Chapter Text
Xie Lian watches the city lights twinkle in the distance.
It’s so late at night and yet the highway beats with life. There’s cars rushing past and the moon so high up. There’s water under the bridge and his shoes have grown thin from all his walking.
Xie Lian enjoys the sound of the cars. The honks. The screech of tires and the whistle of the breeze. The night air is biting, his skin flushed red from the cold, and yet the jacket he owns offers no warmth, seemingly having given up.
He’s not sure what he’s doing. Or why he’s come here.
What do you even try so hard for?
He doesn’t know, actually. Xie Lian walks and walks and feels like the world is cracking apart like it did that night years ago. He honestly doesn’t know why he’s bothered. How many years has it been? Ten or twenty? Or somewhere in between?
Xie Lian huffs a self-deprecating laugh. He’s not even in the right state of mind, anymore, is he? He’s stumbling here and there and nowhere and everywhere. The bridge is too crowded and the height is too great from here. Xie Lian walks until he’s halfway down, and glances down at the inky depths.
They’re black, and yet they reflect everything and more.
Xie Lian watches the water rush forward and backward.
What does he do?
Does he call someone? But then, who? Xie Lian has no one left anymore. He’s been like this for a long time. He thought he found his friends again, but a bond broken is not one that is still the same years later. What is he, if not a burden? They want him to stay, and to not hurry away, and take his time.
But every day he spends indebted is another day the shackle around his neck tightens and tightens until he can never breathe.
What do you even try so hard for?
Nothing, actually.
Who is Xie Lian working this desperately for? Nobody at all. All his success and all his failures mattered little because there isn’t anyone for them to matter for. Once, he’d foolishly tried his hand in dating from a few coaxes. And that wasn’t his cup of tea either. He’d disappointed them and himself and found out there’s no place for him to fit even if he cut himself in the perfect shape or mold the other person wanted.
Xie Lian just couldn’t get it right.
Really, he struggles so much. He barely gets anything for himself, yet all the luxuries in his hands are lifeless ornament of reminders that cut. Xie Lian keeps trying and trying as if there’s even a point to anymore.
He might as well end this.
End it all.
He stares down at the chilling waters.
Numbness takes over him.
Xie Lian is as light as a feather, as he keeps one foot perched on the railing. He’s as gentle as a bird of flight, as he pushes himself of.
He’s as heavy as stone, sinking down with the rushing sound of air.
And then darkness overcomes everything as he’s drenched in ice.
*
Xie Lian shivers where he sits, the cold creeping into his bones, teeth chattering.
He couldn’t do it.
He closes his eyes and buries his face in his knees, wishing he could crack his head open and die right there. The frustrated tears spring forward and he’s sobbing as he hugs himself, rocks digging where he sits and the chill worsening as the wind picks up.
The suffocation slapped him across the face as the air left his lungs. The tightening of his throat brought forth a memory of silk and tightness dangling him in the air until he’d stumbled all over and ruined his chance back then too.
Xie Lian’s such an abysmal piece of work he can’t even die right. His nails dig in flesh, until he’s ready to tear off skin. Instead, something heavy drops on his shoulders and it takes him a second to realize it’s not something he owns.
Xie Lian blinks, glancing up through his tears to a man he does not recognize. Two dark and solemn eyes meet his, skin as fair as snow and lips pressed in a thin line. Dark hair frames his face, long and grown out, tied in a messy ponytail that’s letting everything slip away anyways. He’s dressed in a shirt, jeans wet from the splash of water against the shore, staring at him with an indescribable look in his eyes.
The coat on Xie Lian’s form is warm and heavy, carrying the thick scent of cologne. He doesn’t know why this man is here. He doesn’t know why he won’t leave. Before he can voice anything, the man pulls him up, Xie Lian near stumbling, only for him to right him as he pulls the coat tighter around him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice quiet and deep. He’s clearly young. Was he passing by and let his heart go out to a stranger? Xie Lian doesn’t know. He’s shivering so bad he can’t think. His hair’s still damp and the cold wind chilling him down is making him grow muddle headed. There’s tears slipping down his cheeks still every now and then, and he can barely breathe, dizzy where he stands.
“Yes,” he manages, hoarse. But who would believe him?
The man in front leans forward and bends a little because he’s taller, too. He finds his eyes and locks his gaze with his, searching. “No,” he refutes, soft, “you’re not. Let me take you to the hospital−“
“No,” the reaction is visceral and damning. He all but retches at the thought of visiting an ER. The man doesn’t look pleased, but he acquiesces.
“Let me drop you home,” he says, then. But Xie Lian doesn’t have one. Why won’t he leave him alone? “I promise you, whatever it is, you will wake up tomorrow and find out this isn’t the solution.”
I know that, he wants to snap. But it makes him want to cry all over instead. Why does this man even care? “Why do you care?”
“Because I was like you,” and then he’s gently trying to direct him to his car, despite Xie Lian insisting he’s wet and will ruin everything. But the man coaxes until Xie Lian is seated in, the heater on, and the other shuts the doors so the wind stops trying to kill him.
Somehow, the warmth starts to trickle in.
Locked in the car, Xie Lian can hear his ragged breathing and occasional hiccups. He must cut quite a sorry figure. There’s a hand warmer passed over to him, and he doesn’t want to, but he uses it anyway. The car remains parked here for a while, the silence unending.
“Who are you?”
But the man smiles, small. “Does it matter?”
Xie Lian wonders the same thing. Does it? Nothing matters. Not even him. So it’s fine. He thinks. The man starts backing out, and heading down the road. Xie Lian gives him an address, but doesn’t bother looking at the map. He doesn’t care.
The hand warmer lasts for a while. The man doesn’t say anything more and neither does Xie Lian. His crying’s ceased and he’s somehow a little warm. Only a little. They reach the apartment and Xie Lian doesn’t even thank him. He leaves and it’s only when he’s stepping in the elevator, does he see the jacket still resting on his shoulders.
He hugs it tight.
He leaves a puddle behind that he can’t be bothered by, entering his apartment. Xie Lian changes and dries his hair and wears the coat. It’s big on him, and it’s no longer as warm. The material is soft and expensive and the cologne carries something with it. He’s not sure what.
He sleeps curled on the bed, like that, with an alarm set like it’s just another night, waiting for another morning.
*
“Xianle?” Junwu says, looking up from the file he was going over with a brow cocked up. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, sorry sir.” It’s only then he snaps out of it, rattling off the rest from the clipboard on hand, Junwu’s gaze perceptive but otherwise not pointing it out. The tips of his ears blush in embarrassment, and he internally hits himself over the head for his slip. He knows the other will eventually bring it up, sooner or later. “That’s all, sir.”
“Thank you. Can you check in with Ling Wen about the collaboration project? After that’s discussed we can head out to Ruminant Textiles for the meeting.” Xie Lian bows his head, leaving. But just as his hands curl around the door’s handle, Junwu speaks up, stilling him. “You can pick out lunch spot today, Xianle. It’ll clear your head a bit, a bit of a break in between work.”
“Thank you sir,” he says, as genuinely as he can as his heart sinks. Stepping out and leaving.
Xie Lian works at Divine Arts, a prestigious and long-standing art and culture company that mainly specializes in traditional Chinese forms. They manage a variety of artists under their wing, as well as have subsidiaries in different fields. It’s safe to say Divine Arts ranks easily within three conglomerates in the country.
Junwu, the only son of the Wuyong family and owner of Divine Arts, currently heads the company. Xie Lian has been working as his personal secretary ever since he’d turned seventeen, from an internship to a full time job fresh out of high school. Xie Lian is now twenty seven, marking a whole ten years with the company.
“Ling Wen?” he knocks before he enters, finding the woman seated at her desk with a permanent furrow between her brows as she types away at her computer. As the head of the department, she’s always constantly swamped. “Did you get anything from−“
“Ruminant? Yes, take it from the fax machine.” He heads over, thanking her as he skims over the contents. He’ll need to be able to brief Junwu, lest the other doesn’t have time in midst of his other meetings. It’s then, the typing comes to a pause, and Ling Wen speaks up.
“Did you send in the application?”
Xie Lian’s hand curl tightly around the tablet he has clutched to his chest. “No.”
“You still can,” she says, voice always neutral, but a hint of something like the barest hints of warmth creeping in. “I won’t tell.”
Xie Lian smiles, turning to face her. “I know you won’t. Just doesn’t feel like the right time.”
Ling Wen studies him, her gray eyes not betraying a hint of emotion. She threads her fingers together, resting her elbows on the table as she places her chin atop them. “While I’m always one for advocating education has no age limits, you’re not getting any younger. The seats open in late November this year−you have six months. Give it a thought.”
Xie Lian nods, unable to meet her eyes as he finds the paper immensely interesting. He heads out then, the knot in his chest tighter.
Just before they leave for lunch, he makes sure to touch up a bit in the bathroom. Junwu hates tardiness, especially in regards to appearance. It’s why Xie Lian gets a little paranoid at times, considering his longer hair. He combs it through, tying a small ponytail, and making sure his suit is still proper. Its then he finally buzzes through the other’s office, Junwu waiting as he meets his eyes with a warm smile.
“What’s your pick?” he asks, both of them heading out together. “I hope it’s not heavy, though. We have dinner with the Shi family after this.”
“No, I picked light on purpose,” Xie Lian says. Junwu hums, always impeccable regardless of the workload. He places a hand against his back as someone passes by, maneuvering him out the way. Xie Lian’s own hands stay clasped in front of him. They talk a bit more, but really, Xie Lian doesn’t have much to say that isn’t related to the office.
“You need to get out there more,” Junwu says, as they’re eating, “is it alright to only ever think about work, Xianle?” He adds a little more food to his plate, dark eyes meeting his, smile small and yet just as warm as he remembers them being all these years. “Golf didn’t interest you, did it? What a shame.”
Xie Lian’s skin pricks, as he waves it off. “Sir, you don’t have to worry. Its okay−this way I won’t be distracted from what I need to do.”
“There’s that, but then what will you do if something’s on your mind?” Junwu pinpoints, "if work’s your hobby, we can’t have you zoning out on the job like today, no? A friend of mine owns a pool club; you could give it a shot. If not, there’s a few more things I can suggest.”
Pool. And him? Xie Lian turns the pasta on his plate back and forth, trying to imagine enjoying the activity. The only times he’s played is with Junwu when they have business trips abroad, honestly considering himself a lost cause. He wonders if the other chooses not to remember. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Perfect, I’ll send over the contacts. Xianle, don’t play with your food,” Xie Lian stops, feeling sheepish as he eats. Junwu sighs, “really, this is why I say to stop holing yourself in. Maybe having a wider social circle will really do you some good.”
Xie Lian nods, not refuting as he finishes up.
They have a meeting immediately after at Ruminant Textiles, after which they need to go and talk about an upcoming project at Loyola Ent. Xie Lian’s mind keeps drifting in the moments they switch from work to small talk, barely clinging on as the train of conversation finally shifts.
“Actually,” Mr. Zhang, a round man with a balding patch on his head shifts forward. “I wanted to talk to you today precisely for this reason. Remember how we talked about Divine Arts getting a little bit of a mordenised touch?”
Junwu’s smile remains, but the warmth of it dissipates. “Of course,” he says kindly, “I also remember saying we didn’t need to.”
“Oh but you might! You’ve heard of Crimson Rain?”
Xie Lian doesn’t really catch on, but Junwu grows a little interested. “Some, in passing. The singer?”
“Of course him! He established his own label too not too long ago, his band mates are all managed under him too. They’ve been accepting a few trainees here and there but it doesn’t seem like they’re actively searching; I say, Crimson Rain’s busy with his group and solos, not to mention the other schedules and touring around. He’s new in the business too, where’s he got time to set up a system in place?”
“Especially to set their basics straights,” Junwu muses, “you’re saying we could offer our services?”
“Exactly!” Mr. Zhang grows excited, “you were vying to host Mirabelle’s awards at the end of this years, no? Well their daughter’s a big fan−if you could get into Crimson Rain’s contacts and have him guest as a performer, that contract would be as good as yours.”
Junwu’s expression remains calm, but years by his side, and Xie Lian has learnt to read all the small shifts and changes. Right now, his eyes glitter the way they do once he finds even the slightest hints of potential, already having forethought the way to hone it to its most complete form. “But I hear he’s a hard to find man.”
Mr. Zhang laughs, “oh, Junwu-ssi, what do you take me for? Crimson Rain and his team are passing through our hotel this very moment−they’re scouting for a spot to host an upcoming release party. In ten minutes, him and his team will be joining for dinner right at this table.”
They exchange a few words, before Mr. Zhang gets up to get the necessary arrangements made. Junwu sends him a sideways glance, meeting his gaze. “What do you think, Xianle?”
Xie Lian doesn’t immediately respond. In all honesty, he doesn’t think his opinions matter much. Junwu does what he wants to do in the end anyways, despite always making it a point to ask him. “Times are changing,” he says, tentatively, "I do think it’s beneficial having an association with such a popular figure.”
“That’s merely stating the obvious,” Junwu says. He straightens in his seat, both of them watching the doors open as what he can only assume is this Crimson Rain’s secretary talk at the front. “I have a few tricks regardless of Crimson Rain’s involvement.”
“But it would be hitting two birds with one stone if you could convince him,” Xie Lian says, and Junwu hums, pleased as his fingers drum against his knee, “but there’s also what Mr. Zhang would want in return for this favor.”
“Precisely,” Junwu says, voice low, “he’s a cunning man. His biggest competition right now is Minguang Cosmetics. We have a good friendship with them, but we also don’t have anything in the same field.”
Mr. Zhang had been making subtle mentions of this from the starting of their partnership three years ago. Hoping to merge with Divine Industries and using the influence to overtake the other; a competitor that Divine is familiar with like the back of their hand. “But we can’t lose Minguang’s trust,” Xie Lian says, soft.
Junwu huffs a soft chuckle, “trust are pretty words in the world of business. But you’re right; I don’t want to sour the relationship we have. At least, not yet. However…” the doors open, and a line of people enter. The noise immediately increases as murmurs spread about the room and disturb the quietude that was there before. There’s a man, a lot taller than the rest, broad and lean, dark hair a little longer than his shoulders, messy and yet artfully so. Clad in a black tank top and red blazer, looking about, turning eventually in their direction.
Two familiar dark eyes meet his, across the row of tables and people, zoning in like they already knew where to land their attention. Xie Lian feels his breath get stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, as the man’s lips curl into a smile that feel more like an amused smirk, glittering when realization dawns them.
“Crimson Rain is someone we need to reel in,” Junwu’s voice sounds distant, as Xie Lian feels blood rush through his ears, “he’s a problem that needs to be dealt with, sooner or later.”