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Meng Yao.
It’s the first ten minutes into the first blind date and Xichen is not turned off by him yet. He hasn’t made any rude comments, hasn’t said anything stupid, hasn’t made him feel stupid. That’s a good sign. There’s hope.
He says some weird things -- kind of dorky, kind of profound –
“I think falling stars carry too much,” he’s saying, swirling the wine inside his glass, “that’s why they fall.”
-- but with sparkling eyes; a bright smile and a deep, deep voice; he really wihes he’s the one. (If he is, he’ll give that app a high rating.)
Xichen laughs. “Wow, so poetic.”
“I try,” he replies with a grin that deepens his dimples, not really matching his suit and tie, but it makes his heart flutter.
“I try too,” Xichen says, “but I can only come up with stuff like ‘roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah blah, I really like you’.”
Meng Yao raises an eyebrow and Xichen’s cheeks flush when he realizes what he just said. “I was going to confess, but you beat me to it,” Meng Yao says, raising his glass.
“I wasn’t going to. It just kind of slipped out.”
Smile.
Clink.
Flutter.
Xichen’ll definitely have to give that app five stars. Maybe even a cheesy comment.
“I was kind of wary about using a dating app, too many creeps and stuff, you know? But thanks to this, I found my now-fiancé! I totally recommend this to everyone searching for love!”
Something like that.
~ ~ ~
Second date and he’s too comfortable, and a little tipsy. Which means goodbye to his filter and image.
“There’s this song I really like. Can I hold onto your left hand? Can you let my right hand lose its freedom? Those are the lyrics. It’s so romantic and I’ll never be lonely like that, you know?”
Meng Yao reaches for his hand and squeezes it ever so lightly.
“I want kids, but they’re so noisy. All they do is cry, like seriously.”
“Whenever my eyelash falls, like when I just rub my eyes and it falls down, I always make a wish.”
“I’m scared of the dark,” he admits, and Meng Yao’s smile is the only light he needs.
“I like different things. Not those dumb cliches copied from movies, you know? Surprise me! Put effort into it!”
By the fifth glass, the cafe lights are dim and old saxophone blues pulse in the air.
“There was this guy in high school,” he slurs. “I hated him. He made me so uncomfortable because he always yelled those things at me. Compliments, I guess? But they never made me feel good. He should go eat a dick.”
“Catcalling isn’t complimenting,” Meng Yao murmurs soothingly. “It’s something done by disgusting men.”
It’s warm and the fact that Meng Yao didn’t judge, that he understands, causes Xichen to drunkenly spill everything with streaming rivulets down his cheeks.
“I couldn’t stand it anymore and told the police. But they didn’t believe me! Because how can you get raped by your own boyfriend?” A pathetic laugh and spilled alcohol.
“I wanted to kill him!” he hiccups, and Meng Yao wipes his tears away with a thumb. “How could he cheat on me with the bitch who hated me?! I’d rather he date my best friend, but not that bitch!”
“I was so done. All they ever do is break my heart. They broke me.” A toss of the head, another empty glass.
“There’s nothing left,” he whimpers.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Meng Yao coos, gathering Xichen’s broken pieces into his arms. “I’ll protect you and they’ll never hurt you again, my dearest.”
~ ~ ~
Xichen gives the app five stars, but doesn’t leave any feedback because he doesn’t want to jinx himself. It still doesn’t feel real. What does Meng Yao see in his?
He’s perfect -- looks, intelligence, humor, wealth -- and his type should be those beautiful, pure girls who can cook and raise a family. Not someone like him. Not someone who has fucked and had gotten fucked over by so many guys.
And he can’t even make ramen properly.
But their couple selfies make people jealous online, and he thinks he’s so damn lucky.
Another date, their monthsary.
Meng Yao says it’s a surprise.
Xichen gets flurries of butterflies in his stomach. He thinks it’s a proposal. It’ll be moving really quickly, but that’s Meng Yao’s style. (He kisses so well and he goes hard. None of that slow, teasing rhythms. Xichen sees stars and screams his name. It’s like fire.)
So he imagines Meng Yao is going to propose.
What if he proposes?
(He’s freaking out.)
Meng Yao seems to notice his excitement and laughs, that rich and glorious sound that sends a wave of heat through Xichen’s body.
“Patience, my dearest.”
He settles into the soft leather seat and fidgets with the blindfold.
A warm hand is placed onto his, leading them back down to his lap. “No peeking,” Meng Yao warns.
“But it’s night time,” Xichen points out. “I won’t be able to see much anyway.”
“It’s for an effect.”
The car ride goes on in the darkness, a darkness perfect for his imagination to run wild.
Meng Yao, professing his undying love for him in the poetic way only he can pull off. Meng Yao, dropping down to one knee and holding out a ring made of moonstone. Meng Yao and him, kissing under the stars. Meng Yao and him, becoming one, forever and ever…
The car comes to a rolling stop. “We’re here, my dearest,” Meng Yao announces, killing the engine. Xichen sits, waiting for the door to be opened and allows himself to be guided, a soft hold on his elbow.
“Turn here,” Meng Yao instructs. “Careful, there’s a step here and --” A click and the creak of a door. “-- walk a little, ah yes, stop.”
He obeys. Waits.
“Can I take it off now?” he asks, voice trembling in curiosity and anticipation.
“Just a moment more,” Meng Yao replies over the sound of a spray.
Xichen counts the seconds, the pulses of his heart.
One…two…three…
“Are you ready?” Meng Yao’s low voice suddenly in his ear.
“Yes.”
Five…six…
Fingers at his temple.
Seven…
The cloth is lifted and he blinks, holding his breath. At first there is nothing; just pure, pure darkness. His heart sinks, but then, he sees it.
“Wow,” he breathes.
Shimmering patterns swirl on the walls all around them. The designs seem random, some streaks, some splatters, some like little firework explosions.
“It’s so beautiful,” he murmurs, spinning slowly, taking it all in. “It’s like we’re surrounded by stars.”
Meng Yao chuckles, proud but shy. “You said you like different things, so I tried my best.”
“Yes, I love it!” Xichen cries. “And…thank you, for remembering what I said and --”
“I remember everything you say,” Meng Yao murmurs, wrapping his arms around Xichen from the back, “because you’re important and I love you.” A kiss on his cheek, his jaw, teeth nibbling at his neck. “Do you want to know how I made it?”
He cranes his neck and answers with a kiss, sounds of pleasure and need escaping from his lips.
“It’s luminol. Spray it on a surface and it will glow if there is blood.”
Xichen freezes.
The smell of copper is pungent; chilling; suffocating the butterflies; cold, dead weight at the bottom of his stomach.
“All of these designs, these pieces of art, were created by me, for you, my dearest.” Meng Yao’s voice rises in excitement, so full of pride for his work.
“That fine mist is a gunshot, a bullet to the heart and boom. I don’t like doing it to the head, too much brain matter. But with the heart, there is only pure emotion.
“And that arch like a shooting star. It took me so many tries to perfect the precise wield of the dagger, the angle, the pressure, the speed.
“And that deliberate splatter, you’d never be able to believe it came from something as crude as a metal bat, but you have to be able to find art in everything.
“All this is for you, my dearest.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
~ ~ ~
Xichen’s head pounds; he can’t feel his body.
His thoughts are sluggish, but he knows he’s drugged.
He can’t move. Blinks.
Chandelier. Blurry. Sharp. Clear. Meng Yao.
“My dearest,” he whispers, looming over Xichen, stroking him affectionately. His eyes follow the finger.
Meng Yao reaches over and helps Xichen up, resting him against the headboard, and he looks down. Xichen is clad in a simple white shift, bare arms, bare legs, bare feet.
“You’re my dearest little prince.” He kneels beside the bed and looks up at him with adoring eyes. “This is a king-sized bed. This is my bed and I’m the king, you’re my prince.” He cocks his head. “Or would you like to be something more?”
Xichen opens his mouth. His tongue feels like candy, like cotton candy dissolved in water. It’s so hard to form words. “Wha-” What is happening? What are you doing? What are you?
“Water?” Meng Yao asks. “Of course, my dearest.”
He gathers Xichen in his arms and lifts him effortlessly, carrying him bridal style to the chair nearby. Faceless figures appear, setting a feast down onto the table. Meng Yao uncovers the main platter with a flourish -- a pig’s head with a blood-red apple in the mouth.
“To welcome you to my home,” he explains. “But you must be thirsty.” He pours water into a crystal glass and swirls in a little something extra. “Here you go. This will make you feel better.”
Meng Yao stares until Xichen picks up the glass (with difficulty) and (clumsily) drinks.
“There you go,” he says, dabbing at Xichen’s chin with a handkerchief. “Let us begin now, shall we?”
~ ~ ~
He can’t speak. Meng Yao is his world, the light of her world, and he can only speak -- can only move -- when he’s there. Like he’s the antidote to the drug, the antidote and the drug (the addiction and overdose).
Xichen sobs silently from his position on the bed as Meng Yao strides in with a beaming smile. “Good morning, my dearest.” His face falls when he sees Xichen. “No,” he moans, coming to him and quickly wiping away his tears. “Why are you crying? Please don’t cry,” Meng Yao begs and his concern is scary. Freaky. Creepy as hell.
Whimpering, Xichen tries to edge away from Meng Yao, but to where? This is his king-sized bed, this is his ghastly castle.
“Oh,” Meng Yao gasps in revelation. “You’re scared of the dark. Was last night too scary?“ He nods, not sure what else to do. “Don’t worry, my dearest. I'll make sure you’re not scared anymore.”
A promise sealed with a kiss.
Xichen keeps his eyes closed. Sometimes, the darkness is okay.
The door creaks and Meng Yao tiptoes in. A lantern swings from his hand and he hangs it on the bed post. He smiles softly and he blinks.
Xichen wakes to someone falling on his face. Eyes fly open, blinks, hoarse cries.
Meng Yao stands over him, giving the lantern one more shake. “Fireflies create such beautiful light,” he muses, watching sadly as they float down, scattered on Xichen like fallen petals. “But then come morning, and we realize they suffocated and died while giving us light.”
He cocks his head. “They died for you, my dearest. You killed them, I killed them, they died for you,” he whispers. He sings, “All for you, my dearest.”
It’s as if Meng Yao has taken Xichen’s soul. Without Meng Yao, he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t think. When the door cracks open and Meng Yao’s head peeks in, everything crashes back down onto him and he can’t take it.
“Why are you crying?” Meng Yao implores, gazing at him with a confused and hurt look, lower lip jutting out and quivering.
“You’re fucked up,” Xichen gasps out.
“No, no, no.” He shakes his head sadly.
Xichen doesn’t know what happens to him when he’s asleep -- passed out, knocked out, drugged, whatever -- but every time he opens his eyes, it’s something worse. He wants to die, but he can’t do anything.
Not when Meng Yao scoops him up and props him into a regal throne. Not when Meng Yao whispers excitedly that he has a present for him. Not when Meng Yao smiles at him and uncovers the present. Not when he reveals a man, tied to the chair in front of Xichen; not when the man pleads with forgiveness even with a gag in his mouth; not when Meng Yao laughs until the man asks what he did wrong and Meng Yao answers him, caressing his cheek with a blade; not when Xichen finally recognizes him as the creep from high school and when he finally understands what is happening he wants to throw up but then Meng Yao covers his eyes with a blindfold.
“He’s too dirty for you to see,” Meng Yao murmurs in his ears.
Xichen can’t see but he still squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the screams of pure agony. And it still rings in his ears, when Meng Yao takes away the blindfold while holding a penis in the other hand, and Xichen’s own silent screams take over his mind.
“My dearest, what did you say you wanted him to do?” Meng Yao asks, standing in front of the shaking man, cocking his head. “I think you said ‘he should go eat a dick’?”
And Xichen throws up even though he can’t move, and Meng Yao doesn’t notice -- too busy force feeding the man -- until vile chunks of meat and pus stain his pure white shift.
“You’re fucked up,” Xichen gasps out.
“No, no, no.” Meng Yao shakes his head sadly. “This is how much I love you, don’t you understand? I’m doing everything for you.”
“You are fucked up batshit crazy!” he screams, voice cracking. Meng Yao stares at him and Xichen regrets opening his mouth. He wants to die, but he’s scared.
Meng Yao’is expression melts into worry. “What can I do for you? I made sure no one can hurt you anymore. That disgusting man learned his lesson. What else do you need me to do?” His voices rises as he speaks, gesturing wildly, eyes dancing. “Just say the word, my dearest.”
“Just let me go.”
Meng Yao’s features crumple and the amount of hurt in his eyes is too much to bear. “Why don’t you understand?” he whispers.
Xichen wakes to curls of eyelashes scattered on his pillow.
Meng Yao is there, with creases down the side of his cheeks. “You’re awake!” he exclaims. “Look at all the wishes you can make!”
Xichen stares wordlessly as Meng Yao keeps speaking. “In some legends, wishes always require pain. The more pain you give, the bigger the wish you can make.” He lowers his voice into a hush, hot breath brushing against Xichen -- scalding.
“If it makes you happy, I’ll tear out all my eyelashes for you.
“Make a wish, my dearest.”
I wish for this to have never happened.
It doesn’t work.
“I have another present for you!” Meng Yao tells Xichen excitedly after their meal.
He blinks.
A faceless figure presents the gift. It’s tied with a pretty bow. Meng Yao places it in his hands. “So you’ll have a hand to hold and won’t be lonely even when I’m not here. I hope you like it.” The sincerity in his voice makes Xichen want to cry.
Meng Yao leaves and Xichen cries himself to sleep, a severed arm with a pretty bow set next to his head. The smell of formaldehyde fills her senses and Meng Yao’s deep voice sings in his mind.
Can I hold onto your left hand? Can you let my right hand lose its freedom?
Because of you, this city has meaning to me. I look at you and close my eyes, hold my breath.
I only need you, holding hands to get through it all.
Embracing, falling, stars fly past.
“You don’t like it?” he asks the next morning with a pout.
“Get . . . away from . . . me,” Xichen (tries to) demand.
“I’ll give you a better gift tomorrow,” he promises. “And you’ll like it. I’m sure.”
Meng Yao grins as he focuses the camera on Xichen. “Smile, my dearest!” he calls over Xichen’s hysterical screams and sputtering protests.
“No!” he cries.
“Sh . . .” Meng Yao hushes. “You’ll scare the baby.”
He moves to the other side of the bed, keeping the camera steady and commenting the whole time. “The first video diary of our beautiful family. My dearest, isn’t our baby the sweetest? So quiet, will never cry, just how you like it.”
Xichen chokes, trying to look away from those unblinking, unseeing eyes.
“Why don’t you sing to our baby?” Meng Yao suggests. “A lullaby. Please?” he demands.
Xichen takes a shuddering gasp of breath and forces out his broken voice. Streaming tears, wavering voice, corpse in his lap.
Distraught. Worried. Hurt. Confused.
The emotions battle on Meng Yao’s face as he stares at Xichen.
Xichen stares back. Exhausted. Numb. Dead.
Meng Yao loses control.
“What am I doing wrong?” he cries, tearing at his hair. “Why are you so unhappy? My dearest- my- my . . . I listened to everything you said and I did everything you said but why don’t you smile anymore? Why?”
His voice cracks and Xichen winces.
“I hate you.”
Meng Yao falls silent.
“You are a psychopath, you’re crazy and you-”
“But I love you. I thought you love me too! What do I have to do to make you love me? Make you happy. I just want to make you happy...”
Meng Yao mumbles to himself like a lost kid and Xichen doesn’t fucking understand.
“Just kill me.”
Meng Yao looks up, mouth open in shock. “No, n-no,” he blubbers. “I can’t do that! I will never hurt you! I love you!”
“Kill me!” Xichen screams. “Let me go!”
He backs away, head shaking furiously, flees the room.
Meng Yao raises the gun, arm trembling.
Xichen is ready.
It goes off and it’s so loud.
Blood and brain matter splatters against the wall.
Meng Yao collapses, falling onto him, pinning him down with dead weight.
Xichen can’t move and all he can do is stare at those dead eyes.
And scream.