Confession, Round One
Chapter 7 – Confession, Round One
Club fair smelled like heat and sugar.
Not literally sugar–though there were booths selling iced drinks and cotton candy as if first-year students needed to be bribed into joining clubs–but the kind of sweetness that came from nervous people trying to be liked.
Wei Ling walked through the crowd with Aina, Shu Wen, and Kavitha, lanyard bouncing against his chest, mask hiding the tension in his mouth.
Aina was in her element.
“Okay, we go Islamic Society first,” she declared, already steering them with her arm.
Shu Wen groaned theatrically. “Aina, you don’t drag us into all your commitments can or not?”
Aina laughed. “Just look only what. Later got free food.”
Kavitha shook her head, amused. “Free food is universal religion.”
Wei Ling laughed softly, grateful for how normal they made him feel.
They didn’t know.
They didn’t know he slept alone behind a locked door because sharing a room would destroy him.
They didn’t know he peeled himself out of Wei Ling every night, wiped away eyeliner, removed a wig, and stared at a face that felt less and less like a home.
They only knew the version of him that smiled politely and spoke gently and laughed a little too softly.
Wei Ling moved with them, but his attention kept scanning.
Not for booths.
For her.
He saw Mei Xuan before he meant to.
She stood at a booth near the edge of the field, talking to someone in a committee shirt. Her posture was familiar even in a crowd–weight on one hip, arms loosely crossed, chin slightly lifted like she refused to be impressed easily.
Her hair was tied half-up today, the loose strands framing her face.
She looked… effortless.
The kind of person who didn’t need to try to look like herself.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
The ache from last night–after the quiet, after the warmth, after the tears he hadn’t expected–shifted into something sharper.
Longing, yes.
But also fear.
Because every time he saw Mei Xuan, the plan felt heavier.
The plan had been the reason.
But the reason was no longer enough to explain why Wei Ling’s skin felt alive when Mei Xuan looked at him.
Aina nudged him. “Eh, Wei Ling. You spacing out again.”
Wei Ling blinked.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Shu Wen squinted at him. “You got crush ah?”
Wei Ling’s throat went dry.
“No la,” he lied too quickly.
Shu Wen cackled. “Confirm got! Wah, Wei Ling! First week already got target?”
Kavitha’s eyes flicked to him–quietly observant.
Wei Ling forced a laugh that sounded too thin.
Aina, thankfully, didn’t press. She was too busy collecting pamphlets.
But Shu Wen wasn’t done.
“Okay, I help you,” Shu Wen said with absolute confidence. She leaned close, whispering like she was sharing a state secret. “You like who? Tell me. I go stalk.”
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
He opened his mouth.
Mei Xuan turned slightly.
And her gaze–brief, casual–landed on Wei Ling.
It wasn’t a stare.
It wasn’t a dramatic pause.
Just a simple glance that somehow made Wei Ling feel like his entire body had been lit from the inside.
He forgot what he was going to say.
Shu Wen followed his line of sight.
“OHHH,” Shu Wen breathed, delighted. “That one.”
Wei Ling’s stomach dropped.
“Which one?” Aina asked, curious.
Shu Wen grinned like a cat. “The pretty one. Boss face.”
Kavitha made a small sound, half laugh, half hum. “Mei Xuan, right?”
Wei Ling’s skin prickled.
He forced himself to nod casually, as if his chest wasn’t about to split.
“I… I met her during icebreaker,” he said.
Aina brightened. “Oh! Mei Xuan! I met her too. She sharp, but okay.”
Shu Wen bumped Wei Ling’s shoulder. “Go talk to her la. Club fair perfect excuse. You ask her join something.”
Wei Ling’s mouth went dry.
He wasn’t sure if he was ready.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready.
But his feet moved anyway.
Not because Shu Wen pushed.
Because the ache inside him had chosen.
“Go la,” Kavitha said quietly, not teasing. Just… encouraging.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He walked toward Mei Xuan, weaving through the crowd.
Each step felt loud.
His heart beat in his throat.
By the time he reached her booth, his palms were damp.
Mei Xuan looked up.
Her expression was neutral–then softened slightly when she recognized him.
Or maybe Wei Ling imagined the softening.
“Hi,” Mei Xuan said.
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Hi,” he managed.
Mei Xuan’s eyes flicked to the pamphlets in his hands, then to the lanyard around his neck.
“Club hunting?” she asked.
Wei Ling nodded.
“Aina drag,” he said, and the truth of that made him smile.
Mei Xuan’s lips twitched.
“Aina always drag people,” she said, almost fond.
There was something strange about hearing Mei Xuan speak about someone else with warmth.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
He forced himself to keep his voice light.
“You joining anything?” he asked.
Mei Xuan shrugged. “Maybe. Still see.”
Wei Ling glanced at the booth she was standing near.
It was some student volunteer society, recruiting helpers for events.
Mei Xuan didn’t look like someone who enjoyed volunteering for strangers.
“You interested?” Wei Ling asked, surprised.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I not interested,” she said. “My friend interested. I accompany only.”
Wei Ling laughed, relief loosening his shoulders.
“That sounds more like you,” he said before he could stop himself.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
Wei Ling’s heart stopped.
He had spoken too familiarly.
Too knowing.
He swallowed.
Mei Xuan held his gaze for a beat.
Then she said, calm, “You talk like you know me.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He forced a small laugh.
“I… you just look like you don’t like wasting time,” he said, improvising. “So I guess.”
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
Not a full smile.
But something close.
“Smart guess,” she said.
Wei Ling exhaled quietly.
The crowd noise softened around them.
For a moment, it felt like the two of them were in their own pocket of air.
Mei Xuan glanced away first.
“You join anything already?” she asked.
Wei Ling shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said.
Mei Xuan nodded.
“Good,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked. “Good?”
Mei Xuan looked at him like he should keep up.
“If you join too many things, you die,” she said matter-of-factly. “First semester already stress.”
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan’s gaze flicked to his mouth.
Wei Ling’s laughter faded.
He felt his skin heat.
Mei Xuan looked away again, as if she hadn’t done anything.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He didn’t understand what he was reading in her.
But he wanted to.
“Do you… want to get something to drink?” Wei Ling asked suddenly.
The question came out before he could overthink it.
Mei Xuan blinked.
Then she looked at him–steady.
“Now?” she asked.
Wei Ling nodded, heart pounding.
“Just… if you free,” he added quickly.
Mei Xuan’s mouth pressed into a line.
Wei Ling braced for rejection.
Then Mei Xuan said, “Okay.”
Just like that.
Wei Ling felt dizzy.
“Okay?” he echoed.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed. “You ask, then you shock when I say yes?”
Wei Ling laughed, breathless.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Mei Xuan turned to her friend, said something quickly, then stepped away from the booth.
“Come,” she said.
Wei Ling followed.
He didn’t turn back to look at Aina and the others.
He didn’t need to.
He could already feel Shu Wen’s triumphant energy from a distance.
They walked to a small café just off the main campus path.
It was crowded, air-conditioning fighting the heat outside, the smell of coffee and sweet bread thick in the air.
They ordered drinks.
Mei Xuan chose something simple.
Wei Ling, trying to look casual, copied her.
When they sat down in a corner, the noise of the café became a soft wall.
Mei Xuan took off her lanyard and placed it on the table.
Wei Ling kept his on.
A stupid instinct.
As if the printed name could keep him anchored.
Mei Xuan noticed.
“Your lanyard very important?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s cheeks warmed.
“Habit,” he said.
Mei Xuan hummed.
She sipped her drink, eyes watching him over the rim.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He could feel last night’s afterglow memory in his skin–how his body had softened, how his mind had gone quiet.
Now, sitting across from Mei Xuan, his mind was loud again.
Full of questions.
Full of fear.
Mei Xuan set her cup down.
“So,” she said.
Wei Ling waited.
Mei Xuan tilted her head slightly.
“You from Perak,” she said.
Wei Ling’s heart jolted.
“Yes,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s gaze stayed steady.
“Taiping,” she added.
Wei Ling nodded.
Mei Xuan stared at him for a beat.
Then she asked, “Why you come here?”
The question sounded casual.
But something in it felt… loaded.
Wei Ling’s palms went damp.
He could answer truthfully.
Because you are here.
He didn’t.
He chose the safest lie.
“Good course,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
Wei Ling’s stomach dropped.
Then Mei Xuan leaned back, exhaled softly.
“Okay,” she said, as if deciding not to push.
Wei Ling didn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed.
They talked anyway.
About classes.
About hostel food.
About the annoying orientation games.
Mei Xuan complained about people who tried too hard.
Wei Ling laughed.
At some point, Mei Xuan’s phone buzzed.
She glanced at it and made a face.
“Your friends?” Wei Ling asked.
Mei Xuan nodded.
“They want go supper later,” she said.
Wei Ling’s heart kicked.
Supper.
Night.
Darkness.
The part of the day that belonged to secrets.
“Are you going?” Wei Ling asked, trying to sound casual.
Mei Xuan looked at him.
Then she said, “Maybe.”
A pause.
Then, “You want come?”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
He nodded before his brain could protest.
“Okay,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Okay,” she echoed.
The word felt different when she said it.
Not dismissal.
Invitation.
Supper happened at a mamak near campus.
Plastic chairs.
Fluorescent lights.
The smell of fried noodles and tea.
Mei Xuan’s friends were a small group–two girls and one guy, all loud, all familiar with each other.
Wei Ling introduced himself.
They welcomed him easily.
No suspicion.
No interrogation.
Just the casual friendliness of people who didn’t yet know what could be dangerous.
Mei Xuan sat beside Wei Ling, not across.
Not too close.
But close enough that his arm sometimes brushed hers when he reached for his drink.
Each brush sent a small jolt through him.
Her friend Jia Min joked loudly about someone’s crush.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes.
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan’s knee nudged his under the table–accident, maybe.
Wei Ling froze.
Mei Xuan kept eating, expression neutral.
But Wei Ling’s skin stayed hot where the contact happened.
After supper, the group broke apart.
People claimed tiredness.
Hostel curfew.
Assignments.
Eventually, it was just Wei Ling and Mei Xuan walking back toward campus under streetlights.
The night air was warm.
Not as humid as the kampung.
But still thick.
Mei Xuan walked with her hands in her pockets.
Wei Ling walked with his hands clasped behind his back, trying to keep his movements gentle.
They didn’t talk at first.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It was… charged.
Mei Xuan broke it.
“You always this quiet?” she asked.
Wei Ling laughed softly.
“No,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan glanced at him.
“So why now?” she asked.
Wei Ling swallowed.
Because he was afraid.
Because he was pretending.
Because he was sitting beside the person who had been his whole life, and if he looked at her too long, he would crumble.
He couldn’t say any of that.
So he chose another truth.
“Because I don’t want to say wrong thing,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s steps slowed slightly.
She looked at him.
For a second, her expression softened.
Then she scoffed lightly.
“Then don’t talk,” she said. “Just walk.”
Wei Ling smiled.
They walked.
When they reached the fork where their paths would split–Mei Xuan toward her hostel, Wei Ling toward his–Wei Ling stopped.
Mei Xuan took two steps before realizing he wasn’t beside her.
She turned.
“What?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
Here it was.
Not the confession he had rehearsed as Chen Wei.
A different confession.
A confession that felt like stepping off a ledge.
He had no bracelet.
No pasar malam lights.
No childhood wall.
Just streetlights and the night and Mei Xuan’s eyes.
“We can… text?” he asked, voice too soft.
Mei Xuan stared at him.
“Why you ask like that?” she said.
Wei Ling felt his cheeks warm.
“Because… I want to,” he said simply.
Mei Xuan’s gaze held him.
Then she reached for her phone.
“Give,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes. “Your number.”
Wei Ling’s fingers trembled slightly as he typed.
He watched Mei Xuan save it.
The act felt intimate.
Like being written into her life.
Mei Xuan looked up.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling smiled.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Mei Xuan paused.
Then she said, quieter, “Wei Ling.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Yes?”
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You…” she began.
Then she stopped.
Wei Ling’s heart froze.
Mei Xuan looked away as if annoyed with herself.
“Never mind,” she said.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“What?” he asked.
Mei Xuan shook her head.
“Nothing,” she repeated.
Then she turned and walked away.
Wei Ling watched her go, his heart pounding, his skin buzzing.
He didn’t know what “you…” was meant to become.
He only knew Mei Xuan had almost said something.
And whatever it was, she had swallowed it.
Just like he had swallowed his own truth for years.
Texting changed everything.
It was small at first.
Mei Xuan sent him a photo of a ridiculous club pamphlet.
Wei Ling replied with a laughing emoji.
Mei Xuan replied with a sticker that looked like an angry cat.
Wei Ling smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.
The next day, she texted him about a lecture.
He replied quickly.
Then she replied faster.
Their messages became daily.
Short.
Sharp.
Familiar in a way that made Wei Ling’s chest ache.
Because it felt like the kampung again.
The bickering.
The ease.
Except now, it was wrapped in something new.
A softness Mei Xuan didn’t give other people.
A softness she pretended wasn’t softness.
Wei Ling spent more time as Wei Ling.
Not just for the hallway.
Not just for class.
Even in his room, he found himself leaving the wig on longer.
Leaving the makeup on until late.
Sitting on his bed in a skirt and letting the fabric rest against his thighs as he scrolled through Mei Xuan’s messages.
He told himself it was because he needed to be ready.
But a quieter truth hummed beneath it:
He liked the way Wei Ling felt.
He liked the way Mei Xuan spoke to Wei Ling.
He liked the way his body softened into the role without being forced.
And that scared him.
Because the more he liked it, the less it felt like a lie.
A week after orientation, Mei Xuan invited him to study.
Not at the library.
Not at a café.
At her hostel common room.
Wei Ling stared at the message for a long time.
Come over. Common room. I need focus. You can help me with this topic.
Help.
Focus.
Common room.
Words that sounded innocent.
But Wei Ling’s body reacted like it was being called.
He typed:
Okay.
Mei Xuan replied:
Don’t be late.
Wei Ling smiled.
It felt like being scolded by home.
That evening, he dressed carefully.
Not too pretty.
Not too plain.
A simple blouse.
A skirt.
Light makeup.
Mask.
Wig.
He checked his reflection three times.
He adjusted his posture.
He breathed.
Then he walked to Mei Xuan’s hostel.
The security at the entrance barely glanced at him.
He signed in as a visitor.
His hand didn’t shake.
He was getting better at this.
Or maybe he was just getting used to fear.
The common room was quiet.
A few girls sat scattered, laptops open, headphones in.
Mei Xuan sat in the corner with her notes spread out.
When she looked up and saw him, something shifted in her expression.
Not surprise.
Something else.
A small easing.
Like she had been waiting.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
He sat across from her.
They studied.
Or tried to.
Mei Xuan asked him questions.
Wei Ling answered.
Sometimes Mei Xuan leaned forward, pointing at a line in his notes, her fingers close to his.
Each time, Wei Ling’s breath caught.
Their bickering returned in soft bursts.
Mei Xuan scolded him for writing too messily.
Wei Ling teased her for being too rigid.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes.
Wei Ling laughed.
Other girls glanced their way and smiled faintly, amused by the energy.
Wei Ling felt exposed.
Then strangely… proud.
As if being seen with Mei Xuan like this meant something.
At some point, the common room emptied.
Girls went back to their rooms.
The lights dimmed slightly.
The air felt quieter.
Mei Xuan stretched, groaning softly.
“Okay,” she said. “My brain die.”
Wei Ling smiled. “You too hardworking.”
Mei Xuan made a face. “You say like you not hardworking.”
Wei Ling’s smile faded.
He wasn’t hardworking.
He was desperate.
Mei Xuan looked at him.
“Why you suddenly quiet?” she asked.
Wei Ling swallowed.
The confession rose again.
Not the big one.
Not the one that would destroy everything.
A smaller one.
But still dangerous.
Because even small truths could crack a disguise.
“Mei Xuan,” Wei Ling said.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened.
“Why you call my full name?” she asked.
Wei Ling laughed softly, nerves.
“Because… I need say something properly,” he said.
Mei Xuan didn’t move.
She only watched.
The quiet in the room felt thick.
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
He thought of the rainy shelter.
The words he swallowed.
He thought of the bracelet in the drawer back home.
He thought of the ache.
The door he had opened.
He thought of Mei Xuan looking at him in the hall.
Thoughtful.
Unmocking.
As if she saw something he didn’t.
Wei Ling inhaled.
“I like you,” he said.
The sentence came out plain.
Not poetic.
Not dramatic.
Just honest.
Mei Xuan blinked.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He rushed, afraid of silence.
“Not like… friends,” he added quickly. “I mean– I enjoy being with you. I think about you. I–”
He stopped.
His voice shook.
He hated that.
He hated feeling like a boy again.
Mei Xuan stared at him.
Wei Ling braced for rejection.
For laughter.
For that sharp “don’t be stupid” that could end him.
But Mei Xuan didn’t laugh.
She didn’t look disgusted.
She didn’t look confused.
She looked… still.
As if she had been holding her breath too.
Then Mei Xuan exhaled softly.
“You finally say,” she murmured.
Wei Ling froze.
“What?”
Mei Xuan’s cheeks colored faintly.
She looked away, annoyed with herself.
“Nothing,” she snapped. Then, quieter, “I like you too.”
Wei Ling’s world tilted.
His breath broke.
“You… you do?” he whispered.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes, but her voice was soft now.
“If I don’t like you, why I ask you come here?”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.
Joy.
Relief.
Fear.
All at once.
He didn’t know what to do with his hands.
He didn’t know where to put his eyes.
Mei Xuan watched him struggle and sighed.
“Come here,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan lifted her chin slightly, impatient.
“You want confess then you stand so far?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s legs moved on instinct.
He stepped closer.
Mei Xuan stood too.
They were close enough now that Wei Ling could see the tiny freckles near her nose.
Close enough to smell her shampoo.
Close enough to feel the heat of her body.
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
Mei Xuan’s gaze flicked to his lips.
Then she looked back up.
“Can I?” she asked, voice low.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan stepped in.
Her hand lifted–gentle, surprising–and rested at the back of Wei Ling’s neck.
Wei Ling’s breath hitched.
Then Mei Xuan kissed him.
Not tentative.
Not experimental.
A kiss with intention.
A kiss that said she had chosen.
Wei Ling’s hands hovered in the air for a second, unsure.
Mei Xuan pressed closer.
Wei Ling’s body responded before his brain could catch up.
His hands found her waist, careful, as if touching her too firmly would break the moment.
Mei Xuan made a soft sound against his mouth–impatient, pleased–and deepened the kiss.
Wei Ling’s knees went weak.
He had kissed before.
In stupid teenage ways.
Quick, careless, guilty.
This was different.
This was… grounding.
Mei Xuan’s hand tightened at his neck.
Her other hand slid down his arm, fingers curling around his wrist.
She guided him.
Not aggressively.
But confidently.
Like she knew what she wanted.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
He liked that.
He liked not having to lead.
He liked being handled like something precious.
Mei Xuan pulled back slightly, breathing hard.
Her eyes were dark.
“You okay?” she asked.
Wei Ling nodded, breathless.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Good,” she murmured.
She kissed him again–shorter this time–then stepped back, as if forcing herself to slow down.
“We should… go somewhere else,” she said, voice low.
Wei Ling’s heart slammed.
“Where?”
Mei Xuan looked around the empty common room.
Her cheeks flushed.
“Not here,” she muttered.
Wei Ling swallowed.
Fear rose.
Not fear of Mei Xuan.
Fear of the disguise.
Fear of exposure.
Mei Xuan watched him carefully.
Then she said, quietly, “My room.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
His body responded immediately.
Heat.
Pulse.
A memory of last night’s softness.
Then panic.
Because Mei Xuan’s room meant a door.
A locked space.
A place where touch could become real.
And real touch could reveal everything.
Wei Ling hesitated.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“You scared?” she asked.
Wei Ling forced a laugh.
“A bit,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s expression softened.
She stepped closer again, fingers brushing Wei Ling’s sleeve.
“We go slow,” she said.
The words landed like a promise.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He nodded.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s room was small.
A single bed.
A desk.
A wardrobe.
The same shape as Wei Ling’s room, but with her presence in it–books stacked neatly, a mug on the desk, a faint scent of lotion.
Mei Xuan locked the door.
The click sounded like a boundary.
Privacy.
Safety.
Wei Ling stood near the desk, heart racing.
Mei Xuan turned to face him.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He didn’t know how to be in this room.
He didn’t know what to do with his body.
Mei Xuan seemed to sense it.
She walked up slowly.
Not rushing.
Not pushing.
Her hand lifted and brushed a strand of wig-hair off Wei Ling’s shoulder.
The gesture was so gentle it made Wei Ling’s chest ache.
“You’re shaking,” Mei Xuan said softly.
Wei Ling laughed breathlessly.
“You also,” he lied.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
Then she leaned in and kissed him again.
This time, slower.
Her hand stayed at his waist.
Her thumb traced a small, steady line over the fabric of his blouse.
Wei Ling’s skin tingled beneath it.
He kissed back, careful at first.
Then less careful.
Because something in him–something that had been starving–opened.
He made a small sound against her mouth.
Mei Xuan’s grip tightened slightly.
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
“You okay?” she asked again.
Wei Ling nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s gaze held him.
Then she said, voice low, “Tell me if you want stop.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I don’t want stop,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s expression shifted–pleased, almost amused.
“Good,” she murmured.
She guided him backward toward the bed with a hand at his waist.
Wei Ling moved like he was half in a dream.
He sat.
Mei Xuan stood between his knees.
The position made Wei Ling’s stomach flip.
He looked up at her.
Mei Xuan looked down at him.
There was something in her eyes that made Wei Ling feel small.
Not in a humiliating way.
In a way that felt… safe.
Like he didn’t have to perform strength.
He could just be.
Mei Xuan’s fingers traced the edge of his mask.
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Can I take this off?” she asked.
Wei Ling nodded.
Mei Xuan removed it carefully and set it on the desk.
Wei Ling felt exposed instantly.
Mei Xuan studied his face.
Then, as if deciding something, she kissed his cheek.
Soft.
Unexpected.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s hand slid to his shoulder, then down his arm.
She intertwined their fingers.
“Relax,” she murmured.
Wei Ling tried.
Mei Xuan moved with slow confidence, kissing him again, guiding him, letting the heat build without rushing.
Wei Ling’s body responded in waves.
His breath became uneven.
His hands clutched at her waist, then loosened, then clutched again.
Mei Xuan made small sounds–quiet, controlled–as if she was enjoying how he reacted.
Wei Ling’s chest felt too full.
He wanted to say her name.
He did.
“Mei Xuan,” he breathed.
Mei Xuan’s lips brushed his.
“Yes?”
Wei Ling swallowed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and he didn’t even know what he meant until the words were out.
Mei Xuan paused.
Her eyes searched his.
Then she exhaled softly.
“Don’t thank me,” she murmured. “Just be here.”
Wei Ling nodded.
He was here.
Mei Xuan’s hand slid down his torso slowly, stopping at his waist.
Wei Ling’s breath hitched.
He tensed.
Mei Xuan noticed immediately.
She looked up.
“Hey,” she said softly.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s palm rested flat against his abdomen–warm, steady.
“Breathe,” she instructed.
Wei Ling inhaled.
Exhaled.
Mei Xuan watched his chest rise and fall.
Then she kissed him again, slower, deeper.
Her touch stayed gentle.
Her voice stayed low.
She moved like she was asking permission with every shift, even as she led.
Wei Ling’s fear began to loosen.
The room blurred into sensation–soft sheets, warm hands, breath against skin, the ache building and reshaping into something sweeter.
Mei Xuan’s control wasn’t about force.
It was about care.
About choosing the pace.
About holding him steady as his body learned how to receive.
Time became strange.
Wei Ling lost track of minutes.
He only knew heat.
He only knew the way Mei Xuan’s mouth found his like she had been craving it.
He only knew the way his own body responded–shaking, softening, giving in.
At some point, Mei Xuan pressed her forehead to his.
“Still okay?” she whispered.
Wei Ling nodded.
“More than okay,” he whispered back.
Mei Xuan smiled.
Then she kissed him again, and the rest of the night slipped into a haze of closeness and whispered consent, of hands and breath, of a pleasure that rose like tidewater and made Wei Ling forget to be afraid.
When the wave finally broke, it wasn’t loud.
It was internal.
A trembling release that left his limbs heavy and his mind blank.
He lay there, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded.
Mei Xuan stayed close.
Her hand ran through the wig-hair near his ear, slow and soothing.
“You okay?” she asked one last time, softer now.
Wei Ling managed a shaky laugh.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m… okay.”
Mei Xuan hummed, satisfied.
“Good,” she murmured.
She pulled a blanket over them.
Wei Ling lay on his side facing her, still trying to understand what had just happened.
His body felt warm.
Sensitive.
Soft.
His mind–usually loud–was quiet.
Not empty.
Quiet like after rain.
Mei Xuan’s gaze stayed on him.
In the dim light, her expression looked gentle.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“I didn’t think…” he began.
Mei Xuan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think what?”
Wei Ling swallowed.
He couldn’t say:
I didn’t think you would want me like this.
Because “like this” carried too much.
So he said the smallest truth.
“I didn’t think you would like me,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan snorted softly.
“You blind?” she asked.
Wei Ling laughed, weak.
Mei Xuan’s fingers traced his cheek.
Then she leaned in and kissed him again–soft, unhurried.
Not hunger.
Afterglow.
The kind of kiss that said: I’m still here.
Wei Ling’s chest ached.
“Mei Xuan,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan hummed.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I’m scared,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened.
“Of what?”
Wei Ling stared at her.
How could he explain?
He was scared of being found out.
He was scared of losing her.
He was scared of liking this life too much.
He was scared of waking up one day and realizing Chen Wei had become a ghost.
He couldn’t say any of that.
So he chose another truth.
“I’m scared of messing this up,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s expression softened.
She exhaled.
“Then don’t lie,” she said simply.
Wei Ling’s heart stuttered.
Mei Xuan watched him.
Her eyes were steady.
Unblinking.
As if she was looking at something deeper than his makeup.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He looked away.
Mei Xuan didn’t push.
Instead, she shifted closer and wrapped her arm around him.
Wei Ling stiffened–then softened into it.
Mei Xuan’s hand rested at his back, warm and firm.
“Sleep,” she murmured.
Wei Ling blinked.
“Sleep?”
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes gently.
“You think after this, I let you walk back alone in the dark?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“You…”
Mei Xuan cut him off, voice softer.
“Just stay,” she said.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He nodded.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Okay,” she echoed.
Wei Ling closed his eyes.
Mei Xuan’s arm around him felt like a boundary.
A protection.
Outside, the hostel corridors went quiet.
Inside, Wei Ling lay in a bed that wasn’t his, wrapped in someone else’s warmth.
His body still hummed with afterglow.
His mind still felt soft.
In the space between wakefulness and sleep, a thought rose–quiet and sharp.
This was supposed to be a plan.
A strategy.
A way to win her.
But lying here, held by Mei Xuan, Wei Ling realized something that made his chest tighten with fear and tenderness.
He didn’t want to win.
He wanted to be chosen.
Not as a trick.
Not as a costume.
As himself–whatever “himself” even meant now.
He didn’t know what came next.
He only knew that tonight had opened another door.
And behind it was a love that felt too real to survive a lie.