Let's be sooooo obsessed with Xia Fei (includes loadsa Veifei)
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He runs his fingers over his nape, grimaces at the contrasting temperatures between the skin of his neck and the skin of his hands, and wonders if that’s where the headache will finally come out of.
To get homesick at his age. To want when he already has. To take so much, opportunity, fame, chance, and bemoan it first chance he gets. To consider the him who took him here a him of the past, someone ‘he used to be’. His textbooks still lie where they are. His laptop is only good for his studies, and movies he never finishes. He still knows what he knows. He still would have made the choice to get what he needs to live the life he came here to live, after every step he dragged through to even get here in the first place.
Impasse.
Is it money for life?
Is it life for money?
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“Not saying you should,” he continues, dismissing accusations that never came and probably won’t. Xia Fei doesn’t recall how much of what he understands about Vein is things he knows, and things he thinks. He floats in a limbo of uncertainty, until he’s course-corrected. He knows facts. He knows Vein is his saviour. He knows he can depend on him. He knows he will rely on him. He knows, he knows, he knows.
And he wonders, he wonders, he wonders.
An insatiable pool somewhere behind his navel, to fill in red.
He drags his forefinger into the fabric wrapped around Vein’s thigh. He remembers the tale, the Emperor who’d woken to his lover sleeping on a corner of his sleeve and, to not wake him, had preferred cutting the sleeve off rather than disturbing his slumber. Xia Fei wonders, if he does it well enough, whatever ‘it’ is, will he be granted gifted peace?
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Xia Fei thinks that was the one time he’d truly managed to anger Vein. Truly stepped out of line in a way that mattered, in a way that had it seem like there’d never been a line to begin with, not a place for him to be put in, but rather common decency.
He remembers the look in Vein’s eyes. Remembers not having been able to place it, but having wanted to swallow the words back down nonetheless, not for his own sake but to make them entirely unsaid for the both of them.
And for his own sake because sometimes people don’t want to hurt others to not be abandoned.
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“Who said you’re supposed to trust him? Long as he pays, who cares.”
Xia Fei answers with a noise. Back of his throat, somewhere between displeased and disagreeing. Somewhere between ‘if you say so’ and ‘why would you say so’. Somewhere between ‘maybe I care’ and ‘maybe you should too’.
“I don’t know,” Xia Fei sighs out, kicking a pebble that has no business lying around where no one else does. He doesn’t know where they’re going. It doesn’t really matter. It’s too late to do anything productive, anyway, and his schedule is mostly determined by the man he’s walking next to, so any deviations from it caused by these few moments, and maybe next few hours, won’t be his to carry the blame for.
And it’s nicer this way, anyway.
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Vein doesn’t want Xia Fei to be obedient because that’s all he is.
Vein likes watching Xia Fei enjoy his privileges, likes the unspoken understanding in Xia Fei’s pretty eyes - wide and so expressive, if he had a leash on him he’d only tug on it to make sure Xia Fei doesn’t lower his head, doesn’t stop letting him see them - that there’s an agreement here, that Xia Fei is allowed to be leash-less so long as he respects curfews and doesn’t wreak more havoc than he’s worth.
Except.
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Xia Fei sighs. Liu Xiao taints every space he walks into. But he pays well. And in spite of all the ways he just can’t accept the thought Vein actually likes working with him, Vein seems to have his reasons to keep him as some sort of connection or the other. He lifts his hand for the stone, waits when Vein lets it roll into his palm to hold it up for him to pluck it out from, and gingerly brushes the tip of his fingers along the lines carved into Vein’s skin when he picks it up.
Unlike the ways he jolts and tenses, the many ways he’s had to mentally mutilate himself into easing his frame whenever a client leans in too close, brushing up against Vein always feels like gathering the fabric pooled around him back onto his bones in a semblance of skin.
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He cracks at the edges and occasionally unwinds at the seams. And there’s a dissatisfaction buried deep in the pits of his stomach that hollows him out from the inside, that collapses like a caving accident right above a pocket of air no one knew someone was stuck in. He’s pressed in a space the size of an artery deep within the earth, and can only breathe when he exhales.
Sure.
But that only if he isn’t fed.
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If they touch him, he can't pretend to not have a body at all. To will himself to no longer feel his hands. To not feel the strain of his facial muscles. To barely recognise what it's supposed to feel like when fabric brushes against his skin as it's put on him, because if he pays attention to that and doesn't stop early enough, he might feel the brush of fingers too when they lean in.
He doesn't really hate anyone here. He hates them all. He towers over the men who drop him off at someone else's feet, and he's as powerless as a stepping stool.
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He just wanted him back, that's all.
He couldn't possibly reconcile with a world in which the one man he'd thought impossible to kill, the sturdiest boulder in his storm, was dead. It made no sense to him. It made no sense to find vacant spots he should have filled, it made no sense to find his calls and texts leading to nowhere at all. He's spent the past few years building himself carefully around Vein, a parasite trying to grow thick enough around him to be let into his bones one day, caressed and held dear. Or maybe the tree Vein is latching onto, or an animal willingly throwing himself onto his back for Vein to tear through his stomach and eat whichever part of his innards he finds best to taste.
Grateful for his salvation, even if it came with the damnation of everything he'd ever thought he knew about himself.
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return to owner, by force if necessary by honorarybimbo
Fandoms: 时光代理人 | Link Click (Cartoon)
09 Oct 2026
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He owes Vein.
His life. His livelihood. Hell, even that brittle sense of stability. The one he didn't know he was looking for. The one he supposedly found at Vein's side. The one he wasn't looking for, not really. Among the memories, and building a future he could be proud of, and making something out of himself, and navigating blindly through dark alleys, getting blinded by street lamps and whatever knife their warm dim light was breaking on.
A sort of friendship, he supposes.
Even if the term would earn him a side-eye from multiple angles, Vein included. They never do call it anything at all, not really. Whatever they are. The collar around Xia Fei's neck or that he routinely unclasps and clasps it back on at his discretion, choosing willingly and tricking himself into a begrudging state of mind when he sighs and concedes to Vein's lap again.
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