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When Vein first laid eyes on Xia Fei, his traitorous heart stuttered in his chest. Simply out of minor infatuation with a pretty face, of course, but it was surprising enough to startle him. Xia Fei came to him as this awkward, reticent college student in need of a job and, despite the nervous energy vibrating his frame, seemed determined enough to be there.
“I heard you were hiring models here. So.” He keeps his eyes focused on something behind Vein’s head as he toys with the sleeve of jacket. “So here I am.”
Vein smiles, unable to contain his interest. “Here you are.”
Wordlessly, he lays his resume down on Vein’s desk. Vein thumbs through the papers with a hum while Xia Fei sinks slowly into the chair across from him. His hands move up to grip the armrests and his fingers, trembling slightly, tap out a soundless pattern. He’s at least six feet tall, and, despite his leanness, well built. But sitting across from Vein, he looks like a wounded animal. A flightless bird . It almost makes Vein feel sorry for the guy.
But he isn’t finished with him yet. He can’t be.
“And why—if you don’t mind me asking—this is an interview after all, is an international physics student at a local university interested in modeling?”
Xia Fei’s eyes dart around the room as if searching for something to ground him. Vein watches with rapt attention as he sucks in a breath, purses his lips, and finally, finally gives him the gift of eye contact.
“Do you want the truth?”
There’s Vein’s heart again, renegade and defective. Xia Fei doesn’t know it, but his amber eyes, full to the brim with conviction, open, honest, and incredibly easy to read, could burn a hole through the sun.
His smile doesn’t falter; the word falls from his lips like a prayer. “Please.”
Xia Fei doesn’t hesitate; if Vein were a pious man, he’d thank the gods for it. “I need the money.”
And just like that, Xia Fei was hired.
As it turns out, not everyone is as interested in working with Xia Fei as Vein is. Which is odd, because quite frankly, Vein found him to be a lot of fun.
The younger man had made himself particularly scarce around Vein during his first big shoot, keeping his head low and only asking for things like the time or if he knew where the bathroom was. Vein indulged this, of course—he was amused by the clumsy way the new model handled himself. But after seeing Xia Fei retreat to the bathroom for the third time, he started to suspect something was up.
He figures out what that something is moments after the shoot ends. He hears the sound of splashing first, then a slur, followed by laughter. He’s only just stepped out of the bathroom himself, but his feet carry him to the scene of the crime in seconds flat.
His body reacts before his brain does. He kicks the jaw of one of the models holding Xia Fei’s head under the water and makes quick work of the other one. He fires both of them on the spot (with a look on his face that sends them scrambling to get away from him) and pulls Xia Fei up above water. Xia Fei sputters, coughs, and grips the edge of the pool. Vein releases him, but Xia Fei keeps his head hung low. His eyes, barely visible through a tangled mop of blonde hair, are tinged red from chlorine (and, most likely, his own tears).
When Vein speaks, his tone is uncharacteristically gentle. So gentle in fact, that he wonders for a moment what the hell's gotten into him.
“There you are. ”
But when Xia Fei looks up at him, white-knuckled and shaking despite obvious attempts to hide it, it’s as if he’s seeing Vein for the first time. His brows furrow, his lips opening and closing repeatedly like he’s some sort of fish. A cute fish, Vein’s mind supplies, bizarre as the image is. A cute fish indeed.
“Boss. You—”
Vein hums, hooking his hands underneath Xia Fei’s biceps to pull him out of the water. The latter nearly squawks, but allows himself to be lifted up onto the poolside and for a long coat to fall over his shoulders.
“Those two won’t be bothering you anymore. So don’t worry your pretty little head.” He’s smiling again as he pulls the coat up and uses it to dry Xia Fei's hair. Xia Fei, clearly bewildered by the ordeal, stares at him, his still-wet mouth trying and failing to form words.
“You—I mean, you, you just saved my life. I think. Holy shit. I—”
Vein laughs, giddy from the way Xia Fei is looking at him, and pulls the coat down to dry his face. Xia Fei grunts, whines even, and mutters something about being able to do it himself. All at once, Vein is endeared to him to the point of insanity.
“Now, now, none of that. Why don’t we get you a change of clothes and grab something for lunch, hm?” He flashes his canines at Xia Fei in what he’s sure is a winning smile, then pulls his damp coat away and chucks it over his shoulder. “My treat.”
Xia Fei tilts his head (how cute) and presses his lips into a line, looking somewhat incredulous as his amber eyes search Vein’s face. There’s a hint of concern there, of hesitance, as if he’s wondering what the right move should be. Xia Fei is smart—Vein knows this. His resume and the brief conversations they’ve had before this told him as such. It’s no surprise, then, that he’d carry with him a fair bit of doubt about Vein’s intentions.
“Just uh. Just lunch, right?”
And yet despite this, despite the growing lack of trust in the younger man’s gaze and what would, to most people, be an insulting insinuation, Vein’s lips curve into a warm smile. He steps back a couple of feet, splays both hands out for Xia Fei to see, and offers what he hopes is simple enough reassurance.
“Just lunch—” and he means that, he really does. Cute as Xia Fei is, he has no indecent plans for him. There's no ulterior motive guiding his hand; not this time. “But don’t feel pressured to agree to it. The choice is yours.”
When Xia Fei doesn’t move, Vein decides to toss a wave at him and turn away. It stings a bit in a way he didn’t expect, but he figures there’ll be other chances to earn the man’s trust.
“Wait.”
Vein stops, turning back too quickly to appear nonchalant, and waits. Xia Fei is holding an arm out toward him with a slightly panicked, slightly determined look on his face. It’s damn near enough to make Vein’s heart sing.
“I can pay for my own food.”
That day, Vein learns that Xia Fei is a somewhat picky eater. A picky eater who actually enjoys physics, but also drawing, and cats, and nearly the entire catalogue of Star Wars movies (save for the few that are garbage). The conversation is sporadic and nonsensical, but enjoyable nonetheless.
When he drops Xia Fei off in front of his dorm that afternoon, he feels, for once in his life, full.
After the day Vein pulled him from the pool, Xia Fei’s wariness gradually began to fade. It wasn’t an instantaneous thing, but he started to linger in Vein’s presence. He’d smile when he saw him, or do a goofy salute. Despite his better judgment, Vein offered to take him to lunches, to dinners, and even the movies once he’d pestered Vein enough about some action flick nobody else wanted to see with him. The movie itself was tacky, cliché, and utterly boring, but Xia Fei seemed to echo his thoughts on that. Said there'd be better ones coming out that they’ll have to see together.
Together.
Huh.
Of course, their time spent together (and Vein’s obvious workplace favoritism) caused nasty little rumors to grow about what sort of relationship they had. He’d first caught wind of it when overhearing some models on set. Evidently, they were having a bet of some kind: if the boss and Felix are fucking, then one has treat the other to drinks. If they aren’t, the latter would shoot their shot with Felix.
It made Vein stop in his tracks.
The next time he heard about it, he was at some swanky party at an upscale bar with his weird little business partner, Liu Xiao. There were quite a few people he knew there, either from the industry or through various connections he had. He would’ve rather gouged his tonsils out with a salad fork than attend this ridiculous get-together, but Liu Xiao insisted on its importance, so Vein made do.
He was doing a damn good job of it, too, until somebody made the mistake of asking him if Felix was “ worth the investment ” in a mocking, salacious tone.
To make a long story short, the man left in an ambulance and Vein is banned from ever stepping foot in that bar again.
In the morning, he sees Xia Fei sitting in the office fiddling with his phone. He looks up at Vein, grins, and shows him the cartoon cat collecting game he’s been playing for the past hour. He taps the screen at a copper-colored cat sitting on an elegant cushion.
“This one reminds me of you.”
Vein hums, the previous day’s irritations fading into white noise. “Oh? Is it the most managerial of your cats?”
Xia Fei snorts. “No, but it’s definitely one of my weirdest.”
Vein brings a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “You think I’m weird?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Xia Fei says, unable to hide the laughter in his voice. “But in a good way.”
“In a good way, ” Vein echoes, matching Xia Fei’s smile with one of his own. “I’ll remember you said that.”
“Well don’t let it go to your head too much. You still tell people they look tasty during interviews.”
At this, Vein laughs, open and light. It feels freeing. It feels…good.
The day Xia Fei blew into his office after getting into a physical altercation with one of the other models on set, Vein already had a decent enough idea of what went down. The director had left him a strongly worded voicemail about how Felix pushed Jack into the refreshment table and sent food flying everywhere. He’d called back and pressed the director for details on the conversation that led up to the fight, but the pointless bastard had apparently been “away” when the incident occurred. No matter. The only side of the story he cared about was Xia Fei’s.
“Boss! Wait, fuck. I’m sorry. I can explain—”
Vein gestures to the chair across from his desk, careful in the way he presents himself. In the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t give a shit that Xia Fei assaulted Jack. Knowing the smug little fucker, he probably deserved it. But what concerns Vein more is Xia Fei’s anger issues keeping him from good opportunities. And so, he elects to play the devil’s advocate.
“You have to try to control that temper of yours.”
Xia Fei hangs his head, cursing. “I know, I know. I’m sorry boss, really. It’s just. It’s just.”
Vein sighs, deciding to forgo the chiding for now. He doesn’t want to bruise Xia Fei’s pride any more than it already has been. “Just?”
“Just. Just listen, okay? Please just hear what I have to say.”
Who is Vein to deny him anything? “I’m listening, Felix,” he says, and he means it.
“Okay, okay. Thank you. It’s just—”
People don’t normally… vent to him. Most keep their true thoughts hidden from him in favor of practicing sycophancy. But Xia Fei? He lets his emotions pour out unbidden, ranting and stumbling—irrational, even. But if nothing else, honest. Human.
“I just don’t get why he hates me so much. Why all of them do! I mean, I didn’t do anything to them! So why is it always my fault when something goes wrong?” His entire body moves animatedly as if it’s trying to wring out the tension soaking his bones. “Why are there always rumors about me, and you—or both of us, and nobody wants to listen to what I have to say about it? Why am I made to look stupid, or like a suck-up, or a liar, or worse, a—”
“You worry too much about what other people think.“ Vein's voice becomes gentle when placating him. It always does. Xia Fei wears his heart on his sleeve, and Vein has no intention of breaking it. “Their ideas about you are wrong. Irrelevant. But if it bothers you this much, I’ll have a word with—”
Xia Fei cuts him off, his fists clenched at his sides, his face flushed red. “It’s not just me , boss, it’s what they say about you! I mean, Jack called you a pervert and a creep! Said you’re just using me, that I’m stupid for falling for it. Other people say it too, and, and—“ His breathing has grown shallow. Tears dot the corners of his eyes as he hugs himself, shaking with righteous fury. “And they don’t even know you! They don’t know the first fucking thing about you!”
Oh.
There’s a part of Vein that wants to reach out, to touch him in a way that’s more meaningful than head-pats and forehead flicks. But he remains frozen at his desk, wide-eyed at the realization that Xia Fei had fought Jack to defend him. When it came to Vein, there wasn’t usually much to defend. He couldn’t give less of a damn what people thought of him. It was, like the overgrown children who pick on Xia Fei for his looks and position, irrelevant. And Xia Fei knows this. He knows this, but saw fit to stick up for his boss anyway.
Something tightens almost imperceptibly in Vein’s chest. Something like affection. Something like guilt.
“It’s infuriating, boss, ‘cause I’m the only one who ever speaks up to defend you. Nobody else does.” He sniffs, loud and wet as tears roll down his face. He looks at Vein again, his eyes lit bright with compassion, with rage. “Not even you.”
The tightness in Vein's chest expands. It presses against his lungs and clings to his ribs, sentient. He knows he owes Xia Fei an apology. A real one. Not some half-hearted grin and a pat on the back. He knows, deep down, that Xia Fei has likely been championing his case for some time, all while Vein does nothing to make himself look less deviant in the eyes of his colleagues. On the contrary, he’s only made himself look that much weirder. He knows, obviously, that telling people they look tasty and commenting on the aroma of raw meat is, in fact, off-putting. He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Most people, equipped with a functioning fight-or-flight response, don’t stand in the way of men they find dubious. They keep their distance; speak only when spoken to. They fold quickly and crumble like stacks of cards when their lies are brought to the surface. Vein likes it like this; it makes business easy.
(It makes him less paranoid).
Still, he doesn’t want to see Xia Fei cry. Not over this. “It seems like I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on you. For that, I apologize. But there’s no need to get so worked up on my account.” He smiles, then rises from his chair and makes his way around the desk.
Xia Fei breaks eye contact. He uses the back of his hand to stifle an angry sob. “It’s. It’s fine. Whatever.”
Vein just hums, careful not to startle the man as he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over Xia Fei’s shoulders. When Xia Fei doesn’t back away, Vein moves to ruffle his hair and wipes a stray tear from his cheek. He doesn’t let his hands linger for more than a moment; they’re tucked into his pants pockets before Xia Fei can lean into his touch.
“I’m sorry you’ve been working overtime for my sake. Let’s see if we can’t take some of that weight off, hm?”
Xia Fei looks at him again, incredulous. Desperate. “That’s not—that’s not what I’m asking for, boss. You know that.”
Vein does know that, but this conversation is starting to fill him with the same type of restlessness he gets when he needs a smoke.
“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good boss if I let such a dedicated employee suffer, right?” He flashes Xia Fei an easy grin and turns away, whistling to cut through the tense atmosphere he’s created. He'll leave Xia Fei to his own devices while he stamps out the apprehension roiling in his gut.
“Boss.”
“Try to calm yourself down, Felix," Vein calls back, still making his way toward the door. "You can return my coat to me when you’re done with it.”
“Asshole!”
He starts to laugh at the insult, but the air is forced out of him by the feeling of a warm body colliding with his back, by the feeling of arms wrapping around his chest. Xia Fei’s head falls forward to rest against the back of Vein’s neck, his arms tighten around Vein’s torso to hold him steadily in place. Vein’s heart had skittered to a halt, but the initial panic at being grabbed from behind subsides. He reminds himself who it is that’s got him, and forces himself not to lash out.
He hears Xia Fei suck in a breath, impossibly close, hands shaking as he grips the fabric of Vein’s shirt. But Vein’s itching to run, to pull away and shove a cigarette between his lips, to climb up someplace high and avoid this. He feels like a cat on hot bricks, vulnerable and furious, agitated and exposed. It’s almost too much to take.
And then, likely sensing the fact that Vein might not allow this much longer, Xia Fei issues his plea: “What do I have to do to get you to let me in?”
Vein thinks about it—wracks every millimeter of his brain for an answer, and finds nothing but static. All he can manage is placing a hand over one of Xia Fei’s closed fists as he waits for this moment to pass.
Sorry, Felix. I know this hurts.
Some weeks after their confrontation in the office, he finds himself sitting close to Xia Fei on the couch in his apartment. Xia Fei had requested another movie night, and Vein, despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to stop getting attached, agreed to it without hesitation. Some of their interactions had been clipped following that day, but Xia Fei grew talkative again as time went on. Either he’s grown soft or he’s a glutton for punishment because he had the perfect opportunity to put some much needed distance between himself and his employee, but he completely blew it.
It’s not like he didn’t try. He ignored a couple of Xia Fei’s cat pictures and meme texts, and let the phone ring a couple more times than usual before answering. He said he was busy when Xia Fei not-so-subtly hinted that he was craving a latte after a shoot, but ultimately swung back around about an hour later to bring him to the café of his choice.
Well. Nobody’s perfect.
But what of it? So what if he still favored Xia Fei over all his other employees, spent ample time with him outside of work, and sat shoulder to shoulder with him on the couch in his apartment watching some movie he didn’t care about. It’s not like it matters. He has no intention of pushing their relationship to anything beyond what it is right now. He wouldn’t dare put Xia Fei in a situation that made him feel trapped, wouldn’t dare make him feel like there’s no choice but to run.
But Xia Fei—sweet, funny, temperamental, and altogether ridiculous Xia Fei—has other plans for the evening.
“Hey…Boss?”
The uncertainty in his tone catches Vein’s attention, making him look at the younger man head-on.
“Yes?”
Xia Fei’s cheeks flush. He lowers his gaze and licks his lips. “This movie is. Boring.”
Vein studies him for a moment, struck-still and waiting. Xia Fei is unbearably close, his pretty face mere inches from Vein’s. He can smell the popcorn and candy on his breath.
“It is,” Vein concedes, barely above a whisper. The dialogue of the film turns to meaningless clamor as Xia Fei locks eyes with him again.
“Felix?”
“Can I kiss you?”
If Vein were a weaker man, the question might have knocked him out. And god, he knows he should say no. He knows he should end this charade here and now to protect Xia Fei from the inevitable devastation that comes with loving him. He knows that he should protect himself, too, from this attachment that’s turning his world upside down.
But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t dare. “Is that what you want?”
There’s a pause. Xia Fei licks his lips again and rests a shaking hand on Vein’s chest.
“Only… ” Vein watches as Xia Fei swallows thickly. “Only if it’s something you want, too.”
Vein’s heart, ever the traitor, pounds in his chest like he’s a teenager with a crush. Perhaps he is a weak man after all.
“You should know very well by now,” Vein whispers, his mind blank and his skin alight with anticipation. “That I am yours, Felix.”
That’s all the confirmation Xia Fei needed.
When Xia Fei finally does kiss him, there’s a passion and fervor to it that Vein didn’t expect. He places both hands on the sides of Vein’s face and angles his mouth to kiss him deeper, to breathe him in like he’s drowning—like Vein is the only thing keeping him afloat.
Vein lets him. He allows Xia Fei to press further to the point where their cheeks touch and their teeth clack. He lets Xia Fei take the lead because he knows it’s important to him. He feels a hand move to his hair, to his shoulder, and back to his face. His heart beats recklessly as he decides, just this once, to lower his guard.
But Xia Fei stops the kiss almost as quickly as he started it.
“I’m, I’m sorry, I–” He presses his forehead against Vein’s and breathes, his eyes pinched shut and his fingers trembling where they’re still holding the sides of Vein’s face. “I need to take this slow.”
Slow, Vein thinks, and nods. That, if nothing else, is something he might be able to manage.
When Vein wakes up, he’s in a long hallway. It’s dark, illuminated only by a flickering light somewhere at the end of it. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to focus his eyes on what’s in front of him. In the distance, he can make out a door, narrow and tall.
He walks toward it, stumbling a bit over the size of his shoes.
Outside of this place, he hears what sounds like dogs barking. Their howls and shrieks muffle what sounds like a conversation being had just beyond this hallway.
He stops for a moment when the light dances off of something above his head. He looks up, and there’s a mirror on the ceiling, just big enough to show him his face. The wild-eyed, redheaded child that stares back at him can’t be any older than eight.
So that’s how it is.
He keeps moving closer to the door, finding the hallway too tight all of a sudden to turn around in. The dogs and the conversation grow louder as he starts to pick out bits and pieces of the words being said.
You. The laundry. Frostbite. Hourglass. Brother.
He strains his ears, but the conversation shifts to a language he doesn’t understand. Spanish? French? Latvian? The answers his young-old brain provides don’t make sense. He has no choice but to keep moving forward—to find out for himself.
When he reaches the door, he lays both hands against it, feeling the chipped, black paint against his palms. The conversation has grown low and guttural. There’s something scratching at the wood from the other side of the door, snuffling and whining. Animalistic. He thinks, briefly, that he should run, but something comes up from behind him and pushes him over the threshold.
He doesn’t see anything at first. It’s dark in here—much darker than it was in the hall. The barking and the conversation have ceased, and Vein is left alone with his petrifying thoughts. He is small like this. He is weak. He has all of his faculties but he couldn’t outrun an adult. It is quiet, but the sound of his fragile heart is deafening. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
And then he hears it—the sob.
No.
No. No. No. No.
Vein doubles over, crawls toward the noise on four legs. It’s Xia Fei, his crumbled form freshly lit-up by a street sign. There’s a massive hole in his neck, like something's taken a bite out of it. He’s bleeding profusely, gurgling between cries.
“Xia Fei–!”
But when Vein says his name, the dogs, closer than before, start to howl again. The bleeding stops, and Xia Fei smiles up at him like he knows some secret he’ll never tell. When he speaks, his voice is cold. Cruel. Xia Fei was never cruel.
“Xiao Weiying.”
Vein reaches out, his small hands coming to rest against Xia Fei’s face.
“I’m sorry. I–”
Then, the ghost of a voice over his shoulder, just out of reach.
Your father’s here.
Vein wakes up with a start, sweating, ears ringing. There’s a heavy weight on him, keeping him in place as his heart hammers in his chest. His hands, normal, adult-sized hands, fly out to grab whatever’s got him, to push it away before it’s too late.
The sound of the movie blaring on the television screen stops him. Han Solo is talking about doing the kessel run. Chewbacca chortles in agreement.
The thing leaning against him shifts, grumbles a bit, then stills. When Vein looks at it, his breathing slows. His ears stop ringing. His hands, once trembling and ready to strike, relax. Xia Fei, who must have fallen asleep while watching the movie, is alive, nestled safely against Vein’s chest. Shortly after they’d kissed, Xia Fei insisted on rewatching some of the Star Wars movies. Vein only found them vaguely interesting on a first run-through, but he’d watch them a thousand times over to make Xia Fei happy.
Evidently, Vein had fallen asleep too, his head on the armrest of the couch and with Xia Fei draped lazily over his body.
“...Boss?”
Xia Fei had woken up, probably from Vein’s incessant squirming. He tilts his head inquisitively, then props himself up on his elbows to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“What time is it?”
There’s a digital clock on the wall just above Xia Fei’s head, but Vein can’t bring himself to look at it. His eyes stay glued on Xia Fei’s face, on the curve of his cheekbones and on the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, Boss?”
He’s never held anything precious before—not really. And now, when faced with the prospect of it, it dawns on him that he doesn’t know how to. He knows how to rip and tear and break. He knows how to twist the knife to make a wound lethal, and he knows how to sweet-talk even the foulest of men. But this? Cradling this warm, hapless thing in his arms that would bottle the stars for him? He hasn’t got a clue.
And that terrifies him.
“Hey,” Xia Fei shifts, bringing his hands up to touch the sides of Vein’s face. He tilts Vein’s head forward and stares into his eyes, searching. “Everything okay?”
Vein closes his eyes, lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Slowly, he brings a hand up to run his fingers through Xia Fei’s hair. It grounds him.
“Just a bad dream, Felix.”
He feels Xia Fei move, then the soft pressure of a forehead pressed against his, warm breath on his lips and eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Vein laughs quietly, a bit dizzy from the ordeal. “Maybe in the morning. Go back to sleep.”
He hears Xia Fei sigh, then feels a light kiss against his temple.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
He doesn’t deserve an angel.
“Goodnight, Boss.”
But he wants to hold onto this one anyway.
“Goodnight, Felix.”
So he does—selfishly, absurdly, endlessly.
(They might have to kill him to make him let go.)