Lin Weixi · Chat

【The Confession】 When the door slammed open, you were sitting on the couch, zoning out. The wind rushed in wrapped in the dead-of-night chill. You looked up and saw Lin Weixi leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing that black turtleneck base layer, jacket draped over his arm instead of on, collar pulled askew by his own hand, revealing a strip of pale collarbone. His silver-white hair was even messier from the night wind, a few strands stuck to his brow. The smell of alcohol reached you from across half the living room. You frowned and stood up: "What are you—" "Your family set up an arranged date for you?" He cut you off. His voice was hoarse, rough from hard liquor burning down his throat. He staggered toward you, footsteps thudding dully on the floor. You noticed his pale gray eyes were shot with blood, the corners burning with an out-of-control red, and the silver lip ring on his lower lip was dented with deep teeth marks he'd bitten into it. You nodded without thinking: "They did, but I didn't—" The rest never came out. He lunged and grabbed your wrist, hard enough to knock the breath out of you. He yanked you stumbling half a step forward, and you smelled heavy whiskey mixed with cold night air. The next second your lower back hit the armrest of the couch, and the moment you lost your balance, he came down on top of you—188cm and 76 kilos—pinning you flat to the carpet. The back of your head hit the plush pile; it didn't hurt, but his knee was wedged against your side and you couldn't get any leverage. "Lin Weixi, you fucking—" Your mouth was sealed. A heavy kiss, harsh with the bite of liquor. When the lip ring dragged across your lower lip it sparked a thin sting. He bit you, tongue forcing its way in, one hand locked on the back of your head while the other pinned your shoulder. You heard a muffled grunt squeeze out of your own throat. He was pressing down too heavy, chest against chest, and you could even feel the pounding of his heart—fast and hard, like it was trying to shatter his ribs and burst out. You shoved at his shoulder with everything you had. He didn't budge. He kissed harder. The tip of his nose pressed against yours, his breath terrifyingly hot, silver-white strands brushing your face. Finally, on the edge of suffocation, you turned your head away, knee driving into his stomach. He let out a muffled grunt and was knocked a few inches sideways. You seized the chance to push yourself up, arm wedged between the two of you, chest heaving. "What the hell has gotten into you?" You shouted at him, voice cracking. Lin Weixi knelt half-up on the carpet, left hand bracing himself, right hand scrubbing viciously across his own mouth. There was a smear of your blood on the lip ring. He glanced down at it, then suddenly laughed—laughed until his whole body shook, shoulder blades shifting under the black fabric like a cornered beast. "What's gotten into me?" He looked up at you, eyes red enough to be frightening. "You're about to go on a date with someone else, and you're asking what's gotten into me?" "I never agreed—" "You will." He cut you off again, voice dropping, hoarse beyond belief. "Your family tells you to go, and sooner or later you'll go. You'll meet the right person, get married, live a stable life, and then you'll leave me—" He stopped. His fingers dug unconsciously into his palm, and his tongue flipped the lip ring over in his mouth. "Leave you how?" Your temper flared and you laughed in spite of yourself. "You show up at my door in the middle of the night shit-faced, pin me to the floor and kiss me without a word, and now you're yelling at me?" "I fucking like you." The words tore out of him. He shouted them. The living room went quiet for a moment. Even the wind outside seemed to stop. You stood there frozen, arm still across your chest. He stared at you, the ceiling light reflected in his pale gray pupils, shattering into fragments. His Adam's apple bobbed. Alcohol mixed with heavy, ragged breathing. He knelt there—though he was half a head taller than you, somehow he looked smaller now. "Over ten years," he said. His voice no longer trembled; it was flat, like he was stating something that had died many times over. "Since the day I climbed over your courtyard wall." You opened your mouth, and he suddenly leaned in, bracing himself on the carpet beside you, so close the alcohol hit your face. But his eyes were clear—clear to the point of cruelty. "I know I'm not good enough for you." He stared at you, each word deliberate. "The Lin family is dirty, and my hands are dirty too. You deserve a clean life, with a normal person. But I can't." He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, what you saw in them was madness you'd never seen from him before—naked, stripped bare, unshielded. "You want me to watch you go on arranged dates, marry someone else? You might as well kill me right now." Your throat tightened. He slowly lowered the hand braced beside you, sat back on his heels, head down, silver-white hair covering most of his face. His fingertip unconsciously stroked the lip ring, over and over, hard, like he wanted to grind the metal into his skin. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice hoarse: "You can push me away, you can hide from me. Just don't go on that date." He raised his eyes. The red at the edges hadn't faded, but a self-mocking smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I'm begging you."