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When Vein wakes up on the Sunday morning following his tender moment with Xia Fei, he groans. He’d slept on the living room couch which, despite being rather high-in and luxurious, did not make for good back support. He throws a hand over his eyes to block out the sun peeking through the windows and fumbles around with his free hand for his phone.
The screen lights up and reveals the time: 9:37 AM.
It dawns on him that he’s alone on the couch. He’d fallen asleep with Xia Fei draped on top of him like an enthusiastic blanket, but now all he has over him is a regular blanket. He wonders, briefly, if Xia Fei had gotten cold feet after witnessing his nightmare, or if the prospect of romantic intimacy with his boss made him reconsider. It wouldn’t shock him. Regardless of his own fragile, complicated feelings, Vein has no intention of forcing the man to stay.
He’s about to resign himself to the idea when he hears low muttering coming from the kitchen.
“—Of course he has the fanciest coffee pot I’ve ever seen.”
Vein practically snorts. Xia Fei hadn’t left at all; he’d woken up, thrown a blanket over him, wandered into the kitchen and, evidently, got busy talking to himself about the appliances.
He hears a small thunk and a quiet but audible “fuck” as Xia Fei bangs either his toe or elbow into something. Vein throws a hand over his eyes again and smiles. It’s downright absurd how hopelessly endeared he is to this man.
What a wreck he’s become.
Deciding against wasting more time, he throws the blanket off of him and sits up on the couch. He slips his feet into some house slippers he’d left by the coffee table and slowly pads toward the kitchen, careful not to alert Xia Fei to his presence.
Once there, he leans against the kitchen doorway watching amusedly as Xia Fei shuffles about. He’s completely distracted, blissfully unaware of the fact that Vein is a few steps behind him. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on the night before: an oversized blue hoodie, black sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. His hair, slightly disheveled from sleep, sticks out at awkward angles at the back.
Cute.
He sticks his head in the refrigerator, rummages a bit, then pulls out a carton of eggs, spring onion stalks, and a tomato. Once satisfied with his spoils, he closes the fridge and makes his way over to the stove where he’s got a frying pan on the burner and various spices set up next to it. He flicks on the stove, pours cooking oil into the pan and—still not noticing Vein—starts whispering to himself.
“Don’t fuck this up man. This is going so well. Eggs are so easy. You can do this.”
If Vein were a scrupulous man, he wouldn’t give his position away so easily. He clearly isn’t, because he doesn’t even try to muffle his laugh.
Xia Fei almost sends a hot pan flying across the room.
“Boss–! When—” Xia Fei goes beet-red, sputtering and flailing around like a perturbed cat. “Why are you in here?”
Vein can’t help it; he’s too fun to tease. It’s hard to believe this is the same man that so boldly asked for a kiss the night before. “Oh? You mean why am I in my kitchen in my apartment?”
Xia Fei nearly squawks. “Yes? I mean no? I thought you were asleep? You were literally asleep like, five minutes ago?”
Vein laughs again, then comes into the kitchen fully. “I woke up to the sound of somebody making plans to burn down my kitchen.” He stops at the sink next to the stove, turns on the faucet, and wets his fingers a little. Xia Fei stares, open-mouthed and flushed as Vein flicks a few droplets of water into the pan. It sizzles.
Then, he leans in close enough to whisper in Xia Fei’s ear. “Your oil’s ready, by the way.”
The blush creeps down to Xia Fei’s neck; Vein pulls away to admire it. He could stop messing with the man at any time—he could be nice and walk away to go fix his hair and put on makeup while the little Casanova in his apartment makes them breakfast. He could, sure, but he probably won’t. Not yet, anyway.
“Burning down your—” Xia Fei’s brows furrow as his expression shifts to a scowl. Without warning, he grabs a spatula from the counter and lightly smacks Vein on the shoulder with it. “You think I can’t make eggs?”
“Oh, no. That’s not it at all. I just thought it would be fun to mess with you.” He plucks an egg from the carton and holds it out toward him. “Carry on, Felix.”
Xia Fei scoffs, then snatches the egg from Vein’s hand almost hard enough to break it. “Good. Don’t you have some like, morning skincare to go do, or something? Maybe some emails? This won’t take longer than five minutes.”
Vein feigns offense—tries to, anyway, but he’s practically giggling like a child. “What, you don’t like my face the way it is right now?”
Xia Fei just glares at him. “I like your face all the time. It’s the rest of you that’s bothering me right now.” His blush deepens a bit, like it’s just dawned on him what it is he’s said, but he focuses his attention on the pan. “Now go before I change my mind and make you do this yourself.”
“Sorry, sorry. So feisty this morning,” Vein says with a chuckle. “But you’re right. I do have a morning routine to attend to.” He’s still smiling as he turns away from the stove and tosses a wave over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He hears a snort behind him as he walks out of the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah.”
As he makes his way down the hallway, he replays Xia Fei’s little comment about always liking his face in his head several times over. It’s a Sunday— he has no particular plans other than basic administrative tasks and responding to emails, so there’s no real reason for him to get dolled up. Or for him to leave his apartment, for that matter. He could easily spend the entire day watching Xia Fei loiter about the place while in between homework assignments for his college classes. He could be at his desk typing away while his resolute companion grumbles about one of his physics professors being “a real hard-ass.” He’d know which one Xia Fei is talking about, too. He complains to Vein enough about them to the point that he knows each of them and their subject matter by name.
The thought of it makes him laugh again, a bit breathless as he reaches the bathroom door.
Once he’s alone in the bathroom, he looks into the vanity mirror and stops, his breath catching in his throat. His face is flushed slightly, his hair is a mess and he’s smiling—genuinely and stupidly—like a kid with a crush. His face, the very same one he looks at, plucks, pokes, and prods at every day is different somehow. Foreign. He reaches up to touch his cheeks, to feel the bones there and finds that yes, this is his face: the same one he’s always had. There’s no new wrinkle, divot or crease, no obvious sign of change that stands out to the naked eye. It’s just…different. It’s different in a way he can’t place.
The call coming from the kitchen nearly gives him a start. “Hey, boss? It’s ready.”
He calls back in affirmation, then turns on the faucet and begins washing his face. He goes through his various cleansers, serums and creams quickly, then pats his face with a towel and leaves it to dry on the rack. He is, to his immense chagrin, too keyed up to braid his hair correctly, so he ties it into a low bun. He feels ridiculous. He looks ridiculous. If some of his business partners (or perhaps, even some of the bastards he’s hunted down over the years) could see him right now, they’d wonder just what the hell’s gotten into him.
“Booooss,” Xia Fei whines from the kitchen, petulantly dragging out the syllables of the word. “It's gonna get cold if you stay in there all morning.”
He takes one more look in the mirror and decides that he doesn’t care. He’ll let them think whatever they want.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls back. He leaves the bathroom and walks back toward the kitchen where he’s greeted by a smug Xia Fei and the warming scent of stir-fried tomato and eggs.
“Told you I could do it,” he says nonchalantly as he sets two plates and chopsticks down on the table. “I already tried it. It tastes great, thank you very much.”
“And I believe you,” Vein says with a laugh. He pulls a chair out and sits across from Xia Fei, who, despite his previous bravado, fidgets slightly with his utensils.
“I’m ready to admire your skills.”
“If it’s actually bad just tell me it’s good to protect my sanity.”
Vein picks up a pair of chopsticks and plucks out a bite-sized chunk of stir-fry from his plate. “Well, it is pretty hard to mess up this dish. So I have high hopes.” He hears Xia Fei swallow thickly as he brings the bite of food to his mouth and starts to chew. The robust flavor of the tomato, eggs, spring onion and spices mixed together is, as always, a simple comfort. Xia Fei did just as good of a job as any. Perhaps better.
“Uh. So?” The younger man is fidgeting with his napkin now, folding it into little squares as he looks intently at Vein’s face.
Vein swallows, then grins. “Excellent job as always, Felix.”
Xia Fei relaxes in his chair and lets out a deep sigh. “Oh thank god.”
“Indeed. I would have had no choice but to throw you out with nothing but the shirt on your back had your cooking been unsatisfying.”
Xia Fei scoffs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Vein nods solemnly, pausing to chew another bite of food. “And how lonely that would be. A complete and utter day-ruiner.”
Xia Fei studies Vein for a moment, his pretty eyes crinkling a bit as his bemused expression changes into a smile. They often play little games like this—Vein waxing poetic and hamming it up while Xia Fei indulges his eccentricities. It’s become a routine of theirs, marked by running jokes and blithe improvisation. Xia Fei had once asked if Vein was a theatre kid, to which Vein replied that there were no theatres that could’ve handled him.
“Well,” Xia Fei says between bites, looking pleased with himself. “How’s your day shaping up to be now?”
It’s Vein’s turn to indulge him. “Good, good. Other than those pesky emails you so rudely reminded me about, I’d say it’s going to be pretty good. After all, I’m assuming my favorite model, who is not working today but surely has assignments for his college classes piling up, has no intention of running off somewhere for the time being?”
Xia Fei flushes a bit, seemingly caught off by Vein’s roundabout request. He tilts his head to the side, puppy-like, and has the audacity to frown.
“You. You want me to hang out with you?”
Vein makes a show of rolling his eyes. “No, Felix. I want you to leave me to my chambers so I can attend to my nefarious deeds alone. I have raw meat that needs to be strung up all over the apartment so that once the worshipers arrive at sundown, the ritual can begin.” He sets his chopsticks down and leans across the table to flick Xia Fei directly on the center of his forehead, causing the man to yelp. “Yes. As you so colloquially put it, I want you to hang out with me.”
“You didn’t have to flick me,” Xia Fei whines, rubbing his forehead pitifully. “I want to hang out with you too.” He purses his lips and picks up his chopsticks to start eating again. “But, to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past you not to have a weird meat ritual.”
Vein laughs, loud enough that it echoes throughout the apartment. Xia Fei joins him.
They spend the rest of their meal in relative silence, making only small remarks here and there about recent happenings. Once they’ve both finished, Vein gets up and brings their plates and utensils to the kitchen sink. He rinses them off and throws them in the dishwasher as Xia Fei makes a comment about hitting the couch to get started on his assignments. Vein leaves to grab his laptop out of his office (where he would normally work if Xia Fei wasn’t going to be in the living room) and joins him dutifully on the couch.
Xia Fei, seemingly pleased by this arrangement (if the cheeky smile he has on is anything to go by) wastes little time curling up against Vein’s side with his own laptop. Vein allows this (he wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise) and watches with passing interest as Xia Fei clicks into a pre-recorded lecture. He laughs a little as Xia Fei huffs at the elderly man on the screen and opens up a document titled: I hate this class— notes.
They spend the better part of the morning like that—working quietly and soaking up the feeling of each other’s presence. Vein responds to emails and looks through work-related documents with as much enthusiasm as a death row inmate, but the experience is made less tedious every time Xia Fei fidgets against him. Even the low, monotonous drawl of the applied physics lecture is welcome. It’s soothing background noise, punctuated every so often by the gentle sighs that leave Xia Fei’s lips.
Or, it is soothing background noise until it stops suddenly and Vein feels Xia Fei staring at him.
“Taking a break?”
When Vein looks at him, he’s surprised to see worry etched into his brow. He’d figured Xia Fei’s fidgeting was out of irritation with his schoolwork, but there’s more to it than that. On closer inspection, Vein notices that the skin around Xia Fei’s thumbs has been picked raw.
“Uh. Kind of. Boss?”
Vein raises an eyebrow. The business drivel could wait. “You don’t have to call me boss, you know. Your mouth has been on mine.”
Xia Fei’s flushes immediately. “That’s—I mean, yes— take this seriously! There’s something more important that I wanted to talk about and, uh.” He looks away and starts picking at the skin around his fingernails again; Vein makes a quiet sound of disapproval and stops him with a firm hand on his wrist. He isn’t a hundred percent certain he knows what Xia Fei wants to talk about, but he could wager a few guesses.
“Go on, Felix. I’m listening.”
It takes him a moment, but Xia Fei manages to summon the courage to meet Vein’s eyes again—and there it is: conviction. The same conviction Vein saw in his eyes the day they met. The same conviction that, day by day, brick by brick, is bringing a dangerous man to his knees. If Vein were any more delusional, he’d build an altar dedicated to that look in his eyes alone.
“Last night, when you were, you know, having that dream, I asked you if you wanted to talk about it.” He licks his lips, searches Vein’s face with knitted brows. “You said you’d tell me about it in the morning. And I said I’d hold you to it.”
Memories of the previous night rush back to him. The room. The hallway. The body. The dogs. The white-hot panic quelled only by a sweet voice and warm lips on his skin. The weakness. He said he’d allow him to ask about it again once they’d woken up. Truth be told, he was hoping he wouldn’t. He was hoping Xia Fei would leave well enough alone and let Vein carry on his little farce.
Still. Still, still, still (it’s always still when it comes to Xia Fei) Vein isn’t one to go back on his word. If Xia Fei requires some modicum of honesty, Vein will give as much as he can bear.
When he speaks, his voice comes out quieter than expected—hushed. “I did say that, yes.”
Xia Fei nods, shifting closer. He takes the hand Vein placed on his wrist and laces their fingers together. “I know it’s none of my business. I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything. You’ve done a lot for me, you know.”
There’s surely something profound he could say, something meaningful, but he’s drawing a blank. He focuses his attention on the feeling of soft, slender fingers curled around his own.
“You’re getting bolder and bolder.”
“I suppose I have you to thank for that,” Xia Fei murmurs, wistful. “But just listen, okay? What I’m trying to say is this.” He gives Vein’s hand a little squeeze. “You were scared, boss. I’ve never seen you scared of anything. So I guess I’m trying to figure out what it is that made you feel like that.”
In hindsight, he should have known that this is where Xia Fei would bring their conversation. Xia Fei, in his genuine care and concern, is always trying to learn more about him. It’s usually small things, like what sort of sweets he likes, if any, or what kind of shows he’s been watching. He always indulges him on this, even if he doesn’t have an exact answer to the question. When Vein gives little pieces of himself, Xia Fei’s eyes light up like he’s been handed a present. He’s like a kid at Christmas whenever Vein mentions liking a song. He writes it down in his notes app and says he’ll listen to it right away. It was strange at first, seeing somebody so interested in the little details about him. He’s never known anyone to give a damn.
“And I mean, you know a lot about me, right?” His voice is low. Hesitant. Vein can practically hear the cogs in his head turn. “You know I’m afraid of heights, and people I don’t know touching me without my permission. You know I’m afraid of losing my mom and not being good enough. You probably even know I’m afraid that, one day, you’ll get tired of putting up with me and leave me alone.”
Of course Vein knows that. He’s seen firsthand the way Xia Fei’s insecurities twist into him like knives—seen the way he lets snide remarks and foundationless claims stick to his skin like barbs. It irritates him to no end, the way Xia Fei can’t see how good he is.
“You don’t have anything to worry about in that regard,” Vein says simply, using his free hand to pet Xia Fei’s head. “I told you last night, didn’t I? That I am yours.”
Xia Fei laughs softly, shaking his head. The rosy tint of his cheeks spreads to his ears. “I know, but I can’t help myself.” He squeezes Vein’s hand again as he smiles, small and sad. “I want to know more about you. I want to know you better.”
He isn’t used to this—this gentleness. It would take him a thousand lifetimes to figure out how to respond to it. He had been raised to view kindness as a Pandora’s box. Something that, once coveted, would ruin him. He had been taught, through various hands-on lessons, that the closest thing to love he would ever find is a knife in his back. He has learned, again and again, that people become ghosts the moment they stop looking over their shoulders. He has been hit where he should have been held, scratched where he should have been stroked, and bruised where he should have been kissed. A child born of violence becomes a man who knows himself through the necessity of it. It is language. It is religion. It is in every part of him, festering. He doesn't know a world without it.
And yet, despite this, when he thinks of the one thing he’s afraid of, the one thing that keeps him up at night, the answer comes to him instantly. It hits him like a thunder-clap, sending shockwaves of clarity through his bones.
“I lost something important.”
Xia Fei tilts his head. “Pardon?”
“In the dream you asked me about. I lost something important.”
Xia Fei is silent as he stares into Vein’s eyes, searching. “And what was that?”
Vein doesn’t answer right away—can’t. He brings a hand up to slowly card his fingers through Xia Fei’s bangs and move them out of the way. His thumb falls directly onto the spot on Xia Fei’s forehead where he’d flicked him earlier. His nerves are frayed to the point of collapsing as he rubs little circles there. “I wonder, what do you think it might be?”
Xia Fei leans into his touch, breathing slow. His expression shifts almost imperceptibly as he lets Vein’s question sink into him. He isn’t in Xia Fei’s head, but he can tell he’s considering it carefully.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Uncertain. “Was it something you love?”
Vein laughs softly, a little delirious, a little compromised. He feels like he’s holding the entire world in his hands, human and beautiful. Xia Fei, needy, ridiculous, Xia Fei, is the bane of his existence—and the keeper of his vile heart and all its affections. He doesn’t know if it’s love, but it’s something close to it. It’s something that makes all the paranoia, stress, and betrayal that’s brought him here worth it. Xia Fei makes it all worth it.
He decides to be selfish. He moves his thumb and leans forward to plant a chaste kiss on Xia Fei’s forehead. Let this, if nothing else, be an admission. “You could say that.”
When he pulls away, Xia Fei just gawks at him, dumbfounded. His cheeks are redder than before and his mouth is doing that open-close thing it does whenever he can’t figure out what he wants to say. If Vein had to wager a guess, he’d say the younger man is weighing his options. Deciding what it is he wants to do with that information. Vein wasn’t particularly forthcoming, but Xia Fei is smart enough to pick up on the little details. It’s one of the many things Vein likes about him.
In lieu of a response, Xia Fei mutters something beneath his breath and quickly moves his computer off of his lap and onto the coffee table. He takes Vein’s, too, and stacks it on top of his. When he turns back around, he levels Vein with an obstinate look.
“That’s enough of that. I’m tired of homework and you’re tired of emails. So fuck it.” He lifts a hand up and gingerly pokes a loose strand of hair falling out of Vein’s bun. Then, with his voice wavering a bit, he says: “Can I braid your hair?”
Vein chuckles. It’s a silly request, but it’s one he’s unable to say no to. The conversation they’d just had was probably too much for Xia Fei to handle right now, and if he’s being honest, it’s a bit much for him, too. He loosens his hair and lets it fall over his shoulders, relishing the way the simple motion makes Xia Fei’s breath hitch.
“I don’t see why not.”
Despite whatever shyness he was feeling, Vein’s permission gives him the confidence he needs. Xia Fei wastes little time telling Vein to turn around and manhandling him into a position that’s comfortable for the both of them. Once satisfied, he runs his fingers through Vein’s hair and starts, very slowly (and unless Vein’s mistaken, a bit shakily) working it into a braid.
“Do you know how to do this?” Vein asks, smiling when Xia Fei's fingers brush past his neck. It’s soothing, having his hair played with. He’ll file that thought away for later.
“Not really,” Xia Fei admits sheepishly as he undoes a section of the braid. “But I’ve wanted to do this since like, the first day I met you, so thanks. I could probably die right now and be fine with it.”
Vein’s laugh spills out of him unbidden. When did his shy, moody little model get so funny?
“Well, we can’t have that —”
“I’m serious!” Xia Fei cuts him off, giving his hair a little tug. Vein can almost hear the blush in his voice. “You’re like—and your hair is, like, extremely beautiful. It’s crazy.”
He would never admit it, but that heartfelt little compliment brings some heat to his face, too. If anything’s gone crazy here, it’s him.
“Careful now, Felix. Phrases like that can give a man the wrong idea.”
Xia Fei grunts, tugging at his hair harder this time. “Don’t play dumb. I am giving you exactly the idea you think I am, Vein. ” He finishes the braid quickly and ties it off, huffing in irritation as Vein’s laughter fills the room.
“There. Done. It kind of looks like shit but it’s passable. Let me know what you think.”
Vein hums, pulling the braid around to take a look at it. It is decent, save for a few loose strands and some chunky, uneven parts. He’s not about to let this moment pass him by, though.
“Hmm. Five out of ten. Four and a half, really.”
Xia Fei sputters. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
Vein turns around to look at him and god, if his perfect, flushed-red face isn’t enough to drive a man wild. “It’s not that good either, dear. But I know of a way you can make it up to me.”
Xia Fei makes a show of crossing his arms and looking petulant. “Oh yeah? And what would that be?”
“Well,” Vein says softly, leaning in close. He brings a hand up underneath Xia Fei’s chin, tilts it forward slightly. “You could kiss me like you did last night, and I’ll consider forgiving you.”
Xia Fei’s eyes blow wide. He's like a goddamn cartoon character ready to jump for joy. “Can. Can I?”
Vein laughs again. His face is starting to hurt from all this. He’s doomed. “I insist.”
And just like that, Xia Fei is on him again. His hands come up to cradle either side of Vein’s face as he kisses him with reckless abandon. It’s messy and intense and full of something Vein is altogether unfamiliar with, but it’s something he craves more of.
He isn’t used to gentleness, isn’t used to love. He isn’t used to being held tenderly and cherished like something precious, and doesn’t think he ever will be. But he knows, with every shattered piece of him, that this is something he can’t afford to lose.
It might be the death of him if he does.