Work Text:
“Qinghua.”
An unpleasant wave of heat washed over Mobei-Jun as he stepped from his portal. It made him scowl in irritation, though he soon relaxed when he inhaled and caught the rich scent lingering on it. It was Qinghua’s scent. This room was larger than the one Mobei-Jun remembered, but Qinghua’s obnoxious yellow furnishings and towering stacks of paper were here. The human himself was deep in slumber, visible as no more than a lump nestled in his sheets. Mobei-Jun flared his qi impatiently.
An incoherent squawk broke the silence. Qinghua pitched to the side and flailed his limbs, tangling the sheets around himself as he cursed violently. Finally, he fell to the floor with a loud thud.
“Oof,” he said in a muffled tone. It took him a troubling amount of time to extract himself and stand up. He squinted at Mobei-Jun. “Is that you, my king?”
Mobei-Jun looked at him. It wasn’t always necessary to reply when Qinghua spoke.
“…My king?”
Since he had asked twice, Mobei-Jun replied. He was getting good at dealing with his strange human. “Yes.”
“…Right.” Shang Qinghua nodded. He waved his hands in the direction of a nearby candle and muttered, “Yeah, no, sure. Who else would it be… Not like it’s five ay-em in the morning or anything, who needs sleep anyway, I sure don’t…”
Mobei-Jun courteously stayed silent. Qinghua lit the candle with a spark of spiritual qi and held it up. Humans had poor night vision. Mobei-Jun remembered that now. How resourceful Qinghua was, to keep a way to compensate for his natural defects so close at hand. It was exactly like him.
“…So, um?” Qinghua continued after a brief moment of pause. The candlelight made the room seem even more yellow, but revealed the slight redness of his skin and face. “…Is there something urgent I can help you with, my king? What’s going on?”
This was Mobei-Jun’s fifth nocturnal visit to Qinghua within the last seven months. Usually, Qinghua was quick to choose an appropriate topic to discuss. Mobei-Jun looked at him evenly to indicate he had no particular thoughts, nor did he wish to deviate from their established routine.
“Oh! Is this about that coup you mentioned you were worried about — I mean, not worried, you just thought it might happen — with those, uh, fish demons, from last time? I’ve been drowning in work recently — uh, no pun intended, my king! — but I did a bit of digging and based on what you told me, I really think—”
“Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun cut him off politely.
“Um.” Qinghua’s black-brown eyes widened and he put down the candle to brace himself as if expecting a blow. “…My king?”
Mobei-Jun strode forward and hit him gently over the head. Qinghua stumbled backwards, and squeaked like a vole, but he didn’t fall. He didn’t hit back, either, but that was to be expected from Qinghua. Mobei-Jun had come to realise that it did not diminish his strength.
Qinghua eyed him warily, still braced for another strike. Mobei-Jun glanced pointedly to Qinghua’s bed to indicate that he had been expressing his disapproval for Qinghua’s inability to rouse when called on, which would be dangerous when — if — he ever consented to live in the Northern Palace where assassins could strike in one’s sleep. However, as Mobei-Jun would be responsible for ensuring he was well-rested and protecting him from danger, he would not repeat this warning.
Qinghua’s gaze darted between him and the bed. Then he threw his hands up.
“What, you want my bed too?” he said. “I mean — what’s mine is yours, my king! Of course you can have it, I should have offered it, please don’t hit me again…”
Mobei-Jun grunted. His human was so dramatic. He lay down on the bed and waited. Qinghua hovered nervously. Mobei-Jun felt impatient again. “Come here.”
Qinghua sat, then looked down at Mobei-Jun as though wondering if he had done it wrong.
“My king?”
Funny, Mobei-Jun had tired of hearing that title from most people. “Tell me about the… fish demons,” he said, closing his eyes. Qinghua launched into a ramble about them, and Mobei-Jun began to listen.
The air was too hot, but he didn’t feel like moving or even taking a layer off. There was something soothing about breathing in Qinghua’s scent and listening to him speak with alluring accuracy of how Mobei-Jun could likely freeze the demons’ blood in their veins with minimal effort, if he really wanted to.
…Ah, he knew it was accurate because he had killed those fish demons already. Mobei-Jun didn’t open his eyes.
He’d mention it eventually.