The woodshed finds itself mysteriously filled sometime in the week following Mu Qingfang, Liu Qingge, Shen Qingqiu, and Luo Binghe’s return to Cang Qiong, and thereafter stays filled no matter how much wood Mu Qingfang burns to boil water. Not long after, the larder is supplemented by some beasts the older Bai Zhan disciples had managed to hunt with their Shifu in a last-minute night hunt on Mount Yu Jun. The only reason Mu Qingfang even elected to keep their quarry was because some of the organs of the

yao

 they’d hunted had strong medicinal capabilities that Mu Qingfang couldn’t bear to waste. Perhaps a week after

that,

Liu Qingge comes bearing an armload of tools and a small army of Bai Zhan peak students to fix various things around the peak.

While Mu Qingfang certainly is grateful for the help, he tugs Liu Qingge aside after he’s gotten down from the younger disciples’ dormitory roof and demands answers.

Liu Qingge’s brows tug down in a frown when he asks, “Are you dissatisfied, Mu Qingfang?”

Ah. So he’s back to names, then

 is the first thing that comes to Mu Qingfang’s mind, and he immediately feels a bit guilty about it. “No, I’m not dissatisfied in the least but - I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” he asks, glancing over at a few Bai Zhan disciples who are walking and chatting alongside some of his Qian Cao disciples. It’s comfortable and friendly in a way that doesn’t come so easily to the rowdy Bai Zhan kids - though perhaps familiarity and cooperation had eased some of their relations.

Liu Qingge freezes up at that, an oddly guilty look on his face. So perhaps he wasn’t supposed to hear what he’d said that night, all those weeks ago. “I - W-We -” he coughs and clears his throat, pulling his shoulders back and trying to regain composure. “Bai Zhan peak has long inconvenienced Qian Cao. After consulting a few of the other peak lords -”

that must mean Shen Qingqiu

, Mu Qingfang thinks wryly - “I decided as Peak Lord that it is time we began to repay our dues.”

Mu Qingfang can’t help it - he snorts. Wielding his finger like a weapon, he pokes it straight into the center of Liu Qingge’s chest and says, “If you want to repay your dues, you can start by following the advice I give you

every time you visit

.”

Liu Qingge stares down at the offending finger and blinks up at Mu Qingfang.

Of course

, Mu Qingfang thinks,

of course he’s forgotten the

one

thing I’ve ever asked for

. “

Train your students

. Stay on your peak for more than a few days at a time! Give them your attention! Teach them some discipline!” he says, with the same firm authority he uses when he’s ordering his disciples around in the clinic.

Liu Qingge practically

flinches back

 with every word coming out of Mu Qingfang’s mouth, and he almost wants to laugh. “You’ve been a good help these past few weeks, but these are all things we can handle on our own, with time.” Mu Qingfang says. “If you want to help, stay and be a proper peak lord.”

Mu Qingfang probably hasn’t ever seen Liu Qingge look so young and unsure. It'd be a little funny, if it weren't kind of sad for the Bai Zhan disciples. With a long sigh, Mu Qingfang pats his shoulder and says, “It’s not as hard as you think it is. Even Shen Qingqiu managed to get better at it, somehow.”

Liu Qingge makes a complicated face and bows his head. “...I understand,” he says, after a long moment. Seeing the way his proud shoulders slump just the tiniest bit, Mu Qingfang pats Liu Qingge’s shoulder again. With as reassuring a smile as he can muster, he says, “Come on. Gather up your disciples. It’s nearly dinner; we’ll eat in the mess hall before you go.”

Liu Qingge is downright docile as he follows after, though as more and more of their disciples gather, his demeanor returns to its usual prideful posturing. As the number of Bai Zhan disciples increases, as does the number of behaviors - it’s not an especially long walk down to the mess hall, but Mu Qingfang already notices Liu Qingge’s students pushing and shoving one another, playing around and scrambling to show off in front of their impassive Shifu.

On the other hand, the Qian Cao disciples who are steering clear of the mass of Bai Zhan disciples walk at a quick, purposeful clip. Most of them go alone, or in groups of two’s and three’s, either tired from a long day of treating patients, braindead from Yi Qingzhi’s extensive lessons, or coming off the leisure of their day off, dreading the bone-aching exhaustion waiting for them tomorrow. Liu Qingge keeps his gaze forward, but Mu Qingfang knows he’s curiously observing the difference in their disciples’ demeanors.

There’s a line coming out of the mess doors - not unusual, given that it’s the dinner rush and there’s an unexpected excess of students - and Mu Qingfang is content to wait. While his students quietly grumble to themselves and wait more or less patiently in line, Liu Qingge’s students become more and more agitated with each passing minute. Once or twice, he hears a few complaints, which are silenced by a sharp glare from Liu Qingge, but they keep cropping up.

Once they’ve gotten maybe a few feet from the entrance, Mu Qingfang hears a muffled yelp and then all of a sudden, yelling and jeering breaks out. Liu Qingge is the first to move, stepping towards the cluster of students making space for the fight, but it’s Mu Qingfang, sharp voice echoing like a cracking whip, that gets the crowd to pause. “Tan Mingyuan, you let go of that girl right this second and come here,” he all but snarls, and in the gaps between the onlooking students, he sees Tan Mingyuan drop his hands immediately. Only vaguely is he aware of the intimidated

oooh

's of the nearby students.

The girl he’s fighting with still keeps her hand fisted in his shirt, refusing to let go until she sees Liu Qingge’s sharp glare. Once she lets go, Tan Mingyuan immediately trudges over to Mu Qingfang, his lips twisted together in unvoiced protest. Oh dear. His cheek is definitely going to bruise. But Mu Qingfang keeps his face level and stares down at Tan Mingyuan with disapproval. “Tan Mingyuan, what is the first and fundamental rule of Qian Cao Peak?” he asks, voice flat and unimpressed.

“Do no harm,” Tan Mingyuan says quietly, cowed. His face is red and his eyes are glossy with frustrated tears, and he doesn’t look Mu Qingfang in the face.

“And what did you do?” Mu Qingfang inquired, his voice just the slightest bit exaggerated. As expected, it makes Tan Mingyuan fidget uncomfortably.

Tan Mingyuan squirms under his glare and mutters something under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” Mu Qingfang presses, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him look bigger and more intimidating, and while normally Mu Qingfang would hate to use this tactic, Tan Mingyuan crumples like wet paper before him.

“She insulted you in front of everybody!” Tan Mingyuan burst out, with more vehemence than Mu Qingfang had ever seen from the boy. “She said all these - these terrible, untrue things things about you and the peak and how we’re cowards for not drawing our swords and how we can’t even -”

“Did those words hurt me? Did they physically harm the peak?” Mu Qingfang asks, his voice just this side of sharp.

Tan Mingyuan mumbles a “No,” under his breath.

“Then it did not warrant the violence you inflicted,” Mu Qingfang says firmly. “We do not harm those who set foot on our peak. I don’t care if she started it first - you have my permission to protect yourself, but not to undo the very cornerstone of our practice! If you want to use your fists, you can try your luck at Bai Zhan. Is that what you want?”

Tan Mingyuan’s voice breaks a little when he says, “No.” Mu Qingfang’s heart goes out to him, but he doesn't let it show on his face. He’ll reason with the boy later.

“Go and fetch your dinner. You’ll be spending your evenings in the library reviewing our rules by copying the first peak lord’s manifesto. Don’t forget to make yourself a cold compress on your way over,” Mu Qingfang says, nudging Tan Mingyuan into the mess hall ahead of the other students. While the onlooking Bai Zhan students open their mouths to protest, the Qian Cao students immediately part for him, watching him with big eyes.

By the time Mu Qingfang is done dealing with his student he catches sight of Liu Qingge literally

sitting

 on his. Underneath him, she’s struggling and spitting curses, but ultimately, she can’t shake him off. One of her arms lies uselessly against her side, and a small bloom of pride wells up in Mu Qingfang’s chest, even despite the punishment he dealt Tan Mingyuan. The boy was getting better at locating pressure points.

“Liu-Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says a little breathlessly. It’s difficult to hold in his laughter, and it doesn’t help that Liu Qingge grins at him with his eyes.

“As soon as she calms down, she’ll be removed from your peak,” Liu Qingge assures him. “She has brought shame to Bai Zhan peak. She won’t do it again,” The serious tone of his voice is undermined by the way the girl keeps trying to buck him off, but somehow, he manages to keep his face straight.

“No, I sincerely hope she doesn’t,” Mu Qingfang agrees. “Why don’t you send your students on ahead? They’re probably quite hungry. I’ll stay out here with you until she calms down."

“Mn,” Liu Qingge says, and he glares up at the gawking students. “You heard him. Line up and eat. Once you’ve finished, head back to the peak on your own and start your night training.”

All of Liu Qingge’s disciples make some noise of acknowledgement and scramble to follow suit, save for the one currently losing steam underneath him. Some terrible, vindictive part of Mu Qingfang enjoys watching the way her energy wanes, to the point where her constant struggling eventually slows, interspersed with sudden bursts of violent activity, and then finally fizzles out altogether. Begrudgingly, she says in a quiet, miserable voice, “Shizun,

please

let me go.”

Liu Qingge looks down at her, an eyebrow cocked, and says, “You couldn’t even last thirty seconds, even when I went easy on you. You’ve been slacking.”

“Yes, Shizun,” she says, and there are angry tears glittering in her eyes.

“I don’t want to see you again until you can lift a log the size of pillars in the third hall. When you’ve done that, then you can come back and apologize to your Shibo. Bring gifts,” he says, and he gets to his feet. Immediately, the girl gets up and brushes herself off, glaring up at Mu Qingfang. She looks like she’s got more to say, but as agreed, she holds her tongue and runs in the direction of the rainbow bridge.

Mu Qingfang feels kind of bad for her, but even she looked like she recognized where the blame lay. Liu Qingge glances at Mu Qingfang almost - almost as if to figure out his opinion of all this. Mu Qingfang gives him a pointed look and sighs. “You shouldn’t have had to physically restrain her,” he says, to which Liu Qingge frowns and crosses his arms.

“That’s how it’s always been done at Bai Zhan,” he says, his tone almost petulant. “We test our might against one another. Only the strongest deserve to stay.”

“Yes, and because of your over-competitive posturing,

this

happened,” Mu Qingfang points out. “Power is one thing, and discipline is another. Just because

you

have it doesn’t mean

they

do. Most of your students are young - no older than teenagers. They just want to be worthy of your attention. That means trying to stand out in front of a bunch of other blockheads who’ve got the same idea. And the only thing that’s impressive to someone like that is power. They don’t know how to be strong without proving someone else is weak.”

Liu Qingge opens his mouth, his brain clearly racing to come up with a counter-argument. But with one sharp look from Mu Qingfang, it dies in his throat. Together, they walk into the mess hall, and Mu Qingfang points out the frighteningly clear division between his students and Liu Qingge’s. While there were a smattering of students from both peaks that mingled together, a majority of Mu Qingfang’s students ate and chatted with their friends in small groups, or otherwise studied quietly on their own. They kept their spaces clean and kept their heads down. Liu Qingge’s students, on the other hand, either gobbled down their food and rushed out to train without heeding their spaces, or lingered in large circles, coming up with inane competitions and goading each other into eating increasingly disgusting-looking concoctions. At the moment, one girl, whom Mu Qingfang recognized as a semi-frequent visitor to Qian Cao, was staring down a piece of duck covered in a very… colorful coat of. Other things that probably were not duck and should not be eaten with duck.

“It’s not a bad thing for them to compete. It’s a natural part of being a kid. But your job as a peak lord goes beyond making them strong. Their discipline needs to go beyond fighting and survival and your approval - Speaking of survival, you might want to put a stop to that before she has to stay here overnight,” he says, nudging Liu Qingge toward the girl.

It didn’t take long for Liu Qingge to break up the circle, and soon, the remaining Bai Zhan kids were shoveling food down their gullets and rushing out to get their night training done before they lost too much sleep. In the interim, Mu Qingfang had gone to fetch their dinners and find a seat. By the time Liu Qingge returned to Mu Qingfang’s side, he had a thoughtful look on his face, tugging his brow down imperceptibly.

“Teach me,” Liu Qingge says, taking the bowl of rice Mu Qingfang offered him and easily accepting the meat and vegetables Mu Qingfang offered from a small sharing plate.

Mu Qingfang paused in his chewing and glanced up at Liu Qingge. “Teach you what?”

“How to make them better,” Liu Qingge said, his eyes looking past Mu Qingfang to observe his students.

Mu Qingfang snorted around his mouthful of food. “That’s not really my expertise. You’ve got your work cut out for you - my peak has always been this way. There’s a certain kind of person that’s attracted to Qian Cao, like how certain kinds of people are attracted to Bai Zhan. Our approaches are different by default,” he reasons, after chewing and swallowing. “Stay on your peak and build relationships with your students. Get to know them. I can help you figure out any specific behaviors, but you need to know your kids first.”

Liu Qingge did not seem especially pleased by Mu Qingfang's answer, but he didn't push the matter further. Mu Qingfang steered the conversation into more manageable waters, and before long, Liu Qingge was on his way with that determined look on his face. For once, Mu Qingfang actually had hope that maybe, just

maybe

, he could count on Liu Qingge to follow through.

--

Mu Qingfang doesn’t see Liu Qingge for three weeks, until the man shows up at his doorstep, looking haggard but otherwise unharmed. Mu Qingfang excuses himself from showing a set of younger students the proper way to suture a wound shut, and rushes toward him.

“What’s the emergency, Liu-Shixiong?” he asks. Liu Qingge rarely shows up to Qian Cao without good reason, and it’s even rarer still that he doesn’t have some sort of gaping wound in his stomach.

“No emergency,” Liu Qingge rasps, blinking his eyes slow as if he were hoping to get any modicum of additional rest from it. “Carry on.”

Mu Qingfang stares at him strangely, before hesitantly nodding and returning to his class. Liu Qingge stays at the back of the room, leaning against the doorframe, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. His eyes stay on Mu Qingfang as he delivers what is probably the most distracted lesson of his entire teaching career, though if the students pick up on it, they don’t mention anything. Good kids.

He ends up pricking himself with the needle two or three times when his attention strays back to Liu Qingge, and by the time he ties his last knot he’s about ready to vibrate out of his skin. God he hasn’t felt this unnecessarily rattled since he was 22 and being observed as he sewed up his first heart valve.

Normally, he would have lingered, would have allowed his students time to ask questions and clarify, but after checking to make sure the stitches weren’t

too

 sloppy, he couldn’t stop his immediate impulse to join Liu Qingge at the door. “I’ve got some time before my next lesson, Liu-Shixiong. How can I help you?” he asked, leaning into Liu Qingge’s space so as not to let his voice carry too loud.

Liu Qingge, who had looked calm and almost meditative as he watched Mu Qingfang’s lesson, straightens up immediately, his eyes widening as he imperceptibly backs away. He catches himself quickly, however, and gestures with his head towards the students currently packing away their supplies. “They’re so… calm,” he says.

“Well, they’re practicing on peaches. Wait until they’ve got an actual person in front of them and you won’t see them quite so calm,” Mu Qingfang chuckles, as he leads the way out of the clinic classroom.

“Mn,” Liu Qingge hums, following absently after Mu Qingfang. His quiet is a bit unnerving; he normally would’ve said something by now.

“Liu-Shixiong, are you alright…?” Mu Qingfang asks, tilting his head towards him.

Liu Qingge blinks at him slowly, before glancing quickly away. “I’m fine,” he says tersely. Mu Qingfang quirks an eyebrow as he waits for him to elaborate. Apparently, even Liu Qingge can be unnerved with enough politely quiet staring, and eventually, he says, “Teaching is harder than I expected it to be.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Mu Qingfang says drily. It doesn’t last long, though, as the corners of his mouth turn up and the laugh he’d been holding back bursts out. Liu Qingge tries to frown, but Mu Qingfang sees the corners of his lips turning up, as well.

“Young people… are exhausting,” he says, after a turn. “Even when they like you.”

“

Especially

 when they like you,” Mu Qingfang readily agrees. “They only want your attention and they’re not old enough to remember that thirty other people want your attention, too.”

The ferocity with which Liu Qingfang nods in agreement makes Mu Qingfang laugh and laugh. "Sick of them already?" he asks with a grin.

Liu Qingge's voice fills with dread as he says, quite emphatically, "

Yes

."

Mu Qingfang pats his shoulder in sympathy and tugs him closer. Only vaguely is he aware of the way Liu Qingge whips his head up to look at him, his face redder in the sunlight than it looked back in the clinic. “Come on. We can commiserate over tea at my cottage - Shen Qingqiu sent me some a couple weeks back as thanks for the Grasping Vine.”

Liu Qingge nods agreeably and lets Mu Qingfang lead him to the cottage. He doesn’t mention the hand that lingers on his bicep, and Mu Qingfang himself doesn’t realize the overly-casual touch until it’s too late to pull away.

--

They end up talking - a

lot

, if you consider how taciturn Liu Qingge generally is - and it’s honestly rather surprising how stressed out he is. Liu Qingge isn’t exactly the nurturing shifu

type

, and trying to act like one has him all out of sorts. As Bai Zhan’s war god, he’d always just… gone on ahead, devastated the enemy forces, and left the stragglers for others to deal with. He’s never had to worry about

teamwork

, let alone getting

others

to work as a team. He was a one-man wrecking crew, existing only to follow one man’s orders, or give out orders as if his words were absolute. Half the time he didn’t even need to worry about strategy - having him there and fighting

was

the strategy.

Without the impetus of violence to spur the disciples into obedience, Liu Qingge's authority was not followed quite so absolutely anymore, and that fact alone had Liu Qingge puzzled.

And without a doubt, his kids were in chaos, trying to figure out how to handle the new leaf their Shifu was trying to turn over. Liu Qingge was new and learning, but he was getting a

few

things right - for one, his discipline was consistent and fair, and for another, his students still idolized him. But hardly being used to controlling a group of 30, he had no mind for the organization and procedures he had to put into place, and with all of his students previously being self-studies, he had no understanding of how to assess and group students of similar skills. Besides, all of his skills were so long ingrained, he had no fucking clue how to explain them besides showing the motions over and over again.

Mu Qingfang could sympathize, to an extent. After all, he’d had to learn this over the course of the 15-ish years they’d been peak lords, too. Unlike Liu Qingge, however, he had a fresh start and centuries of precedence to work with. Liu Qingge was working against the status quo, handling a bunch of rowdy, cock-sure kids who’d until just recently been allowed to grow wild and free. What he was attempting was not unlike rebuilding civilization after some devastating cataclysm. Given Liu Qingge’s introverted tendencies and his love for travel, it was no wonder he was exhausted.

Staring at the dregs of tea at the bottom of his cup, Mu Qingfang asked, “What if you took some time to observe the other peak lords? See if you can glean some strategies from them? Take a few days a week to teach, and give them a few days for self study. The change is probably stressing them out, too.”

Liu Qingge blinks at him, and then nods slowly, considering it with the same seriousness he dedicates to just about anything he sets his mind to. “Alright,” he agrees. “I will visit your peak first, then.”

--

Inviting Liu Qingge to come observe was a mistake, Mu Qingfang quickly realizes. On any given day, Mu Qingfang is being observed - by Yi Qingzhi, by other older students, by the children he’s teaching, and even on occasion, by Yue Qingyuan or a guest to the peak. However, none of them stare at him with the intensity that Liu Qingge stares at him. His constant attention makes his skin prickle unbearably, to the point where he almost wants to tell Liu Qingge to go off and make himself useful elsewhere. But that’d defeat the entire purpose of the exercise.

By the second hour of Liu Qingge’s neverending stare, Mu Qingfang caves and pulls him to the front of the classroom and has him participate. Well, if using him as a model for qi circulation counts as participation. He stands extremely still as Mu Qingfang traces the path of qi from his stomach out to his extremities and back again, mimicking the flow of qi during resting state, active use, and deviation.

Liu Qingge twitches, just once, when Mu Qingfang explains qi deviation, his eyes going bright and a little bit wild, his breath speeding just a half-pace faster. As if to drive the stake in further, a student’s hand shoots up, and before Mu Qingfang can even call out to her, she blurts out, “What does qi deviation feel like?”

Liu Qingge’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His stare goes stony and a little bit far away, and Mu Qingfang knows he’s going nowhere good fast. Gently, he squeezes his wrist, just enough to remind him that he’s here. He wants to do more, but it would be too embarrassing, too intimate, to hold the man close in front of a group of disciples. “It feels like death,” Liu Qingge says quietly, gravely.

The entire room falls silent, their young eyes huge. It feels like the air in the room goes a few degrees chillier, like the spirit of death had actually come to visit. “It’s not like physical death. But mental death. Emotional death,” Liu Qingge clarifies. “For some people, it’s a sudden spark, but for me, it dragged on for months. For days at a time, I felt nothing at all. And then I’d feel these flashes of indescribable rage; I’d have nothing but blankness and violence in my mind.” God, he’s trembling. The thin skin of his wrist is cold and clammy, and his face has gone pale, emphasizing the high flush on his cheeks and the manic shine in his eyes as he continues. “I was powerless to control it. It almost killed me. It almost killed Shen Qingqiu. I would rather be torn limb from limb than let the deviation take me again.”

Mu Qingfang lets Liu Qingge’s wrist drop to his side and starts rubbing circles into his back. With a shaky smile, he says quietly, “Thank you, Liu-Shixiong. Are you alright?”

“Mn,” Liu Qingge says, nodding his head stiffly. He stays quiet from then on, eyes glassy and a little far away, but he leans into Mu Qingfang’s touch. Gently, Mu Qingfang eases Liu Qingge down until he’s sitting down and leaning against Mu Qingfang’s shoulder.

Clearing his throat, Mu Qingfang brings the class’s attention away from Liu Qingge and towards him. “Now, you’re too early in your core formation to do this, but if you do witness someone in the middle of a qi deviation flare, there are ways to minimize the damage…”

--

Liu Qingge is a little bit quieter for the rest of the day, but he comes back to himself in bits and pieces, so that by the time they leave the classroom, he’s almost to his usual brand of stoicism. Mu Qingfang opens his mouth to apologize to him, but Liu Qingge beats him to it. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gravelly.

Mu Qingfang puts his hands on Liu Qingge’s shoulders and turns him bodily to face him. “No. Don’t,” he says quietly, firmly. “You don’t need to apologize for the things illness did to you. In fact, I should apologize to you for bringing it up at all. Are you okay?”

“Mn,” Liu Qingge says, blinking his eyes slow and breathing in one deep breath.

“What can I do to make things better?” Mu Qingfang asks quietly, letting his hands drift down to hold him loosely at the biceps.

Liu Qingge looks at him for a long time before letting his gaze drop. “Just stay close to me,” he says quietly. “Don’t let me go.”

Oh

.

It is 100% absolutely the wrong time to think about

that incident

, but he can’t help it. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage as his skin crawls with the desire to get closer and the need to stay away. Stiffly, he lets go of Liu Qingge’s arms, but stays close as promised, so that every other step has them brushing shoulders. After the third or fourth bump of their arms, Liu Qingge lets his palm rest against Mu Qingfang’s, their fingers tangling of their own accord. Mu Qingfang can hardly hear a thing with the sound of blood rushing in his ears so loudly.

--

Despite his disastrous first visit, Liu Qingge takes to stopping by two or three times a week, to the point where Mu Qingfang honestly wonders if he’s actually visiting other peak lords. It’s not bad, though, having Liu Qingge around - he’s strong, reliable, and has steady hands. He’s attentive when following orders, and picks up skills and techniques readily. While he doesn’t interact much with the students the kids get used to him quickly anyways.

By the end of the day, Liu Qingge is still tired and looks more than ready to hole up and train in seclusion for a week or two, but he still returns to his peak to oversee night training or prepare for the next day’s lessons. As the weeks pass, Liu Qingge seems more… confident? Or at least, he has less and less to complain about over their shared meals, to the point where Mu Qingfang wonders if he’ll eventually stop visiting the peak and observing Mu Qingfang’s interactions with his students. But no - Liu Qingge continues to stop by, even occasionally helping in the clinic, on days where Yi Qingzhi takes over classroom duties.

Once, Liu Qingge finds himself assisting Mu Qingfang as he treats a student he himself injured. The Bai Zhan disciple’s eyes go kind of watery, his expression more than a little starstruck as Liu Qingge helps to wrap his knee. Mu Qingfang is about 99% sure the boy had not heard a single thing he’d said about how to keep the wound safe, but it’s hard to bring himself to care when the he looks so ecstatic. Mu Qingfang just makes a mental reminder to write it down for him. By the time they’re done, the boy looks like he’s witnessed god, and Mu Qingfang can’t help but excuse himself to calm down, before he bursts into laughter right in front of them. When he returns, the boy is blabbering at Liu Qingge about something or another, his hands gesturing wildly as he makes

sound effects

, and while Liu Qingge doesn’t quite

get it

, he still nods along.

When the boy is escorted out by one of Mu Qingfang’s disciples, Liu Qingge has a faint smile on his face, and oh, boy, there goes his heart again.

It’s been happening a lot, lately. By now, Mu Qingfang should be used to Liu Qingge’s close proximity, his intense stare, the touch of his calloused hands. But every single fucking time, Mu Qingfang’s chest throbs with an unnamed want. His skin tingles with the need to touch, the need to stay close enough to feel the heat radiating off of Liu Qingge’s skin, and it isn’t even a sexual impulse. He just instinctively wants to be close. On days like that, Mu Qingfang stays pointedly away, though if Liu Qingge picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything. If anything, Mu Qingfang sometimes finds Liu Qingge edging closer, unconsciously trying to maintain the equilibrium they’d established over the weeks.

It’s maddening.

What’s even more maddening is that every once in a while (and once, even on a day where Liu Qingge should’ve been busy with his disciples) Mu Qingfang falls asleep on his break and wakes up with Liu Qingge’s outer robe draped over him. On days like that, there’s usually a meal from the mess waiting for him on the counter that had

not

been that organized when he’d fallen asleep and a faint, lingering, mountainy scent pervading the room. On those days, he can usually find Liu Qingge outside observing and assisting his disciples with their self-defense training, or otherwise helping at the clinic under Yi Qingzhi’s scrutinizing stare. It makes Mu Qingfang feel weak and hollow with an affection he knows he’s not allowed to harbor.

Liu Qingge still takes missions from Yue Qingyuan, which is in turns both a welcome respite for Mu Qingfang’s poor heart and a refresher on bitter longing. Mu Qingfang, for all his restraint,

misses

 his friend, having grown used to his company. Besides, the likelihood of Liu Qingge returning grievously wounded is much higher after a mission, and it keeps Mu Qingfang on edge until the man inevitably comes back for treatment. It’s never long enough - Liu Qingge has started deigning to catch up with his students’ training in the following days, rather than spending more time recuperating at Qian Cao.

But once, just once, Mu Qingfang wakes up from one of his naps with the smell of rust and herbal medicine in the air, overwhelming even the clean scent of Liu Qingge’s outer robes around him. There’s an unfamiliar weight at his side, the tickle of something silky smooth along his cheek and neck, and when he’s awake enough to look down, he sees Liu Qingge’s head tucked against his shoulder. Still asleep enough that any concept of shame and propriety is thrown out the window, Mu Qingfang instinctively throws a hand around Liu Qingge’s waist and tugs him closer. It’s when he meets bare skin that he startles awake, and when he gives the man a proper look-over, he finds him stripped to the waist, the bandages clumsily wrapped around a shoulder already spotting with blood. His other arm is in a sling, hastily splinted and wrapped and resting safely in the space between them. It’s clear that Liu Qingge had done this himself - even

with

the broken arm?! - and hadn’t even thought to get proper care before he rushed to Mu Qingfang’s side. It awakens something indignant and soft inside Mu Qingfang. He wants to scold him for his carelessness; he wants to kiss him for his sweetness.

Instead, he sighs and pulls himself onto his two feet. Liu Qingge grumbles a soft, sleepy protest, but doesn’t wake. It’s frighteningly easy to lift Liu Qingge up and into the reclined chair and start inspecting the wound. The man is completely defenseless in a way Mu Qingfang

knows

 he isn’t when he’s off the peak, and it makes something warm and tender bloom in his chest.

--

That girl shows up - the one that’d fought Tan Mingyuan all those weeks ago, the girl that started Liu Qingge’s quest to become a better peak lord. She comes with her head bowed low, her sweaty hands clutching a basket of freshly-picked herbs and the carcass of a Lightning Strike Deer slung across her back. In the basket, Mu Qingfang recognizes some of the herbs he’d pointed out to Liu Qingge nearly two months ago. There’s even a few sticks of that plant they’d snacked on as they worked.

“Thank you,” Mu Qingfang says graciously, taking the weight of the Lightning Strike Deer off of her back. “Why don’t you come with me to the store room? Tan Mingyuan might be there. Perhaps you can finally apologize to one another.”

The girl startles at the suggestion, her eyes wide and her face full of dread. It makes Mu Qingfang laugh. “Don’t worry - I’ll be there to keep anything from happening. Besides, Tan Mingyuan is a good boy. He might have given a bad first impression, but trust me, he’s not a fighter.”

The girl snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “O-Of course he’s not a fighter. He made a bunch of rookie mistakes. I would’ve pounded him to the ground if it weren’t for -” she glances at Mu Qingfang’s face and wilts under his unimpressed stare.

“Of course he’s not a fighter. That’s not our profession here,” Mu Qingfang says, firmly but gently. “He only needs to know enough to defend himself and immobilize his attackers. And besides, if he wanted to, he knows plenty of other ways to hurt a person.”

That alone is enough to quiet her down. Their conversation turns to other, safer topics - the girl finally introduces herself and tells Mu Qingfang to just call her A-Bao (she used to hate that nickname, but once, Liu Qingge had said it suited her, and from then on, she kept it), she confirms that yes, Liu Qingge had advised her on what to bring after she’d finally (if only barely) managed to survive 30 seconds against him, and she went on to explain all the most delicious ways to prepare Lightning Strike Deer (Mu Qingfang politely ignored the way her stomach growled a little as she talked about what to roast the leg meat with). It doesn’t take long at all to get to the store room, and A-Bao honestly looks a little disappointed that they’d reached their location so quickly.

Tan Mingyuan is indeed there, and as soon as he sees A-Bao he points his finger (rudely) at her, his voice gone low and stormy when he says, “

You

!” Honestly, if the boy weren’t 5’3” and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, Mu Qingfang might have even flinched back a little.

“Tan Mingyuan, A-Bao is here to apologize,” Mu Qingfang says gently.

“W-well, she needs to apologize to you first!” Tan Mingyuan insists, crossing his arms over his chest. Mu Qingfang wants to laugh.

“She already has,” he says, gesturing to the deer he was holding and the basket of herbs in her hands. A-Bao, somehow, manages to look exceptionally nervous, and also exceptionally smug.

Tan Mingyuan’s lips press together, his voice coming out a little wobbly as he says, “W-well!” He didn’t look like he’d thought this far ahead, and his barely-there adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard and scrambles to come up with something especially self-righteous to say. As if the boy had a self-righteous bone in his body. “Let’s have it then! I’ll accept your apology if you admit you’re completely wrong.”

Oh boy. Mu Qingfang needs to nip this in the bud.

But A-Bao steps up to the challenge and says, “But I’m

not

wrong! If you didn’t do that weird thing with my arm, I would’ve kicked your ass! Your punches were nothing!”

Tan Mingyuan must’ve been really riled up, if he didn’t even think to glance up to seek Mu Qingfang’s approval. “Yeah, well that’s what we

d-do

on this mountain! We’re not - we’re not

brutes

, like you!”

“We are

NOT

br -” A-Bao all but screams, before Mu Qingfang moves bodily between them.

“Alright, alright, that is where we’re stopping. I thought you came here to apologize, A-Bao,” he says, his voice going firm. Tan Mingyuan startles at his tone, taking a step back and staying up at Mu Qingfang with big eyes. “And

you

, A-Yuan. When someone comes to apologize to you, you take it gracefully. You should know better.”

A-Bao turns to Mu Qingfang and crosses her arms, demanding, “If you got into a fight with Shifu, who would win?”

“He would, obviously,” Mu Qingfang said immediately. “He’s the head of Bai Zhan peak for a reason. Is this what you fought about?” he asks, frowning at Tan Mingyuan.

“N-no!” Tan Mingyuan stammers. “I told her and her friends that they were being annoying and loud and she said she could break my spine like a twig and I told her she could try, but not before I stopped her with our martial arts, and she called our peak horseshi - Um.”

Mu Qingfang nodded, gesturing for him to continue. “And then she said we were cowards and didn’t fight for the peak when - when Luo-Shixiong attacked,” he said, his voice growing quiet and shy at the end. “And then she said a bunch of other rude things about you.”

A-Bao opened her mouth to protest, but to her credit she closed it quickly and looked away. “I- I didn’t mean it. I was just saying things because I was mad,” she said. “A-and! I apologized, didn’t I?!” she asked, staring up at Mu Qingfang with big, angry eyes.

“You did, but that was unkind. Your Shifu wouldn’t like that, would he?” Mu Qingfang asked.

“N-no,” A-Bao mumbled, fidgeting under Mu Qingfang’s disapproving stare. “B-but I’m right! You even said so!”

“Being right and being a good person are not always the same thing. Besides. It isn’t impossible to overcome Liu-Shixiong. If we did not have swords, and with the right luck, I think I could hold my own against him.”

That had both of the children’s attention, and before either of them could say anything, a familiar voice came up the road to say, “You think you could hold your own? Want to test it?”

Speak of the devil. Of course Liu Qingge would have the

impeccable

 timing to show up just when things were getting resolved.

--

They decide to turn it into a lesson. Mu Qingfang supposes he’d feel a lot more nervous about it if he were expected to win, but he’s going up against the Bai Zhan peak lord. As long as he can draw it out long enough for his students to see the practical uses of pressure points as a supplement to the fighting style taught on the peak, there’s no shame in losing. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he looks across the training room and sees Liu Qingge limbering up.

He’s got a slew of students sitting on the side with the addition of A-Bao, Tan Mingyuan, and Yi Qingzhi as commentator. He hopes to any gods out there that this lesson won’t be in vain, that they’ll actually learn something from him humiliating himself. Fat chance, though. Liu Qingge promised that he’d go easy, but, well his definition of easy doesn’t ever quite line up with anyone else’s.

“Ready, Liu-Shixiong?” Mu Qingfang asks, more to take up time than to confirm. Liu Qingge is always ready for a fight.

Liu Qingge nods and looks to Yi Qingzhi to get the match started. Briefly, she outlines the rules for the observing students - no weapons, no qi, no dirty moves, Liu Qingge was to fight with the intent of defending himself and immobilizing Mu Qingfang, and Mu Qingfang was only to use the martial arts taught at Qian Cao. Only at her signal were they to start, and at her signal, they were to immediately separate and return to their starting points. The disciples were to study the fight and observe only. No cheering, no jeering, just observing.

With that, Yi Qingzhi signals for them to start. The moment she calls out, Liu Qingge surges forward, and Mu Qingfang moves on autopilot. It’s been a while since he’s had an actual spar with someone that wasn’t his own student, and rarely are they ever as aggressive as Liu Qingge is, so the first few seconds of the fight, Mu Qingfang spends getting back into the rhythm of evading. For all that Liu Qingge moves like a hurricane, Mu Qingfang moves like a feather, his every movement attuned to Liu Qingge’s.

Of course, this can’t last forever. As they get into the rhythm of the fight, Liu Qingge gets faster, occasionally clipping Mu Qingfang’s sleeves and barely snatching Mu Qingfang’s wrists before his grip is broken away. Finally, after maybe the third or fourth deflected strike, Mu Qingfang caves and goes for one of the pressure points governing the movement in his shoulders. Liu Qingge sees right through him and knocks him flat on his ass. Absently, he’s aware of Yi Qingzhi’s voice calling for them to return to their corners, but it’s hard to focus on anything that isn’t Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge holds a hand out to help him up, and all Mu Qingfang can hear is the blood singing through his veins. He grins at Liu Qingge, and Liu Qingge grins back. He’d come to the training hall today with dread in his heart, the exercise done out of obligation more than anything else. But seeing Liu Qingge’s spirits up, seeing the battle god in something closer to his natural environment, has him wanting more.

It’s exhilarating.

He feels, rather than hears, Yi Qingzhi start up the next round, and this time, he’s on the offensive. Liu Qingge barks out a - a laugh? As he evades Mu Qingfang’s calculated swipes. He can see Mu Qingfang going for his chest, his arms, and goads him into chase. It’s hardly dignified, but fights rarely are. Liu Qingge moves like a river, and Mu Qingfang feels helpless against it. But it doesn’t feel bad - it feels like, like they’re young again, two pups play-fighting, two young bucks knocking heads before their horns grow in. It’s good. Mu Qingfang likes it.

Eventually, Liu Qingge gets tired of evading and turns the tides back on Mu Qingfang, and within seconds he’s got one of Mu Qingfang’s arms in an iron grip. However, it it also brings him just close enough that Mu Qingfang can strike, with an accuracy whose origins even he’s not sure of, a pressure point in Liu Qingge’s abdomen. That one jab has Liu Qingge’s left knee crashing down, and he releases Mu Qingfang’s arm in surprise. Yi Qingzhi’s cry echoes sharp in their ears, alien from the animal space of mind that’s consumed Mu Qingfang, and he steps back. His eyes glance out to the audience, seeing but unseeing, and he feels the way they lean forward, too intimidated by Yi Qingzhi’s overbearing presence to cheer.

Beside him, Liu Qingge grunts, and Mu Qingfang helps him to his newly-weak legs. They stay there, leaning against one another for a long minute, before Liu Qingge nods his head and Mu Qingfang lets him wobble back to his corner. In the infinite space of the seconds before Yi Qingzhi calls for them to continue, Liu Qingge grins feral at Mu Qingfang, and Mu Qingfang grins back.

They expose their teeth like wolves.

Yi Qingzhi starts the match up again, and this time, Mu Qingfang goes for the throat. He’s bigger, his reach long and his body heavy, and before long, Liu Qingge forgets his weakness and falters. The world narrows in to nothing but the space between their bodies, the heaving of their chests, the ragged wisps of breath, the flush high on Liu Qingge’s smiling cheeks.

Liu Qingge is caught under him, his fists thrusting up and scrabbling for purchase. Being on top of Liu Qingge - or rather,

staying

on top - is a challenge, one that he loses, and then wins, and then loses again. Liu Qingge’s fists are making a mess of the polished floors, but at this range, Mu Qingfang is quicker. He gets his legs hooked under Liu Qingge’s, rolls them both over, and pins him with his weight. He bears down on him, hips flush together in a way that’d have Mu Qingfang blushing if he were on the outside watching. But this, this is just a matter of dominance, the primal urge to push someone down and -

Liu Qingge bucks under his weight once, twice, and when he tries to overturn him, Mu Qingfang jabs his hands into Liu Qingge’s chest and arms, rendering his right arm useless. Liu Qingge manages to clip him in the chin with his left and turn them around again, slamming Mu Qingfang’s skull into the floor hard enough that he sees stars. Outside of this tiny world they’ve created, he thinks Yi Qingzhi is yelling at them to stop, but Liu Qingge grunts, no, and Mu Qingfang wholeheartedly seconds the sentiment. Besides if they wanted to keep going, there’s no one on this mountain that could stop them.

Mu Qingfang sucks in deep breath after deep breath, unable to get enough air as he blinks the sparks out of his eyes. Liu Qingge struggles to keep his arms pinned, despite his useless right. When he’s recovered, Mu Qingfang breaks his hold easily, knee coming up to sweep Liu Qingge off his already unsteady pin, and in seconds, he’s sitting on Liu Qingge’s hips, his weight bearing down on Liu Qingge’s good arm. With his one leg weak and his right arm splayed uselessly on the ground, it’s completely his loss. Liu Qingge gives it a token struggle, before finally, finally dropping his head to the floor and calls mercy. In an instant, the room erupts into cheers and screaming.

It makes laughter bubble up in Mu Qingfang’s throat, and Mu Qingfang’s laughter sets Liu Qingge to grinning, and

oh

, Mu Qingfang’s heart throbs. He hasn’t felt like this since he was young.

It takes… much too long, honestly, for the rest of the world to register, and in that time Yi Qingzhi is able to loom over them both, their army of disciples making a very loud, very excitable circle around them. Mu Qingfang ignores them in favor of rolling off of Liu Qingge who, despite his weakened limbs, is in high spirits. “How’s your head?” Liu Qingge manages to rasp, and oh, ow, there it is.

“I’m alright. What about you? Mu Qingfang asks under the clamor of students.

“My right arm is completely numb,” Liu Qingge says, the cadence of laughter bleeding into his words.

Above them, Yi Qingzhi looks very irritated at being ignored for so long, but before she can properly scold them both, Mu Qingfang prompts, “Follow up lesson, my dearest, most skilled, most intelligent Head Disciple?”

Yi Qingzhi makes a face of utter disgust and says, “You owe me, Shizun.” Before herding the children away. Mu Qingfang absolutely intends to take the rest of the day off, citing his oh-so-painful (the pain is already starting to fade, actually) head wound, and besides,

someone

needs to keep an eye on Liu Qingge, right?

They both lay on the ground for a good five or six minutes, catching their breaths and breaking into winded fits of giggling. Eventually, Mu Qingfang has the gall to ask, “Just how easy were you going on me, anyways?”

To which, Liu Qingge snorts, “Not even 70%”

“Oh, come on!” Mu Qingfang groans, but there’s still a smile on his face.

“We should do this again. Without students watching. I’ll do you

75%

 next time,” Liu Qingge promises, to which Mu Qingfang shoves him.

“Cocky words for a man who’s won't be able to walk for the next two hours,” Mu Qingfang says, but there’s no real bite to it.

“You did this to me. Take responsibility.” Liu Qingge shoots back, and Mu Qingfang moves over and tugs him up by the good arm.

“Can you even get up?” Mu Qingfang asks, and Liu Qingge snorts.

“If I can’t, you’ll just have to carry me,” he says, though he does inevitably make a good effort of it because that’s how Liu Qingge is.

Their good mood lasts all day, though it calms significantly in the time it takes for the adrenaline to peter off. Liu Qingge tries his best to walk all the way to Mu Qingfang's cottage, but it's slow going with him leaning awkwardly on Mu Qingfang. The line of his body is a searing brand against Mu Qingfang's side, and it makes Mu Qingfang's skin hypersensitive and hyperaware. Now that the adrenaline's worn off, Mu Qingfang has time to think about - about the fight, how beautiful and dangerous Liu Qingge was -

is -

 how he'd rolled them both over in one smooth motion, weakened leg be damned, how he'd smashed his head to the floor and kept him there, how he'd thrust their hips together, the strength of him nearly enough to topple Mu Qingfang. The growled

no

 in his ear, the hot, wet heat of his breath, the flash of his eyes.

It sparks something low and dangerous in his gut, an all-too-familiar feeling that makes the air go thin and hot and uncomfortable. Mu Qingfang prays that Liu Qingge does not notice.

They enter the cottage, and Mu Qingfang helps Liu Qingge into his bed, and

oh

that isn't smart but there's nowhere else to let an injured man rest and he makes some offhand excuse as to why he has to leave - to get food, to wash up, to get something for his head; even he's not sure what he said - and he escapes the stifling heat of Liu Qingge’s company.

It’s easier in the warm midday air, away from the temptation of Liu Qingge’s fierce eyes, but not by much - not when Mu Qingfang knows exactly what he sounds like when he moans, knows the precise shape of his body when he writhes, knows the slick heat of his skin. The thought of it has him tugging at his clothes, ready to drown his inappropriate attraction in his little pool out back.

He slides in, the water cool despite the coming summer heat, and it’s a welcome reprieve from the fire burning under his skin. But even here isn’t safe - not when he thinks of Liu Qingge pulling himself out of this very same pool, his skin sparkling and wet, his brow tugged down with frustration, his eyes sharp and determined. The spirit is strong but the body is weak, and whatever progress was gained by slipping into the water is lost very, very quickly with every lascivious, unbidden thought of his Shixiong.

There’s no point in prolonging it, if he’s already at this point. Or at least, that’s what Mu Qingfang tells himself when he wraps a hand around himself. He tries, at the very least, to keep his mind blank as he works himself over, but it’s no use - not when less than an hour ago, Liu Qingge was on top of him, pushing him down with those skilled hands. How much different would things have been if he hadn’t held back? How much longer would he have been able to hold Mu Qingfang down?

Mu Qingfang sincerely hopes that Liu Qingge can’t hear him splashing around in the pool, though between the splashing and the low, bitten-off moans, he would prefer the splashing.

He thinks of that single bark of laughter, the exhilarated grin, the way his body moved like an inescapable force of nature, and

oh

, that’s good. Mu Qingfang lets his legs spread a bit further, lays his head against the rocks, closes his eyes as he thinks of Liu Qingge wanting him and

taking

what he wanted. His unyielding grip on Mu Qingfang’s wrist, his sharp knees, the flash of his teeth. Mu Qingfang knows he’s panting like an animal, and it’s the animal part of him that thinks of Liu Qingge lying in

his

bed, thinks of Liu Qingge doing inside what Mu Qingfang is doing out here, thinks of that single desperate plea to

let him have it, he’s ready, he can’t be hurt

 -

Mu Qingfang goes weak kneed, spilling into the water with a sated sigh. He relishes in his orgasm for exactly twenty seconds before gathering what he can of the cum in the water and tossing it out onto the grass.

Gross

.

After that, he splashes around, dunks his hair in, scrubs off the sweat and prays that Liu Qingge doesn’t know what he’s just done.


Chapter 63

October 30th, 1994

Hogwarts

October came fairly quickly with the Scottish summer being short at best and the light, warm rain gradually transitioned into heavier, cold rain. The leaves of the Forbidden forest began to change, the Whomping Willow moulted and an autumn mist began to settle over the Black Lake in the mornings.

The coming of October was also synonymous with the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament this year and its approaching advent had been all anyone was talking about.

Harry felt ready to see his girlfriend again.

Although His skepticism about the tournament hadn't been particularly helped by the fact they were looking at a piece about one of the final years of the tournament. The first event had resulted in all three champions being killed by an irate dragon.

Harry reassured himself though that the organizers would have learned their lesson and it was unlikely they would include some form of large, dangerous magical creature in the opening round this time. It made it marginally less likely that whoever was foolish enough to get selected would die straight away.

'Aren't Beauxbaton and Durmstrang's students meant to be arriving today,' Joe asked from across where he sat.

'I think so,' Harry said 'but I don't know how they're arriving.' which was true that no one had told him how Beaubatonx would be arriving.

A burst of startled exclamations from by the window drew the attention of everyone in the hall.

'It's a bird,' someone called out.

'No, it's a plane,' a Muggle-born student cried out to a few sniggers and more than a few blank looks from those raised in the magical world.

'It's Beauxbatons' flying carriage,' Ashlee said as it drew closer. 'It's pulled by Abraxan horses.'

Beaubatonx

That meant Fleur would be here soon.

Their coach was pale, pastel blue and rather ornate. The coach soon disappeared behind the central tower and Harry returned to his book again.

Harry was more than a little amused at the air of excitement around him.

Sure he was excited to see Fleur but not to this amount

'Something's happening to the lake,' a first-year squeaked.

'It's bubbling,' someone cried in surprise.

'There's a ship.'

'It must be Durmstrang,' someone said.

'Do they know about the giant squid?' a guy asked from behind him. Harry bit back a laugh. That could be a nasty surprise for Durmstrang.

'If everyone could find a seat on their house tables,' Dumbledore suggested, his wand held against his throat to magnify his voice over all the excitement. 'Let's give a good impression to our guests.'

The Durmstrang students were confusing as they were dressed for cold weather the likes of which Scotland had never seen before. Their headmaster, a silver-haired, sour-faced man with a short, pointed goatee came last, his arm draped about the broad shoulders of his final student.

'That's Viktor Krum,' Catherine hissed. A murmur of surprise and admiration spread as the prodigious young seeker entered the hall.

'Igor,' Dumbledore welcomed, arms outspread and eyes twinkling beneath his spectacles. He received a sharp, curt nod in return, something Harry thought looked slightly rude.

'Madame Maxime is on her way,' the foreign professor announced in surprisingly unaccented English. 'She stopped to give more precise instructions to your gamekeeper about her Abraxans.'

Dumbledore let his arms drop and continued to smile magnanimously as his counterpart joined him at the elevated table and his students, following Krum's lead, found space on the Slytherin table.

The hall began to fill with whispers as they waited for the French students to arrive.

As the Beaubatonx students arrived they were led by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. Many people gasped as they saw this woman. Harry believed he had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; in fact, he doubted whether there was any difference at all in their heights. Yet somehow, this woman that was now looking around the astonished crowd seemed even taller and larger to Harry. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob and she was dressed from head to toe in black satin, with many magnificent opals dangling off her person.

Dumbledore started to applaud; the students began to follow his lead. The woman relaxed into a gracious smile and walked towards Dumbledore while extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, while rather tall himself, barely had to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," replied Dumbledore.

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands behind her.

Harry, who like many of the students had been watching the exchange between Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, turned to look at the emerging girls. He estimated about thirty students in total. They seemed to be shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them wore cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. Some of them were staring as Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

Looking carefully he saw the face of his girlfriend who looked at him with a smile while also chattering in the cold.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur entered the castle looking up as the Beauxbatons delegation set foot in the entrance hall. Although it was not Beauxbatons, she really had to admire the magnificent hall; with the tall roof and marble staircase off to the side, it did have quite nice architecture.

She was with her old friend Cosette and two new friends she had made Danielle Darrieux and Julie Gayet

"Come on, let's go find seats!" Fleur looked down to see her friend Cosette beckoning her to follow her into the Great Hall. After stepping foot in the Great Hall, she and the rest of the delegation stopped again.

"Wow," many of them murmured as they looked around the beautiful and extravagant hall. The Hall stretched out long and wide and featured four separate tables, each with a different colored banner flying over them. At the end of the hall stood a single long table that had a black banner flying over it with what she guessed was the Hogwarts coat of arms. The roof (or was it a roof?) seemed to be enchanted to her so that it reflected the sky, something she thought was rather impressive and clever. She then decided to glance around the hall and was unsure of where to go now.

She decided to look for her boyfriend first though

Soon she meets his eye by the Ravenclaw Table.

"Where do we sit?" Isabelle Duchesnay asked as the delegation was now unsure of where to sit at for the feast.

"Let's sit under the blue banner," Fleur responded as she walked towards the Ravenclaw table, which was set to the very right of the room when entering from the entrance hall, with the rest of the delegation following closely behind.

Harry rose to meet her.

They shared a quick kiss.

"I'm glad to see you Arry," She said.

"You to Fleur" He murmured back "Come sit"

They sat near the back of the hall, where the table had been slightly extended, along with the Slytherin table which was positioned at the very left of the hall. As Fleur sat down in between Harry and Cossette, she saw that the Durmstrang students had sat at the Slytherin table, while the rest of the Hogwarts students filed in and sat according to their respective houses.

Their friends looked at them in surprise.

"Whos the girl Harry," A Dark-eyed girl with black hair said looking at them in surprise.

Her own friends seemed surprised that this was her boyfriend.

Well, they had never said much about how much time they spend together.

Thankfully the French gossip columns had gotten the students at Beaubatonx aware of her relationship.

And they would not do anything to protest it due to the power of her father.

But apparently, Harry's friends were a bit out of the loop.

As well as several of the students at the table who were looking confused.

Neither of them noticed the shocked looks given from several at the Staff Table and at the table across the way.

"Guys," Harry said taking her hand and turning to his friends "This is my girlfriend Fleur Delcour".

They looked shocked at first.

And then a student chuckled "Well then you've got a lot to tell us about Potter" He said.

Harry smiled as they all took their seats.

The students around the table listened with rapt attention as Harry and Fleur told them the basics.

Several of Harry's classmates seemed shocked at first but then where soon congratulating Harry for "Bagging a real looker".

They both could not stop blushing at that one.

Allthough they did realize that their was truth in that statement.

Fleur knew that her body was considered beautiful to many with her hour glass figure and her large E cup breasts.

But she also knew that Harry was one of those people that did not care for her looks and saw her for who she was.

That was one of the reasons she loved him so much

And then soon afterwords everyone broke off into conversation.

Thankfully both Harry and Fleurs friend groups got along fine with each other.

It helped that her friends had a good knowledge of English.

Their conversations soon turned quite pleasant.

"I will say the architecture here is quite impressive," Cosette remarked as the Beauxbatons students began to converse quietly, awaiting everyone else to sit down. "Obviously I prefer Beauxbatons, but this will suffice for the year, don't you think Fleur?"

"Yes, it's quite cozy," Fleur replied as Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff filed in and sat at the long High Table at the very back of the hall. Dumbledore remained standing and the hall became silent almost immediately.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests," said Dumbledore, beaming at the foreign students and Hogwarts students alike. "I am honored and have the great pleasure of welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," continued Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The moment Dumbledore sat down, Fleur saw the empty plates in front of her immediately filled with food. She noticed some French dishes were mixed in along with the English dishes that seemed to be rather different in design and style. At once her friends engaged in conversation and she talked with Harry.

"So, who do you think will be the Durmstrang and Hogwarts champion?" Catherine asked them as she began to eat a plate of ratatouille.

They all shrugged.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After dinner was completed, Dumbledore stood up once again and began to talk more about the tournament. 'Now that our guests have arrived it is time we come to the main attraction of the year.' The headmaster approached the lectern at the head of the hall. 'It is time for the Triwizard Tournament to begin, but first, the rules.'

'First of all, it should be made very clear that nobody below the age of seventeen is allowed to enter.' The hall erupted into groans of disappointment.

Fleur watched as he then introduced Department Heads from the British Ministry of Magic (Bartemius Crouch of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Ludo Bagman of the Department of Magical Games and Sports). He then proceeded to talk about the champions, which was when Fleur and everyone around her immediately focused their attention on Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, noticing the sudden attentiveness of the students, smiled and said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Everyone turned to watch Filch approach Dumbledore carrying a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels. Many students started to murmur in excitement as the chest was placed carefully on the table before Dumbledore.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore. "Necessary arrangements have been made in preparation for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways…their magical prowess – their daring – their powers of deduction – and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," continued Dumbledore. "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked based on how well they perform each task and the winner of the Triwizard Cup will be announced at the end of the third task. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore took his wand out and tapped it on the lid of the chest, which slowly opened to present a large wooden cup that had blue and white flames dancing within. The goblet was carefully placed on top of the closed chest, where it was visible for everyone in the Hall to see.

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, on Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. This goblet will remain here, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes, as he looked around at the various Hogwarts students (his eyes lingered on the Weasley twins), "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

Most of the students in the hall had already started searching for pieces of parchment, ink, and quills during Dumbledores speech as if the first few to enter might have some advantage.

"I must warn all that wish to compete; this tournament is not to be taken lightly. Once selected by the Goblet of Fire, you are obliged to see the tournament through to the end, as selection constitutes a binding, magical contract. Once you become a champion, you remain a champion. Therefore, please be certain that you are willing to participate in the tournament. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."


Nia had no idea where she was.

Sharp light stabbed against her eyes the moment she opened them, forcing her to close them again with a hiss. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick in her throat. She’d felt this way before, usually after coming out of some pretty heavy-duty anaesthesia, but whatever this stuff was, the dosage had definitely not been medically advisable.

It slugged through her body, making the room spin when she tried to catch a glimpse of her surroundings. Nia swallowed sharply, urging away the vertigo before giving it another shot.

This time, the world stabilised.

Which didn’t exactly help.

She wasn’t anywhere she recognised. The room was large, cold, empty - probably some kind of warehouse. An onset of grey-on-grey stared back at her, a mile of concrete beneath her feet. The light responsible for her pounding head was a fluorescent panel in the ceiling, blinking intermittently.

Nia groaned. What the hell had happened?

When she’d gained enough of her senses, she surveyed her body. She was sat in a sturdy chair, the metal of which bled cold through her bones, even through her costume. Instinctively, Nia reached for her face, wary that her mask might have been removed, only to jerk in belated surprise when her arms remained exactly where they were, causing an ache to jolt sharply through her joints.

Nia blinked down at the heavy-duty cuffs locking her wrists into place. The sight of them reminded her none to gently of an all too familiar scenario. A warehouse just like this, when she and Brainy had been separated from each other, when-

Oh, god.

Brainy.

They’d been together, right? Ferociously, Nia wracked her brain for an answer, but she came up blank. Whatever drug her captors had used had a hell of a kick to it, she was barely able to focus on anything at all.

But something in her gut told her that she hadn’t been alone tonight, that she’d been patrolling with a partner.

With-

“’ia?”

Nia jerked back in surprise, gasping when the chair dug into her spine.

Something flashed in front of her, a static burst of colour before it petered out again. Nia blinked, her mouth falling open in confusion. Part of her was pretty sure she was hallucinating.

But then it happened again.

“Nia!”

A bigger burst of static and, this time, a shape. A very person-sized shape, appearing before her like some kind of apparition.

Wait, no- not apparition…

There was a pop in the air, another buzz of electric distortion, and then Brainy’s image fully actualised itself in front of her.

He was in his new costume, the light cores of which glowed with a shocking brightness even in holographic-form. Nia thought she remembered that, remembered being out with him, relaying with Kara over comms. But then their comms had gone dark.

An ambush. Too many people far too quickly for either of them to calculate. Nia hadn’t had a dream about it, or maybe she had…? It was all so blurry, so difficult to piece together. And her head still hurt.

“Nia? Can you hear me?”

Nia blinked. Brainy’s dark hair was a little frazzled, his eyes wide and incredibly concerned. He was scanning every inch of her, no doubt already putting a plan into place. She nodded weakly.

“I hear you,” she said, clearing her throat with some effort. “Where are you?”

“I imagine not far, or else the projected image may not have held,” Brainy said, eyes narrowing as he glanced somewhere over Nia’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, my position is no better than yours.”

“Did they drug us?”

“I believe so. A crude composition, but non-lethal. I was able to filter it from my systems.” He winced. “I wish I could do the same for you.”

Nia smiled at that. “It’s fine, Brainy, I can deal with it.” She flexed her hands experimentally, waiting for a spike in her wrists to signal her dream energy’s presence. When she felt nothing, she dug deeper, hoping for the usual electric warmth that filled her chest and stomach just before she summoned it through her fingers.

Again, nothing.

An inkling of panic worked its way into her throat. “Brainy,” she said carefully. “Why can’t I use my powers?”

Brainy’s expression turned serious. “Short range energy inhibitors. It appears they knew enough of your powers to ensure their necessity, although they do not seem to know of my physiology, which at least allows us to communicate.” His eyes narrowed again. “I have had a chance to study the inhibitors visually; they are far weaker than your capabilities, Nia. I can talk you through how to bypass them if you will let me.” He lifted his arm as though to conduct his explanation, only to immediately drop it again. Nia watched in alarm as Brainy's image flickered. When it returned, he bent in on himself with a hiss.

Nia’s heart dropped. “Brainy, what- hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s fine,” Brainy said, although he still hadn’t been able to fully stand upright again. His dark hair curtained his face, but Nia could see the pain creasing the corners of his eyes, twisting his lips into a tight grimace. “Everything will be fine. I just-” He winced again, running his arm around his ribs. “The countermeasures I inputted to numb the pain have worn off, that’s all.”

Nia jerked at that, the anaesthesia all but forgotten. “Brainy. What pain?”

“It’s nothing,” Brainy gritted. “Just- just, please, listen to my instructions.”

But Nia wasn’t hearing him anymore. Blood was rushing through her ears, hot and fast. “Why can’t you get out?” she demanded. She glanced at her bindings. “These cuffs, they’re electronic, right? If they’re not using power dampeners on you, then-”

“It’s nothing,” Brainy said again, shaking his head. “A mild concussion. I have had worse.”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s wrong with your chest?”

“Nia, please, for right now, I need you to-”

Nia didn’t let him finish. Instead, she closed her mind off to the world entirely. She was well practiced in the art of astral projection by now, and although she still overshot it at times, with the energy suddenly coursing through her, she realised Brainy’s walk-through wouldn’t be necessary. Her dream energy surrounded her heart like a welcoming hearth, a calming blue haze drowning out her vision just before she lost the connection to her body entirely.

Sometimes, it took so much to connect to a specific person, but every thought Nia had at that moment was reserved for Brainy, concern for him so powerful it left a physical ache in her chest. It only took seconds for her to actualise in front of him.

That’s when she saw it. All of it.

Nia's chest locked.

Brainy had been hiding a lot from her with his hologram. For starters, in the real world, his image inducer had been knocked out. His green skin was paler than it should have been, and there was a deep gash sliced into Brainy’s bottom lip. His blond hair clung to his face, loose strands congealed and stuck to his mouth with dry blood. His cheek was swollen, bruising that was far too fresh to appear clearly already working its way along his jawline. His eyes were closed and dusted with shadow as his expression flickered, his own mind so far away, focused adamantly - she realised - on projecting a perfect image that wouldn't cause her concern.

Nia’s stomach bubbled.

There was clearly more damage beneath his clothes if the way he was hunched in on himself was any indicator. Nia thought back to the way Brainy had crumpled in on himself, how he had cradled his chest as though something had been broken on the inside.

Something white hot flashed in the back of Nia's eyes.

Brainy had told her the truth about the cuffs, they looked about the same as hers, the room just as wide and forebodingly bare. He should have been able to break free, but if what he’d said about a concussion was right…

Those bastards.

They’d hurt him in a way they probably didn’t even realise, but that didn't matter. It was clear what this had been for. Nia had heard of it before. Goons grabbing vigilantes off the streets, beating them to an inch of their life in the hopes of finding Supergirl’s whereabouts, Supergirl’s identity. Nia had no doubt in her mind that this was exactly that, she didn’t need a dream or a vision or anything to tell her as much.

Her hands burned.

That’s why Brainy had been so desperate to get her out. Because he’d been hurt, because he’d known she’d be next, because-

Nia’s rage surged into her arms, shooting into her wrists.

By the time the energy had actualised itself in her palms, she was back in her own body again, the solidity of the chair helping her collect her bearings. She clenched her hands as the energy finally built to a crescendo, raring to go in the form of a destructive blast. Blue light exploded from her hands; Nia gritted her teeth with the shock of it. There was a clash of metal before the cuffs were flung from her wrists so harshly that they snapped from their hinges, shooting halfway across the room before scattering across the concrete.

Nia stood fluidly. Ignoring the vertigo, ignoring the ache in her head. None of that mattered. She had enough rage to fuel her, enough to find whoever was responsible for this and destroy them.

Brainy’s eyes flickered with surprise before relief overtook his expression. He still had an arm wound around his diaphragm and, desperately, Nia wanted to reach out for him. But his image wasn’t real. No, the real Brainy was somewhere in this warehouse, bleeding and injured. In need of her help.

“Don’t move,” Nia said tersely. “I’m coming for you and then we’re both getting out of here.” She flared her hands, bright blue curls of energy sparking from every digit. “If these assholes try to stop us, I'll turn their whole world into a living nightmare.”


Minho easily falls back into a routine after spring break, from home to school to back home again. Sometimes he still meets up with Changbin, but with college getting closer the older has started to pick up more shifts to earn more money and so most of the time Minho just accompanies the older at the cafe he works at.

The thought of running away with Changbin, starting a new life and spending his time studying dance again is the only thing that still keeps him going. Even when school days are like living hell for him and at this point Minho’s pretty sure there’s not a single soul here who hasn’t heard about his sexuality.

He’s still anxiously waiting for Mrs. Han to say something. He knows she must’ve heard about it too. Everytime Minho walks around the Han’s household, he feels like he’s stepping on glass, waiting for it to break under him.

Being tossed around and teased by his schoolmates for years, Minho doesn’t really pay that much attention to the snarling and ugly remarks being thrown his way every time he walks through the school halls. It’s only the word faggot that seriously stops his heart for a whole minute and makes him want to vomit, but as time passes by, he stops noticing it too.

He feels emotionless, tired, broken, like an old toy that no one cares about. The only time he truly smiles is with Changbin, and he knows it’s not healthy nor good but there’s nothing he can do. It’s too late for Minho to start again in this town. He just needs to survive until he can finally leave for good.

He’s made up his mind.

Wanting to stay here for Jisung was a crazy and reckless idea, just a stupid feeling he had. Jisung will feel better once Minho leaves, he’s sure about it. Mrs. Han and Jisung have done nothing wrong and they don’t deserve to be around his miserable, unlucky ass. They deserve to be happy. Free.

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be in this car right now, breathing the same precious air as Mrs. Han and Jisung. He should get out, stop wasting their air, stop being in their way. He’s never been good at reading his own emotions, but right now he feels like a knife is scratching the inside of his throat and he’s gonna cry. He’s gonna sob so loud if he doesn’t run away right now. Away from his thoughts and this place and Han Jisung who’s currently pressing his thigh against Minho’s and looking at him with full concern in his eyes.

He’s never seen Minho cry and he never will.

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispers, probably trying not to catch Mrs. Han’s attention. She would worry too much.

“Yeah,” Minho says, blinking away the tears. Jisung’s skin is hot against his and it somehow calms him down, even if the thought of the younger seeing him cry had his heart beating out of his chest just a second ago. Minho really wants to hide everything from Jisung.

He’s calm. He’s okay. But he hates himself for letting Jisung control his emotions. He’s weak. He will never be okay.

“We’re here.” Mrs. Han finally chirps from the driver’s seat as she parks their car close to the church and Minho basically falls out of the car as he rushes to open the door. One more minute in that car and his thoughts would have suffocated him. And maybe Jisung’s body heat too.

Minho walks behind Mrs. Han and Jisung as the two greet their neighbours and friends, all walking the same path to the only church in this town, gathering all the people Minho dislikes or really doesn’t care about. It’s only Minho’s luck that his parents’ death anniversary fell on the same day as sunday church service.

No one seems to think about it yet, maybe they don’t even remember right now, but Minho knows his parents death will be mentioned in today’s speech and it’s gonna crush another piece of Minho’s soul. Like for the past seven years it has. Every single spring.

They go to the last aisle and Minho lets Mrs. Han and Jisung sit down first before he takes the last place, ready to run out of here the minute they’re done talking about God. And Minho’s parents. He’s like a ticking time-bomb, knowing it’s only gonna get worse as time goes on. Thankfully Jisung nor his mother notice anything, or even if they do, they don’t mention it.

There’s not much they could say anyway. It’s not like they can just fix this with some meaningless sentences.

Minho just quietly listens to the priest, lets all the words go in from one ear and out from the other. He waits and waits and waits, waits for this to finally be over so he can go and see his parents graves. Be alone with them.

He’s so engrossed in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice the priest talking about his parents, saying how it’s already been 8 years since that tragical night until Jisung looks at him and slightly nudges him. He motions Minho to look down, bow, for the moment of silence. Minho follows him, but he can’t keep his eyes from looking around.

Minho watches as everyone lowers their heads for

his

father,

his

mother, mourning them. It’s unbelievable. He watches all the happy kids sitting next to their parents. He watches the priest from the corner of his eye and can’t help but think if God really cares about his people, why did he make Minho suffer so much? Some lessons we really only learn through pain, but this is too much pain for anyone to handle. And Minho doesn’t even get the lesson he’s supposed to learn through this. Trust no one?

“I-I’m gonna go for a walk.” Minho motions to the back of the church. “You can go home without me, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure?” Mrs. Han asks, her warm hands holding Minho by his shoulders. She’s worried and Minho hates it. He never lets her worry. But lately, with the shit that’s been going on, Minho’s walls have started to crumble down and you really can’t blame him.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry.” Minho says, taking a step back. He misses the warmth of Mrs. Han, but one more second here and he might do something stupid. Something he would regret later.

Like breaking down in tears.

“What if Jisung comes with you?” She says, but Minho’s already out of their reach and so he decides not to say anything as he pushes past a couple of people walking by. Minho knows Jisung won’t follow him. He lets himself think he knows Jisung atleast that much.

The graveyard is beautiful like always. It’s clean and taken care of, and the peaceful sight itself brings back so many memories. Good and bad - Minho has spent a lot of his time here. That’s why he didn’t even have to think, his legs were moving on his own.

But he knows today, out of all the days he’s been here, is different. He doesn’t sit on the white bench by his parents grave nor does he just stand there. He feels his legs collapse underneath him the minute he sees the familiar place and he just falls down on the ground without much thinking. He’s tired, he’s so incredibly tired and his life really has hit rock bottom.

Minho doesn’t know what to do as he stares at the ground where his parents are supposed to be.

He doesn’t blame anyone, it’s really no one’s fault that he has no parents, but he can’t help but think why him out of all the people? Most of the people here in this horrible town have their parents, their own home, but it just had to be Lee Minho who lost his.

It’s shitty and crappy and Minho finally feels sorry for himself. He feels all the cries he has never left out in the pit of his stomach, in the back of his throat. It stings. He knows he’s crying, oh, he’s crying so loud but he doesn’t care.

Lee Minho never cries.

What a bullshit.

“Minho hyung?” A warm hand rests on his shoulder and Minho jumps back a little, he hadn’t heard anyone coming. Well, he hadn’t really been paying attention anyway.

Minho looks up to the owner of the voice and at first doesn’t believe his eyes.

Because looking right back at him is Han Jisung. Han Jisung with his beautiful eyes filled with concern and confusion. He has never seen Minho cry before.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Minho tries to wipe his tears away but he knows his face is bloated and his cheeks are red and there’s just no way hiding this from Jisung. There’s no way Jisung won’t think differently of him now.

Fuck

“Minho hyung, it’s okay.” Jisung leans closer to Minho, his other hand gently lifting Minho’s chin. His touch is warm and

so so

caring. “Please don’t cry anymore.”

Truth be told, as Minho stares into Jisung’s brown eyes, looks at the curve of his small nose and plump lips, the last thing he wants to do is cry. So maybe love does really work wonders, considering how he had been crying his soul out just a minute ago, but now he feels nothing and everything at the same time. It’s overwhelming.

Jisung is overwhelming.

And he’s too fucking close.

At the end, Minho isn’t sure about who closes the gap between them, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. They kiss slowly and gently, there’s feelings and passion and so much hurt hidden in it and Minho loves every second of it. He loves how Jisung almost whimpers out loud and how shy and careful he is.

The Jisung kissing him right now is a completely different person from the Jisung Minho is used to.

And Minho knows better not to get used to this.


It was now summer and the weather was touch 90 degrees everyday. Lucky for me, Jason's family has a pool that is quite large and beautiful. I decided to accept the offer made by Jason to come over on a Saturday and enjoy the pool. I appeared at the gate to their back yard around two in the afternoon. I opened the latch and let myself in.

I came down the walk and past the hedges and I saw a truly beautiful site. I saw Jason's mom wearing an extremely tight fitting all black bikini. I knew she was in great shape for a women her age but I was truly shocked! Her long gray tinged brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She had the body of a teenager, all tight and thin and sexy. She looked like an older Jennifer Love Hewitt. She had nice size breast for a woman her size; they had to be small b cups. She saw me and waved.

"Hi Sarah! How is my little nudist?” she said with a wink. I smiled and said I was feeling good. She looked my body up and down and said, "Where is your bathing suit?"

I said it was in my bag and excused myself to go to the changing room. She looked and me and said, "You don't need to worry about that Sarah. Its not like I haven't seen you before."

I was surprised to say the least. I thought about it for a second, was had to be a recipe for disaster, but then the exhibitionist in me took over. I smiled at Jason's mom and I grabbed my tank top at my shoulders and gave a good yank. I pulled the fabric over my head and stood there in my bra in front of my boyfriend's mom. I then reached behind my back and took a deep breath. I unhooked my bra and I let it fall on the grass. Jason's mom didn't say a thing. She just watched. I then proceeded to unzip my pants and they dropped on the ground. I grabbed the waistband of my panties and gave a quick pull. I was now completely nude in front of my boyfriend’s mom. I started to wonder if I should get into my suit right away or let this moment last for as long as I could stretch it. I decided to stretch it.

I leaned back and straighten my back so she could see me in all my naked glory. I asked her where Jason was as I proceeded to look through my bag for my bathing suit. She told me Jason and his father went to the pool store to purchase some chlorine they should be back at anytime. I continued to ruffle though my bag and looked for my bikini. “I think I must have left it in my car. Darn it. I don’t want to put all my clothes back on. This sucks.”

“Here honey”, said Jason’s mom, “just wrap my towel around yourself.”

I took her towel and wrapped it around my waist and headed towards the gate. It was such a turn on thinking about walking out to the curb with my breast exposed. I came to the gate and my heart was racing. I lifted the latch and proceeded outside the fence.

I didn’t see anybody as I slowly crept to the car parked on the curb in front of the house. My pussy was almost dripping it was so wet. I got to my car and saw my bikini on the floor in the back. I was just about to grab it when I changed my mind. This day was getting interesting and my bikini would only get in the way. I turned around and walked back towards the gate. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jason’s elderly neighbor staring at my naked tits! I just waved to him and said “Nice day isn’t it?” I don’t think he would complain!

I walked back to the pool and said, “I can’t find that darn thing anywhere. Whatever shall I do?”

“Don’t worry about it Sarah. You don’t have to pretend that you can’t find your suit. I have the feeling you just want to be naked in front of me and my family. Am I right?”

I lowered my head. “Your right. I’m sorry for lying. I can get dressed if you want me too.”

“You don’t have to apologize Sarah. When I was your age I never wore clothes unless I was at school or church,” She laughed and continued, “If I still had a body like your I might join you.”

I was about to tell her that her body was as good as mine if not better but I decided there was a better way to express this. I walked up in front of her, our breast almost touching. I reached around her neck and in a quick motion I untied her bikini top and I watched as it fell around her waist. Her breasts were simply perfect and her nipples were small and perky. I reached around her back to unhook her straps and our nipples pressed together. I unhooked her straps and her bra fell on the ground.

I didn’t know what to do next but then I heard a loud noise to my right. I looked over and saw Jason and his father with their mouths gaping open and the bucket of chlorine on the ground. “Hey guys. Sarah is here. I hope you don’t mind if she swims nude. It makes her feel more comfortable.”

Not surprisingly, Jason and his Dad were very agreeable. I decided to break the tension by taking off my towel and jumping in the pool. Jason and his Dad went to their bedrooms to change and Jason’s mom, still topless, hoped into the pool with me. It seems to take 20 seconds for the two men to change into their suits. I could clearly see the bulges in both of their trunks and they came to the pool. They jumped in and everybody tried to act normal. But with two topless females, this swim was anything but normal. We swam, we tanned, we sat around the patio table and chatted and I never bothered to put my clothes on or wrap a towel around me. I was surprised to see Jason’s mother didn’t bother to cover herself either.

I said, “Now I can see why you are always so horny Jason. With a mom like that you should be.”

Everybody thought this was funny but I could see the lust in his eyes. Imagine discovering someone your mother turned out to be an exhibitionist and a very sexy one at that. I wondered if their house would ever be the same after today.

We swam for a while longer and it was getting near dark. I didn’t want the day to end but I had to work early the next morning and I would have to at least get myself off twice before I go to bed. I said goodbye to Jason and his parents and then I put my bag over my shoulder and walked to the gate naked. “Mom do you mind washing these clothes for me? I can pick them up tomorrow after work.”

She smiled and said yes as I walk out of the gate once again nude. I saw the same elderly neighbor in his yard. I don’t think he had moved since six hours before. I waved and told him I would be by tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to get home and masturbate myself to sleep.


“Okay, are you ready?”

“Yes!” Tommy whined. “You’ve been talking for at

least

thirty minutes!” Phil had offered to teach Tommy to fly because–well, he literally had his wings for what, a few weeks? Not that he told Phil that. Just that he didn’t really have anyone to teach him.

When he offered, long after his leg was healed, Tommy was expecting to start the flying bit straight away, but

apparently,

there were more important things than flinging himself off of a cliff and hoping for the best.

Important things like the wing movements, what feathers did the actual flying parts, and which were just for show.

God,

Tommy didn’t even know how actual birds dealt with that. Maybe it was just Phil’s overprotectiveness.

“Okay… but we are

not

jumping off of a cliff! This is a good place to start, a hill, which you will be able to glide off of.”

“Oh, come on! All the mama birds push their babies out of their nest!”

Phil huffed, crossing his arms and giving Tommy a look similar to one a father would to a disciplined child. “Well, I’m a good mama bird!”

They both froze at that, a red coming up on their faces. Thankfully, Phil didn’t comment on it, choosing instead to walk towards the ledge.

“Okay, so how do I do this– do I jus–”

And then, as if to challenge what Tommy said, Phil

pushed

him off the hill. Tommy screamed, the

 manliest

scream ever, a screech so loud that it felt like his lungs were on fire.

And at first, Tommy felt like he was flying. The wind flowed through his feathers as he soared through the sky with ease. It felt so freeing. If he was a bird, he would probably never leave the sky.

And then he fell.

Tommy tumbled into the grass, falling on his butt. Phil was there in less than a second, huddling closer to Tommy than anyone has ever done, checking his arms and legs for injuries, and then– his hands were in Tommy’s wings, and he couldn't help but freeze up.

A chirp left his lips before he had a chance to stop it and he is quick to cover it with a cough. Phil paused, eyes dilated and breath stuck in his chest. When he got his breathing back to normal, he gave Tommy a gentle smile and chirped right back to him.

Tommy chirped again, sounding strangled by his attempts to keep it down, and he scowled.

“It’s natural, mate. Don’t try to stop it.”

“But it’s fucking weird!”

“Who’s going to judge you, the crows?” Phil turned back to the hill where all the crows were cawing and jumping, a few flying over when the two looked at them.

“Well–”

“I am literally a bird too,” Phil laughed.

“Okay, fair…” Tommy groaned, leaning back to lay in the grass. It tickled his wings and they fluff up. Phil booped his nose and Tommy’s face scrunched up. The older blonde cackled, pulling his wing in front of himself, and started pulling at the loose and disorganized feathers.

Tommy perked up, watching with fascination as he went through each and every one with great precision and practice. Phil seemed to notice this because his hands stopped moving, Tommy meets his eyes and kind smile. It made Tommy’s heart ache, it had been so long since anyone had ever looked at him with a look of real care. Not that Phil cared about Tommy, no one did, and he was fine with that. Phil was just pitying him.

“Do you want to try?”

Tommy sputtered, looking away, picking at a scab on his hand in an attempt to do something, anything, to distract himself from his irritating thoughts. “Oh no, no, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No mate, really! I don’t mind.” Phil spread his wing over Tommy’s lap, his own wings shivered slightly for some undetermined reason, a curious trill bubbling up in his throat. “You know how to preen, right?”

I didn’t even know that birds preened their wings until two days ago, Tommy thought with furrowed brows, but he nodded anyway, hesitantly placing his hands on the wing while Phil moved on to the other one– apparently okay with Tommy touching his wing. The amount of trust that Phil had put in him was probably more than anyone he knew from before he died.

Was he even dead? Maybe in a coma. Are people able to know that they are in a coma? If that’s the case, then he was probably dead.

Maybe you can remember your past life in the afterlife.

Or

this was his limbo. Maybe everyone he loved in this world would die repeatedly as punishment for killing h–

“Tommy?”

“Oh right, sorry.” Tommy ran a hand down the wing, it was soft. The feathers were silky black like the crows that follow him around, and they look so nice and flawless. How could anyone find anything bad about them! He sighed, all he had to do was find the dirt and pull out the broken feathers. Easy, right?

Wrong. They look practically

flawless,

it was a shock Phil was able to find anything wrong with them

.

But, it seemed as the gods were on his side, for he found one out of place and

yanked.

Obviously, that was probably not the smartest thing to do because Phil squawked, blood dripping down the limb. He pulled his wing out of Tommy’s lap and his stomach turned.

“Mate– seriously?” Tommy wilted when he glared at him with great annoyance. The look softened at his fearful expression, but then he just looked disappointed, which Tommy didn't think was any better.

He sighed. “It’s fine, please be careful, okay?” And then the wing was placed back on his lap. Phil confused Tommy greatly. Even after he had injured Phil, he still trusted Tommy? He looked back to the wing, and there was a string of blood dripping down it in the area where Tommy had plucked his feather, soaking the others around it.

Guilt ate him from the inside, out. His shoulders tensed as he decided to just run his fingers through the wing instead. It looked fine anyways.

In the end, Phil didn’t seem to mind, and they spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around in the grass, sure, it wasnt a great start to his flying experience but at least he got to make some pretty flower crowns with the pink carnation patch he found just a little ways away.

The two were lounging outside of the house eating lunch. Phil had made them some sandwiches, and Tommy found it amusing to make the crows bring him gifts for crumbs. Snickering when one of them brought a gapple from Phil’s chest, said man scowled at the bird and shooed the rest of them off, ending their little game.

But then one particular bird came flying over with a piece of paper in it’s beak and Phil gasped, heading towards the new bird with eagerness.

Tommy perked up as well, joints popping when he stood up to investigate. “What is it?” He asked, curiously peaked as Phil untied the string tying it together and unraveled the papers. One of them was a photograph of two guys looking to be in their early twenties, shoulder to shoulder with big grins on their faces as they faced the camera. The one on the left, a brunette, had an obnoxiously orange coat. The sleeves were black with little pockets scattered around the fabric, cuffs striped orange against black, and his pants… his pants were as well, neon orange. It was truly blinding. On his back were two huge brown and black speckled wings, one wrapped around the other guy, while the other limb was folded neatly behind his back.

Thankfully, the other man has better taste in clothing, wearing a standard black suit with a red tie. His brown, fluffy hair had a pair of curly ram horns, twisting down and under his non-human looking ears, rather fluffy and animal like.

One of the papers was a flyer. The title reading

‘EARTH SMP’

in big text. The rest of the writing was information that Tommy was quick to skim over before Phil’s eyes moved to the next piece of paper. That one seemed like more of a personal letter, so Tommy decided not to read it.

Phil gasped and Tommy’s wings fluffed up.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just Wilbur! He’s starting up an SMP!” Phil smiled at him with an excited grin and Tommy tilted his head, confused. More than one question bubbling up in his thoughts.

“Who is Wilbur?”

Phil hummed subconsciously, looking back to the letter to read over it again.

“Wilbur? He’s my son.”