Archive of Our Own

“Crimson Rain, you’ve successfully completed an astonishing ten years of your career,” the interviewer says, “with fans chanting your name across the globe, a well decorated list of awards and acclaimed albums, there’s still one question that keeps everyone’s curiosity burning bright.”

Hua Cheng smiles, amused. “Why, with the way you were speaking so far Mr. Hong, I reckoned there wasn’t a single thing left in your research about me.”

Interviewer Hong laughs, covering her mouth with a hand. “I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve done quite a bit of digging. But Crimson Rain, don’t change the topic.” Her eyes are bright and sharp, meeting his, “ten years, a stunning career and meteoric rise. Tell us, is there no special someone for our country’s biggest star?”

Hua Cheng drums his fingers atop the sofa chair. If this was a couple years ago, his team might have already stepped in to cut off the question. But at this point in his career, it’s something that’s long become a casual occurrence, as normal as the blue skies and the white clouds dotting them every other day. Hua Cheng tilts his head, facing the camera, his signature smile aimed right at the audience. He knows his team must be in the other room, sighing as they watch the screen, already expecting the usual script of words to flow from his mouth as they usually do.

But instead, he flips it on its head.

“I’m married,” he says, a ripple of audible gasps from beyond the cameras, as he glances down at his hand, three rings on his fingers. Unfortunately, none of them the one he wishes for the most. “There’s already someone at home.”

“This–this…”

He smirks, glancing at Interviewer Hong. “What? I thought this is what you wanted to hear?”

Her eyes widen, probably listening to whatever the person on the other side of the earpiece is saying. Hua Cheng merely continues. “My beloved is a brave, beautiful, noble and gracious someone. They’ve been with me through every part of my life; through the worst and darkest times and through the highest and best of times. They’ve embraced me when I didn’t even want to see myself. They’ve touched me in ways no one…” he pauses, a soft smile gracing his features, “in ways the world will and might never see.”

“I owe everything to them. And so, I want to say it today. Crimson Rain is off the table everyone. It’s time I embrace my beloved back, with all the same love and gratitude.”

*

“What…what the hell was that?!”

The first to break out of it is Xiting, who’s ready to break apart the entire studio. It’s what jolts Xie Lian back to reality, breaking away from the screen and watching the commotion go by like he’s still watching a show. The door opens, Hua Cheng steps in, all tall limbs and gorgeous smile, eyes bright despite the scolding being rained down upon him as the PR team loses their minds.

Hua Cheng’s eye then catches his. Dark, alight, and his face nothing short radiant.

I’m married.

It’s like someone’s lodged a knife in his chest.

“Gege?”

“Hmm?” he blinks up at him, wondering when Hua Cheng walked across the room in the blink of an eye. “You…was that some sort of metaphor?”

“Metaphor?” Hua Cheng raises a brow, reaching forward to carefully tuck away an unruly strand of Xie Lian’s hair, softly behind his ear. His touch gentle, his expression even more. Like all the world’s pressure couldn’t dare to touch him if he remained in front of Xie Lian’s gaze, as malleable as clay. “No, gege. I meant every word.”

There’s something that flickers in Hua Cheng’s gaze. Maybe, it’s his expectation that Xie Lian will ask. For a name perhaps. For more details.

But Xie Lian…

The words and the confession…every single part of it. It lingers in his mind until it’s all that remains, each replay nothing but an ugly twisted emotion that has his hands curling tighter around his tablet. Xie Lian averts his gaze, hating himself for feeling this way, and yet.

He can’t even breathe right.

“Gege?”

“Well, you’ve definitely outdone yourself today,” Xie Lian tries to joke, light and airy, “we’re heading straight back to the company. Step out in five, okay? I’ll get the car.”

It’s not even the fact Hua Cheng sprung this out without any prior warning. It’s not even the fact that Xie Lian’s going to be buried in meetings, in a thousand different explanations as to why and how he could have let this happen. No, he doesn’t care for any of that.

“Gege–“

Instead, it’s this. A stinging sense of betrayal, tunneling the world down to his own selfishness despite everyone else’s bustling movements about. He can hear Hua Cheng call for him again, his fingers brushing against his wrist to perhaps hold it.

But Xie Lian pulls back before the other can notice his expression.

He didn’t tell me a word.

He doesn’t trust himself to be rational, leaving the other behind as he heads out to get the car and calm down first.

*

Ten Years Ago.

[BREAKING] Mystic’s Rising Star, Crimson Rain, hospitalised after horrifying stage malfunction. Click for more details.

[TRENDING] Crimson Rain reported to have fallen in trapped door mid-practice; authorities report it wasn’t ‘mentioned’

[TRENDING] Injuries may be a permanent setback; a planned sabotage towards Mystic or genuine carelessness?

Hua Cheng watches the TV overhead speak the same lines over and over. It keeps going on and on, until a nurse comes in and shuts it off. She speaks, and he doesn’t care to hear it. He keeps staring at the black screen, and his own reflection faintly in the bed.

In a way, this makes sense.

Hua Cheng has never been made for greatness. It’s merely his own sheer stubbornness that has gotten him this far. Fighting against a fate that is stacked against him. It was only a matter of time, before fate showed how little of thing to crush was puny little human will.

He can hear the nurse sigh. He remains unmoved. The clock ticks overhead. They change things. Give him meds and food he forcibly swallows down. Every part of him hurts, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. It’s like someone had taken him, ripped him to shreds, and taped him back together all wrong.

It’s somewhere an hour before visiting hours end. The door opens, and someone from his company steps through. Hope blossoms in his chest for a faint heartbeat. His manager is here too, looking worse for wear, and not meeting his eyes. Hua Cheng looks at both, heart beating fast, the monitor’s beeps following.

And then, it all flat-lines.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Lanling is clearly not apologetic, yet she keeps the act well enough. Big eyes bright and filled with fake sympathy, lips downturned as if she cared. Hua Cheng had thought of her as someone genuine–soft, real–had admired her from the day she took over his training, getting him to debut.

Now all that remain are fractured pieces of those impressions.

“You see, the legal battle is ongoing, but they’re offering a settlement. It would be bad press to invest in this for too long, considering the backlash it will have on all the other existing artists in the company. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Why should anyone else get involved with this?”

Each word feels like it’s puncturing the air out his lungs. He knows what’s coming.

“We’ve announced your hiatus, and I’m sure they’ve mentioned bits and pieces about your condition–“

“Two broken ribs, a spinal and pelvic fracture, dislocated shoulder and a concussion. They were pretty thorough in their mentions considering no one showed up.”

Hua Cheng’s tone is frigid. His manager seemingly flinches, but doesn’t add anything.

She pauses. Lanling though, is fast at recovering, immediately back to business, “yes. Those. We’ll definitely overlook your entire recovery–and they’re willing to cover a good percentage of the medical costs too. Thankfully, your first album and the single were hits, so we have a strong influence.”

But.

“Unfortunately, since the doctors can’t guarantee when you’ll have a full recovery–or even if there is one–we can’t convince our stakeholders in holding out. It’s just to say that we’re here, but you need to rest and recuperate first, okay?”

Hua Cheng’s eyes burn. He blinks rapidly, before glancing away. “Okay.”

“So your current team will be dissolved, and allocated towards the other artists’ and departments–“

Hua Cheng’s hands clench under the sheets. Fire rages in his veins.

“All your activities are obviously suspended, and we’re keeping tight about press too. For communications sake, there will of course be a new manager assigned by tomorrow–“

But all that fire is capable of doing, is burning down his own heart as he watched his dreams shatter apart in front of his very own eyes.

He didn’t have any visitors after that.

Hua Cheng stares at the ceiling. The lights had been turned off, and the nurse had said she’d administered his prescribed dose of painkillers.

Yet somehow, the pain remains.

The surgery must have been long. Pins in his bones, a broken doll stitched together. Hua Cheng had come into the sterile room, hooked up to machines, and remained there for three days before being shifted to a small private room. He’d been here for two more, before finally getting a word from his company, fighting through the mental fog, only to be slammed back down.

He breathes out.

The pain in his body is bad, yes.

But there is something else. Thorns pressing into his chest making it hard to breathe. A phantom pain as he replays every single moment of the incident until it sears itself into memory like an infinite nightmare loop. Hua Cheng listens to the beeps of his own heart rate, and wishes, that someone just pulled the plug.

It would be easier to deal with, than this.

It would be kinder to him, too.

But you can’t.

The night is long. And it never seems to end.

*

Hua Cheng had met Xie Lian in a bland hospital room.

Broken bones, injured muscles and a recovery that seemed nowhere in sight. All his dreams flushed down the drain, the new sound of his life merely the rhythmic beeping of the machines next to him, or the occasional chirp of the birds outside his window. Life stripped away its colours, and in an instant, it had felt like nineteen year old Hua Cheng had reached the end of his life before it even began.

Xie Lian had been silent, but polite. He didn’t really fit in against the sterile background, hair combed back into a simple ponytail, a beige shirt and slacks and a smile his only armour against Hua Cheng’s viciously sharp tongue. The company seemed to have dumped the two people they didn’t know what to do with together and dusted their hands right off their cases, opening a chasm in Hua Cheng’s heart so wide with despair it felt like he would never climb back.

Of course, thinking back on all these things now is a mere look at the past, tinted with something warmer instead of darker. Hua Cheng can close his eyes and still recall the lingering scent of Xie Lian’s cheap body wash in midst the medicinal scents of the hospital.

Really, he should have known then itself, instead of being so stubborn.

Xie Lian didn’t even need to speak. He didn’t need to give him any grand promises of hope, of scorn or motivation. He merely needed to be there, for Hua Cheng’s breathing to ease up a bit, for his heart to calm a bit.

A hand that had felt too delicate to even carry its own weight, carried forward both their burdens together. Hua Cheng can recall each memory so vividly like it’s been carved into the centre of his soul. That sliver of hope that finally appeared in a tunnel of dwindling light, brightened and sparked to columns of flames, blazing as long as he glanced at those determined eyes.

Hua Cheng had learnt to relive, in the sounds and crevices of Xie Lian’s name.

And so, wasn’t it only natural, for his heart to go towards him too?

He’d written songs and albums, keeping only one person in mind. Loyal to a fault, unwilling to look at anyone else. Every interview, every suggestion, every correction–Hua Cheng would only line it up against the muse in his head, and if only it would measure up, would he allow it to pass.

He’d had to get better. He’d had to get higher. Only then, could one day, Hua Cheng stand on a level that people spent their entire lives chasing, and finally come beside Xie Lian as an equal.

Or so he’d thought, until now.

The car’s atmosphere is heavy with their strained silence. Xie Lian’s distracted, his usual smile nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t meet Hua Cheng’s eyes, and he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even look at him.

So for a moment, Hua Cheng who had been so sure mere hours ago, genuinely feels a hint of crushing doubt.

What if I read it all wrong?

It wouldn’t be surprising if it were all his wishful thinking. Isn’t Hua Cheng being too greedy? To want someone like Xie Lian, not only the parts he’s shown him but beyond that and more…

He stares down at his hands, feeling strangely empty. More often than not, he’s used to them being too busy with someone else’s palms, to ever notice a lack of warmth.

Xie Lian’s eyes are still focused on the road. His side profile illuminated against the bustling city lights. He’s still as painfully as beautiful–no, perhaps even more–than the first day he saw him.

But what if, Xie Lian’s feelings for him never moved past that day forward?

It’s an answer he’s too scared to pry. To pick out. To seek. What if, despite all these years together, Hua Cheng could never fully grow out the role of the young troubled teen he needed to care for in Xie Lian’s eyes?

The thought is nauseating.

“San Lang?”

He blinks, glancing up at the other. His spirits lift, only to see the car’s stopped, and they’re already at Hua Cheng’s apartment. The parking lot is empty, and Xie Lian is looking ahead, hands stiff white on the steering wheel. “We’re here.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he feels out his depth. Clicking open the seatbelt and taking his bag from the backseat, only to pause when the other doesn’t move. “Gege won’t be coming up?”

“I still have to head to the company, San Lang,” he says, smile small and apologetic, but not reaching his eyes. His voice is soft and gentle, like he’s letting down a child, “I told you, didn’t I?”

Because of the stunt you pulled, seems to go unsaid.

Hua Cheng stares. The seconds pass, and the silence stretches. The words push against his throat, almost painfully so. But mom might ask for you, what should I say? Or, she always cooks for three out of habit, won’t it go to waste?

But he doesn’t voice a single one. Instead, he hums, and steps out, bidding him a goodnight.

The ride up the elevator is torturous.

Every time he closes his eyes, all that flashes in his head is Xie Lian’s face.

Hua Cheng has spent the last ten years of his life, only looking at one place, forging each step ahead with nothing but hope that this hand willing to hold on to his, would not pull away.

There is not one expression of Xie Lian, he cannot map out. There’s no emotion, that he cannot imagine and trace in his mind against the other’s features. Hua Cheng has studied Xie Lian, the way people spend their entire lives studying fate–for him, the two were practically synonymous anyways.

So it only makes sense, he wasn’t able to force a single word out, after seeing the other like that.

Xie Lian looked more than ready to flee–hide away, from him.

He’s not willing to give up; no, not in the slightest bit.

But perhaps there’s sinking realization now weighing in his gut, that this would not end up as smooth as he imagined.

*

Ten Years ago.

In his dreams, he runs.

Barefoot, wind against his face, laughter echoing down the riverbank. The grass is damp beneath his feet, morning dew clinging like glitter. His legs are still short, still clumsy, but full of fire. Every step is a declaration of joy.

His mother’s voice calls out from somewhere behind him–soft, fond, the kind of voice he hasn’t heard in years.

“Hong’er! Come back here!”

He ignores her, heart beating faster. There’s a tiny crowd gathered in the town square up ahead, adults tuning their instruments, neighbours clapping along. A man hands him a too-big guitar and tells him, “Go on then, show us.”

He does. He plays three off-key chords and strums a crooked rhythm, and his mother laughs like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. It colours the world gold, a sun in his chest with the way warmth spreads like rays through his body.

The sound of it carries through the wind, lifting him. He laughs, too, his face tilted to the infinite skies.

He doesn’t want to wake up.

The melody is unfinished. He has so much more to play. He hasn’t reached the best part yet.

His mother claps her hands again.

“Hong’er, look at you–my little star–”

He turns to her–

And opens his eyes to cold white light.

The wind is gone. The grass is gone. His limbs feel like lead. The only sound is the soft beep of the monitor beside him, steady and uncaring.

The scent of sunlight and river water does not follow him here.

Just antiseptic. Just stillness. Just pain.

He blinks slowly, as if the dream will linger on his lashes, but it doesn’t. It dissolves, just like everything else.

The wind does not move. It does not sway. The air is static, the sounds not of his name or the songs, but the monitor next to him. Hua Cheng takes a breath in, and the scent of his dreams does not dare follow him into this wretched reality–coloured with a tint of something sterile and medicinal.

Fluorescent ceiling lights hum faintly above him, casting sharp lines across the sterile room. The beeping beside him is steady, impersonal. His limbs are heavy, wrapped in layers of pain and gauze. The scent of alcohol swabs and antiseptic clings to everything.

Hua Cheng exhales. The dream slips away like mist between his fingers.

The door shifts open.

He doesn’t look.

Probably another nurse with another tray. Another list of pills he doesn’t want to take. Another round of check-ins to remind him his body isn’t his anymore.

But the silence lingers.

The footsteps are too soft, too hesitant. Not the usual nurse. Not rushed or clinical–there’s a kind of pause that makes him turn his head.

A man stands by the door, half-shadowed by the curtain’s edge. His posture is straight, but not stiff. His hair is pulled back neatly, framing a face that doesn’t seem to know how to look away. Wide brown eyes take him in with a kind of gentleness that feels…off-script. Sincere.

Hua Cheng blinks, brain slow to catch up. He doesn’t recognize him.

Then the man speaks, voice low and careful.

“Hua Cheng?”

The name lands with a strange weight. It’s the first time someone has said it like it still means something.

“I’m Xie Lian. I’ll be your new manager…starting today.”

It clicks. Too fast, too cruel.

Hua Cheng knows that name.

The company’s discard pile. The one who’s passed between trainees like an old textbook–never thrown out, never read cover to cover. “Unlucky Lian,” some of the staff whispered once, like he was contagious.

A joke.

So this is what they think of him now.

If he had any hope left, it vanishes like smoke.

Hua Cheng sinks back against the pillow, silent. Every bone in his body aches, but it doesn’t compare to the hollowness carving itself in his chest.

Of course.

Of course they’d send him the one they didn’t know what to do with.

Just like him.

He wishes he could throw a jab at him. Laugh. Anything.

But he feels nothing. Hua Cheng is empty. His future is empty.

He closes his eyes. “So umm–“

“I want to rest.”

“Okay,” Xie Lian’s voice holds no hurt. No offense. Almost like he was expecting it. Somehow, it makes it worse–Hua Cheng feels horrible, and then feels more horrible that he has to feel more horrible when he’s already feeling horrible.

God, he chastises himself, get a grip.

“It’ll be best if you don’t fall asleep right now, though. They’ll be bringing in your breakfast.”

I know. Hua Cheng had gotten used to the routine, without needing anyone beside him all this time. Why didn’t they just leave him alone? Why did they have to send someone in? He mind churns with all these thoughts, until the nurse is stepping in and he finally glances back at Xie Lian.

He’s clad in a beige shirt and slacks, nothing fancy. There’s honestly nothing remarkable about him other than his looks, everything plain and boring. Or maybe Hua Cheng is biased because his entire goddamn life has been stripped of everything worth caring for.

He stares down at the soup. Xie Lian’s voice is far, but he’s polite, asking things to the nurse. She’s in great spirits, after interacting with the human wall that was Hua Cheng. She leaves eventually, and Hua Cheng doesn’t pick up the spoon.

It’s not like he can’t. His left hand is fine, and he’s been using it all this time, as clumsily as he can, just so he isn’t further humiliated by having them stick a pipe down his throat for food too.

But it’s like a final straw that’s been snapped. He can’t get himself to move.

To want to.

“Hua Cheng?”

Go away.

But he comes closer instead. His voice floats in the air. It’s all gibberish by the time it reaches him. Then, he sees Xie Lian’s hands in his field of vision, over the bowl. “Don’t,” Hua Cheng warns, a sense of what he might do. His voice is dangerously low.

It’s silent. Almost like a stand-off.

There’s tension in every part of him. The bed had been set to an incline to help him sit, but even then it hurts.

It all hurts.

“Okay,” Xie Lian says. His hands retract away, and his perfume is a splash of something floral. Not sickly sweet, as he’d thought it would be. It’s earthier. Grounded. Hua Cheng, unconsciously, breathes a little deeper so something other than the smell of the hospital went through his nose.

Xie Lian doesn’t insist on anything. He doesn’t tell Hua Cheng to hurry up.

But he does take a seat on the edge of the bed, unmoving, like a silent obstacle unless Hua Cheng takes a sip. His presence is not overwhelming or overpowering. It’s just there.

Which is why, it’s so hard to ignore.

“Hua Cheng.”

Xie Lian doesn’t need his reply. He lets it sit there, until the air grows clear of the heaviness. “This is probably the worst day of your life,” that, is an understatement, “and you probably wished I didn’t show up, and we all let you die here.”

The sheer honestly of the words catch him off guard. Xie Lian bites his lip, seemingly chastising himself internally for going too far and using that word. It is only mildly amusing. Is he trying to play a tough guy?

His lips are small. Like those of a curved petal, pink and pretty. Lines of his face gentle and eyes honest and clear. Hua Cheng wants to tell him to quit it–there was no way, Xie Lian could ever keep up with that role.

Instead, though, he turns his head, meeting his eyes.

There’s something in them. Stripping him bare in a second alone. “Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian says again, “I know you wish you could have just died, instead of going through all this right now.”

“You don’t know anything,” he whispers, snapping. But Xie Lian does not back down. In a way, it makes him recoil into himself even more. What is this guy on about, acting like a sage?

“No, I don’t,” Xie Lian agrees, not averting his gaze, “which is why I need you to prove me wrong. You don’t want to die. You just want to get better.”

Hua Cheng stares at him like he’s crazy. Does he think this is a drama? A novel? A shitty story that will be fixed from his words? But Xie Lian doesn’t add anything more, even though he seems like he wants to. He’s clasping his hands in his lap, fiddling with his fingers, an evidence of his nervousness. But he doesn’t let it show on his face.

“So, just eat it before it becomes cold,” with that, Xie Lian stands up and leaves, apparently gone to goodness knows where.

Hua Cheng feels miffed.

The words resonate in his head, over and over. He plays with the food with his left hand, scowling, and hating how grating the man’s words are. It’s an odd paradox where regardless of what he’s doing, he’ll either affirm Xie Lian’s words or affirm his feelings.

Hua Cheng sees one of the nurses passing by his room, and meets her pointed gaze.

Ah, he thinks, hesitant. He doesn’t want to be scolded by the head nurse again.

By the time Xie Lian is back, his utensils are empty and kept on the side table. Xie Lian’s eyes brighten, but Hua Cheng doesn’t want him getting any ideas. “It’s just because the head nurse is scary when she’s angry.”

Xie Lian’s eyes shine with something he’s unable to name. “Right,” he says, a warm smile on his face. He’s holding a folder to his chest, and Hua Cheng is sure he catches his name on it. “How do you feel?”

Hua Cheng stares, “are you trying to mock me?”

“No,” Xie Lian says, genuine. He looks upset by the assumption. “Probably hurts like hell, yes? I remember when I got into the hospital. I used to say ‘I’m fine’ like a second habit until it all lost meaning. It was always nicer to complain.”

Hua Cheng thinks he’s understanding Xie Lian less and less. He’s not sure if this is some corny way the other’s searched online, but it’s weird. It’s making him feel weird. He doesn’t say anything, hoping the silence drives the other way.

Hua Cheng closes his eyes. Xie Lian lingers, before his footsteps fade. He seems to have taken a seat on the small couch, a rustle of pages being turned. Hua Cheng doesn’t peek. Xie Lian doesn’t speak. Time flows by, just like that.

Much of their week is similar. Xie Lian attempts many things. Questions, anecdotes, or small pushes. ‘Take your meds’, ‘eat it while it’s warm’, ‘read a book’. Hua Cheng often wonders if Xie Lian is really so dense to not notice his mood or he thinks Hua Cheng is some kid he can easily persuade.

The only good thing about him, is that he never pushes him too much. Doesn’t linger. Doesn’t get offended by the brash silences, impudent remarks, and quiet stares. Hua Cheng purposefully wishes to undermine his presence, and yet, Xie Lian remains unaffected by it all.

He stays late on most nights, despite the visiting hours over. Hua Cheng falls asleep to his figure on the couch, always going through files, through papers or his laptop. He eats light, or barely in this room. When he wakes up, Xie Lian is already there–changed, fresh, his hair in a small ponytail, the rest of it framing his face.

He never asks, why Hua Cheng never has any visitors either.

There really isn’t anything to him. His perfume is something that a jaded librarian would wear–lingering and grounding. Softly permeating the air till it manages to dissipate the scent of the hospital. His clothes all warm tones, baggy and comfortable. He doesn’t even look that much older than him.

Then what is it?

“Hua Cheng,” someone shakes his shoulder. He grunts, eyes shut, sweat beading skin. A hand presses to his face, making him groan, “hey, wake up.”

It’s uncomfortable. Whatever it is. There’s pins and needles stabbing his entire body repeatedly, a nightmare that chases him until it digs its teeth into flesh. Someone’s voice keeps calling, over and over, until he’s blearily opening his eyes, to see Xie Lian’s in the dimness of the room.

There is no sound, except for his harsh breathing and the heart monitor. Xie Lian doesn’t ask anything–it’s not something he needs to. But there’s something in his gaze; heavy and sad.

It makes him want to cry.

Hua Cheng hates it.

He looks away, feeling something burn behind his eyes. Swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Why’re you here?” he asks, hoarse. “It’s late.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Who said I’m worried–never mind,” he turns his head away.

The silence lingers. Xie Lian, stubbornly, doesn’t leave. He remains on the chair next to his bed. Hua Cheng wants to curse him out, wants to shout at him to leave, wants to–

Wants to be.

But he doesn’t do any of it. Staring at the wall, feeling something wet drip down the side of his cheek. Fuck. He closes his eyes.

This time, his dreams remain blank.

*

Now.

“Mom?”

He waits for any response, removing his shoes before hanging up his jacket. There’s the soft sounds of footsteps, before a head pokes through the side. His mother’s gray and black hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, her eyes wide. She steps out slowly, peering around.

“He didn’t come?”

Hua Cheng’s mood plummets. He wishes of all days, she didn’t remember today. “No,” he says, forcing a smile, “do you know who I am?”

“Of course,” she looks offended that he’s even asking, coming to stop right in front of him. Despite the angry frown, her eyes swim with a soft guilt, with no need for being there. She looks up at him, her hands worn and soft, cupping his face with familial gentleness, and not estrangement. “My beautiful son, finally back home. Had a long day?”

Technically, he merely had a recording and then the interview. The day should have been a breeze, really.

Yet his heart twists uncomfortably, as he leans into her touch, eyes falling shut. “A little bit.”

She pauses. It’s rare to hear him say so. She must assume something on her own, because she quietly hugs him. “Well, that’ll all be gone once you eat dinner. You should have insisted for the Xiao-Lian to come over. You’re always in a better mood when he’s there.”

Trust her to hit it right where it hurts. Hua Cheng must get it from her. He merely shakes his head, smiling. “Ma, he’s busy, okay? I’ll shower and join for dinner.”

Despite saying so, it’s glaringly obvious how affected Hua Cheng is from the lack of Xie Lian’s presence. His mother notices, trying to liven up conversation. He feels bad for not being attentive, but really–

His entire head’s scrambled. Hua Cheng’s never been in a situation like this, after all. Or perhaps he’s merely dramatizing it? Xie Lian never stays upset at him for long. It’s his only solace, finally manage to chase away some of his gloom.

*

Xie Lian closes the door shut behind him, heaving out a heavy breath.

After an excruciating hour of meetings, he’s finally back at his own apartment. Everything is dark, save for the city lights outside the windows spilling in. He doesn’t bother flicking on the switch, hanging off his jacket and plopping on his sofa the moment he enters the living room.

For a long while, he remains there. Shrouded in the silver light of the city and the moon, and the silence occupied with his deafening thoughts.

To be honest, the words of the higher ups barely registered in his head. Apologies were an automatic response, said with every answer and sentence. In fact, there’s only one thing that sticks to him, even now.

How did you not know? Aren’t you two close?

Xie Lian closes his eyes, feeling inexplicably vexed as he digs the heels of his palms against them. It was as if someone splashed boiling hot oil on an open wound, just to see him flail in pain. Xie Lian’s chest is so incredibly tight, so incredibly full with the horrible and painful urge to just.

Cry.

He doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t. What type of manager would he be then? He’s seen Hua Cheng go through it all. At his absolute worst, when hope was a distant thing, to the man and artist he is today. The brightest star under the lights of the stage amidst a dark stadium. Shining and blinding, untouchable and out of reach.

Hua Cheng pushed and pushed. He never once backed down. Never once gave up. Until he got so ahead, Xie Lian didn’t even realize until it was too late.

I owe everything to them.

Ten years. Together for ten years, experiencing the rocky road of the journey together. Yet somehow, Xie Lian had been so oblivious, when their paths had seemingly diverged. He can’t for the life of him think. Can’t even guess a single name. It’s humiliating as much as it’s painful.

How can he not know?

How could Hua Cheng not trust him?

Did he see through Xie Lian’s flimsy façade? Of his futile attempts to keep his own unprofessional feelings under wraps? Is that perhaps why, he’d thought it better to keep it a secret, lest Xie Lian was hurt? Offended? Distant?

The back of his eyes sting. Hua Cheng’s expression in the car, that lingering sense of hesitation. All that confidence suddenly turning vulnerable, and making it unbearable for Xie Lian to keep a sane head on his shoulders.

He had no choice but to run away. If he’d remained a second longer, he knows he wouldn’t have lasted. Would have broken down right then and there, and ruined whatever they still had left.

Xie Lian uselessly wipes against his cheeks, but it just doesn’t stop. The pain flares, and the burning flame in the pit of his gut threatens to consume him whole.

He doesn’t even know when he falls asleep, cheeks tear stained and heart in a million pieces.

*

Ten years ago.

“Is that yours?”

Xie Lian blinks up at him from where he’d been on his laptop, looking over at the book Hua Cheng’s pointing at. “It is,” he says, smiling, “a friend lent it to me. I didn’t really think much of it at first, but I’m surprisingly enjoying it.”

Hua Cheng stares at the cover. It’s a book he knows very well himself. “Isn’t the story a little too miserable?”

Xie Lian contemplates the question. The windows are thrown open, fresh and bright yellow flowers in a vase sitting right under them. The petals sway in the breeze, as do the curtains. Summer is slowly letting go, and embracing the coolness of the upcoming autumn, leaves browning at the edges of the trees that line the hospital’s grounds. They cast vivid shadows along the paths, and even inside this room. A splash of gentle red and bright sunlight settling upon Xie Lian’s form, his skin pink from the mild heat, his eyes bright as ever whenever Hua Cheng starts conversation.

They’re a little bewitching to look at; his eyes that is. It’s not like there’s anything special to them–a plain brown that shifts through shades of hazel and caramel depending on the way the light hits them. But there’s a clearness to them that is both unsettling and knowing. That is both too seeing, and too kind.

Hua Cheng doesn’t really know what to do, when he’s at the receiving end of it.

“Is it?”

He looks up, glancing at the other. Xie Lian’s keeping away his laptop, standing up to come over next to him, and glance down at the book. His touch is light but gentle as it caresses the edges of the book, its pages having yellowed from the years, yet the condition it’s in pristine. “What makes you say that, Hua Cheng?”

He can name a lot of things. The plot itself, for example. Of a man who endlessly keeps trying to build roads through a mountain to carve a path for his sick family, only for them to die out halfway. He continues anyways, even as the officials oppose him, the animals harm him and the people consider him crazy. The day he completes the path, the man falls to his death, and yet the path saves lives of countless more, including all those that ostracized him.

What a useless way of living.

“He spent his entire life being ridiculed, and he wasn’t even able to save the people he wanted. Yet after his death, everyone else reaps the benefits of his work, while he remained lonely and pained when he was alive,” Hua Cheng says, eventually. He remembers long fingers flipping through the pages, at times the lines of the books carrying faded tear stains. Hua Cheng would peer over the desk when he was younger, and see his mother still read this same book, over and over, as if there was a secret hidden within she couldn’t yet grasp.

“Does that make his life meaningless, then?”

He glances at Xie Lian. The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Xie Lian starts, quiet, “just because it was never acknowledged, make all that work meaningless? Some people spend their entire lives having never moved an inch out their own homes; but this man left a mark that carried out for decades.”

Hua Cheng considers the words, but he can’t feel them stick. “What was the use?” he argues, “all that, only for him to live in so much pain.”

“Was it really pain?” Xie Lian muses, “don’t you think, after losing everything, it was his own comfort the man sought?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t say anything. He can feel the other take a seat next to his bed, voice quiet. “Just think about it. Why would someone do something despite all that backlash? Isn’t it exhausting? Why not move elsewhere where you’re not reminded of these memories, where you can find a way to move on?”

Xie Lian shakes his head, “he started that path when he was desperate. With no one to go to help to, he dedicated all his time to making it happen. Once his family died, people must have come to him. Offered condolences. But in the end, the only one who could understand that pain, was the very path he kept forging over and over.”

Hua Cheng clasps his hands in his lap, picking at his own skin.

“This man found a companion in it. If only someone had given it a chance before, if only someone had waited and tried a bit more. In the end, the road understood him more than any person could; what it mean to be given up on, even before the journey began. And so, they both decided to see through the end.”

Before he can dig his finger into his palm again, a touch upon his stops him. Xie Lian’s hands while long and thin, are slightly smaller than his. Yet they seem to possess a weight of a mountain despite applying the most feather light force, pausing him in an instant. Warm and pads of them rough, settling on his fingers. “Hua Cheng,” he says, “we can lose everything, and still somehow stumble upon it all again in a different form. What does it matter, what the world says, as long as you can find a purpose like that that keeps you alive? That keeps you moving forward?”

Hua Cheng swallows thickly, unable to meet the other’s eyes. It’s like someone’s pricked apart the casing around his heart, destroying it until the organ lay bare. “What if it doesn’t work, gege?” he tries, instead, hoarse, “what if the mountain’s rocks are harder than you can work with? What if they’re rockier than you can handle?”

“Then you get a bigger axe, and you take a longer time.” Xie Lian says simply. “You wait for the rain to smoothen the hard edges, and for the heat to melt away anything else. You let the seasons change and time do its thing, as you do yours.”

Hong’er, you’d understand if you read it like me, love. Every page, is a love letter to the want to live.

“In the end, all you have to do is one thing: not give up.”

“…the results came back favorable, so we can attempt to see the range…”

“…chances…full recovery?”

“…can’t say. But, unless we try…cover all…might be…”

Hua Cheng slowly opens his eyes, adjusting to the light as he wakes up. He’d ended falling asleep when Xie Lian had taken him out in the wheelchair for some fresh air. He’s somehow back in bed, blanket pulled up and windows closed. The doctor’s near the door, talking to Xie Lian, but it seems like their conversation is already done. “Gege?”

Xie Lian glances back, his serious expression immediately transforming into something softer. “You’re awake?”

“En, is…” he glances at the doctor, “something wrong?”

“Not at all,” the man says, “in fact, I would even call it a good thing. Don’t you think, Mr. Xie?”

Xie Lian’s smile immediately tinges with nervousness. Oh no. His heart beats loudly against his chest, all of what they say back and forth muted. The doctor eventually leaves, and Xie Lian is quiet, still standing a little ways away from the bed and near the door.

“It’s something bad, isn’t?” Hua Cheng bites the bullet first, hands fisting tight in the sheets, “what, I’ll never be able to walk again? It’s something they’ve already said before though…”

“No, no,” Xie Lian hurriedly cuts off, biting the inside of his cheek, “no, Hua Cheng it’s…it’s the opposite, actually.”

That has his eyes widening, “what?”

“You’ve been showing much better progress than they expected,” Xie Lian says, hope blazing brighter than the sun in the depths of his gaze, despite his nervousness, “Hua Cheng they–they want to try working on your mobility. You might actually be able to walk again.”

*

Now.

Hua Cheng stares up at the ceiling.

Beside him his phone is open to Xie Lian’s chat still. He’s offline, and Hua Cheng himself has typed and erased a million words and more.

Hua Cheng didn’t bother checking the news or social media. It’s not like he was going to take it back. If he ends up losing a chunk of fans, then be it.

But.

His chest grows tight, curling in the sheets and watching the cursor blink. In and out, until the screen goes dark.

If he ends up losing the very person he did it all for, then he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to continue again.

*

Xie Lian stares at himself in the rearview mirror, determined.

He’d resolved himself; what was done was done, and he would have to start letting go. It might take him a bit, but as long as it didn’t interfere with work, Xie Lian would let the matter be. There’s no use in scolding Hua Cheng or asking him about any of the wild suggestions the management gave; he knew him too well.

If Hua Cheng had decided to go public, he wouldn’t take it back. Not only is he stubborn, he’s never one to go back on his words, neither go through with anything on sheer impulse alone. Even a decision made in a split second, it was almost always a guarantee the man had considered it in all possible ways before coming to it.

Hua Cheng isn’t like Xie Lian after all. Dilly dallying on something and letting it fade in the background, content with how things unfolded, even if they never changed. He’s a person who gets things done, who takes the things he wants regardless of what the world says.

Xie Lian’s hold tightens over the steering wheel, unable to hold back his smile. As exasperating as it is, as exhausting as it is. All he needs to do is deal with the management, and let Hua Cheng do his thing, as the case between them. It didn’t matter what he felt, as long as Hua Cheng was happy.

Xie Lian would do anything to protect that happiness, even if it came at the cost of his own heart.

He’s going through a few papers in one of the meeting rooms, when the door opens. Xie Lian glances up, only to freeze.

Hua Cheng’s gaze locks with his. He pauses mid-step, eyes widening when they meet his. His hair’s messily tucked back, a black cap shielding his features, but Xie Lian can still make out the dark bags under his eyes. His face looks paler than usual too. Did he have a rough night? Concern immediately fills him. “Are you okay?” Xie Lian asks.

The moment he does, it’s like some sort of tension releases out the other’s shoulders. He offers a small smile, though careful, and nods. Hua Cheng takes a seat across him, putting down his phone and a book he had on hand. On closer look, it’s the script for a variety show he’ll be guesting on in two weeks. Did he work on that then? But Hua Cheng isn’t the type to worry over that…

Oh. “Did…” Xie Lian doesn’t glance at him, looking back down at the papers, “everything go well yesterday?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Yeah,” he says, soft, “mom missed you.”

That makes his heart squeeze. Of all days to remember… “I’ll make it up to her. Take the box of peaches with you, okay?”

“You won’t be coming tonight either?”

Xie Lian swallows. Resolutely not looking up at Hua Cheng, he nods. He knows he’ll crack if he doesn’t.

But Xie Lian will eventually need to break the habit. To make this distance normal and not painful, appropriate and professional. It’s the least he owes the other. Times ticks by, and neither of them speak. He can physically feel Hua Cheng’s restlessness, before there’s the sound of pages being flipped.

Xie Lian should get the work done fast, especially considering they’re not talking, each minding their own. Yet, he’s stuck rereading the same sentences at parts, going through entire pages without comprehending anything. Xie Lian glances at the other, and finds Hua Cheng’s lips set into a line as he goes through the script, his eyes carrying none of his usual spark, his mischievous smirk missing.

He’s not sure if it’s because of him or something else. Or perhaps his beloved. Were they angry about the way Hua Cheng went about it? But how else would he? If anything, they should realize how romantic the gesture actually was. To not care of the world and only of the person they love. To put love above all concerns, above all rules and procedures and whatever else the company spouts out.

The fact he was so willing to take the risk and speak of it. The fact that he was so unwilling to keep his relationship a secret, as to cherish the person he loves from any further heartache.

Xie Lian’s hold tightens on the papers.

He knew Hua Cheng would be an incredible partner. If anything, all these above qualities are what made Xie Lian fall for him in the first place. His quiet maturity behind that playfulness. His steadfast and calm nature in the face of a storm. His resolution on his decisions, his self-assured nature turning his stubbornness into something more than just immature willfulness.

To have such a person…shouldn’t you cherish them? Commend them for their courage? Do they even know, how much effort it took him to even reach this point?

It makes his feelings sour unbelievably, the taste in his mouth bitter and repulsive. Xie Lian averts his gaze, only to gasp inaudibly as he sees the state of the paper he was holding on.

Crumpled and on the verge of ripping apart.

Before Hua Cheng can notice, he hurriedly stuffs it away, feeling embarrassment burn skin. “I’ll head out first,” he says, all but fleeing out the room, ignorant of the other’s gaze burning in his trail.

Hua Cheng has a recording later that evening, so the next time they meet is in the studio. Xie Lian doesn’t really need to be there–but it’s become too much of a habit to not be.

However, he’s not sure if that had been a good call on his end or not.

The recording is abysmal. It’s so shocking that the sound engineer actually tells Hua Cheng to take a break, unheeding to any requests for a retake as he packs up. The man glances at him. “What, trouble in paradise?” he jokes, “seems like his beloved didn’t really like the way he went about it.”

For some reason, the comment makes Xie Lian unbearably irritated. “Or it seems like the company’s too hell bent on orthodox practices as if we’re living in the ancient dynasty. It’s not a sin to love–but try saying that in a room full of superiors all damning you to hell and back for it.”

The man blinks, caught off guard. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just joking,” he says. Xie Lian blinks, realizing how he’d come off, “of course I get it. That’s why I don’t want him to push himself when he’s clearly not in his element. We all know Hua Cheng; he’s going to bounce back sooner or later.”

Right, of course.

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says, shaking his head. Wondering what’s gotten into him. “It’s just, you know how it is. Everything’s been a mess.”

“I get it,” he pats his shoulder, “especially for you, makes sense why you’re on edge. He didn’t name any names, but I’m guessing you probably already know whoever it is. Good luck in protecting the two of them, Xie Lian. Then, see you.”

The door closes shut.

Hua Cheng is still there in the booth, practicing his vocals as he sits on the stool, going over the lyrics in his hands and occasionally marking something with his pencil. Xie Lian leans back against the door, hands clasped behind me, seeing the clear fatigue build up on Hua Cheng’s face features, his demeanour.

A part of him aches. To reach forward, and hold him. To brush back the hair messily falling across his face, and take away the paper from his hand to instead slip his own in, giving it a squeeze to offer him so reassurance. To remind him to take a breather, and do anything to make that exhaustion ease up.

Xie Lian instead, turns and leaves, unable to get the words out his head, stuck like a mantra.

But I’m guessing you probably already know who it is.

*

Nine years ago.

Xie Lian feels his heart crawl up his throat.

Watching intently, as Hua Cheng’s foot shakily raises off the ground once more.

It’s been three months, since they’ve started rehab. While the first was an abysmal mess, it didn’t mean it was all hopeless. It might have to do more with Hua Cheng’s absolute refusal to give up more than anything, but he’d managed to stand on his own with support by the end of it.

Religiously following every instruction, every exercise, no matter how tiring. At times, Xie Lian’s even needed to intervene and tell him to take a break, lest he do more harm than good. As worried as he felt at times, he couldn’t also help but be relieved.

It was a far cry from the Hua Cheng he’d met, in the beginning.

They’ve been practicing small steps forward for a week. The first time he’d toppled over, and Xie Lian had been half out his mind worried he might have sprained it again. After that, he didn’t dare be negligent; watching every step for a stumble, and rushing forward to catch him before he could hit the ground. Logically, Xie Lian knows they’re surrounded by professionals all about. That they’re a lot better suited to handle it than him.

He knows.

Yet, he can’t help it. Because alongside this growing bud of hope, is a silent fear. He doesn’t want Hua Cheng to be devastated, if things don’t work out the way he wishes them to. He doesn’t want to see this boy, who’s finally managed to take his first steps into the light, lose himself into that darkness again.

Xie Lian has seen Hua Cheng on stage. Has seen the way his eyes shine, his heart presenting itself in every line delivered. His eagerness to tell the world of his stories, to share his music, to share this passion that burned brighter than the stars amongst the people on earth.

Xie Lian only ever wants, to see one person not succumb.

The pressure. The pain. The suffering, exhaustion and the turmoil. The hardships that come with being in the limelight; no place for hearts that are too soft and gentle.

He’s seen it over and over. He’s seen it countless times. Maybe it’s Xie Lian’s own heart too, that is too soft. Always letting himself be swayed by those that clearly were not meant for it, eager to shield them for as long as he could and hope they could still bloom.

But what’s not meant to work, often doesn’t. Trainee after trainee either leaving or not making it. Edges away from the finish line, each time. Xie Lian didn’t care for what the people said behind his back. He didn’t care to be labelled as a bad luck charm. As long as he could protect someone’s passion and kindle it for longer, than Xie Lian would take that title thousand times over.

He knows he shouldn’t be greedy. Shouldn’t want more than he might be able to handle. But gosh–how can he not? When watching Hua Cheng’s desolate eyes turn into something more human with each passing day has been his most rewarding experience in all his years?

Xie Lian doesn’t care if he doesn’t end up back at the company. Doesn’t even care if he’s still the same rising star as he once was.

All he wishes, is for once, the person in front did not give up, when they held the potential and more for greatness. When a passion and love for music as tender and wild as Hua Cheng’s, deserved to be heard by the world.

Perhaps that’s why, he can’t take his eyes off the other’s feet. Watching those wobbly steps, heart beating a mile a minute, body tensed and ready to catch him before he falls. To protect this fragile hope, with all he can. Absorb the impact of the fall, and let it barely affect the other.

Perhaps that’s why, he doesn’t even notice. The way one step had turned to two. Two had turned to three. Three to four, and instead of Xie Lian being the one to reach out, instead there was a voice above him, with a timbre that was deep and yet gentle. Playful yet clearly tired.

“Gege.”

Xie Lian glances up, finally taking his eyes off the ground to meet a gaze that was as limitless as the skies beyond. Dark and luminous, victorious in every sense of the word. Sweat beading all over his skin, his hair clinging at parts to his face, yet his smile so sweet and happy, Xie Lian thinks he forgets to breathe for a moment.

Hua Cheng’s gripe is pale white on the railing either side of him. But he doesn’t topple over. He doesn’t stumble. Instead, his eyes crinkle into crescents, as he tilts his head to look down and meet his eyes properly. “See?” he says, breathless, as Xie Lian’s heart soars, realization sinking in.

The moment he makes to speak, Hua Cheng’s eyes widen, and his hand slips from the sweat. Yet, there’s not a moment of panic–not when Xie Lian’s already gripping his arms tight, the other’s hand clinging hard on to Xie Lian’s elbows in relief. He laughs, happy, and distantly he can hear the physiotherapist praise Hua Cheng’s attempt, at his remarkable movement at–

“Gege, did you notice?” He says, drowning it all out, even over the sound of Xie Lian’s loud heartbeat. A clearly teasing lilt in his voice, as he drops most of his weight against Xie Lian, having long learned he’s a lot stronger than he looks. His voice tickles his ears, where he turns his head to speak.

“I’m taller than you.”

Xie Lian can’t help but laugh, instead hugging him tight, an unspeakable pride in his chest that in turn makes his eyes sting.

(And perhaps, later, when Hua Cheng is done with his dinner and medication, passed out from exhaustion and sleeping soundly, Xie Lian can’t help it. Curling over, face in his hands, and a fresh of wave of tears streaming down his face, as the very boy whose hope he’d wished to protect, somehow had become Xie Lian’s source of hope too.)

*

Now.

The next day isn’t any better. Or the day after that. Or the following ones.

Xie Lian keeps telling himself it’s for the best, but even he’s not sure anymore. Their schedules are thankfully cleared for the week; no public appearances for a while. Merely practice and recordings, making it easier for Xie Lian to let himself fade back.

He can tell Hua Cheng hates it. He can feel his gaze linger, those downturned lips at every turn down Xie Lian gives to an offer to hangout or come over. His own apartment is so achingly lonely, that at times Xie Lian even wonders if the pain of going over to the other’s would somehow be sweeter than this.

He misses Hua Cheng’s mother too. Her gentle and kind voice, whether or not she remembers him. It’s always such a delight to see her, to see Hua Cheng with her. To see the way this woman’s inherent nature still lived inside of her son, despite the state of the industry they were in. Not letting himself be tainted, even after all these years.

Perhaps that’s why, he doesn’t want to go more.

A reminder that someone else must have shared this warmth too. This feeling of family. Xie Lian wonders if that person is aware of how much of a privilege it is, to be accepted into that little circle–one that is filled with nothing but affection that runs deeper than memories, deeper than words.

Whoever it is must be very beautiful–inside and out. Someone who complimented Hua Cheng in a glance alone; that type of person would surely win the Hua Cheng’s mother’s approval.

“Mr. Xie, did that pen do something to you?”

He jerks out of it, blinking up to see a member of the A&R department. “Mr. Huo,” he greets, and the other waves him off, instead glancing behind him–

To see if Hua Cheng’s following in. Their surprises mirror on each other’s face, the room already quite a bit noisy with people from other departments having come in to discuss this or that. They both end up taking a seat at the table Xie Lian’s at. It’s a lot of surface level talk–the upcoming album, other artists–before he brings up the dreadful topic.

“Oh!” he glances at Hua Cheng, as if remembering something, “Hua Cheng, didn’t you say you were married? My god, what a sly fox! Didn’t even invite a single person!”

Hua Cheng offers a polite smile, shaking his head. “Believe me, I didn’t plan for it.”

“Oh?” he sends a wink to Hua Cheng, laughing and assuming goodness knows what. Instead, he glances at Xie Lian. “I got reminded of it when I noticed Mr. Xie’s pendant. The ring almost looks like an engagement ring. Have you ever tried it on, Mr. Xie?”

It’s like an ice cold drench of water. “No,” he says, watching Hua Cheng’s expression turn unreadable. I have, he thinks instead, you won’t even believe, how many times I have.

How many times I wished, that the perfect fit of it, just wasn’t a coincidence.

“That’s still quite the design, I think I might get something like that in the future. Where did you get it from?”

He can feel Hua Cheng’s expectant gaze. Without thinking, Xie Lian reaches up to toy with it, as he does whenever he gets nervous. “It’s a gift,” he admits, “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“No matter, no matter,” Mr. Huo waves off, “I’ll just have to put in the effort to search. But that’s quite the gift. It almost feels like a confession depending on the person you got it from. You sure they didn’t have any ulterior motives?”

Mr. Huo is just this type of person. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were long used to his teasing and questions, but considering present circumstances, the air turns unbearably awkward and heavy, only the man in the middle oblivious to it.

Xie Lian forces out a strained smile. “I don’t quite think that’s possible, Mr. Huo. They would never mean such a thing.”

Especially considering they already have someone.

Before Mr. Huo speaks, Hua Cheng beats him to it. “Why do you think that?”

The question shocks him, head snapping up to glance at him. Hua Cheng’s eyes are a myriad of emotions, flashing by too fast for him to decipher them. In an instant, he conceals his expression, Xie Lian no longer having anything to go by.

If anything, that makes the knife in his chest drive itself deeper.

Hua Cheng never hid away from him. But wasn’t it hypocritical to expect that now when Xie Lian was doing essentially the same thing? “They would never have such motives,” Xie Lian says instead, repeating his point, “neither would I. Which is why gifting something like this is something that is totally reasonable and without misunderstanding between us.”

At the words ‘neither would I’, Hua Cheng looks away, silent and contemplative. Xie Lian watches him for a beat, before returning to his work, wishing everything and everyone would just disappear.

Why did Mr. Huo have to bring it up? Isn’t it an even more humiliating reminder now, with Hua Cheng having to ask the question himself?

Did he really see through Xie Lian’s feelings? Did he want to confirm he had none? How valuable then this person must be to him, for Hua Cheng to go to such lengths. And how utterly despicable is he, to feel anything but admiration in response to such beautiful feelings.

“That makes sense,” Mr. Huo says, “but Hua Cheng, you must have a few pictures of your spouse then? Why not show it?”

Xie Lian’s ears perk up.

“I don’t want to.”

Of course.

Mr. Huo laughs, long used to Hua Cheng’s bluntness. “Okay, possessive, aren’t you? Are they that beautiful?”

He half expects Hua Cheng to shoot that down with another remark, maybe something like, ‘what’s it to you?’, but instead he says: “He is. Probably the only person worthy of being called so.”

He.

“Wow, now, look at you. Never did I think Crimson Rain would be the sappy type. A guy is it? Anyone we know?”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know him or not.”

“Ah, but you should give us something! At least tell us a little about him; what’s he like, what made you fall for him. You’re being so secretive like you’re suddenly all ashamed to even have announced it!”

Xie Lian’s tempted to slap a hand over Mr. Huo’s mouth, face palming internally.

“I’m not ashamed,” Hua Cheng’s voice is resolute, “if you’re thinking his looks made me fall for him, then that’s not it. I’m not as shallow as you are, Mr. Huo.” Mr. Huo laughs at the jab, “he’s actually the complete opposite of you; kind, polite, gentle and sweet. He says I’m stubborn, but he doesn’t realize he’s even more so than me. It’s just that his is a lot quieter. As long as he puts his mind to it, he won’t ever give up–I think that might be what finally did me in.”

Mr. Huo stares at Hua Cheng in genuine astonishment. After a moment, a smile unfurls on his face, no longer teasing, but sincere. “Well then,” he says, patting him on the back, “I can only wish the two of you a happy ever after.”

Hua Cheng makes to thanks him, only to swallow back his words as the chair scrapes harshly against the floor. Xie Lian doesn’t speak a word, gathering his things, and leaving the room.

*

Eight years ago.

It’s exactly one year after they’ve met, that Hua Cheng tells him.

Xie Lian hadn’t wanted to bring it up, considering the other didn’t want to speak of it. It seemed like a private matter, so he’d let it be. “The caretaker’s for my mother,” he admits, when Xie Lian’s helping with his monthly finances, quiet as he watches him skim through it.

It was something he didn’t want to ask, lest it dredge up bad memories during an already bad time. Why, that despite Hua Cheng’s mother listed as his sole guardian, alive and well, she never came to see her son.

He can feel Hua Cheng’s nervousness. Jittery almost, as he sits next to him, knees bumping against each other on the small sofa, shoulders near touching. Hua Cheng’s walking has improved, but it’s not to the point he can walk without support for long distances. He’s been improving well though. Day by day, bit by bit. Already uploading snippets of songs and lyrics on his social media, his fans eagerly awaiting for the day he might make a full actual comeback.

Xie Lian heartily considers himself one of them.

He glances at the other, finding him nearer than he’d realized. Hua Cheng’s leaning close, eyes meeting his, dark and anticipating, as though watching Xie Lian’s reaction closely. He smells like medicine most of the time, but ever since he’s been getting out of bed, he tries to cover it up with light cologne. It’s tinged in his scent, this close.

“She still lives in our old town so she can’t come.“

“Do you miss her?”

They speak at the same time, eyes widening before they end up laughing. Hua Cheng leans his head against Xie Lian’s shoulder, shifting down further on the sofa. Xie Lian reaches up, fingers tangling in his soft dark strands, and straightening them out gently, his nails occasionally dragging against his scalp. Hua Cheng’s eyes flutter shut, his body pressing against Xie Lian’s side, warm.

“I do.”

“Hmm?”

“I do miss her,” Hua Cheng says, opening his eyes halfway. He fidgets, drawing a deep breath in. “Everyone knows her in the town, so I can be rest assured. A caretaker is still a stranger, so at least I know that if there’s something beyond their control, our neighbours are there. I lost my dad when I was pretty young, and the whole grief and stress eventually got to her; she was horrible at taking care of herself. Even now, she’d rather fuss over me than look out for herself. I needed to make sure someone did when I was away.”

Xie Lian listens attentively. “Do you take after her?”

“Yeah,” Hua Cheng laughs, “people call us a carbon copy. I don’t really have pictures, but she always felt happy when someone said that.”

Xie Lian smiles, “funnily enough, I look exactly like my mom too. My dad used to get teased a lot.”

“Hmm, then gege’s mother must be very pretty?”

“Is that saying I’m pretty?” Xie Lian laughs, amused greatly, “than your mother must be very beautiful too.”

“Gege thinks I’m beautiful?” Hua Cheng says, glancing up at him, smile turning sharp, “how come you never told me? Not only that, I’m taller than you too. Didn’t you also say I have a great voice?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” Xie Lian feels his cheeks pink, nudging him away, “don’t tease me. If you want, I can arrange for you to meet her. I’ll be there to help you out, so you wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

“Not now,” Hua Cheng says, sitting straighter, looking down at his hands, “once I’m able to fully walk properly, then.”

Xie Lian doesn’t question it.

Its a couple weeks later, when it finally happens.

Xie Lian had imagined he’d be the one most nervous, yet surprisingly it’s Hua Cheng instead. He’s quiet, talking less and less as they reach, almost as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Xie Lian can’t fully understand why, so he tries his best instead to comfort him.

The house they reach is quaint and lovely. There’s a birdcage in the front, and the front yard is well maintained. Hua Cheng tells him it’s because of their neighbour, a kind man that  helped them out ever since Hua Cheng’s father had passed away. He points to the row of flowers, telling him of the time he planted it with his mother when he was younger. The scribble carved on the wall that had him at the receiving end of a scolding.

Xie Lian watches his expression–the softness, the warmth and the unmistakable hint of genuine love in every memory.

For the first time, Hua Cheng looks his age, when he excitedly tells Xie Lian he’ll take him to try out a diner well known in the town. Xie Lian agrees, and after all this stalling, Hua Cheng presses the doorbell.

The door opens to a woman, dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail, dressed in a soft shirt and slacks. Despite her age, she looks incredibly young, her voice kind as she greets the two of them. Hua Cheng is truly a splitting image of her–the same eyes, the nose, the smile.

When she sees her son and Xie Lian, she opens the door wider. “You two are…?”

Hua Cheng’s hold on his hand tightens. “I’m your son, Hua Cheng,” he says, quiet, and she blinks, “and this is my new manager, Xie Lian.”

Immediately, different emotions flit across her face in rapid succession. “Oh,” she says, soft and guilty, reaching forward to place a hand to Hua Cheng’s cheek, “yes, yes, I–I’m so sorry, my dear. I read it, I just woke up a bit ago so I knew I was missing something, I just didn’t check the pictures–“

“It’s okay,” he says. Hua Cheng doesn’t show a shred of annoyance, anger or hurt. Instead, his eyes are filled with love and understanding. Xie Lian can’t take his eyes off of him. “Shall we step inside?”

“Oh yes!” she catches herself, glancing at Xie Lian as the two step inside. Her gaze is kind when she meets his. Xie Lian hands over the bag of gifts he brought for her, held in his other hand, and she tells him he didn’t need to despite the smile on her face.

The house is clean, the caretaker a young woman named Ruonan. She greets them too, already familiar with Hua Cheng. “And this is–“

“Xie Lian,” she completes, making him blink in surprise. Xie Lian avoids his gaze, as his mother steps back in. “I know.”

“How–“

“Both of you take a seat, I made tea. Xiao-Lian, I remember it said you enjoyed my biscuits, didn’t you? San Lang, come on, give him space to sit.”

He nods, thanking her. He can feel Hua Cheng’s gaze on him, making his ears burn. His mother places the tray on the coffee table, all four of them taking a seat. “Xie-gege comes over often, more than you do gege,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Hua Cheng, “I get that you’re sick right now, but even before that you barely visited. Isn’t this karma?”

Xie Lian coughs, as Hua Cheng turns to look at him. He peeks at the other’s expression, feeling nervous as he can’t read the emotion in his eyes. He’s waiting for the question–

But it never comes. No, instead, Hua Cheng speaks to his mother, and the mood eases up. She insists to stay for lunch, Ruonan needing to head to her class. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng end up helping her instead, even as she tries to shoo them away.

The house has keepsakes of Hua Cheng almost everywhere. His baby pictures on the fridge, his achievements on the wall. There’s the vase he got her back when he was still in school, the mugs he used to make and paint on his own for mother’s day everywhere. There’s sticky notes to each one, and she reads and recalls them, bragging to Xie Lian until Hua Cheng is red in the face and dragging his mother away.

“Why?” he laughs, “it’s cute.”

“I’m flattered gege thinks so, but I’d prefer to leave that label behind,” he says, grumbling. They’re standing side by side near the sink. Every time Xie Lian glances over, it feels surreal to have to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. He still remembers the other’s tease of being taller. He’s just glad that Hua Cheng doesn’t seem upset that Xie Lian went behind his back.

Lunch goes smoothly. Hua Cheng gives his mother her medication, and Xie Lian gives them a bit of privacy, instead sitting in the living room. There’s Hua Cheng’s first guitar in one corner, and there’s his albums stacked in a case. It’s when he’s looking over it all, does he feel the other near him.

For a moment, they don’t speak.

Xie Lian fidgets, swallowing. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” he says, before the other can, “I came here because I thought no one might have told her and you would like the moral support. They said you’re close to your mom. But after coming and finding out, I didn’t know whether it would be okay or you’d feel like I had crossed the line.”

Xie Lian licks his lips, wondering why he’s not saying anything or interrupting. “I umm,” he continues, “I lost my parents when I was a teenager, so seeing parents alone always gets to me. I know you’re probably looking after her and she has Ruonan and everyone else. But I just thought it would feel like one thing less on your plate if you knew someone else beside you was willing to look after her. Her being so nice is only a plus.”

“I’m sorry–“

“Gege,” Hua Cheng stops him, making him finally look at the other. Instead of a frown, he finds the other smiling, amused as if he finds him particularly adorable. It makes Xie Lian pink, heart skipping a beat in his chest as he leans near, resting his forehead against his. Hua Cheng’s eyes close, his lashes casting gentle shadows where they touch skin. “Gege you really…stop apologizing.”

“But–“

“I said stop,” Hua Cheng argues, and he does. “Thank you.”

Xie Lian blinks, not expecting that. It feels like a breath of relief, hearing the words. “It was nothing” he says, leaning back. Hua Cheng watches him intently. Xie Lian grins, “in fact, I got to see San Lang’s adorable childhood mementos. What could be better?”

Hua Cheng groans, but his skin tints red, painting his skin like a fresh bloom of flowers. “This isn’t fair, I want to see yours too. I bet gege was the cutest kid.”

“Too bad, Hua Cheng–“

“San Lang.”

“Huh?”

Hua Cheng removes his hands, glancing at him. His eyes dark, yet filled with something so deeply sweet it disarms all his guards instantly. “Just call me San Lang. It’s my nickname. Only those closest to me know.”

At those words, Xie Lian feels something…

He’s not sure how to name it. It’s a bit complicated. A bit gentle. A bit soft. And yet, intense. Like it overtakes all his senses all at once. Xie Lian smiles, “okay, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes flicker, beautifully bright and intoxicatingly deep.

*

Now.

Xie smacks himself on the head for the nth time.

He feels so utterly juvenile. Why did he have to go and make such a scene? Wasn’t he trying to give up on his feelings and move on?

But how can I move on so fast?

The feeling in his chest is so tight. Stinging behind his eyes as he pressed his head against the dining table in his living room, hoping the cold of it can cool him down. Yet, nothing does. The heat in his gut is simmering and boiling over. Waves of nothing but intense jealousy recalling Hua Cheng’s expression as he spoke each word. That surety, that confidence and that tone.

So wholly taken. Affectionate beyond words. Xie Lian had stupidly imagined all these years then–thinking that soft switch of his voice belonged to only a few people to hear; his mother, Xie Lian and Ruonan. He couldn’t deny how special it made him feel–to have this part of him all to himself. To have a part of Hua Cheng people would never glimpse or see.

Why do you think that?

The question burns him. Doesn’t dare leave his mind. All of Hua Cheng’s words coming back in a relentless barrage until his heart is battered and bleeding, unable to stop the tears from falling as he forgoes any sense of control.

Xie Lian is the one in wrong, after all. How could he even think anything would come out of this? It was only him all this time–watching Hua Cheng from the distance, watching him slowly bud and grow under the spotlight. Dazzling and bright, sharp and bold, only to home a heart that was forged under trials and circumstances no one knew.

For such a young child to have such heavy burdens placed on his shoulders. For such a young man have such a weight and expectation thrust upon him. Dreams that seemed to shatter, but he painstakingly glued them back together, not once giving up.

Forget Xie Lian, anyone would have fallen for him. The whole world’s in love with him. Why did he think, that one day, all these parts of Hua Cheng that he’d been privy to would cumulate into something more? Wasn’t that selfish, wishful thinking?

It’s then his phone buzzes. He pushes down his disappointment when he sees the name on the screen.

The message on screen makes his mood sour even further, switching off his phone altogether and throwing it far away.

*

Four Years Ago

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, again. His voice is fond and exasperated. “Gege, won’t you look at me?”

Xie Lian slowly peels his face off from the table, opening his eyes to see the figure beside him. Dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, dressed down in a mere red t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Hua Cheng brushes away the hair sticking to his face with his hands, his palms cool compared to the heat on Xie Lian’s skin. He instinctively leans into it, making Hua Cheng’s gaze sweeten irrevocably. “Gege, why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t wanna’ trouble you,” he murmurs. Hua Cheng hums, taking the wet towel he’d brought and gently wiping his face. It’s a sensation that provides immense relief, even as his body aches from the fever. “How’s Auntie?”

“She misses you,” he says, which makes his heart pang. “Even if she doesn’t remember. She still made three servings. I called over Ruonan, so she’ll be with her for a few days.”

“Why?” Hua Cheng puts away the towel, instead making him lean his head against him. Xie Lian does easy, Hua Cheng’s steady breathing and heartbeat a sound that soothes his senses. The scent of him like this, so close, makes a feeling of safety curl around his own heart. “You should be with her.”

“Hmm, I will be,” Hua Cheng combs through the knots in his hair, slowly detangling them, “I’ll bring gege too. For now, I should be with you.”

The words make his heart skip. How much he aches for them to be the same. How much he aches for them to last. Mean themselves, in the way he wishes them to mean.

After Hua Cheng’s done combing his hair, he forces him to eat, before making him take his meds. Xie Lian whines through it all, and Hua Cheng merely laughs as he doesn’t indulge him, stern as he pushes through.

“You should have told me you weren’t feeling well,” Hua Cheng sighs, sitting next to him on the bed, Xie Lian laying down. While the ache in his body lingers, and he still feels like he got run over by a car thrice, it’s marginally better. Xie Lian blinks up at Hua Cheng, his features bathed in the golden glow of the small bedside lamp, barely illuminating him. “I want to be there for you too.”

Xie Lian smiles, sinking into the pillow. He reaches out a hand, and Hua Cheng takes it easily, somehow drowning his in his hold. Oddly enough, it makes him think back to when they first met–how frail Hua Cheng’s touch used to be. How thin his hands had become.

Even now, he’s grown up so much, filling up into the person he always wanted to be; taller, broader, stronger and so much brighter. “San Lang.”

“Yes, gege?”

“Thank you.”

“If I said that for everything I was grateful for, we’d be here forever,” Hua Cheng chuckles, “there’s no need for thank you or sorry between us. You know that already.”

Xie Lian does. But maybe it’s this fever. Maybe it’s being cared for like this, after such a long time. After his parents, Xie Lian had grown accustomed to being by himself, to relying on himself for everything. Perhaps they’re similar in that regard. He can feel Hua Cheng’s other hand slowly tug at his collar, his finger fiddling with a chain.

It’s quiet for a bit.

“You still wear it?”

“Hmm.”

“Isn’t it old?”

“Does it look old?” Xie Lian counters, eyes drooping, watching the myriad of emotions flitting across Hua Cheng’s face. “You blew away your paychecks for this, do you remember? I kept telling you to return it because it was too expensive.”

“And I kept telling you to stop scolding me and see whether you like it or not,” Hua Cheng says, making them both laugh. He lets go of the pendant, the ring settling down, and Hua Cheng instead shifting off the bed to kneel beside it, still holding his hand as he laid his head atop the mattress. Xie Lian finds him incredibly cute, unable to tamp down his smile.

The fever feels like it’s burning everything. Yet, there’s a small solace right here, tethering him. He’s pretty sure he’s not going to remember most of this, too tired and brain already lagging to keep up. Hua Cheng gazes at him, content and quiet, although concern still dotting his features.

“Tell me when you get tired, or sick,” he says. Patting down his hair in a lulling motion. It makes him drowsier, the medicine slowly taking effect. “Tell me when you get hurt. When you need help. When you need anything at all.”

“Sounding so dependable, aren’t you,” he teases, and Hua Cheng smiles.

“I want to,” he says, even as there’s colour in his cheeks too. The reply is so earnest it makes Xie Lian flush even further than he already is. Hua Cheng unabashed to say such words so freely. “I want to know gege’s everything. I want to be there for everything, just like you were for me.”

Xie Lian can only stare at him, cherishing this moment. Soaking in all these emotions, until they remain.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, just as his eyes droop close, “I’ll become the best of them, at a place where I can do what I want without worries for anything else.”

Isn’t that how you are already?

“So please wait for me, okay? Don’t be swayed by anyone or anything else. Gege, I already…” there’s a beat of silence. Xie Lian’s breathing slowly evening out. Hua Cheng’s breath lingers in the air between them, before there’s a soft pressure against his forehead, fleeting and yet scalding. “I already gave you my heart. You can’t be anyone else’s. You can’t. I…I’ll be here. I’ll get stronger. I’ll get better. I’ll take care of gege, for the rest of my life.”

Xie Lian’s long asleep, breathing soft, occasionally letting out a small groans of pain as his body aches. Hua Cheng doesn’t leave. He doesn’t stray. He remains there all night, attuned to every sound and expression, ready to step in if he needs it.

It’s not a memory that clearly remains with him. It buzzes in his mind, at the back of it, distant.

*

Now.

Hua Cheng feels miserable.

It has officially been the worst week of his life. It’s so bad he’s contemplating never leaving his house again. Xie Lian’s barely been talking to him outside of work, and he hasn’t come over even once. It’s like Hua Cheng’s heart’s been smashed into pieces by a giant hammer.

He’s at such rock bottom, he accepts Yin Yu’s suggestion to grab a drink when he’s back in the country, surprising them both; usually, Yin Yu only asks as a formality, and Hua Cheng declines because Xie Lian doesn’t like the smell of alcohol. Unless there’s a business dinner, he never drinks.

So now they’re both here, in a bar they frequent, drinking. It’s quiet, a little talk about what they’re doing, before the other bites the bullet. “So?” he asks, “when did you do it?”

Hua Cheng is sadly staring at the glass of beer, remembering the beautiful hue of Xie Lian’s eyes under the tempering lights of a restaurants that far outshines the ugly colour of the liquid before him. “Do what?”

“The wedding?”

“I’m not married,” he grunts, making Yin Yu stare.

“Then…?”

“I wanted to be,” he grumbles, dissolving further in his seat. “I did. I just–It didn’t pan out.”

Yin Yu stares in immense confusion. His eyes are dark enough they something look a deep shade of purple, often unnerving and all too-seeing paired with his quiet demeanour. He seems to be thinking very hard. Maybe it’s the jet lag? Hua Cheng chugs down the glass of beer, and orders another one. “I’m sorry–wait what? Didn’t you and Xie Lian get married? Isn’t that why you said all that?”

Hua Cheng all but glares at him, as the man before him rubs salt in the wound. “That’s what I wished happened,” he all but snaps, “but it turns out I just fucked everything up and I don’t even know how to fix it!”

Yin Yu seems to be having an epiphany. “Oh my god,” he says under his breath, before speaking louder, “you–does Xie Lian know you were talking about him?!”

“Of course I was talking about him, who else would I be talking about?!” he’s almost on the verge of hysteria, face in his hands, “I was waiting for him to ask me who it was the moment I went back in–and then I’d tell him it was him, and I even had flowers prepared and a reservation at a restaurant–“

“But he didn’t ask, and you didn’t say anything?”

“He hates me,” Hua Cheng’s drink comes in, and he immediately chugs that down too, much to the shock of the waiter and Yin Yu. Hua Cheng doesn’t even care. He’s got a great tolerance. He’ll survive. The world might be a little blurry but maybe those are the tears his heart was never able to shed. “He–Yin Yu he doesn’t even want to look at me. I read it all wrong I–“

“Or you know, he read it all wrong,” Yin Yu murmurs, deflating in his chair like he’s having the most laborious time of his life. “I messaged him yesterday asking how the wedding was, and he left me on read, which was rare of him. No wonder; he probably thinks you got married and he’s the last person to know. You know, the very man who spends most of his time with you. Gosh I–he probably felt horrible thinking I knew and he didn’t.”

Hua Cheng’s about to rebuke him and ask why he even needs to text Xie Lian in the first place when it’s as though someone’s knocked a ginormous gong in his head, ringing with such devastatingly loud clarity he’s shaken to his core.

Wait a second.

“You two are so obvious, I thought you finally figured things out and saved us from the suffering but no,” Yin Yu’s expression barely shifts, yet he radiates immense waves of disappointment, “you probably broke his heart, Hua Cheng.”

Broke his heart.

“Not only that, but he probably feels betrayed too. How did you not consider this?”

How did I not consider this?

Isn’t because Hua Cheng thought the same? Wasn’t he obvious? But the words ring in his head. A sinking feeling of dread spreading through him as he thinks back to everything last week and–

I don’t quite think that’s possible, Mr. Huo. They would never mean such a thing.

Because he thought Hua Cheng was seeing someone else. He thought Hua Cheng was married to someone else.

He’s winded by his own stupidity. Seeing the crashing realization Hua Cheng’s going through, Yin Yu stands up, ready to leave. “Come on, let’s head out.”

But he doesn’t budge. He’s frozen. His hands slightly shaking. How did he manage to mess up this bad?

“If you’re not coming I’m leaving.”

Yin Yu tries a couple more times. Hua Cheng instead drinks his beer like it’s water. After many unsuccessful attempts, he leaves, stepping out as he shakes his head. He clicks a picture though, just before getting a cab for himself. Sending it and pressing send on the message. “You’re not even going to thank me for this,” he mutters, pocketing his phone and leaving.

Xie Lian glances at the time, cursing himself for leaving his phone on silent. It’s been an hour since the message, and he’s only reaching the bar now, so glad it’s the one their company’s artists use regularly. Any other, and Hua Cheng’s name would have been everywhere by now.

He quickly parks, calling Hua Cheng for the nth time to no avail. His phone must be dead. He opens the door, eyes frantically searching about in the near empty bar, and meeting eyes of the very tired but very happy bartender. “Oh thank goodness!” she exclaims, “it’s almost closing time; we were worried how to deal with him if he didn’t leave by then. Don’t worry, Lisa stopped serving drinks a little bit ago.”

Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How much was he drinking for them to do that? But he’s still immensely grateful, immediately walking over. Glad to be done, the bartender immediately heads back to change, leaving only the two of them out here.

Hua Cheng’s slumped over the counter, head pillowed in his arms, staring off into nothing. His hoodie’s pulled up, only his face visible when he rounds to come in front of him. Xie Lian breathes a sigh of relief, wondering what spurred this on. He gently shakes him. “San Lang,” he says, “come on.”

It then, his eyes finally shift up to meet his.

The moment they do, Xie Lian resists the urge to gasp.

Hua Cheng’s eyes have always been enchanting; the delicate and sharp shape of them, the unrelenting nature of his gaze one of his most favorite parts about him.

But right now, they carry a sheen of intoxication, and beyond that, a layer of vulnerability so thin, a breath could shatter it apart. Hopeful and delicate, the moment he sees Xie Lian in front of him. His expression twists; from blankness to something desperate and sad, a hand shooting out immediately to grab Xie Lian’s wrist. Not tight–never too tight–but enough.

“Gege?” he whispers, “gege I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.”

Xie Lian’s heart breaks. “No, no, I’m not leaving,” he tries, uselessly, as Hua Cheng still stares at him in that lost expression of his. Hopeful and hopeless somehow at the same time. It’s the same as it way all those years ago, something he never wants to see on his face again. “Oh San Lang you…” he suddenly feels guilty. “I’m not running away from you. I promise.”

That seems to sate him a little. He still stares at Xie Lian like he’s a mirage on the verge of dissipation, but Xie Lian manages to get him to the car. Hua Cheng rarely ever drinks, and if he does, then he usually stays over at Xie Lian’s, not wanting to see his mother like this considering there’s no guarantee she might remember who he is or not–last thing he’d want is scaring her.

The air is strange. It’s been a week since Xie Lian’s gone over after all. He’d imagined Hua Cheng would have stopped asking, but he hadn’t, not for a single day.

When they arrive at Xie Lian’s, he heads into the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Hua Cheng ends up on Xie Lian’s sofa, quiet ever since they left the bar. “San Lang,” he says, sitting across him, “drink, then change and go to sleep, okay? I’ll lay out something for you to wear.”

Hua Cheng nods, obediently taking the glass of water. Xie Lian’s closet has a few of the other’s clothes already, so he takes them out, heading in to change himself and finish up his night routine. By the time he steps back into his bedroom, Hua Cheng is already sitting on his bed, changed and evidently sleepy. Despite the situation, it makes him smile.

Xie Lian settles across him. Somehow, the air grows lighter without them doing anything at all. Hua Cheng’s head bowed, eyes distant as he stares down at his hands. Xie Lian places his own in his to distract him.

Hua Cheng doesn’t look up. Instead, he closes his hands around his, thumb grazing the skin. The pads of his fingers rough from using the guitar, the touch making Xie Lian’s skin heat.

It’s unbearably intimate.

He should pull away. After all, Hua Cheng’s drunk. And he already has someone.

But Xie Lian doesn’t.

“Gege.”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

Xie Lian could play dumb and ask about what. But he knows already. The dread growing larger and larger in the pit of his stomach. The fear–what if it’s someone I know? Wouldn’t that be even worse?

“There’s nothing to ask.”

Hua Cheng flinches at the words, like he’s been burned. Xie Lian’s heart prickles all over in pain.

“I…” he licks his lips, glancing up at him. Eyes glassy still, leaning in close so they’re barely breaths apart. “Gege I’m not married.”

Xie Lian’s eyes widen.

“I want to be, but I haven’t asked them yet,” he admits, watching him with rapt attention, speaking in a whisper like he’s sharing a secret. He doesn’t let go of Xie Lian’s hand. Their knees press against each other’s from where they’re both sitting cross-legged. Hua Cheng’s warmth is different from his own. It’s milder, despite his personality being the opposite. In a way, it’s colder.

Thawing, only for a few. Seeping in the space in between, and touching everything it can, bit by bit.

I haven’t asked them yet.

Xie Lian’s heart pounds. Hua Cheng leans closer, resting his head against Xie Lian’s shoulder. He feels warm. Too warm. Too many thoughts and feelings flitting through him all at once. He wants to close his eyes. He wants to savour this moment. He wants to savour Hua Cheng, and his proximity, and this temperamental warmth all for himself.

Don’t tell me.

“I’m so scared, gege.”

I don’t want to hear it.

“What if they say no?”

I don’t want to know.

“They won’t,” Xie Lian comforts, regardless. Leaning his head against the other. “San Lang, they won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m sure of you,” he answers simply. Hua Cheng draws a deep breath in, burying his face against Xie Lian’s neck. This heat, this touch…it’s like he’s being tortured with everything he wants so much, in his hands but not his to own.

“Then gege,” he says, “when I get rejected tomorrow, you’ll be holding me, won’t you?”

It makes him laugh. “You won’t, but okay, San Lang. I will.”

“You won’t leave?”

“No, not at all.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t say anything for a long while. It seems like he’s content in staying like this. Xie Lian knows this isn’t a position they can be in all night, so he coaxes him to lay down, watching him plop on the bed and stare at him, eyes misty. Xie Lian places the medicine on the table, and a bottle of water, only to glance back and find him still staring.

“What is it?”

Hua Cheng shakes his head, murmuring something he doesn’t quite catch. Xie Lian blinks, leaning down and asking him to repeat, not catching it until he finally does, as the other drifts off. “I loved a flower for a long time…all by myself. But the flower doesn’t know…What should…I do...gege…”

It leaves him stumped, staring at the other, feeling heat spread against his skin, a complicated rush of feelings in his chest.

(He ends up visiting Hua Cheng’s mother, after making sure Hua Cheng’s asleep. It’s one of those days where she remembers, happy to see him. Him, Ruonan and Hua Cheng’s mother talk for a long, long while. Xie Lian finds his eyes catch on to every little trinket that became an addition due to him–the mugs, the frames, the throw blanket, the magnets, a cute themed bowl, a hundred things more–and imagines them all being replaced, one day.

It’s a thought that hurts unbearably.

And it’s also a thought, he flicks away just as fast.

At every corner. At every place. Xie Lian embedded into each part of Hua Cheng’s life, like a flower taking bloom in a well-loved garden, its roots far deeper than it’s stalk.

Maybe that’s why, when he leaves, he hugs Hua Cheng’s mother extra long, and extra tight. Remembering this warmth, for as long as he can.)

*

The next morning, Xie Lian’s eyes end up opening a lot earlier than he’d set his alarm. He sits up slowly, stretching his limbs. He’d ended up sleeping in the guestroom, too exhausted to care after driving back from Hua Cheng’s apartment.

The sun’s barely up. Blues slipping between the curtains everywhere. Xie Lian washes up, stepping into his own bedroom, before finally glancing at the lump under his blankets.

Hua Cheng’s fast asleep–probably will be for a while considering how much he drank. Xie Lian takes a seat next to him, unable to stop himself from brushing back his hair. It’s incredibly soft, the scent that clings to him the same as Xie Lian’s. Xie Lian should pull back.

Instead, he lets his touch wander. There’s a scar that remains still from his stitches, covered by his hair most of the time. Right near his hairline, a curved line from where he’d banged it against the corner of the stage while falling, faded but there.

Xie Lian thumbs the uneven skin. Watches Hua Cheng’s slow breathing. His lips parted, his expression serene despite his eye bags, oblivious to the world. Xie Lian’s heart bubbles. He’s unsure how to name it. Like soft fuzz exposed under gentle sunlight, shimmering and swaying in the morning breeze.

Xie Lian’s thumb grazes against the skin right beneath his eyes. A slow back and forth, lingering at beats to savour him–to savour this moment.

I loved a flower for a long time.

The recollection of words makes heat spread across his skin. Heart beat loud enough to drown out rational arguments. There’s both hope and the absence of it, kind of similar to what Hua Cheng seemed to be feeling the night before.

What do you mean?

He wants to ask–wanted to, last night. Shake him awake out of his drunken stupor and make him spell it out. Xie Lian is good at deducting things. Reading between the lines. Quickly connecting dots, and making sense of things a lot faster than most other people.

Except for when it comes to himself.

It’s like anything that has to do with him in relation to Hua Cheng is a fog. Tainted by his feelings, needing him to brush away the mist to separate reality from delusion.

Xie Lian sits in the living room. Going through his phone, scrolling through twitter. Ever since the interview, speculations have been wild. Fans of all ships clamoring forth to present their evidence in entertaining threads now that he reads them–one about Hua Cheng and Yin Yu nearly brings tears to his eyes.

Yet, there’s a certain tag, he wants to avoid.

Considering Xie Lian’s been Hua Cheng’s manager for close to ten years now, there’s no surprise the fans who’ve been with Hua Cheng have grown to know him too. From Hua Cheng’s words, his talks with him behind the camera, his mentions of him during shows. Xie Lian’s appearances at every schedule, his very limited but decent enough Instagram sometimes offering a peak or two.

So it’s inevitable really. To see his name there in the fan community.

Hualian_BAR just posted: Why I think ya’ll are ALL wrong and Hualian are the real answer - a thread [WITH ACTUAL GODDAMN PROOF]

Xie Lian doesn’t realize the melancholic edge his gaze takes, clicking and opening it.

We know that Fafa is a very reserved guy. Tbh despite all those delulus and stalker fans we still didn’t even know he lived in one of the most expensive apartments in the country until he showed us on live. we barely know anything of his past or family, or even who his friends are. And I love that! Fafa loves music, and we love him and his music, so we’re here.

Xie Lian feels touched on Hua Cheng’s behalf. This fan seems to be a genuine one.

Ill drop the pics and evidence down, but like think about it. For a reserved guy he NEVER holds back on talking about his manager gege. Never shuts up about him. Heck it’s a meme on here! (and I totally get it like have yall seen xie lian fafa if you’re not taking him I will) and do yall SEE how well they care for each other??

Xie Lian laughs at that. Scrolling and reading, only to find himself surprised at things they point out.

His second full album–the one where they finally gave him full creative control. The flower imagery, the theme of a soft blossom, resilient across seasons. It’s also the only album in his entire discography that focuses on romantic love. Remember what he’d said when they asked who inspired him for the album?

Xie Lian pauses.

It’s been years. But Xie Lian instantly remembers anyways. It’s just as they said–it’s the only album in Hua Cheng’s discography where he talked about romantic love. He remembers it even more because Hua Cheng was particularly clingy; asking him for help in writing, asking him for help in ideas. Xie Lian and him had even gone around to popular date spots to “study” only to end up forgetting the whole reason each time, too lost in enjoying the time together.

This album? It’s for my manager.

He remembers the way the panel had laughed, brushing it off as a joke. The way his own heart has skipped even as he’d scolded him to no avail. Even when Xie Lian had asked, he’d only ever admitted the same, playful and voice a tad too sincere.

But did he actually…

And THEN my fellow brothers and sisters, we have the fact that HUA CHENG PROCEEDS TO GIFT A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS TO HIM EVERYWHERE, WITHOUT FAIL, ON HIS BIRTHDAY. Might not be strange? Well maybe, if it weren’t the only gift he posts about. Then there’s his description for an ideal type–

Xie Lian hears the blood rush through his ears, heart pounding.

Then there’s the fact he’d shot down the people asking for his manager’s hand in marriage in that one livestream with such coldness even the alps would be put to shame–

No way. But the match has been lit, the sparks already spreading.

And are we FORGETTING?? THEY WEAR MATCHING RINGS?? Xie lian and his pendant, Hua Cheng and the ring customized to be an earring?

The silver under his clothes feels hot enough to sear to how aware he is of it, switching off his phone as he finishes the thread and throws it atop the sofa cushions.

And guys. GUYS. Xie lian’s emoji–as set by fafa HIMSELF on every post–is a fucking flower. Are we going to ignore the story he uploaded of that lyric the morning of the interview??

Xie Lian stares down at his hands, calming his nerves, breathing in. Even then, when he buries his face in his hands, they’re shaking the slightest bit.

Hua Cheng’s words from last night plagued him every moment after he’d uttered them. Haunted him with their implications.

In fact, for just the slightest second, Xie Lian had felt something that was so blindingly possessive, nothing short of white hot jealousy like the hottest embers in the depths of a volcano.

How could he not?

It didn’t matter if it was childish. Irrational. In all his time in the past ten years, Xie Lian had grown to adore that nickname the fans and Hua Cheng gave him. A flower that refused to bend, he’d joked once while drunk, gege’s as good-looking as one too.

The smallest chance, that someone else could even be considered for the name–

How I ache for the flower, how my flower aches for me.

The fucking lyric.

Everything. It crashes at him at once, making him feel like a world class idiot.

Gege, don’t leave.

Goodness. He laughs, feeling his eyes sting, the burn in his nose unmistakable. You’re such a handful, aren’t you San Lang?

Hua Cheng wakes up, to the sight of Xie Lian already having washed up and eating breakfast, perched on a seat near the kitchen counter.

It’s not something he’s seeing for the first time. Xie Lian dressed down, hair messily pulled into a bun, his t-shirt oversized and shorts loose and airy so he’s at his most comfortable at home. The lack of any mask they wear in public–stripped bare to his simplest self.

But something about this image now, makes his stomach swoop, his heart race.

Hua Cheng’s head still throbs a bit, the medicine slow to take effect. He’d brushed his teeth extra hard and rubbed himself raw in the shower to make sure there was no lingering scent of alcohol. Last night is nothing but puzzle pieces scattered apart in his mind; he doesn’t remember everything, but he remembers this resolve.

And yet.

He hesitates. Nervous. Scared. Watching Xie Lian get up and place away his plate in the sink, start up the tap water to wash them off. Hua Cheng’s eyes catch sight of the silver chain around the other’s neck, and somehow his feet move, closing the distance in an instance.

Before the other can notice him, he’s already there, just as Xie Lian puts away the dishes. Hua Cheng doesn’t let him turn around. He’s too nervous to see the expression on the other’s face. Instead, he curls his arms around the other’s waist, hugging Xie Lian to his chest, leaning down to bury his head against his hair. He can feel Xie Lian let out a squeak of surprise, suppressing the urge to smile at the sound, when his own heart is threatening to hammer out his chest.

Speak.

“San Lang?”

Tell him. Tell him of all the words you kept hidden, for these ten long years. Tell him about every moment, from the time you fell in love, to all the times you kept falling over and over.

“How do you feel?”

Xie Lian’s hand comes to rest atop his own, where they’re against Xie Lian’s abdomen. Trembling the slightest bit, breathing a little uneven.

Tell him. Tell him how much you want him. How much you need him. How much he means to you.

“Hey,” Xie Lian says, soft, thumb rubbing over the skin of his knuckles, the other hand coming up to comb through his strands. “What happened?”

Tell him. Tell him and end this misunderstanding. Tell him and end both your torture. It’s so obvious, Hua Cheng. Just open your mouth, and speak.

All of a sudden, it’s like he’s swallowed sand. A thousand words competing for space to be spoken first, overwhelming in their barrage. This isn’t how he planned it. Not how he imagined it. Feeling his chest constrict as years upon years of memories flit in his head, each with their own set of emotions before his heart is an overflowing organ that has no space to grow anymore. That feels it may shatter apart at any moment.

“Is it because of last night?” Xie Lian asks, voice now growing concerned, “San Lang I…”

Why can’t you just spit it out, you fucking coward?!

“I had some thoughts, after what you said. Well I’m not sure if you remember that though…”

All these goddamn years, and you can’t even say a single word. You can’t admit it. Growing yourself to be this strong, to be this dependable, to get to this point and make a show out of it–

“And I don’t want to presume–“

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, barely above a whisper as his voice breaks, wetness pooling in his eyes as it finally drips down, everything in his chest crashing apart all at once, “I love you.”

Time stills.

For a moment, no one moves, no one speaks. He hates that he can’t get a word out beyond that, gritting his teeth as he feels the rush of hot wet tears down his cheeks, feeling like someone’s already torn his heart apart. He can barely hear Xie Lian, not unclasping his hands even as the other pushes against them, as though he’s scared he’ll run away or disappear.

If this is the end–so be it. I can at least savour this, while it lasts.

Xie Lian thinks someone’s pulled the wrong wire and short-circuited his entire brain. He stares blankly at the space before him, the words not registering.

I love you.

He can feel Hua Cheng’s heartbeat pounding away. He can sense his ragged breathing. The grip he has around Xie Lian is almost painful, but even then, he seems to control himself. Instead, his grip on Xie Lian’s hands is white, his face buried against his hair, before slowly nuzzling against the crook between his shoulder and neck, like a wounded creature.

He feels something wet soak through his t-shirt. He can only feel Hua Cheng all around him. Hua Cheng’s chest pressed against his back. His warmth against Xie Lian’s. His breathing mingling in the air between them, his scent enveloping Xie Lian in a cocoon where only they exist.

So then, these tears that he feels soaking through the fabric, can only be from Hua Cheng. These trembling noises, barely concealed sniffles and whimpers on the verge of turning into sobs, can only be Hua Cheng’s.

I love you.

It’s such a beautiful phrase. A beautiful confession.

Then why does it seem to have pained them both so much, they can barely get a word out? Why does it seem, these beautiful words, seem to have destroyed Hua Cheng to pieces?

It’s like he’s fighting with himself. Unwilling to let Xie Lian even shift in his grip, or move. Afraid and heartbroken before anything else can be said and decided, always, always making Xie Lian worry as he sat in that brain of his and assumed everything on his own. Took up everything on his own.

Decided to love him all on his own. Decided to prolong this all on his own. Decided to make an attempt all on his own, all of a sudden, with no thought of the fact that Xie Lian couldn’t hear the words he’d kept in his heart so secretly for the past ten years, no context to anything that happened.

He leans back into Hua Cheng’s hold. His heart aches at the sound of him crying. He wants to thumb those tears away, and kiss him, and tell him how much of an idiot he is–but all he feels is such immense relief he can only completely relax in his hold. Letting Hua Cheng cry out the past week’s fears and exhaustion until he’s spent. Xie Lian reaches a hand up to card his hair, and Hua Cheng seems to cry harder at that, until the wetness is a very big splotch and Xie Lian’s shoulder is drenched through.

This can’t go on too long he’ll get dehydrated. “San Lang,” Xie Lian finally speaks, voice hoarse and quiet, “San Lang, let me hold you.”

Hua Cheng’s cries quiet slowly. Tapering off as the seconds pass by.

“San Lang,” he says again, voice as gentle as the first day they’d met, and forced fate to tie their strings together regardless of what was pre-written, “let gege hold you.”

Hua Cheng’s grip slowly loosens. Xie Lian turns, quick and easy, and doesn’t even glance at the other’s face, already knowing he’ll crack if he does. Instead, he hugs him back. Face buried against his front, right above his collarbone, hands splayed against the other’s back, feeling every shift and every muscle. Xie Lian breathes him in.

Breathes in this relief.

He’s never been more content in an embrace, than he has now. “San Lang,” he says again, and Hua Cheng hums, sounding so sad it makes him giggle, hugging him tighter. Hua Cheng’s hand cradles his head closer, as if he could merge them into one if it were possible, the other around Xie Lian’s waist. “I love you too, you know.”

It takes a moment. He’d imagined it would. Xie Lian enjoys the warmth of the other’s body before Hua Cheng snaps into himself, pulling back to stare down at his face in absolute shock. He paints the funniest picture with his red rimmed eyes and nose so red it would put Rudolph to shame. “Really?” he asks, nasally and congested. It’s honestly barely audible. It seems apart from a hangover he’s catching a cold. Hua Cheng’s eyes brim again, “don’t lie gege.”

“When have I ever lied to you?” Xie Lian asks, finally reaching up to wipe his tears. He swipes against them, so much love in his chest he thinks he’s on the verge of choking on it. “San Lang–“

Hua Cheng takes his hand with both his own, holding it like it’s a hard won treasure. Eyes closed as he leans into the touch, and the reverence in which he does it makes all his sense tingle and spark alive at once. Neither of them speak for a moment. Quiet enough to only leave behind the sound of their heartbeats. Xie Lian moves to speak again–

Hua Cheng kisses him.

Xie Lian’s eyes widen, before fluttering shut. Hua Cheng’s lips warm and languid, slotting against his with ease. He can feel the other’s touch around him, pulling him until they’re flush, Xie Lian’s feet nearly off the ground with the way he’s forced higher. Hua Cheng tilts his head, and he melts into these warm fires, body succumbing to him entirely as his arms wrap around Hua Cheng’s shoulders.

It’s not heated, but it’s not slow either. Time turns to nothing, inching at a snail’s crawl so they can catch up with it later. It’s their first kiss–but the feeling it gives him is so indescribably intimate and familiar it’s hard to feel like it is. Hua Cheng turns it deeper, and Xie Lian can only comply, surrendering himself entirely as the culmination of so much compounds in a wave meters high, crashing down as those as gentle as the ones lapping their feet on a shore.

Hua Cheng’s tempered flames, coveting him. Taking him. Spreading a fire through him, that wants to burn steady and bright. That wants to be kindled for a lifetime.

When they part, Hua Cheng’s nose brushing against his in a sweet gesture, neither say anything. It’s as though the very air around them is already speaking their stead, over and over, affirming something their hearts knew but minds refused to acknowledge.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Gege?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for all this,” Hua Cheng presses his forehead against his, his breaths ghosting against his skin. “I just well. Thought it would be–well anyways, clearly that was wrong.” He seems to be drawing in a deep breath, “I…I was just so scared, but I didn’t want you think I would hide it, so I did it like that, and I didn’t know gege wouldn’t ask, of course that’s still not your fault I’m the one in wrong–“

“San Lang,” he laughs, putting an end to his rambling, “you’re more nervous now than you were for your first award.”

“It doesn’t matter in the same away,” Hua Cheng argues, pulling back to meet his eyes. Unfiltered and honest–still red at the edges, a little swollen, face splotchy and none of the finesse on stage here. “You matter more to me; most. You always will.”

He feels his skin colour, abashed at the way he says these lines with such ease. “Be a little cheesier, will you?”

“Okay,” Hua Cheng grins, “quit being my manager. Be my husband instead.”

Xie Lian’s caught off guard, even as the other gazes at him with nothing but sincere affection. “You really…” he shakes his head, burying his face against Hua Cheng’s neck. The way Hua Cheng’s arms come around him make him feel like he’s being cradled against the strongest thing in the world. A place where he can rest, a place that is only and only his.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng says, voice deep and gentle, running over him and sending a spark down his spine. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he answers, barely above a whisper. “Yes, I will.”

Hua Cheng hugs hum again. Tight enough he can barely breathe, kissing his cheek, his nose, his eyes. Everywhere he can until they’re just a mess of giggles, tears and lots of warmth.

crimson_rain

Liked by waning_moon, yiz_02, peiming69 & 203k more

crimson_rain I choose you, over and over again @lian_x0

waning_moon you all literally owe this to me

peiming69 when will you two plagiarize @waning_moon @yiz_02

            crimson_rain stop commenting on my posts I don’t like your movies

            yiz_02 I am trying to. Please help me

                        waning_moon @yiz_02 please get away from both of them

hualian_BAR OH MY GOD YALL I FUCKING SAID IT I CALLED IT I BUYFYFGKUHILHKJHH