#kirinlying

Lying sets his tea down in front of him, and then swipes at the back of his head, a gentle clip around the ear that makes Kirin yelp at the wound to his pride nonetheless. “ That’s the most pretentious thing you’ve ever said,” they complain dryly, settling down in a chair across the table from him and setting their own cup of tea down. “And a load of rubbish to boot. But yes. I won’t claim to understand your strange and sudden affection for two people you hardly know. Romantic love is, I must admit, something of a mystery to me.”

“But you love me, right?” teases Kirin, peering at Lying over the top of his mug and batting his eyelashes at them. “Right?” He laughs at the face Lying pulls, all frowning disgust and stuck-out tongue in a parody of revulsion, and blows gently on the hot tea to try and cool it.

“If you believe that, you either have a very strange definition of love, or you’re more deluded than I thought,” mutters Lying. They can’t help the way the corner of their lip twitches up at Kirin’s renewed laughter, though, at the way he has to set his tea down on the table to avoid slopping the boiling liquid all over himself as his shoulders shake. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that funny.”

After several moments, Kirin eventually calms, wheezing out a slow exhale and rubbing at the corners of his eyes with one thumb. “Oh, your face,” he manages, shaking his head.

Lying sighs, drumming their crimson nails against the side of the delicate, floral-patterned cup. “And here I was thinking you might have matured a little since I saw you last,” they said, the icy disappointment in their voice belied by an undercurrent of affection. “Evidently not.”

“You know me.” Kirin snorts, curling his hands around his mug and then hissing when the heat seeping through it burns his palms, letting go again quickly. “I don’t believe in all that getting old and sensible nonsense.” He smiles lopsidedly, blowing carefully on his tea and lifting the cup to his lips with the handle to take a tentative sip. Emboldened by the lack of burnt tongue as he swallows, he takes another mouthful, sighing quietly. “Hmm,” he murmurs, thoughtfully. “Spiced rooibos?”

“With rose and apple,” confirms Lying with a small dip of their head. They take a small sip from their own cup, letting their eyes close for a moment. There are few things better, in their opinion, than freshly-brewed tea, and it deserves to be thoroughly enjoyed. “You like it?”

Humming softly, Kirin takes another sip, savouring the taste. “Delicious,” he says, “although I’ll admit to still being fond of citrus. There’s nothing quite like lemon tea and honey.” He wraps broad hands around the cup, now warm rather than burning, and exhales quiet contentment as the heat seeps down through his palms to settle in his bones.

“How’s the rest of university life going?” asks Lying, after a minute, thumb rubbing absently at the curve of his mug’s handle, drumming fingernails against the body of it with a satisfying pattern of clinks. “Other than the hopeless romanticism in the face of your complete and utter lack of a love life?”

Kirin winces, ducking his head a little. “Ouch,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his heart. “You wound me, old friend.” When Lying doesn’t respond, though, he sighs, shoulders rounding a little as he slouches over his tea. “...Not bad?” he offers, tiredly, all the tease and banter gone from his voice. “Not bad at all, all things considered, but you know how PhDs are…”

“Exhausting?” offers Lying, taking a sip of their own tea with one arched eyebrow.

Nodding, Kirin lets his eyes drop to the table, moving his hands in small circles until he can stare at the swirling liquid in the bottom of it. “Exactly,” he agrees. “It doesn’t help that Ridge managed to scrape his way into returning this year, somehow. Head of department said he’d promised to be on his best behaviour or something like that. Hah.”

Lying’s eyebrow managed to arch even further, far enough it was in danger of disappearing into their hairline. “That sounds, pardon my French, rather like bullshit to me.”

“Yeah,” said Kirin, a faint note of misery in his voice. “Everyone else is used to it enough by now that they just ignore him, but there’s this new intern in the lab I had to explain everything to, and…” He groans, dragging a hand across his face. “A fun conversation, that one. Hello, welcome to the lab, by the way there’s this guy who’ll almost certainly ruin one your experiments for the fun of it at least once, try to avoid him, though he’s probably going to introduce himself– I’m this close to doing something ill-advised about him. This close.”

His fingers tighten unconsciously around the fine china of his mug, and it’s only when Lying reaches out to touch a small, well-manicured hand to his wrist that he notices how white-knuckled his grip is. “Sorry,” he murmurs, letting go with a force of will and rubbing his face with his free hand. “I’m not trying to break your nice cups, I promise.”

Lying inclines their head in a silent don’t worry, and hums softly, looking thoughtful as they take a sip of their tea. “Do you want me to make his life living hell?” they ask after a moment, voice deceptively sweet.

“Lying, not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but...” Kirin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair and dropping his elbows onto the table. “What are you going to do? He’s a PhD student, and–”

“–I’m a staff member with a doctorate and tenure,” finishes Lying for him, baring their teeth in something that could, very generously, be called a smile. “I can have him dragged through the mud if I so choose.”

Shuddering a little, Kirin carefully dodges responding to the tempting offer – he’s not about to risk getting Lying fired for a bit of petty bullying, no matter how much the thought of making Ridge squirm appeals to him. “Your poor, poor students,” he mutters instead, shuddering dramatically. “If you’re this much of a terror out of the classroom, I dread to think what you’re like inside it.”

Shaking their head, Lying scoffs. “Oh, please,” they say, derisively, smile shrinking a little but still concerningly toothsome. “If they can’t handle me, how on earth are they going to handle a career in law? I’m only doing my best to prepare the small, fragile little things for what they’re going to be facing later on.”

“How many have you reduced to tears so far this year?” asks Kirin, the smile slowly returning to his lips.

“At least one per lecture – although, I must admit, it’s getting harder.” Lying’s smile widens again, and although it looks vicious, Kirin can see a faint glimmer of pride in their eyes. “They’re learning.” They drain the last of the tea from their cup, and when they set it down, they’re frowning slightly. “One of them’s even gotten it into her head to argue with me. Nano, I think she goes by.”

Kirin’s eyebrows shoot up high enough they almost reach his hairline. “Argue?” he says, incredulously. “With you? She must be mad.” He’s been friends with Lying for years, now, known them ever since he was a tiny first-year undergraduate – but even he’s not sure he’d voluntarily try and argue with them.

“She’s fiery,” says Lying, and if it weren’t for long years of familiarity, he’d miss the intrigued note of delight in their voice. Lying loves someone to go toe-to-toe with almost as much as they loathe people who talk back to them. “I… admire her tenacity, especially for a first year.”

“Oh, you admire her tenacity,” teases Kirin, smiling, ducking to avoid the swat Lying aims at his head as they rise from their seat. “Hey! Hey. Be gentle with me. I’m a fragile, hopeless romantic, remember?”

Lying snorts at that. “Hopeless romantic, yes,” they say, pouring themself another cup of now-lukewarm tea from the cooling, slightly over-steeped pot. “Fragile, no.” They pointedly ignore the tea cup Kirin holds out to them, nose in the air as they settle back into your seat. “Get it yourself, if you’re going to be so rude.”

Pouting, Kirin throws Lying a look intended to be deeply wounded, but he suspects Lying would probably just call pathetic. They’ve always been rather immune to his puppy eyes. “You’re such a bully,” he complains, teasingly, getting up and heading over to the kettle to pour himself some more tea.

“Of course.” Lying doesn’t seem terribly bothered by the accusation. A small, fond smile curls the corners of their lips up when Kirin’s back is turned, aimed at the broad expanse of his back and the plaid pattern of his shirt. “How long have you known me for? More than six years, now? I’m honestly not quite sure what else you expect from me.”