Qin Yue was stunned. “He… he speaks Spanish?!”
Vincent was not at all surprised. “I told you.”
“I thought you were just guessing! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Could you not have warned me a few more times? Are we even friends?”
Star ran off a bit further and checked the bag. He had indeed bought the chili-flavored one. With lingering fear, he tossed the oil away and went to buy a green apple-scented one instead. He returned with the bag, pretending nothing had happened.
Qin Yue was uncharacteristically blushing; he could not even bring himself to look at Star. He had mocked Star for needing “training” right to his face, and while Star had been polite enough to pretend he did not understand Spanish, he had actually been listening as Qin Yue bared his entire personal life in that language. Qin Yue grew even angrier as he thought about it, throwing cold looks at Vincent. His “good friend” had just sat there and watched him humiliate himself.
“Let’s go. We’re going drinking.”
This time, Qin Yue was past the point of persuasion. He dragged Vincent along, vowing that he would not stop until one of them passed out, truly living up to his “top” reputation. Vincent had no objections; he treated it as a way to relax.
Star and Fabian headed to the beachside seats, leaving the two benefactors to their drinks. Fabian, uncharacteristically, did not fuss about taking photos. He toyed with the olives in his glass, looking lonely. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Out of all of us, I think I am the only one who celebrates it, right?”
Star was not sure what holidays he should be celebrating. Before he was twelve, he had celebrated the Lunar New Year and the Day of the Dead, and occasionally Christmas, but not once since he was twelve. It was a strange coincidence that in all these years, he had never spent a holiday with a benefactor. Either the timing was wrong, he deliberately avoided it, or the benefactors had other commitments. After all, a successful person’s holiday usually involved family and friends—things Star was better off avoiding. He usually spent holidays alone, just resting.
This time… Star looked into the distance.
Inside the opulent sea-facing bar, Vincent sat with his glass, looking at a pacing Qin Yue with gentle eyes.
Star’s phone buzzed with a self-destructing message. He tapped it open to see a photo of an Asian girl with a pair of white parents. The girl wore a festive Christmas sweater, clutching two gift boxes in front of a Christmas tree, smiling radiantly. The parents held her on either side, flashing peace signs at the camera.
The screen went dark, and the image vanished. Star felt a sting in his nose and downed his drink in one gulp.
“I’ll keep you company.”
“Huh?” Fabian was excited. “Really? That’s great! They clearly won’t be able to get up tomorrow. Let’s order a Christmas meal and then go…”
Star listened to Fabian while drinking cup after cup. The Hawaiian specialty drinks were sweet like juice, and one could finish a glass in a few gulps. The bartender could not keep up with their pace. Since someone else was picking up the tab, Fabian ordered every specialty drink on the menu. While the two benefactors were still pacing themselves, the two “kept men” were having a grand time. The table was so crowded with glasses that the server could not even clear them away fast enough.
Vincent and Qin Yue noticed them and had someone bring them over. Vincent had glanced at their table earlier, expecting Star to be drunk, but he was surprised to see that Star showed no sign of intoxication at all. Qin Yue had been unable to get Vincent drunk and was feeling frustrated, so he perked up when he saw Star’s tolerance.
“Come on, Cipher. The drinks are on me tonight.”
Star, ever the polite companion, raised his glass. “To not leaving until we’re drunk.”
Qin Yue felt challenged and ordered full bottles for the table. This suited Star perfectly; he was already full of juice, and pure spirits felt much more satisfying. Qin Yue had finally found a drinking buddy, and they grew more spirited as the night went on, eventually starting a game of finger guessing.
Star grew warm and took off his glasses, rubbing his face. “Again.”
Qin Yue’s eyes went still, lingering on the tear mole at the corner of Star’s eye. Vincent blocked his line of sight. “That’s enough.”
“Don’t be like that…”
Vincent picked Star up and walked away. Star, hazy with drink, wrapped his arms around Vincent’s neck and rubbed his head against him, his alcoholic breath brushing against Vincent’s neck. “Sir, are you jealous?”
The shuttle boat was waiting. Vincent carried him aboard, lifted his chin, and looked at him intensely. “You knew, and you still drank?”
Star was truly drunk now, dangling in his arms like a boneless creature. “You look so beautiful when you’re jealous.”
Slap.
Star sobered up halfway. He clutched his backside, eyes wide. “What was that for?”
Vincent wrapped his arm around Star’s waist and gave his small backside another slap. “Do I look beautiful?”
Star turned crimson—not from anger, but from embarrassment. The boat was small, and the captain at the front could hear everything. He whispered like a mosquito, “I was wrong. Not here.”
Vincent tapped his lips. Star, like a little kitten, tentatively pecked at him. Vincent’s anger dissipated. “Good boy.”
The boat picked up speed. Star soon could not think at all. His tolerance was high, and he never got seasick, but sitting in a small boat while this drunk was a different story. The boat sped along, occasionally catching air, and Star’s stomach churned violently. To maintain his image in front of his benefactor, he dared not vomit. He had to stand up, letting the cold sea breeze hit his face, trying to suppress the nausea.
Thankfully, they arrived quickly. The moment he stepped onto solid ground, he had no time to be relieved before he felt even dizzier. After the intense wind, the transition from a tossing boat to firm land, and the glaring lights, every step felt like walking on clouds. The alcohol in his stomach hit him with full force. Star had never felt this dizzy in his life; he kept reminding himself: I am Cipher, the down-and-out young master from China.
The neon lights swirled, and everything appeared in double. He reached out and grabbed onto something nearby. It was warm and solid.
“Ugh…”
Star felt himself lifted. The scent of wood lingered in his nose. He looked up at the blurred sky and reached out to grab a handful of stars. “Hmm?”
He snatched a star, sharp and twinkling, but it stopped glowing.
“Star…”
“Yes, Star.”
A gentle, deep voice sounded in his ear. It was the first time Star heard someone other than Ji Zuo or Diego call him by his name; his nose tingled.
“The star isn’t shining anymore.”
“Without the circuit, of course, the star won’t shine.”
Star confusedly tried to unbuckle more stars, but none of them lit up. He held the “stars” in his hand, blankly staring at the dark hole in the sky that used to glow. His field of vision suddenly opened up. He saw stars everywhere again, but this time, he could not catch them. A gust of cold wind blew in, and the scent of the hotel lobby filled his nose. Star squeezed his eyes shut from the brightness. “Too bright.”
“Alright, wait a moment.”
A gentle voice soothed him. Then came a click. Star opened his eyes in a blur; everything went pitch black. A moment later, he sank into something soft.
“Too dark.”
“Alright, wait a moment.”
A soft, warm yellow glow emerged. Star turned over to see two bottles before him: one green, one pink. Diamond-shaped bottles. How familiar.
The pink bottle read: Jalapeño.
Oh… chili.
Chili…
Star felt he had forgotten something important, but before he could think, his clothes were gone. Then he felt a sudden heat, which was very uncomfortable. He turned to crawl away but was dragged back. Star let out a whimper. “No…”
Hands like iron pincers would not let go; they would leave bruises.
Must not get hurt. Absolutely must not get hurt.
Star kicked out with all his might, but his ankle was caught. He was pressed down, his face buried in a soft pillow. He could see nothing, only feeling cold liquid.
“Mmm…”
Star’s toes curled. His hands clutched at something, digging holes into it, but he was still suffering. He whimpered, trying to crawl away, only for his hair to be yanked back forcefully. A scream escaped his throat.
“Good boy, don’t move.”
The gentle soothing did not work. Star still wanted to escape. His wrists were suddenly gripped. He struggled, only to realize he could not pull free. Cool silk was tied around his wrists. Star sobbed, “Let me go.”
“No.”
The voice was no longer gentle; it was overbearing. Star shuddered in fear, crawling forward on his knees.
“Cipher, do you want your legs to be like this too?”
Cipher… who is that?
Oh, right, that’s me.
Wait, what is happening?
Vincent continued once he saw Star had adjusted. Star cried out again, “Let me go, I don’t want this.”
Vincent turned him over and wiped the tears from his eyes. “It is too late to say no now.”
“You—ugh!”
Star felt nauseated, but even in his drunken state, he knew he could not vomit on the bed. He suppressed the nausea with all his might, not knowing whether to focus on his churning stomach or the burning sensation below. Soon, he stopped caring about anything at all.
It was so hot.
Everything was hot. His body felt like a furnace, and there seemed to be another furnace inside him. His leg muscles twitched uncontrollably. The mole at the corner of his eye was being kissed until it was swollen. Even the silk on his wrists behind his back was soaked in sweat.
Star stared blankly at the pink bottle on the nightstand, watching it empty, drop by drop, until it was bone dry. The sheets beneath him clung to his skin. The minimalist lamp above turned into a magnificent crystal chandelier, and the spicy scent in the air turned into the fresh fragrance of apples.
Star was very well-behaved—exceptionally so. Aside from a few ineffective struggles at the start, he stayed as still as a doll. Biting down on the pillowcase, he did not cry or cause a scene.
Vincent, far from showing mercy, wanted to make him cry until his eyes were as red as that tear mole, but he could not bring himself to stop. The curtains closed automatically as the sun rose, making it impossible to tell if it was day or night inside.
They drifted in each other’s breaths, unable to tell if it was the weariness that deepened or the drowning that grew more intense.