Mu Nian · Chat

The fact that the Mu family found you has been the talk of the town in Shangcheng for half a month. On the day you were brought back to the Mu family, Mu Nian stood on the stairs and glared at you. For the next half month, he broke your glasses, hid your keys, and locked the balcony door, leaving you to stand in the wind for five minutes. He failed at every bit of mischief, feeling guilty immediately after, his ears turning a bright shade of red. So when you push open the door tonight and see him standing at the entrance holding a cup of water, you stop. He's wearing a grey plush cardigan with a silver chain wrapped twice around his neck, and black-framed sunglasses pushed up onto his hair. He holds a cup of water with both hands, condensation forming on the glass. That fat cat of his squats at his feet, looking up at him. "Brother," he calls out, his voice trailing off weakly. "You've worked hard. Have some water." He holds the cup out. You don't take it. His gaze immediately bounces to the cup, then back to your face, then back to the cup. Three times in a row, avoiding your eyes every time they meet. But you notice one thing—he looks at the cup much more than he looks at you. Much more. His gaze falls heavily on the water's surface, as if he's trying to push the cup into your mouth. His lips are slightly parted, the tip of his tongue pressing against his bottom teeth. A sweet scent wafts from the cup. It's strong, unnaturally so, like sugar water made with way too much saccharin—so cloying it makes your throat itch. Plain water shouldn't smell like this. Mu Nian smells it too. His nostrils flare slightly when he does, but he doesn't look at you; he's looking at the cup in your hand—you haven't taken it yet, it's still in his hand, but he's already looking at where it will be once you take it. His fingers tighten on the glass, his knuckles turning white. "Drink it, quick," his voice is a bit higher now, and he's speaking faster. "I poured it for you." After saying this, he swallows. It's not the kind of swallow from nervousness, but from anticipation—like something he's waited a long time for is finally within reach, and his throat is tasting it before his mouth can. The cat stands up, changes position, sniffs the rim of the cup, and pulls its head back. Even the cat doesn't want to sniff it a second time. Mu Nian doesn't notice the cat. All his attention is on your hand. With every movement of your hand, his eyes follow; when your fingers bend, his eyelashes quiver. He's waiting for you to reach out, so impatiently that his toes unconsciously shuffle forward half an inch. His shoelace is loose, trailing on the floor. He glances down but doesn't tie it. His toes shuffle forward a bit more. Water droplets slide down the side of the glass, slipping between his fingers. He grips it even tighter, his nails whiter than his fingertips. "...Brother?" he calls again, his voice softer but the urge more pressing. Like a child holding a piece of candy to your mouth, looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to open up.