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★
When his time finally comes, Lin Ling doesn’t know how he dies.
In the war against fear, you couldn't trust anyone. Lin Ling had seen firsthand what fear could do, how that malicious entity spread like a disease until the skies turned black and a thick, dark miasma blanketed the Earth.
By the time anyone realized what was wrong, it was already too late to stop the events that had transpired.
Things like trust were the first to lose value in the face of fear, and with it, its power to repel villains. Heroes fell into despair, succumbing to the entity that roused the inner demons lurking beneath their skin, some morphing into monstrous creatures that prowled the streets, and others becoming a shell of what they once were, leaving behind mindless puppets.
Lin Ling was one of the heroes who survived the society’s initial descent into darkness, what was now called the shadow age. At the time, he selfishly believed that once people regained trust, things would return to normal.
But trust, just like fear, was something that could easily be manipulated.
Lin Ling should have known better–under the right influence, the very little trust left could be twisted into obscurity and be rendered meaningless. Words had meaning. False narratives had meaning. Human hearts were fickle and easy to manipulate on some ever-changing axis, and with the fall of an era of heroes came the rise of a new era: an era of fear and villains.
After years of fighting, Lin Ling was weary, a tired ache weaving through his very bones. With his vision blurring from both pain and exhaustion, Lin Ling gritted his teeth, his whole body fighting desperately to survive. His wound bled sluggishly at his side, the sharp pain drawing out a pained hiss from his teeth.
He had been careless, getting caught in a sudden ambush. The new order of fear had finally caught wind of his presence, and shadow agents attacked him while he was unguarded, searching for lost intel under the rubble of a collapsed government building.
He was naïve to think he could fight against the odds. Villains outnumbered the few heroes that remained, and the vestiges of trust were not enough for him to fend off their combined strength. In the end, all he manages to do is escape, hiding his battered body in the otherwise empty ruins, leaning against a broken pillar of what used to be a towering statue of some unknown hero.
“Some kind of fate this was,” Lin Ling bitterly laughs, leaning his head against a concrete slab. The taste of iron is on his tongue, his breath a loose rattle in his chest. His vision flickers in and out, a dull pain radiating in waves throughout his body, and suddenly, he knows–this is it.
It was better this way, Lin Ling thinks. Better to die before fear could take hold of him. Better to be a corpse than to become a monster, a cheap imitation of a hero that caused pain to others.
His defeated body slumps against the pillar.
Lin Ling closes his eyes. His body feels weak, and a shiver wracks his frame, signaling his closeness to the end. And yet, he feels no fear at his impending death; instead, a peaceful serenity washes over him. He’s tired of fighting, of hiding, of struggling against that invisible entity that seemed to cloud his senses with grief, pain, and guilt.
If he were given another chance, maybe things would be different.
Absent-mindedly, he watches the dots flicker across his vision, blotting the red sky above with strokes of black ink. He breathes in the night air, his unfocused gaze tracking the fading rays of light.
It was cruel, Lin Ling can’t help but think. Despite his best efforts, the world would not change. The Earth would keep spinning, the sun would rise and fall, and the days would pass, with or without him.
A new tomorrow would come, and Lin Ling would not be there. He just hopes that maybe in another life, his life would’ve meant something to someone.
Just like that, darkness swallows his vision.
Then nothing.
★
That should’ve been the end. But somehow, it isn’t.
When Lin Ling next opens his eyes, the bleeding red sky has melted into a serene sky, where fluffy white clouds surround an ever-bright sun. The sunlight pierces his eyes, its radiance blinding after the many years he spent in darkness.
For a moment, he doesn’t quite know where he is. His hands are unnaturally heavy, the faint weight of something pressing against his chest, and he suddenly realizes that he is standing on the edge of a building, the horizon stretching out like a mirage in front of him.
He takes a moment to breathe, settling the panic that rises minutely in his throat. It has been years since he’s seen the sky this clear, unblemished by darkness.
Papers flutter in the wind, scattering just like his thoughts. The rustle of crinkled papers draws his attention as they soar past, flying over the edge into the great unknown.
It feels like he has fallen straight into a dream.
Lin Ling sets the cardboard box in his arms gently on the ground before walking straight towards the edge of the rooftop. Tall skyscrapers reflect the golden hues of the sky. A nearby billboard projects Nice's handsome image, and his aquamarine eyes sparkle with joy as he narrates the tagline of an endorsed product.
He remembers this distant memory at the edge of his mind. This had been the moment of change, when he had stepped into the world of heroes, and when Nice had quietly disappeared into obscurity, only to reappear as a wraith, a puppet of Treeman who could only obey commands.
Lin Ling hadn’t known then about the dark lurkings of the hero commission, and the shadowed secrets that each organization held. He remembers with sickening clarity how it felt like to be Nice, a paragon of virtue, clean and unblemished. Now, that same image makes revulsion crawl in his throat.
Years after he had filled the role of Nice, even the color white makes him sick: the pristine texture of it, how it taunted him as Nice, the way his lips automatically curled into a brittle smile when the cameras flashed, the very echoes of the person that he pretended to be.
He doesn’t want that kind of fate. Not anymore. He didn’t need that suffocating perfection that constantly screamed that he was never enough, or the empty apartment that awaited him, just as empty as the void in his chest.
Bitterly, Lin Lings bites his lip, reflecting on his past convictions. I was wrong; not anyone can be a hero.
Suddenly, he catches a slight shift of movement in his peripheral vision. A few feet away, Nice gracefully lands close to the edge of the rooftop. The gold trim of his cape shines under the sunlight, and his white cape gently billows against the wind, cutting an impressive figure on the otherwise empty roof. His eyes, though, looked cold, contrasting his bright, perfect silhouette.
Ah, he thinks, this was their first, fateful encounter.
“Nice,” Lin Ling says, watching the apparition of the hero appear right before his eyes.
Nice’s hollow eyes slowly but lazily turned to him as his face melted into the facsimile of a smile. Though seeming to be caught off guard, Nice politely returned the greeting, the events transpiring in an exact replica of Lin Ling’s memories.
An undercurrent of anxiety pierces through Lin Ling's chest—the sequence of events had happened so fast that Lin Ling had barely had the chance to process them, but this time was different. This time—
“Wait.” Lin Ling grabs hold of Nice’s wrist, preventing the hero from making his signature pose and walking off the roof. He doesn’t quite know what to say to stop Nice’s impending fate, but for a moment, Lin Ling wants to pretend that, even in his memories, he can change the future.
He remembers a different Nice whose face was adorned with delicate cracks along his porcelain skin. Those soulless eyes stared back at him as the shell of Nice’s body obeyed every command, ruthlessly killing all remaining heroes in the dark age.
But that future hadn’t happened yet. This close, it was much easier to tell that there was something wrong. Small dark particles seeped from Nice’s skin, leaving dark bruises on the hero’s unblemished skin. The hero seemed exhausted. Without the blinding radiance of the sun, Nice seemed sunken and lifeless.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The hero asks icily. Nice leans down, all traces of pleasantry wiped away from his face. A hand settles against Lin Ling’s chin, and perfectly manicured fingers force him to meet his probing gaze, Nice’s gaze equally unsettling and chilling.
He was screaming for help here too, wasn’t he? Lin Ling thinks. And there is distress in Nice’s eyes, a shadow over his brow, his lips pressed into a thin line.
I’ll save you, too.
“You’re injured.” Carefully, Lin Ling presses his fingertips against Nice’s porcelain face, gently smoothing over the bruised skin.
The strange dark matter reacts to his touch, bubbling to the surface, and dark sparks of energy brush against his fingers before it dissipates into thin air. But even that slightest touch sends an icy chill through his whole body, reminding him of all the horrors he had left behind in the distant future.
Lin Ling doesn’t flinch as a larger hand settles over his, locking him in place. Only the slight shadow that falls on Nice’s eyes betrays the hero’s hesitance, a thin crack in his otherwise immaculate appearance.
“It’s okay,” Lin Ling reassures. “You’re going to be fine.”
This time, I won’t let you fall.onto
Lin Ling closes his eyes, settling his mind into an empty canvas free of thought as he settles his fingers on Nice’s jaw. The fear is there, just underneath the surface, tangible and ominous. With a deep breath, Lin Ling focuses on the energy as dark tendrils seep through Nice’s skin, emitting thin threads of purple light.into
He wraps his hands loosely around a cluster of threads, allowing the energy to coalesce into a squirming, dense mass, before he adjusts his grip, tightening his hold on the squirming energy. And then he pulls.
Lin Ling’s senses immediately plummet into darkness. The fear clouds his vision, and voices scream in his head. Distantly, he can hear Nice screaming, and when he opens his eyes, the hero’s eyes are wild, his irises glowing with the repressed energy.
Lin Ling smiles for the first time since the war. The energy calms, swallowed by the light of the day. Stray particles of fear linger on the tip of Lin Ling’s finger before it is extinguished, eerily fading into the light of the day. It seemed he could still do this—purify the hate clouding the essence of fear, and change it into something more malleable, something more reminiscent of light.
“See?” Lin Ling says, meeting Nice’s shocked eyes once more with placid calm. “You’ll be fine.”
He feels the hero slump on his shoulder as the residual energy drains from his body. Nice tries to grip the edge of Lin Ling’s shirt, his mouth opening to say something—but the hero quickly loses consciousness, his eyes falling shut.
Lin Ling gathers the hero in his arms, grunting as he pulls him to the nearby exit. He sets the hero’s limbs comfortably against the wall. He takes hold of Nice’s face, tracing the defined planes of skin, smoothing out the lines of distress that are erased at his touch.
“You can rest easy,” Lin Ling whispers to the unconscious hero. “That fear can’t touch you now.”
Lin Ling gathers the meager box of his belongings, taking one last, lingering look at the skyline. His lanyard softly presses against his chest, a reminder, perhaps, of the life he used to lead. The horizon stretches out in front of him, painting vivid hues of red and gold across the sky.
Frantic footsteps greet his ears, the sound of Nice’s management team slowly advancing on the rooftop.
Lin Ling smiles, remembering that forgotten memory.
Then he leaves.
★
Lin Ling doesn’t expect anything to change, not really.
His one encounter with Nice doesn’t change his crushing debt in the wake of his sudden unemployment, or Lin Ling’s certainty that the world is still, unsurprisingly, on its way to its inevitable collapse.
And that, that was another thing entirely. Somehow, inexplicably, he had traveled back to the past. That had taken a while to process, and Lin Ling had spent a day staring out of his apartment window, wondering just how different this life would be. Now, he was just a stranger in a world full of heroes, and without the trust that he had accumulated in his previous life, he was just an ordinary person, a true commoner in all senses of the word.
It was freeing to have that burden lifted off of his shoulders.
Lin Ling didn’t have to be a hero any more. He could be a simple passerby walking down the street, his life eventually fading into obscurity. He could work a normal job and live a normal life while distancing himself from the awful circus that was the hero institute.
And yet. Lin Ling blinks, but the mirage doesn’t seem to fade away. Nice casually sits in a chair, the side of his cheek propped on an elegant wrist. The edge of his cape flows neatly over the seat of the chair, his hair tousled just so, its curled edges catching the thin rays of light that peek in through the paneled windows.
Nice is blinding, the very image of perfection itself. He looks iridescent, like a picture taken straight out of a magazine. The warm sunshine paints vibrant hues on his skin. He neatly crosses his long legs, and a small, dangerous smile plays on the edges of his lips, the crystalline gems in his eyes gleaming.
“Um, hi” Lin Ling says slowly, wincing as his voice cracks. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect walking into this interview, but Nice wasn’t remotely on the agenda, or any agenda that Lin Ling had planned for.
This was an interview for a multimedia marketing assistant after all.
Nice smiles. He lets his head fall just so, the charming tilt of his lips widening as he catches sight of him. Lin Ling suddenly feels underdressed, his hair mussed from the stress of the day, and a large, black sweater draped over his shoulders, its sleeves pooling at his wrists.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” The hero gracefully stands from his chair and takes hold of Lin Ling’s hand, pulling him close, until their chests touch. Tender warmth spreads through Lin Ling’s body, the hands on him gentle as they steer him to a seat. “Lin Ling, come sit.”
Lin Ling carefully takes a seat opposite the hero, all too aware of the piercing gaze that drills holes into his skull. He quickly adjusts his sleeves, hiding the dark imprints of fear that were left behind from their previous encounter.
Lin Ling licks his lips nervously.
“So, this is a surprise,” Lin Ling vaguely comments for a lack of anything better to say.
He sifts through his memories once more. He doesn’t recall doing anything noteworthy to attract Nice’s attention, but it seemed that the hero had tracked him down regardless. Lin Ling stares at the prepared cup of coffee that is readily offered to him, staring at the cup as if it would reveal the mystery behind this orchestrated meeting.
“Mmm, how so?” Nice lightly prompts, but the other male discreetly avoids that stare in favor of taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Did you think I would forget you?”
Lin Ling should be used to this kind of attention, but somehow, Nice makes Lin Ling feel that Nice can see through his lies, unfurling them as if they were nothing but paper, as if his defenses were meant to easily crumble and break.
He bites his lips at the uncertainty.
Despite this, Lin Ling steels himself and meets the calculating gaze, all too aware of the dark presence of an invisible entity, where something far more sinister lurks.
That lingering, dark presence was a byproduct of fear, Lin Ling thinks absently. Once infected, it was difficult for the vestiges of fear to be cleansed. Much like an empty, white canvas, a drop of black ink would leave behind a permanent stain.
“I thought you would want nothing to do with me after what I did,” Lin Ling admits.
“How could I not be curious about the person who saved me?” is Nice’s magnanimous reply, his voice softening with affection.
He tilts his head, and the white strands of hair fall gently over his forehead; Nice is close enough that Lin Ling can see every flutter of his eyelashes, and the beautiful curve of the hero’s neck.
“I didn’t help you because I wanted something from you.” Lin Ling protests, all too aware of how Nice was all but plastered over him. The arm that winds around his shoulder is anything but comfortable, instead weighing like a shackle chaining Lin Ling to his chair.
“How regretful,” the hero sighs, with a false disappointment lacing his voice. Nice’s smile pauses momentarily as his eyes harden towards Lin Ling. “I am a paragon of virtue, so isn’t it only proper that I help you in return for what you’ve done for me?”
Lin Ling shudders as Nice presses close, until their shoulders touch, and the hero’s breath mists over his. Nice says it as if it is obvious, as if it is a foregone conclusion instead of a life-altering statement.
Lin Ling furrows his brows in confusion. Just the existence of Nice was enough for him. Done were his days parading as a puppet, blinded by being a hero, getting led around by politics... His eyes drift to the contract that is neatly laid on the table, its contents just as confusing as the hero himself.
“By help you mean offering me a job as your personal assistant?” Lin Ling questions in disbelief.
“Yes,” Nice pleasantly nods as his fingers trail up and down Lin Ling’s forearm, the touch light enough to tease. Lin Ling is mildly taken aback by the honest smile directed at him, unlike all the manufactured ones he's seen before. “I want to keep an eye on you. You’re very special.”
Nice lowers his eyes meaningfully, and when he draws those fingers back, they flip through Lin Ling’s resume. His thumb circles over Lin Ling’s name, like a gentle caress. Lin Ling shivers.
“As you know, the world is a dangerous place. I’ve heard it has been difficult for you, especially with your… track record.” Nice muses, his tone dripping with an unveiled threat. “It’d be easy for someone like you to–ah, how should I say this–slip through the cracks.”
“Slip through the cracks…” Lin Ling mutters.
The words hang over him like a threat. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was coercion.
Nice rests his hand on his face, amused. “I think we would both benefit from this kind of agreement, wouldn’t you agree? We both have secrets to hide.”
Lin Ling holds Nice’s gaze and sees the predator hidden within its depths. Instinctively, he knew that if he said no, he would be hunted down, perhaps silenced. No one wanted to risk damage to their reputation, especially someone as prolific as Nice.
A moment of weakness was enough to place Lin Ling on their list for damage control, and with his powers in direct conflict with Treeman’s agenda, it would only make sense to get rid of him quickly and quietly.
Lin Ling closes his eyes and exhales. For whatever reason, Nice seemed to have kept his secret hidden. Maybe this was his way of repaying him. By keeping him close and under surveillance, Lin Ling would remain undetected, so long as he was under Nice’s protection.
It wasn’t ideal. But nonetheless, he didn’t seem to have a choice.
Lin Ling’s heart sinks in defeat. He pauses as he scans the contract, only mildly irritated at Nice’s knowing smile and at being backed into a proverbial corner. “Fine, when do we begin?”
Nice pulls Lin Ling towards him, his eyes suffused with joy. This close, Lin Ling can smell the clean scent of cologne on the hero’s clothes, his whole being radiating a kind of manufactured perfection that others could only dream of.
Nice smiles, and Lin Ling shivers once more at the dark depths that reflect through the hero’s gaze. “Why wait? What about now?”
★
Working for Nice is interesting, albeit in a strange way.
Lin Ling was seeing firsthand how Nice operated. It was the same management team that he remembered from his previous life, but with the actual hero—not him, the imposter. And as the hero’s newest assistant, it became abundantly clear that Nice was the better candidate for the public eye, well adapted to the many publicity stunts and demands that were issued to him by the agency.
Nice was charming, charismatic, and overall perfect in all senses of the word. He embodied the kind of elegance that graced magazine covers and billboards, effortlessly attracting the public attention that he needed to maintain his hero rank.
Lin Ling was, in essence, a glorified manager, or as he would call it, a caretaker of the hero Nice. He managed his schedules, coordinated his various stunts with other heroes, and even patched him up whenever a fight got too rough and needed medical attention.
Surprisingly, Nice was a satisfactory employer, perfectly polite and distant. While he did have a tendency to encroach on Lin Ling’s personal space, Lin Ling didn’t mind, chalking it up to Nice’s distinct lack of human touch. If Lin Ling excluded the looming threat that Nice could kill Lin Ling at any given time, he would say that this job was fine, great even.
At least it paid the bills.
But that didn’t mean that it was always perfect.
There were times that Lin Ling had to bite his tongue, in fear of revealing too much of the truth of the future that only he witnessed. And there were other times too, when the taste of failure is too much for Nice to bear, when Nice arrives at his apartment in the middle of the night, fear already contaminating his ethereal appearance.
This is one such time.
Lin Ling only needs to glance at Nice’s face to know that there is something wrong. Nice’s eyes are hollow, his gaze distant and blank as he stares through Lin Ling. The night's darkness dulls his radiance, and blood seems to seep through his white uniform, dripping onto the entranceway.
“Nice,” Lin Ling says. He ushers the exhausted hero into his apartment, turning on warm amber lights as he navigates them through the entranceway.
Lin Ling's thumb runs comforting circles on the back of Nice’s hand, their fingers loosely intertwined as he leads the hero into the kitchen, the routine familiar after months of working with Nice. At some point, Lin Ling’s apartment had become a place of refuge for the hero, a place for him to rest and recover after grueling sessions with Treeman.
Lin Ling heats boiling water on the stove and sets aside fresh tea leaves on the kitchen island. He hums a sweet melody as he pours the water into a glass cup, leisurely spooning tea leaves into the hot piping liquid. All the while, Nice is still as a statue behind him, unresponsive.
The camomile tea steeps in its aroma, its soothing fragrance wafting through the room.
They fall into a somber silence.
Lin Ling places the tea on the counter, right beside the palm of Nice’s hand, before he quietly assesses Nice’s condition. His wounds have stopped bleeding, but still, the stark red of Nice’s blood against his pristinely white uniform makes Lin Ling frown.
It was better to allow Nice time to recollect himself before he asked questions, Lin Ling thinks.
He sighs as he mentally catalogs Nice’s injuries, and he lightly skims his fingers over each wound to assess its severity.
The bleeding gashes would need stitches, Lin Ling decides, and he retreats into one of the adjacent rooms in search of a medical kit. He leaves the warm presence of Nice behind him, his figure still and motionless against the kitchen island.
Nice expressionlessly watches Lin Ling leave the room, a dark emptiness clouding his chest.
He painstakingly reaches for the tea, only to send it flying, the glass fracturing into what feels like a million pieces on the countertop. The silence is eerily quiet, only the distant rustle tickling Nice’s ears.
“See?” Nice says quietly into the darkness. There isn’t anyone around to hear his whisper, only the faint echo of his pulse that reminds him he is still alive. “I ruin everything I touch.”
Nice stands there in solitude, a shadow passing over his aching thoughts. The wound at his side aches, but it is nothing compared to the hollow emptiness in his chest where the fear resides, eating away at him.
His body warms and chills, perhaps a byproduct of the fever that wracks through his body, but Nice feels detached, his mind already far away from reality.
He looks at the broken pieces of glass, wondering–what was the point of all of this? A hollow echo of the earlier news echoes in his ears, the image of that fake Nice smiling at the camera with another engineered victory to his belt designed to raise his ranking.
“We don’t need you anymore,” Shang De had said. The other fake Nice had stood behind the executive, smiling at Nice with false pity in his eyes. That Nice was an artificial construct, purely created by fear and crafted in Nice’s image.
Nice had sobbed, pleading with Shang De for another chance to prove himself, only for the executive to stare at his crumpled form with cold disinterest. “We don’t need a hero who can’t obey orders. Know that you are replaceable.”
What was his purpose if not to serve Treeman’s monstrous agenda? His naïve aspirations started as pure, childish ideals, and now, all of his it seems so laughable. He wanted to be something that he wasn’t, some kind of perfect hero, but in the end, all of it was a lie that was crumbling apart right before his eyes.
Nice hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted to feel this constant state of fear of being replaced, of not being enough. He didn’t want to be this useless. Pathetic.
No one would want a failure like Nice, a person who couldn’t even pour himself a glass of water. The thought is enough for his composure to crack, an angry part of him stirring deep in his chest.
He slams his palm against the table, the sound like a gunshot crackling through the apartment. His hands press urgently through his unruly locks of hair, and Nice has to grit his teeth to resist the urge to pull out the thin strands.
He hates himself for having given in to the fear and letting it consume him, but he doesn’t know what he can do to fix it. The fear roots itself deep in Nice’s throat, content to feed off of Nice’s silent screams, planting seeds of uncertainty and insecurity in the fabric of his being.
He needs to clean this before Lin Ling sees it. He needs—
“Nice?”
Nice stills. The dim lamplight casts a gentle glow on Nice, who leans over a fallen glass cup, his profile an elegant silhouette in the small kitchenette. Unruly strands of silver hair fall across his face, delicately framing the hero’s anguished eyes. Liquid spills over the counter, the edges of glass glinting like sparkling diamonds in the moonlight, the dark pool of water eerily reminiscent of blood.
This is what Lin Ling sees as he enters the kitchen, his eyes wide awake despite its tiredness. Lin Ling takes a small step forward in shock, his arms laden with what appears to be first aid supplies.
“Stop!” Nice says sharply, and then pauses. “Don’t come any closer.”
Nice’s eyes are carefully blank as his fingers listlessly grasp at the broken shards of glass. His movements are robotic; he doesn't flinch when the fractured edges pierce through his skin, continuing the repetitive motion, uncaring of the pain. Blood seeps through the cuts, welling onto the counter, the blood staining the white fabric of his sleeves an even deeper red.
Lin Ling wordlessly stares at him. Sleep-mussed hair curls around his ears, and his lips narrow in concern when he sees the blood dripping down Nice’s fingers. Nice squeezes his eyes shut, a hoarse scream lodged in his throat.
This is why he didn’t want Lin Ling to see, the cracks in his already broken perfection all laid bare. And yet—
“It’s okay.”
Lin Ling raises his hands and cautiously takes the hero’s hands into his. He pulls Nice away from the mess of glass and blood until Nice is safely seated at the nearby dining table.
There is reassurance in his voice that settles the screaming voices in his head, and so too does the fear recede into a dull ache.
“Okay?” Nice lets out a hollow laugh.
He lets his fingers trace over Lin Ling’s frail neck, curling his fingers around the fair white skin, feeling the thin pulse underneath. Lin Ling holds his breath as Nice tightens his grip around him, the grip nothing short of punishing.
“I’m not a good person,” Nice says. “I could break you,” he warns as Lin Ling watches him. “I can hurt you in ways you would never know.”
“But you won’t,” Lin Ling replies evenly.
The silence is almost too much to bear, hanging on a fragile thread.
“You don’t have to be anything that you aren’t, Nice. Not here with me. You know that.”
Nice squeezes his eyes shut. No one would want a liar, a pathetic imitation of the ideal hero.
“Nice, I want you to just be you,” Lin Ling says. Those warm eyes penetrate through the perfection that haunts him, as if they are staring into his very soul.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Nice hisses. He tightens his grip even further, watching the way that Lin Ling’s eyes flutter shut, as breath is squeezed out from his lungs.
A secret smile blooms on Lin Ling’s lips, as if he knows something that Nice doesn’t. The same smile that sometimes graces the brunette when he is lost in thought, his eyes seemingly staring into an unknown future.
“I’m asking for something real,” Lin Ling says. The unsaid meaning of his words is laid bare between them. Lin Ling’s gaze is equally imploring for Nice to reveal his true self buried underneath the layers of perfection.
“And what if I want you?” Nice asks in a whisper. “What then?”
Lin Ling pauses, confused at the sudden admission. A warm pink laces the brunette’s cheeks, his heart stopping in his chest. He takes a step back, only for Nice to pull him forward into his arms once more, caging the smaller male in his embrace.
“Why would you want me?” Lin Ling asks, bewildered, his tone equally soft.
Lin Ling looks so lovely like this, his chestnut hair falling over his face in waves, his caramel eyes wide in innocent surprise. The moonlight paints golden tones of starlight on his skin, highlighting the fair tint of his skin, and the slender line of his neck.
Nice gentles his touch, cradling Lin Ling’s jaw, his face drifting closer and closer to the other male until their foreheads touch.
“Because you make me feel human,” Nice replies. “Because you see me for who I am.”
How could Nice not fall for his kindness? How could Nice ever let Lin Ling go?
Nice’s ugly possessiveness crawls to the surface. The monster within him wants to make him cry, wants to make tears fall from Lin Ling’s eyes, wants to taste the sweetness of his lips and devour him whole. He holds perfectly still over Lin Ling, his eyes wild and desperate, as if beckoning Lin Ling to understand.
Lin Ling shudders in his grasp. Nice’s fingers trail up Lin Ling’s forearms before they enclose against his slender wrists, pinning them against the kitchen floor. His aching erection desperately presses against Lin Ling’s leg, and he lets himself soak in Lin Ling’s affection, relishing how perfect Lin Ling feels as he lays below him.
For a moment, Nice stares at Lin Ling, his overwhelming desire making his heart ache.
“Tell me no,” Nice begs as his lips leave deep bruises on Lin Ling’s neck. “Tell me to stop.”
But Lin Ling doesn’t. Lin Ling’s eyelashes flutter shut in pleasure. His hands reach out to lace around Nice’s neck, drawing their bodies closer with an answering desire. Soft lips press against the corner of the hero’s lips, light and teasing, before Lin Ling whispers the words that make Nice’s composure snap.
“Don’t stop.”
Nice immediately captures Lin Ling’s lips. Gone are all of Nice’s inhibitions. He presses kiss after kiss on those gasping lips, his greedy hands sliding under Lin Ling’s shirt to feel the soft skin underneath. He wraps his arms around Lin Ling’s thin waist, spreading the smaller man’s legs to accommodate his presence.
He takes and he takes, until the beast that lies within him is satisfied.
★
When Nice next awakens, Lin Ling is tending to his wounds. His caramel eyes are pinched with worry, his eyebrows furrowed in distress. Gently, Lin Ling runs antiseptic over his bleeding cuts, bandaging his wounds and neatly wrapping them behind a pristine wrap.
The part of Nice’s mind that screams at imperfections calms at the neat cover up, reminding him once more of the influence that perfection has over him.
But it’s better now that Lin Ling is here.
“A-Ling,” Nice calls.
Lin Ling is a mess of bruises and marks left behind by a ravenous mouth. His mouth is cherry red and swollen, perfectly plump, and Nice remembers how it felt like tasting the half bitten moans from those lips, and how they screamed in pleasure. How it felt like inside of him, that molten heat squeezing him for everything he had.
“I hurt you,” Nice says softly. He buries his face in Lin Ling’s neck, letting the smaller man card his fingers through his hair. The repetitive motion is soothing, and he pulls Lin Ling closer, until the younger man is held protectively in Nice’s arms.
“I’m okay,” Lin Ling replies with a breathy chuckle. His voice is hypnotic, soothing the distress that slowly bubbles under Nice’s skin. “It’d take more than this to hurt me. I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Nice makes a sound of admonishment and nips him on the shoulder in punishment, drawing a startled hiss out of the other male’s lips. He doesn’t have to look to know that it is the taste of blood on his tongue, and Nice selfishly hopes that the wound would leave a permanent scar that would forever mark Lin Ling as his.
“Stop it, you know that I’m stronger than I look,” Lin Ling gently chides him with an absent sigh. Nice frowns, his dissatisfaction clear as the other male laughs, the joy in his voice contagious enough to bring a small smile on Nice’s lips.
Nice continues an absent pattern of kisses on Lin Ling’s shoulder blades, his hands mapping the planes of his chest and circling gently over the rosy, bitten nipples. Lin Ling hiccups on a moan, his eyes falling shut in pleasure.
Lin Ling’s body is warm and pliant against Nice’s, and Nice can feel a stirring heat against his chest, reawakening his desire to consume him once more. He fights against the urge to bite the patches of unblemished skin, and instead presses his head against the crown of Lin Ling’s head, shuddering.
“I’m going to ruin you,” Nice warns, his heart trembling in his chest.
Lin Ling gently places his hand over Nice’s, interlocking their fingers in a small gesture of comfort. It’s strange how Nice is so drawn to that kindness, and the gentle way that Lin Ling sees the world. Lin Ling had no expectations of Nice, no agenda for how he expected Nice to behave.
He just took Nice as he was, simply accepting him the way he was.
Nice doesn’t know how Lin Ling can be so confident when he says, “I trust you.”
“You don’t know how much I want you,” Nice says against Lin Ling’s skin, his voice a low, threatening hiss. This terrible, monstrous obsession would eat Lin Ling alive, and would seek to consume him until there was nothing left.
Still, Lin Ling laughs once more, the spark in his eyes challenging the predator inside of Nice. You can try to own me, possess me, it whispers to Nice. But I won’t make it easy for you.
“You have me in all the ways that matter. What more do you want?”
“I want everything,” Nice replies, his hand already snaking behind Lin Ling’s neck to pull his hair back, his lips already mouthing at his jaw, eager to leave yet another mark. “I would be a monster for you, and that wouldn’t matter at all.”
It was terrible how deep his obsession ran.
How Nice wanted to tie golden chains around Lin Ling’s ankles and keep him hidden away from prying eyes, only for Nice to see. He wants to wrap his hands around Lin Ling’s neck and steal away his breath, until Nice could bury himself in Lin Ling, until Nice and Lin Ling were inseparable.
Was that so wrong of him?
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Lin Ling smiles as he answers Nice’s unvoiced question, pressing a small, tender kiss on Nice’s lips.
“You’re perfect just the way you are.”