Notes
Helloooo, so, this is really sad. Like, it has no happy ending, just pure angst.
It's based on the, well, the scandal that has Xuxi on hiatus. AND there was some post about it on weibo saying that Xuxi hasn't even shaved, and that he's smoking a lot sooo yeah, this was born.
Hope you enjoy.
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The cigarette against his mouth tastes rotten, acrid like poison. Putrid like the words sitting on his unused phone.
He takes a deep inhale. Fills his lungs with smoke, releases it into the frigid morning air and taps his finger against the paper, ridding it from the ashes.
The apartment's floor looks cleaner from this point of view, standing on the balcony. It was an illusion to the mess that it actually was once you stepped foot inside.
Much like his mind. Though he doubts he looks much better on the outside.
Xuxi sighs, running a hand through his unshaved face.
The day was dark, just like it had been for the past few weeks. Clouds covered the spot where the sun should've been, and he could feel the first droplets soaking their way through his unkempt hair and dirty clothes.
Ironic - he thinks.
Ironic how - once upon a time - he was called a 'sun'.
Ironic how he is also covered in clouds now. Or maybe they were ashes and not clouds. Perhaps they were the remnants of the cigarette in his hand.
He walks back inside, throwing the poison from the balcony's rail. Xuxi picks a shirt from the floor, shorts from the table, some socks from the kitchen, and deems himself ready to go out.
If he were to go out.
Probably not.
Better safe than sorry, he guesses.
There is a knock on the door. A steady, heavy knock that startles Xuxi out of his thoughts.
"Hey, Xuxi?" he probably knows the voice bouncing against his walls.
Is probably familiar with the face behind the baritone.
Probably. But the voice is distorted, covered in ashes like his own mind. Perhaps the voice also knows the cigarettes. That would be nice. Knowing he's not the only one covered in grey and filled with a putrid smell.
He walks to his room.
Keeps his feet moving until they reach the bathroom door. The image on the mirror greets him with a grim expression, so Xuxi tries to smile, simply to appease the picture in front of him, and, if he was lucky enough, make it disappear.
That, of course, doesn't happen. Because the image on the mirror was like a bad movie with bad internet. Distorted and persistent on not going away. He's clicked, prodded and pressed everywhere just so he could exit, but the internet was bad, and the movie was worse, so it kept playing like that. Distorted and wrong.
He gave up eventually. Gave up on trying to rid himself of the grey image that welcomed him every time his reflection was produced.
Xuxi had gotten rid of every mirror in the house but this one. His face wasn't something he could see any more, much less admire. His body wasn't fit or pretty anymore either. It was now a costume of bone and skin that replaced it.
He had some scars here and there. Born out of badly healed cigarette burns, because sometimes, and he swears it's just some times, the costume he wears gets uncomfortable, stifling, doesn't let him breathe. Xuxi has to make an opening then. When his body seems to be choking on every breath, and his mind feels like breaking in every turn.
So he burns. Ties a stone to his foot and drowns himself in an ocean of ashes and heat.
Then he takes a hit from the cigarette, lets the nicotine do its job, and is able to breathe once again.
Burning doesn't feel good, and neither does drowning. But it's better, somehow, than drowning in his own insecurities.
He much rather die from the ash and the burn.
Xuxi's knees bend until he's sitting on the tile floor, and the body length mirror can only see his head. Not his legs. Not his brain. His hair, his unkempt, dirty, unruly hair and nothing else.
This brings his lungs a breath of fresh air. Fills him with the brief relief of not seeing his face drawn in the mirror.
Xuxi's phone is suddenly ringing, breaking the momentary peace he had submerged himself in. It was supposed to be silent. 'Do not disturb' mode because the burdens he carries on his shoulders are already big enough. He expected the different settings on his phone would make others...well, stop disturbing him, let him wallow in pain alone.
Apparently, like everything else in his life, it didn't work how Xuxi wanted.
He turns his face down to his lap and finds the device laying on his knees, keeping constant pressure on the skin.
His hands fiddle with the brown cover of his phone, the corners bending against his fingers as he ignores the name "Ten 🥵" displayed on the screen. A small chuckle escapes his lips as he stares at the emoji, the name, and the stupidity of it all.
Some months ago he was dancing in front of huge crowds, singing next to people who loved him, living the dream- as one would say.
Then there was a post. And then there were five. Suddenly, his manager was calling, demanding a statement to be written for something he didn't even understand.
He was then apologising for "his actions", whatever the fuck those were.
The members started throwing side glances and asking questions he didn't have answers to because that boy in the news wasn't Xuxi or Lucas or Yukhei. He was- he was an idiot, a narcissist...an abuser.
And then he wasn't dancing, or singing and it is just ironic how everything fell from under him. Everything and anything he had worked for left him like water leaves the dessert.
Then he was back in China. Stranded to a bed and trapped by the pillows. His heart stopped beating in adrenaline, excitement from the crowds. It instead fought constantly against his ribcage; leaving his lungs with no air to breathe and no body to feel.
Another post was released. A full-blown investigation of how whatever those accusations had said was, decidedly, not true.
But it was too late.
He was already dead to the public and their eyes and ears. The ashes had clogged his own eyes and ears already too.
Sweat became tears, the light became dark and the phone stops ringing. Ten's name disappears on the screen.
It doesn't stay that way for long.
Ten's name appears on the screen again. This time Xuxi doesn't stare at the name for long, just sits the phone on the floor next to him and mourns the loss of warmth on his grey skin.
The ringing stops, eventually. The one on Xuxi's ears stays, as it has for the past month.
There's a new sound coming from his phone, and he sighs as he curses the useless 'do not disturb' on the damned device.
It is, to his surprise, not Ten calling or texting this time. Rather, one of his worst enemies invades the screen when a Weibo notification pops up.
It's some sort of article, he notices. Something about one of his friends worrying about how he's handling things. He scoffs.
How could anyone judge how he's handling things if they're not in his place?
Xuxi, nonetheless, keeps reading.
They mention his lack of self-care. They mention his ashes and his cigarettes. They talk about how he's drowning as if they knew anything about him and his life.
Yet, he keeps reading, consumed by a sense of morbid curiosity.
Then he makes the biggest mistake of his life.
He scrolls past the last paragraph and gets to the comments. And honestly, he doesn't even know why he expected anything different.
Sentence after sentence. Word after word. Letter after letter is filled with hate and disgust. Maybe they are right- he thinks for a moment. Because these are 3000 people saying how wrong he is, how much disgust he causes, how stupid, how selfish, how idiotic...how Xuxi he is.
"He's a disgrace to the country," he reads. It's written in traditional characters, under a pile of comments, one of the bunch, nothing special about it; yet this is the one that makes the decision for him.
He grabs the car's keys, puts a pair of shoes on and opens the apartment's door. The voice's owner is no longer there.
Small mercies, he guesses.
The car engine vibrates under his numb body as he drives. It's been a while since he's left the house.
The air feels dry and uncomfortably cold as he parks in front of the empty beach. He sits on the white sand, submerging his fingers in the soft material as he pulls his cigarette box.
Xuxi lights one up and breathes, feeling the nicotine run through his body. The cloud of smoke rises and gets mixed with the dark clouds as he stares at the moving ocean.
A wave hits the shore as he hits the paper with one finger, letting the ashes fall on the ground, staining the white sand.
Xuxi stands up. Leaves the cigarette on the ground, drops his shoes to the side, leaves the cigarette box inside, tosses the phone carelessly to the side and steps into the water. All done in an almost robotic sequence as if the nicotine had swallowed his every move.
The phone rings on the side. With a spare glance at the device and the name written on the screen, he ties a stone to his foot and drowns himself in an ocean of cigarettes.
Drowns in an ocean of water and salt. Of ashes and words. Numbed by the nicotine and the heat...or maybe it's the cold. Drowns in side glances and questions and glared.
Dies in an ocean of cigarettes, filled with lies and ash.
The shoes stay there. The box does too, as if the current was too afraid of taking something else from the boy.
Xuxi never answered his phone.
It pinged incessantly, ringing and vibrating, getting sand inside until someone picked it up.
100+ notifications.
The next call Ten got was for a body-less funeral.
Ten 🥵 calling.
"Hey, just calling to say goodbye," a pause, a watery breath, "I love you, Xuxi."
Notes:
Thoughts?
Questions?
Recommendations?
Corrections?
COMMENTTT!! pwease :3
Luv you beautiful human beings 💜💜💜