine. Enlighten me."

"God, do you ever fucking stop?" FX's eyes glint with a sharp, sudden anger. "I don't have to tell you shit. I let you live here, what more do you want?"

"If you don't want me, I can go," MQ says, blood thrumming in his veins. "You don't *have* to let me stay."

"Like hell I do," FX says. "You're marrying me. Of course I fucking want you here, but maybe I don't want to excavate the worst part of my life so you can tell me how much of an idiot I am."

MQ stares. The gentle throbbing of his head disorients in the sudden silence.

Some other person would apologize, but MQ has never quite been able to make the words cross his lips, yet another reason he has few friends.

Instead, MQ says, "Are you hungry?"

FX studies him, eyes roaming his face. MQ fights the urge to leave, to run away from any perception.

"Yeah," FX says, "I am."

MQ sweeps his hair to one side, the neck bare as an offering. An apology, heart beating as if FX can hear it and understand what he means.

FX holds MQ's hair for stability and bites into his neck. He grips in such a way that it pulls down to MQ's roots.

The feeling sparks down his spine, breath catching with the sensation of FX's mouth in his neck, teeth buried in his skin.

*Married couples fuck,* MQ's mind helpfully reminds him.

FX releases him. MQ's haziness and tiredness have converged to where he can barely see.

"Go to bed," FX says, and MQ could almost cry with it.

(sorry this took a while, i've been busy :') and yes, unfortunately this threadfic has some plot in it but i promise we'll get to the fuck or die 🤪 and ofc a link back to the top)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

The county office is deserted. They sign in at one window and sign a certificate in the next. Easy. Quick. Marriage in less than twenty minutes.

FX takes off his hat inside. MQ wears winged eyeliner. At one point FX puts his hand on MQ's shoulder and his chest hurts.

And -- that's it. MQ is married. He almost expects someone to clock their intentions, to accuse him of marrying for benefits rather than love, but of course nobody does.

FX drops MQ back at the apartment. FX himself is going to the blood bank to register their marriage.

No more blood bank. MQ is fully responsible for ensuring FX doesn't starve.

He waits for the magnitude of his decision to hit him but it never does. He goes to work, comes home, sleeps, wakes up to FX feeding, and sleeps some more.

The days pass.

They fall into a routine of sorts. Not just their sleep, but the way they coexist -- when MQ isn't at work or school, his textbooks and notes take precedence at the table. He cooks in the kitchen. PM stops making suggestive comments about *why* he's there.

FX is careful with it. While MQ is used to being the source of his sustenance, he's hesitant with the ways FX asserts himself as a part of his life past a living parasite offering his home.

The first time FX makes coffee for MQ before their wake-sleep tradeoff, MQ ignores it.

The second time, FX slams the mug straight into MQ's chest as they pass each other. MQ gives it to PM.

The third time, FX shouts some choice words at him about "not being a dick and let me fucking do something for you, Jesus Christ," and MQ yells back until he's red in the face.

Finally, MQ chugs the lukewarm coffee for the principle of it, to show FX that he doesn't give a shit.

FX goes to bed with a smug grin on his face.

Still. The whole thing is a process MQ continuously stumbles through. It's not nearly as easy as just letting things be.

A few weeks in, he finally figures out what FX does as a job. Not by anything as straightforward as asking, but by waking up in the middle of the night on a rare day off work with a parched throat.

MQ ventures to the brightly lit kitchen and finds FX at the table.

He wears headphones, expression schooled into something firm and, god forbid, professional. He glances at MQ but otherwise ignores him.

As MQ turns off the sink and brings the water to his lips, he hears FX say, "Alright, here's what we're going to do," and rattle off nonsense.

MQ is tired, but his curiosity is piqued. He turns to watch FX, leans against the countertop, and drinks his water slowly.

After several minutes of near incomprehensible words from FX and periods of long silence, FX says, "Okay, we'll see you a month from now."

FX closes his computer and takes off his headphones. His professional expression is replaced by the usual pinched look.

MQ raises an eyebrow. "My husband the phone sex operator."

"Fuck you," FX says. "I'm a nutritionist. I see my clients online."

"Mm." MQ sips his water. "At two in the morning."

"It's day where they are," FX says, and MQ has a disorienting moment where he realized again how little he knows about vampires.

Of course they have jobs. Of course they make it work, even if it means seeing clients overseas.

"How did you manage college?" The question slips out before MQ can hold it. There's so much he doesn't know about FX. He could be hundreds of years old, could have eons of knowledge to fake his degree.

But FX just says, "Got my degree online," like his affliction means nothing.

"Smart," MQ says, and means it.

FX just looks at him. The pinched expression gives away to something softer, something that hurts to look at.

"Go back to bed," FX says, and MQ obeys to get out of his sight.

Safer to hide from it. Safer to deny it exists, shrouded instead in newfound normalcy, until it's MQ's spring break and FX manhandles him onto the couch to watch a movie and MQ falls asleep on his shoulder and he just -- he just --

None of it matters. MQ is here to be prey.

It's been a month, and then it's been two months, and then it's FX waking MQ as usual with his teeth on his neck but after, when FX is supposed to leave MQ to fall back asleep, he stays. Has an arm around him. Breaths heavily the way he does when he's getting a grip on himself.

MQ is losing his own grip. He keeps his eyes shut, breathing so slowly he pretends he isn't at all. FX is so fucking warm. Vampires are supposed to be cold, but he isn't, he never has been, he's --

"My friend called me," FX says in a whisper. "He's been going to the blood bank."

MQ keeps his mouth shut, chest tight.

"I told you ages ago that it was complicated." FX shifts his head closer to MQ, breath brushing his skin as he talks. "We were best friends when we were kids. I loved him more than anyone. Then he disappeared, and I couldn't handle it."

Against his better judgment, MQ places a hand on the arm FX slung around him. Squeezes.

He's here.

"Really, I should be fucking furious," FX says. "He does all that shit, disappears, and just comes back? God, if it was anyone else I would have told them to fuck off."

"I know," MQ says, but he doesn't. He fucking doesn't.

"But it's Xie Lian. I'm just so fucking relieved that he's okay." The emotion is palpable in FX's voice. MQ's gut twists. "I worried for him all the time. But he made it. He came back."

MQ has never been good with comfort. He's never been good with jealousy, the way it curls inside him even when it shouldn't be there at all.

"How long has it been?" MQ asks. If he doesn't speak he's going to do something he'll regret.

"Not since he turned me," FX says. He huffs, hot against the bare skin of MQ's shoulder.

Not since he's been turned. Like that's supposed to mean something to MQ, who has been living with him and fed upon by him and *married him* and is unsure of something so basic as his age.

Fine. Fucking fine. MQ is tired of waiting for FX to give him the answers. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

MQ holds his breath. "How long have you been twenty-four?"

"Uh. Like six months?"

Silence.

"Dude, holy shit, what did you expect?" FX laughs. MQ's entire face burns, more so when FX slips his arm off MQ's chest and turns MQ's face towards him. "You're so fucking red. I got turned when I was eighteen, I'm not some creep like Pei Ming who's been around for centuries."

"Shut up," MQ hisses. "You never tell me anything."

"Yeah, and you never ask." Not angry but light, accompanying the smile on his face.

FX's hand is on MQ's cheek, thumb hovering close to his lips. The way FX looks at him is soft, familiar, like MQ means something to him.

It would be far too easy to lean into it, to lean into *him.* The precipice is right there. The cliff, finally within sight and waiting for MQ to leap, to kiss, to ruin or shift into something new.

But he doesn't. He doesn't for the same reason he still has his apartment.

He shouldn't, can't afford it really, hasn't even been there in weeks, but it's a safety net for when -- not if -- all this blows up.

MQ isn't going to be the reason it does.

('is all this worldbuilding necessary frace' technically no but it was going to drive me crazy if i didn't shove it in there lmao. i anticipate there being 2-3 more updates before we finally finish 👀)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

Spring break ends with little fanfare. MQ hurtles towards the end of the semester with the speed of a freight train, so busy he can barely pay attention to the intrusive thoughts that invade about FX.

FX is annoying enough that he shouldn't occupy MQ's thoughts, and yet.

Ever since their talk about FX's past, he's made an effort to ask MQ about his own. MQ knows this is a normal thing to do.

He also knows that he'd rather tear out his own nails than excavate every painful inch of his past. MQ chokes out his mother's death and leaves it at that.

Even saying that is more than MQ wants to. He hates the way FX looks at him, expression pinched like he's thinking, reintegrating this information into everything he knew about MQ already.

FX says nothing, but he doesn't need to. MQ can feel the concern emanating from him.

The grief itself has dulled into something manageable, but for anyone who knows, the physical impacts are clear.

There's a reason MQ works on top of going to school full time. Has to, with no support to fall back on. Doesn't have time for hobbies, or friends, or fucking sleep.

Not all of it is the fault of not having family. Even if she was still alive, MQ would have to work in some capacity. But it wouldn't be quite this bad, wouldn't leave him dropping into bed in the early hours of the morning with the weight of isolation pressing into his chest.

So no, it's not that he's stressed and exhausted and forced to take on more than half his classmates combined.

It's that MQ is alone. He can't call his mother and tell her about his day, hear her reassure him or tell him to calm down or just listen to her fucking voice.

When he thinks of it like that, he's furious.

It's not fair. None of it is, and still MQ pays the rent for his apartment and cooks his food in FX's kitchen and sleeps in a bed that smells like him.

His neck bruises. He buys two new things of concealer. It feels good.

FX asks him if he's tired. If he likes his job. If he ever needs to call off sick from work or school when the bags under his eyes grow too strong to be covered with makeup.

It feels bad.

What feels better is FX having an early night and falling asleep after feeding from MQ.

What feels better is letting FX's breathing lull MQ back to sleep, the same way he'd crawl into his mother's bed as a child and let her heartbeat calm his racing mind.

It's final's week when FX brings it up. MQ has called off work for the next few days to focus on studying. FX seems to know to leave him alone, but now he pulls up a chair at the kitchen table and watches him until he notices.

"What?" MQ doesn't look up from his computer.

"You didn't eat dinner," FX says. "Your goddamn mess wasn't in the kitchen when I woke up."

MQ thinks about it. FX is right. He'd been so caught up in his notes for the class he has a final in the next day that he'd forgotten to stop and eat.

He's learned to read FX, though.

If it was just about MQ not eating dinner, he wouldn't have said anything, just started something and told MQ he better finish cooking it or else it'll burn and he's not going to be the one explaining to PM why the fire alarm is going off.

"What else?" MQ asks.

FX sighs. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that? I can't tell you anything."

Nervous. Stalling. MQ eyes FX's tight grip on the table, the avoidant slant of his gaze somewhere to the left of MQ.

"Tell me about your friend or leave," MQ says. "I have finals to study for."

"Hey, fuck you," FX says with no weight to it. "He wants to see me."

At that, MQ finally pauses his studying and looks FX in the eyes. There's a hesitation there, a vulnerability MQ has seen before but always shied away from.

"Do you want to?" It has to be asked, even though MQ already knows the answer.

FX huffs. "Yeah."

"So the problem is?"

FX hesitates. He drops his eyes from MQ's face and stares at the table instead. "He asked me to stay the weekend at the place he's living."

MQ blinks. "I have finals."

"I know," FX says, and here is where frustration finally seeps in. "I'm not oblivious to how fucking busy you are. I told him, too, asked if we could meet in town somewhere, but I think he's nervous being around that many people."

"Tell him to suck it up," MQ snaps. "I'm not your personal blood bag at the whims of whatever fucking vacation you want to go on."

"It's not that simple!" FX raises his voice. MQ internally thanks the fact that PM is out on a date.

"I don't know what happened to him in the years since we last saw each other," FX continues. "I was lucky. After he turned me, I met Pei Ming and learned how to cope with it. But Xie Lian, he had nobody. No support, nothing -- I think he's afraid to be around humans right now."

"I'm human," MQ says, voice cutting an edge.

"Obviously," FX says. "Get that tone out of your fucking voice. I haven't asked you for shit yet."

MQ rolls his eyes, clicking something on his computer just for the sake of appearing unbothered.

"I'm not asking you to abandon all your responsibilities to spend the weekend with a stranger who's a nervous wreck," FX says. "I wouldn't ask that of you. Ever. You believe me on that, right?"

A stupid question. If MQ believed that, they wouldn't be arguing in the first place.

FX seems to sense this. He sighs. After a brief hesitation, he reaches out and places a hand on top of MQ's.

"I've wanted to talk about this for a while," FX says. "I know we have this arrangement, and it's good, it works for us -- but I can still go to the bloodbank sometimes."

MQ freezes. "You fucking what?"

"The bloodbank," FX repeats. "It's not like you're up and done after marriage. They won't check in on you, but if you have to, they have blood available. They know shit happens sometimes. Couples fight."

MQ wouldn't fight if FX wasn't an idiot.

They got married for a fucking reason. MQ is supposed to provide. FX needs it, he wants it, he relies on it as much as MQ relies on the feeling of it.

Fucking fine. FX doesn't want MQ anymore. He'll deal with it like he does everything else. He still has his shitty apartment.

"Stop thinking whatever fucked up thing you're thinking about." FX shifts his hand from MQ's and shuts his laptop.

MQ shoots daggers at him. FX's expression is pinched. He takes a deep breath and holds it, as if hesitating.

"All I mean," FX says, "that we don't have to do this. We can just fuck."

Silence. For a single moment, MQ no longer exists as a human being, just a block of skin flashing cold and then hot.

FX's brows furrow. "If that's what you're getting out of it, I mean."

MQ stares blankly at FX. Part of him focuses on the bit where FX wants to fuck him. Another part focuses on the bit where FX wants to fuck him instead of feed on him.

"You think," MQ says coldly, "that I let you feed on me. Because I have a fucking kink."

"Uh." FX shifts in his chair. His hand is still on MQ's computer, body turned to him. "I'm not blind, Mu Qing. Your breathing gets all -- and I mean, I get it, the whole thing is sexy, right?"

MQ burns. He injects as much venom as he can into his voice when he says, "Shut up."

"Listen, it's not that weird," FX continues. "If you want to fuck, I'm down for it. You're very -- like, I've thought about it, yeah? A lot. You're in my fucking bed. I touch you every day. I wouldn't do it just so you could --"

"Shut the fuck up," MQ says, and somehow FX does.

MQ shuts his eyes. He breathes in and breathes out. Lets it settle into something that doesn't hurt his heart, small and tucked in beneath his ribcage.

"Feng Xin." MQ opens his eyes. "I know we're not actually married, but if you want a fucking divorce just say it outright."

FX blinks. Then -- "What?"

MQ bites back the urge to scream. "You don't want to feed on me anymore so you'd rather fuck me. If you don't want to feed on me, you don't want to be married anymore. How simplistic do I have to explain this?"

"The fuck?" FX draws back his hand, tightening it into a fist. "Mu Qing, that doesn't even make sense. I only said half those things."

MQ pushes the chair back with a screech and stands. He smiles sharply. "Right. I forgot to only take you at face value."

"Hey," FX says. "Don't fucking --"

"This whole thing was a bad idea." MQ picks up his laptop and tucks it under his arm. "Of course you'd be a fucking liar when it matters."

FX stands up. "Mu Qing." His tone has a dangerous edge to it.

MQ rolls his eyes. "Preparing your words, Feng Xin? Let me guess -- you're going to sleep on the couch, but actually you want me to move back to my apartment."

FX huffs. "You --" he breaks off suddenly as if realizing something. His eyes narrow. "You kept your apartment?"

Ice floods MQ. He shouldn't feel like this. It's his own fucking apartment and FX probably planned this from the start. Still, though, the guilt stems from FX's hurt eyes and keeps him rooted in place.

"Turns out your oversight means you never actually had me move in," MQ says.

"Bullshit. You've lived here for fucking months. What the hell does that mean if not that you've moved in?"

"That you like having a man you want to fuck sleeping in your bed." MQ turns towards the hallway. He has to pack. No way he's staying here any longer.

The guilt and hurt war in his chest, making him nauseous.

"Mu Qing!" FX slams his fist against the table. MQ jumps, then stills. He doesn't look. "The fuck is wrong with you? You fucking wanted this to blow up. You don't give a shit, huh?"

MQ laughs. Sharp, bitter. So much is wrong with him, so much that led him to *prepare* for when it blew up.

He gives so much of a shit that it reaches behind his eyes and starts a fire.

"Go get your fucking blood from the bank," MQ says. "I'm going home."

(places i've written this update: a coffee shop, the park, in my car in front of a grocery store. it's been a weird week y'all, next update won't take nearly so long lol)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

MQ takes the bus back to his apartment and drops his shit on the floor of his room. It's been months. Whatever he said to HC about keeping MQ's side of the room clear meant jack shit.

HC, for his part, doesn't actually say anything to MQ, just raises an eyebrow on his way out.

And -- that's it. MQ has four bags of stuff he dragged with him on the bus. Five finals to study for, the first of them tomorrow.

One heart bruised so tenderly he's afraid to fucking breathe.

MQ clears off his bed. He shoves HC's stuff back into his side of the room.

He settles against his pillows, opens his computer, and does what he would have been doing anyway -- studying.

Or trying to, at least. FX's apartment was so quiet that MQ forgot how loud his roommates were in comparison. One owns a fucking drum set, another fond of singing.

Worst is the third who enjoys bringing home dates and fucking them in the room right next to MQ's.

Being angry about it just makes him think about FX. He stares blankly at his computer and feels the weight of his exhaustion settling into his bones.

(🛑TW sickness from here)

Alone. He's alone now.

MQ had better get used to it.

He makes it through his final the next day. Considering his grade in the class, he probably aced it, but he worries anyway. About that, and about the rest of his finals, and about the summer, and his job, and --

MQ worries so thoroughly that it's midnight before he remembers that he forgot to eat dinner again. With a twist of his chest, he thinks of how FX reminded him the previous night.

Studying. Finals. Shitty apartment. Shitty roommates. No space for FX in MQ's mind.

Tuesday, MQ has two finals in a row. Halfway through he starts feeling lightheaded but powers on out of sheer spite and the four cups of coffee he's had since five that morning.

He even eats dinner in the hopes that it'll make the feeling go away.

It doesn't.

Wednesday, he gets so frustrated during his exam that he breaks his pencil and promptly gets a splitting headache. Fuck FX. Fuck him for putting all this stress onto an already stressful week.

MQ spends all of Thursday in bed. He'd meant to get more studying done, but he can't.

Something weighs him down. It reminds him of how he felt after his mother died. Like he could hardly move sometimes, his grief a rock on his chest.

This isn't quite so hopeless. He could move if he really tried, but his headache from the previous day keeps getting worse.

There's no point, really. MQ falls asleep to the sound of his roommate's drum set and HC scribbling in his sketchbook.

MQ only allows himself to consider something might be wrong when he drags himself out of bed, through his last final, and barely makes it home.

Barely makes it through the front door, specifically, when he doubles over with a burst of pain so acute he thinks he might die from it.

Suddenly all of it -- the lightheadedness, the headaches, the heaviness -- orchestrates itself into a horrifying conclusion: MQ is sick.

"Don't you dare die in the entryway." HC's voice comes from somewhere in front of MQ. A moment later, strong arms hoist him up and shove him towards the bedroom.

If MQ were of the right mind, he'd jolt away from HC's touch and yell at him.

As it is, he can barely focus on anything past his own pain.

The moment MQ makes contact with his bed, he passes out.

The night passes in a cloud of hazy pain interspersed with periods of sleep. By the time the sun comes up, MQ knows it's worse than a cold.

He should go to the hospital. He can't afford it, though, not without being unable to pay his bills.

And besides. In his brief periods of lucidity, MQ thinks about it -- this only happened after he pissed off FX. Maybe he did something to MQ.

Even if not, there's no way MQ can care for himself. He's fucking heartbroken over FX, but he's not in his right mind.

He wants FX. He's sick, and in pain, and so fucking tired of being alone.

MQ, in pain as he is, manages to get dressed. He doubles over on his floor for five minutes, and he can't quite remember the walk to his door, but somehow he's on the bus. Head hot, body cold.

In any other case, MQ would notice if people were staring at him.

Now, he just stares at the floor and breathes in and breathes out and tries not to cry. He can't believe FX left him like this.

MQ makes it to FX's front door. He pounds on it just as another wave of pain crests.

"Fuck." MQ drops to his knees, pressing his arms against his chest and gritting his teeth. A sound wants to escape his throat, his entire world diminished to the hot, fresh agony in his chest.

The door opens. Someone laughs, then drags MQ inside.

The pain worsens more at that. MQ lets out a sharp gasp, then clamps his mouth shut. Somehow, he collapses onto something soft that must be a couch.

The pain comes and goes. MQ is no longer aware of what's happening around him. He's not sure who's in the kitchen.

Whoever it is left, then came back, then stood over MQ, then retreated back to the kitchen.

A voice says, "You have to come back, Feng Xin. The poor man is in withdrawals."

Pain blurs the edges of MQ's mind. No room to think about anything, only to process in the moment.

That same laugh again. "I said that you two didn't know what you were getting into. It's hardly my fault, is it?"

A sound like static, almost like screaming from a speaker not meant to broadcast it.

"Hoo boy," the voice says. "Calm down, yeah? Make it back soon."

MQ dives towards something like sleep.

He's not sure how long has passed when he comes back to himself. The sharp pain has vanished, but he's still barely himself, anchored by his headache and his dizziness and that goddamn feverish feeling he hates.

The door opens.

FX stomps in. MQ's heart stops before FX even sees him on the couch.

The moment he does, something in FX's expression shutters. He frowns, brows furrowed.

"Pei Ming!" FX shouts. MQ winces. "You motherfucker, where are you?"

"Feng Xin!" PM appears from the kitchen. He grins, because of course. "There's no way you obeyed the proper traffic laws, whatever they are this decade."

"Shut up." FX steps close to PM. His eyes flick to MQ. Lower, he says, "What the fuck is wrong with him? How do I fix it?"

"Ho ho," PM says. "I'm glad you asked."

(so sorry to end the update here!! i'd go on but alas today is busy for me (job interview </3). it gets fun now though 😌)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

"Stop with your cryptic bullshit," FX says.

"Ah. Well," PM says, "it's as I said. Poor Mu Qing here is in withdrawals."

With the absence of acute pain, MQ's brain struggles to comprehend this. Withdrawals -- withdrawals from what?

"Fuck off," FX says. "He doesn't do anything like that. I'd be able to taste it."

"That, my friend, is exactly the problem." PM smirks in MQ's direction. He pulls FX to face away. His voice is quiet when he says, "You really never thought to ask me about that marriage law?"

Silence. FX looks over his shoulder at MQ, then back at PM. "It's fucking bullshit. Just another barrier to keep us fucked over."

"If only." PM flashes FX a smile so wide MQ can see it from the couch. "You have no idea how much I hate condoms, Feng Xin."

"The fuck?"

"I know, I know," PM says. "All that bullshit about it feeling the same, right? I swear to you, it's *never* been the same since I turned. I wouldn't even mind the children! At least I wouldn't have to deal with them! But --"

"Don't be disgusting," FX says.

"Everything they say about your generation being laid back is false." PM sighs heavily. "A bunch of prudes, that's all you are."

"Pei Ming!" FX shouts so loud MQ's ears ring.

MQ winces. He shuts his eyes and presses a hand against his forehead. He almost wishes they'd leave.

Still, the fear of the pain returning keeps him frozen in place. He's unable to do anything but wait.

"Yes, fine," PM says, sounding much less good natured than a moment ago. "Your lovely husband Mu Qing is in withdrawals because he got used to you and then fucked off."

"That's not --"

"I don't give a fuck who's fault it is, okay? Back in the old days, you'd fuck and call it even, yeah?" PM waves a hand. "The point is, his body is craving you. Your blood. Your saliva. That sweet, sweet milk straight from your --"

"There is something seriously wrong with you," FX hisses.

PM throws his head back and laughs. MQ opens his eyes to find FX staring at him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in worry.

It's enough that MQ almost forgets their fight. *Almost.*

MQ feels a rising nausea unrelated to his sickness.

"I can't fucking believe this," FX says quietly. "You knew the law was there for a reason and you didn't fucking tell me?"

"Who am I to get in the way of true love?" PM shrugs. "You two clearly like each other."

"That's not --" FX breaks off. Hesitates. "That's fucked up, even for you. That's a goddamn health decision that he didn't get to make."

MQ swallows. His throat hurts. His head hurts more, overwhelmed by what he's hearing. He should be angry, he knows, but he's not.

Even if PM had told them, he would have begged FX to go through with it anyway.

"How was I supposed to know this would happen?" PM scoffs. "You can't put all the blame on me, friend."

"God. Just shut up." FX sighs. "So, what? I feed on him and he gets better?"

FX pauses, then continues, "Is he stuck with me? Is there a way to fix the -- withdrawals, need, whatever?"

That hurts more than anything MQ has felt so far. It fills his chest and pushes out all the air -- but what did he expect, really? For FX to suddenly want him again?

"Oh, buddy. Pal." PM laughs. "You can feed on him all you like, but he's too far gone. My advice? Tap that raw."

Silence.

MQ's brain fills with white noise. He's aware, distantly, of the sound of FX choking on spit.

"You fucking what?" FX finally manages.

"Hear me out," PM says, as if this is completely normal. "He needs your, ah, fluid, right?"

FX gapes. He's no longer looking at MQ, instead fixing his wide eyed, red cheeked gaze on PM.

"Your other option is taking him to the hospital," PM says, "But from what I understand he's not the sort of person who can afford that. He needs more of you than he'll get from feeding, and it's much more pleasant to get a fuck out of it, right?"

FX is so still it's as if he's a statue. Frozen, caught in the exact moment he was so offended his higher functioning ceased to work.

Then he says, "Get the fuck out."

PM laughs. "Excuse me?"

"Out. Out!" FX grabs PM's arm, whirls him around, and shoves him towards the door.

"Alright, alright!" Mercifully, PM opens the door to leave. He looks over his shoulder, though, and says, "I suppose I won't come back until you two are all finished?"

FX pushes him through the door and slams it shut. He locks it, deadbolts it, and then double checks the lock.

MQ watches him with a detached feeling. All of this is like a fever dream. He wouldn't be surprised if he woke in a few minutes in his bed the morning after he left FX.

"Fuck." The curse hangs heavy on FX's lips.

FX turns. He looks at MQ, who stares back steadily.

Finally, FX walks to the couch. MQ tenses. He thinks of FX, shouting at him. FX, saying they could fuck. FX, letting him leave.

FX, touching his shoulder and asking, "Can you sit up?"

MQ tries. The moment he's upright, he's hit by a wave of dizziness so intense all he can see is black spots. He feels a hand against his back, leading him to lean forward into something warm and solid.

"Good," FX says gently. "Good, you're good, you're okay."

Fine. It's fine. MQ inhales deeply. He grits his teeth against FX's scent, against the sudden burn behind his eyes.

Something touches his neck. MQ flinches.

"Shh," FX says. "I'm sorry. I'm going to feed, okay? I'm not -- I wouldn't touch you like that. Not without asking."

Like that, meaning with the intention to fuck.

That's all the warning MQ gets before FX sinks his teeth in.

The feeling is always exhilarating, but even more so with days gone without it. Immediately, MQ's headache slows to a gentle throb.

MQ grips FX's shoulder. Heat rushes through him. He can barely breath, mind full of that last thought -- the intention to fuck, intention to fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck --

FX wanted MQ to leave so he left. It's hard to think about it now. Hard to believe it happened with FX here.

FX releases. MQ only tightens his grip. He struggles to think. All the pain that left is replaced with lust pounding in his veins.

God. MQ should have stayed.

"We'll figure this out," FX says. "PM must have been lying, alright? I'll keep feeding and we'll see if --"

FX is a fucking idiot. MQ digs his nails into FX's shoulder and says, "Fuck me."

(link back to top)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784

(🔞🔞🔞 from here on out)

FX freezes. "You --"

"Fuck me," MQ says again. "Put your cock in me. Mark me. Just fucking take all of it."

FX is still. MQ bites back a sigh of impatience. Now that he's said it out loud, he feels it past his pain; he wants FX.

This isn't how he imagined it, as much as he let himself, but he wants it. Needs it. Needs to feel better, to feel FX that close to him.

"You're not in your right mind," FX says softly. "You're sick. Pei Ming is a pervert, alright? You can't trust if he says anything like that."

"Idiot," MQ hisses. "Nobody cares about Pei Ming."

FX blinks. There's a flustered hesitance in the opening and closing of his mouth. MQ watches with a rising frustration.

FX starts to say, "What are you --"

MQ kisses him.

At the first touch of their lips, FX pulls away. He stares at MQ, only centimeters of space between them. All the air, vanished. The world a pinpoint of them and them and the weight of FX's breath.

Almost imperceptibly, FX leans forward. MQ meets him with a sharp relief.

The kiss is slow. A gentle slide until FX sighs into it and MQ takes the chance to shift the kiss into something deeper -- gripping FX by the back of his neck, tasting him, desperation clouding his head with something other than pain --

God, MQ could have kissed him ages ago.

Fuck being sick. Fuck whatever fucked up circumstances these are.

MQ breaks the kiss. "Take off my shirt."

"What -- what?" FX breathes heavily, visibly dazed. "What about --"

"Take off my shirt," MQ says firmly, "So you can take off the rest of my clothes and fuck me."

FX stares, mouth hanging open.

"Don't just sit there," MQ snaps. "Haven't you done this before? A few days ago you were practically begging to --"

"Bed," FX says, interrupting. "It's -- it's been a while, okay? Just, bed, I don't want to -- not on a couch. You deserve better."

Fine. That's -- that's fine. Arguably MQ doesn't deserve much of anything, but if FX wants to so badly --

FX tugs MQ to stand. MQ is feeling better to the point that he can walk easily, but still he holds onto FX like his life depends on it, just to keep touching him.

Outside FX's bedroom, MQ pushes FX against the wall, leans all his weight on him, and kisses him. Not for any reason other than the fact that he can.

After, who knows where they'll be. The hazy headed feeling MQ is caught in wants to have this last as long as possible.

Somehow, they make it into FX's room. At some point FX's previous restraint has diminished; he kisses MQ's neck between taking off their shirts, licking over the bruises stained from feeding.

MQ runs his hands over FX's chest. It's ridiculously unfair that he never did before.

FX's body is as warm as his heated gaze. MQ isn't sure who said vampires are supposed to be cold. FX has never made him feel anything but, even as he's pressing MQ into the mattress and kissing down his body.

MQ bites back a groan when FX's mouth reaches a nipple.

It's good. It's so fucking good, and even as MQ hits it he's struck by a wave of dizziness apart from the jittery heat under his skin.

He needs more. He needs it now, and later -- if they get a later -- fuck if they get a later, he just --

"Please," MQ manages to choke out.

He'd be more eloquent but words escape him. The onslaught of desperation has only one remedy.

FX seems to understand. There's a pointed determination to the slant of his eyebrows as he undresses MQ. A undercurrent of frustration runs through him. He wants to enjoy every part.

FX exploring his skin, the slide of his clothes off his body, FX's gaze taking him in for the first time -- and yet he lays and breathes heavily and spreads his legs so FX has better access to --

FX leans over MQ to reach the drawer of the bedside table.

He withdraws with a bottle of lube but doesn't open it. Instead, he hovers, hesitant. MQ feels every inch of space between them.

It aches.

"You're absolutely positive?" FX asks. "You swear on it? You want this?"

MQ could laugh. As it is, all he can say is a hoarse, "Please."

FX kisses him. MQ sighs into it. Even the barest of touches is a relief against the feverish feeling rushing through him.

A moment later, MQ feels FX's finger prod against his entrance. He relaxes into it. The intrusion is welcomed. Wanted. MQ moans into FX's mouth.

By the second finger, MQ has FX's shoulder in a death grip. Each crook of his fingers brushes against his prostate, the sensation a burst of pleasure that fuels the fever.

"Now," MQ breathes. "I need --"

"One more," FX says. "I don't want to hurt you."

MQ wants it.

If it hurts, then fine, it's a distraction from everything else. If FX denies him, he might die right here.

MQ opens his mouth to say so and instead breaks into a moan as FX slips a third finger inside and hits a place that has him seeing stars.

"Fuck you," MQ manages. "Fuck you, you fucking asshole."

In response, FX bites his neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, but gentle, just enough to render MQ speechless.

"You're beautiful," FX says softly. He slips his fingers out of MQ. "I'm glad it was you that night."

There's the sound of the last of FX's clothes hitting the floor. MQ stares at the ceiling, his entire body a burning fire, throat choked with something he can't name.

FX positions himself over MQ. MQ barely feels the weight of him before he's pushing inside.

"Fuck," FX breathes. The push is slow, the stretch enough that MQ feels it throughout his entire body.

MQ has no words left in him. He has no thoughts, reduced instead to the sheer physicality of himself. He's sick, he's healed; he's fucked, he's loved; he wants this.

Whatever else it is, a sense of peace floods him, at odds with the desperation pulsing in his veins.

"You're okay," FX says when he's fully inside. "This is okay, right? You're okay."

MQ's entire body is taut. He stares at FX, unable to find a way to express himself.

Somehow, MQ manages to nod. He's more than okay.

FX moves. Shallow at first, as if he's afraid of hurting MQ. His muscles are rigid. It's clear he's holding back even before he snaps his hips so suddenly and sharply MQ gasps.

"Shit." FX stills. "I'm sorry, I didn't --"

"Fucking idiot," MQ says through the haze. "You couldn't break me if you tried."

FX pauses. There's a glint in his eye that wasn't there a moment ago. "Yeah?"

MQ gives him the best glare he can while half incoherent with withdrawals, naked, and speared on FX's cock.

Something in it does the job. MQ feels FX's next thrust all the way in his toes.

FX sets a brutal pace. He fucks like he's been thinking about it for months -- he's only known MQ for months -- and needs to feel MQ in any way he can.

Each thrust has MQ a quivering mess.

(stopping here for dinner!! don't know how long i'll be you can blame rani for goading me into posting this now instead of waiting for when i could finish all at once 🤪)

MQ doesn't recognize the sounds ripped from his throat. All he knows is the feeling of FX all around him, inside him, his breath on his skin and his teeth on MQ's neck --

FX breaks skin. The pinch, the rush of blood, mixes with the rising pleasure in a wave that has him shaking.

Nothing crests, only builds.

FX licks the wound. The snap of his hips is faster, reaching deeper with each thrust. MQ can tell the peak of FX's pleasure before he's opening his mouth against MQ's skin to gasps of, "Mu Qing, you're so --"

MQ doesn't want to go back to before.

FX spills with a stuttering of his hips.

MQ feels it, and along with it the breach of his fever. He's left gasping with the strength of his desire apart from the heat of the sickness.

For a moment, the room is filled with twin breaths heaving in tandem.

MQ shivers. He needs to move, he needs to touch, he needs *something* --

FX reaches down to MQ's cock. The touch has him going rigid, coming with only a few strokes. His mind goes blank, filled only with an overwhelming bliss echoing with FX's skin on his.

When MQ comes back to himself, FX is watching him.

FX's softening cock is still inside of him. It's uncomfortable, and yet MQ is filled with a quiet contentment found only in the aftershocks of hitting the ground.

"Okay?" FX's voice is gentle.

MQ doesn't think. He just tugs the back of FX's neck and kisses him.

Slow. Steady. Without the urgency of before, MQ catalogues the feeling of FX's mouth against his. The way he tastes, the sound he makes when MQ drags his teeth along FX's bottom lip.

FX pulls away.

His gaze holds a softness to it. "Good," he says.

Gently, FX pulls out. MQ misses him immediately, however inconvenient it was -- because the absence, of course, reminds him of the fragility of the moment.

MQ's head clears, and yet he doesn't like the other side of it.

FX stands. He reaches a hand towards MQ. "Come on. Shower."

MQ gives himself permission to live in the lie a little longer. He grabs FX's hand and stands on unsteady legs.

The shower is larger than most. MQ has been grateful for it ever since the first time he used it.

Even more so now, though, with both him and FX.

The act of showering together holds an intimacy MQ isn't used to. He likes it, though. Likes holding onto FX's shoulders and looking at him and washing each other and --

MQ's towel is still hanging up like he never left.

The sight of it gives him pause.

MQ knows better than most that bad things come to pass, whether or not you want them to. Better to get them over with sooner or later.

With that thought, MQ turns to FX. He can't quite meet his eye. "When do you want me to go?"

FX pauses mid-drying his hair. It's a ridiculous look, and yet his eyes on MQ are serious. "Do you want to go?"

MQ grits his teeth and squares his shoulders. The defensiveness creeps into him like shrugging on an old shirt. "You kicked me out."

"No," FX says, "I didn't. You left."

*Because you kicked me out,* MQ wants to say. He's smarter than that, though. For once, he doesn't want to fight -- he just wants it to be easy.

"Figure out a way to fix the withdrawal thing," MQ says. "I'll go through with whatever it is."

FX hangs up his towel. He turns, crossing his arms and watching MQ. His brows are furrowed.

"Fine," FX says, and MQ's heart sinks with it. "But only if you answer my question."

MQ swallows. He knows what question FX means. The answer is on the tip of his tongue.

So excruciating he'd rather it wither than be brought to life. MQ is not a person who ever wants anything he can't have.

"You wanted me gone," MQ says, if only because he knows FX will deny it. "You told me so. The blood bank. Without me. You don't want me."

"Mu Qing." FX steps forward without warning. He crowds MQ against the bathroom counter, hands bracing either side of his waist. Like this, MQ is forced to meet his eyes. "Do you want to go?"

"If you want me to, I will," MQ says.

"I don't want you to."

MQ drops his gaze. The words stoke a flame in his chest. The warmth is a gentle lap at his skin, and yet it's hard to trust. Hard to say.

Better to lose it all at once. "I don't want to go."

FX's hand on MQ's cheek, directing his eyes to meet FX. For a moment, FX looks at him.

Then, FX leans forward and kisses him. MQ melts into it, relief flooding him.

FX doesn't want him to go. Wants him. Wants him. Wants him.

"That wasn't hard to admit," FX says against MQ's mouth.

"Fuck you," MQ hisses. "You fucking suck."

FX hesitates, as if going to say something. In the end, he only presses his lips against MQ's once more before stepping away.

"You'll stay," FX says, firm.

"If you're going to make me."

"You'll move out of your apartment," FX continues. "You don't need it."

MQ opens his mouth, then closes it again. If he's here, he'll live here. If he lives here, there's no reason to keep an apartment elsewhere.

He'll save money. He might be able to take less shifts during the school year -- get more sleep, be less tired, be better.

MQ nods.

"And," FX says, "You'll be my fucking boyfriend, instead of -- whatever the fuck this is."

"We're married," MQ says. Mostly to be shitty, but also because if he doesn't, his heart will beat out of his chest and he'll run. "But fine. If you insist."

"Good," FX says, and kisses him again.

--

MQ grows into some semblance of comfort.

The routines are nice, only with the added benefit of fucking in that liminal space where MQ is waking up and FX is getting ready to fall asleep. And talking together. And feeling better.

He's almost afraid to breathe in case it all falls apart. But one week turns into two, and two into three, and PM stops making snide comments about how he *knew* they'd figure their shit out and they should have just trusted him --

And MQ is moving out of his apartment.

FQ's childhood best friend comes to help. From FX's descriptions of XL, who turned FX by accident during the worst of his hunger and fled, MQ imagines someone who is dangerous and looks it.

XL looks like he's the kind of guy to take spiders outside instead of kill them.

Something about his oversized sweater. Paw sleeves are never threatening, and especially not when paired with the biggest, warmest eyes MQ has ever seen on a person.

He's timid, though. Still not comfortable around humans, even as he greets MQ with a smile.

Still. They drive. They move. It's night. XL hovers by the car for the most part while FX and MQ pack up MQ's meager belongings.

Once HC catches wind that MQ is moving out, he follows MQ around making snide comments. MQ is happy to ignore him.

The chatter only stops when HC follows MQ outside and catches sight of XL. He cuts off in the middle of a sentence and within seconds is walking down the steps towards the car.

MQ has no time for HC's shit. As he goes back inside, though, he hears XL laughing.

--

Later that night, MQ's head is on FX's chest. His stuff is in boxes in the hallway, ready to be unpacked. The TV is blaring some stupid show FX insisted on watching and MQ couldn't care less about.

MQ's neck stings where FX fed last. FX's heartbeat echoes in his ear.

Even as FX swears at the TV, MQ knows how to place the feeling in his chest.

He's happy. He's content. Despite everything, he's glad to have ended up this way.

(heyy we made it 😭 thank you so so much to everyone who has read this far lol, all the likes and replies and rtwts have made it a super great experience!! 💚💚 if you'll excuse me it's about 90f (32c) in my room rn so i'm going to pass out but <333 thank y'all <33)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1535292936933494784