He holds me, he is holding me tight. It feels like a dream, as he kisses me for the first time, his lips, separated for so long, still as soft and full as I remember. His tongue, like a playful fish, stirs the spring water between my teeth. I try to catch its tail, to hold it tight, but it suddenly withdraws and escapes. His lips part from mine, and I look into his eyes, where the bottom of his chestnut irises burns with desire, flickering with flames. Unlike before, they no longer emit a colorless glow, no longer just scorching. I am no longer afraid of being burned by him; he emanates concern, making me believe in eternal warmth. The sharpness in his gaze softens, his fluttering eyelashes gently brushing my nose bridge. Then, his nose slides down my neck, resting on my chest, probing all of my sincerity through each breath.
In his eyes, I see the changing love, all his past indifference melting in the touch of our gazes. He hands me a newly hatched chick, its trembling wings, cloud-like feathers, emanating a slight warmth as I hold it. After a while, my hand starts to pulsate with its blood, sweat like mist permeating the small space inside the car. I cradle his face, he opens his irises, the sincerity in his eyes as if piercing my heart. His lips moving, each opening and closing marking a sweet affirmation, signifying his love for me. Until his voice flows into my heart with each breath, saying, "I love you." Adding a mark to the "I love you" in the second person, this mark is called "Yan Feng," a sense of belonging with both first and last names. This is a name we only call each other, evoking something unique between us. The warm breath condenses into a thin mist on the car window with each word, obscuring the outside world's view. In this moment, this small car becomes our private room.
Our breaths become more unrestrained, filling the confined space with a certain aroma; it turns out that the scent of true love can be smelled. Love steals the air from the car, and I feel like I'm suffocating, yet I don't want to stop, as if this breath will cease with my stillness. "In eternity, there is no time; eternity is just a moment." My greed makes me long to die in this eternal moment, to eliminate any possibility of transition. Surging love rushes forth, its slickness carrying away all trivial matters, flowing along the leather driver's seat, passing over the thighs' skin, streaming towards the ankles.
Ye Xi says to me, "Everything's set. We're going to New York next month."
His forehead's sweaty curls stick to his skin, forming thicker strands. I push them aside and lightly kiss his forehead.
"Let's live together. In New York. Though the apartment isn't big, you'll like it."
"Okay." He mumbles a word, his slightly parted lips about to say the next. I seal his lips with mine.
"I'll be spending half of my time in Taipei. If you need your own space, I'll come back, and you can use the New York place freely. Here are the keys, one for Guoting and one for Ansonia." I place the bundled keys in his palm.
"Okay." He clenches his hand into a fist.
He shifts away from my legs, leaning over to search in the pocket of his tuxedo.
"Actually, I should have given you this gift a long time ago. I wanted to give it to you back in Tokyo many years ago." He hands me a green box, with "Rolex" written on the bottom left corner. I grab his hand again and pull him into an embrace.
"Having you is enough."
He pats my back gently, easing out of my embrace, and opens the box, taking out a platinum watch and putting it on me. The dim lights of the parking lot scatter five-colored hues on the dial, which is encrusted with a square ring of diamonds. Suddenly, he smiles brightly, his eyes filled with innocence and purity; it's as if I see him at nine years old again, my Xi Xi has returned, sparkling like the diamonds. He rests his arm where his chin is, another watch of the same style adorning his wrist.
"I always thought we had missed the 'I love you' moment," his smile fades, his gaze dimming, "I didn't say it when I was eighteen because I thought it was just a moment of impulse. And then, I didn't say it because I always felt like we wouldn't have an ending, until you saw my vulnerability."
"Flaws make artwork unique, like the crackles in Ru kiln pottery, the golden repairs on damaged porcelain, or the Venus de Milo's missing arm. Imperfections form your uniqueness. Just like this diamond, imagine it as a smooth geometric shape without any cuts; it almost blends into the surroundings, inconspicuous. Each cut and polish on every facet makes it shine, each plane adds a layer of brilliance. Just like you, every facet of you is irresistible to me. Every aspect of you sparks different feelings of love in me, adding depth to it. I appreciate every kind of love you've brought me: friendship, desire, adoration, envy, compassion... Different loves all give me intense emotions, like rising tides. More and more emotional experiences make up this irreplaceable relationship..."
He covers my mouth, revealing a mischievous smile.
"Stop talking; a Venus de Milo with a missing arm isn't auspicious."
"Hahaha. If you lose an arm, I'll take care of you." "I'm quite expensive; the insurance for these two hands is in the nine digits." He extends his hand, resting it on the gearshift paddle.
"Such beautiful hands, even nine digits couldn't compare." My index finger slides back and forth on his long, fair fingers.
"An antique Steinway might barely match up to these hands."
"Hmm?" He hums playfully.
"Thank you for the gift you gave me; I love it. I also have a gift for you, upstairs. Hurry up and get dressed, let's go home." I flick my wrist, and the Rolex watch glimmers silver in the light.
That night, he sits at the piano bench, playing Beethoven's "Pathétique" Sonata, without a hint of sadness. He says "Pathétique" is like us, searching for a tiny flower in a thorny forest, reuniting on a grand stage with unhealed wounds. Perhaps in this world, transformations are inevitable, but only we remember each other's original forms. I want to give him all the purity in the world, to protect him from harm. As I embrace him once again, he seems like a little boy, soft and serene. When he strikes a note on the keys, he's still the majestic Apollo. Each aspect of him fascinates me, suffocates me.
"How many years has this piano been around?" he asks excitedly after finishing the last movement. "From 1819. It's the same age as Clara Schumann."
"The tone is so unique; I love the feel of the ebony. Just needs tuning."
"The tuner can only come next month."
"Yan Feng, thank you."
"As long as you like it." I step closer to him, pressing my chest against his head, and wrap my arms around him from behind.
"You promised to take me to a cocktail party in New York."
"I remember. Have you finalized your schedule?" "Yes, leaving early December."
The day he arrives in New York, it's four degrees below zero, sunny. He's alone, wearing a duckbill cap and sunglasses, dragging his suitcase, wandering at the intersection of Broadway and West 73rd Street. I rush over, tugging at his collar. "Little Ye Xi, still getting lost."
"I used to arrive in every city in a nanny car. This is my first time arriving alone in a strange city." I take his luggage, turning to lightly touch his face and kiss his lips.
"We're in the middle of the street," he glares at me. "We're in New York; it's fine. Where are Dai Yanzhi and the others?"
"He went to find some men. He TianTian is still in Beijing helping me with business matters; she'll be here the day after tomorrow."
In December, New York is four degrees below zero. He removes his leather gloves, and I take off my woolen ones. I hold his hand, our skin touching, warm. Our home in New York, nestled between Broadway Theater and Carnegie Hall; I love musicals, and he often attends concerts. On weekends, we visit MoMA together to see art exhibitions. I no longer worry about bumping into Wang Zhen, and he doesn't need to worry about Lin Huiru or anyone else. This apartment was purchased behind my mother's back; it's a sanctuary for me and Ye Xi. He loves this place. The building is from the neoclassical era, adorned with Renaissance and Baroque decorations between floors, some with bow-shaped carvings, some with intricate feather patterns. The exterior walls feature quartzite, granite, and sandstone interlaced, separated by rectangular French windows and wrought iron railings with floral and leaf motifs.
Ye Xi says the black and white marble in the apartment's spiral staircase resembles piano keys. Sometimes, after a busy month or two of touring or attending concerts, when he returns to the apartment, I wait for him at the entrance. Because of sitting for too long during rehearsals, he chooses to take the stairs home. Passing through the vestibule paved with black and white marble, he treats the floor tiles like piano keys, jumping on them back and forth. I love watching him like that, playful and adorable, a sight only I get to see.
The following spring, we finally attended the cocktail party. A jazz band played improvised tunes on a tiny stage; the audience and the band maintained close proximity. They were immersed, their eyes reflecting the light from the ceiling bulbs. They were ecstatic, lost in concentration, as if on another planet. Among them were men in pink feather boas and women in suits and sunglasses. He TianTian and Bai Jingrui arrived later; we were all part of them, no longer Asian superstars and world-renowned pianists. We danced with them, melting into the sweet, dizzying alcohol amidst the saxophone and piano alternations.
We trod softly among the crowd, pressing against each other, seeing the ecstasy in each other's gentle expressions. Our hands rested on each other's shoulders, his face leaned in, and our lips kissed passionately for a while, our faces moist from the heat of the dance floor. As his lips parted from mine, he said he loved New York.
That night, all the past, future, present, all that I pursued, all that I longed for, merged into one. They all converged in Ye Xi's flesh. He was my desire, my pain, my happiness, my faith, my sin, my strength, my vulnerability, my little boy. No one or nothing could replace him. We stood in each other's shadows, and at a moment, amidst the alcohol's haze, a sudden fatigue overcame us. We leaned our heads against each other's shoulders, our sweaty clothes clinging to our bodies. Through his black shirt, I felt his dampness. He glanced up, as if a mirror to my soul, shattering all realities. We looked at each other, like two souls reflecting each other.
He walked to the bar and ordered two dry martinis, then pulled me outside the bar, lit a cigarette, and started smoking slowly. In the dim alleyway, there was only a glimmer of light from his cigarette butt. In the light, he was as pure as an angel; in the fire, he was as wanton as a money boy. The cigarette between his fingers ignited my desire just like his manhood did. That night, we indulged endlessly, the air filled with the scent of spring, salty like it came from the sea, as intoxicating as the taste of love. A gust of wind blew through the cracks in the bedroom's white window frame, swirling around me like his voice, bringing me back to the autumn concert in Taipei. I sat in the front row, mesmerized as he played Ravel's Waltz, dancing in my mind. A phrase kept echoing in my head, just as I was about to say it out loud, his arms wrapped around my waist, and he said, "When I was in Europe, I felt so lonely. Do you remember the lyrics I mentioned last year? The ones you wrote with the same chord progression. I've already finished writing the lyrics for the other song."
"Of course, I remember," I replied.
"When I first arrived in Europe, I was actually quite lost. It was autumn when school started, and even during the day, it was overcast. At night, thick clouds blocked the moonlight, and I couldn't see a shred of it. When I first came to New York, I felt lonely too. It felt like I was fleeing from defeat, although I claimed to be in New York to recover from a hand injury, I was actually just scared of them. Initially, Lin Su sought refuge with Lu Sang, and now Wang Zhuo is also starting to support Lu Sang. I know he doesn't really admire Lu Sang; it's all just for show, for my sake. Because I was too blind to see."
I suddenly felt so sorry for him. He was sharing his most vulnerable stories, ones he had never mentioned to anyone.
"Xi Xi, with your talent, you can succeed anywhere," I said, looking into his eyes, hoping to instill this belief in him.
"I used to think that too. Now, I realize that success isn't as important anymore. I have enough money, and as long as there's a piano wherever I go, it's sufficient. I still have you. These lyrics, this is my declaration of love to you in the song. Far away from home, filled with nostalgia, right now, I feel just like this. Leaving behind my hometown, starting anew. I am like the autumn leaves, falling into your heart. Wherever you are, there's home."
There was no response except for a deeper kiss. I kissed him in the most profound way possible. The hunger of another mouth could only be filled with another finger. It was a finger coated with honey, touching the walls of his mouth, touching his tongue, teasing another taste bud, satisfying his thirst. I cherished his weakness in a fulfilling manner; we merged, becoming one entity, turning into armor, protecting his pure dreams.
As the night grew deeper, although it was spring, the spring breeze brought the scent, the fragrance of Ye Xi. I couldn't remember how many times we had melted into each other; he felt so warm, like spring itself. All I wanted was to make love to him for the longest time on this brief yet seemingly endless spring night.