Chapter Text
Hu Tao wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
It’s ridiculous to be crying over something as trivial as this. If anyone else knew the reasons for her sorrow, they would surely scorn her for how pathetic she was being. It happens to everyone, and there are so many worse things going on in the world. So why the hell would something this small matter?
It doesn’t.
She’s being dramatic.
Get over it.
And that’s what she continues to tell herself.
“Hu Tao.”
Her gaze snaps up from the floor. She attempts to blink the tears out of her eyes, and leans back against the side of the bedpost to get a better look at her company.
“Yeah?”
“Is there something wrong?”
Xiao’s piercing golden eyes stare into hers with an interrogational gleam. It would have been unsettling if she hadn’t grown used to it over the years. After all, at some point, she once loved to look back into those eyes. They brought her feelings of comfort. Of safety. Of home.
Then again, that was a very long time ago.
“Oh— nope! I just got something stuck in my eyes,” she smiles at him briefly, “it’s probably an eyelash . . .” in a hurried movement, she rubs her face as a weak attempt to secretly remove the wetness.
“You’re crying. I can see the eyeliner running down your face.”
Damn him.
Xiao is no moron. Of course he’s going to notice something’s wrong. Even without seeing her reddened face, he could already sense it. The two know each other better than they know themselves, and with that, they understand why it’s completely pointless for him to ask that question in the first place. He knows exactly what’s wrong.
“Hu Tao,” Xiao says again, “if you need to talk about it, talk about it.”
She smiles to herself, reluctant to say anything. It would be as productive as talking to a coffin. But alas, she gives in regardless. It’s hard to resist someone as fatally enticing as he is. The familiarity they built together has caused Hu Tao’s personality to mold itself perfectly to mesh with his. She can’t help but indulge in even the smallest of conversations with him.
So, she answers.
“Don’t you think we romanticize the past far too much?” the girl begins. “It’s just . . . all I do is sit and think about what could have been or what I should have done, but there’s nothing I can do now. It’s all just painful memories that constantly replay in my mind to no end. They never stop.”
A silence follows. Ah, she was right. It doesn’t matter what she says. There is not a single reply he can give that would mean anything.
“Xiao, why did you invite me over? I know it wasn’t to hear me complain about my problems. You couldn’t care less about them.”
She tries to make herself sound bitter, but the attempt is useless; just as useless as it was for him to ask her what’s wrong, and just as pointless as it was for her to ask why she was invited over. Both of them know the answers to any possible questions they could ask.
“I’m trying to show you courtesy here,” he finally responds. “It would be rude to invite you into my house, fuck your brains out, and not attempt to make any conversation.”
Her breath hitches at his blunt words, bringing with it a small pang of heat between her legs. Still, he continues.
“We’re civilized adults now, are we not?”
“Legally, we are adults,” Hu Tao quips. “Barely, yes, but it certainly feels a little uncivilized and dishonest to speak to someone under the pretense of actually being interested in what they have to say.”
“Who said I’m not interested in what you have to say?”
“Not really who, just the fact that I know my problems are the same as your own,” her tone is abruptly brazen. “Neither of us can have what we want, and that’s the reason you keep calling me back to you.”
Another silence falls upon the two. Though the air should be filled with animosity from Hu Tao’s blunt statement, it instead strangely remains thoughtfully quiet. Archons, if only she would stop plowing into these tough conversations she didn’t want to have. They aren’t awkward—no. She just isn’t ready to have them yet. Honestly, she doesn’t know if she ever will.
Even though they just turned eighteen, his bedroom is still the same as it always was when they first started high school; almost as if it’s been frozen in time. Chase Atlantic posters litter the wall, his PC is set up in the corner of the room, and various figurines line the headboard. The only difference now is how empty it feels. It’s void of that old sense of home Hu Tao had grown so familiar with, now transformed into the ghost of what used to be a sanctuary from her troubles.
It seems that even figuratively, death seemed to follow her wherever she went. First her parents, then her grandfather, then her relationship, then eventually, with a boy she could never call hers in the first place.
Xingqiu was perfect. Hu Tao always ended up labeling him as such, even when she first met him. A characterization as sudden as that would be rather ridiculous to make, especially when she’d only known him for such a short amount of time. And perhaps that idea of him is romanticized, but it still remains at the forefront of her mind regardless.
He was intelligent, kind, calm, and shared so many things in common with her. His love for literature fit perfectly with her passion for poetry, and that calm demeanor he expressed served perfect for balancing hers out—but not without his own mischievous side.
They were like two peas in a pod, and after the countless hours she spent with him—whether that be through the most mundane of tasks or deepest of conversations—she’d never grown tired of him. It was as if he could do no wrong.
Why did it all disappear, despite her efforts? Why did he abandon her without any explanation when things seemed so perfect?
Perhaps, if she had been more direct about how much she liked him, he would’ve stayed. Maybe that was her mistake: that she didn’t express her feelings upfront. Did Xingqiu leave because he felt unappreciated? Surely she couldn’t have pushed him away, after everything they’d been through—after everything they’d shared with each other. She could’ve sworn he truly cared for her. He even said it himself.
So why didn’t he stay?
Her gift with words was useless in keeping the one she loved most.
And as Hu Tao feels for Xingqiu, Xiao feels for Lumine.
She was the sun over his earth and the stars to his sky. Her blonde hair and blindingly bright smile were enough to make him feel weak. It was like a shimmering ray of sunlight in Xiao’s dim world whenever he lays eyes on her.
Lumine was everything he could ever want: beautiful, strong, caring, kind, intelligent, and independent. She had it all. And although she looked fragile at first glance, what he loved so much about her was how she could hold her own. Not only was she capable of protecting herself, but she possessed determination and a heart of gold like no one he had ever seen. A heart of gold, eyes of gold—
If only those golds wanted him too.
It’s such a shame. Sometimes, two people who are never meant to be find each other, and it brings nothing but heartache.
So, whenever he feels the weight of his regrets piling upon his shoulders, he calls Hu Tao: the girl who was once his—long before Lumine—with the same-old body that he knows best. And because they are what’s familiar to each other, she always picks up, no matter what her inhibitions say otherwise.
Even when she knows he’s just using her as a distraction, she still answers, because honestly, Xiao is just as much of a tool to Hu Tao as she is to him. The emotional trap is almost inescapable. Perhaps they know it might bring them both down in the end.
Sometimes, they forget why he left her in the first place.
When Xiao told Hu Tao he had fallen out of love, she felt as though the rug had been ripped out from under her again, just as it had been with the passing of parents, then her grandfather. Except this time, it seemed as though it was all her fault.
Everything in her life has taught her a valuable lesson: that no matter who it is, or how close you may be, everyone you love will leave someday. It is uncontrollable.
But that doesn’t matter now. What’s past is past. They’ll both be going off to college soon, so how much longer can this self-destructive cycle last? High school has been hell, that is certain. So maybe it will be a turning point in both of their lives for the better.
Hu Tao finally caves into the growing silence. She stands from her spot on the floor and turns to face Xiao. For a moment, he doesn’t even glance at her. He knows what’s next, and he doesn’t care enough to wait for it.
She gazes at him with empty eyes. Flickering rubies that once shined so brightly with love and adoration for him are now bleak with loss. They used to look like fireworks to him, but now their spark has gone out.
Hu Tao silently climbs on top of him, straddling his hips, and begins placing soft kisses on his neck. Xiao leans into her body, wrapping his arms around her waist and taking in every sweet touch she has to offer. He rubs her sides and grinds impatiently, provoking a few soft moans from the girl.
She pulls away momentarily to stare once more into his eyes. He lifts a hand to her cheek and cups it—an act completely void of the affection it used to give. Then the hand drifts downward and begins undoing her shirt. The clear feeling of her wetness causes his own arousal to grow. She leans back down, pressing her forehead against his, and closes her eyes.
Hu Tao pushes away all the burdens, finally allowing herself to become entangled in this mess once again.