❝ i can't even say he deceived me. i knew exactly what he was and i jumped in anyway. ❞

❝ i think eventually i got so used to the chaos and the pain and the toxicity i began to look for it. ❞

❝ i never got a chance to discover myself. i never had that privilege. ❞

❝ you can tell me anything. i mean i can't promise i'm good at keeping secrets, but i'm a hell of a listener. ❞

❝ no one wants to yearn anymore. ❞

❝ i'm doing some of my best work here and you don't even have the decency to roll your eyes at me. honestly it's hurtful. ❞

❝ i know what you're thinking. ❞

❝ if i ask for your help are you gonna make a big deal out of it? ❞

❝ can we just be normal for like two seconds for once. ❞

❝ i would say i don't know what's wrong with you but i actually do and that's the problem. ❞

❝ against my better judgement i trust you and i think that says a lot about the state of the world right now. ❞

❝ i don't actually care but i'm bored so i'm here. ❞

❝ last time i listened to you we almost died. ❞

❝ i would've come sooner. i would've been here if you'd only asked. ❞

❝ i don't want to hurt anymore. ❞

❝ you don't have to hurt anymore. you can let go of those burdens. ❞

❝ it'd be a lot easier if i actually cared as little as i pretend to. ❞

❝ i do need you. i wouldn't be here if i didn't. ❞

❝ sometimes you don't know it's wrong until it's too late. sometimes you don't know you're being hurt until you realize you're in pieces. ❞

❝ pretending you don't need people doesn't make you strong it just makes you a jackass. ❞

❝ you're gonna be okay. eventually. but first you gotta not be okay for a while. it's gotta suck so you can actually recognize when you're alright again. ❞

❝ you shouldn't have said that. ❞

❝ sometimes i wish they had done something worse. then it'd justify how hard it's been to get over it. ❞

     ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ──  Shi Qingxuan isn't alone.

     Of course she isn't. She never has been. From natal cry to the dawn marking the second decade in which she is somehow still alive and vaguely well, Shi Qingxuan has never been alone. Haunted. Cursed. Afflicted. Possessed. She's heard all manner of words used to describe her condition, usually uttered in abject horror and revulsion or steeped in nauseating amounts of pity (or, in her brother's case, said with such personal affront one might think he was the one bearing a curse, not his younger sibling). Though each interpretation of her condition has its differences and nuances, each of them carries the same implication: her life is not her own, and misfortune will be her companion from cradle to grave.

     On the more corporeal front, there are the servants her brother sent ahead of her to prepare this half-drowned, dreary manor as her new dwelling. They may as well be ghosts in their own right. Always out of sight, smoothing sheets after she has left her bedchamber and they are certain she won't be returning any time soon, preparing hot baths without spilling so much as a single drop of water to give away the pathing of their foot traffic, setting and clearing away meals only after her presence no longer lingers in the dining room (she's toyed with the idea of bursting into the kitchen while the cooks are at work, taking a knife and clumsily chopping whatever vegetables haven't yet been cut, wedging herself into their conversation as though she's been there the whole time). The only attendants she ever shares any space with are those who help her to dress and undress. Those poor women practically flee when dismissed no matter how cheerfully she relieves them of their post, terrified beyond all rational thought of catching whatever horrific affliction has laid waste to the once promising younger Shi.

     It wasn't always like this. Before her exile relocation, servants and tutors used to look upon her a degree of fondness that would soften the sharp glint of disgust or fear. Sometimes she was even allowed to receive pre-approved company. In those days, more was expected of her than fleeting flights of fancy and drinking herself stupid. But of course, she had to go and ruin that.

     It should not come as any great surprise that she is not alone. She knows she never will be. And yet she's laid awake into the early hours of the morning these past few nights, turned towards the doorway, sheets clutched to her chest, waiting for the bedcurtains to part and reveal the manor's other occupant.

     Because it does have another occupant. A ghost.

     Not hers; she would know if it is her ghost. Hers is one of gluttony and decay, all teeth and acid, its stomach a burial mound of every good thing she has ever had, any good thing she has ever done. If it was hers, she would have long since been abandoned. Or she would have been devoured, picked clean down to the bone, her blood soaking into the floorboards the only sign she ever existed at all.

     Shi Qingxuan does not know what to make of her preternatural tenant. Sometimes they are so inobtrusive in their hauntings the untrained eye could easily mistake them for one of the long shadows that slowly claims the manor's interior at sunset. Other times proof of their existence is undeniable: a shrouded figure standing still as death at the end of the hall, a half-eaten apple left at the center of the table, vacant stairs creaking in the rhythm of ascending footsteps. She's only caught glimpses of them. Hair dark and liquid as a fast-spreading spill of ink. Skin the pallor of mourning garb. And their eyes. Like twin coins at the bottom of an abandoned well, cold and distant and so treacherously enthralling. A shiver skitters down her spine at the mere memory. Whether out of unease or macabre intrigue, she isn't certain.

     What she does know is she cannot take this tension any longer. She waits 'til all the lanterns and candles are snuffed, 'til the only sound breaking through the deafening silence are the waves beating themselves into a frothing frenzy against the shoreline far, far below her bedchamber window. Then she redresses by low-burning candle, hastily and sloppily, heart all the way in her throat, before taking her own handheld lantern and braving the belly of her manor.

     She paces hallways and lingers in the threshold of every unoccupied room she visits. Part of her wishes to find this other ghost waiting for her just around every corner she turns. The more rational part of her, the one currently berating her in her brother's voice for being such a careless fool, knows it would be best to return to her bed and at least pretend to sleep.

    Instead, she does something even stupider than her current fool's errand. She comes to a stand in the middle of the room and invites the ghost to come to her.

Once, many moons ago there had been families that roamed the halls, children that laughed and played. The parlor glowed with warmth as logs crackled in the hearth. Children that would tuck beneath fine, heavy quilts at night to keep the chill at bay. They were always the first ones to see it, peeking little eyes open as it made itself at home in their room. It would watch, with a twisting pleasure as those eyes would widen, little lips would tug down into a frown and the quilts would be dragged up over their head.

Sometimes they cried. Concerned mothers would rush down the hall to aid her wailing child, who cried of a beast, with glowing eyes and sharp jagged teeth. A creature that dripped salty sea water onto the wooden floor, leaving nothing but the smallest of puddles as it melted back into the darkness, to step just out of sight of vigilant eyes. A creature that would, as if inviting the braver members of the family to follow, leave a trail of wet footprints along the wooden floors, down into the depths of the cellar.

The last residents many years, mourning and lost, wailing that they should have listened to the rumors about the small sea town they had found their wealth in. They had lasted far longer than the others, nearly five years. The creature had watched as their babe grew, as it began to toddle around, to laugh. It had never shown fear, not outright. The child had looked at it like they saw the creature as it was, as a man that it had once been. With a kindness it had not seen since it’s wife had lived. They had smiled at it and it couldn’t bear it. One night, with the ever present hunger pains in its belly, it lured the child from bed with soft promises of candy and time to play.it had dragged the child, all too their death. The sea had once again swallowed another soul don into its depths the creature temporarily sated while it gnawed away at the meat, sucked the marrow from the child’s bones before they too were devoured, leaving nothing but a memory. The parents nearly went mad with grief. Though that may have been the creature's sick pleasure and doing. It would wander the halls in a new form, with youthful eyes and bell like laughter, always just out of reach of the mourning mother, to the cries of the child’s name and the stamping of feet as they raced down the hall. Perhaps it was cruel, but the creature was for from the kind being that it had once been. It could breathe easier now that the child was gone, it could rest in relative peace that it would be alone now, that no youth could come to it with pleading eyes, could try and befriend it, to search the endless hallways, looking for a friend that they would not find.

Now though, there was new blood, a new resident that called this crumbling manor a home. She was a lovely thing, soft hair and skin as smooth as marble. There were lights now, warming the darkened rooms, casting dancing shadows along the walls, where the creature melded into it, at home. It did not begin it’s hunt with fervor, allowed the woman to settle. It was strange, while she brought staff, they did not reside in the manor, they fled as soon as they were free to, none ever stepped foot into the kitchens. No guests came to the manor, the woman stuck here with no-one.

The creature put the burden upon itself, to ravage the gardens and the pantry, to put together meals that would suffice. To capture rabbits and ducks, to pluck the feathers and debone the meats with a familiarity that would have once been a comforting routine. It would be no fun, to allow this fragile thing to starve to death, it would not ease the ache in the creature’s belly, would not satiate the craving for flesh along its teeth.  The last meal had been so small, a morsel that the creature had savored greatly, though it did not last. It was intent on savoring this one.

It bides its time, allowing the woman to find comfort in her surroundings for now. There will come a time for fear, now is not the right time. The creature allows small glimpses of itself to be known, to tread heavily on the stairs for a melody of creaks and groans from the aging wood, to leaving an apple marred by sharp teeth at the seat across from the woman’s usual.

There is no fear, not outwardly shown at least, for the creature to see. Not while the sun shone through the windows and warmed the manor in it’s glow. Night is a different story however, where beasts roam freely outside – and inside as well. The woman surprises the creature, with her brave façade, when she crawls from the safety of her bed, down the barren halls, her own footsteps echoing off the walls. If the creature strains, it can hear the crashing of the waves against the shore, barely audible over the quiet patter of rain hitting the windows.

This is not the first time someone has sought the creature out, it thinks back to that last child, the joyous laughter as the creature led it hand and hand down to the cellar. This woman would not be so easy to convince, though it was not as though there was any the creature had to hide her death from.

It considers her request, long moments of silence weighing between them. The lantern flickers and the creature creeps forward, away from the darkened edges of the room. Just barely leaning forward to dip its head into the light. What is revealed is a delicate, cold face that a frown tugs at the edge of their lips, dark inky hair that spills forward, dripping even now.

Drip…Drip…Drip…

❝ And what guests would you tell?❞ The words feel foreign on the creature’s tongue; it’s lips curl unnaturally around the vowels and its cadence is off.  The sound grates the creature’s ears and it debates melting back into the shadows once more. It has done more than enough, let the woman wonder if it truly had occurred or if it had simply been a strange dream.

❝ They will simply think you mad if you did. ❞ Mad, but they themselves would not step foot into the manor, would not risk it.

Drip…Drip…Drip…

The creature sucks at its teeth, rolling its shoulders back as it steps forward, barefoot into the wet puddle pooling where its feet ought to be, pulling features of a form it had never known, far softer than its original body. Yes, fear was good, however too much would soil the fun to come.

Bai Wuxiang waits for the unimpressive guest to finish helping himself to his CHARITY as he stands by the paneled windows, observing his KINGDOM. This city has multiple influential corners divided into territories to observe the terrifying wolfpack. Bai Wuxiang's corner may not be the richest but it is expensive enough that affording it sends a message. No one is going to doubt his authority either. His occupation gifts immunity so long as he delivers a package with a heartbeat good enough to serve a purpose. He tips his glass of wine to his lips, the red swirls and hits his tongue, crawling through his throat to warm his chest. The man's brows are knit together as he checks the horizon for anything suspicious, as if his eyes are those of a god befalling cockroaches that worship him. He smiles to himself as he thinks of Xie Lian, hidden somewhere to pursue a humanitarian dream. Wuxiang has eyes all over the city; he pays double to his investigators who weekly bring back a report, accessorized with pictures, videos, and sometimes, on a very good day, an item for safekeeping. Bai Wuxiang does not know how long he will remain in this city. His living arrangements are entirely reliant on Xianle's movement. So far, it seems that the famed and defamed celebrity likes the quiet life on the edge of affordability and poverty. If only he understood what potential he has HERE.

Lowering his glass, Bai Wuxiang feels grim as he squeezes the stem. The shower's purr ceases, and someone walks about the bathroom. For just a moment, the host forgets he has guests and abysmal irritability fills him to the rim. His eyes grow dark, piercing a skyscraper far away. If looks could kill, someone in the office cubicle hidden behind reflective glass would have been dead by now. His phone rings once and he ignores it, his hearing blurred with the static of imagining Xie Lian's pained gasps. He remembers that day when his hands were covered in thick layers of blood...

...Xie Lian was writhing in pain, tear-eyed, as he stared at the man kneeling beside him. Four pairs of hands clutched at the gunshot wound in his stomach while Bai Wuxiang kept delaying calling the ambulance. Shh, shh, Xianle, I am here. He whispered against the man's ear, nuzzling his sweaty temple that began to grow cold. Xie Lian whimpered, gritting his teeth. He was going to die and in his delirium, his lips moved, sharing secrets of hidden pain and resentment he held for the world. Bai Wuxiang drank it up, fascinated by the intelligence born of agony. His lips lingered by Xie Lian's mouth, catching sighed words as if they were his last. I will get you out. You will be reborn. He promised as blue and red lights washed over them. Xie Lian did not hear the sirens of approaching help. He stared at Bai Wuxiang, remembering his face. He thanked the other man. He thanked him for organizing an assassination with a mere call. He thanked him for watching Xie Lian slump against the wall as the gun fired multiple times. He thanked him for making the wound deeper. And then he blacked out.

A grating voice rips Bai Wuxiang from his reminiscing fantasies. This voice does not belong to the PERFECT Xianle. It is rough on the edges, entirely classless, and it misses notes of gratitude. Wuxiang presses his lips into a tight line until they fade and pale. His hand grips the glass until it makes a creaking noise. He Xuan dares to speak to him with demands, setting some expectations he cannot AFFORD to make. Bai Wuxiang lets out a sharp hiss, spinning around from the window as he flings the glass directly at the guest. It misses him, perhaps on purpose, and crashes into the wall behind him. The glass shatters into a thousand shards, spitting red wine over the expensive wallpaper. The stem splinters when it hits the ground, adding to the drumming beat of each piece bouncing on the floor.

"Who gave you the PERMISSION to speak to me?" Bai Wuxiang snarls, his eyes black with fury. He detaches himself from the window, marching toward the tall, wet cat standing on his floor. It is already baffling how He Xuan allows himself to stand naked among foreign luxury. He does not own the AIR in Bai Wuxiang's residence but trails water all over his polished floor, soaking into the carpet. He glares at the translucent smudges, pupils shaking from rage. "What do you think you are doing?" Wuxiang's voice frosts over as he reaches out to fist the edge of He Xuan's towel before TEARING the only fabric away from his body. "Who do YOU think you are spreading your FILTH all over my sanctuary?" The man snaps dryly as he tosses the towel onto the floor at He Xuan's feet. "Clean up." He filters through his gritted teeth. "Before I make you pick the glass up with your feet. Are your prostituting habits coming back to you, or are you so blind to miss a ROBE on the hook?" Wuxiang does not wait for much of an answer as he grabs He Xuan's bicep and tugs the naked man onto the carpet before shoving him down on the chilly leather couch.

Right then, the doorbell rings and Bai Wuxiang recalls the missed call vibrating in his pocket a bit earlier. He barks permission to come in and schools his expression. A team enters: a maid and a clerk, carrying several packages along with three hangers. Three-piece suits, two black, one indigo, are carried over to Bai Wuxiang before he stops them and points to the kitchen. The mess is immediately noticed by the maid and she gasps, asking if her employer is alright. Finally, Wuxiang smiles, stretching his lips as far as his muscles would let him. "Yes, please clean this up? My guest just arrived from underneath the stone. He is having trouble accessing his HUMAN brain for now." Snapping a glare back to He Xuan, the host briefly reconsiders even involving the man in this. Finally, he averts his face and waits for the maid to clean up. The work of the broom and towel is excruciatingly slow but Bai Wuxiang waits without tearing his eyes from her. He stands by the couch, blocking He Xuan's way until the team leaves. Only then does he shove himself aside as if prickled by his disgust.

"Get dressed." He spits out over his shoulder, crossing his arms as the crime scene of the murdered glass is no more.

He should have known. He was a fool to think that his small consideration for the other monster would be appreciated. He had anticipated the worst, had tried to avoid the inevitable humility that was to come. It stung far more than he was ever willing to admit, Bai Wuxiang already believes him to be a lowly, filthy creature. He has no intention on giving him anymore reason to think such a thing. Still, he tenses, an involuntary flinch as glass shatters and wine stains the pristine wall.

The momentary silence weighs heavy between them, He Xuan's lungs burning as he holds his breath, tense and ready to flee. That would only be a death sentence, he knows this. He stands his ground, fights to keep a bored - impassive look on his face. Even as the monster turns on him, stalks forward and rips away the little modesty he had allowed himself.

The world spins and then narrows, down to sharp pinpricks of nails against his bicep, pressing down into soft flesh, threatening to break the skin. What would Bai Wuxiang do, if he bled? Would he lap at the ruby droplets? Would he dig his fingers in deeper, let the blood well and bubble up and drain him?

He's hissing curses under his breath, low and muffled into the leather of the couch. Gooseflesh prickles along his skin and every instinct screams to fight. He had a chance, he could win if it were just the two of them. He Xuan has grappled with his own mortality before, has snuffed out a life without a second thought because in that moment, it was kill or be killed in return. He had long since past the point of no return. His fingers knew what it was like to dig mercilessly into soft flesh, to feel the strain and struggle of a throat closing. He knew all too well the burn of desperate scrabbling fingers against the back of his hands, down his arms.

He still bore those scars, long and jagged. Proof that he had survived. Proof of what he had done. Shi Qingxuan would never forgive him, but they were free now.

He had done one good thing, even if nobody else thought so.

He's lost track of time, stuck in his own head, in the memory of his first kill; pinned like a feral animal while the maid cleans. The bristles sliding against the floor is too loud, a steady consistent sound that makes irritation bubble up beneath his skin. He's stuck here, not just on the couch, but under Bai Wuxiang's thumb. There is no escape. He was freed from prison only to take on the shackles of another. He's stuck here, following the erratic and crazed orders of a man who should have been locked up long ago but has kept himself clean simply because of the wealth he hordes.

Finally, he's released and allowed to straighten up again. His body aches and creaks as he rolls his shoulders back. The maid scurried along, careful to keep her eyes averted. He didn't know whether it was because she felt sorry for him or - more likely because he did not want to face her employer's wrath. If he looks down, there's a small puddle of water pooling on the leather, thanks to his still wet hair.

"Thank you, master." He sneers, lips curling on the title as he steps away from the couch. He doesn't bother pulling the towel up, to cover himself. It had been Bai Wuxiang's choice to tear the towel away, it didn't matter to He Xuan, he's suffered far worse before. One set of eyes on him did not faze him. Even if they were the eyes of a predator, looking for any sign of weakness.

He purses his lips, stepping away from the couch to instead follow the clerk into the kitchen. The packages were set with care off to the side, occupying only a small portion of the frankly massive island. The suits are still in hand, held up and away from floor. This floor was more than likely cleaner than any of the trays he'd eaten off of in prison and certainly cleaner than glasses at the lounge. He pauses for but a moment, eyeing his options before snatching a black suit, the only one that seemed closest to fitting him.

He absconds with the suit immediately, turning on his heel to duck into the bathroom once more. Most of the thick steam has dissipated but the room is still muggy and uncomfortable. Still the door locks and he's able to breath just a bit easier. He doesn't need to look at the tag to know that this suit more than likely cost more than his monthly rent. It's not his money that he's wearing though.

With rough jerks of his hands, he pulls the suit from its hanger, tossing the jacket onto the marbled counter and pulling on the shirt first. It feels like nothing, light and breathable, even with its starched collar and cuffs. He finds that when he buttons it up, it fits - not overly snug but as a good suit should.

The pants come next and he regrets not digging through the other packages the clerk had brought with him, though he supposes that would be too much of a kindness, to provide undergarments. The clothes he had worn on his way in still sat in a puddle, tangled with one another. He pulls his cheap, thin boxers on before pulling on the pants that match the suit. That too fits far better than it should. Perhaps he should be concerned about how Bai Wuxiang got his measurements down so well. After that, its a quick affair, pulling on the suit jacket and buttoning that closed.

His reflection stares back at him, all pale skin and dark bags under his eyes. Despite the fitted suit, he would be hard pressed to see the hunger in his frame. He looks bigger, healthier than what he surely is. He combs through his hair with his fingers, pushing it back and out of the way the best he can.

A small rebellion, just to ease the way his hackles raised and to soothe the irritation of being made an obedient dog.

Finally, he musters up the will to leave the bathroom, flipping the lock to pull the door open. The air of the living room was a cool blessing and he could breathe a little easier, walk a bit more confidently. He shoves a hand into his pocket, to wander back towards where he had last left Bai Wuxiang.

Victorious, the scum-landlord stops at the door to grace He Xuan with another look. He rolls his eyes and pushes back a few loose strands of his hair that escape from a gentle tuck of his earshell. "There are two kinds of people in this world Xuan. One that works, and the other that LIVES. You know your place but you like to forget it. No days off for criminals." He smirks and marches through the pathetic hallway that He Xuan calls home, abandoning the rest of the apartment that he considers burning up when his next project finally moves cities. Bai Wuxiang doesn't like to stay in one place for long but as long as Xie Lian is living here, he will remain until his precious antique decides to go on vacation. He shoves the door open with his foot, too disgusted to touch it with his hand again.

"Maybe you SHOULD kill yourself. I think that will make the world a better place. But then again," Bai Wuxiang drags out his words as he glances He Xuan's way. "Who gives a shit about you?" With a sincerely wicked smile, he descends the stairs and tears through the traffic of crowds rushing off to do their business. He does not check to see if He Xuan is following. Of course, he is, because what else will a POOR, HUNGRY, DOG do without him?

While the prospect of forcing the bartender to go back to the place he resents sounds amusing to Bai Wuxiang, he has bigger fish to fry, and He Xuan has to be on the menu tonight. Otherwise, the party would be boring! He cannot allow his life to get as boring as the shadowy counterpart dragging his splitting boots behind him. It is a solemn sight and Bai Wuxiang walks a little quicker to appear a mere stranger to He Xuan. Gods FORBID, he is seen with his impoverished tenant.

"Playing pretend is your specialty, He Xuan, I will not deny it." Bai Wuxiang muses as his regal gait is seized by a crosswalk, eyes pinned to the slow countdown of the pedestrian red light. "That is why you are stuck where you are. Daydreaming of things you are incapable of having." His smile grows into a satisfied grin as the timer crosses the thirty-second threshold. Then, his cruel eyes crawl up to catch He Xuan's profile. "Me? I have everything I want. I don't pretend." The light turns white, signaling that it is safe to cross. Bai Wuxiang doesn't wait for He Shui's useless commentary as he immediately darts to cross the road where a tall industrial building glows in its new, rich glory. These are luxury apartments built recently by a company that took over the city with the help Bai Wuxiang's influence. Something about knowing the right guy, a friend of a friend, and now he owned the very top floor all to himself.

Bai Wuxiang converted it into a penthouse that gathered the best sight of the city without other buildings soaring over his mornings. The polished lobby smells of jasmine and chemicals, and a wide elevator with mirrored walls carries them to the fifteenth floor. During their trip. Bai Wuxiang stares at no one but his own reflection. Strangely, it looks like the reflection is watching He Xuan instead.

The man does not use keys. Instead, his access looks like a slick, black credit card made of platinum. He crosses two doors before He Xuan is introduced to a lavish space that one person cannot possibly upkeep on their own. And yet, the penthouse is spotless. The main entryway is decorated in golden arches and pieces influenced by the Hindu religion. Various Hindu gods glare upon He Xuan, judging his worth as he is invited to proceed. Before they cross over to the carpet, Bai Wuxiang snaps a pair of simple slippers directly in front of the bartender, glaring at him. "I see one speck of you on my floor, I am going to gut you on my carpet and dye it red." He threatens and glances at the arm he cut earlier, smile widening. "Get to the kitchen and clean yourself up, you are filthy." He orders and turns his nose away as if Xuan's blood smells like garbage.

The kitchen is clad in onyx wood. The dark marble countertops reflect the polished wine glasses and a painted ceiling depicting a mural of an unknown war: humans dig their teeth into each other's necks, splattering blood on mothers wrapping around their babes. There is a horse that is stabbed with arrows, oozing red smoke from its nostrils. The mural is perfectly positioned over a polished kitchen island where, upon the black countertop, it dimly reflects the gruesome scenes. The living room is decorated with a long couch that wraps around an intricate coffee table littered with vintage trinkets. Bai Wuxian likes gold and it is scattered all over his penthouse, ranging from a golden wine cooler that takes up an entire wall and finishing to tall vases with poppies spilling from the innards.

Each ceiling has a mural, some gruesome, others are softer, depicting scenes that belong to an undiscovered religion. The furniture moved closer to the paneled windows that make up majority of the walls. Blackout curtains are drawn apart to show off the regal sight, and there is a balcony that looks like a patio with a pool resting beneath the stars to be. This is a luxury only a mafia boss can offer, but Bai Wuxiang is humbler than that.

He tosses He Xuan a medkit over the countertop, pointing to the various items before shoving his finger toward another door. This one leads to a bathroom that looks like the inside of a pearl. Here, the luminous ceiling and walls encompass a private heaven with emerald and gold accents. There is a bath in the middle and a glass shower in the corner, various robes made only for Bai Wuxiang and company he never keeps. He Xuan is the first visitor who come to his penthouse so early. The rest are supposed to be on schedule.

Pouring himself a glass of wine without drawing a second glass, Bai Wuxiang trails around the kitchen island, dismissively waving his hand.

"You are going to clean yourself up. Do you have something nicer to wear? No, ha, of course you don't." The man rolls his eyes and fishes out his phone from his pocket, making a quick call to the lobby. He eyes He Xuan, discerning his height and quickly tells someone on the other side to bring him a couple of black suits that appear to fit a tall, starving victim. Yes, he says it verbatim like that before hanging up.

"I am starting to regret bringing you here. Take a shower and do not talk to me until then." With that, Bai Wuxiang walks off toward the windows to stare outside, swirling crimson nectar in one hand while pinching the bridge of his nose with another. "Ah, employing the aid of a felon. Have I stooped so low?"

Once upon a time there may have been a day where Bai Wuxiang's cruel assessment would have hurt, would have cut He Xuan to the bone. But he's right, there really isn't anyone who would miss him now. His fiance - dead. Shi Qingxuan? Might as well be dead because they want nothing to do with him. For good reason too. There would be no tidal waves if he were to disappear off the face of the earth, no riots, no desperate search parties and pleads of goodwill and for any information that may lead his loved ones to where he was. That's simply the sad truth of his life. He had mentioned his regulars earlier, but even then, it'd be a simple complaint before they move on, accepting the newest face on staff to take care of them instead.

He knows this all to be a fact, and so does Bai Wuxiang. Perhaps he should be more reluctant to follow the crazed man, through the shoddy building he calls home and through the busy streets, weaving in and out of bodies as the other leads him god knows where. Maybe he's being taken out of his misery, finally.

Of all places he could die, this would certainly be the nicest. There was little time to marvel at the architecture of the building Bai Wuxiang ducked into, with large windows and balconies that scream luxury. Even the richest in the city would have difficulties finding a home here.

And yet, here He Xuan was, in all of his tattered and broke glory, standing in the entrance of the penthouse, Because he'd been invited - told - to follow along. It's an extravagant show of wealth, one that makes his skin crawl. It isn't jealousy, he hasn't stooped so low to be jealous of a crazed and lonely creature like Bai Wuxiang, he's certainly heard enough about 'Xianle' to know that he is the object of his desires - He Xuan hesitates to call anything that involves Bai Wuxiang affection - and yet he's always annoyingly just out of reach. But there's a want, not to have all of this, or even a fraction of it, but more-so just enough to live comfortably, to lay his head down in an apartment that had hot water more often than not, where he didn't have to worry about his landlord letting himself in whenever he damn well pleased.

The kitchen is just as extravagant - gaudy- as the rest of the penthouse and He Xuan truly does feel out of place, Even if he hadn't been threatened, he would have been careful not to make a mess, blood or otherwise. Still he bites his tongue. There's no use arguing, his landlord - captor - knows that He Xuan only has what he does thanks to him. From his job, to the shitty apartment he rests his head in, to the clothes on his back. He would have been in a far worse position if Bai Wuxiang had not taken a chance on him after he'd been released from prison. He can't ignore how much the man had done for him, reluctantly or not. So, he complies, silently.

Perhaps if he had been fully rested, he would have the energy to argue with the other, but not today. Today he's exhausted and curious as to what's in store. Just why would he need a suit? Even the uniform at the lounge wasn't that strict. He complies, reaching out with his non-bleeding arm to drag the med kit close to his chest and turns on his heel to retreat into the bathroom.

It isn't until he has a door between them, lock slid into place giving him a modicum of privacy, that he lets out a breath. ❝ Rich bastard, thinking he owns me. ❞ He mutters, frown tugging on his lips as he sets about cleaning himself up.

He considers the bath for a moment, it's been years since he's had one, he thinks about how good it would feel to float in the hot water, letting it relax far too tense muscles and ease the aches and pains of his life away. Considering the size though, it would take far longer than either he or Bai Wuxiang would like, to just fill the tub. Reluctantly, he settles on the shower, reaching in to tug none too kindly on the golden handle. Immediately, a cascade of water falls, steam already billowing up. That's all the invitation he needs to drop the medkit carelessly on the counter and strip himself of the wrinkled work clothes he'd allowed himself to sleep in, letting them fall to a heap on the floor as he steps under the spray.

The water is blissfully hot, nearly to the point of burning as he soaks it in, sucking in a sharp and pained breath while his arm stings at the water washes over his cut. For a moment, the water swirling down the drain, is stained red, however it doesn't last very long at all. Or at least he pays it no mind. His eyes close as tense muscles relax under the blistering heat, skin turning red beneath the delicious pressure.

He's not sure how long he's been beneath the spray, scrubbing at his skin, wiping away the grim of the day, just basking in the warmth. Maybe its only a few minutes, maybe its an hour, he drags himself out from under the spray, when he's lightheaded and his skin pricks in irritation. He can't remember the last time he's had a shower that good. As loathe as he is to admit it, even the body scrubs and the shampoos and conditioners he helped himself to, were divine. He's left smelling fresh and his skin is smooth and moisturized. Even the fucking towel is heavenly, a plush piece of cloth that wicks away any extra water. Okay, so maybe he is a little jealous, at the luxuries that money could buy.

He wraps the towel low around his waist, ignoring the robe for the time being. He's nearly positive that if he were to wrap that wound himself that Bai Wuxiang would skin him alive with a smile on his face. Even now that was a possibility. He takes a moment to bandage his arm, slapping a bandage on with little care. The bleeding was already slowing, starting to congeal. It would scab soon enough. After, he combed his fingers through wet hair, pushing long inky strands back from his face. It would have to do for the time being. He was not about to ask his employer where he kept his brushes. Next time.

Black Water Sinking Ships

He Xuan's not-give-a-fuckery keeps the business of another pumping bar running. This is a reality that Bai Wuxiang created when he hired the felon in the first place. An assistant draped a gallery book over his lap, and Wuxiang dragged his manicured finger over it before tapping on He Xuan's pictured forehead, hissing This one. He knew He Xuan before He Xuan knew him. Bai Wuxiang had been around this city for a long time. He raised his first conglomerate here. He smuggled his first batch of HUMANS, shook hands on the Black Market, and ground bone to ash that became joint fuel he observed a dealer roll.

The smoke resembled opium, and Bai Wuxiang smiled at the crowd, making him a millionaire in mere seconds. Smoking their OWN, ha, fucking pathetic. This kind of business is what pisses Hua Cheng off in his corner of deals but Bai Wuxiang is too grand for him to take over. So the two decide to respectfully keep their territory untouched. They only talk when Xie Lian crosses the invisible territory line and suddenly Bai Wuxiang is more irritable. He nearly crashes his car to come see what Xianle is up to and it drives him up the wall to see his arm around another's. Such thoughts make him murderous. And today, He Xuan is just unlucky enough to make jokes that left him UNBITTEN before.

A switchblade is as fast as Bai Wuxiang flips it from his pocket, grabbing the hanging arm and slicing at the flesh to bleed the bartender. The cut is not deep and it teases the artery by splitting the mere surface. It's the nicks that are always dramatic and Bai Wuxiang had a lot of time on his hands to learn the human body. The way it PUMPS blood, the way it SURRENDERS to something as simple as a blade, and the way it is so pliant under TEETH.

"Fucking ungrateful pig." Bai Wuxiang hisses under his breath, squeezing He Xuan's wrist to rush the blood and stain the man and his bed as he tosses the wounded limb down with a shove. The switchblade earns a glance as Bai Wuxiang brings it to his lips, gliding his tongue over the blade to gather the bartender's blood into his mouth. His eyes narrow while he swirls the metallic treat in his mouth with saliva before spitting it directly onto He Xuan's pillow. The stain tangles in his hair, and Bai Wuxiang grimaces in disgust.

"You are replaceable because you are a NOBODY." He says coldly and straightens. "My next cut is going to be across your neck. But that's what you want, doesn't it? A relief from your miserable little life because killing is your love language? Ha," the switchblade clicks shut and Bai Wuxiang hides it in his pocket, parting ways from the matters. "I would have personally let you rot in prison if not only for the fact that watching you crawl through life is so ENTERTAINING." Then, Bai Wuxiang spins on his heels and kicks directly into He Xuan's side.

"GET UP!" He snarls, voice losing his usual, luxurious composure. "Get up before I gouge out your eyes." He stalks toward the doorframe, glaring over his shoulder. "Clock in early. I have a job for you." A vile smile twists Wuxiang's lips. "If you want a home for another month, you will be a good boy and follow your OWNER."

It's instinctive, how He Xuan jerks his hand back, to clutch at his bleeding wrist. The stinging bite of the blade against the thin skin of his wrist isn't new. In fact, it's a familiar feeling that he had once found comfort in. He still does, though nowhere near as often as he once had. That nasty habit was something he tried to drop when Shi Qingxuan came into his life. He hated how their eyes lingered on the scabbing gashes, how their smile dimmed whenever new wounds appeared.

He hated how he felt the need to explain why. How the words knotted into a lump in his throat and were nowhere to be found when it really mattered.

The bite of this blade is far from intentional and it wrenches a pained hiss from between his teeth, as his wrist is squeezed, urging crimson pearls to well and spill over, staining pale skin. This pain is nothing, compared to what he's faced in the past, Bai Wuxiang's words barely registering until he spits out the word love language. At that, He Xuan freezes. His heart stutters painfully in his chest as he remembers how Shi Qingxuan had screamed and begged, pleaded for their brother. How they refused to look his way when they took the stand, how they advocated for a sentence that would ensure He Xuan never saw the light of day again.

That memory knocks the wind from him, leaves him gasping and scrambling at his throat with short, blunt nails that leave trails of red along the column. Perhaps it's the boot as well. That leaves his ribs aching, makes him groan as he tries once more to pull himself together.

He does, but it's a fragile delicate thing his composure. His hands tremble as he pushes himself upright, his lungs wheezing as he moves to stand. He's still just as tired as he was when he first collapsed onto his mattress, the little sleep he had wasn't nearly enough. But there was no choice, other than to stand up, to gather his hair into a ponytail, tied with a hairband sticky with his own blood.

❝ Surprised you're letting me clock in at all. ❞ He mutters, stumbling forward as he toes on his boots. Worn, cracked leather that's beginning to tear at the toes, away from the sole. Damn. He'd been hoping to get away with wearing them longer, to squirrel some money away and maybe buy a pair that wouldn't leave his ankles covered in blisters.

Stupidly, he'd hoped that maybe he could buy a new pair, not just new to him.

❝ Can't wait to see what fucked up shit you have in store for me. ❞ A pause of consideration as he straightens up, dark eyes flicking over to where the other demon man stood. ❝ If you're sending me back to the bar already, I will kill myself. ❞ He would do anything for a buck, sure but he had some standards. He needed some time away from that godforsaken place, even if it followed him home, with the way the smoke clung to his clothes and his hair.

❝ What do you even need? Someone to pretend to be your friend? ❞ He wasn't above making jabs when he could, especially since his wrist still stung and his eyelids still weighed heavy. A low gurgle reached his ears, and he knew, before the pang of hunger registered, that it was his stomach. He'd forgone dinner, for the chance at just an hour more of sleep. Look where that got him.

Bai Wuxiang stands in the doorway a little longer, allowing the light from the outside to envelop him like an angel. He feels the draw of something indulgent about this scene: Bai Wuxiang, a Grim Reaper with a face of a saint, wearing a cunning smile upon his thin lips, where across from him, He Xuan lies upon his sliver of property, drenched in his mistakes. Bai Wuxiang chuckles before speaking with a low, entitled voice:

"Ew." He proclaims with a drawn-out vowel, shaking his head. He lets silence hang between them amid He Xuan's brief tantrums. Out of all people, the bartender should not be the one lashing out. Bai Wuxian tosses his head to the right, showing off a crease that threatens to tear the corner of his mouth if he widens his grin anymore.

"MY manager?" Bai Wuxian's head moves to the left, a joint pops in his spine, and his smile falls into an uncanny pout. "I thought I killed that guy?" He mumbles under his nose, a note just above a whisper. Then, he snaps to straighten, leisurely walking forward in a short stroll through the barren land of He Xuan's bedroom. He stops just a sway away from the mattress, tilting his head slightly to look down at the lounging bartender. "You know this is my bar, yes?" He purrs like a satisfied feline who finds a mouse trapped in a sticky web laid out by a tarantula. Bai Wuxiang looks like he is seconds away from pouncing on the other and stabbing him to death with something SHARP, TOOTH-LIKE, GUTTING.

"Which one of you is breaking things in MY bar, hm, Xuan?" Each time Bai Wuxiang speaks, his voice grows smaller, until it is a mere whisper dedicated to the bartender only. Where he stands, a shadow falls upon his straight, black hair trademarked by a white wisp slicked back into a low ponytail with the rest. "If the manager says you are stealing, then you are." Bai Wuxiang grins and tilts his upper body, hovering over the other man, who appears TOO COMFORTABLE in his predicament.

"Is it you?" He mouths his words, nearly erasing the breath he wastes on He Xuan.

"Then you are going to pay back with your limbs, little fish. Do you understand?" Briefly, Bai Wuxiang's eyes flicker toward He Xuan's lower half hidden beneath a pathetic blanket. He eyes his legs and looks up with a satisfied smile. "Which one am I taking today?"

There may have been a time in his life, where Bai Wuxiang's threats hit home, where He Xuan would bend and give in to whatever the demented demon wanted. Now though, he's tired. His head throbs and he simply leans it back, dark tendrils of hair splayed against the white pillow cover. All bark, no bite. That's Bai Wuxiang.

If the bottles of stolen liquor really were an issue, He Xuan was nearly positive that he would have heard about and subsequently be dealt with, months ago. This wasn't a new occurrence, he'd taken multiple bottles, why the manager never told Bai Wuxiang was beyond him. Perhaps he'd only just noticed. In which case he was a fool and shouldn't be running the lounge.

It wasn't like He Xuan could say that though. Well, he could. Now didn't seem quite like the right time.

❝ You ask as if you don't already know. ❞ This at least, wrenches a laugh from his lips, they curl up into the beginnings of a smile, even in the face of a clear threat. What more could the man looming over him really do? Kick him out? Sure, He Xuan couldn't think of a single person stupid enough to move into here in his stead. He could fire him, sure but then he'd be losing his only competent employee.

Really, Bai Wuxiang was lucky it was just liquor he was stealing.

❝ You can take my hand. ❞ He lifts his arm lazily, finally bringing his gaze up to meet Bai Wuxaing's crazed eyes. His hand hangs limply in the air, but otherwise he doesn't move. ❝ But your regulars would riot. ❞

Every single one of the regulars at the lounge, disgust He Xuan. They stink of wealth and have no concept of what reality is like. They speak of their troubles, of a politician that snubbed them, of a school that was too righteous to accept their bribe and let their incompetent child enroll, of a haughty piece of jewelry that's just so expensive they had to get it. Every single one talks and talks, simply to hear themselves speak. Their words are a constant flow of nothing, simply there so they don't have to sit in silence as miserable as they really feel. He Xuan listens, it's his job to do so. He offers small agreements here and there, playing at a sympathetic ear. He allows them to think they're friends, even if they can’t even make a guess at his own name.

Insistent banging on He Xuan's door is followed by a jingle of keys as Bai Wuxiang, dressed in layers otherwise unfitting of a man who goes out for groceries, enters the gloomy apartment. "He Shui!" He snaps, rotating his head around the simple entryway hallway while advancing forward. He does not bother to take his shoes off. This place is already filthy after being sullied by He Xuan himself and his odd habits. As a landlord, Bai Wuxiang knows the layout of every apartment he rents out to souls he knows are going to spend the rest of their days indebted to someone who knows how to scam and live off luxury. He Xuan is one such man and it utterly disgusts Bai Wuxiang.

Shoving his keys back into the pocket of his white cardigan - a very landlord essential accessory - Bai Wuxian knocks on what he knows is a bedroom door.

"Xuan, get up this instant." Bai Wuxiang barks, his hand already guiding the doorknob to grip as he grins his teeth. He tried to amicably resolve the unpaid rent matter with simple threats over the phone. Now that he has to SHOW UP in person, He Xuan has some serious problems.

"You have five seconds before I break this door down and skin your scales alive, little mermaid." He plans to enter on THREE. "One," he starts, adding more threats with a greedy hiss. "The next eviction notice is going to be nailed to your forehead. TWO." He squeezes the silver knob and slowly his lips curl upward into a vile grin. "You better hope I find you dead. THREE."

Shoving himself in, Bai Wuxiang enters He Xuan's private quarters, towering in the doorway in his full conglomerate glory.

The one thing that had been getting He Xuan through the evening, was the promise of crawling into bed at the end of it. Embracing the sweet release of death sleep for a few hours sounded heavenly. After busting his ass at work, picking up forced into a double after yet another co-worker quit.

He shouldn't be complaining, he could use the extra money. He could put it towards finally pulling his account out of the red.

That didn't help the bone deep exhaustion he felt, money didn't fix how his knees creaked and groaned, how every step only deepened the frown on his face. He was too old for bar tending and his patience for customers was most definitely running thin, but the tips, while few and far between were a nice bonus. When they weren't stolen out from under him.

He'd made it home only a few hours ago, had kicked his shoes off at the door, letting them join the small miserable pile already there, and immediately stumbled towards his bedroom. He locks the door behind him, a habit he'd started long ago that he's never broken. He collapses into bed, a small mattress laid flat on the floor, burrowing under the single blanket laid atop it.

Sleep took him quickly, which was a blessing in of itself - there were far too many days where he laid there, staring at the ceiling watching as the sun crawled across the sky and his precious time of rest slipped away from him. Today though, his body seemed to have mercy on him. Or more likely it was shutting down from overwork.

He wasn't the heaviest sleeper, however years spent rotting away in prison and shared living spaces and third shift jobs taught him to block out the noise of everyone else's day to day lives. At the sound of pounding on a door, he simply pulled the blanket over his head and rolled over. It isn't his problem.

...

Apparently it is his problem though.

The door slams open, which is loud and startling enough that he jerks up, his hair falling from the low messy ponytail he'd put it in hours ago. He blinks hard as he looks to the door, the world still fuzzy with sleep.

❝ The fuck do you want? ❞

He falls back to lean on his elbows even though his landlord is not only wearing a feral, dangerous grin, but also in his home uninvited. He has an idea as to what Bai Wuxian wants, the stack of unread notifications from a contact named " THE LITERAL DEVIL " that ranged from missed calls to texts, declaring that he need to pay rent now was a clear giveaway.

He'd get him his rent, as soon as he got paid.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞