I’Ve Always Known
Chapter 8 – I’ve Always Known
Wei Ling woke up to a ceiling that wasn’t his.
The light in Mei Xuan’s room was softer than hostel corridor light–filtered through thin curtains, pale gold and gentle, the kind of morning that made even concrete look kind.
For a second, he forgot where he was.
Then he remembered everything at once.
Her mouth.
Her hands.
The way she had asked and waited and led like she knew exactly what she wanted.
The way his body had softened into her guidance until fear became something else–something willing.
Afterglow still hummed under his skin. Not loud. Not frantic.
Warm. Heavy. Quiet.
His limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to urgency anymore.
They belonged to rest.
Behind him, Mei Xuan shifted in sleep and draped an arm over his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He lay there, still as a held breath, listening to her inhale and exhale against the back of his neck.
A part of him wanted to stay frozen forever.
If he didn’t move, maybe the world wouldn’t restart.
Maybe the lie wouldn’t have to exist.
Maybe he could remain in this pocket of warmth where Mei Xuan had chosen him and nothing else mattered.
Mei Xuan’s eyes opened.
Not fully awake at first–just a narrow slit, then a blink, then focus.
Her gaze landed on him.
It didn’t look confused.
It didn’t look startled.
It looked… settled.
“You awake,” she said, voice rough with sleep.
Wei Ling nodded.
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved faintly.
“You look like you scared,” she observed.
Wei Ling let out a small, shaky laugh.
“A bit,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan hummed, unimpressed.
“Why?”
Wei Ling stared at the ceiling.
Because morning had teeth.
Morning brought rules and eyes and daylight.
Morning reminded him he was still hiding in a country that loved boxes.
Morning reminded him that the person holding him didn’t know everything.
Except–
Didn’t she?
He swallowed.
“Because it’s morning,” he said.
Mei Xuan raised an eyebrow.
“Morning got teeth?”
Wei Ling’s laugh came out more real.
Mei Xuan rolled away, stretching her arms above her head, then sat up and pulled on a T-shirt like last night hadn’t rewritten Wei Ling’s entire sense of gravity.
“Brush teeth,” she said, pointing toward the bathroom.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t blink,” she muttered.
Wei Ling stood up carefully–body still tender in quiet places–and slipped into the bathroom.
He locked the door out of habit.
Then he stared at himself.
Wig slightly messy.
Makeup smudged at the edges.
Lips swollen from kissing.
Wei Ling looked like someone who had been loved.
That thought made his chest ache.
He brushed his teeth with hands that trembled. Washed his face gently. Patched what he could with practiced fingers.
When he stepped out, Mei Xuan was sitting at her desk, scrolling her phone like she was waiting for a bus.
“You hungry?” she asked without looking up.
Wei Ling nodded.
Mei Xuan stood. “Breakfast.”
Wei Ling followed.
In the cafeteria, Mei Xuan bought toast and eggs without asking.
Wei Ling stared at the tray.
“You know what I eat?” he asked.
Mei Xuan shrugged.
“I guess,” she said.
The casual certainty made Wei Ling’s stomach twist.
Guess.
Or remember.
They sat at the corner.
Mei Xuan ate quietly.
Wei Ling tried.
His appetite was tangled in nerves.
Mei Xuan watched him over the rim of her cup.
“You’re thinking too much,” she said.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“You always say that,” he muttered.
The sentence slipped out the way childhood habits slipped out when you were tired.
Wei Ling froze.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened.
Wei Ling braced.
But Mei Xuan only tilted her head.
“Do I?” she asked.
Wei Ling forced a laugh.
“Maybe I imagine,” he said quickly.
Mei Xuan didn’t look convinced.
She didn’t push.
But something in her gaze changed–like she was moving a chess piece inside her head.
After breakfast, Mei Xuan walked him back toward her hostel.
Wei Ling slowed at the gate.
“This… is okay?” he asked, voice low.
Mei Xuan glanced at him.
“What you mean?”
Wei Ling gestured vaguely. “Me being here. Rules.”
Mei Xuan’s expression turned flat.
“Rules exist to control,” she said. “Not to protect.”
Wei Ling stared.
Mei Xuan exhaled.
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” she added.
He nodded, but the fear didn’t leave.
Mei Xuan studied him for a beat.
Then she said, quietly, “Come back tonight.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Don’t be late.”
Then she turned and walked inside.
Wei Ling stood at the gate too long.
He felt like a person holding an open flame in his hands.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Hard to put down.
That night, Mei Xuan opened her door before he knocked.
As if she’d been waiting.
Wei Ling stepped inside.
Mei Xuan locked the door.
The click sounded louder than it should.
Boundary.
Privacy.
Safety.
Mei Xuan turned to him.
For a second, she just looked.
Not at the skirt.
Not at the makeup.
At his eyes.
Then she stepped closer, lifted a hand, and brushed the edge of his wig lightly.
Wei Ling’s breath hitched.
Mei Xuan’s gaze stayed steady.
“Chen Wei,” she said.
The name hit like a slap.
All the air left Wei Ling’s lungs.
His body went cold.
“What…?” he managed.
Mei Xuan watched him.
Not angry.
Not mocking.
Certain.
“You think I stupid?” she asked.
Wei Ling flinched.
“No,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan exhaled.
“Then why you pretend with me?”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
His hands trembled.
Shame flooded him so fast it made his skin burn.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s expression didn’t soften.
“Sorry for what?”
Wei Ling couldn’t list everything without breaking.
So he said the one that held the rest.
“For disappearing,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan went still.
A crack appeared in her composure–small, but real.
“You disappeared on me,” she said, voice low.
Wei Ling swallowed hard.
“I tried to find you,” Mei Xuan continued. “You changed number. You stopped replying. You stopped… being there.”
Wei Ling’s eyes stung.
“I thought–” he started.
Mei Xuan cut him off.
“You thought I don’t want you,” she said.
Wei Ling froze.
Mei Xuan’s jaw tightened.
“You heard me say I like girls and you decided you had no place,” she said.
Wei Ling couldn’t breathe properly.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“But you don’t get to punish me for it,” she added.
Wei Ling nodded quickly.
“Yes. You’re right.”
Mei Xuan held his gaze.
Then she exhaled.
“I knew since the first day,” she said.
Wei Ling’s head snapped up.
“You–”
“I knew,” she repeated.
Shock.
Then humiliation.
He had thought he was clever.
He had thought he was managing.
Mei Xuan had seen through him from the start.
Wei Ling’s voice came out thin.
“Then why… why you let me–”
Mei Xuan looked away briefly, annoyed with her own softness.
“Because I wanted to,” she said.
Wei Ling froze.
Mei Xuan’s cheeks colored faintly.
“I didn’t expose you because I’m not evil,” she said, defensive. “And because you looked like you would shatter if someone laughed.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
Mei Xuan’s gaze returned to him.
“And because you’re still Chen Wei,” she added.
Wei Ling flinched.
Mei Xuan continued, quieter:
“But you’re also… not only Chen Wei.”
Wei Ling’s vision blurred.
Mei Xuan sighed.
“Don’t cry,” she muttered.
Wei Ling let out a shaky laugh. “You always say that.”
Mei Xuan glared. “Don’t repeat.”
Wei Ling looked down, throat tight.
“I came here for you,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan didn’t flinch.
“I thought… if I become what you like, you will look at me,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s jaw clenched.
Wei Ling rushed on, ashamed.
“I know it’s wrong. I know it’s selfish. I didn’t think it would become… like this. I didn’t think I would–”
He stopped.
“I didn’t think I would like it,” he finished.
Mei Xuan watched him.
Then she asked, quietly, “Do you?”
Wei Ling nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan exhaled slowly.
“Good,” she said.
Wei Ling stared.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Because if you hate it, then this whole thing is just pain,” she said. “If you like it… then maybe it’s not just a trick. Maybe it’s you.”
Mei Xuan reached out and took his hand.
Warm.
Firm.
Grounding.
“From now on,” she said, “no more pretending between us.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan squeezed his fingers.
“Then learn,” she said.
“And I help,” she added.
Mei Xuan leaned in and kissed him.
Not hungry.
Reassuring.
A kiss that said: Stop running.
Wei Ling kissed back.
Mei Xuan pulled away and studied him.
“Do you want to know when I knew?” she asked.
Wei Ling nodded.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she said. “Flashback.”
Flashback – Orientation Hall
The hall had been loud.
Too loud.
Mei Xuan remembered standing at the entrance, annoyed they were late, annoyed at forced cheer, annoyed at how everyone looked like they were auditioning for friendship.
Then she saw him.
Not Wei Ling.
Him.
Chen Wei.
Hair long and dark.
Makeup softening his face.
Posture too careful.
The disguise was good.
Better than it should have been.
But Mei Xuan recognized him instantly.
Not because of the wig.
Because of the shoulders he always tightened when nervous.
Because of the way his eyes darted once, then steadied–pretending bravery.
Because of the stance he had always had since they were kids: ready to run.
Mei Xuan’s first reaction wasn’t anger.
It was shock.
Then hurt.
Old and familiar.
You disappeared.
And now you’re here.
And worse–
You’re here like this.
She watched him stand when his name was called.
“My name is Wei Ling,” he said.
The hall cheered.
Mei Xuan didn’t.
She only watched.
Because beneath the disguise, she could see the effort.
The courage.
The expensive kind.
She remembered thinking:
You idiot.
What are you doing?
Then another thought, quieter and more dangerous:
Why do you look like you can finally breathe?
When their eyes met later, Mei Xuan kept her face neutral.
Because if she exposed him with an expression, he would bolt.
And she didn’t know if she could survive him disappearing again.
So she kept the secret.
She watched.
She waited.
She let him approach.
And when he introduced himself–soft voice, careful posture–Mei Xuan played along.
Not to punish.
To understand.
To see where Chen Wei had gone.
And why he had returned wearing a name like new skin.
Back in the present, Wei Ling sat very still.
The flashback rewrote everything.
Mei Xuan’s neutrality.
The gaze in the photo.
The way she said “Taiping.”
It hadn’t been confusion.
It had been restraint.
Mei Xuan watched him.
“So,” she said. “Now you know.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“You were hurt,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
“Obviously,” she said.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mei Xuan sighed.
“Stop saying sorry like broken tape,” she muttered.
Mei Xuan leaned closer, voice lowering.
“If you want make it up,” she said, “then stay.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Stay and be honest,” she added.
Wei Ling nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Good,” she murmured.
She shifted closer until their knees touched.
Wei Ling’s body reacted immediately.
Mei Xuan’s eyes gleamed.
“You’re still scared,” she observed.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s expression softened a fraction.
“Then we go slow,” she said.
Mei Xuan gathered his wrists lightly.
Not force.
Control.
“Consent,” she said, simple. “You still want?”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan narrowed her eyes.
“Use your words properly.”
Wei Ling inhaled.
“Yes, Mei Xuan,” he said.
A pleased sound escaped her.
“Good boy,” she murmured.
Mei Xuan kissed him–slow, deliberate–like she was teaching his body how to stop apologizing.
When she pulled back, her gaze stayed on him.
“Tell me,” she said, voice low. “What else you didn’t tell me.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He hesitated.
“No more pretending,” she reminded.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I bought… toys,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened–not with disgust, with interest.
“Before. When I was alone,” Wei Ling continued.
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved.
“And?”
Wei Ling’s face heated.
“It felt… addictive,” he whispered. “I never knew my ass could feel so good.”
Mei Xuan’s smirk was slow.
“Of course,” she murmured.
Then she reached to her drawer and pulled out a small box.
“You’re not the only one who can buy things,” she said.
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“You want to try together?” she asked.
Not assuming.
Asking.
Wei Ling nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Safe word,” Mei Xuan said.
“Orange,” Wei Ling replied.
“Okay,” she said. “Orange.”
She climbed over him with calm authority.
“Breathe,” she instructed.
Wei Ling inhaled.
Exhaled.
Mei Xuan smiled.
“Good boy.”
The night unfolded into heat and closeness and surrender–guided by quiet check-ins, whispered permission, and the steady patience of someone who refused to treat his body like a problem.
When it finally eased, Mei Xuan stayed close.
Her fingers threaded through his hair.
Afterglow wrapped around him like warm water.
Wei Ling stared at the ceiling, throat tight.
The biggest fear–being found out–had already happened.
And Mei Xuan had stayed.
“I don’t know who I am,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s answer was immediate.
“Then we find out,” she said.
And for the first time, the unknown didn’t feel like a threat.
It felt like a journey.
One he wouldn’t have to walk alone.