Destruction

Birds of a feather flock together. Su Yun frowned, gazing at He Mian sprawled on the bed. The top button of his shirt was undone, his tie hung loosely, and the back of his hand rested against his forehead.

Under the light, He Mian's pale skin appeared even more striking, the veins on his wrist clearly visible.

Almost involuntarily, Su Yun knelt down and removed his shoes, untied the tie, and unfastened his shirt buttons one by one. As his lean chest came into view, she noticed traces of ambiguous marks.

Su Yun's hands paused. What was she doing? She wasn't here to tend to a drunkard—she had come for the painting.

With this thought, she stood up, about to search for the painting.

—

She had barely turned around when her wrist was seized. With a forceful tug, she was flung onto the bed, and in the next instant, He Mian rolled over and pressed her down.

"Why stop undressing me halfway?" He Mian's voice was languid, eyes glazed with drunkenness. His hand brushed aside the stray hair at Su Yun's temple, tracing her cheek.

"Get off me," Su Yun pushed against him, but he was immovable, as solid as a mountain.

"Su Yun, let me see if you're as soft and sweet as I remember." With that, he captured her lips, sucking and biting.

Su Yun's startled cry was swallowed back down. She couldn't evade him and regretted deeply not having left sooner.

He Mian kissed her thoroughly, delving ever deeper. Su Yun tried to bite him, but as if anticipating her move, he gripped her chin tightly.

—

In desperation, Su Yun pinched He Mian's side, hard.

He Mian released her with a hiss of pain, only to seize both her wrists and pin them above her head.

Su Yun could sense the change in him. She cursed aloud, "Bastard, let go!" Her voice, however, was soft, lacking threat and sounding instead like the petulance between lovers.

He Mian leaned in, his face inches from hers, then moved to her ear, whispering lightly, "Don't you want the painting anymore?"

His tone was nothing like that of a drunk.

—

Su Yun's resistance ebbed away, her strength draining like air from a punctured balloon.

Little brute, she cursed him silently.

"You're cursing me in your heart, aren't you?" He Mian's hand traced her cheek, his voice low and languid.

Su Yun's heart leapt. Could he read minds?

"If you want the painting, it depends on how you behave." With that, He Mian kissed her again.

This time, Su Yun accepted everything.

—

He Mian left a fresh constellation of love bites on her skin, and in return, she marked him with new ambiguous traces.

Su Yun awoke in He Mian's arms, his hand pillowing her head, the other wrapped around her waist, his breath warm on her neck.

Ring, ring, ring.

"Turn off the alarm," He Mian grumbled, tightening his hold.

Su Yun had set the alarm for six, to get up early for morning reading and pronunciation practice.

Breaking free, she dragged her weary body across the floor to find her phone amidst the clothes, turning off the alarm.

—

Once dressed, Su Yun decided to search for the painting herself.

She left the bedroom and looked around. The apartment was spacious: three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room, with a treadmill tucked into a corner.

After searching the living room to no avail, she ruled out the kitchen and bathroom, leaving three rooms.

One had a sliding door. Pushing it open, Su Yun discovered a studio. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced her, offering a sweeping view of the Parisian skyline, the Eiffel Tower nearby.

—

The walls and floor were covered with paintings of every kind: portraits, landscapes, mountains and rivers, oils and ink washes—an astonishing array.

Su Yun was awestruck. She was now almost certain that the notorious playboy He Mian was indeed the artist He Mian.

In the center stood an easel. She walked around to the front, heart tightening. It was here.

Depicted on the canvas was herself—exactly the same as the one He Mian had sent her yesterday.

After searching high and low, she had found it without effort. In haste, Su Yun took the painting down, glanced at it briefly, then tore it into shreds, tossed the pieces into the toilet, and flushed them away.

—

She flushed two or three times before she was finally at ease.

Su Yun walked to the entryway, then, remembering something, doubled back into the bedroom, where He Mian still slept soundly.

Looking at his serene face, Su Yun was lost in a daze, recalling the night before.

For some reason, He Mian insisted she keep her eyes open. Looking into his soul-piercing gaze, Su Yun's cheeks burned.

Under such an intense gaze, she almost believed she was his beloved, his whole world.

Unable to bear it, Su Yun reached out to block his view, but He Mian only kissed her more fiercely.

She closed her eyes, willing the memory away, and whispered, "He Mian, He Mian."

"Go away," He Mian muttered, eyes still closed, turning over.

Su Yun steadied herself.

—

He Mian was notorious for his morning temper—disturb his sleep and face the consequences.

Su Yun paid him no mind. "He Mian, I took the painting. You also took photos with your phone—delete them too."

"Mm." Then nothing more.

Su Yun found his phone. Since he had agreed, she took matters into her own hands.

The phone required facial recognition, so she held it over his face and unlocked it successfully.

After deleting the photos from the album, she opened WeChat, found her profile picture, and, intending to delete the photos, ended up deleting the entire chat.

With everything done, Su Yun breathed a sigh of relief. Without another glance at the man on the bed, she turned and left—never wanting to return to this place again.