Chapter Text
“What. The. Fuck?”
Ling Wen gives Mu Qing a tired smile. “Take a look for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
Mu Qing doubts that his personal assistant would ever lie to him, but in his rage, he snatches the offered tablet out of her immaculately manicured hands and scans the screen.
Sure enough, the news is loaded with images of him and another woman. A woman he’s never seen in his entire life , if he may defend himself for just a moment.
Clearly, the press has no interest in hearing Mu Qing’s self defense, because the headlines are littered with words like “MARRIED” and “SECRET RELATIONSHIP?” and “WHAT ELSE IS YOUR CANDIDATE HIDING FROM YOU?”
“What. The. Fuck,” Mu Qing seethes, just barely managing to keep from hurling the tablet across the room. Those things are expensive, and giving how fast his political career seems to be sinking, he needs every penny to keep himself afloat.
“I’m not sure how they found these images,” Ling Wen tells him with a quick sideways glance, “but they’re everywhere. Your opponents are already spreading rumors and lies. ‘I saw him with her before’, ‘I thought they were just siblings’, ‘They always seemed just a bit too close’... things like that.”
“Who the fuck is she?!” Mu Qing yelps. “I don’t… I don’t even remember that!”
“I would assume they were edited. Either that, or they hired an actress to sneak up and be around you when you didn’t notice. No matter the case, it’s not going to win you any points in your campaign. Especially since you’re running as an advocate for queer rights… well, it wouldn’t look good if you turned out to be a straight, married man lying about being gay.” Ling Wen is matter of fact and logical and Mu Qing knows she’s right.
Mu Qing growls, barely keeping himself from throwing something. His office is fairly small and the walls are thin; he doesn’t think the rest of the building’s residents would appreciate a grown man throwing a tantrum.
“So? What do we do?”
Ling Wen smiles slightly, dark blue eyes shining behind her thin-framed silver glasses. It’s unsettling, almost, and Mu Qing feels a shiver travel down his spine.
She taps the tablet twice, then flips it around to show him once again. “We’ve come up with a little arrangement for you.”
We? Arrangement? Mu Qing takes the tablet, examining the documents Ling Wen has pulled up.
On the screen, looking back at Mu Qing with a small smile and easygoing expression, is a young man about his age. He’s sort of handsome, Mu Qing thinks, and he also looks vaguely familiar. Mu Qing squints at the words lining the side of the screen as Ling Wen begins to speak.
“His name is Feng Xin,” Ling Wen informs him, confirming his suspicions.
Feng Xin. An up and coming politician, known for his straightforward way of thinking and speaking, his lack of ability to lie like a real politician, and his open bisexuality. All things that, politics considered, should be points against him. And, of course, all things that seem to work in his favor.
“I know of him. What’s the plan? Why am I looking at this?” Mu Qing demands, annoyed. Ling Wen takes the tablet back, her expression still neutral and calculated.
“His own publicity manager, Bai Jing, has reached out to me. Feng Xin knows how important it is for people with similar beliefs to stick together and help one another out. Besides, he’s had a bit of a… mishap himself. He could use the boost in publicity that this would give him,” Ling Wen says.
“This ? What exactly is this?” Mu Qing presses. His stomach is sinking; he knows exactly what’s coming.
Sure enough, Ling Wen treats him with a broad, encouraging smile. “The plan? The plan is to arrange a marriage between the two of you.”
ཐི♡ཋྀ
“We’re going to meet him at his apartment,” Ling Wen says. She’s all business, a black earpiece gleaming from her ear as she talks to Mu Qing. “Jing Wen is coming downstairs to meet us and bring us up to their floor.”
“Okay,” Mu Qing replies, but Ling Wen has already turned away, one finger pressed against her earpiece, speaking in a low, professional tone.
They wait for the car to come together on the street. Ling Wen stands the proper distance away, loath to give the media anything else to talk about, despite being Mu Qing’s right hand woman for the last three years.
The car pulls up quietly, He Xuan at the wheel as usual. Mu Qing climbs in, followed closely by Ling Wen.
“I told you where to go before,” Ling Wen reminds their driver. “Just pull up in front of the apartment. The most publicly accessible entrance, if you can.”
He Xuan’s only response is a curt nod before he pulls away from the curb.
In the silence that ensues, Ling Wen having returned to clicking busily away at her tablet, Mu Qing finally has the chance to think.
It’s been two days since Ling Wen told Mu Qing about the arranged marriage with Feng Xin. In that time, he’d barely had a moment to himself to let the whole ordeal sink in.
Now that he does, he finds that he almost doesn’t want to. Overwhelmingly, his thought process consists of what the fuck?
Everything about this was so damn unfair .
Just because people didn’t like them, they decided to ruin his reputation? Just because he was a politician, the public was ready to take away his freedom to choose and bind him to someone he’d never met before? Just because he wanted to make change and do something good, the entire course of his life was being shifted?
“We’re here,” Ling Wen says coolly, forcing him out of his spiraling thoughts. Scowling, he sits up and wrenches open the car door, ready to climb out.
Immediately, he’s greeted by the flash of cameras and bright lights and loud voices, all trying to ask him questions. The crowd pushes and shoves, sways and tangles, slamming into him. Behind him, he can hear Ling Wen instructing them to give Mu Qing space, while He Xuan abandons his spot at the wheel, shoving people aside to guard Mu Qing’s side.
“Mu Qing, over here! Is it true that your secret wife is pregnant?”
“Look here! Have you seen the rumors that those pictures with your wife are all false?”
“Do you really have a husband? Who’s that woman, then?”
“Mu Qing, do you know who your husband really is? Do you know the secrets he’s keeping?”
“Are you being truthful about your own identity?”
“You know, nobody’s buying that you’re gay!”
That last shout catches him off guard. Mu Qing whips around, ready to chew out the commenter, but someone grabs onto his arm.
Then that someone lowers his lips to Mu Qing’s ear. His voice is soft and liquid smooth, as warm as the summer.
In a voice loud enough for Mu Qing and a small handful of news reporters around them to hear, he hums, “It’s alright. I’ve got you, my love.”
With just one tug, that hand pulls Mu Qing out of the crowd and into the building.
To his mortification, he can feel heat flushing up his face. His heart beats quickly, his eyes glued to the red-carpeted ground beneath his feet.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!
He breathes in and out slowly, steadily, trying to give himself time for the blush to fade. Still gasping for air slightly, less with the panic that had overwhelmed him at being lost in the crowd and more with a new feeling of exhilaration.
What was that? That voice… had that been… Feng Xin?
The intense reluctance that had accompanied this entire arrangement was beginning to ebb. Mu Qing’s mind was suddenly full of fantasies of him looking up, out of breath, Feng Xin smiling at him with that charming smile of his, offering a hand, pulling him up and out of this whole nightmare.
What greets him when his head raises couldn’t be further from his dreams.
Feng Xin’s eyes are gold, but they couldn’t be more frigid. His arms are crossed and he glowers down at Mu Qing. He’s as far away from Mu Qing as he can manage to get, as if being close to him would hurt Feng Xin somehow, because he just has to be that kind of asshole.
Mu Qing’s heart sinks. Feng Xin’s mouth opens.
“This wasn’t my idea, by the way.”
ཐི♡ཋྀ
Feng Xin is adamant about this singular point, adamant about showing it as much as he can. Throughout the entire ride up to the seventeenth floor, Feng Xin presses his body away from Mu Qing, practically flattening himself against the elevator wall. Mu Qing says nothing, but he could swear that there’s smoke pouring out of his ears by the time the elevator doors slide open.
Jing Wen gives Mu Qing a small, self-satisfied smirk as he leads the way into an open, bright conference room. Mu Qing allows himself to entertain the thought of pushing Jing Wen out of one of the massive wall to floor windows, but ultimately decides against it.
“Ling Wen and I have some discussion to do,” Jing Wen declares, his voice dripping with condescension. Mu Qing would very much like to punch his teeth in. “We’ll leave the two of you to get… acquainted.”
With that, Jing Wen saunters out of the conference room. Mu Qing watches Ling Wen leave with a feeling of helplessness until she’s out of sight, disappearing into a side office. Only then does he force himself to face Feng Xin.
The other man hasn’t paused in his scowling for even a second. He doesn’t look nearly as handsome as he had in that picture Ling Wen had shown Mu Qing, he decides with satisfaction.
“This isn’t my idea. I would rather not be fucking doing this shit,” Feng Xin repeats. Mu Qing can’t resist rolling his eyes.
“Oh, great. I was under the impression that this would be a loving marriage,” Mu Qing says with no small amount of sarcasm. Feng Xin ignores this.
“I fucking told Jing Wen that I didn’t care about the whole Cuo Cuo shit. I was going to fucking handle it on my own, and Jian Lan has never disrespected me. I knew she’d never blackmail me or try to get something out of me, that she was more than happy to raise him on her own, but noooo. Of course the fuck not! Jing Wen just has to stick his head in my business and try to ‘fix’ everything!”
Feng Xin places sarcastic air quotes around the word “fix”, then growls under his breath and begins to pace storming circles around the conference room. Mu Qing watches him, a mixture of amused and annoyed.
Abruptly, Feng Xin whirls to face Mu Qing again. “You better not expect any sort of nice, cute intimacy from me. I’m staying ten feet away from you at all times.”
“Fucking perfect. I’d rather not have my—”
Shit. Mu Qing catches himself before he finishes his sentence. If nothing else, he should salvage the remains of his dignity and not let his new mortal enemy know that his first kiss would be part of a publicity stunt.
Luckily, Feng Xin is too absorbed in himself to pay attention to Mu Qing. He mutters to himself for a bit longer, stomping around, before he seems to remember that Mu Qing is still standing there.
“So?” he demands, taking a step closer to Mu Qing. “What are we going to do?”
“ What ?”
“I. Said. What. Are. We. Going. To. Do?” Feng Xin enunciates obnoxiously. Before Mu Qing can wind up to finally give him a real piece of his mind, he continues. “You can’t seriously think we can just let this happen. I don’t care what Jing Wen and your secretary think, I’m not fucking sitting around until this shit blows over.”
“...What are you suggesting?” Mu Qing asks, keeping his cool somehow.
“I’m suggesting that we think of ways to end this sham marriage as quickly as we can.”
And because Feng Xin has just managed to piss Mu Qing off enough that his head is fuzzy, he responds easily.
“Of course. I’m in.”
ཐི♡ཋྀ
They move in together.
According to the lies that Jing Wen and Ling Wen are hard at work feeding the press, Feng Xin has been married to Mu Qing for the last seven months, keeping their relationship under wraps so as not to distract the rest of the world from their campaigns. But now, in order to fight back against all the rumors, they decided to go public.
“Seven months. Just long enough for the marriage to be falling apart, don’t you agree?” Feng Xin smirks, holding his phone out to show Mu Qing. His voice echoes in the empty apartment. They should be unpacking at least some of their belongings, seeing as they are supposed to be living together for the next year at least, but neither of them seem very inclined to make the move.
Feng Xin smells distractingly good— not that Mu Qing noticed. Of course. He barely knows this guy, except for the fact that he hates his rude ass and can’t wait to be free of him. “Yeah. This should work.”
With a satisfied smile, Feng Xin flops onto the couch, propping his feet up on the low, round table (the two things they’d unpacked under Ling Wen’s watchful eye before she disappeared to do her job, leaving them to be irresponsible together).
“What’s the first part of the plan?” Feng Xin inquires.
“You’re asking me ? Isn’t this your idea?” Mu Qing retorts.
Feng Xin has the decency to look embarrassed. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I spend all my waking hours fantasizing about how to end a fake relationship with some guy I barely know. How the fuck was I supposed to know I would get into a situation like this?”
Something about Feng Xin’s biting tone when he says the words some guy I barely know sends a flare of annoyance through Mu Qing’s body. “So you’re expecting me to execute this whole stupid plan? No, thanks! I’ll suffer through this sham marriage if it’ll piss you off.”
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“What the fuck?”
“Language, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin responds, looking all-too-happy with himself. Mu Qing labors not to smack him right then and there.
“Fine. Fine. Fucking fine. And don’t tell me to watch my fucking language,” Mu Qing snaps, hit with the strange urge to curse more. “I mean, our first step should be easy. We’ll stage some arguments, get people whispering about how we're unstable.”
“Starting when?”
“The next time we go out.”
“Wait, I know I proposed this, and I’m still all for it, but… should we wait a little longer? You know, so your entire career doesn’t completely fall to pieces?”
Shit. Why is Feng Xin the one thinking about that, and why is he being decent and nice? Mu Qing wants to throttle him. “Sure. Fine. You’re right,” Mu Qing mutters, pacing around. “Then… want to give it… is two weeks good?”
“Perfect.”
“Okay. Then, we’ll plan when we get closer to that,” Mu Qing says gracelessly. He’s not sure what else to add. He tries to stop pacing, reduced to standing at the window of their apartment and looking out at the city skyline, one foot tapping anxiously.
It’s silent for another few seconds. Feng Xin is the one who speaks first.
“Should we… I don’t know, unpack? If we’re going to be living here for a few weeks.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mu Qing agrees.
He moves, heading towards the short hallway branching off from the living room, trying not to mind Feng Xin’s stare.
Footsteps behind Mu Qing tell him that Feng Xin is following, so he leads the way into the first bedroom—
Wait. What?
“There’s… this is…” Mu Qing chokes out, unable to say anything more.
The apartment only has… one bedroom?!
Mu Qing doesn’t even see whatever expression is on Feng Xin’s face, too busy shoving past him to run out of the room.
A sweep of the small (so small. How had Mu Qing not noticed how small it was before?) apartment confirms his fears.
“There’s only one bedroom. There’s one singularly fucking bedroom,” Mu Qing breathes, stuck in the disbelief.
His pocket emits a small buzzing noise. Numbly, Mu Qing withdraws his phone, reading the notification that springs up with half-focused eyes.
I forgot to tell you. Jing Wen was in charge of finding a place for you two, and he only managed to find an apartment with one room. I'm sorry, but I couldn’t make any other last-minute arrangements. You’ll have to tough it out, for at least a month. -Ling Wen
Mu Qing doesn’t know what it’ll take to get Ling Wen to stop signing all her text messages off with her name, but he’s barely thinking about that. His mind is an endless chain of the same two words.
One bedroom. One. One. One. Bedroom. Only one.
Feng Xin sighs and Mu Qing jumps, having forgotten that he was there. He rounds on him quickly.
“You. Where will you sleep.” His voice is flat, less of a question and more of a demand.
“Me? So there really is only one bedroom?”
“Yes, and we’re sure as hell not sleeping together!”
Feng Xin’s face flames. “I wasn’t about to suggest that!”
“So? What will you do?”
“I’ll sleep on the fucking couch, I guess!” Feng Xin shouts.
Dimly, it occurs to Mu Qing that he could’ve offered. His mouth opens to—
What? Take it back? Offer to sleep on the couch? For what? This asshole of a man, who’s made it abundantly clear exactly how many fucks he gives about Mu Qing?
Hell no. Mu Qing makes up his mind quickly.
Whirling around, he grabs a box with his name on it at random, then storms his way into his new bedroom and slams the door.
He drops the box (judging by the noise it makes, it was, thankfully, only fabric items) and sits down heavily on the floor, taking in his surroundings.
Plainly painted walls. A bed frame supporting a clean-looking mattress. A closet, a dresser-mirror set, a window adorned with gauzy white curtains.
His new room. His new life.
Only for a few weeks, Mu Qing reminds himself, but the despair is still there.
What is he going to do?
Fix this. Yes, that’s right.
Mu Qing is going to figure out how he can end this mess as fast as he can.