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Violent's MoShang Week 2021

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October

Shen Yuan was woken up by incessant banging on his apartment door. Groaning, he rolled over and folded his pillow over his ears, but it didn’t do nearly enough to block out the sound. He waited in the vain hope that whoever it was would give up and go away, but his luck was never that good. So with a sigh, he sat up and slid out of bed, shivering as his feet hit the cold floor.

He groggily made his way to the front door and peered through the spyhole to see who had the gall to disturb his much needed beauty sleep in the fucking middle of the night.

Of freaking course.

He yanked the door open a crack until it halted on the end of the security chain, and glared at the person on the other side through the small opening.

“What do you want?” he bit out tersely.

His friend looked miserable, eyes red and cheeks blotchy from crying. “Can I please stay with you tonight?”

“No, I don’t allow animals on the couch,” he said, and went to close the door, but Shang Qinghua was too quick and managed to get the toe of his shoe in first.

“But you have a spare room!” he pleaded, fingers gripping the doorframe. “I’ll be quiet! Please, I can’t go back home tonight. He kicked me out, he doesn’t want me anymore. It’s– it’s over.” He sniffled quite pitifully. “For good, this time. But I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

Shen Yuan would have accused his friend of putting on this huge pathetic display for sympathy (the brat knew how weak Shen Yuan was to tears), but he also knew that every. single. time this happened, Shang Qinghua genuinely believed he was going to die unloved and alone, and no amount of coddling would convince him otherwise.

So he simply huffed. “I don’t know how you can call it a spare room when I have a roommate. Where exactly do you expect him to sleep if I give you his room?”

Shang Qinghua looked at him angrily, and wiped at his nose. “I’m not an imbecile. I know he already sleeps in your room, although why you think you need to hide it from me when you know I’m gay too–”

Shen Yuan slammed the door. Shang Qinghua immediately began banging on it again and shouting, but stopped when he heard the sound of the chain sliding in the lock.

Shen Yuan open the door quickly, offered a sheepish smile to his next door neighbor, who was poking her head around her own apartment door with a glare, then yanked his friend inside.

“Just for tonight, okay?” he hissed as he dragged Shang Qinghua down the hall and shoved him into the spare bedroom. “So you can’t keep saying I never do anything for you. And don’t use my toothbrush!”

With that, he closed the door in Shang Qinghua’s face and angrily stormed back to his bedroom.

“What was it?” Luo Binghe asked sleepily, turning to face him before yawning. Shen Yuan rolled his eyes.

“Who knows,” he said as he slid into bed. “But Shang Qinghua and Mo Beitong are on the outs again.”

It was not just one night, but they all knew it wouldn’t be. And Shang Qinghua kept to his word and was quiet as a mouse. Shen Yuan only knew he was still there because the leftovers from the way too large dinners Binghe made every night, and which Shen Yuan inevitably crammed in the fridge, were always gone by morning, with the tupperware containers left sitting in the sink, full of soapy water.

But six days later, Shen Yuan came home to find a post-it note stuck to the fridge reading, “Went out for lunch with MB” with a little smiley face drawn next to it, and he knew the infamous “on-again, off-again” couple were officially "on" again.

Honestly, being friends with the two of them was exhausting.

__________

December

Binghe slid onto the barstool next to Mo Beitong, who was miserably slouched over the bar, swirling the dregs of his drink around the bottom of the glass while a bottle of baijiu already three-quarters empty sat at his elbow.

“So what happened this time?” he asked, a little resigned and a little curious, as he signaled the bartender over, and pointed at a bottle of whiskey on the top shelf.

Mo Beitong merely sighed like someone who’d just been told the sun would never rise again as the bartender set two shots down in front of them with a little clink.

Just then, Mo Beitong’s phone pinged with a little notification. And not just any notification: the custom ringtone (a pixelated version of the Hamtaro theme song) he’d assigned to Shang Qinghua. Binghe had only heard it approximately 50 trillion times before, any time the two went out without their significant others.

Mo Beitong perked up, and pulled the phone free from his pocket and keyed in the passcode with an urgency like he was disarming a bomb and had only seconds left on the timer. And by the way his eyes went wide and his ears went red, and how he cupped a possessive, protective hand over the screen when Luo Binghe tried to peek over, gave him a pretty good guess at that little idiot had just sent.

Mo Beitong stood up abruptly, pushing the stool away from the bar with a screech of chair legs against the floor. He slammed back the shot Luo Binghe had ordered, dumped what looked like the entire contents of his wallet on the bar counter without bothering to count it, and took off.

Luo Binghe turned on his stool to watch him go, incredulous.

“Are you kidding me?!” he shouted after the retreating figure. “Do you know how long it took me to get here?”

But the only reply was Mo Beitong’s long black coat swishing out the door with a blast of cold winter air.

__________

February

“I said no.” Luo Binghe had his hair in a bun, sleeves rolled up, and apron tied around his waist as he prepared another excessively elaborate meal for his boyfriend.

“I’m busy cooking for shizun right now, I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

Mo Beitong glared down at the items scattered across the table, reaching out to pick up a piece of dough before Binghe slapped his hand away.

“I’ve...failed Qinghua,” he said. “In so many ways. Without this, how will he understand the depth of my love for him? The sincerity of my commitment?”

Luo Binghe rolled his eyes. “He won’t leave you just because your noodles aren’t restaurant quality.”

Shen Yuan, who was idly scrolling through his phone while sitting at the kitchen island, chimed in with a casual, “yeah, he might just leave you over that.”

Luo Binghe gave his boyfriend a pained expression, trying to communicate with only his eyes, ‘I love you more than anything in this world, and would forgive you any sin or transgression, but your input right now is extremely unhelpful, it is actually the exact opposite of helpful, and can you please go wait in the other room until the food is ready?’

Unfortunately, Shen Yuan wasn't looking at him and didn’t catch any of that.

“I’m sure it was very romantic the first time,” he went on blithely without looking up. “But he told me that if he has to keep eating such shitty noodles he’s going to have permanent indigestion. Oh, look! It says the author of Proud Immortal Demon Way is going to be at comic-con this year! We should go, Binghe. I have a few things I want to discuss with him about these more recent story arcs and the merchandise he’s putting out.”

Luo Binghe sighed. He’d been looking forward to the sword fighting demonstration, but if Shen Yuan’s favorite (for all he’d deny it) author was going to be making a rare public appearance there, he knew they’d be at that booth all day.

He turned back to Mo Beitong, and immediately caved to that look that was simultaneously an ‘I told you so,’ and like he’d been stabbed through the heart with a spear. “Look,” he said, scooting over to make room for his friend on his side of the table. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been doing, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

__________

April

“Shizun?” Binghe’s voice has a note of unease he wasn’t used to hearing in it.

Shen Yuan looked up from his game, hitting pause as he did so. “What is it, Binghe?”

His boyfriend appeared in the doorway. “Do we need to do something about this?”

He walked over, already holding out his phone to Shen Yuan. There was some kind of video playing on it, and it took him a few moments to understand what he was looking at.

Shang Qinghua and Mo Beitong had gone to the Mo family’s ancestral tomb for the Qingming Festival that morning, and apparently, Mo Beitong’s estranged uncle had unexpectedly made an appearance as well.

Whatever had started it (and Shen Yuan suspected it was some kind of comment about Shang Qinghua—Mo Beitong’s awful family could usually at least pretend to be civil to each other whenever they were forced to breathe the same air), someone had caught the ensuing fight on video, with Shang Qinghua and a mob of onlookers visible and screaming in the background.

As he watched, Mo Linguang got a lucky hit on Mo Beitong, knocking him back. Mo Beitong cracked his head against a grave marker with a shockingly loud bang, and fell like a bridge collapsing. He didn't get up again, appearing to be unconscious.

Shang Qinghua freaked out at the sight of this, and started picking up rocks off the ground to lob at Mo Linguang’s head while screaming at him to “get away from him!” Shen Yuan could only continue to watch in horror as Mo Linguang stalked towards Shang Qinghua with his arms held protectively in front of his face, the stones Shang Qinghua was throwing bouncing off his forearms. And the man was apparently livid enough to think that trying to full on choke Shang Qinghua out in front of a crowd of witnesses was a smart move.

Some onlookers finally stepped in, trying to haul Mo Linguang off Shang Qinghua while a woman knelt by Mo Beitong and attempted to rouse him. But as soon as Mo Beitong opened his eyes, he was up again and charging at Mo Linguang like a freight train, taking down him, Shang Qinghua, and both the strangers trying to restrain Mo Linguang in a dog pile.

Mo Linguang managed to recover his wits from the collision quickest, scrambling out from underneath the others, and shouting something indecipherable over the crowd noise and wind, but which was distinctly threatening. Then he took off in a stumbling run, even as people starting shouting to stop him, or call the police.

The viewpoint dropped down to the camera owner's feet then abruptly ended.

“How long ago was this taken?” Shen Yuan asked, face white and voice tight with anxiety.

“It was posted about an hour ago,” Luo Binghe replied gravely.

Shen Yuan kneaded his forehead. His family lived on the other side of the country, and told him he didn’t need to make the trip this year if he didn’t feel like it. Luo Binghe, meanwhile, didn’t have any family. This was supposed to be a nice, laidback weekend for just the two of them. But sometimes it just couldn’t be helped.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll check the hospital. You check the police station. They’ll be at one or the other.”

__________

June

“Do we have to invite Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan?” Luo Binghe asked with a whine.

“Yes,” Shen Yuan said, with a tone that invited no argument. “I know you don’t like them, but they’re my coworkers and also my friends. And they’d be very hurt if they found out we were throwing this party and they weren’t invited. And believe me, they would find out.”

Luo Binghe sighed and grumbled a bit. “Well, if there’s going to be so many of your friends here, then I should get to have Mo Beitong instead of you having Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan frowned. “You say that like you don’t have any friends coming already. Sha Hualing will be here. And why ‘instead of?’ They’re both invited. Obviously.”

It was Luo Binghe’s turn to frown. “But I thought they were ‘off’ right now.”

Shen Yuan rolled his eyes. “So? They’ll probably be back together again before the day of the party rolls around. And if they’re not, I guarantee we’ll find them making out in the bathroom before the dessert comes out. I’m sick and tired of planning my guest list around their see-sawing love life! So I’m just not doing it anymore.”

__________

August

“Hey,” Liu Mingyan sent over the company instant messaging system.

Shen Yuan watched the three dots that indicated typing hover in the chat box until they were replaced by the sentence, “Did you see Shang Qinghua’s most recent post on Weibo?”

He ground his teeth. “No,” he typed back. “I’m sure reading whatever he’s posted will just make me dumber in the process.”

“K, don’t say I didn’t warn you, ” she sent back.

He held out for about three minutes before pulling out his phone and checking the app.

“Goddamnit, Qinghua!”

__________

October, Again

Shen Yuan was woken up by incessant banging on his apartment door. Groaning, he rolled over and folded his pillow over his ears, but it didn’t do nearly enough to block out the sound. Luo Binghe slept like a rock, as usual.

He waited in the vain hope that whoever it was would give up and go away, but his luck was never that good. So with a sigh, he sat up and slid out of bed, shivering as his feet hit the cold floor.

He groggily made his way to the front door and peered through the spyhole to see who had the gall to disturb his much needed beauty sleep in the fucking middle of the night.

Of freaking course.

He yanked the door open a crack until it halted on the end of the security chain, and glared at the people on the other side through the small opening.

“What do you two want?” he bit out tersely.

His friend looked ecstatically excited, practically glowing with happiness. And drunk. He looked very, very drunk. In fact, the only thing keeping him on his feet was Mo Beitong’s arm looped around his shoulders.

In response, Airplane simply held up his left hand, knuckle side out, and wiggled his fingers in Shen Yuan’s face as if he’d have any difficulty seeing the ring.

“We’re getting married!”