Disclaimer: Credit to Mo Xiang Tong Xiu for creating such wonderfully frustrating characters... particularly the one who watches those he treasures closely, not unlike a stalker...
Target panic.
Feng Xin listens in, frowning. He doesn't even know what target panic is, and he has it already?
No wonder he missed so many of his shots. The anxiety was crippling him... but over what? The New Year show? Just how badly does he need the money? Thinking back, that "home" of his wasn't too impressive...
He ducks away as Xie Lian and Mu Qing exit. Mu Qing's silver hair, braided back, shines under the morning sun. His frown deepens to a scowl. What's the point of that? It's too flashy.
"Guì Xin, how unexpected."
He shoots upright, hiding a blush, and failing. "Morning. Are you finished with practice?"
"I will return." The boy's gaze follows where he'd been staring, at Mu Qing. "Guì Lian took on an interesting disciple."
"Yes," he says, his idiot heart pounding through his chest.
"He has target panic."
"I know." His brows raise, and Feng Xin quickly adds, "Xie Lian invited me to watch them practice."
"I see," he says, though peers more closely at Feng Xin. "Guì Xin, his hair is beautiful, don't you think?"
"Please," he scoffs. "Bleaching only damages your hair. That idiot stands out too much."
"I agree. It is hard not to stare at."
"That's not—" He scowls. "Attend to your duties. Don't laze around!"
The boy straightens. "Yes, Guì Xin!"
He hurries away, head bowed. Feng Xin releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
It really is difficult not to stare at him.
Why is he staring at me?
Assaulting a customer doesn't paint a good picture, but Mu Qing finally got a job as a bartender. The bar is close to the Xin estate, being on the outskirts of the city. So, there aren't many people, and most of them are hunters, foreign visitors, and bedraggled salarymen.
And a certain almond-eyed man.
Feng Xin came in, saw Mu Qing, and turned back around. Then came back. Needs a drink that badly, huh?
Except it wasn't just one drink. It was two, three, six drinks, another after the other. At first, Mu Qing was impressed, albeit somewhat concerned. Now, the victim of his stare, he only feels uncomfortable.
"What?" he finally says, glaring at him.
Feng Xin narrows his eyes in turn, leaning forward. Silent.
Mu Qing can only hold his stare for a minute before turning away.
As he turns, Feng Xin grabs his hair, yanking him back over the counter. He cries out in surprise, though it doesn't hurt. If anything, heat rises to his face, but he doesn't know why.
Feng Xin mumbles something, but he doesn't hear, too busy trying to free his hair.
"Let go! Let go, hair for brains!"
He lets go.
"I can't believe you followed me here. Creep."
"You're the one intruding!"
"Please," he scoffs. "What, do you own this place or something?" Feng Xin only scowls in response.
Mu Qing considers punching him, but he still has the bruises from their earlier fight. So does he. And if he hits a guest, he would be fired again.
"You have target panic."
Mu Qing punches him.
Ever since their fight, Mu Qing has been self-conscious during practice, knowing he's watching. He has even seen Feng Xin once or twice before he'd dart away from sight again. Xie Lian must have noticed too. It was almost funny, if not a bit obsessive.
But eavesdropping on private conversations, then coming to his workplace to watch him?
"WHY! ARE! YOU! SO! WEIRD!" A punch punctuates each word.
Naturally, this draws the attention of everyone in the bar— including his boss.
A little later, he is outside once again, feeling a sense of deja vu.
"I'm sorry."
The quiet words are uttered by Feng Xin, who hangs his head in shame. The sight stabs his angry heart, sharp as an arrow.
"You— you should be sorry! Hair for brains!" He rolls his eyes, though then says, "It's my fault for hitting you."
Mu Qing has met plenty of people, each as infuriating as the last if not more so. But he has never been angry enough to hit anyone. All the times he ever fought anyone, it was self-defense. Yet, he has fought with Feng Xin twice now, the second time initiating it. Granted, he is a creep, but it's not like he hasn't met creepers before.
Feng Xin reaches for him. He tenses, preparing for yet another fight, but he only pushes his hair back from his face.
He curls a strand of hair around his finger, caressing it, rapt with attention.
Shit, he's hot.
"Why did you dye your hair?" His brow furrows like he is solving a calculus problem. "What's the point?"
"What— what the fuck? I did it just because, okay? Got a problem?"
"It's pretty."
His breath hitches, mouth agape. He wants to roll his eyes at his stupidity— both of them, stupid stupid stupid— but he's stiff, watching Feng Xin closely. Not because he's interested. But because at some point, he stepped forward and their faces are way too close, and he might—
"Get away from me!"
Feng Xin staggers back from the push, his eyes glazed over. Scowling. Yet, he still says nothing. Instead, he brushes past him towards the parking lot, to his car probably.
So he followed him after all.
Watching him walk away in a drunken haze, against all better judgment, Mu Qing follows him.