Work Text:
Between the hours of 17:30 and 18:30 on a warmly-lit Friday evening, Xia Fei is jolted awake by the high-pitched screech of train wheels, the disorientating shift from motion to stillness, and a calm, robotic announcement to disembark.
He opens a pair of groggy eyes to a lingering sun and a crowd of dozens rushing past him toward the double doors on his right. He reaches into his pocket for his phone, to check what time it is, only to miss his mark tragically -- his fingers graze across smooth glass, fumbling, and the small device plops onto the floor. It makes a barely audible clatter when it hits the tube's rubber-coated flooring.
Half-awake, filled with an unreal sense of horror, he watches his phone crack and bend under the weight of multiple stomping feet, before it disappears completely, like a piece of flotsam caught in a large tidal wave.
In a matter of seconds, he no longer owns a phone.
Oh, Xia Fei thinks, blinking. He glances out the window beside him - to orange rays shooting pleasantly over the horizon - then returns his gaze to the ground, where he sees not a flicker of black, or white, or any signs of hope.
I'll need to get that replaced... after I see him.
Rising to his feet, he hears one final call from the robotic voice above his head - "We have now arrived at the final stop of the day, Stop 8 of 8, Chinatown in Bridon. Please disembark at the nearest double doors. Again, we have now arrived at the final stop of the day, Stop 8 of 8, Chinatown in Bridon. Please disembark at the nearest double doors..." - before he exits the tube with hands tucked in his pockets, face covered by a gray cap and a large face mask.
Approximately five minutes after 18:00 on an amber-soft Friday evening, Vein chews furiously on one end of his cigarette before he whirls around to face the quivering man at his door. His hair hangs slightly unhinged over his eyes as he peers above the edge of ebony-black glasses.
"You said Deng Lun did what?" The redhead grits out, struggling to control the urge to throw his unfortunate messenger out the large window beside his desk.
"H-he stole M-madam Hua's f-family heirloom..."
Fuck. Why did it have to be her?
"And t-took off f-from the estate... r-right after h-he had finished.. with her da-daughter..."
Vein's eyes widen incredulously. "What? Finished? As in--?"
The man makes a hesitant but undeniably obscene motion with his fingers, and Vein groans, slapping a hand to his forehead, cigarette wilting at the corner of his mouth.
"This is Madam Hua of Hua Pharmacy we're talking about, right? The head of an organization we're attempting to trade with, right? The person we've been trying to win over to our side for the last two months, right?"
The man stares at him in terrified horror, clutching at the half-opened door. He nods.
A whoosh of blurred black flings thinning gray hair into the man's brow, and he shrieks, moving to cover his face, inching farther behind the door. Thankfully, Vein's pen had missed his jugular, but the next throw might strike closer to home, if things continued this way. Smoke rises from the redhead's grimly smiling mouth -- a smile that could frighten even the friendliest of neighborhood puppies.
"Where is he?" Vein whispers, trailing braided red across his desk, blood pulsating with rage. A sudden realization makes him pause and glance up, demanding, "And why aren't the Hunan Hounds taking care of this?"
"T-they're al-already out o-on... their w-weekend p-patrol t-to 'cleanse' Fifth S-street..."
"And the Triad Truth? The Chuen Crew? Lo Fu-Chu's Boys?"
The man simply gazes at him with wide, desperate eyes.
Vein slams his fists onto the desk, scattering an assortment of papers, pens and pencils, and glittering ornaments all over the floor. The walls seem to shake with the force of his voice, nearly a roar at this point. "Is there NO ONE reliable around here?! Have they all simply vanished? Am I the only person in this entire city capable of getting things done?!"
There's a short silence, as if Vein expects him to reply - even though he really doesn't, really hopes he won't - so of course the man answers him, like the stupid sheep he is.
In a tragically soft voice, he whispers, "B-but Boss... it's Friday night... N-no one wants to w-work on a Friday n-night--"
It's the last thing he ever says, right as a razor-sharp Bowie knife pierces straight through his forehead, with enough force and precision to still his heart before he even has time to blink. He dies instantly, body sagging against the scarlet-splattered frame of the wooden door -- just another nameless lackey whose life made little to no difference in the greater end.
Idiot, Vein thinks, closing his eyes briefly to contain the white-hot flames of anger threatening to consume him whole. When he opens them again, he notices a rectangular ray of light beneath his feet.
It's his phone, its screen filled with a string of old messages from an infuriatingly audacious blond, as well as an unsent word he had typed over half an hour ago.
Xia Fei (Blondie): Boss
Xia Fei (Blondie): Vein
Xia Fei (Blondie): I just finished the last shoot today
Xia Fei (Blondie): Leaving the studio now
Xia Fei (Blondie): I'm coming over
Xia Fei (Blondie): I know you can see this
Xia Fei (Blondie): I'm coming over okay?
Xia Fei (Blondie): Tell your guys so I don't gotta wait outside
Xia Fei (Blondie): Plssss
Xia Fei (Blondie): Thnx in advance
[17:47]
'No,' he had typed his initial response right before he was interrupted by that knock on the door.
'Okay,' he had amended right as the quivering, simpering man had creaked the door slowly open, bearing enough bad news to ruin his entire weekend.
And now, settling furious eyes on the clock in the right hand corner of his phone, Vein quickly amends one more time, wishing he had the wonderful privilege of taking a Friday off for once.
Vein: don't come over.
Vein: or i'll kill you.
[18:32]
The clock strikes 19:00 inside the central hub of Chinatown's bustling downtown, when - on the opposite side of a heavily gated estate - Xia Fei is faced with a dilemma in the form of two large, bulky men staring him down.
He doesn't recognize them as Vein's usual gatekeepers, but they look decently buff enough, and they're equipped with weapons by their hips, so he decides not to try anything too rowdy right away. Instead, he gifts them a flash of bright amber eyes and a pleasant, masked smile.
"Hello," Xia Fei greets in a scripted, friendly voice. "I'm here to see the Boss."
They regard him with stony-eyed silence, before one of them replies, "And who are you?"
Xia Fei doesn't miss a beat. "The Boss knows me as 'Blondie.'"
It's the secret name they had agreed upon as a countermeasure to his men's interrogation. It's silly, and it had given him a good hearty laugh the first time Vein proposed the idea, indignation and murderous intent written all over the redhead's face as Xia Fei teased him about the 'cute, oh so cute, pet name.'
But Vein's rationality made sense -- being one of the most famous models in Bridon, he couldn't go around flinging his real name everywhere, just as Vein couldn't go around making a mess of the world whenever he pleased; they had to be discreet about it. Xia Fei valued his identity, just as Xia Fei knew that Vein valued his immaculate reputation in Chinatown.
So, he goes with it, even if it's a little irritating that they're asking him such a pointless question when they should already know.
"The Boss didn't mention anyone named 'Blondie' coming tonight."
You didn't tell them...?
"And you sure don't look like a 'blondie' to me," the second guy jeers, leaning in close to get a better view of Xia Fei's face.
Xia Fei takes a step back, pulling his cap lower, smile twisting under his mask. "Trust me, I'm the 'Blondie.'"
Fucking hell, Vein...
"Oh yeah?" The first guy also steps forward, face mean and unsmiling. "Show us what you're hiding then." He's bolder than his friend, and a lot stupider, it seems, because he has the gall to reach for Xia Fei's hair, toward the still visible streaks of black hanging by his ears and neck. He doesn't make it farther than an inch from a single strand before an iron-tight, merciless hand grips his arm.
Normally placid amber eyes sharpen to blazing orange. Xia Fei squeezes his arm once in warning, watching pain twist the man's expression from smugness to fear. "Don't touch me."
He notices movement out the corner of his eye and deftly steps to the side to avoid the second man's sudden attack. He watches the burly figure stumble past him and into the gate, amusement alighting his eyes a brilliant, deadly ochre. He still has the first man in his grasp, bearing down hard on thick flesh as punishment for his partner's transgression. He feels bone break under his fingers, followed by a sharp gasp, a spasm of motion forcibly held in place by his hand.
"Don't touch me," Xia Fei repeats, regarding them both coldly.
He's being pretty lenient, considering how utterly exhausted he is from the day's events, how much he just wants to be let in; craves to bury his face against Vein's lush pillows, roll around in his comfortable, probably still-made bed, and maybe - maybe - if the redhead begged nicely enough, fuck him senseless into the folds of his overly soft blanket -- the same blanket he loves to drape over his shoulders whenever they're through and he scoots away to the edge of the bed, like he just needs a breather from Xia Fei and his excessive, insatiable energy. The same blanket that makes Xia Fei want to bother him even more, if he's being completely honest.
But it seems the day is far from over, as another flash of movement interrupts his thoughts. The second guy has regained his bearings enough to realize there's an axe attached at his hip, and the first guy, although he's writhing in pain, is also moving to reach for his dagger. Xia Fei thinks it's hilarious Vein hasn't trusted them enough to give them guns. He also thinks it's hilarious that they're even trying to fight him.
"Fuck you--!" The second guy grabs his axe and lunges at Xia Fei, attempting to lop his head off in one fell swoop. A mistake, a terribly grave one, because Xia Fei just takes a step backward, neatly dodging the attack, and yanks his friend forward instead -- directly into the line of fire. Steel meets muscled meat, and it's a jagged, cruel line that barely severs two inches off the man's neck, but it's enough to tinge the night air a hot, sticky red.
Xia Fei hates it. Droplets splatter all over his clothes, his face, his grimacing lips and bleached blond hair, now drenched wet; stained. Dirty.
And the noises, oh. How he just wants them to stop.
"FUCK--" The second man jerks back, effectively dislodging his axe. Horror floods his gaze at the hose of blood spraying out his partner's neck, his screams matching the loud, disgusting, gargling cries that fall from the first man's lips. Battered by dual sensations of pain, he sways in place, limp, his dagger long forgotten in a now-slackened hand, too busy moaning and twitching to resist Xia Fei's hold.
Meanwhile, the second man keeps yelling into his ears - "OH GOD, OH FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK?!" - as if he's never seen a bloodied body before, and Xia Fei wonders how the hell these two morons had even passed Vein's first round interviews, let alone been allowed into his crew.
But he doesn't care to think further than that. Because he just wants them to stop.
Xia Fei whirls on his first victim, pressing a single finger against his crimson-stained lips, eyes flaring a deep hue of saturated, sunset orange.
"Shut your mouth," he whispers, and the man immediately stops his incessant gargling. Stops breathing too, white-gray orbs rolling into the back of his head and body collapsing to the ground as Xia Fei releases his arm.
He then turns his intensely violent, unblinking gaze to the second man, who's in the process of exclaiming again - "What the fucking hell is going on here--?" - before he's also silenced by a finger to his lips.
"Shut your," the blond's eyes flash furiously, his mask-covered smile lacking any semblance of joy, "fucking mouth." And the second man stops his incessant rambling as well, face turning sheet-white as he loses consciousness and drops down beside his partner.
When it's all over, Xia Fei sighs, feeling sudden weariness envelop him like a bone-deep ache. Glancing at the looming gate before him, he douses his power to an idle hum, knowing that much, much more awaits him from this point onward.
He picks up one of the lackey's phones, but his hopes of possibly contacting Vein are dashed away by a prompt for a passcode. He tries '1234' and tosses the phone aside when it's rejected. "Tch, of course."
Oh well, he thinks, snatching the axe from the second man's hand and testing out its weight. He eyeballs the length of the gate and decides it's short enough to climb. Guess I'll have to enter the old-fashioned way.
The clock on the newly stained-red walls of the Deng household reads 19:52 when Vein exits a broken patio door and outside to a hot, humid night. A string of smoke rises from his cigarette, fingers trembling where he holds onto rolled paper and the last bit of self-control he has on his sanity.
The moon can be seen above a richly blooming dogwood tree, painting soft light across his pale, crimson-splattered cheeks. He breathes in the air, in the smoke, and stares up at the night sky, wondering about his next move.
Deng Lun - and his wife - hadn't been home, predictably so, but his henchmen had been, and Vein had made the most of it, extracting enough information from all five men to deduce that Deng Lun had booked a flight out of the city some hours ago. Tracking him is still possible, but it would be a lengthy process; one that might require a dive and assistance from a very distant raven and a much closer, much more insufferable blond.
Vein takes a long drag of his cigarette, trying not to choke on his anger. Or his desire to turn around and head back to his estate, where he can lament the fact that said insufferable blond isn't there waiting for him in his bed.
"I'll be free this Friday after work," the model had informed him last week when they spoke over the phone, his voice like a fresh jolt of vitality to combat Vein's recently dreary-gray, stressful days. "So you'll make time for me, won't you, Boss?"
And Vein hated how smug Xia Fei had sounded, even before his silence confirmed the obviousness of his answer -- he would never deny Xia Fei a meeting, regardless of the time and day. Especially since they hadn't seen each other in weeks, given Xia Fei's recent summer shoots and Vein's recent troubles finding a supplier for his pharmaceutical market.
"Just don't come unannounced," the redhead had warned him, "I'll be fucking pissed if you're there when I'm not."
"What, you don't trust me to be alone with your men?"
He had been too stubborn - and quite frankly embarrassed - to admit the truth, that he more than feared for all of them when Xia Fei was around. Despite his outwardly easygoing appearance, the blond was difficult to manage at times; he tolerated only select few strangers, and not the noisy kind. And this last batch of recruits had been nothing short of loud, obnoxious, and sorely lacking in the skills department. But times were tough, and reliable men were nearly impossible to find. He'd had to make do.
"Of course I don't. Stop antagonizing them whenever you come over. Can you do that for me?"
There had been a laugh -- a low, amused, terribly devious, achingly warm laugh; one which sent chills of anticipation down Vein's spine.
"Alright," Xia Fei had whispered, "Just for you, Boss."
Now, as he stands beneath the glow of a luminous moon, staring daggers at his phone screen - where his last message to Xia Fei hovers forlornly on the screen, no response received as of yet - Vein is filled with a gnawing sense of dread.
He sighs, running a hand through blood-drenched, slickened locks of equal red. Maybe catching Deng Lun could wait until tomorrow; he had to get intel on the bastard's location first, and the most obviously easy way was through foresight. An ability only one person he knew possessed.
He puts out his cigarette against the trunk of the dogwood tree and begrudgingly flicks through his contact list for a number he hasn't messaged in over a month.
Maybe Liu Xiao will also provide him insight as to why the fuck Xia Fei hasn't responded to him.
He's just stepped out the shower - towel slung over his shoulders and hair dripping wet on his forehead - when his phone flashes blue, reflecting the late hour of the day - 20:06 - and a series of pings follow shortly after.
Liu Xiao leisurely crosses the room to where neon light blinks atop his bed, running the towel through his hair and listening to the news station playing on the TV. There's a large festival happening downtown in an hour and certain roads are being closed off, the news anchor announces.
Hmm, the dark-haired man muses as he picks up his phone and unlocks the screen, I definitely won't be going there tonight.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): liu xiao.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): i need some intel.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): right now.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): it's very important.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): i know you're there.
020 3XXX-XXXX (Unknown Number): answer me.
[20:08]
Liu Xiao stares at the text messages and blinks a pair of narrowed, amused eyes. Vein, at this hour? Vein, messaging him, of all people?
He locks his phone, tosses it back onto the bed, and finishes toweling off his hair. The news anchor is still rambling about the festival, which is taking place in the midst of Chinatown's most prestigious sectors. She warns that traffic will be horrendous and advised that everyone not already in attendance stay at home and enjoy their night elsewhere. Liu Xiao agrees with that sentiment, gazing longingly to his nightstand at the book he had bought ages ago while waiting on a layover to Bridon. It's a collection of sonnets by Shakespeare, translated to its most faithful iteration, with a new introduction and more detailed footnotes.
He slowly reaches for the book -- and his phone rings.
He lets it ring for five, eight seconds, before he finally sighs and decides against incurring the wrath of one very angry, very hotheaded man early morning tomorrow, when he would have to face him sooner rather than later.
"Liu Xiao," Vein snaps the instant he picks up. "What took you so long?"
Liu Xiao pinches the bridge of his nose. "How did you know I was nearby?"
"I guessed." Of course he did. "You're a pretty predictable, boring lad, so I thought I'd take my chances." Vein laughs, and Liu Xiao almost hangs up right then and there.
He closes his eyes and exhales deeply. "So, what was that about needing my intel?"
"There's a man I want dead, and he left for a flight earlier today. I need to know his final destination so I can splatter his fucking guts all over his wife's pretty little face when I catch up to them."
Good old Vein. Always the same. Always so brash, impulsive, and eager to shed blood. Always so... uncouth.
"What's his name?"
"Deng Lun." Vein starts describing the man in detail, from the top of his balding head to the tips of his polished Oxford shoes. As he speaks, Liu Xiao keeps his eyes closed and visualizes the victim in his mind:
a thin, nervous man in his late 30's, clad in a dark brown suit and wide-rimmed glasses, anxiously dragging a woman in hand as they lug two suitcases stuffed full of currency through an airport terminal, past Gate D, past a black and white-haired duo staring at a billboard.
their flight - which had already been delayed - would soon be delayed yet another three hours, their final destination set for--
Staticky images replace his previous clarity. Liu Xiao opens his eyes and shakes his head to clear the fog clouding his mind. It seems he'll need more than simple words to grasp the entire picture. "I can't pinpoint his destination without a photo."
There's a huff, a low growl. "I--"
"--I'm assuming you don't have one on you," he deadpans. "So what exactly do you want me to do about it?"
"Find. Him. For. Me."
Liu Xiao shifts a bored, half-lidded gaze back to the TV, where scenes from the downtown festival brighten his room in a blaze of red, yellow, and blue. "And what's in it for me? I'm a very busy person, and I don't have time to work for free."
"You get to keep your life in return for his life." The raven scoffs; Vein sounds like he's about to wring someone's neck. "And what the fuck else are you doing tonight, anyway? It's a Friday night." Is that a hint of bitterness in his voice? "Kids like you should cherish the fact that you even get Fridays off."
"You do know you're only about four years older than me, right? And I don't get Fridays off." With his work at Bridon's prestigious university and his tireless efforts honing his precognitive powers, Liu Xiao has barely had a day off in months. And now, with those two's eminent arrival, he knows he'll soon have even less time to himself. He glances at his abandoned book of sonnets in resignation.
"--It doesn't fucking matter! Get it done or I'll rip your throat out--"
"Quite the eloquent persuader, aren't you?" Liu Xiao settles down into plush-white sheets, enjoying the warmth of the bed, the gentle hum of the TV, the soft sway of lights outside his hotel window. "Alright," he sighs, "How soon do you need his location?"
"By tomorrow."
"I'm surprised. Not by tonight?" The notorious leader of Chinatown usually wanted his targets dead before sunrise.
"I--" Vein pauses, and it's the next five seconds of tenuous silence that has Liu Xiao sitting upright with renewed interest. "--Have more important things to deal with tonight," the redhead finally says.
"Oh?"
"I need your help finding another person."
Irritation flows into him like a winding serpent. "Listen, Vein, I don't--"
"Xia Fei hasn't texted me since around 17:45."
Now it's his turn to pause. Glancing down at the time on his phone - 20:47 - Liu Xiao frowns. That's not very Xia Fei-like. He echoes this sentiment to Vein, who agrees with much more gusto than he'd expected.
"Yes, yes. That's exactly why I'm--" Worried? The dark-haired man can't suppress the smirk on his lips. "--annoyed." Vein's voice begins rising with his temper. "He said he was heading over three hours ago but I told him not to. So why the fuck hasn't he texted or called me since then? He knows I get angry when he comes over uninvited, and I specifically told him not to come over. He can't be upset about some idiotic reason like that. He doesn't have a right to be--"
Jesus. Liu Xiao suddenly wishes Xia Fei were here right now to shut him up. Massaging his temple, he leans back against the bed headboard. "Did you try texting or calling him instead?"
Vein's abrupt silence tells him everything he needs to know. Why should I have to do that? Liu Xiao can practically hear him sneering in his mind.
"Maybe try that first before you waste more of my night."
"Liu Xiao. You can't deny how unusual this is, especially for Xia Fei. And besides, you're not doing anything important tonight anyway. I know you."
He's a second from hanging up and ridding himself of the most obnoxious conversation he's had in weeks, when something on the TV catches his eye. The camera is panning past several houses in the downtown merchants district, where the majority of the festivities are taking place. One heavily fenced estate grabs his attention -- it's familiar, it's extravagant, and there's two suspicious-looking, blurry lumps lying right outside the gate. He pauses the broadcast with his DVR and slowly rises from bed to get a better look.
What he sees has him quickly flicking his phone camera on and snapping a picture of his TV screen. Pulling up the photo, he zooms into the image of a bleeding, nearly-decapitated man, and closes his eyes:
there's pain; excruciating, unbearable, mind-breaking pain. agony all along the bent form of his wrist, bone sifting like an unsteady wave beneath a merciless grip. agony all along the twisted form of his neck, tendons spilling loose, unraveled like strings of wet, dripping, crimson thread.
and then there's light. a flash of blinding orange light - a red, red sky seared in beautiful orange rays of light - and his desperate noises of agony are abruptly silenced. by a finger to his lips, by a command loud enough to empty every single thought in his mind.
the man whispers, "shut your mouth," and he does.
When Liu Xiao opens his eyes again, he can't control his laughter. Vein hears his low chuckle of amusement like a nearby gunshot; he stops his rambling mid-sentence and says, slowly, in a deathly quiet tone of voice, "Liu Xiao, what's going on?"
"Vein, you have guards posted outside your place right now?"
"...Yes. Two."
Not anymore you don't.
"They're both new - and idiots - I'm assuming?"
"Of course," The redhead's voice grows bitter, mocking, "What do you think? I've been struggling to find decent men for almost a year now."
Liu Xiao casts one last regretful look at the Shakespearean masterpiece on his nightstand before he turns to his closet for his usual black coat and hat. He relays one final message to his misfortune-ridden colleague and hangs up, exiting the hotel into a humid July night.
"Meet me at your estate in the next fifteen minutes."
If he still had his phone on him, Xia Fei would guess it'd say some number close to 21:00, three hours till midnight, with the way moonlight streams brightly through a row of translucent glass, illuminating the streaks of blood on his cap, his cheeks, his jacket and the well-used axe gripped in his hand.
A sea of bodies trails behind him. A deathly still, welcoming silence settles over each hallway, each corridor, each scarlet-stained wall and door he passes by on his journey to the top floor. Mask long discarded, eyes a calmer shade of amber, Xia Fei enjoys this temporary moment of peace. He knows it won't last.
Not finding Vein in his personal bedroom - the very first place he'd looked - he had headed for the next best thing -- his private office. Now he stands here, at the pinnacle of an exorbitantly large estate, about to enter a place he's never been allowed inside of.
Excitement momentarily replaces his exhaustion, and Xia Fei steps toward a half-ajar door.
He glances back one last time - absorbing the sight of several pathetic, unconscious men on the ground, slumped against the walls, buried within the ceiling; the torn plaster and fresh rubble scattered throughout a long hallway, giving the impression that both a hurricane and an earthquake had struck the place - and sends a prayer to the heavens for Vein's mercy.
Sorry, Boss.
When he pries the door fully open, the body of a middle-aged man falls out from the other side and plops down in front of his feet. A glinting Bowie knife protrudes from the man's forehead, his face bloodied, his mist-gray eyes gazing up blankly at Xia Fei.
The blond frowns, bends down to retrieve the knife, and wonders what exactly had happened here. He stares past the door and into a spacious, empty room. It must have been something important because Vein is definitely not in his office.
Twenty-five minutes past their agreed time of meeting, Vein tries calling Liu Xiao again. His call goes to voicemail.
Then he decides it's time to put aside his pride just this once and reluctantly tries calling Xia Fei. His call goes to voicemail.
It's 21:41 on a lively Friday night in Chinatown and he's stuck in the worst traffic of his life, with Teng Li-chun singing through the staticky radio of a taxi he had hitched a ride in, thinking it would be faster than running.
He wants to smash his head through the window, but that might scare the poor, clueless children passing by; and he wants to belt out every single curse under the sun - toward Deng Lun, toward Liu Xiao, and especially toward Xia Fei - but that might terrify his driver to the point of kicking him out the vehicle. He may be Vein, the head of Chinatown, but he still held no control over elderly, world-experienced taxi drivers who hardly gave two shits about the opinions of their passengers.
Besides, he's pretty sure the old man doesn't even know who he is.
"What the hell," his driver grumbles, car inching five miles per hour down a crowded road. "What kind of tomfoolery is going on tonight?"
Vein plasters on a sickeningly forced smile, legs crossed to hide the agitation vibrating his entire body. "It's the summer festival in Chinatown. Runs from Friday to Sunday, all night, every night."
How could he have forgotten?
It's the most singularly frustrating time of year for him because the majority of his men want the entire weekend off and the majority of his suppliers are too busy partying to reliably deliver any goods. Give people a reason to celebrate and slack off, the redhead thinks, and they'll do anything in their power to celebrate and slack off.
"There's always something going on every weekend," the man snorts, "This place is never quiet at night. It's endless parties, endless thrill-seeking, endless lights and noises and what have you. These youngins are always just full of energy all the time. It's enough to drive me crazy."
Thinking of a certain blond-haired menace, Vein nods in agreement.
"But what am I saying?" The old man chuckles. "I'm speaking to a youngin right now." He glances back at Vein through his rearview mirror. "What type of party are you heading to tonight, kid?"
His sickeningly forced smile expands into a grotesque grimace. "No party. Just business."
The man's eyebrows waggle, and Vein is consumed by a violent urge to punch the seat in front of him. "Got a beauty waiting for you, eh?"
In another, simpler, more forgiving world where he and Xia Fei weren't insanely unhinged men with the blood of hundreds on their hands, this might have been true.
"No," Vein replies as calmly as he can, "Nothing of that sort. Not at all."
"There's no need to be embarrassed about it! It's perfectly normal for a young man your age to mess around." The driver's brown eyes grow misty with emotion. "Why, I remember back when I was in my 20's, all the times I'd sneak out under my parents' noses and..."
Vein tunes the man out and presses his head against the window, watching shades of blue, red, and yellow envelop the world in blinding bright light.
Lanterns drift on a warm breeze, food stalls blow smoke into the sky, parents mill about shops with children trailing behind them, rainbow pinwheels clutched in their tiny hands, spinning a roulette of colors against a backdrop of black -- all these sights of a bustling city just outside the window - his city - seem so close, yet so far away. A world he isn't a part of, but one he has always held under his tight grip; has always reinforced with his power and protection.
Even if this protection had been garnered through immoral means at times, it mattered little to him. Even if this protection had caused him multiple sleepless weeks of stress, and constant missed weekends he could be spending at home instead of on the streets, hunting down traitorous employees, it mattered little to him. Because he owned this world.
My world, Vein thinks, staring through the clear glass with a wide, maniac grin on his face, My city.
"...her father eventually found out I'd been jumping into her bedroom window every night for the past two months, but he didn't seem too upset about it," The old man chuckles, fondness in his voice, "We all shared a nice cup of tea that night and he even invited me to their house the next day. I think we broke up the following week, though. A shame, that."
With a long, wistful sigh, the man turns his attention back to his passenger. "What about you, youngin? Got any fun stories of pursuit under your belt?"
Vein stares at him, not sure he wishes to divulge the very first time he and Xia Fei had ever met; how it had been a pursuit of him and not the other way around.
If people knew how truly insatiable you were, Xia Fei, they'd think twice about falling for your stupidly handsome face.
But before he has a chance to reply to the old man, a rapid series of pings sound from his phone.
Liu Xiao (Shithead Bookworm): Hello? Did this go through? I can't call you. There's no service anywhere.
Liu Xiao (Shithead Bookworm): I'm stuck in traffic. I'm assuming you are too. ETA is probably 50 minutes.
Liu Xiao (Shithead Bookworm): By the way, did you try texting or calling Xia Fei yet? He's not answering me either, but I'm going to blame the lack of service on that.
Liu Xiao (Shithead Bookworm): Anyway, try contacting him again. Or you're going to receive a very nasty surprise when we meet up.
Vein is in the process of typing out a retort when Liu Xiao's last message reaches his phone.
Liu Xiao (Shithead Bookworm): And just so you know, you owe me one. You're lucky I don't completely hate you, or I'd have ignored your call.
[22:52]
Vein blinks, a strange sensation swelling in his chest.
Did Liu Xiao just imply we're... friends?
He's so unsettled he almost misses the cheery voice of his driver announce, "Looks like we're almost there!"
Xia Fei has always admired the way Vein wears his clothes.
It's classical and charming on him, at times a bit too somber, but it suits his role as head of Chinatown, and he looks good with the fit -- a simple contrast of black and white; a large overcoat hanging off his shoulders; shaded, circular glasses perched smartly on his face; red tassels complementing the braided red hair trailing smoothly down the right side of his chest.
Appropriate, suave, intimidating. Perfect for business meetings and hot-tailed pursuits across the city. Perfect even for... late night dates? Xia Fei muses, because that's all he's ever seen Vein wear, even when they're alone together.
But he's always wondered if there was something more to Vein's wardrobe; if the redhead is actually hiding something so scandalous - so gaudy - that even the most retro showcases Xia Fei has ever modeled for would shudder to think of him in such a fit. He wonders what secrets await him behind those ominous double doors leading to Vein's closet. He'll find out tonight.
His hands are practically sweating when he yanks the handles to both doors forward. It makes a terrifying, high-pitched squeak, and Xia Fei thinks, This is it, this is it, with one eye closed and one eye open, wincing in trepidation at the sight of...
More white dress shirts, loose, black slacks, and long, flowing overcoats. Rows and rows of them, hung haphazardly inside a small closet.
Huh. He releases the double doors in disappointment. Returns to the center of the room where an arched window shines light into cold, empty space. Brings bored, dull eyes to the clock sitting on the wall above a paper-scattered desk.
It's 23:15 on an eerily silent Friday, and Vein is still nowhere to be found.
Xia Fei's explored every nook and cranny of his spacious but barren office. Besides a work desk, a closet, a red sofa, and a medium-sized bed that's sparsely covered by untouched sheets, there's not much else in the room. It's a stark contrast to his more decorated bedroom, which sits just below the top floor; a place they usually rendezvous at, on nights like these.
Nights, Xia Fei gazes out the window - to where festive lights wink at him from a distance, like stars scattered across a burning, black galaxy - that are becoming less and less common now.
But it's to be expected, with Xia Fei as a top model during a busy summer season, prisoner to a fully booked schedule and a music festival he needs to attend in the coming weeks; and Vein as the grand leader of a prestigious city, being pulled left and right to manage all sorts of duties, with a new, poorly trained group of men under him.
Still... it sucks.
Xia Fei's smile is humorless, and bitter, when he picks up two slips of paper that had fallen off Vein's desk, presumably after his most recent temper tantrum. They're tickets to a Fan Ka concert which had started an hour ago at the festival downtown. Tickets to see one of his favorite artists, an artist Vein had mocked him for liking -- "You really have terrible taste in music, don't you? Try something more cultured for once."
He pulls out two slips of paper from his own jacket pocket - tickets for a popular Shaoju opera starring Zhang Zongyi, one of the redhead's favorite performers - and places them both beside the concert tickets on the desk.
He suddenly feels exhausted.
When he stumbles over to the stiff-looking office bed, lethargy wrapping him in its welcoming arms, the clock ticks close to 23:30.
Xia Fei buries his face into a thin pillow and drifts off immediately.
23:28.
That's what his phone says, or at least he thinks it does, right before he's forced to duck. There's barely any warning for the fist that comes flying his way, but Liu Xiao's reflexes have grown exponentially since his first encounter with Vein. He tucks his head down and sacrifices his hat to one very enraged redhead, thinking, Well, at least the hat's replaceable.
Vein's fist passes by, grazing a centimeter above his hair, and he shortly hears an ominous metallic crunch. He whips his head around and stares at the terrifying, ridiculous sight of a large, gaping hole where black metal bars had once stood. Fresh smoke steams from Vein's extended arm, beads of blood trickling down his knuckles and onto an already bloodstained pavement.
Liu Xiao bends down to pick up the tattered remnants of his hat. "Why can't you ever control your temper?"
"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" Vein grits his teeth and glares daggers into him.
Because I wanted to see your hilariously suffering face, he thinks but doesn't say aloud.
Instead, Liu Xiao holds up his phone, showing Vein the photo and the time of the broadcast when he'd taken it, over two hours ago. "Tell you, so you could magically teleport here on your own? And do what? Xia Fei has probably already decimated your entire estate by now."
The raven chuckles, unable to help himself. Stupid, insane, infuriating hotheads, the both of you.
Vein's glare intensifies like he can hear his thoughts. He slowly unfurls his bruised hand and walks over to Liu Xiao, making it a point to step on the bodies of his unconscious lackeys along the way. When he's standing directly in front of him, Vein holds out his other, uninjured hand, palm-side up.
Liu Xiao raises an eyebrow, mirth written all over his face. "What?"
A flash of canines, a painfully controlled smile. "Hurry and take me to him."
"Just walk there."
"Take. Me. To. Him."
Liu Xiao sighs, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I don't have a photo of him on my phone. Unlike someone else here, who probably has millions of them stored--"
A motion-blurry image is abruptly thrust into his face, almost knocking his glasses off. He blinks, and the picture sharpens into clarity.
Xia Fei, lying on a silky, embroidered pillow with strands of mussed blond hair falling over his brow, his eyes closed, a smile crossing his deceptively innocent-looking face. Xia Fei, asleep and vulnerable on the bed, with a smooth expanse of skin peeking above his partially skewed nightshirt, collar open and showing just a bit more than it should...
Liu Xiao glances up from the phone screen and bursts into laughter. Vein's expression is difficult to discern in the dark, but he can still make out twin splotches staining the man's cheeks a furious red.
"Does he know this exists?"
"Shut the hell up."
"Does he know you have a picture of him sleeping and you've probably done a lot more to it than look at it--"
"Liu Xiao." A hand hovers warningly over his throat, and there's nothing but murderous promise in the way Vein leans close and whispers, "Take me to him right now, or I will gut you alive."
Still grinning, he takes a step back, lifting his own hand in a mockery of a wave.
"Tell Xia Fei I said hi," Liu Xiao smirks and slaps their palms together.
It's 23:44 on a soft, moonlit Friday night when Vein returns to his private office on the top floor of his estate.
He had been teleported to the center of the room, and it takes him a moment to regain his bearings. He blinks slowly, tension draining from his shoulders at the familiarity of his surroundings, a place practically untouched from when he'd left it hours ago. Besides suspiciously opened closet doors and several sheets of paper with footprints stamped upon them, the room appears desolate; still.
Until he turns his gaze toward the bed.
Pale rays of light filter in through the window beside him, stitching a pattern of intertwined thread across the face of a certain blond-haired idiot.
An idiot... who had probably lost his phone, which is why he's here now; Vein comes to this realization suddenly, with a self-deprecating twist of his lips. Of course.
He slowly makes his way to the still-made bed, to where Xia Fei lies soundly on his side, bloodied locks of hair drifting over closed eyelids, over a relaxed expression and a half-smile; so very similar to the picture he had dove into, except for one glaring difference.
When he settles on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch but not disturb, the indents of black under those slumbering eyes become even more noticeable.
Vein frowns, pressing the pads of his fingers against cold skin, marred by previously shed blood, a layer of roughness and a strange, unhealthy pallor. His fingers move lower, along the incline of a slumped neck, down to the reverberation of consecutive heartbeats thudding heavy within a rising, falling chest. He travels over, tracing a thin, bony wrist he can completely encase within one hand, and then higher; until he reaches a patch of ebony hair that juts mischievously over the blond's ear.
He hovers there for a lingering second.
When he leans in, brushing against midnight-black strands dyed gold, he wants to say, Get some more sleep, you idiot.
Grazing lightly against a pierced earlobe, he wants to say, Eat some more food, you dumbass.
Gasping a hot breath over lips parted slightly to welcome him in, Vein wants to say,
Come see me more often... Xia Fei.
But the blond beats him to it.
Rough fingers suddenly grab the back of his head, yanking him forward and onto those soft lips. Incisors tear him open, smearing red where they collide in a violent unison of tongue and teeth, in a moment of complete and utter surrender to a person he's never once been able to resist. He shudders as Xia Fei drags him down, draws him in, hands moving to loosen the tie holding his braid together.
Insatiable, he thinks, hair falling past his face and pooling like fine, vein-like threads of blood onto the bed. He stares into a pair of drowsy, lidded eyes and thinks, Xia Fei, you really are-- just so--
"Beautiful," The blond murmurs, beating him to it, again.
Vein's eyes widen, a snort escaping the tight confines of his throat, but he's unable to say a word. Silenced by the intensity of that gaze, a gaze which refuses to relinquish him from its possessive hold, he allows Xia Fei to pull him onto the bed.
He knows he shouldn't; that he should be absolutely furious right now -- at the deplorable state of his home, at the deplorable state of his useless, powerless crew, and especially at Xia Fei, this man who has no right to demand anything from him, after all he's done tonight.
But he allows it, like he allows everything else from Xia Fei, whether it's agony or bliss or something much more undefined.
Whether he's pressing Vein against sweat-slickened sheets and nipping at the hollow of his neck while he takes him, or whether he's carding gentle fingers through scarlet strands spilling onto his chest as Vein presses down and takes him, instead, the redhead can do nothing but allow it.
Xia Fei pushes him flat on his back and leans in, brushing fingertips over the dark circles beneath his eyes. He says to Vein, "You should get more sleep."
Grazing lightly against tassel trailing crimson through his ear, he says, "You should eat more food."
Exhaling a breath tinged with melancholy and desire, eyes much too vibrant for the darkness hidden within that much too telling heart, Xia Fei whispers against his mouth,
"You should let me come over more often... Vein."
Today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and--
And of course, because it's Xia Fei, Vein can do nothing but allow it.
"Fine," he mutters, watching orange brighten into molten gold, like the last rays of a sunset lingering over a distant horizon, signaling the end of the day.
Just this once.
The clock strikes 00:00 on a hushed-quiet Saturday morning when Vein closes the distance between them and claims those lips once more.