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So perhaps he should have listened to Feng Xin for once.
But how was he expected to act calm with everything that was happening all around? If it weren’t for his father’s incompetence with dealing with things, it would have never come this far in the first place! And to think Xie Lian had once admired the man; like a house made of cards, it was bound to fall sooner or later.
Perhaps neither anticipated it would be this fast.
Still. Xie Lian is no leader−this, he has learnt the hard way. He may try to plan and fix, but that doesn’t extend to controlling entire businesses and people. He may have influence because of his standing, but he’s not one to make the final call. Xie Lian works best on his own, working and figuring things out by himself.
And for someone who’s led a life surrounded by those eager to listen, it’s very hard to adjust when control is ripped away. Their estate put up for mortgage, all his mother’s jewellery sold to pay off debtors and angry investors, barely able to make ends meet. Xie Lian’s been pulled out of college because they can’t afford his fees, they can’t afford anything.
They can’t even step out without being cornered by someone or the other. It’s getting suffocating to live−all the people he once considered friends, leaving one after the other. One of his closest friends−Mu Qing−admitting he couldn’t risk being seen hanging out with him anymore because people were tailing him and he was scared for his mother and their privacy.
What was Xie Lian supposed to say? Risk everything and stay with me? Of course not. So with a bleeding heart he’d bid him well and uselessly tried to stop Feng Xin from berating him day and night.
But he could see the cracks appearing, even now.
The burden, the pressure. The ease in which they once interacted, no longer there anymore. Xie Lian himself had grown moodier, angrier−irresponsible at times. What if…
What if he left too? Forever?
What would he do? It was already heart breaking enough to see his mother age by the day, and as much as he resented him, even his father slowly succumb to the stress. Xie Lian’s never felt this useless−the realization he really is nothing except a spoiled son of a fallen noble pulling the rug beneath his feet and making him crash, hard.
So when it had come in−he’d agreed.
A marriage offer, from Wuyong estate. Their fathers had once known each other before drifting. While his parents couldn’t understand easily why they’d want to have Xie Lian’s hand when there was practically no monetary or business profits, Xie Lian knew very well.
To the point he’d blanched at the mention of the name, and−
No.
But how could he say that?
Feng Xin had been upset anyone was even considering it, but Xie Lian had seen it.
The split second of hope. The split second of hesitation before his parents dismissed it. This was their only lifeline−but how could they ask that of their own son?
But Xie Lian held no more such reservations anymore. He worked day and night, had people berate him, drop scalding hot soup and tea and asked him to apologise. Xie Lian had groveled for pay, had groveled for work, had all his shame broken into like a pair of stiff ballet shoes.
He was no longer above these things.
And so he’d said yes, and forbade anymore discussion. But as the date approached, and the meetings between houses frequented, there was hope but also dreary gloom. Every room and every interaction suffocating him like a collar too stiff around his neck.
Xie Lian wanted to run away. He hated those eyes, he hated the ones waiting at home even more. He hated the pity and hated the expectations. He wanted to hear someone tell him he could give it up but he was terrified that he actually might if they did. There was so much relief in every sigh, so much relief in every anxiety despite the unsavory situation he couldn’t bear to say anything.
Stuffing his words away until they’d go mute. Xie Lian just needed space−he needed to walk and clear his head; never mind, that tomorrow would be their engagement, and a month from now, the wedding.
He didn’t want to think of the nausea swimming in the pit of his gut. He didn’t want to think about those cold unnerving dark eyes, eying him like he was prize to be won. He hated the glint of attraction, hated the squeals of women around when they heard who his fiancé would be.
Xie Lian needed to just breathe, for a bit. Break down where no one would see him. So he walked and walked and the gardens turned into the forest and the darkness led him astray. Feng Xin might have been picking on his jittery energy for he kept telling him to stay together, and not run off but does he listen?
No.
And now he’s lost, deep in the woods, with nothing but the waning moonlight illuminating his path between leaves. He’s sliding his hands against tree barks to find the ones that are similar to those near their house. Every thick foliage shapes itself into a nightly monster of the shadows, the quiet and the hoots, the crickets and their songs.
There’s a lull in the air and he’s not scared but−
Xie Lian is unnerved. There’s a ripeness in the air that is crisp cold. It’s so familiar and he doesn’t want to think why. It couldn’t be.
But every step he takes purposefully out of tune is one that is filled in anyways.
Someone’s following.
His heart pounds against his chest. An animal staking him out would be kinder. Anything but what he’s imagining would be kinder. His skin plasters itself against his musculoskeletal in fear of being tainted and ripped away−in fear, it will be touched.
Xie Lian’s breathing is not even. He tucks his hair back and finds there’s perspiration beading at his forehead. His shoes are dirty and every path he chooses looks the same. Am I running in circles? It’s even scarier, they’re playing along.
He stops.
Listens.
He pauses his breathing−
And yet, hears someone else’s besides his continue.
Xie Lian breaks out into a run.
Wildly dashing through the forest, branches tearing at his clothes and against his arms and legs before he’s tripping against a rock and feeling bile climb his throat as his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. His vision closes in as he swivels his head back to check but all and any sounds die in Xie Lian’s throat the moment he sees the shadow turn clear.
No.
“Oh?”
Please.
“What a coincidence.”
It’s not. It’s not, its’ not, it’snot itsnotitsnot−
“What an odd place to find you, Xie Lian,” Junwu says, voice unbetraying of anything. He looms in height over his crouched and fallen figure, clothes pristine and form rigidly straight. His skin gleams in the moonlight, as though he’s stolen all light to only shield himself and no one more. He smiles, and Xie Lian’s spine grows rigid with fear, watching his dark eyes take him in, mirth dancing in them the way a predator tracks prey. “Were you thinking of running away?”
“No,” he manages, quiet and whispered. Junwu’s gaze softens, and Xie Lian’s gut rolls. “I−I was just…walking. I…got lost.”
“So clumsy,” he says it so lightly. Yet there is harsh critique in the smugness of his features. His hand offered forward is a mockery of Xie Lian’s inability to care for himself, and his skin burns when the hand changes trajectory and brushes back his hair instead. “You scraped your knee? I’ll carry you back. Just like old times.”
There. Brushing it all off while keeping a reminder set in stone.
Nothing’s changing.
“I can−I can walk just fine.”
“Hmm?” Junwu thumbs against the scraped flesh of his knee, sympathetic. Like one watching a most cherished doll scratched and needing to be mended. “Can’t have you aggravating that, Xie Lian. You have to look your very best tomorrow, no? What would everyone think otherwise?”
He can’t bear to meet his eyes. There’s blood beading against the wound. The stench would be metallic, would be fresh. It’s vivid and red, and Xie Lian’s heart rate won’t stop going up. In such a limited space, it’s all concentrated in one place.
Hot rushing blood, flowing through his veins. Xie Lian’s pulse running a crazed marathon, when Junwu takes his hand and holds his wrist.
Junwu, whose skin when he touches him, is always icy cold.
Cold sweat breaks out all over him. Xie Lian’s words are stuck in his throat. “Xie Lian,” Junwu’s voice edges and dances. Enthralls. And somehow, he manages to dodge its enchantment, right as it grazes all over him over and over again.
He doesn’t know how. He just knows he can. Always pull back the most miniscule amount, before Junwu’s got him coaxed into the syrupy sweetness of his words. Sticky, honeyed. Glazing every part of him in thickness that can’t be broken through.
Junwu’s eyes glitter. Testing his resistance, as he nears. “You’re so stubborn, you know?” He speaks like he’s speaking down to a child. “That’s why it’s so hard to keep you in control. But you’re too good to let go−too good. I can’t bear anyone else having you.”
“You’ll have me soon enough,” Xie Lian grits, eyes flashing as they meet his. But that was his first mistake. “For now−let me go!” Xie Lian rips his hand away, and scuttles back against the fallen leaves and rough earth, watching Junwu’s face split into a grin.
Glittering teeth, and two of them as sharp as knives, staring him down.
That, was Xie Lian’s second mistake.
*
When he comes to, he’s in a bed.
The bed is not his.
Xie Lian’s breathing comes short. Hand reaching around himself all over and finding the dressing gown he’d run off in still in perfect piece. He looks over the interior as his muscles stiffen with panic, but−
This isn’t the Wuyong residence.
The Wuyong residence is a grand looming architecture. With browns and golds, antiques decorating each room with family heirlooms. Yet…
The walls are a scintillating maroon. Lavish red curtains against giant windows, gold tie backs tying a few of them. There’s a simple yet elegant chandelier in the centre of the spacious room−and goodness, is it spacious.
Expensive white fur lines the cold tiles, and the sheets are a gorgeous shade of red; soft cotton, exactly the way he likes them. Pillows as soft as clouds. The headboard is a wooden work of art, with engravings of flora all over. Xie Lian runs his fingers over them, even more awed by the professional finishing and polish. He stands, feeling a bit woozy as he stands.
How long has it been?
Where am I?
Who brought me here?
There’s no dirt on his clothes, his hair clean and loose. Resting against his back. When he nears the dressing table, he’s even more amazed by the pearls and jewels filled in the accessories box, the various hair pins and ties, a silver comb, a collection of different products he used similar to ones of when times were good.
Xie Lian’s reflection gleams in the glass of the mirror. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it but…there’s an almost healthy flush to skin. With trying times, Xie Lian had lost much weight, his once youthful glowing skin turned a shade paler−the sickly kind, from barely getting proper nutrition. Even his body looks the slightest bit plumper−healthy and fit like it once was.
But that’s impossible. It must just be a trick of his eyes. He shakes his head softly, instead stepping out to explore.
There’s the scent of sandalwood flowing through the house, reminiscent of the incense they used to burn too. How peculiar. The house−or mansion? Definitely mansion−is grander outside his room. High ceilings, the most gorgeous chandelier in the middle gleaming silver, lighting the entire hall. There’s murals painted against walls. Tales he spent his childhood talking about, the delicate artwork making his breath get stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.
Beautiful. So beautiful. Even the best of artists during his family’s peak would be put to shame in front of these. The decorations are nothing over the top−simple, and yet expensive. It oozes luxury−a quiet and non-ostentatious luxury that’s almost arrogant in the way it confronts you.
As though whoever owned the place, dared anyone to challenge the limits of their wealth. Xie Lian found it a most amusing thought, a smile on his lips as he walked down the hallways. There were a few more rooms, but all empty. A library so grand it left him staring, a dining hall so opulent it could host a feat of thousands. A foyer so intimate, it would for sure send a spark flying if two lovers were to curl against one another against the loveseat.
Xie Lian almost forgot his initial dilemma touring the place. So amazed by the exquisite taste and most importantly…
The reds. This person must surely adore the colour. From curtains to chairs to cushions to walls. Shades of it such a pleasing feast for the eyes, always with the best of contrasts. Xie Lian had just stepped through what seemed to be an office, admiring the paintings when a voice against his ear nearly spooked him out of his skin.
“Does gege like them?”
He turns, face to face with dark eyes.
Beautiful and enchanting. Red lips curled into a small smile, pale skin a stunning contrast, with dark hair tied back into a ponytail. Xie Lian belatedly realized it was the slightest bit crooked. His fingers itched to reach up and fix it, absently wondering if it was as silky as it looked.
He blinked. “Who are you?”
And then flushed. How rude of him! He stepped away from the dizzying proximity, but the man seemed the least affected. He was taller, broader too. “I apologise. This one’s named San Lang. I thought gege would remember…but well, it can’t be helped. Should I then call you something else if you’re uncomfortable?”
Something else? Would remember?
But Xie Lian…he doesn’t remember anything at all. “What…day is it today?”
“The seventh of the lunar month,” San Lang replies, easy. His voice is a pleasantly deep timbre. A lightness to it that made him appear breezy and nonchalant−endlessly intriguing. “Does gege have somewhere to be? I could escort him. Though I would recommend you rest.”
Rest?
The seventh?
His engagement had been on the first. So that means…
I’ve been out for seven days?! Perhaps sensing his growing panic, San Lang’s easy smile turns cautious, however his demeanour calm and voice ever gentle. “What do you remember, Xie-gongzi?”
Xie-gognzi. Somehow the amiable reference of being called ‘gege’ had been assuring without him realizing it. Now, being referred to with such formality makes him recoil into himself even more. “I…”
He tries to think. The forest. The fight with Feng Xin. Him screaming at him to just leave if it pained him so much to see Xie Lian like this.
Feng Xin actually leaving.
Taking a walk. A long walk. Getting lost. The chase. The fear. And−
”Junwu,” he breathes, horrified, heart sinking. Immediately, his hands reaches his chest and neck, as if to check he was still whole. “I−him−“ but his words grow choked.
Pain.
So much pain.
There’s flashes. Indistinct and terrifying. Blood as dark as the night, spilling between leaves. Wetness under his palms, his whole body, and gown soaked through−
But his gown is so clean?
Didn’t it tear when I ran?
So how is it−is it…perfectly fine? And−
“−calm down. That’s right. Stop thinking so much, hmm? Take your time. Breathe. Right, that’s good. You’re doing good.”
Good. There’s a hand against his, but it’s not icy cold. Instead it’s warm, not as much as it should be, but enough. Xie Lian breathes and breathes and finally feels the world come back, blinking to see San Lang’s dark eyes in front of his, much like he’d seen Junwu’s that night.
No, not at all. They’re not similar in the slightest. If anything, San Lang’s eyes carry a familiarity and warmth wholly absent. Meeting them, Xie Lian feels his breathing even out. San Lang smiles, delicate. “Come sit, Xie-gognzi−“
“No just.” He licks his lips. It does not go unnoticed by him, how San Lang’s eyes track the movement. There is heat in his chest, and it is ignorable. Xie Lian thinks it’s only natural, when you’re so focused on the person in front. “Call me…”
“Gege?”
Something about the term of address is familiar. He’s not sure why. His mind’s a blank slate. Nothing concrete. He lets San Lang guide him to a nearby table, sitting beside him. He’s unshaken by Xie Lian’s outburst, and seems to want to say or do something. Xie Lian does not think San Lang is someone daunted by initiative, but perhaps his sudden panicking had thrown him off. “How−how did you find me?”
There is a flash of something in his gaze−white hot and terrifyingly haunting−but something in Xie Lian tells him it’s not directed to him at all. San Lang rests his face against his hand, gazing at him in what can only be called enchantment. “How does gege not even remember?”
But the question is posed more rhetoric. Xie Lian blinks, and San Lang releases his hand. Oh. He hadn’t even realized. The emptiness is pronounced, and he curls them against his own lap. “You’d been very tired, very hurt and confused. You came here along with me. Gege had been resting well for the past few days, and so I thought you’d eventually wake up. Guess I was right.”
He smiles. “That seems oddly vague.”
“Pray gege trusts me,” his eyes grow the slightest hooded, San Lang’s finger drawing circles on the wood. Repetitive and aimless, lazy and mindless. “I would not dare lie to you. Perhaps it is a simplified version, but everything can only be expanded on, not taken away from. I don’t wish to overwhelm you.”
Xie Lian studies him. He’s dressed in red robes−the material expensive, the threading even more. A cotton shirt peeks underneath, his hands free of callouses, everything about him exuding an intimidatingly confident aura. It is safe to say he’s some noble’s son, far above his own family, and perhaps far enough out their town he’d never met him.
But he’s so nice. Xie Lian has not been surrounded by niceness in so long. It is not like he has anything to him worth taking−no money, no inheritance, no fame. Maybe he might ask a ransom from Junwu? But Xie Lian doubts it (and would possibly be a little gleeful if the amount is so ridiculous the Wuyong family gives up altogether) although…
“My parents must be very worried,” he says, softly. It seems San Lang went through a lot of trouble, caring for him these past days. “I dare not impose on San Lang’s property any longer−I should be heading back.”
“How would gege be imposing if I enjoy taking care of him?” San Lang shakes his head. His fingers pause their little dance, and tiny part of his heart wishes they would inch near his again. Perhaps it is because of his earlier panic. Yes. That’s exactly it. “Your parents are very well−does gege not remember this too? You asked to have a letter sent. In fact I’ve heard theirs will be arriving soon. Perhaps by morning.”
Is that so? He draws a deep breath in, over and over, and finally feels himself relax. If that’s the case…he just doesn’t want to trouble them anymore. Surely, as upset as they may be, they would understand him resting to recuperate if he got injured? Although… “San Lang, there’s something I want to ask.”
“Please go ahead, gege.”
“Was there a man with me?” He studies the lines of his own palms. They are not as smooth, nor as beautiful as San Lang’s. But oddly enough, the number of cuts and callouses that once decorated them have reduced greatly. Did San Lang help with that too? Too kind of him, really. “Umm, he’s tall? And broad. Perhaps a little more taller than you. He−“
“There was no one,” San Lang interrupts, though his voice is sharper than anything he’d used so far. Xie Lian, surprised, glances at him, and yet there is only gentleness awaiting him. “Gege need not worry so much. Are you hungry?”
I’m so hungry. So hungry. Anything, anything at all.
He feels his voice catch. What was that? A memory? How long had he been out before the other found him feeling that much hunger? For now, there’s the slightest bit, and he tells the other so.
San Lang seems amused by this. He’s not sure why. “What is gege craving?”
He’s not sure if he imagines the way his voice grows the slightest bit deeper, although deeply playful. Is he teasing? He feels his cheeks pink, thinking as he twiddles his thumbs. However, his attention keeps getting scattered.
There’s a distinct scent, all over San Lang. He hadn’t paid it much attention, but now faced with the possibility he will probably leave to have dinner prepared, an odd anxiety buzzes through him. Desperate in its need to not be alone.
It’s not even something bizarre. A hint of something spicy in midst of floral. He’ll need to think on it more, to dissect what exactly. But it envelops him head to toe. A vision flashes through his head, vivid and enticing,
Head buried against a neck, red pooling down pale skin, running in rivulets, the rich scent of something so sweet, flooding his tongue with an overwhelming addicting taste−
“Gege?”
Xie Lian’s heart thuds against his chest. He hums, but he can’t bear to look at the other. What type of indecent thoughts is he having?! He’s half tempted to shake his head to get rid of them. However much he tries, his mouth dry, tongue craving the taste of whatever that was so badly he’s left with a primal ache at his core. “I’m not sure,” he laughs it off, a finger scratching against the side of his face, “whatever San Lang thinks best. It is his house.”
“Not mine, it belongs to Hua Cheng,” he says, but he seems pleased, “but now that gege is here, it’s as much his. Make yourself comfortable, hmm? I’ll be back in a bit.”
Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “how can you say that? But whoever he is, I’m very grateful.” San Lang seems like he wants to argue, but Xie Lian’s stomach chooses this moment to rumble. He grows mortified, San Lang laughing instead as he stands.
“I’m so sorry for making gege wait, forgive this one,” he says, passing by him. Xie Lian hopes his disappointment isn’t obvious, nodding−
There’s a touch barely edging the surface of his skin. A careful finger tucking back a few strands of his as they fall against his face, right behind his ear. He glances up, surprised eyes meeting San Lang’s, and tries to ignore how much closer he is than Xie Lian realized. “Sorry,” he says, retracting his hand, “it kept bothering me. Pray gege doesn’t mind too much.”
San Lang watches him carefully. Xie Lian’s hands curl further into his lap, tight as heat coils in his chest. He smells like the finest batch of perfume he’s ever had the honour of testing−refined and delicate. He attempts to seem unaffected, but he knows his skin has flooded with colour. “Of course not,” he manages, and out of habit, tucking the other side back with his own hand, looking back down. The intensity of San Lang’s gaze felt even as he doesn’t face it, everywhere it touches a lick of fire against skin. “I don’t mind at all.”
San Lang doesn’t eat.
Xie Lian, embarrassingly enough, only notices when he’s downed four chicken legs. He’s actually more appalled at himself that he’s downed that many. What’s gotten into him?
But his hunger had hit at full force when the food was brought out. Strangely, he’d not seen a soul in all his walking around the mansion, and yet there were lines of them bringing in plate after plate until he’d begged that he couldn’t possibly be expected to eat so much. San Lang had sighed, so dispiritedly, that he’d almost considered relenting.
Almost.
“Gege should try the steak too,” San Lang says, carefully cutting it up himself before giving it to him. The thoughtful action warms him−something about it so intimate, he’s unable to describe it in words fully. “And some of the lamb too. Oh, have you tried−“
“San Lang,” Xie Lian bemoans, “please! I will turn into a whale!”
“A very handsome whale,” San Lang counters, and it makes him laugh, “gege really is too thin. You should eat as much as you want. Only a full stomach makes sleep come easier at night.”
Xie Lian can only sigh in exasperation at his eagerness. He’s so adorable in his insistence−eyes sparkling every time Xie Lian tries a dish and utters a hum or word of appreciation, a very satisfied smile on his face. He can’t remember the last time he had a spread like this−so warm and filling. But…
“This must all be so expensive,” Xie Lian comments. So many meat dishes, all plump and juicy and flavorful of course, but there’s barely any vegetables. He’s always been a fan of a good stew or stir-fry. “All this prepped and cooked…”
“It’s nothing,” San Lang waves off, “this isn’t even a dent in Hua Cheng’s pockets. I say you should strive to make one.” He looks very excited by the idea, Xie Lian grinning, “really, gege. There’s seafood too, if you like. See? You’ve barely tasted it.”
“How about I take some veggies too?” His eyes landing on a steaming plate of them, the aroma inviting. San Lang seems to hesitate, before he nods, indulgent. And so Xie Lian takes a heapful, excited by the glossy sheen of sauces. After eating his mother’s−he’s going to be painfully honest−horrendous cooking, even tree bark cooked through tastes good enough. So when he takes a bite, he’s left confused.
San Lang, of course, notices. “What is it gege?” but he seems like he already knows, putting the plate further, further away until it’s out of reach. He picks out a tissue, awaiting his response.
Xie Lian chews. Once, twice. Don’t waste it. But god.
It was like chewing on dirt. Firstly, it should have tasted like something. Salt, sauce, anything. And yet nothing but blandness coated his tongue, the after taste disgusting, and the texture as though his body was having a visceral reaction against it. He tried, but really, he couldn’t get himself to swallow it down. So when he sees the tissue, eyes watering from his attempts, his busy hand tries to reach forward−
“Just spit it out,” San Lang says, gentle as he holds his palm covered with tissue open before him. Xie Lian should protest, but truly, he’s so disturbed by his intense aversion that he does exactly that, the other offering him a chalice filled with−
“Is this wine?” Xie Lian asks, peering down at the red liquid. Clear and the scent light. Peering over the rim of the cup, it looked so inviting he was almost tempted to forgo any rationale. Licking his lips, mouth drying in anticipation as he held himself back−and chided himself for his manners!−peeking to meet San Lang’s gaze. The man merely smiled. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“I know gege,” San Lang’s voice was quiet, a deep rumble, almost akin to a purr. It was so indulgent, as though the syllables were coaxing him with each word spoken. Xie Lian swallowed, and knew that San Lang had seen right through him, “it’s not. It’s juice. A special kind. You’d like it, I think. You really did, the past few days.”
Is that so? That might explain his intense impulsion towards it. Maintaining his gaze, he brought it against the seams of his lips. Parting them, he took a slow sip, San Lang watching with rapt attention. It was almost too pressuring.
Almost.
The liquid floods his mouth with a rich aroma, so lovely and divine it’s like all the water he’d drank so far had been nothing. For only whatever this was could be capable of quenching his thirst, his appetite. Even the meat he’d eaten so far paled in comparison. A scent, so familiar, almost similar to−
How San Lang smelled.
In the blink of an eye, the chalice had been emptied. It was like Xie Lian had been drunk off the new taste. He could almost feel the warmth of it slide down his throat, settle in happy satisfaction in the pit of his stomach. He smacked his lips, chasing the lingering taste. San Lang had been watching so intently, and now that he was done, he felt self-conscious with how deranged he must have looked! “I…” he glanced away. Gosh. Someone deciding to show so much kindness and here he is, taking advantage of it with no decorum whatsoever. How ashamed would his parents be?
“Gege,” San Lang says, “do you want−“
“No!” It comes out more forceful than he intended, surprising them both. Xie Lian tries to laugh it off, but it turns strained. The air awkward. “No, San Lang, really! It was too much anyways. Please, nothing more.”
“As gege wishes,” he says, bowing his head. With a flick of his hand, the attendants come in and clear everything out. “I hope this one didn’t leave gege with too many regrets.”
“Not at all!” Honestly, his niceness was too much. It made him feel guiltier. “Really, San Lang, I don’t know how I’ll even repay you…”
San Lang leaned closer, his hair slipping forward and down his shoulder. That familiar itch was back. If I could just fix that…His robe too. A little crooked. His sleeves, one an inch higher than the other. If he were allowed, Xie Lian would reach over and fix it all.
“Gege doesn’t remember, but if anything, I’m the one more indebted to you. This is all small in comparison.”
“Would Hua Cheng think the same?” He says, remembering the name. Something flits across the other’s expression, “I just don’t want to impose.”
“Gege could never,” he says, voice final, instead offering a tissue, “you’ve got a little bit here.”
He blinks, cursing himself for being so tardy. Xie Lian immediately wipes against his mouth and chin. Gosh. But San Lang doesn’t seem very satisfied, something dark swimming in his gaze. “Give it here, gege.”
He does, Xie Lian regretting it immediately. For the other leans forward and wipes the edges of his lips for him, the stain coming away dark red. San Lang’s hand were warm even through the thin fabric, his fingers so deft they came and left in less than seconds. Xie Lian’s pretty sure he’s blushing bright red, almost flinching away when he’s done. “So sorry,” he says, immediately retreating out his space. A part of Xie Lian is glad, while the other tugs for him to be back. “I was too forward, forgive me.”
“No I…” but he was. Why is Xie Lian trying to justify it? He doesn’t dare meet his eyes.
“Gege really must have needed that−you can have it any time, whenever you want.” It takes him a second to realize he must be talking about the juice, considering he’d devoured it like a deranged animal. He can almost hear Feng Xin’s voice chide him in his head.
“Excuse my unruly appearance,” Xie Lian says, “San Lang really doesn’t need to be so accommodating.”
“I’m merely being a pleasant host, then,” San Lang says, tilting his head. His gaze softens, like butter melting against a warmed plate. “Would you please give this one some face and allow him to care for you? It’s good for you, is all. It’ll help you get better faster, too.”
Is that so? “Then I must thank you for the inconvenience in advance,” he bows his head lightly, and San Lang clicks his tongue, an exasperated smile on his face as he watches him. He takes his hand once more, when they get up to leave. The halls are all quiet again, but…
“Where do your attendants stay?”
“Hmm?” San Lang doesn’t seem much bothered, keeping in step with him. His boots are black and clack with every step, his strides long and controlled. Every word bounces against the walls, cushioned by their presence. “Oh, they have their own quarters. You’ll only see one around−Yin Yu. You can ignore him.”
Yin Yu? “Is he Hua Cheng’s lover?”
San Lang’s face distorts in such a way it makes him laugh out loud, nearing him as he peeks at his face. “Oh then,” his voice takes a teasing edge, “is he yours?”
“Gege please,” he grimaces further, looking on the verge of vomiting. “Do not say such things. He’s merely a personal assistant, nothing more. I’m sure he would feel just as strongly to that sentiment, if not more.”
Xie Lian still finds his reaction a bit funny. San Lang’s face slowly smoothens over into nonchalance, taking him up the stairs with utmost care. Dressed in his night gown (he really needs to change into something appropriate) with every step forward so guided with ease…There’s a pampering to it that makes him feel cherished. His heart skipping an awful beat as they reach the top of the stairs.
“Say,” Xie Lian starts, slowly, “who is this Hua Cheng?”
“Him?” A smirk dances across San Lang’s lips, when he sends him a sideways glance. The candles lining the walls cast brilliant shadows against his skin. The paleness of it drenched in gold. “Gege is very interested, no? First his lover, and now about him?”
He flushes a deep red. San Lang watches him like one would a particularly interesting play. “Is it not shameful for me to know nothing of the man being so generous in his help towards me?”
“Is it?” San Lang turns to walk backwards, hand still in his, as though he’s pulling him along instead of matching his steps. Yet there’s no haste, as if they have all the time in their world. Hallways almost limitless, with how big and winding they are in this gigantic mansion. “But gege, shouldn’t you be most grateful towards me? What has he done except for said an okay to a few things here and there?”
Amusement dances in Xie Lian’s chest. “Never said I am not,” he soothes, like one would a sulky child. Perhaps San Lang reads his tone, because there’s a faux frown on his face. “But is it so bad to be so to both?”
“Of course!” San Lang’s pace increases, raising his hand higher. His grips shifts, and he holds his fingers like one would to offer a kiss greeting. He does not, of course. But Xie Lian is still ever transfixed in the animated way he moves, makes him feel. There’s almost a rhythm to the way they move between corridors, along the tiles floors. San Lang closes the distance, so near the scent of him is overpowering as it washes over him head to toe. “Gege, dear gege, how wounded I am to hear you even consider us equals!”
“San Lang is very dramatic,” he chides, pretending to remain unaffected. Dear gege. Why must he speak it so sweet? “If you don’t wish to, you don’t have to say anything at all.”
“But how could I leave a question of yours hanging?” Xie Lian huffs, in midst of all these contradictory statements. San Lang grins, as though he’s merely playing him in a game of back and forth. He pulls him close, a mere inches in between them in one fluid step. “Hua Cheng, huh? He owns this place, for one. Crimson Manor.”
What a fitting name. Xie Lian had made to sidestep to not collide, but that step of his turns into a twirl instead when San Lang moves back and allows him to be in front instead. It’s so ridiculous it brings the widest smile on his face, chest light, even more when San Lang turns and makes him follow once again, a dance between them with no music but the sound of their steps, and their laughter. “Gege is so quick on his feet.”
“It’s because San Lang keeps teasing me!”
“Not at all,” his eyes widen, no hint of remorse in them, “but I apologise if you think so. If anything, it’s Hua Cheng who’s worse. All sorts of terrible rumours float about him.”
“But those are mere rumours,” and I have plenty of my own. The thought dampens him only a mere second, before San Lang decides to walk beside him normally now, letting go of his hand. Should I have held on? He misses it so dearly. “I would like to know what he’s actually like.”
“He’s been around for a while,” San Lang says, looking bored. But there’s an unmistakable glint of something simmering in his eyes, when he continues. “Heard he won over the estate at a gambling den. His luck suddenly took a turn for the better after some freak accident, and he’s been placing winning bets ever since; whether it be business, investment or staying ahead in trends. He doesn’t really lose to anyone.”
“Such an exciting character, and yet I have never had the honour of meeting him,” then again, he might have if things were how they used to be. As of now, Xie Lian lives in a world far removed from them all. “And family?”
San Lang shrugs. There’s a blankness to his features. “Lost them when he was young. He doesn’t keep friends either; just a few acquaintances. He’s a loner; don’t you think, gege?”
Not at all. They make it to his room door (he’s pretty sure San Lang led him around in circles so they’d reach later) and San Lang doesn’t immediately follow him through the threshold. When he sees Xie Lian glancing at him expectedly, he steps in. Trailing him as Xie Lian heads to the dresser, and picks a comb to get the knots out his hair. It’s been bothering him for a while now.
“I think he’s interesting,” Xie Lian says, quiet. San Lang crosses his arms, patient as he gathers his thoughts. “But there is a price, to be so much better than the rest. If what you said is true, then Hua Cheng might just be short of like-minded people; not everyone can share a perspective and thinking as far-reaching as his.”
San Lang takes the comb from his hands the moment he starts tugging too hard. With a light touch to his shoulders, he makes him sit down. Xie Lian watches his reflection intently. He’s concentrated−parting it, before starting with the ends. “If everyone had gege’s thinking, the world would be at peace.”
“And yet it would be such a boring place, no?” He meets his gaze in the mirror. “Where does he stay?”
“Hua Cheng?”
“Hmm.”
San Lang combs through his hair. Practiced ease, an elegance to every movement of his. He tilts his head as if contemplating, but Xie Lian knows he’s merely stalling. “Here.”
“Here?”
“En.”
Then…”What does he look like?”
San Lang leans lower, right over his shoulder. When he speaks, both still looking at the other through their reflections, he asks: “what would gege prefer he looked like?”
So close, and he can feel his breath ghost against the shell of his ear, something about the way each syllable dragged deeper than the last, Xie Lian’s left with a tingling sensation down his spine. San Lang’s gaze dauntless and endlessly enchanting. “I don’t really care,” he says, honest. Xie Lian’s voice quieting, as though they’re conversing in whispers, “someone’s looks don’t speak much about them.”
“Oh?” he tilts his head, “he’s kind of known as a terror. Almost horrifying to look at.”
Xie Lian smiles, turning his head to meet his gaze, San Lang not the slightest bit deterred. “I have seen many horrors; a person’s face is not a match for any of them. Pray San Lang would be so kind to actually give a proper answer.”
San Lang laughs, turning a strand of his hair around his finger, Xie Lian watching it slip through. “Gege is so persistent. There’s not much, really. He’s blind in his right eye−it’s rumoured to look different too. He’s quite a mystery; where he comes from, where he goes.”
Is that so? Perhaps Xie Lian was another mystery too, then. “You should head to bed, gege,” San Lang says, standing straight and gazing down at him. His hand reaches forward, and oddly enough, Xie Lian thinks they’ll brush against his cheek.
Instead, they push his hair over his shoulder, so it settles against his back. Xie Lian doesn’t know if the heavy feeling in his gut is disappointment or something else. Maybe he should head to bed. “Alright,” he says, standing up. San Lang tucks his hands behind himself, stepping away. “Thank you so much for everything so far, San Lang.”
“Don’t make it sound like you’re saying a goodbye,” San Lang complains, “don’t think so much over all these petty things. Just a good night’s rest.”
San Lang leaves a few moments after, his presence taking away all the cheer. Xie Lian sat at the edge of the bed for a few long moments staring at the closed door. It felt so nice−when was the last time he’d had such a fun interaction with someone? It was like everything in life had become dreary and cold.
He would definitely miss San Lang, once he headed back home.
For now, he curls up in the soft sheets, and blows the candle out. Xie Lian had feared sleep would not come easy, considering he’d woken up just a few hours ago, but to his surprise, his eyelids droop at their own accord, falling shut.
Hungry.
He’s just so hungry. The sheets fall off his frame, his bare feet not slipping into the slippers beside his bed, instead making contact against the cold, cold floor.
It doesn’t even jolt him. No, he’s just so incredibly hungry. Or thirsty. He’s not sure. There’s so much hunger at the core of him, throat parched and skin drying up as if he’s not drank a single drop of water for a millennia. His mouth dry, licking his lips at the mere thought of finding something.
He pushes open the doors. Pads through so many hallways. There’s a wafting scent that tempts him closer. He’s almost tripping over his feet in his haste, dazed. Xie Lian walks and walks until he’s so far he doesn’t even know where he is. He stops in front of the room, palms splayed against the grand doors, face pressed to the wood.
Sweet.
Irrevocably sweet. How he ached for a taste. How his body longed for the promising heat. Xie Lian could only slump against the doors, could only long and long and−
They opened.
He looks up from his place on the floor, his hair scattered about him like a halo of brown. The figure before him is tall, dressed in crimson robes. He’s not wearing any shoes, his hair as black as the night sky, long and unbound. Wild and free.
Instead, two eyes meet his. One a darkness that tugs at his heart, the other such a vivid red he’s enchanted by the sight of it. This is a bedroom−this person’s. Xie Lian’s losing his ability to think, and he curls a hand into the hem of the man’s robes, akin to plea. A beg.
He hears a sigh. Grazing him like a petal falling against skin. The man crouches down, takes his face in his palms that drown him. There’s a lingering warmth in them, and Xie Lian is so, so cold. He nuzzles into it, lost. Breathes in, dazed. “Look at you,” he hears him coo, the deep voice settling all his nerves, a sense of safety enveloping him head to toe. “What is it?”
“Hungry,” he feels his eyes well up. Vision blurred. He’s so lost. He’s so hungry. “I−I’m. I really−“
“Shh,” he says, and he’s pulling up to his feet, guiding him inside. He sits on the side of his bed, and Xie Lian tracks every movement. All that pale skin, only glimpses of it between folds of red. “Go on.”
Somehow, he knows what to do.
Knees planted either side of him, the gown riding up the length of his legs when he sits himself on the other’s thighs. A hand comes against his back to steady him, and Xie Lian no longer cares for anything except the heat thrumming strongest against his jugular. He thumbs against it, and feels heat pool in his gut, mouth-watering in anticipation.
His gums hurt. A searing pain that has him whimpering, before there’s a hand against the back of his head, soothing him as it caresses his hair. The pain turns bearable, a fullness in his mouth, as he feels sharpness edge out against his teeth. He can’t wait.
Xie Lian leans down, mouth parted against the curve of his neck. Xie Lian opens his mouth further, and when he bites, he pierces through flesh, and feels a flood of liquid so divine it forces a moan of satisfaction out of him.
It’s warm. Full. Velvety and delicate. It runs down the back of his throat, runs down his chin because he’s so sloppy, unused. The arms around him tighten; strong and warm. It runs down the pale skin, drenching both their robes, though Xie Lian takes most of it, over and over and over−
His eyes fly open.
Xie Lian sits up, heart beating thunderously against his chest.
The curtains are drawn, but the light of day still seeps between them. Somehow, he doesn’t find himself eager to throw them open and drench himself in the blistering morning sun.
There’s a knock at the door. Checking himself all over (and perhaps in the mirror, paranoid, yet unable to find a speck of anything on the cloth) he rushes to it.
It’s not San Lang.
“Gongzi,” the man bows his head. He’s tall, thin and plain. There’s not much emotion on his face, hair tied in a modest ponytail, dressed in purple and black robes that do nothing to help him. His skin is as pale as snow, but there’s no spark of life to him at all. “I came to call you for breakfast, whenever you’re ready.”
Xie Lian blinks. “Are you Yin Yu?”
The man is unfazed by his lack of manners and nods. “You can ask me for anything you need.”
“Where’s San Lang?” he blurts, before he can stop himself. Yin Yu, this time, does look the slightest bit confused, before his expression smoothes over. Xie Lian feels himself flush with embarrassment. “Forgive me, I am not usually this uh, prudent−“
“It’s fine, gongzi,” Yin Yu says, an uncharacteristic softness in his tone that is strange to hear. His expression remains ever neutral, however his gaze turns indecipherable. “San…The young master is out for some business. I’ll inform him when he’s back.”
Of course. “No, no, it’s fine,” what was he doing, being so clingy over someone he just met? What was Xie Lian, a damsel? “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Yin Yu nods stepping way and leaving him to it.
He’s unsurprised breakfast is just as laden with meat.
Honestly, he’s a bit glad considering what happened yesterday. He’s not sure how he’ll have face if he did something so childishly picky in front of Yin Yu. Nothing against him but…it just felt weird. He glances at the chalice beside him, the juice staring back.
The dream comes back to him, lucid in its approach at the forefront of his mind. He could remember bits and pieces so clearly. A red eye, pale skin starkly contrasting red robes. San Lang? But it was a taller and broader frame, something different. He drank the juice, bit by bit, and suddenly felt as rejuvenated as he did in the hellish ecstasy of the dream. When he glances back, Yin Yu is not looking at him, but he’s not looking at anything at all.
Personal attendant, was it? Then why was he here with him? Perhaps San Lang thought he might feel lost on his own. While it was a very unnecessary concern, it wouldn’t be so invalid considering the way he acted yesterday. He does feel a lot more fresh−dressed in a fresh and soft pair of robes, not like the ones he’d taken to now, that chaffed his skin and he’d merely bear through it. No, these were of the finest make.
“Do you need anything more, gongzi?”
“No, thank you,” he says, standing from the table. Yin Yu nods, staying for a bit longer, before he bids his leave as he gets called on. Xie Lian merely brushes him off when he asks if he needs someone beside him, content in walking around on his own.
Crimson Manor, was it? He can’t say he’s heard of it. If it’s been only a few years, then it would make sense. Xie Lian’s been unable to keep up, after all. He runs his hands across the fine tapestry in the arts hall, over the beautiful ornate frames of the few paintings littered about. They’re gorgeous mosaics of colour and intrigue. A figure shrouded in blinding white and gold, hair long and luscious, a sword in one hand and a flower in the other. As though he’d taken his muse and turned them into a deity instead.
There’s more. One that uses Hua Cheng’s favourite reds−a blood rain, a figure in red robes, roses and flowers he does not recognize filling his path. Something about it is melancholic; a yearning etched into the figure.
“Is gege very busy?”
He turns to find San Lang leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Somehow, he looks finer than he did yesterday. He’s in a mere white shirt today, flowy and tucked into his black pants. His handsome features pulled into a mischievous smile as he nears, drawing Xie Lian in with his addicting scent, his syrupy gaze. “I heard you were looking for me.”
“No, no,” he hurries to explain, a little embarrassed, “ah, it was just San Lang was so good company yesterday. I was surprised to meet Yin Yu instead. Did whatever business you were attending to go well?”
“Swimmingly,” he answers, nearing him. The distance between them small, but comforting. Xie Lian reaches up without thought and straightens his collar, amused.
“You should meet people with your best self.”
“Pray gege would guide this oblivious one; I really am too hopeless.”
Xie Lian rolls his eyes, fond. “San Lang is very much adept at taking care of himself and me. It is small things that you just overlook. How about I fix your hair? Otherwise, everything else is fine.”
“Everything else is fine?” San Lang raises a fine brow, “does gege find this one presentable then? Perhaps even a bit good-looking?”
“You’re plenty good-looking, not just a bit,” he chides, “such good height and features; aren’t you just fishing for praise?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, mocking offense as he places a hand against his chest, leaning in. His smile is as sharp as a chesire grin, cutting all of Xie Lian’s defenses like knife through butter. “Gege is such a beauty himself; how could I even dream of it? It is merely surprise, you’d think so well of me. I’m honoured.”
“I’m no beauty,” but he could feel the heat in his cheeks, avoiding that all too sincere gaze, “but I guess I’m okay. There’s no need to be honoured. It’s not like my words matter much; anyone would say the same.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” San Lang reaches forward, hand grazing his. It’s such a small graze, and yet it sends a spark alight inside of him. The slightest warmth they carry, as they play with his fingers−a tug or a dance; whether he’ll take them in his, whether he’ll let them be at Xie Lian’s side. “Gege’s words are the only ones that do matter−everyone else’s pale in comparison. Merely white noise, really.”
He shakes his head, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry. He’s so sweet, and yet adorable in his eagerness to flatter him. “I don’t know if I agree.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” San Lang says, quiet, “I believe so, even if you won’t.”
What is this? An odd swoop in the pit of Xie Lian’s stomach, heart tripping over itself as if it’s been too distracted by those sweet words and gaze. “I−your hair. How about we finish that first? You’re probably busy.”
San Lang watches him, like he did yesterday−the look he has, where he’s seen right through Xie Lian. But he indulges him nonetheless, stepping away and keeping his hands to himself, Xie Lian’s own curling inside his sleeves, missing the playful ministrations already.
The moment he ties it straight, San Lang looks in the mirror, tilts his head with a pout on his lips, and then tugs here and there before it’s the slightest bit crooked again, satisfied. Xie Lian finds him immensely endearing. “Does San Lang like going against the rules?”
“What are they made for, if not to be broken?” He asks, standing up and facing him, “don’t you think so, gege? There is an end to all, a chance to change. Every banquet ends, but it’s only then, another can begin.”
Xie Lian’s mouth parts, eyes widening the slightest bit at such a profound reply to his offhanded question. But really, isn’t that what makes San Lang so charming? “You’re right,” Xie Lian says, and he looks happy at that, like someone’s told him he did well on his quiz. He reaches up, hesitating the slightest bit, before brushing back the strands that had come loose in the tugging, San Lang leaning into it. “I’ve thought something similar.”
“Hmm?”
“En,” he says, dropping his touch once his skin buzzes with something jittery, “everything comes to an end, eventually. But yours is a better perspective; only an end, can mark a new beginning. What a lovely way of thinking.”
One I wish I could tell someone else too. He recalls angry shouts and broken crying. Small hands clawing at the world and all its unfairness.
I wish the world would end. I wish I would end too.
Xie Lian never really found out, what happened to him later. Wonders if he found Xie Lian’s act of supposed kindness, a relief or a curse. A chance at a new beginning, or a prolonging of his suffering. “Gege?”
“Hmm?” He breaks out his reverie, to see San Lang’s worried gaze on him, “oh, San Lang, didn’t you say a letter from my parents would come in?”
An unreadable expression flits across his face. Gone as soon as it comes. He nods, his easy going smile coming to replace it. “Right, I forgot to give it you gege. Excuse my tardiness.”
“Its fine, you must have been busy,” but then again, San Lang doesn’t strike him as the type to be forgetful. Still, he must have had his reasons. The other heads over to his desk, bringing it back to him.
He reads it, a little confused.
There’s no mention of the wedding or engagement. Instead his mother just tells him to stay safe, to recuperate, and not to worry about him. She tells him to take as long as he needs in coming back, an almost…
Pleading tone to it. As if she doesn’t want him to come back. Is it because of missing the engagement? Is the wedding called off? Are things worse?
Are they okay?
A hand on his shoulder stops his downward spiral. San Lang meets his gaze, his other hand coming to curl around his wrist lightly. Somehow, the pressure of his touch feels reassuring enough to quell his panic. “You’re worrying. I assure you, they really are fine and merely worried for you.”
Of course. But…shouldn’t he come clean? San Lang’s been taking care of him for the past week he’s been out, apparently, and so kind these past two days. How can he hide it all from him? “You see I…my engagement with the son of Wuyong estate was supposed to take place on the first of this month. I’m just surprised there’s no news of him, even from my parents. The wedding’s supposed to be next month.”
He doesn’t notice the way San Lang’s expression stiffens, an imperceptible fire raging in the depths of his irises. His voice is calm and controlled, betraying none of it. “I can assure you gege, it’s all been dealt with. They surely understand how one must rest after an accident, hmm? As for that son of theirs…you don’t have to worry too much about him.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, turning to face him.
“Junwu’s been caught for something,” he hesitates, contemplating his words, “a very gruesome act. I’m pretty sure the Wuyong estate is too ashamed to face anyone, let alone you and your family. They’ve compensated instead, for all the preparations.”
His mind whirls. “Gruesome act?”
San Lang winces, “yes. It is too unspeakable−I dare not taint gege’s hearing by using such words.”
But Xie Lian’s not even listening. “Is it for blood drinking?”
San Lang stares at him in shock. So it was, wasn’t it? So Xie Lian hadn’t hallucinated any of it, all those years ago. The careful insistence, the purposeful meetings, the deliberate interactions−everything.
He must have calculated it so meticulously. Xie Lian can feel the ghost of his touch all over him. The intense anger slapped in his face, the outburst that nearly tore him to shreds. Slippery feet against blood, knees scraped and a careful hand on his shoulder weighing a ton holding him down.
Xie Lian is seventeen again, and he’s stuck. Pinned and left to watch. Eyes glued at the horror of writhing body clawing forward to escape. Limbs distorted and eyes wide meeting his. Only one syllable falling off her lips before she succumbs.
Run.
“−gege?” Xie Lian gasps, a whimper of fear escaping his body. It’s like he’s nailed in place, right in the centre of his chest. Everything suddenly hurts and there’s−
Just one sip, Xie Lian. It’ll feel just as good for you.
“No,” he breathes, voice catching. What was that? What−when−
You just always have to so stubborn, don’t you?
His feet can’t move. There’s someone holding him down. This touch is icy cold and the gaze boring into him is terrifyingly blank−not a hint of emotion, only an ecstatic smile. A pain so visceral erupts from the right side of his shoulder blade, right near the top where it meets his neck he almost goes dizzy, screaming for help and−
“−calm down. You’re safe, you’re safe−“
What?
Safe. Is he? He’s never going to be. Oh he’s never going to be.
“I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t let anyone touch you.”
But that’s so hard to believe. All the people he counted on just kept leaving him. Like he was cursed to be alone. To never feel a sense of safety, to never feel wanted. A hand smooths down his hair, and there’s a warmth surrounding him. Tight arms embracing him, Xie Lian’s head against a solid chest, a lulling movement as if they’re swinging right and left on the heels of their feet, switching weight like a pendulum.
Xie Lian’s hands fist against the back of these fine robes. Red colours his vision, but this red is not violent at all. He blinks, lashes clumped with tears, some dried against his cheek, others still brimming in his glazed eyes, red rimmed at the edges. He sniffles, nose red, lips quivering.
There’s a tune. Soft. Gentle. It runs over him. He listens and listens, and comes to. There’s an overpowering scent, and he turns his head to bury his face against the other’s neck, breathing it where it’s strongest. Like a wandering and restless bird, finally nestling into a place of rest, of safety.
“Gege?”
“San Lang,” he whispers, murmured against his skin. San Lang continues to pat down his hair, the other hand rubbing soothing circles against his back. He can feel him so solidly against his own body. The curve of muscles underneath, the heat that is never too much, just enough. Every part of him moulded against Xie Lian. “I’m so sorry.”
“You never have to apologise,” San Lang says, voice final. His lips are close to the top of his head, right against his temple. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm, I think.”
“You’re safe with me here, gege.” San Lang assures, so confident, Xie Lian has no other choice but to believe, “no one will hurt you. I will never let them. Especially some useless trash like that piece of shit.”
The crude language brings a wry smile to his face. “You…know of him?”
“That spoiled two-faced asshole? Of course. He’s the type I despise most−polite manners and smile, all a façade to hide who he really is on the inside. I know gege must have had reasons, but I can’t understand why he’d marry him.” He sounds genuinely resentful.
“If only I had San Lang, I’d have married him instead,” he says, looking up at him. San Lang’s dark eyes widen at the remark, something almost−
Bashful? He’d meant it as a joke, but seeing his reaction, Xie Lian’s heart races unexpectedly. What…what am I even saying? He clears his throat, gaze flitting about. “I mean−San Lang is so nice and all, haha. Umm, it was just something that came about.” He slowly tries to extract himself from the other’s arms, immensely embarrassed. No amount of thick skin is saving him from this!
But San Lang’s hands slide down, resting against the side of his hips, letting him lean back but not letting him leave. What a torturous position! San Lang instead cocks his head, mirth dancing across his features. Oh no. “It would be my honour to have gege’s hand, as unworthy as I am. But what situation could possibly force something like this to come about?”
An admission and a distraction. A way out and a chance to continue.
Unworthy. Xie Lian met those eyes, swimming with unbidden warmth, and wondered how he could possibly say such a thing. But he was not so confident to double down on this lane of thinking−he barely knew the other, no? So…how can he take advantage of other’s generosity and kindness with his own selfish and immature feelings?
“I…” he lets out a rueful smile, “well. I don’t know if you’ve heard−but I’m from Xianle estate. We once were a pretty big name out there. Some bad decisions, some bad luck and perhaps some karma…the Xianle name is now a thing of the past.”
Despite his smile, his mood dampens inexplicably. Perhaps San Lang can tell, because he takes both his hands in his, touch gentle as he squeezes his palm. “I didn’t want to put my parents through so much, anymore. Father’s too sick to work, mother never has, and I could only manage meager jobs with…well, my background. It was honestly a lifeline, one I knew I couldn’t afford to lose.”
“And what about you?” San Lang asks, quiet, “you did it for them. But you?”
“Me?” he huffs a humourless laugh, meeting his eyes. San Lang was clearly so young−perhaps eighteen, or nineteen at best. While the way he carried himself was effortless, there is a beautiful innocence even in the most mischievous of his charms. The type you’d read about in stories−of a prince charming, willing and wanting to cross any and all bridges, just for their beloved. So eager to please, so eager to mark everything with a ‘happy ever after’.
Of course, Xie Lian would never assume what one has gone through. But San Lang had such an easy way of putting things−if you need this, then do that. If you don’t want to, don’t.
The world just never lets you remain so black and white though, does it?
“What about me?” he shrugs, the other’s expression morphing to…perhaps not pity, but nothing happy either. “One must make sacrifices, for those they love.”
“And how far, should those sacrifices go?” San Lang asks, startling him. “Where, do they end? Is there a limit? Or should one let themselves be torn apart, as long as it meant another was happy?”
He blinks. Unable to answer. “It’s…”
San Lang watches him with a forlorn expression. “I’m so very sorry,” he whispers. Xie Lian gets the distinct feeling he’s referring to something else entirely, “gege must have been through so much. I do not judge any of your choices−I merely wish, gege was allowed nicer ones. For himself.”
“San Lang is too kind,” he says, feeling light. And anyways...now that Junwu was caught he’d…stay away right?
His mother’s letter suddenly makes a lot of sense. Her insistence he not be back, perhaps until everything had settled. He wonders though, of the pain that had erupted from the back of his shoulder.
“Would gege like to go outside?” San Lang asks, interrupting his rumination.
Outside. He glances out the windows, the sun having considerably dipped, the promise of a dark evening awaiting them. The thought is comforting. “I would.”
Xie Lian fastens the clip of his cloak. It’s a mesmerizing length of silver fabric. Shimmering threads in the shape of flowers and butterflies all along it. Subtle, yet expensive. San Lang had brought it in for him, before leaving him to change.
Xie Lian ties his hair into a braid, wrapping a white ribbon at the end. He has not felt so…pampered, in a very long time. The person in the reflection almost looks foreign−a healthy flush to him, no more thinning and weak. A glow that’s reminiscent of better times, one he’d long abandoned the hope of ever having.
His own white boots clack against the tiles. San Lang awaits him in the foyer, Xie Lian unsurprised to see him dressed in red. He takes his hand and leads him out. It’s a peaceful evening−the birds all making their way back home, little critters running along the paths. The gardens of the manor are well-loved and maintained, a fountain at the centre of it that gushes with water, both their reflections rippling silver with the glowing light of the moon behind them.
Autumn approaches, in her quiet breeze. The roads littered with red maple leaves. San Lang had asked if he’d like to go horse riding, and he’d agreed, extremely excited at the prospect. There’s a white and a black one awaiting at the entrance, San Lang helping him up, a smile on his face that is more radiant than anything he’s seen, at the sight of Xie Lian’s own excitement.
“Gege is every happy,” he notes, a teasing edge, “will he be okay?”
“I might burst from the excitement!” he exclaims, San Lang laughing, “did you know? We owned horses just like these−well, more like a ranch−but they were all such beautiful creatures. Some were…”
He was half afraid he’d bore the other, but San Lang shares his own knowledge on the topic. Any he jumps to, and the other keeps up with ease. So well read, and so well-spoken. Really, how could he ever call himself unworthy?
If anything, it’s Xie Lian who is the unworthy one, to be on the receiving end of something so good. They go far, near the edges of a lake that reflects the stars and more. San Lang takes him around the bank, points out the different flora striving in between rocks and slim spaces. Removes his boots and walks further in the water to bring him shells to see.
“They seem so simple, no?” San Lang says, guiding his fingers over the ridges of one, the splashes of colours, the strokes of such wildness in nature’s own artworks. “Some cultures use them to even propel against evil spirits−the hardness of the shell akin to a strong mind.”
“Really?” he used to make necklaces out of these when he was younger and they’d go to the beach. His mother would be so delighted. San Lang’s fingers feel a bit cold from being soaked in the water, Xie Lian runs his own over his, and watches his eyes sparkle in a thrilling excitement to share something with him. The breeze has picked up, and the sound of rushing water is loud. It laps against the other’s calves, and reaches only the edges of Xie Lian’s feet. His hair ruffles in the wind. “I hear one can connect to the other side, if they use them right.”
“Is that so?”
“Hmm,” he takes it from San Lang’s palm, joining the pile he’s been stuffing in his pouch, “thread them together, and you’ve bridged the gap between two worlds.”
“Is gege not scared?” San Lang asks, raising his gaze to meet his.
“You only fear what you do not know,” he says, the other’s brow creasing in confusion, “San Lang can be rest assured, I know enough to not be scared off.”
“If gege says so,” he says, not pushing when he sees Xie Lian doesn’t wish to elaborate. But there’s a flush to his cheeks, that’s never there. He doesn’t want to go back, just yet.
Instead he raises his robes, and pulls up his trousers. Waddling into the water, so they’re both standing next to one another. “How about I help you?”
San Lang’s eyes glitter brighter than any star in the sky above. “This one can only be so grateful, if you did.”
*
A week passes by, without him even realizing.
He keeps having those strange dreams. Sometimes the man finds him before he can go searching. Sometimes they’re in his room, other times in a foyer.
And strangely, Xie Lian finds the slightest things amiss, in his mornings. Nothing too big. “Yin Yu,” he says, staring down at his slippers, “are these new? Where are the ones I wore last night?”
Yin Yu doesn’t miss a beat as he replies, “Hua Cheng wishes you to be always equipped with the very best, gongzi. Please accept his gift.”
Another time, he’s pretty sure he’s in a different robe than he was in the one he slept in. “Do you not remember, gongzi?” Yin Yu says, not meeting his eyes as he fixes his sheets, unnecessarily actually. Xie Lian should be allowed to do such menial work himself. “You spilled water in the middle of the night. I brought you these ones.”
“I see,” he says.
He has an intense dream one night−the man in his bed chambers, both of them lost in troughs of it, Xie Lian’s strength getting the better of them as red spills between them, and he pushes him against the dresser, clambering for a hold in his arms as the man throws his head back. It leaves him particularly embarrassed when he wakes up, shaking his head.
Only to approach, and see everything on his dressing table has been replaced save for a few things. “Hua Cheng had been passing through the markets,” Yin Yu explains, “he only thought it best now that winter was soon approaching, you should be having season appropriate materials.”
Despite all this talk about Hua Cheng, he never does get to meet the man.
He hears more−offhanded comments from San Lang. But really, he pesters Yin Yu a lot. Apparently, it really has been a couple of years since he’s come to power; and what power that is. To even have the most high ranking nobles, governors and officials at his beck and call. Occasionally, he’ll glance out the window to see a meeting in the patio, always mere glimpses of the man and nothing more.
Xie Lian explores and explores. San Lang takes him to the markets, to the town, but never does he bring up Xie Lian leaving. Never does he seem bothered that Xie Lian doesn’t either. Xie Lian writes twice to his parents, and receives one letter back. Everything is well, but he is not yet needed back.
It is strange. Life is so easy, and yet it is too stilling. There are unfinished pieces of a puzzle scattered about that he’s itching to patch up, but no one will tell him and he does not know how to ask either. There’s loose ends in stories, there’s secrets in the paintings and walls.
And Xie Lian’s appetite for it all is endless, literally and figuratively.
“I really did eat so much,” Xie Lian says, appalled. It’s like some days he cannot fill the endless pit of his stomach no matter how much meat he eats. It’s only after a good cupful of juice, does he feel sated. Yin Yu does not question it, and neither does San Lang.
But one is more adept than the other, at keeping a little secret.
Yin Yu’s eyes betray what his face does not. A slight sympathy, sparked when he sees Xie Lian a little lost at the table. A hesitance, when he asks for certain things. An annoyance of some sort, when he asks about Hua Cheng.
And one day, almost blanching when Xie Lian offers him his chalice of juice, looking very panicked. “I cannot,” he says, almost beading with sweat, “I daren’t. It is…it is prepared solely for you. Such a prestigious…juice, cannot be drunk anyone.”
It’s just juice though. But perhaps he just doesn’t like it. Xie Lian though, loves it. It’s served with every meal, and on a rare occasion, he’d shyly asked San Lang for a chalice more during their time together in the library.
“Of course,” he’d said, brushing the back of his knuckles against his cheek, and showing him a stray lash he’d caught. Elbow pressed against him, leaning in his space, affectionate in the way he’d indulged him, “gege must never be shy in asking me for anything. I can get you whatever you want.”
The arrogance might come across as boastful to someone else−but coming from San Lang, it only sounded true. He’d drank his fill, before the other had to leave because someone had come knocking at the doors, very upset their time had to be interrupted. Xie Lian watched him go, and instead headed to his own chambers to change for the night.
He’d already taken a bath in the evening (they had gone horse riding once more) and he’d felt the sweat cling to skin. Not only has Xie Lian been looking healthier, he’s feeling so too. Almost double the athleticism he possessed in his youth. His stamina near unending, his tiredness nowhere to be seen until he’d hit the bed. They’d even had a friendly race, and Xie Lian had won in mere seconds, the world blurring around him. He shrugs off his robe, straying near to the dresser.
Xie Lian watches his reflection carefully, hair parted in two halves on either side of his shoulders, down his front. He let the silky fabric slip, hooked on his elbows, the unblemished and fair expanse of his back coming to view.
Twisting a little, recalling some more. Searching, until his eyes fall on it.
The agonizing pain, from that day. It must have stemmed from somewhere, no?
And lo and behold, it seems to be a yes. There’s two marks. Small and miniscule, too trivial to catch one’s eyes if they weren’t looking.
But Xie Lian was. And he sees it−they’re spaced close together, almost akin to puncture wounds from something sharp. A sharp sense of foreboding crawls up his spine. How did I…
“Gege I forgot to give−“
He freezes. The doors had been left the slightest bit ajar. In his haste, he’d forgotten to shut it! Caught off guard, he glances back to see San Lang a few steps inside, eyes wide as he takes him in.
San Lang does not−and even if he does only minutely−blush. But if he could, he’s sure his face would be as red as Xie Lian’s, colouring considerably. “I…” he takes two steps back, the dark of his eyes wide with regret and apology, yet a depth to them that is limitless and enticing. Xie Lian’s heart thunders against his chest as he hastily pulls up the robe, the other’s steps slowing. “Forgive this one gege,” he bows, completely, “I really−I did not mean to intrude.”
“No it’s fine, it’s my fault anyways,” but the blood is rushing through Xie Lian’s ears, loud and hot. He twiddles with the front of them, clearing his throat. “Did you…want to give something?”
“Yes,” he says, setting it on the bedside table. He doesn’t look at him, even after straightening. Xie Lian walks over, and picks up the small velvet box. There’s a soaring swoop of unfounded expectation in his gut as he opens it. His eyes shine, as bright as the diamond that glints in the case.
A ring.
A ruby stone in centre. Thin and yet complex. Such a work of art he’s left speechless, drawing it out and−
It’s bound with a chain. Oh. A…umm, pendant. That makes…more sense. “This…” Xie Lian starts, voice barely above a whisper as he glances at the other, “is for me?”
“Who else?” San Lang says. But his usual confidence is nowhere to be seen. Xie Lian toys with it. The roughness at its edges, all overcome by the smooth finishing. Cold. Solid.
For him.
“Would you…” he licks his lips, watching in rapt attention, “help me put it on?”
San Lang raises his eyes, meeting his. “I…of course,” he smiles, but there’s an undercurrent of tension in the space between them. A tug, a pull. He’s not sure. It’s so magnetic he wants the distance to cease immediately if only to escape the vice grip his scent has, his presence has. Xie Lian is wholly too self-conscious.
San Lang stands behind him, and parts his hair to one side. Fingertips grazing the delicate skin of his nape−he resists the urge to shiver. San Lang brings it around him, arms on either side before they disappear, the clasp fastened easily. Xie Lian watches it thump against his chest, sit there. His, and only his. When San Lang speaks, his voice is so warm, dancing across the side of his neck. “Does gege like it?”
Xie Lian’s voice catches in his throat, with how much he does. Xie Lian’s half tempted to lean back into him, to express with all the gusto how much he adores it. “I do.”
“I’m glad,” San Lang shifts his hair back so it settles against his back, stepping away when Xie Lian turns, “have a good night’s rest, gege. I’ll be here in the morning.”
He nods, swallowing, watching his figure retreat.
For some reason, the only thing on his mind as he heart aches for the other to stay, is how much he’d like, another chalice filled with the same divine red.
*
One fateful night, Xie Lian wakes up in the middle of the night, startling himself.
He’s standing in the centre of the room. Did I sleepwalk? It seems so. He’s barefoot, only in his thin inner robes. He glances back to see his mussed up sheets. “Gosh,” he shakes his head, recalling what Yin Yu had said about him spilling something, “I really am a−“
Handful.
But before he can say it, his cheek tears open.
It’s a small nip. But it’s enough. Metallic taste of blood coats his tongue. Xie Lian stills, feeling the warmth of it seep into his mouth, healing fast.
Just a cut. Against the inside of his cheek. By his own teeth. This is the third time in the past few days, when it had been a rarity at most. His gums had been aching too, making him grow hyper vigilant on brushing lest he ruin his teeth and add another burden on San Lang’s plate. He even tried cutting back on all that sweet juice!
He cradles his cheek, a little sad. Before he can retreat to bed, however, something catches his attention.
A tune.
Melancholic.
Furrowing his brows, Xie Lian makes his way out, and finds the music drifting from downstairs. Huh. He steps out, the cold of the manor no longer affecting him, neither the chill of the tiles. Fast and light on his feet, he’s down the stairs, walking past the rows of tinted arching windows, nearing a room he knows.
The music room. San Lang had showed him the piano and harp, the guqin and flute. Had even taken him for a little dance, both of them laughing by the end of it as they grew more and more ridiculous.
Nothing of this situation, speaks of the same lightness. The air is heavy and adrift with the arresting sound of this tune. Keys pressed in a manner to evoke a sense of loss, of tragedy and hopeless yearning. He peeks through the gap, and sees an elusive figure he is all too familiar with.
Hua Cheng.
His back facing him, the rich red of his robes apparent. Black hair unbound, fingers moving across the piano like he’s one with them. He paints a picture so striking, Xie Lian’s left staring. Listening.
And before he realizes, following.
One step, then another. Approaching nearer and nearer, until he’s only a few steps behind him. The night wanes with his playing, the moon grows bashful at his emotive melody, hidden deep behind clouds. But when he pauses, turning his head the slightest bit, there’s a knowing smirk that plays across those red lips, hypnotizing.
“Hua Cheng?”
“Gongzi,” he acknowledges. It feels foreign to be addressed that way. His voice is a rich deep timbre, similar in sound but deeper than San Lang’s. “Couldn’t sleep?”
He nears him. “Just….a little something woke me up.” Gongzi. But something scratches the edges of his memory. “You mustn’t need to be so formal.”
Hua Cheng raises a brow. “I would not want to make you uncomfortable.”
“But this is not the first time I’ve stumbled in, have I?”
He’s silent. It proves Xie Lian’s suspicions right. How can this be? He’s never had issues with sleep walking. Maybe, fragments of those dreams were…
Gege, sit down first. Gege, take some more. As much as you want.
He swallows. No, that’s…that’s probably not it.
Hua Cheng shifts to make space, and he takes it as an invitation to sit next to him. There’s a powerful and dark aura that encases him. When he glances at him, Xie Lian finally gets to see in person, what the rumours drone on and on about.
A dark eye, dazzling in its intensity, meets his. And the other one, a red so vivid, it’s mesmerizing. “Is gege thrown off by this one?”
“No,” not at all. Hua Cheng is a beautiful sculpture of sharp lines and fine features. He’s so stunning, that Xie Lian absently wonders if people had been so blinded by his sheer intensity they’d made such ludicrous claims. Shamefully, he almost wishes to reach a hand out, and brush away the hair that falls forward, so he can get a better look at him. “Hua Cheng is…very striking.”
“In a good way?”
He smiles, “one would think having such looks would leave no room for doubt.”
“That is rich, coming from someone of gege’s standing,” he’s utterly unabashed, in the way his gaze shamelessly runs over him. Xie Lian feels picked apart at the seams, pleasantly so. “Did my playing disturb you?”
“Not at all,” Xie Lian says, glancing down at his long fingers against the keys. They’re decorated with rings, a red knot on one. Nails painted black. An urge to run his hands against them has Xie Lian clasping his own hands tight. “My…my teeth have actually been hurting.”
Hua Cheng’s brows furrow. “Since when?” he asks, concern evident, “why did you not tell me−tell Yin Yu? Or someone else?”
He feels himself flush. “It’s such a trivial thing.”
“Nothing is trivial if it causes gege pain,” Hua Cheng dismisses the notion, “for how long?”
“About a few days?” Xie Lian says, “it’s just−I feel like I might have chipped something? I cut myself so often, not to mention my gums hurting…” His lips morph into a sad frown. “It really is a bit…juvenile to experience, at this age.”
“Not at all,” but Hua Cheng watches him intently. If San Lang’s attention felt pointed, Hua Cheng’s is downright searing. He can barely meet his gaze, the dissonance of his heterochromatic eyes both a feast and an inescapable cage. “Pray gege would show me? I’ll get a doctor, first thing in the morning.”
That’s really too much. He’s pretty sure it’s the result of his gluttonous diet. He’s honestly shocked how he hasn’t gained weight. But he opens his mouth, pointing at the side. “Hwere,” it comes out muffled. “Awnd hwere,” he points to the opposite end. Hua Cheng’s expression is unreadable.
“When does it happen?”
Xie Lian’s actually not sure. But… “When I speak? Or eat…or well…” he thinks over it, “I guess when I’m hungry? Thirsty? Could it be because my mouth’s all dry?”
Hua Cheng’s contemplative. “If gege doesn’t mind,” he says, voice low. “Can I check?”
It takes a second for him to realize what he means. When he does, his skin burns. “I won’t if you don’t want to,” Hua Cheng says, placating, so much softness in his voice it eases all his nerves instantly, “the doctor will still come in the morning. I merely wanted to see, if there’s anything I could attend to, now.”
What do I say? But the ache in his gums had gotten worse afternoon onwards, when he’d tried cutting back on the drink to avoid the sweetness. “It’s okay,” Xie Lian says. Opening his mouth and pointing out where exactly. Hua Cheng leans in to take a closer, and despite brushing his teeth, he fears his breath stinking. Thankfully, it does not seem he minds.
Instead, he does something so insanely out of his realm of expectation Xie Lian is too shocked to even blink.
Thumbing at the upper row of his teeth, as though searching for the place where he’d presumed his tooth had been chipped off. Hua Cheng’s eyes are hooded as he shifts it carefully, Xie Lian’s heart rate shooting up. He’s careful not to touch too much. But how could it be negligible? The warm presence of it too acute to ignore. His lips set into a thin line, shifting to the opposite side. Xie Lian needs to ask, but he daren’t in a position like this.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng’s voice is hypnotic, all but purring in that deep rumble of his. His eyes all-knowing, as they meet his, “aren’t you craving a little something?”
In a flash, he thinks of the chalice, and the red liquid pooling inside of it. So hard to part from at dinner, so addicting once it hit his tongue. Xie Lian’s eyes−unbeknownst to him−grow glazed with want, a sharpness slipping forward against his canines, pointed enough to−
Pierce skin.
He doesn’t move fast enough. The flesh of Hua Cheng’s thumb tears, and hot blood spills forth. Xie Lian shoves his hand away, ashamed and afraid of what he’s just done, so upset and−
The blood coats his tongue.
He stops, eyes wide.
Mulling it over. This taste….this scent. It should be metallic. Coppery. Like his own was.
Yet.
Rich. So rich. Hua Cheng’s stare does not leave him once, watching like one would a feasting animal. There’s careful consideration in each line of his face, and Xie Lian thinks he might just lose his mind. Why does it…
Taste good? He breathes in, to reel in his spiraling thoughts but what hits with dizzying clarity is the strong and magnetic scent of the blood beading through the puncture wound on Hua Cheng’s thumb.
He’s enchanted. Bewitched. The red of it so delectable against pale skin, an all aching want at the core of him, consuming with such ferocity there’s a low growl building in his throat.
Xie Lian wants it.
What am I thinking?
But he can’t think. He can’t. His heart’s beating like crazy and he thinks he’s losing his mind. What’s wrong with me?! But the pounding in his chest and rushing against his ears deafen such thoughts. Press them beneath the heel of his feet until they’re smothered out of existence. Hua Cheng’s red eye particularly gleams like the finest ruby; a spark of knowing.
Xie Lian wants to cry and scream but good gosh. That taste of it was so good.
Why was it so good? Is Xie Lian going crazy?
“Gege.”
He snaps out of it to blink owlishly at the other. Hua Cheng remains unaffected−unperturbed, by his hellish disposition.
In fact, he looks a bit fond. Cradling a palm against his cheek, reminiscent of the man in his dreams. He looks just like one, too.
A dream that is. Unreal. Ephemeral.
“Don’t you want it?”
A wounded sound escapes Xie Lian. “Please.” Oh how he does.
“Then don’t hold back,” Hua Cheng whispers. Murmurs. Thumb grazing the skin beneath his eye, back and forth, back and forth. Lulling him into a sense of calm, a spell of ease. “What’s stopping you?”
How can you ask that? His eyes grow wet. “I’m going insane,” he whispers, barely audible, voice wet. Sniffling, even. Hua Cheng’s eyes grow even kinder, his dark eye an endless pit of warmth, his red one an inferno of heat that’s all consuming. “How−how could−“
“Is gege shy?” he asks, teases. Has the audacity to at a moment like this. Leaning in and watching him carefully, face inches from his. “Gege needn’t be.”
What−
“We all have urges,” Hua Cheng purrs, his thumb instead grazing his lips instead. Fixated, as he pushes against his lower lip, and parts them at the seams. “Why should you be the only one forbidden from them?”
But−
“Gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs, breath ghosting against skin, “don’t be shy. I’ll make sure, you don’t remember any of this at all.”
*
When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to a surprising sight; San Lang leaned on a chair next to his bed, idly flipping through a book. Xie Lian sits up, the blankets pooling around him, limbs heavy as though they were made of lead.
“Gege?” San Lang turns, all but carelessly throwing the book against the bedside table. His eyes shine with concern, as he raises a hand to touch his forehead. While Xie Lian usually adores the slight warmth they always seem to possess, right now it makes him almost hiss from heat.
Heat all over his skin. His clothes are stuck to him with sweat, a feeling of disgust rousing within him. Is he…feverish? San Lang does not look very pleased. “How do you feel?”
He opens his mouth to speak, throat dry and parched. “Terrible,” he mumbles, dazed. San Lang nods. “I’m−water?”
“Drink this instead, it’ll help,” he gives him a bottle, and Xie Lian is just so thirsty he doesn’t bother checking. But one sip, and he already knows−the same juice, satiating him immediately. San Lang watches him carefully, treading waters as though he’s a fragile piece of glass. “What’s happening? Would gege tell me?”
He tries to think. His mind feels like stuffed cotton. But−“Hurts,” he rasps. Over and over. The other’s eyes flash in alarm, “San Lang, it hurts.”
“Where?” he asks, alarmed, “your teeth?”
Xie Lian shakes his head. No. But he can visualize it so clearly. Two sharp canines, gleaning white in the darkness, a puddle of red forming in the room. A twitching body of a broken woman, whimpers that turn silent, and eyes that meet his, a killer circling his next victim.
The wound on his shoulder throbs with such intensity he’s left winded; grappling the sheets, the edges of the other’s sleeves, almost pleading as he looks at him to make it stop.
Why can’t I stop thinking?
“He−here,” he tries pointing, gasping. San Lang takes the cue, only the minutest second of hesitation before he pulls open his robe, and sees the mark. Perhaps he should be doubtful how the other knew what to look for. But for now all he feels is a gripping panic. It hurts−someone dragging needles in and out his skin, back and forth and back and forth through the same punctures−
“−listen to me,” he blinks, vision blurred. San Lang’s holding his face in his hand, cursing before he shifts on the bed, instead drawing him closer in his arms. His scent overpowers him immediately−a flood of the sharp scent washing over his sense. Xie Lian’s blood hums, eager, so eager, to mend them into one.
He’d be so safe, if he was. San Lang would make sure of it. There’s a hand rubbing down the side of his arm, his head tucked against the crook between the other’s neck and shoulder. Xie Lian is babbling something−he’s not sure what−but Yin Yu is here, and oddly, even with all his detached nature, he looks worried when he sees him. They’re talking. He can barely understand a few words.
“−conflict?”
“Perhaps,” San Lang doesn’t sound calm. Doesn’t sound composed. Xie Lian curls further against him, and the other softens his tone as he speaks. “I don’t know how much he left behind−all I know is mine was more.”
Yin Yu does not look very pleased with this. “Do I get her?”
“Explain everything carefully,” he says, a hint of warning in San Lang’s voice. “She shouldn’t be making mistakes.”
Yin Yu leaves. He can only presume its some doctor. He’s terrified. He can’t stop−
There.
The same melody. Xie Lian blinks, and grapples it like a lifeline. San Lang.
Hua Cheng.
A song shared between piano and man. A rhythm that is familiar. That is new. That is safe, and that is untainted. Xie Lian’s heart calms, his body growing lax. He calms down, everything quiet. Only him and this song, keeping him afloat.
San Lang’s taken his hands, playing with his fingers. Xie Lian lets him. The red of his robes are a stunning contrast against Xie Lian’s white. He’s so starkly different to him, and yet all Xie Lian feels in a tug that in inescapable. They’re both quiet now. It’s too tranquil to disturb.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Gege,” he asks, “is it okay if they come in?”
He considers it. Takes San Lang’s hand, and holds it tight. “You’ll stay?”
Xie Lian would be so ashamed at any other moment to sound this small. But the other is always so kind, gaze meeting his, an unbearable ocean of patience and affection in them. “As long as you want me to.”
That’s reassuring. He nods. San Lang tells them to come in. Yin Yu walks in first, and behind him…
It’s a woman. She’s the slightest bit shorter than the other, hair pulled back by a dazzling pin, robes a gorgeous mix of pinks and white. A pink mark stands painted on her chest, blue-green eyes brighter than life as she brings a ray of light with her with each step in.
“Xie-gongzi?” she asks, and he nods, imperceptibly. She smiles. Kind and warm, offering a hand forward. “I’m Shi Qingxuan. I’m your doctor, okay? So please be at ease, and tell me all that you’re feeling.”
San Lang glances at him, a reassuring smile on his face. So he takes the hand, shaking it. Shi Qingxuan looks very pleased with this. Xie Lian eventually manages, bit by bit. She listens carefully, her expression betraying nothing. Yin Yu’s gaze grows shades deeper with seriousness, but it is most surprising to see San Lang’s face turn somber. “Well,” Shi Qingxuan says, taking a seat on the chair next to bed, feeling his wrist, checking his eyes, and then the puncture wounds on his back. “I have a few doubts, but they can be discussed later. I just wanted to ask…”
Her eyes, as clear as the ocean against the morning sun, meet his. A hypnotic quality to them, as though the winds of the coast and the waves of the ocean rushed through her very irises−captivating. Xie Lian finds himself eager to listen, despite himself. “Xie-gongzi,” she says, “have you been seeing things?”
The question catches him off guard as much as it terrifies him. Something in Xie Lian knows she can tell−that she’s read him for every page. Merely thumbing down a particular one open, and prying the spine for it to spread further. “I…”
“It could be dreams,” she says, offhandedly, “thoughts, memories…anything, really.”
He swallows. Feeling the weight of the room and all its attention condense against his skin. Shi Qingxuan eyes him, “you could say it here or…perhaps, we can ask all to leave.”
“You−“ San Lang starts to protest, annoyed, but Xie Lian beats him to it.
“I’d prefer…that,” he peeks at the other’s expression, guilty when he finds it surprised. But San Lang wastes no time, and in seconds him and Yin Yu are outside. He fiddles with his hands for a long while, before speaking. Shi Qingxuan has a way of making him lower his guards without even realizing; soft assurances, encouragements to continue. No disgust at all as she hears him describe such vivacious things.
Her hand is cold, when it touches his. But he’s not startled at all. “You’re lost,” Shi Qingxuan says. Xie Lian realizes it’s not a question. Her next words are cryptic, and yet comforting, “but you’re safe. Stronger. Faster. You’re remembering things, and you’ll know all of it one day. But there’s a reason why we can’t handle such intense emotions all at once; take them as they come. Don’t rush, don’t panic.” She smiles, “you’re very lucky, to have someone by your side already. Trust them, and you won’t regret it.”
For a second, he thinks of San Lang. The warmth and kindness the other has bestowed him with so far.
But besides him, another figure flashes to mind. Dark unbound hair, wild and free. A mix of a profound black eye, and an equally stunning ruby one.
When she lets go of his hand, Xie Lian belatedly realizes there was a soft hum of something buzzing against his skin the entire time she spoke. She takes it away with her, when she stands. Telling him she’ll be around more, and to call if he needed someone to just talk to. Xie Lian is immensely filled with gratitude, though he’s unsure why. She leaves, and it’s only then does it dawn on him.
He feels completely fine.
San Lang doesn’t leave his side the entire day.
The last couple of weeks, he’d been minding whatever business he had, sometimes leaving Yin Yu to attend to him, other times Xie Lian left to his own devices to explore. San Lang never restricts him from anything either−he merely wished to be informed so he could make any arrangements; a carriage prepped if he wanted to go to the town or markets, perhaps a riding steed if he was in the mood for horse riding.
The more Xie Lian let time pass, the more complacent he wished to grow. Embracing comfort selfishly, knowing why it was ripped from him. Someone like him had grown used to hardship, had grown used to misfortune.
This stroke of good luck was off-chance. Perhaps off-putting. A ticking time bomb of when something would spark, and set it off. Not to mention…
Talking with Sin Qingxuan had been running his mind in eager circles, digging and delving in the deepest corners of his mind, over and over.
He’s in the room with the paintings again today. A letter had come for him, an assurance, simple words, promise that the compensation they had been given by Wuyong state was keeping them well. Perhaps they feared for him.
(He abhorred the relief he felt, being pushed away from ‘home’.)
Xie Lian studies another frame. The dark strokes, the craze in them. The lines so unclean, and yet somehow the most meticulous of details crafted. Xie Lian wagers this one was painted by mere hand−fingers dragging through paint in an inspired frenzy to put the rushing images in the artists’ head finally on paper and out of mind.
There’s the ends of opulent white robes. Untainted. The ground filled with blossoms, morphing into decay downwards, with a wretched figure with their back to the audience, crouched and hands digging into earth. Clothes tattered, and red matting every inch.
“Gege?”
San Lang stands in the doorway, watching him. Amusement dances in his eyes. “Admiring?”
“Something of the sort,” his lips turn up at the corners on their own accord. The other draws near, bringing with him an ease to all of Xie Lian’s rumination. “Who is the artist?”
San Lang comes to stand beside him, gazing at the painting in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back. “Any guesses?”
“Hua Cheng?”
A sharp smile spreads across his face, dazzling in its might. “Gege really does have knack for things like these−any reason why?”
“Had a feeling,” he murmurs, thinking of the other last night as well. He can feel San Lang silently observe him, Xie Lian taking his time before he turns to him. “Did you know?” he asks, as a way of conversation, “these paintings…they remind me at times, of someone else.”
San Lang’s expression is hard to read. Neither excited nor hopeful, somewhere that touches both and ends up nowhere. “Oh?”
“Hmm,” he says, stepping nearer to him. San Lang inclines his head to show he’s listening, and Xie Lian tucks back his hair, all unruly and slips the knot of the ponytail. “He was a child. Perhaps ten years old?” Though he never did find out. Neither his name, his parents, or where he lived. “There was some sort of event at school; I ended up getting lost. I found him shouting at a few older kids, who looked to be bullying him.”
He can remember it as clear as day. The heart-wrenching pain in his voice.
Why don’t I deserve to live?
Why won’t you leave me to die if you hate me so much?
And he remembers the cruel words thrown back, even more vividly.
Curses like you are meant to be hated.
It was merely a second. But the boy let out a scream of white-hot anger, before he’d dug his fingers right into his eyes, blood immediately spilling across his skin. “They’d all ran away, horrified and I−“
I was too slow. Xie Lian should have moved faster. He should have been able to grab the boy’s hand before it even reached up. He should have. He shakes his head, still remembering the blood soaking through his own clothes as he’d cradled the boy and ran, dashed to the nearest hospital as fast as he could.
“I didn’t have that much on me,” Xie Lian admits, quiet, “at least, not how much I think I should have given him. He was inconsolable−but for a few minutes, when they were checking him over and I held him, he calmed.”
Clinging. Small hands, so small. It broke his heart. He’d paid with all the money he’d had, covering any and all costs that would come up with his accessories; all rare treasures, gifted by merchants that frequented their home. Pushed a few bills in the boy’s tiny pockets. Mu Qing and Feng Xin were livid when they saw him−soaked with blood, hair all unruly, and exhausted. But at least he’d done something. The guilt would have eaten him alive otherwise.
San Lang’s quiet, when he’s done. Xie Lian doesn’t turn to look at him, instead staring down at his own palms. So helpless, in the face of such devastation. What could he have done more? What could he have said more?
“Gege’s heart is very kind,” San Lang eventually says. The smile on Xie Lian’s lips is rueful. “I’m sure, that boy must have thought the same. If there really wasn’t anything more to live for, then he’d live for you.”
Startled, he snaps his gaze up to glance back at him. But the other betrays nothing, a warmth written all over him that Xie Lian feels brimming in his own chest. It’s so tight−a breath too much, and he’ll shatter whole. “San Lang,” he says, but he doesn’t know what more to. The other merely smiles, taking his hand.
“Come on,” he says, gently, “isn’t it time for lunch?”
After lunch, San Lang needs to be somewhere. Whatever it was looked urgent, Yin Yu making his silent way forth, and then following behind. Xie Lian instead went through the library, an interest in a particular section, before he made to have a walk outside.
He’d told one of the attendants to pass on the message if San Lang asked. Wearing the cloak gifted to him, he makes his way all through the front garden, mind weighed.
If you don’t have anything to live for, live for me.
Words said with childish naiveté. And yet…
If there really wasn’t anything more to live for, then he’d live for you.
What is right to hope for, and what is not? The desolate world spares none, and it never will. Those who strive for right, are beaten down until their hands are feet are tied by circumstance.
Until they’re forced to make a choice, ruled by necessity instead of moral.
He strays outside, the air having grown cold. Xie Lian doesn’t feel it much though, remembering the well-tread path to the nearby market, a breath of much-needed fresh air after being struck by such bizarre ails. It’s not very crowded, but not really sparse either. A few men are talking outside a tavern, over bowls of warm soup.
“…heard?” One of them says, eyes wide. He’s animated as he speaks, voice bold and loud as he stands to speak to them all. Intrigued and amused, Xie Lian steps a little closer to listen−what gossip could it be, that he has all of them hooked on?
“No, no, we daren’t,” a wiry old man says. “The horrors! I pray for that poor family. I heard they were well off; but more than that, they were kind even with all that money.”
“No the father though,” another shakes his head, “a mess of a man, really. Never knew when to extend a good hand forward. The lady of the house was really the soul of that estate; I hear their son was exactly like her.”
The man at the front exclaims, “you’re very right, uncle! Even his looks were the same! No wonder the Wuyong estate were so eager to tie the knot. Now that I think of it though, how vile were their intentions! Perhaps they thought to turn him in to someone like them.”
Wuyong estate?
Xie Lian’s blood runs cold. He can’t help it−he cuts in. “Who is this about?”
They all look at him, surprised. “Ah, gongzi!” The one at the head says, before explaining to everyone else, “pay your respects, he’s from Hua Chengzhu’s Manor!”
He feels himself blush as they all trip over themselves, spines straightened. Clearly, except for the man at the head, none of them were locals. “To answer your question, gongzi−you know that Xie family, from Xianle estate?”
Xie Lian’s heart thunders against his chest all at once. Pounding as though its ready to crack down his rib cage in to two. “Yes?” he hears his voice catch, barely above a whisper.
“Ah,” they all grow downcast, as if the mere thought of the incident pains them, “well, that family of three were all wiped out−murder, they say. But everyone knows very well, why instead of the town police, the hunters made the final say in the case.”
The world stops.
“Such a pity, such a pity,” the old man from before adds, “their son was so young too! Getting married to the heir of the Wuyong estate, only for that bastard to turn back and kill both his fiancé and his poor parents! A vicious beast, truly! The house reeked of blood, their necks with wounds yay big!”
“But wasn’t their son’s body never found?” another asks, “I hear that Junwu must have taken him somewhere−by god, I hope the poor soul had gotten a respectful burial at the least!”
They keep talking. Of the way someone else had come in the middle of the night, a man akin to savior in one’s darkest house, but had been too late. The doors were broken, and he’d sent for the police, stepping in to see the barely alive bodies of the man and woman, rushing them for the hospital. The man had died on the way−the woman lived mere hours more, before succumbing.
So many sighs, so many prayers for the lost son and his body.
Xie Lian’s gut rolls with nausea, bile rising up in his throat, the world spinning.
No.
No. It can’t be.
He turns away from them, almost stumbling as he walks and walks and walks. Nothing in sight and the illusion of safety shattered before his eyes. He can’t breathe−
“Xie Lian,” the voice curls over the nape of his neck, “this wouldn’t have happened if you just listened.”
Piercing pain. A scream echoing in the night. Strong hands as hard as rocks and colder than ice holding him down. Xie Lian thrashing and thrashing as crimson drenches his gown and all over Junwu’s skin, a happy hum escaping him the more he screams.
He’s losing his mind. The pain sedates itself, heat in his veins instead. Junwu’s speaking but he’s not hearing anything. Time is nothing; distorting until everything is dizzy. Let go all at once and allowed to crumple on the ground like a paper doll, head held up by his hair as his pit less eyes bore into his.
A thumb pressing on his chin, forcing him to open his mouth as Junwu’s hand twists painfully in his hair. Hand forced against his lips, the metallic taste of blood seeping in between the gaps of teeth and overwhelming him. He wants to vomit, coughing and thrashing and yet.
He’s forced to swallow it all down. Over and over.
“−gongzi?” A voice tinged with the edges of panic. Xie Lian’s body tries to curl into itself−autonomy ripped away as if it never belonged to him in the first place. “Xie-gongzi? Can you hear me?”
He blinks. Yin Yu’s usual pale face is unbearably ashen, looking at him up and down. His touch is cold, where he holds him. He’s strong, and Xie Lian’s entire world is being ripped to shreds.
“You−“ he rasps, “you lied.”
Shock flits across his features−his poker face nowhere to be seen. It’s confirmation enough, and he sobs, unable to hold back. “What--how could you?!”
“Gongzi, please,” he tries, helpless, “it−please come back with me. You’re not safe here. We’ll explain, okay? You shouldn’t be out here alone in this condition−“
“I’m declared dead anyways!” He shouts, hysterical, pushing him off. Xie Lian must have really gone mad−Yin Yu goes flying against the nearest tree, back hitting the trunk hard. And yet he managed to hold himself in a stable position right back up, eyes wide. “What does it matter!”
All those letters….
They were all lies?
Is this why San Lang was so insistent on caring for him? On keeping him here? Playing him like some fool!
Beast.
“I’m going to kill him,” Xie Lian all but growls out, vision blurred, a blood thirst like never before growing at the core of him, “I’m going to rip that man to shreds!”
Before Yin Yu can say anything more, he’s already gone.
*
The house is dark.
Abandoned.
Night befalls the streets and shrouds everything in darkness. He steps through the doors, pushes away the yellow tape and−
Xie Lian’s eyes gleam red, unbeknownst to him. The scent of blood so sharp, rotting through the wood and remaining tainted in every inch of the foyer like another accessory in their drawer of misfortune.
The furniture is knocked over in places. The sheets and curtains torn. The moonlight doesn’t even grace the gaps in the windows of any light, as if she too wants to forget the horrible incident.
“Mama?” he calls out, staring at the broken pieces of a bracelet. Red turned black staining the jewels. His throat closes up, eyes wet. “Mama?”
He glances at the chair, thrown on its side, wood broken. “Dad?”
But no one’s listening.
A wretched sob escapes him, as he crumples to the floor. Banging against the floor before his hands curl into them, cursing himself.
Xie Lian was just so eager, wasn’t he? For a chance to be away? To get away?
So he should be happy. He reaped what he sowed. Threw a fucking tantrum and ran off in the woods and got his parents killed. Enjoyed the luxury obliviously, not wanting to return as his parents’ corpses were buried by hands unknown.
This wouldn’t have happened if you listened to me.
Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?
Why. Why him?!
Before he can stand up and uselessly march up to find him−to exact revenge he knows he will never achieve−a fabric drapes over his cold body.
The material thick but light. Falling against his shoulders, and shielding him from the perpetual cold this house with now haunt. He knows without a word, whose it is.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng crouches down beside him, dressed in fine red robes tied with a black belt at his waist instead of the usual casual things he sees him in. His eyes meet his, black and red both brimming with remorse. His voice is so quiet, it’s as though he’s the one who’s guilty of sin, rather than playing the role of a belated savior.
Instead of uselessly trying to help.
But one’s heart is such a treacherous thing. It still lurches forward, at the sight of him. “You lied.”
“I did,” he says, full of regret, “but those three letters were written by her. She−she didn’t want you to come back.”
Somehow, he feels worse. Crying uncontrollably, Hua Cheng pulling him into his arms. The other’s expensive robes getting all dirty; from the ground, kneeled here, from all his tears, soaking through. But he can’t help but burrow against him, held together only by these arms, as he lets it all out.
He lets the other take him back to the manor.
Hua Cheng is terribly careful with him. Xie Lian, shamefully, is glad. He doesn’t want to go to his room. And so he sits with him at the piano, hearing him play, watching him play. Play and play, and feeling the sadness of the tune like his own.
Xie Lian curls a hand around the other’s upper arm, leaned against him. Body growing heavy, but not wanting to move. “What happened to him?”
Hua Cheng is quiet for a long while. “He’s been dealt with.”
He can only breathe out a sigh, and wish that an excruciating death, was the least of his concerns. Xie Lian falls asleep, somewhere during the song, and Hua Cheng carries him back to his room. He sits there, next to him, a hand in his as he watches, emotions a mix.
Xie Lian wakes when the hand is pulled from his, and is greeted by the sight of the other’s apology. “I wish I could stay,” he says, so genuinely upset, he’s torn between wanting to cry or laugh.
“Then just make sure to finish up fast,” is all Xie Lian says. Hua Cheng hesitates for a moment, and before he can comprehend it, there’s a kiss pressed to his hair, and Xie Lian’s entire body deflates.
“I promise I will.”
He stays in bed for the majority of the day. He cries thrice more. Yin Yu brings him lunch after much pointed insistence. Somehow, Xie Lian gets the feeling there’s even a care in his words.
He stays, annoyingly, and makes sure he finishes. It’s when he’s taking away the dishes, does Xie Lian call for him.
“Yes, gongzi?”
Xie Lian stares at the window. He’s pretty sure he looks like a bloated fish with all his crying. Yin Yu stands by the bed, hands clasped in front of him, as stiff as ever.
He’d eased up a lot near him in the past month. Enough so the usual rigid way he held himself loosened, words not as formal as they once used to be. Right now, an air of awkward tension remained stifled in the space between them, and Xie Lian hated it. “I’m sorry.”
Yin Yu’s eyes widen, “gongzi, you don’t have to apologise for anything.”
“I do,” he says, downcast as he faces him, hot shame burning him, “yesterday I…you were faultless. It was wrong of me to lash out at you and not to mention…” The way he’d pushed him off. “I hope I didn’t injure you too severely.”
A complicate look flits across Yin Yu’s face. “You did not,” he says, eventually, “but I do not blame you. I don’t know how I’d act in your place. If anything, gongzi really displayed a lot of restraint.”
That same stiff ball in his chest threads tighter. A familiar lump in his throat, eyes stinging. But he’s so tired of crying. It’s not doing anything. Xie Lian merely grows miserable. “I shouldn’t have accepted the damned offer in the first place,” he whispers, hands curling into fists.
It’s quiet for a long time. “You did what you thought best.”
Did he? “Please sit,” he says, when he notices him still standing. Yin Yu hesitates, and Xie Lian immediately backtracks, “unless you need to be elsewhere? If then, you can go ahead. I’m sorry for asking.”
Yin Yu’s expression is unreadable. Eventually, he sighs, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed, where San Lang had taken to lounging at nights recently, talking a whole hour before Xie Lian finally falls asleep. “Please do not apologise anymore,” Yin Yu sighs, “I have nowhere to be, anyways.”
He doubts it. Perhaps Yin Yu pities him. “How…” he licks his lips, glancing at him, “did you come to work for Hua Cheng?”
Yin Yu doesn’t seem very surprised by the question. But he does pull his sleeves further down his hands, a habit he’s noticed he does when he’s nervous. Subtle tells, Xie Lian has been searching for. “He’d found me when I was in a really bad place,” he confesses softly, “I…made a lot of bad decisions. I don’t know why. I guess I was desperate. Anguished. I almost lost my mind from the effects of all of them but he stopped me. Perhaps it was an act of charity, I’m not sure−not many people know anyways, why his lordship does the things he does.”
But despite his tone, there seems to gratitude in Yin Yu’s eyes. “I’m okay with working. I don’t have anywhere to go, or anyone else in general. Isn’t it better to pass my time doing something than wallowing? So I guess that’s why I’m here.”
There seems to be a lot more to that story, but Xie Lian doesn’t prod. It’s already a feat he’s divulged so much. He mulls over the story, his own hands fisted in the sheets on his lap.
Not many people know anyways, why his lordship does the things he does.
“Do you think he feels the same about me?” Xie Lian asks, recalling the depth of emotion in his eyes the night before. He couldn’t pick any of them as pity, however. “I just don’t understand why anyone would be so…accommodating.”
“As I said, I can’t say what his lordship is thinking,” Yin Yu says, almost impulsively, “but gongzi, I do think he cares for you. He−“ But he catches himself, staring down. “Forgive me, I mustn’t throw out assumptions.”
He… “I won’t tell,” Xie Lian promises, an odd feeling in his gut. Grazing the edges of an elusive puzzle. “I really won’t.”
Yin Yu bites the inside of his cheek, clearly hesitant. “I think…I think he’s almost been waiting for you, gongzi. He’s never been like this to anyone either and based off what he used to tell me to collect information about I mean−it just. It was really a coincidence I found you that night to even call him−“
Yin Yu stops, slapping a hand across his mouth. But Xie Lian’s mind is already running. “I definitely spoke too much,” Yin Yu says, more ashen than he’s ever seen him, standing and bowing, “I−I have some more things to wrap up. I’ll see you in the evening then, gongzi.”
San Lang doesn’t come by.
Busy. With what, he doesn’t know. Clearly with something important. Xie Lian finds out he’s actually out of town. He finally gathers the energy to actually leave the bed by late evening.
He changes out the usual colourful assortment of his robes to white ones. Combing his hair, taking half an hour to fully detangle his bird’s nest. San Lang’s spoiled him with care; always so eager, to have him sit down and straighten it out for him, always with something to say, touch gentle enough to melt.
Xie Lian stares at his reflection, after pulling his hair up into a half bun. His skin’s faring only a little better, eyes still swollen and rimmed red at the edges from his crying. The room empty, and his chest even more.
It’s only been a few hours.
I miss him so much.
Staring down at his hands, and pulling out the ring pendant. Toying with it, and wishing for those sincere eyes to meet his. To have an ocean of comfort for him to dive into.
Goodness. What is Xie Lian going to do? He really…seems to have grown too attached.
And with all of what Yin Yu said…why would Hua Cheng be searching for him? Xie Lian has nothing of worth. Like a distorted piece of poetry, long broken apart into something less than admirable. He doesn’t dare distrust his intentions−wouldn’t that be looking a gift horse in the mouth? Time and time again, he has been so generous. So lovely. What type of horrible man would he be to misunderstand when he’s been dealt with this much sincerity?
Perhaps, Xie Lian owes him. That is the only thing he can think of. Perhaps after he is well, Hua Cheng will tell him. Then Xie Lian will return whatever it is that might have mistakenly come to him, will clear the air and−
Leave.
His chest grows so tight, it’s almost unbearable to breathe.
Xie Lian should be more proactive, less disillusioned. Yet he shakes his head and tries to block out any more thoughts on the subject.
“Please eat some more,” Yin Yu insists, despite the distance he’s keeping, “gongzi−“
“I don’t think I can stomach it,” Xie Lian mouth feels like sand. Remembering his mother’s cooking and his father’s poor attempts at praise. Reversing time to when he was younger and all was well, the dining hall lit up, his family, his friends−
Not again. He blinks rapidly, when the familiar sting pricks his eyes. Ignoring Yin Yu’s insistences, and burrowing back in his room.
It doesn’t take long, for sleep to come.
Dark.
The path ahead is endless. His feet make no noise as he moves forward, the murals on the walls looking even more vivid than he remembers. Each stroke of colour glowing brilliant, captivating.
He slides his hands over them, and the colours blur and mend. A gasp escapes Xie Lian’s lips, eyes widening as he stumbles back. Guilt, fear and−
“Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispers behind him. Deep, familiar. A firm body, dark hair, and familiar eyes meeting his when he turns. Hua Cheng smiles, a mysterious little thing. Raking his gaze over him, the crimson of his eye gleaming with such intensity its almost searing. “It’s okay, gege.”
“I−“ his voice catches in his throat. Hua Cheng waits, patient. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he says, ever gentle. His hand against Xie Lian’s shoulder, a touch that’s startling in its coldness. Black nails a gorgeous contrast as they run down the side of his arm, playing him taught like a guitar being tuned right. He nears, barely a breath between them. Xie Lian swallows, unable to tear his gaze away from the other’s. Utterly enchanted.
“Gege,” he says, voice teasing, “pray gege would please pay attention.”
He blinks. Then glances back, to see Hua Cheng’s hand enveloping his, gliding it against the mural. Their fingers are dipped in paint, in all the right ones. The motion languid, wet and easy. Swirling shapes and mending edges. Before his eyes, the very spot he’d ruined grows perfected once again. Hua Cheng rests his chin on his shoulder, Xie Lian’s heart pounding hard enough to stop.
“You’re so nervous,” Hua Cheng says, sighing. Closing his eyes as he turns his head, buries his nose against Xie Lian’s neck, breathing him in. “Am I that terrifying?”
That brings a smile to his lips, even through the crazed fluttering in the pit of his stomach. “You’re very aware of the effect you have.”
“Not at all,” Hua Cheng says demurely, not at all insecure. Fluttering his gaze at him, delicate like petals swaying in the wind. “I’m too lost; in the effect gege has on this poor one’s heart to notice anything at all.”
Xie Lian shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
But he’s jumped to bait, hook, line and sinker. “What effect?” he asks, laugh airy. Hua Cheng’s fingers lazily playing with his before they grab on to his hand, turning him in a breath’s time. Xie Lian stumbles on his feet, free hand bracing against the other’s chest.
There’s no heartbeat.
“Gege,” he asks, deeply serious. Inclining his head down to look at him, Xie Lian feeling as cornered as a frantic prey. Except the rush in his blood is not of fear.
But of something thrilling. Hua Cheng tucks back his hair, touch affectionately running through his strands. Twisting and playing with the ends, much like he plays with his heart. “You cannot honestly mean that?”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he says, quiet. Beautiful, enchanting and kind. Powerful, rich and knowledgeable. What does Hua Cheng lack?
What even is he in comparison?
“Cannot have that at all,” Hua Cheng says, eyes hooded. “But it makes sense. Gege is far too humble. Instead I must be the one boastful one on his behalf.” He brushes the back of his hand against his cheek, the touch grazing, and yet sending a spark down his spine. “Where do I start? Your lovely eyes? Bewitching gaze? You look at me once, and I’m a man starved for days, ready for anything you offer.”
“You’re just saying anything,” he argues, cheeks hot, squirming away. But Hua Cheng’s grip slips from his hand and instead comes at his waist, not letting him. His eyes gleam, mischievous. “You−“
“I’m merely starting,” he murmurs, gaze dropping lower, “every feature of gege is so finely crafted−I’d spend a millennia sculpting, and never do justice. Your winsome smile, the blush on your cheeks…Gege is far too cruel on this one. How am I supposed to hold back, when you keep tantalizing me like this?”
Xie Lian’s skins burn brighter with each word, shutting eyes as if to escape the onslaught of them. But Hua Cheng merely takes it as mere challenge, lips against the shell of his ear, speaking such unthinkable things and making his heart twist in a frenzy. Dizzying the lines between propriety and depravity, what is right, and what is to be abstained from. Breath warm, voice alluring. He’s got Xie Lian wrapped around his finger, hand under his chin to tilt his face up.
“Gege,” his voice grows soft. Xie Lian knows, the plea in his voice in all an act. The way he laces the helplessness in and tugs at his heartstrings, “look at me?”
He opens his eyes, and the other’s smile is bright. Blinding. Hand cradling his face, grazing against his cheek. He doesn’t speak, immediately. Instead he stares and stares until Xie Lian thinks he might shrivel into a turtle’s body and retreat into his shell. “What?” He snaps.
“Gege’s all worked up,” Hua Cheng says, amusement tinging his tone as his cocks a brow.
Xie Lian flushes. “I mean−what…” What does Xie Lian mean? Does he even know himself? He’s too flustered to think, too flustered to move. Hua Cheng’s thumb shifts lower, and lower. Until it keeps grazing the edges of his lips maddeningly slow. The distance seems to have shortened. All of his senses heightened.
Staring at Hua Cheng’s contemplative gaze, focused all down, Xie Lian can’t help but return the favor. The promise of softness, against the red flesh. Hua Cheng wetting his lips, and Xie Lian feeling his mouth grow dry.
“Oh gege,” he whispers, the defeat in his voice so palpable, as his words ghost against skin. Xie Lian should move. Speak. But he’s beguiled by this man. Unable to. Hands curling against his shoulders, not pushing.
Not resisting.
Closing his eyes, the moment Hua Cheng’s lips press against his, and a sigh sounds from the depths of his soul, one of endless relief. His hands slip up against the cool silk of his robe, feeling the strength of muscle thrum underneath his fingers. Heart erratic as Hua Cheng tilts his head, and turns it deeper. Xie Lian buries his fingers in the other’s hair.
Addicting.
That’s all he can think. Hua Cheng is nothing short a dangerous habit−an irresistible chalice of wine. Drugging him with such desire until he’s lost in the troughs of it. The other’s arms embracing him intimately close, the gentleness gone in mere seconds−insistent and demanding. Xie Lian barely catching up−
He wakes up with a start, wide-eyed.
What…
He frantically looks around the room. Xie Lian is drenched in sweat, heart beating fast. He’s alone, no trace of anyone around. A few long moments to pace his troubled heart before the realization sinks−
He buries his face into a pillow and screams. What?! What was he even dreaming of! How−how despicable! Has he gone mad with grief, and unlocked an insatiable beast? He hurries out of bed to take a cold, cold bath, slapping sense into himself. He dares not imagine anything from that anymore−
Gege, don’t be scared.
“Ahh!” He furiously rubs his cheeks, closing his eyes to will away that evocative image of him. Just in time, Yin Yu comes knocking at the door. Xie Lian opens it, and he looks…well, he’s not sure. He should look blank, like he always does. Does he…Had Xie Lian perhaps spoken in his sleep? Walked in search for Hua Cheng with that terrible, terrible dream−
“Did you sleep well−“
“No, I didn’t dream about San Lang,” he blurts, words fast, before he can stop himself, “I really didn’t.”
Yin Yu stares. He looks to be processing what he just said. “Okay,” he says, awkwardly, “well, breakfast is ready. Please come down, gongzi.”
He nods. Walking stiffly and not all inconspicuous. Eating, mind in a daze and−
“What did you mean when you said you found me?” he asks, carefully, Yin Yu visibly paling, “I don’t understand why you’d be nervous. Really, it’s about me, so shouldn’t I have the right to know? I won’t tell anyone, anyways and−“ He glances at him, a humourless smile gracing his lips, “isn’t the worst of it over?”
Yin Yu’s eyes, however, grow incredibly remorseful. It’s only a split second, and Xie Lian’s left grappling for more, when the other clasps his hands, staring hard at the floor. “Gongzi really…you should focus on getting better. I’m sure my lord will tell you.”
Xie Lian pouts, going back to his breakfast. “Where is he, by the way?”
“I’m afraid he’s still out of town,” Yin Yu admits, “there have been certain hold ups. He’ll be here tonight or tomorrow morning earliest.”
His heart turns into a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh,” Xie Lian says, dejection bleeding in tone. He finishes up, and heads to the library, pulling out the books he’d kept aside.
Occasionally, when his limbs start feeling stiff, he goes to pester to Yin Yu to no avail. Such a big manor, and it had pulsed with such vibrant life on his first day he’d been enchanted to bone. Yet now, everywhere he looks is dreary and dull, the heart that made it so nowhere to be seen.
Xie Lian wanders through the room with the paintings again, recalling their conversation from before. San Lang’s sweet words, his sweeter praise. A dull throb aches in his gums, and he frowns, instead going back to reading to distract himself.
Xie Lian barely eats lunch, lost in thoughts, Yin Yu desperately avoiding his advancing questions and meeting them head on with stubborn insistences to eat and drink well. He’s not in a great mood by dinner, wishing to skip it completely if it weren’t for the other.
Why won’t he tell me? Did…Xie Lian do something to Hua Cheng, perhaps? Harmed him in anyway? Why else would he be so hell-bent on being such a wonderful host, painstakingly going through such measures to care? So when Xie Lian is back in health, they can settle scores evenly.
No one knows what he’s thinking.
Fiddling with his ring in bed, he doubts it. Something inside of him says otherwise. Hua Cheng is…he’s different. New. A touch bit dangerous, even, by most standards. But all Xie Lian can think of is his deep timbre growing honeyed around him, his fingers pale and long skirting the keys of the piano. Two beautiful eyes, a harmony in their difference, a sight to bewitch.
He’s never felt the need to doubt him. An intrinsic want to believe, to trust.
Shi Qingxuan’s advice lingers at the front of his mind, and consumed by such thoughts, he falls asleep.
“No, no, no−“
He begs and begs, and yet there is no savior that comes. Blood gushes down Xie Lian’s front, warm and hot and the pain searing him. Junwu’s voice curls against the nape of his neck, his smile tainted by red. “Won’t you listen now?”
He’s so tempted to. Almost being compelled by an invisible force before he splits his mind away from that crazed impulsion. “No,” he’s hysterical, screaming the same thing over and over, eyes blazing as they bore into the other’s cold ones, “never. I’m never listening to you! Never−“
A hand around his throat, choking off any more words. “If I cannot make you listen,” Junwu warns, ice burning skin, “then I will force you. Own you, so you have no other choice but to.”
He blacks out, before he can finish the rest. The sinister image of his smile turning stiff with white-hot anger the last thing plastered behind his eyelids.
“−when?!”
“Just a few moments ago−Chengzhu, I heard him screaming−“
“How much?”
Silence. “I don’t know.”
A swear. Xie Lian’s body handled in arms that aren’t eager to pin him down and break him as they will. Hands cold, caressing his hair, so many apologies, and then…
His lips slowly parted. A slow drip of something decidedly metallic flooding his mouth, coating his tongue, slipping down his throat in rivulets with no resistance. So much, and his body burns, sense numbed and heightened at the same time. There’s more talking, more discussions. More apologies.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” the most wretched of voices whisper, “I’m so sorry.”
They’re moving. Where, he doesn’t know. The path is rocky, the carriage even more. It’s been hours and a day. It’s been so much time and he’s stuck in nowhere and everywhere. He’s burning from the inside. Death would be kinder.
Death would be so much kinder.
There’s a shout. There’s a loud explosion. Xie Lian’s body crumples against the ground, and the world is decked in the flames of oranges and reds. There’s voices again, but they’re all angry and−
Fear strikes him. Cold, cold and familiar hands grip him. There’s a distant growl−horrifying in its rage, but Xie Lian feels no fear from it.
He only fears who is above. Pulled, taken. “You’re such a handful, aren’t you?” A harsh hiss against his ear, and his eyes can only see the edges of him. But Xie Lian would know that voice anywhere. A sob dares building in his throat, inescapable. But his lips do not part. Junwu’s face is a sick picture of thrill and anger. “I leave you for a moment, and you get swept away by another a man. Is that the type of fiancé you are, Xie Lian?”
Fiancé.
His gut rolls.
Why did he ever say yes?
He’s terrified of him. Paralysed by fear. Parting his lips to scream but an unquenchable thirst simmering in his veins. His lips dry, his eyes sharp, and smell even more. He−
“Oh,” Junwu’s tone grows pleased, “are you hungry, Xie Lian?”
He can’t even deny it. “So hungry.”
There’s a lot of shouting. The horror of the night blanketed it in her endless darkness. A door is pushed down. Xie Lian’s breathing is going haywire−it smells so good. So good. He’s so hungry. He’s going mad with it.
“Go on,” Juwun says, pushing him forward, “have a sip. Just follow instinct.”
But even through his haze, something stops him.
Heart pounding against his chest when the silence hits him. Xie Lian’s irises are red, canines tearing against the flesh of his gums as they grow sharper. Mouth opening and near watering at the scent but−
“…son?”
He blinks. An agony echoes in his soul. Heart fighting mind. He doesn’t understand−his limbs want to move, to latch on to those pale necks and suck them dry to relieve all this pain and yet.
They refuse to budge. “Oh my goodness,” a sob. Female. Eyes brimming and tears streaming down her face. “Oh my−what did he do to you?!”
“How could you?!” Another shout. So angry. So filled with rage. Xie Lian swallows, fingers digging into the carpet and tearing it apart. “We trusted you! Trusted you to care and−“
“And I am caring,” Junwu’s voice stays calm. “Won’t you be a pair of good, loving parents, and bless your son’s rebirth?”
Crying, again. Her voice is thin. “I’m so sorry,” she says, much like the man, “we should have never allowed you to, my baby, oh what have they done to you−“
“Move,” Junwu grits, all but forcing him. But he can’t. A whimper escapes him. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s so hungry but he can’t get himself to hurt the two on the ground. An unsatisfied growl, and before his eyes, the figure beside him moves.
Faster than light, but slowed in Xie Lian’s eyes. Teeth sharper and more monstrous than he remembers, tearing open the flesh of the man as he screams. Xie Lian’s heart is pounding and the woman is scrambling in terror, crazed hysteria taking over her as blood gushes down and soaks clothes, the carpet, the light in his eyes dimming.
A hand grabs his. It’s warm. He’s startled. It’s the woman. She’s saying something. She’s crying. She’s telling him to run. That she forgives him, that she knows she’s unforgivable herself. Xie Lian doesn’t understand. Why is she speaking to him? Her blood is so potent, this close. Running under her skin. He can feel his canines sharpen, restraint a thin thread−
Her voice stops.
Junwu’s eyes meet his, a smile on his face as he rips into her flesh. Xie Lian can’t move. The blood spurts against his own clothes and hands, and she faints. It pools near his knees. He’s going mad with hunger. There’s so much of it everywhere now−the man and woman’s.
“Drink,” Junwu says, “don’t you want to? I’ve prepared them well for you, Xie Lian.”
He doesn’t want to. But the hunger overcomes him in a crashing wave so severe he cannot see. He can only smell. And so he takes from the two bodies, takes and takes and takes−
Xie Lian wakes up screaming.
No Junwu.
No he’s not here.
Xie Lian’s heart is going crazy. The world comes to him in pieces, and when he looks down, there’s wetness all over him. He blinks, and blinks again.
There’s blood all over his clothes. Xie Lian’s mind blanks. His breath short. He raises his wide eyes, and stares in horror at the sight before him.
Xie Lian is on the cold tiled floors, in a pool of red. Before him in a figure dressed in dark robes, red staining his clothes too as he’s all but crumpled in a heap−
Yin Yu.
He’s bleeding. His neck’s gushing out. Xie Lian’s mouth is wet, and the stench that permeates the air exists on his tongue. Yin Yu’s pale, eyes wide, but when they meet his, they turn panicked. “Gongzi,” he rasps, “I’m fine−“
Xie Lian sobs. Before he can scramble back, strong arms hold him. Everything comes at him at full force−every memory, every realization. All the books he’d read, all the stories he poured over. He’s losing his mind, turning his head and meeting two heterochromatic eyes and−
“Get away!” He cries, terrified as he fights against him, “I’m−I’m a fucking monster!”
Junwu turned him.
He turned him into a monster just like himself. “You’re not,” Hua Cheng argues, helpless as he gathers him in his arms, “calm down, gege, just listen to me−“
“No, no, no,” he stares at Yin Yu, who’s slowly standing up, holding the side of his neck with a wince, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry−“
“Gongzi don’t−“ Yin Yu says, devastated, but before he can say more he sways, and Hua Cheng shouts something. There’s someone else in the room. It’s not someone he recognizes. They take him away and it’s only them and Xie Lian keeps pushing him to go−
“I will not leave you,” Hua Cheng all but growls, eyes boring into his, the red of his eyes so bright like a ruby held against the blaring sun, “because I’m just as much a monster.”
That doesn’t make him feel better. It makes him feel worse. “You’re not,” Xie Lian sobs, unable to explain coherently, “San Lang, I’m−I’m his creation, okay? I’m−“
I’m made from a monster. A monster that kills with no remorse.
A monster that killed his own parents.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng pleads, taking his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him, “you’re not his. He has no control over you. It’s−“ his voice turns pained, expression wracked with guilt, “gege it’s me who sired you. Blame me.”
He stops. Xie Lian stares, every scream in his dreams reverberated to thousands. He doesn’t want lies. Doesn’t want anymore secrets. He’ll die if he does. “What?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
Hua Cheng’s eyes brim, wetness gathering at the edges, rimmed red. He looks absolutely broken, crouching down in filth just like that night, taking his hands. “I…he tried. He fed you his blood so you would become…” He’s disgusted as he speaks the words, “become his. Then left you die. But Yin Yu was out on an errand, he heard screaming, he called me and−“ Hua Cheng shakes his head, “I would have saved you, if I could I would have never let you become this thing. But you were already…”
Hua Cheng can’t bring himself to say the word.
Dead.
Xie Lian slumps back against the edge of the bed. “So…”
“So I gave you mine,” he admits, ashamed. Doesn’t even meet his eyes, “I couldn’t−I couldn’t let you become his. We vampires we…have rankings. Supremes are the highest, both him and I are ones. We have more abilities, one of which is beguilement. No man can escape a Supreme’s; but somehow, it’s ineffective against you.”
“How does that…”
“If he sired you,” Hua Cheng says, voice grave, “he can force you to do anything. His blood would run through you−he’ll have full control. How could I…I’m so sorry, gege. I just couldn’t let him.”
“My parents…?”
“That’s where I went actually, when Yin Yu had called. You weren’t there. We found you, I could only hope my blood overpowered his in quantity. I was taking you back to the manor, but Jun Wu had caught up−vampires have a few weaknesses, fire being one. It’s useless against Supremes, but the others were injured and you−“
You would be too.
Hua Cheng’s hands curl into fists. “A split second. He had support. I got occupied and he took you away and then…” Xie Lian feels sick, “gege I tried to come as fast as I could. They hadn’t−hadn’t died immediately. Your father made it to the emergency room and your mother fought a couple more hours.”
“Those letters?” he asks, like his world has been broken down with a sledgehammer, airy and lost. “They…”
“She did write them,” he hurries, “I really didn’t lie−she wrote three. Begged me to never let you come back. Never let you know. Gege, I’m so sorry. I−you can do whatever you want to me. Put a stake through my heart. No one in this world would have any control over you, no one at all.”
It’s too much to process all at once. “I killed them.”
“No,” Hua Cheng’s voice is quiet, desperate, “you didn’t. None of it was your fault. None−only that wretched creature is to blame.”
“Is he dead?”
Hua Cheng hesitates, before nodding. A second, and he falls against the other’s chest, Hua Cheng’s arms immediately coming around him. Holding him close, as if he’s a fragile little thing. “San Lang,” Xie Lian begs, unable to stop the cry that builds up in his chest, “tighter.”
Hua Cheng’s grip immediately turns so. Xie Lian can only close his eyes and exhaust himself of all his pain against the other’s red tunic, wetting the fabric until it’s soaked through.
There’s a movement against his body. Xie Lian panics, immediately latching on to the arm. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not,” comes the immediately reply, “you need to drink, gege.”
Oh. Oh he…Xie Lian opens his eyes, owlishly staring at the offered chalice. Staring down at the tantalizing liquid before him, and wanting to recoil away now that he realizes what it is. He glances up, and Hua Cheng is sat beside him, having stripped down to his inner robes, considering all the blood and tears. His red eye is half hidden by his hair, a forlorn look in his gaze.
Xie Lian takes it with shaking hands. Hua Cheng steadies them, the usual tinge of warmth to his skin no longer there. He swallows. “This is…”
Flashes of images come to mind. His mother and his father. Ju Wu and a dead woman. Hua Cheng speaks, breaking him out his reverie. “Don’t worry, no one was harmed.”
“Whose…” he tries, almost afraid of the answer. Hua Cheng, for once, looks embarrassed. But why? It’s a simple answer−
Wait.
He’d read something, in those books. The pieces click together. “This is−“ he starts, astonishment colouring him, “this is your blood?”
Hua Cheng nods. Despite his height and stature, he suddenly looks very small. “Pray gege would forgive me. I knew you would most likely freak out if you found out you were drinking random people’s blood−which by the way, I do keep but it’s all safe; from willing donors who get compensated lavishly−and fledglings require−“
“Their sire’s blood in the first seven days,” but it’s been beyond that. He thinks of his dreams, and feels himself flush deeper, “so what I−umm, dreamt at night about uh, finding you and−“
“Yes,” Hua Cheng answers quickly, neither meeting the other’s eyes. “Yes. You…it’s normal. Supremes’ blood are sought after because of the power and strength they possess. We can closely mimic humans too, if we feed on the regular. I didn’t mind; it would make sure you kept growing stronger.”
Xie Lian’s deep in thought. “But I…I’m not a Supreme, am I? So why…can I still feel my heart beat? And−and my skin isn’t that cold. I don’t look pale either from the lack of blood in my body or my fangs aren’t always there and−“
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, a hand against his knee to stop his rambling. His gaze is soft. “Most vampires only feed once or twice a week. If we get a good amount sometimes we can go weeks or even a month.”
Understanding dawns him.
Here was Xie Lian, downing chalice after chalice of blood three times a day, drinking it in the middle of the night−really, why would he display any of the usual signs? His heart beat because his body was well equipped with blood. His body remained warm for the same reason. His healthy looking skin, his strength increasing and reflexes refined all make more sense now.
After a moment of hesitance, his finally takes a sip.
Of course, the taste is the same. But the realization is…strange. Staring at the focused look on Hua Cheng’s face, who’s making sure he doesn’t spill. Knowing, the lingering scent on his tongue, is the same of the man in front.
Xie Lian recalls the sensation he’d believed to be dreams. Of gazing the soft skin of his neck. Teething it before sinking his fangs in. He averts his gaze the moment he finishes the chalice, his heart racing faster than it ever has.
“How do you feel?”
“Okay,” he admits. Xie Lian’s not sure what to think or feel, really. It’s like he’s been scrapped empty by a wooden spoon, left raw. Hua Cheng keeps the chalice away, and they sit there in relative silence.
Xie Lian closes his eyes, and leans his head against the other’s shoulder, hand reaching out to twist into the silken fabric of his red sleeve. The other makes no move to shift, instead a gentle hand coming to cradle the back of his head. “Gege,” he starts, slowly, “when did you find out that I’m…”
“San Lang?”
“Hmm?”
He smiles against the other’s shoulder. “You’re not very good at hiding it.”
“I just didn’t wanted to scare you off,” he all but whines, voice quiet. Xie Lian raises his head, instead resting his chin on the other’s shoulder to gaze up at him languidly. Hua Cheng’s fingers trail down the side of his face, before they’re gone altogether. “I wished you to be comfortable. Even last night, if it wasn’t for the emergency I’d have shifted forms−“
“Why?” he asks, amused exasperation lacing his tone. Xie Lian reaches a hand out to brush away the hair hiding his right eye. They gaze at him in reverence, as if his kindness is a saintly act; not born of anything but kind lies. He cups his face, and Hua Cheng melts against it. Apprehension, dejection and fear intermingle, swimming in them. Xie Lian grazes his thumb against the skin under his eye, helpless as he tries to make him understand. “Do you not get it, yet? I knew who you were, either times. Nothing you can be or look like can drive me away−in fact, I think this you is your most beautiful.”
Emotion flits his face. “Gege is too kind,” he whispers, “too, too kind.”
“San Lang is merely oblivious,” he says, teasing. At least it brings a smile on Hua Cheng’s lips. “Or should I say Hua Cheng?”
“I prefer San Lang.”
“What a coincidence,” he breathes out, shifting closer and leaning his forehead against the other’s, “so do I.”
A beat. A heavy silence. “Gege,” Hua Cheng says, “I’m so sorry.”
“Apologise once more and I will leave.”
A wounded sound escapes him. Xie Lian can merely sigh, instead tucking himself against the other’s body. Hua Cheng’s arm immediately comes around to hold him. “I should thank you, instead. For all that you did.” A hard swallow, as he keeps his eyes closed, not wishing to see the expression on other’s face, “for holding out, despite everything, back then too.”
For living for me, even if it hurt.
It takes a moment to click. And when it does−“You…” it’s said so quietly, easily missed if not for his keen hearing. Hua Cheng’s at a loss for words, merely hugging him tight, understanding blooming in the harrowing silence that follows.
The following days are a blur. Hua Cheng rarely leaves his side if he’s not got business to attend to. Xie Lian doesn’t leave the room, even after the other’s coaxing. It’s only a week later, does he gather the courage, taking breakfast in the dining hall.
It goes well. Hua Cheng doesn’t ever let him ponder on his own for too long. Keeps him busy. Distracted. It’s only when they step into the library, and he sees Yin Yu coming back with a stack of files does he stop in his tracks, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.
“Gege?” Hua Cheng glances back, concerned, Yin Yu looking up and meeting his eyes. Fear coats every inch of him, Xie Lian having trouble breathing. He stares, but there’s no wound, no trace of anything at all and−
“Gongzi,” Yin Yu bows his head in greeting, “you’re okay?”
“I−“ but he can’t get the words out. The image comes back to him, and the other nears and he’s terrified of what he’ll do and oh goodness he should have never let Hua Cheng convince him−
“I’m glad,” Yin Yu smiles. Smiles. A genuine thing he’s never seen in all his time here. “I hope you remember that I’m dead already, so I can’t really die that easily.”
“Yin Yu,” he speaks horrified.
“He’s right, gege,” Hua Cheng agrees, nodding solemnly. “He’s not that useless.”
“San Lang!” he chides. Yin Yu merely goes back to normal, face blanking over.
“Really, gongzi, I’m fine. In fact I healed in the minutes I was in the room. Yizhen took me away anyways, and after feeding a bit I was perfectly fine.”
Yizhen. “Was that the man in the room?” he faintly remembers the man, all but dragging Yin Yu away. The other makes to speak, but Hua Cheng beats him to it.
“He’s Yin Yu’s lover,” he says, a very big grin on his face the moment his assistant turns to look at him in shock, “he’s a werewolf. You can ignore him if you ever come across him.” Xie Lian’s half tempted to tell him to stop because of Yin Yu and partly because Hua Cheng sounds like he’s describing an animal in the wild. Yin Yu leaves promptly after, seemingly embarrassed.
But…
“Are there many creatures in the world?”
“Hmm,” Hua Cheng leads him to a further section of the library, “all those in the records here exist. The world is a vast place.” Xie Lian had not ventured here, invested in the fiction section. The other picks out a few volumes for him, having them sent to his room.
It’s a touch of normalcy, surrounded by the surreal. Hua Cheng remains beside him, a steady presence, without who he’d honestly have long lost his mind. Hua Cheng’s hands are at his side, decorated with rings, an affinity knot of red thread on one finger of his left hand. Xie Lian studies the length of them, distracted.
“Is gege curious about something?”
He flushes. He can hear the lilt in his voice very clear. “San Lang is merely hard to figure out, at times.”
“Oh?” he glances at him, “what makes you say so?”
He doesn’t know how to explain it. They’re so different, aren’t they? Hua Cheng is so…confident, in his power. Self-assured, to bend any path to his will. Free and unrestrained, a heart that is depthless in what it offers him.
He’s been…having the occasional dream, here and there. Similar in nature, to the first. Being around him as the world clears up, bit by bit, and acknowledging all that he feels including his emotions regarding the other is…
Muddling. There’s a tension in the air. A nervous flutter in his gut. Often, it is Xie Lian who averts his gaze, when the other’s is too sincere. Shy fingers nudge his, playing with them. A consideration in his teasing even now, as Xie Lian’s allowed to make the move, holding his hand in his.
When he’s headed to bed, the other’s there, combing through his hair. As lovely as it feels for him, he thinks Hua Cheng has an adoration of his own in the activity. Perhaps it is therapeutic−the way folding a neat lines of clothes is to some, or having a clean rack of dishes is to another. To see the tangles come loose and slip between his fingers.
“Gege is very quiet today,” Hua Cheng comments, not looking up, “has this one been a bore?”
“No, not at all,” he rushes out, staring at him through the reflection. He’s half tempted to fiddle with his pendant again, but something about doing it in front of Hua Cheng makes him terribly shy. “Forgive me if this is out of line,” he says, careful, “but how did San Lang…become a vampire?”
Hua Cheng’s lips curl up at the edges, eyes alight with a brilliant fervor. “Oh gege, that is a story I adore,” he says, a subtle purr in his voice, “it might be gruesome to some, but it had been a vindicating experience.”
“Vindicating?”
“Hmm,” Hua Cheng carefully gathers the other half of his hair, combing through them now, “I mentioned donors, didn’t I? I was one too. It was a pretty sterile process; they take a certain amount, you’re paid, and its over. Unfortunately, someone had decided to play a little trick.”
Oh no.
“My luck had always been terrible back then−their little scheme succeeded. One thing led to another, and I had been signed away as a live donor. They’re a little different; the vampire directly feeds from the source instead of separately prepared.”
His expression barely changes at all, as he continues. “And well, it was fine the first time. And the second. The reward was far more handsome, so I had been content. Who knew, you’re not supposed to approach one when they’ve been recently turned?”
Xie Lian doesn’t dare imagine it. “Then?”
“Then,” he sighs, “then you can guess. I took my revenge, so gege need not to be too heartbroken.”
Xie Lian can only guess, what that would have been like. But he gets it; what would have happened, if the man had lived and Hua Cheng had been forced to be under his control.
He then wonders what would have happened to him if the other had never found Xie Lian.
Junwu would have finally gotten what he wanted. The thought is nauseous. If he were still living, would Xie Lian have actually killed him? He doesn’t think so. In a fit of rage, it felt good to declare his vengeance. But pondering, that same ruthlessness feels foreign.
He’s so caught up in all these thoughts, that he doesn’t even realize the other’s long done. Instead, two arms come around him, Hua Cheng hugging him from behind as he rests his face against his, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “What is gege thinking?”
Xie Lian doesn’t even know where to begin. He can feel Hua Cheng unclasp his fingers from the hard fist he’d curled them into, slowly relaxing against him. A deep breath in, and he’s instantly calmed by his scent. “That must have been difficult.”
“Not really,” he says, idly, “I’m not as good as gege. I’m very happy with the choice I made, and for a lot of the ones I have continued to. Power will exist, gege, whether we like it or not.” Hua Cheng’s expression grows serious, “I would rather it be me, than some jackass who’ll screw everyone over.”
That, he will have to agree with. “San Lang.”
“Hmm?”
“Stay here, with me,” he says, turning to meet his eyes. There’s a flit of surprise on his features. Knew it. Xie Lian gently tucks back the other’s loose strands, drinking in the sight of those mesmerizing eyes for once blinking in sheer innocence. His heart aches for him, irrevocably so. “Okay?”
“Gege’s wish is my decree,” he says, all of it gone in a second. Xie Lian can only shake his head, both terribly fond and exasperated.
It happens sooner than he expects.
Hitting him in the middle of the night, as he flinches awake from the pangs of hunger in his core. Throat dry and parched. Hua Cheng had said the first few months of the transition are the worst−bouts of ravishing hunger, the searing pain as your jaw grew adjusted to housing a new set of fangs, the fevers as your senses heightened and abilities grew faster and stronger.
But he’d thought he’d gotten past quite a lot. And yet here he is, sitting up in bed, Hua Cheng sprawled next to him, obliviously sleeping.
Xie Lian should probably question this too−don’t they not need sleep or were the novels lying??--but for now he can only wake him up. Any shame or guilt are secondary to his terrifying fear of losing control. Hua Cheng’s eyes flutter open, meeting his. Immediately, the red of his right eye beats a colour so beautifully vivid he grows distracted.
“Gege,” he pushes himself up, red inner robe dishelved, slipping open, hair messy. “What−“
“Hungry.” Xie Lian says, straight to the point. And then, a small whimper of pain escapes him, “these fangs hurt.”
Hua Cheng laughs. Laughs! He can’t help the way his cheeks puff in annoyance, the other taking notice and all but cooing. “Oh gege−didn’t I tell you? That’s what happens when you’re hungry. Give it a year, and you’ll never feel the pain again.”
A year. Gosh.
(Of course, very short in the immortality of being a vampire but he’s still a little peeved. A year of toothache!)
“Give me a moment,” Hua Cheng says, making to slip out of bed. Xie Lian stares, “I’ll get you−“
He grabs his wrist, and stops him.
Hua Cheng glances back, raising a brow. “Gege?”
Xie Lian’s heart thunders against his chest. His lips too dry. He wets them, swallowing, all too aware of the other’s gaze. “Do…” he starts, carefully, feeling heat bloom against his cheeks, “you need to go for it…?”
Hua Cheng opens his mouth to answer, before understanding dawns his features. Xie Lian just knows he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake, when the grin that graces the man’s face is nothing short predatory. “Oh gege,” he says, laced with nothing but temptation as he inches closer to him. “Of course, how could I be so rude?”
“You don’t have to,” Xie Lian hurries out, barely above a whisper. But Hua Cheng merely smiles, leaning back against the cushions. “San Lang you−“
“I?” He plays with Xie Lian’s hair, twirling it over and over. The distance between them feels nonexistent despite it, “it’s all about you, gege. What is it that you want?”
Xie Lian’s eyes turn red. Hua Cheng watches him with rapt attention, the sight of it so enchanting Hua Cheng loses any semblance of what he’d intended to say. Xie Lian parts his lips, feeling the sharpness graze the edges of his lips, Hua Cheng’s eyes growing lidded. He tilts his head the slightest bit, the long line of his neck exposed and thrumming with warmth. Xie Lian nears, as though possessed, shifting closer. Pushing down the cool fabric to expose more of the pale skin, meeting the other’s eyes.
They burn with a fire that sears him all over. Hot and eager, dauntless and bright. “Take as much as you want,” Hua Cheng says, voice low, “don’t worry too much, hmm?”
“But what if−“
“You won’t,” he doesn’t even let him finish. “Trust me?”
“With my life,” it comes out unbearably honest, surprising them both. Hua Cheng’s smile is sweet, small. Cupping his face, encasing him in a bubble of safety. “San Lang.”
“Hmm?”
“Can I…” he starts, “see your fangs?”
Hua Cheng blinks. “Sure,” opening his mouth, and two sharp long canines grow out the corners, much sharper and deadlier than his own. They glint in the low light of the room, just a simple press and they’d break skin. Xie Lian wonders, if he thumbed against them like the other had that night, what would happen?
How would Hua Cheng react?
“Gege?”
“Yes?” he breathes out, Hua Cheng retracting them back. But there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, like he can read him like an open book. Xie Lian instead focuses on the task at hand, but the thought is branded in his mind.
What would that feel like?
He’s not scared of Hua Cheng. He could never be. In the novels he read they…focus. Right. He should…focus. Hands braced against the other’s chest, a small distance between them. Xie Lian grazes his nose against the line of his neck, before pausing where the scent is strongest.
He presses a soft kiss, to the skin. As though apologizing in advance, of what he’ll do. Hua Cheng shivers, underneath him, and Xie Lian tries settling his own nerves. He parts his mouth, fangs slipping through. And in an instant, rich, hot and velvety blood fills his mouth, Xie Lian latching on.
Hua Cheng doesn’t even as so much as flinch. Instead, a sigh escapes his lips, dreamy and soft. Xie Lian relaxes against him, lost in the divine taste. Really, no food or drink in the dining hall could compare to the fulfillment he gets from this. Shifting closer, hand anchored on the other’s shoulder, the other one on Hua Cheng’s arm.
The taste is the same, really.
But something about it, feels entirely different.
A thrill down his spine, a tickle in the pit of his stomach, his heart fluttering against his chest. Blood warmed from Hua Cheng instead of cooled in the chalice, pure and untampered with. It’s terribly intimate; the lack of space, the lack of distrust. He grows dizzy with it, limbs loosening up, all but slumping against him.
Hua Cheng’s speaking. Low, languid. Hand caressing down the back of his head. His voice is an intoxication on its own. A temptuos sound that subdues any and all his thoughts until he’s numbed from rationale and dependent on mere need and emotion. An ache to be closer, to be evermore intertwined. Xie Lian revels in the knowledge that the blood that flows through both of them is one and the same−joined by fate.
“Gege,” he whispers, and Xie Lian must make some sort of an affirmative noise, for the other merely laughs−breathy and warm. Shifting him close, Xie Lian preening at the development. Indulged greatly, knees either side of Hua Cheng’s hips, sat still in his lap. Hua Cheng’s fingers rake through his scalp, playing with his hair. Nails scratching against the soft skin of his nape, Xie Lian’s breath hitching from the sensation, an escapable desire overtaking him all at once.
How much he wants, this man. He pulls away, and immediately the puncture wounds bloom and pitter blood. Red and beautiful, as brilliant as the other’s right eye. He’s hypnotized by the sight, lowering his head to lap up the precious liquid. Xie Lian can’t let a single drop of it waste, unaware of the shortening breath of the other, watching as the wound closes up, leaving behind not a trace of a scar. He thumbs at the place it once was, raising his eyes to meet the other’s.
Beautiful.
Xie Lian can only think of this word, over and over. Staring at the man before him. Hua Cheng’s eyes lidded and pupils dilated, a haze swimming in their depths. His skin pale, and yet his lips bitten red, as though to silence himself he’d chewed them rough with his teeth. Xie Lian frowns at the thought, grazing a thumb over the bitten and ragged flesh, the softness of it giving so easily under the pressure he’s captivated.
Why was everything about Hua Cheng so incredibly enchanting? He couldn’t help but think, tilting his head, his own robes having come the slightest bit looser with all the shuffling. The pendant sits against his sternum, a stunning sight against pinked skin, rejuvenated from a fresh feeding.
Hua Cheng stares, watching. Xie Lian breaks out his daze to meet it, silence stiff with anticipation. Neither of them speak, neither of them move.
It’s a mere glance−Hua Cheng’s eyes, raking down his form, a hunger in them that is insatiable and terrifying in its intensity. Slow, slow, slow. Fixated, somewhere low on his face, before meeting his eyes again.
The thin thread of restraint snaps.
He’s not sure who surges forward first. Perhaps it was Xie Lian; just so eager. Perhaps it was Hua Cheng, at his limit. Or perhaps it was the both of them, too deeply entombed in the game of desire, they couldn’t leave it even if they tried.
Hua Cheng must taste himself on his tongue. He must. Xie Lian can only hope to keep up−the other so utterly demanding and rough he’s gasping for air despite no need for it, the warmth of the other’s mouth against his a rich heat he can’t even begin to put into words. His hands tangle in the other’s dark hair, those gorgeous wild strands twisted wildly as he desperately seeks any semblance of sanity to tether on.
Hua Cheng groans against his lips, the vibrations of the sound a hum so pleasant against their lips he’s tempted to fall apart completely in his arms. One of Hua Cheng’s arms come to his waist, pulling him closer, while the other slips up the length of his leg, racking up the hem of his robes further that had long ridden up when he’d shifted positions. He can feel the cold of his rings, of his touch, the sting of his nails−
Xie Lian breaks off, tilting his head to watch. The length of his slender fingers curving around the flesh, the dark of his nails a contrast for sore eyes. Hua Cheng merely peppers a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of his jaw and neck, his eyes falling shut at the sensation. It draws out a breathless sound from him, at the mercy of the other, giving himself up completely.
No dream can compare. Not one. None can capture the clashing temperatures of their bodies, the fresh scent of the other’s blood still lingering in the air. The strength of those arms as they take him however they will, sculpted by the heavens themselves.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs against the crook of his neck, “you’re driving me crazy.”
“Rich coming from you,” Xie Lian breathes out, “do you know what you’ve done to me?”
Hua Cheng holds him close, embracing him tight. The heat simmers down to something unbearably warm, brimming and stuffing his chest full. Hua Cheng gazes up at him, a touch of disbelief in all his relief. The marks of desire still ever present, and yet somehow, he’s able to soften Xie Lian’s heart to mush with one look alone. “I really don’t,” he dares to say, innocent, “pray gege would show me. In any and all ways he can. I’m slow to understand.”
“San Lang should reflect on his behavior,” Xie Lian says, but he can’t even be stern without growing soft, “that’s no way of playing dumb.”
“But I really am,” Hua Cheng nuzzles against him. “Really, how can you not trust me? And with the way I’ve been holding myself back…”
Somehow, the knowledge that Hua Cheng had been struggling with these types of feelings about him makes his heart flutter immensely. It must show on his face, how pleased he is. “Gege can’t really not know how much I like him?”
He gives him a helpless smile. “I had my doubts.”
Hua Cheng merely sighs, fondness laced in every gesture. “I will merely turn more diligent.”
“Oh please do not,” the way he currently was was already a handful to deal with for his poor heart. Imagine more? Xie Lian wraps his arms around the other, leaning his head against Hua Cheng’s, “I’m content with the you now. Nothing more and nothing less.”
But now that he said it, he felt kind of embarrassed. Didn’t those characters in the novels he read say something similar? ‘I want only the real you,’ or something like that. What if the other thought he was weird?
Hua Cheng, though, merely tilts his head and pecks his lips. “I like gege very much,” he says, quiet, “and I like how he is now, too. If gege feels the same, this San Lang can only be most grateful.”
He really is too much. Xie Lian closes his eyes, and buries his face against the other’s shoulder, lest he see the expression he wears.
I like gege every much.
His heart’s threatening to burst. So loud, and so unabashed in announcing its pounding joy at the words.
He wakes up to find the bedside cold. Immediately, Xie Lian is put off by this development. The sheets pool around him, and he slips out of bed, heading to clean himself up for the day. He dresses in a pair of white robes, the slightest blue accents staining the hems of them. After combing his hair and tying it back into a half bun, he steps out.
Eventually, he finds Hua Cheng in his study, Yin Yu to his side. They seem to be pondering over something intently, before Hua Cheng’s face darkens in anger. It’s almost frightening, and Xie Lian watches the expression on his face with fascination. Can you blame him? Hua Cheng almost never displays anything except the kindest parts of himself to Xie Lian.
So this? It’s a treat for the eyes. “And he said what?”
“There’ll be a delay.”
“Next time, don’t even give him a reply. Just recount his numbers back to 0.”
Yin Yu looks like he wants to say something about that, but then he shakes his head with a sigh as if already resigned. “Okay, Chengzhu. The reports from the judicial offices are here as well. Do I bring them?”
Judicial offices?
Is this perhaps about…
Xie Lian’s stomach turns. It all comes back to him in a sudden onslaught, enough to make his mind grow static and vision shadowed by the reality of his life.
Xie Lian’s orphaned. He’s never meeting his mother, his father, or perhaps even his friends if the news of this is spreading as wildly as it is. His hands are stained and so is his fate. The heart that beats inside of him is very much dead.
It’s nauseating. Xie Lian breaks away from his place at the doorframe, but perhaps he was too loud. Two pairs of sharp eyes immediately zone on him−one averting away, while the other brightening in their fixation. “Gege?”
Xie Lian tries for a smile, head bowed. “Sorry−I did not mean to intrude.”
“Nothing of the sorts,” immediately, all traces of anger on his face are wiped clean. If it were someone else, he might have even questioned how a person can switch moods so fast; but he knows well, how Hua Cheng’s smile is one of sincerity, not for appearance. The way the corners of his lips tug at their own accord, the sharpness to his eyes softening, the vividness of his irises turning into a pool of warmth that beckon to pull him in. “Gege could never intrude. Don’t stand there−you can come in.”
Yin Yu tactfully leaves them be, bowing before he exits. Xie Lian approaches the other, Hua Cheng leaning back against his chair. He props his face on one hand, the other twirling a braid on the side of his face. His form oozes a lazy self-assurance, one that immediately helps ground him in its familiarity.
“You suit it,” Xie Lian remarks, smiling as he nears the desk. “Hua Chengzhu.”
“I’m glad gege thinks so,” he says, clearly happy with it, “but I will say, I do not enjoy it. Be it humans or monsters; managing any of them is a tiresome affair.”
He can get behind that. Xie Lian’s eyes fall upon the different documents. There’s letters from officials and nobles being used as bookmarks, there’s golden and bejeweled treasures as paperweights, pencil stands, or even a candle stand. What anyone else would do to get their hands on these? And here is Hua Cheng, not bothering to give any of them a second glance.
In fact, his attention remains fixed on one thing alone. “Did you sleep well?”
“You didn’t wake me.”
Perhaps he hears the slight upset in his tone. Standing, Hua Cheng’s words are placating. “How could I possibly disturb gege’s precious sleep?” Xie Lian rolls his eyes, turning just as the other rounds the table and nears him. Hua Cheng tucks his hair over the back of his shoulder, before meeting his eyes. “Did you have breakfast?”
“Not yet,” he admits, inching closer. His heart is a heavy thing, and the feelings inside of him are blurry and mixed. It must be obvious, the way he grows downcast. Xie Lian’s hands clasp in front of him, and Hua Cheng waits. “I was waiting for you.”
“Then I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Hua Cheng’s fingers carry the slightest hint of warmth, covering his. When he looks up, there’s a knowing look in the other’s eyes. “But gege seems distracted? Is there something on your mind?”
Xie Lian swallows. “It’s just…” how does he word it? “I don’t know. I guess it’s all sinking in. The way my life is, right now.”
Hua Cheng raises a brow, not exactly following. “Your life?”
Xie Lian bites the inside of his cheek. The confessions of last night are still fresh in mind, and he in no way doubts any of what the other had said. “San Lang, I…You know, most of my life, I’d been pampered. Perhaps spoiled, according to some. I didn’t know what hardship meant, even in all my fairness. It’s one thing to acknowledge,” he meets the other’s eyes, “it’s another, to experience.”
“When everything fell apart it was…” Xie Lian draws in a shuddering breath to steady himself, even though he doesn’t need to. Hua Cheng’s hands hold his tighter, and he is so grateful for the other’s touch. “It was devastating, of course, but most of all it was…humbling, to see how people change.”
Hua Cheng’s expression grows frigid, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. But he keeps quiet, and lets him continue. “To see the image of who I used to be crumble in their gazes…it was a heavy blow. I did not act my best−I did not…did not make the best decisions.”
“There are no such things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ decisions in a situation like yours, gege,” Hua Cheng says, albeit softly, “any choice you did not take can be a loss. But what matters is the ones you chose. I’m sure whatever you did, you did thinking it for the best of everyone involved. But you must know−there’s only so much you can do, for the sake of others.”
Xie Lian swallows back the lump in his throat. “Even then,” he says, quiet, “maybe I could−“
“You could what?” Hua Cheng’s tone is firm, “there is nothing you could do. I know gege must be blaming himself for everything that happened, and you fear how that might make you look in front of me. You don’t want to see that image of you shatter, you don’t want me to see the worst of what there can be. You’re scared, and I−I understand, but I wish you could understand me, too.”
Xie Lian blinks, surprised. “San Lang…I…”
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, voice bordering on a plea, but unwavering regardless, “I’ve lived for you. I’ve lived everyday in thanks, that one person, who didn’t even know me, could care leaps and bounds more than even family could. You didn’t just save my life that day−that day you…” His grip grows white on Xie Lian’s, “you gave me a chance no one wanted to. Not even fate. All I have ever wanted, is to do anything to repay you back. In any way I can.”
“San Lang, you don’t have to do anything of the sort,” he says, immediately, “you−“
“I don’t have to, but I want to,” Hua Cheng leans down, head against his, “it’s not a mere transaction, or a trade, or a deal. Everything I learn of you, only makes me admire you more. You’ve done everything you could, and yet you only regret what you couldn’t do more. With a heart like yours, tell me, would I or would I not be the luckiest of them all to win you over?”
Win you over. Xie Lian’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know what to say, with the raw emotion in the other’s voice. Hua Cheng’s words are embers in the centre of his soul; the same way the other’s blood warms his undead body, not letting warmth ever dissipate. He closes his eyes, feeling the familiar sting, but this time it is not from sadness. Xie Lian pulls his hands out the other’s grip, to lean forward and rest in the other’s embrace.
Hua Cheng’s arms immediately closer around him, so tight he can barely move, and yet he would like to be nowhere better. “Don’t you get it, gege?” he whispers, right against his ear, “that ring you wear around your neck, is the confession I could never be brave enough to ask. If only you asked, gege, all my life and all I have, are only and solely for you.”
“San Lang should stop saying such things if he doesn’t want me to grow overwhelmed.”
“Perhaps it is precisely why I’m saying them.”
“You’re such a handful,” he says, a laugh in his voice, not ever wanting to part from him. Hua Cheng’s voice is light and deep, his scent washing over him like a tide does a drying a shore.
Hua Cheng does indeed have quite a lot to go through in the office, so eventually once he’s done with his own walk around the garden, he visits him again.
Xie Lian reads through the paper himself, and recognizes the ones for the trade office. Finally finding something he understands, he organizes a few things, very pleased he could be of some help. Hua Cheng keeps telling him to rest but really, Xie Lian will go mad with that much resting. He much prefers it here−where the air feels warmed by the other’s mere presence, where chatter flows light between them, easy and humourous. Noon turns into late in the evening, the flickering flames of the candle keeping them company.
It’s when he’s pushing aside a stack of papers, does he feel it.
That subtle throbbing in his gums, as his mouth gets adjusted to his fangs. (He is still incredibly vexed about suffering this for the rest of this entire year.) Xie Lian, curious, reaches his own thumb in, pressing around before he feels the slightest pressure, wondering how long his own are.
Definitely not as long as the other’s.
Which brings him: “So I was reading a few of those books,” Xie Lian starts, Hua Cheng humming as he signs off the last of them, “and apparently sires can feed from fledglings too?”
Hua Cheng’s hand slips. A black long streak remains the evidence of his mistake, and he immediately composes himself by clearing his throat as he raises his gaze to meet Xie Lian’s. “Yes, but it’s unnecessary.”
“Doesn’t it strengthen their bond?”
“Yes,” Hua Cheng’s voice is quiet, “it does.”
Xie Lian ponders over it. He thinks of Hua Cheng’s fangs, the long curve of them. Thinks of his easy countenance as he guided Xie Lian, whispering against his skin, caressing his hair, his body. He’s unsure if the heat he feels spread against the core of him reflects against his skin, but he sure knows, it runs in the blood that courses through him. “Gege’s suddenly curious about this?”
He shrugs, but he knows it must show. Xie Lian has never able to play off bashfulness as well as he does his other emotions. “Oh nothing just…I just wanted to ask San Lang, if what they say is true. I mean−San Lang is such an influential figure; it’s only makes sense.”
A silence befalls them. The flame flickers on the table. Hua Cheng’s eyes glow in their flames; one a stunning reflection, while the other the very colour of its edges. “Gege can’t presume I have experience in the matter?”
Xie Lian glances at him, surprised. “But surely…” Hua Cheng’s gaze dances with amusement, listening attentively. “I mean, you have so many loyal attendants. I just−“
“Gege can rest easy,” he says, voice low, “none of the rest have been sired by me. All I do is provide a chance−you can ask Yin Yu too, if you’d like. I took him in, and offered to help kill his. Most of the attendants have suffered some ill fate one way or the other. I merely offer a helping hand.”
“That’s kind of you,” Xie Lian says, genuine. Hua Cheng’s smile is a small thing, but it doesn’t seem like he cares much on whether his actions fall in the realm of kindness or not. He can guess, perhaps to the other, this was merely another exchange−take your freedom, and pledge loyalty instead.
Hua Cheng puts aside his file, instead standing up and offering Xie Lian a hand. He takes it, following the other. “Would gege like to listen to some music today?”
“Oh,” he smiles, “I’d be delighted.”
Xie Lian asks a few more questions. He’s very curious, you see, of this entire process. About what this bond is; an intangible connection to either be savored or severed, depending on one’s luck. Hua Cheng answers all, hand instead having shifting to the small of his back, guiding him along. The touch alone makes him feel unbearably pampered.
“It’s a very delicate thing, though,” Hua Cheng says, as they sit at the piano bench. His long elegant fingers grazing the white and black tiles, a sensuality in the mere movement of them as they settle into place. Their knees and legs press together, shoulders apart for ease of movement. Hua Cheng’s hair slightly obscures a part of his face from where Xie Lian glances at the side, adding a beautiful allure of mystery to his form. His lips pull into a lazy smirk. “Not exactly something you dive into the moment you read of it.”
Xie Lian feels himself blush, flames fanned until he’s covered in red. Feeling oddly caught, like a mouse under the gentle paws of a cat, he can only squeak a laugh. “I see,” he says, a little breathless, “they didn’t really say.”
“Hmm, I bet they didn’t,” his voice is bordering teasing, though there is a frankness in them, “most people forget all about it, once it starts.”
That, has his attention. Hua Cheng plays the starts of a tune, drawn out and languid, setting the rhythm of the atmosphere to a slowed pace. Xie Lian eases into it, watching, both transfixed at his skills and the ease in which he can focus his attention in both places at once. “Why?”
“Why do you think, gege?”
Xie Lian recalls the night before, the rush of velvety hot blood slipping down his throat, coating his tongue in its fullness and the lingering taste of it staining the back of his throat the entire night. Remembers Hua Cheng’s caring hands, the way they held him together as he grew drunk from the intoxication. “It’s too addicting.”
“Very much so,” Hua Cheng agrees, voice draping over his being. He glances at him, “gege should accompany me−I’ve heard much about his playing.”
“Oh I…” but it’s been so long. Learning the piano had been an obligation, not a pass time. He’d much preferred being the one listening, than to be playing. Hua Cheng only keeps one hand on the keys, while Xie Lian picks up beside him. It’s clumsy, at first. And then, a rhythm sinks in.
The song connects them both, in a dance of control. A somewhat understanding of the other’s next moves, as they pick up and learn and stumble before it smoothens out into a melody that is hauntingly beautiful. He has heard it so much, since he’s come here. Over and over, familiar, yes, but repetitive.
It’s when the song nears its ends, but their fingers remain settled on the keys still. As if parting would mean an end to something they both do not want. “San Lang.”
“Yes, gege?”
His heart skips a beat where it rests in his chest. His voice so gentle, as it addresses him. A fluttering of something wild and carefree in the depths of his gut. Hua Cheng’s fingers move, barely so, but the edges of his pinky brush his, and Xie Lian’s gaze softens.
“You only ever play this one song,” he asks, making sure to keep his voice light, “not that it is not good, of course. But San Lang seems so talented; isn’t it a shame to only want to repeat this melody?”
“The world can be adorned with a million songs and more, but if my heart is fixated on one, can I not play it to its content then?” He answers with a question, unbothered in the slightest. His fingers loop around Xie Lian’s and incredible bashfulness colours him head to toe. Yet, he does not want to recoil away from this.
No. Not at all. He turns his head, tilting it up to meet the other’s eyes. Hua Cheng’s features so bathed with softness, he wishes he could trace it all and memorise it by heart. “Is that not boring?”
“Maybe for some,” Hua Cheng’s voice remained quiet, for him. “But for me? Once I set my eyes on something, gege, I will pursue to its end. I will cherish it, until I reach mine.”
Xie Lian’s heart stirred at the words. He tried but failed to come up with a worthy response, turned clumsy in front of such an eloquent admission. Hua Cheng’s fingers sneak under his palm, and slide between his own. Clasping them tight, the slight coldness of his being permeating through.
It was such a harsh reminder. He did not wish to imagine Hua Cheng is any pain, in any perilous situation. So to have a stark reminder the other had long died−or well, he himself had too−was disheartening. Someone like Hua Cheng deserved to run ablaze as searing and vivid as the crimson of his eye. His presence comforted him like a warm quilt providing solace from the dreary cold.
So it had come to him, while he’d been reading. Was there no way Xie Lian could repay him the same way? Return the warmth to him, that he so freely gave and gave to Xie Lian without complain?
“Gege is so lost in thoughts,” Hua Cheng says, reaching a hand up to tuck his hair away, and let it fall against his back. His lips turn at the corners. “Did I say too much?”
He shakes his head minutely, unsure of how to word what he wants to say. In the end, he can only clasp the other’s hands tighter, leaning up to kiss him in a bold display of courage. Hua Cheng’s eyes widen in surprise, before his lips widen into a smile against Xie Lian’s own, and then return to kiss him back. The languid move of them, the softness of them, the heat of his mouth…It’s all too much. Dizzying.
Addictive.
Xie Lian’s other hand curls into the fabric of Hua Cheng’s robe, pliant under the other’s eager’s advances. He feels the other’s touch against his waist, before it grazes his back. Xie Lian grows putty under that hold, their clasped hands locked before they separate, finding their places on the other’s person. Hua Cheng is so unbelievably skilled he has a hard time believing the other really is as chaste as he claims. Xie Lian is merely at his mercy−a soft gasp escaping his lips the moment his fingers toy with the thin skin of his nape, a shudder down his spine.
Hua Cheng’s lips trail down his jaw, down his neck. A soft kiss against the juncture between his neck and shoulder, teething at the skin until he’s writhing underneath him, image after image in his head of what would happen if he’s not careful and he breaks skin.
The thought makes him run hotter. He grapples at the other’s back, before pulling him back for a kiss, Hua Cheng more than eager to comply. It’s a little awkward on the piano bench, and the other must notice his discomfort, because all he does is pull him into his arms, seconds and a sharp clang later, Xie Lian’s sat atop the closed lid of the piano. His chest heaving despite no need to breathe, lips swollen and a flush colouring him all over. Eyes glazed in want, as they take in Hua Cheng’s wrecked appearance−his pulled robes, his ruffled hair, his less than composed disposition. A lick of pride in his chest, to be the one to that.
One of possession, to remain being the only one that can.
Hua Cheng fits himself between his knees, and they resume their passionate exchange. Xie Lian is unsure how long they stay there−his own legs locked around the other’s waist to not let him stray and remain in his orbit. Hua Cheng’s hands handling him as though he’s mere clay, waiting to be molded under those skillful hands.
His heart thrums. So hard. Like a hummingbird trapped in his ribcage, Hua Cheng’s lips making their torturous way over his collarbones. “San Lang,” he breathes, as the other pushes aside his robe to kiss the skin of his shoulder, “you’re really…slow down.”
“Gege really is so mean,” Hua Cheng says, voice dark. “First, he teases this poor San Lang, and now he wants to back out.”
A laugh escapes him, but he cannot ignore how much his being craves this man. Bond or not, it would be inevitable no, for it to not fall for someone so charming? This time when Hua Cheng’s lips lock his, he must let his control slip far too under.
A taste of something divine floods his tongue. He groans at the taste, before realizing how awfully familiar it is. With a start, his eyes widen, pushing at the other’s shoulders and slowly comprehending what he’d just done.
Hua Cheng’s lips are bitten red, and coloured even darker by the smear of blood blooming on them. Xie Lian’s fangs ache where they’ve pressed through skin to show, pupils blown wide and a deep red swimming in the depths of his irises.
His fangs dig against his lips, the hunger at the core of Xie Lian strong and demanding. Hua Cheng’s deep chuckle reverberates against him, making him flustered. “Many apologies from this one,” he says, eyes twinkling, “how could I let gege stay hungry?”
He shrugs down his robe, leaning his head to allow him all that he needs. Xie Lian can’t even find it in himself to protest−hands around the other’s shoulders, burying his face against the other’s neck and breathing in the scent of him. Without further delay, he bites, Hua Cheng’s voice a distant murmur as he drinks and drinks without abandon. The heat is smoldering, the contrast of Hua Cheng’s cold skin even more.
He pulls back, licking over the wound, and before the other can ask he’s instead cleaning up the mess of blood on the other’s lips, Hua Cheng melting against him at his eager hands. Hua Cheng can probably taste himself, no? How rich the blood is, coating his mouth in a taste so lovely Xie Lian has grown addicted. Hua Cheng moves his hands along his waist, Xie Lian’s robes growing dishelved and−
“Chengzhu?” a knock at the door, and they both stop, lips springing apart from the other, one more in control of his senses than the other.
“What?” Hua Cheng all bit spits, and Xie Lian shivers hearing the strength in his voice, soothingly caressing a hand down the back of Hua Cheng’s head, eyes shut as they rest against Hua Cheng’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but there’s an urgent issue,” Yin Yu’s voice sounds equally pained. “They’re causing trouble again.” He doesn’t say more. Hua Cheng seems to understand who they are. He looks reluctant to part, meeting his eyes. Xie Lian merely pecks his cheek, and tells him to go ahead.
“I won’t be long,” he promises, and Xie Lian believes it so. He watches the other leave, unable to avoid the twinge of disappointment in his chest.
*
He thinks of it.
Too much, really.
But can you blame him? Xie Lian enjoys this small town, enjoys trips to the woods, enjoys walks at nights and their long sessions of being entangled in one another’s embrace, lips unable to part. Xie Lian has taken to only and only feeding from him, no need of any other preparations, and−
Well. He doesn’t understand the need for Hua Cheng to still be so careful with him. He’s more than strong−Shi Qingxuan had visited again, pleasantly delighted as she gushed over how well he’s doing, practically recovered already. Which is just even more reason, for him to feel this way.
Xie Lian has read extensively. It just…no matter what he says, he trusts Hua Cheng with his life. Does the other fear losing control? But isn’t that what this is about? An exchange of trust, a fortifying of their already strong bond?
Or is it because it’s him? Xie Lian picks at the skin of his palms, already in the bed, the curtains thrown open and the wide sky outside a myriad of golden colours. It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival, and people all about have been sending up lanterns in the lands. Xie Lian has such a beautiful sight in front of him, yet he cannot enjoy it in the slightest.
It takes a second, for him to realize Hua Cheng is even calling for him. He blinks, raising his head, the other’s amused expression greeting him as he remained standing against the doorframe. “My goodness,” he says, stepping in, clad in his usual red sleep robe, walking over to him. “I almost thought it would take another hour for gege to notice me.”
He shakes his head, but his smile does not reach his eyes. Hua Cheng, keen as always, notices. He leans close, ducking his head to press a kiss against Xie Lian’s lips, lingering yet chaste, breaking away and−
Xie Lian frowns. His eyes meeting the other’s, the red and black of them studying him carefully. Xie Lian licks his lips, watching the other’s gaze follow the movement, and before he can lean back in, he presses a gentle hand against Hua Cheng’s chest.
Immediately, the other stops. He almost looks stricken, before he masks the expression just as fast. The sight of it hurts him at a level so deep he’s unable to put it into words. “Gege?” he asks, worried, “was I too forward?”
“No, no,” he says, gently, upset at himself for being upset at this. But it’s all piling up and getting so unbearable. Xie Lian sighs, “no of course not, San Lang.”
“Then…”
“What’s…” he feels heat against his skin, glancing at the other from under his lashes, “that taste…it’s unfamiliar.”
It takes a second, before it clicks for Hua Cheng. “Oh,” he says, a lot more relaxed, “dealing with the disturbances at the territory borders took a lot more than I expected. I just needed a small drink, that’s all.”
Xie Lian feel such a rush of white hot emotion it nearly clouds his vision. It’s as though he’s swallowed a vial of vinegar, a blade in his heart tempered as it sears the surface of it. “Oh?”
Hua Cheng hums, distracted as his fingers reach up to push the hair away from his face, lingering down the side of his jaw, watching the strands fall. He has no idea of the inner turmoil Xie Lian’s going through. “Hmm, I didn’t want to disturb gege lest I got hungry in the middle of the night.”
“Why would that be a problem?”
Hua Cheng pauses. He meets his eyes, finally noticing the dark storm brewing behind those brown irises, trying to get a read on his mood. Xie Lian’s fingers curl in the sheets, and he’s almost too embarrassed to continue this. But he can’t get himself to back down. “Well,” he says, quiet, “I would have to get up, leave and…”
“Why can’t you just not…” Xie Lian doesn’t let him finish. He doesn’t want to hear it. He frowns, knuckles white. “…not just take from me?”
A silence befalls them. A beat, and Xie Lian continues, “I mean I…why would you go through all that trouble, you know? And, I’m perfectly healthy, you heard it yourself. And you’re always…always letting me so I just don’t understand why it can’t be the other way around.”
He blinks, a heavy lump in his throat, “unless I get, that it’s something else, because of me or whatever. Of course I don’t want to force you but−“
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, stopping him. The other pries his hands off the sheets and takes them in his, leaning his head against Xie Lian’s knuckles akin to a prayer, “oh gege you must stop. Stop before you kill me.”
He does not understand. “Sorry, if I was…being too much−“
“No, no,” Hua Cheng raises his head, a faint blush against his cheeks, and it’s a sight that is as rare as it is striking, Xie Lian blinking in awe. “How can you say that? How can you…of course it’s because of you.”
His heart sinks. “O-oh−“
“Because of how much I cherish you,” Hua Cheng says, and he stares at the other, “I’m only fearful of losing control. I told you, it really is addicting. And with a taste as rich and divine as gege’s blood? No vampire alive would be able to hold themselves in check.”
Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the other’s dramatics. He feels oddly flustered despite being the one to bring it up. He turns their hands, instead rubbing his thumbs over Hua Cheng’s knuckles, and staring down at how well they fit together. “San Lang you do so much for me,” he starts, “you really do, even if you think otherwise. It’s not out of a feeling of being indebted I truly just…just want our bond to grow stronger. The same way you trust me, I trust you. You would never hurt me. That’s an unchangeable truth I choose to believe in.”
He meets Hua Cheng’s eyes, “so won’t you honour this belief of mine?”
“Gege,” he whispers, helpless as he all but pulls him close, lips clashing against one another’s. Hua Cheng shifts further up the bed, pushing him back against the cushions, hands roaming across every inch of him until Xie Lian’s a mess of sounds beneath him. There’s an intensity to his movements that was not there before, there’s an eagerness to him that Xie Lian’s own desire mirrors.
Hua Cheng pauses above him, drinking in the sight of him laid like this, underneath him. Xie Lian cups his cheek, the other leaning into the touch, a moment of nothingness, before the matchstick is overcome in flames, and the hiss of silence in home to the blaze of a fire instead. Xie Lian’s head falls back, with Hua Cheng’s kisses raining down his skin, teething against his neck, his collarbones. His robes loosened, falling open so easily, as a blush colours him from the tips of his ears to the bottom of his toes.
He’s half tempted to curl in on himself. But Hua Cheng is so reverent in his advances he has no choice but to watch with rapt fascination. Watch his hair grow disarrayed from Xie Lian’s tugs and his lips and skin spit-slicked from his just as eager kisses back. Hua Cheng’s hands are a beautiful weight against his sides, skimming the skin with light grazes of his nails, the anticipation killing him.
It’s only when he’s practically nestled between Xie Lian’s legs, smoothening up the length of them to push up the fabric of his robe, does it hit him. “San Lang,” he calls, quiet. Hua Cheng presses a kiss to the side of his knee, watching him with half-hooded eyes, murky with desire. “Won’t you…” he swallows, unable to pluck the courage to put it in words directly, “…come up here?”
Hua Cheng understands. Of course he does. But his smile is wicked as it is mischievous, as he flutters his lashes up at him, leaning against the soft flesh of his thigh instead. “Why? Are gege’s lips lonely again?”
Xie Lian’s chest is a string taut with shyness. His voice comes out as a thin whine. “You know what I mean.”
“Not at all,” San Lang turns his head, peppering the inside of his thigh with small kisses, almost ticklish in nature. “What is gege asking?”
“San Lang.”
“Words, beloved.”
Beloved. It’s like strike of lightning out the blue, electrifying his entire being. His hands fist against the edges of the pillows, indignant as he stares down at Hua Cheng in only momentary annoyance, body pliant at the words, and heart even more. The sharp edges of Hua Cheng’s fangs appear against the corners of his mouth, and Xie Lian’s heart beats in a renewed rhythm. If the other just leaned up and came closer, he would feel how the blood rushed against the side of his neck and−
“San Lang,” a broken gasp, barely above a whisper, is all but punctured out of him. His voice utterly breathless and thin, chest tight and gut coiling with immeasurable heat as he watches Hua Cheng turn, and sink those lovely fangs of his right into the skin of his inner thigh.
Instantly, a zing of pleasures tenses up his spine in lightning speed, before diffusing through him in a burst of pure ecstasy. Xie Lian’s eyes flutter shut as his head drops back against the pillow, the sensation of Hua Cheng softly placing his lips over the wound to suck the blood out punching out a whimper from low in his throat.
He read, oh how Xie Lian read. Vampire bites carried a small dose of something to ease their prey and turn any pain to pleasure−they would be so overcome with it, they would never try fighting, instead offer more. But he did not know the sensation would be this intense.
Picking up the pieces of his remaining sanity, he props himself up against the pillows beside him, watching as Hua Cheng remains kneeled between his legs, eyes closed in utter bliss, the paleness of his skin deepening a shade more human, his cheeks flushing red with blood. Xie Lian reaches out, clumsily imitating what the other had done−carding through his hair, almost as though petting him. Hua Cheng’s eyes open the slightest bit to regard him, the ruby red of his right eye a blazing crimson, Xie Lian so enchanted by the sight he hates himself for not bringing this up sooner.
“Don’t worry,” Xie Lian murmurs, dazed and languid, feeling the pull of the blood, feeling the thrum of their bond. He brushes his hair back, so utterly fond, “gege’s got you.”
It seems that’s all he needed more−letting go as he took as he pleased, Xie Lian’s heart rate slowing to contentment, while feeling his insides grow molten. Hua Cheng pulls off, drinking off the remaining blood blooming against the wound cleanly. “Is gege−“
Before he can say anything, Xie Lian’s already pulling him up and kissing the living daylights out of him. Hua Cheng’s words are swallowed up in mere seconds, and he’s groaning against his mouth, both their robes loosened and skin brushing against skin.
It takes a while for them to calm down. All but panting against the other’s mouth, before Hua Cheng’s melting in his arms. “Gosh,” he murmurs, kissing against the pulse point of his neck, “gege, I cannot explain to you enough, how heavenly you taste.”
But isn’t that because of you? After all, all he has is from Hua Cheng. And now the other will have him, too. “San Lang?”
Hua Cheng’s already drifting into sleep, full and sated. “Hmm?”
“You can give away all those blood bags to Yin Yu, no?”
He can feel the other’s smirk against his skin. But he doesn’t tease. “Whatever gege says, is my command.”
It’s late in the morning when he wakes up.
Hua Cheng is still in bed, arms protectively curled around Xie Lian’s form. Xie Lian can’t help but let his stare linger, recalling the events of the last night. There’s no sting or bruise, of course, when he checks his thigh. But there’s two dots of where Hua Cheng’s fangs had sunk in. He caresses the place with deep affection, nestling himself further in the other’s arms, both of them warm from a feeding.
Hua Cheng stirs underneath him. He lazily turns over, Xie Lian half-buried under him, adoring this extra weight. He can’t help but let his hands roam the expanse of the other’s bare back−the beautiful sculpt of muscles, down the lovely dips of his spines, feel his way along his shoulder blades.
Hua Cheng’s being hums with the sensation, shifting himself so he’s right in between his legs, hands slightly rough caressing the underside of his thighs, Xie Lian wrapping them around him to keep him as close as he can.
“Goo’ mornin’ gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs, eyes half-open as he leans up to capture his lips in a kiss. Xie Lian hums, panting softly into the other’s mouth as those hands begin kneading into the flesh of his thighs and hips, pinching and picking and teasing until Xie Lian’s hot and flushed, cheeks red and eyes rimmed with the spilling of a blush, glazed from the sweltering heat that swirls in his gut.
Hua Cheng’s no better−lips parted in awe as he stares at him, all of Xie Lian’s affectionate caresses having his body grow warmer, and it’s when he shifts, Xie Lian feels it.
It makes him blush a bright, bright red. Xie Lian wants to bury and hide his face away in embarrassment, his hands flying up only to be stopped by the other pinning them down either side of him. Hua Cheng raises himself up, a wicked look in his eyes, one of utter awning hunger. “Oh no, gege,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and deep still from having just woken up, “I want to see.”
“San Lang,” he complains, but Hua Cheng can feel it, and he can too. The way he’s grown hard from all this, extremely flustered. But Hua Cheng leans down and sucks the soft spot below his ear, Xie Lian gasping, the other sucking bruises all down his neck, before−
“San Lang,” he moans, as Hua Cheng’s tongue curls around a nipple, before sucking it. “Oh, you−“ He resists against him, but Hua Cheng’s grips tightens, and the slight pressure of them makes the heat in his grow hotter. Hua Cheng is so strong, and so skillful, swirling his tongue expertly over and over and sucking until Xie Lian’s a mewling mess, switching to the other and the heat in his gut tightens and tightens−
His vision whites out.
Xie Lian shudders in the other’s hold, just a scrap of Hua Cheng’s fangs against one and an image coming to mind having him cry out as he succumbs to the building pressures, heaving as he comes down from it, eyes welling with tears of unbearable pleasure. “Oh gege,” Hua Cheng whispers, holding him close, a hand down his hair, head against his, “it’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Just like that, don’t hold back.”
He can only slide his hands around the other’s neck, and bring him down to slot their lips together, body heavy and limbs pliant as the embarrassment subsides from all of Hua Cheng’s gentle words. “I’ve…” he separates from him, meeting his gaze, braving himself through it, in front of those gentle and sincere eyes, “never umm…done that, with anyone.”
“So do I have the honor of having witnessed gege’s first orgasm?”
“Can you not?” his cheeks heat, the words feeling crude. But Hua Cheng smiles, and it blooms all these new feelings of love in his chest he can’t bother actually being upset. “San Lang.”
“Gege is so cute,” he says, nose brushing his. “I’m going to take all of gege’s first times and watch him grow fussy when I mention it.”
“I’m not fussy.”
“No, no,” he conceded, in a voice that tinkles with mischief, as he meets his eyes, “not at all.”
But Xie Lian really isn’t! He was just…caught off guard. The sting of the other’s abuse against his poor chest still sends tiny prinpricks of sensation down his spine, body sensitive.
But Xie Lian reaches up a hand to cup the other’s face, thumbing under the skin of his eye. “How do I…” he puts on his thickest face, “how do I make San Lang feel good too?”
The other blinks. “You−gege you−“
“I want to,” he says, stubbornly, shifting his body, and feeling the other’s length press up against the side of his hip, hot, hard and needy. He leans up, pecking him, “let gege help you, hmm? Let yourself feel good.”
The words seems to have an immediate effect; he can feel him twitch against him, Hua Cheng’s eyes darkening. “How does gege want to help?”
“Any way,” he says, light, laying flat against the sheets, prone and pliant, waiting for him. “Don’t think so much, San Lang. I…I want everything with you. Anything that you do, I want to do it for you too. I want to share our whole selves−our love, our desires, and our pleasures too. So…” he buries his voice against the pillow, “just take me, please.”
A second. And then he feels lips against his hair, and a breathless voice next to his ear. “All these things you say,” Hua Cheng says, quiet, hands opening up Xie Lian’s knees, and sliding himself to sit back properly in between. “Gege is so shy, and somehow so coy. You have this San Lang wrapped around your finger, my love.”
His eyes fly open as he feels it. Hua Cheng watches his expression, Xie Lian’s eyes fluttering, as the other’s finger gently prods against his hole. He waits, and in a heartbeat, slick and warm and smooth, the finger slips past and sinks in.
Xie Lian’s chest grows tight. It’s a little strange, a little new. But San Lang’s fingers are so long, and they’re perfectly thick. They draw out, and draw back in. They do it over and over, and it’s mind-numbing, Xie Lian bracing a hand against the other’s chest, a broken moan slipping past his lips as he curls his fingers a certain way and it electrifies his entire being−the pleasure mind-blowing, Xie Lian calling for the other over and over as the rapid hit after hit of his fingers dangle him somewhere between everything and nothing. It’s too much. It’s like denying him the promise of something good each time he reaches a hand out, Hua Cheng shushing his broken cries and thumbing his tears as he watches him fall apart of his fingers.
Instead, he pulls them out, and leaves him empty. Xie Lian feels a sob work up his chest, but before it can slipt past, Hua Cheng presses him, and he nearly sees stars.
“Fuck,” the moan Hua Cheng lets out is guttural, head falling against Xie Lian’s chest, as his tight walls clench around him, trying to pull him in deeper. His fangs slip out, the tips of them against his lips, and Xie Lian’s heaving by the the time he completely buries in, inseparable.
It’s incredible.
Xie Lian’s face is already a little wet from tears, but he can’t help it. This fullness, this sense of being so complete…It’s such an overwhelming feeling. Hua Cheng must feel it too. He’s grown so much quieter, so much more dazed. Moving, and knocking his head against his, both of them unable to break away from the other’s gaze.
Xie Lian knows he’s not lasting long, but he wants the other to go for as much as he wants, as long as he needs it. “My San Lang,” he mutters, quiet, hands in the other’s hair, tethering them both, soothing him with praise as the other makes a home for himself inside his body, a space where he belongs, marked by this deed. Hua Cheng buries his face into the side of his neck, panting as he ups his pace, Xie Lian unable to tamp down his cries.
Hua Cheng latches on to skin, holding and holding until his fangs break skin, and Xie Lian’s can’t take it anymore−he comes once more, body tightening around the other’s, Hua Cheng groaning as he drinks from him, fucking into him with a renewed reverence until he reaches the end of his rope−snapped, and pushing inside of him one last time as he finishes deep within Xie Lian.
It’s a long while until both of them come to. Hua Cheng’s sated the wound, and instead they remain intertwined like that. Exchanging lazy kisses, hands touching wherever they can. The ring digs against where it had slipped behind his back, and he tugs it to let it lay on his chest, Hua Cheng playing with the band as Xie Lian cards through his hair.
“Gege?”
“Hmm?”
It’s a few minutes later, he dares to speak again. “Gege?”
“Hmm?”
Hua Cheng hesitates. But Xie Lian watches the resolve come to life on the other’s features, heart fluttering. He meets his eyes, a quiet desperation in them. He remains this gaze like it’s branded in memory−one, of where nothing but anger existed towards the world.
Today, where all he seems to want, is to condense that world in one person alone, and cherish it, for the rest of his life. “Gege,” he says, again, “let’s get married.”
Xie Lian’s heart brims. He closes his eyes, feeling the well of tears, leaning his head against the other’s. “Let’s.”