Hu yetao

Everyone who met him said the same thing.
“He’s so gentle.”
“He’s like a doll.”
“Too pure for this world.”
They weren’t wrong. On the outside, he was exactly that.
Hu Yetao had a voice like falling petals. Big brown eyes, always a little too watery, like he might cry if you spoke too harshly. He wore soft sweaters with the sleeves bunched up in his palms, and smiled like he’d never known cruelty.
People loved him instantly.
They just didn’t live long enough to regret it.
No one suspected the pretty omega with the shy smile and honey-sweet laugh. No one looked twice when he walked through the flower market alone. No one questioned when people who flirted too boldly with him… disappeared.
Except for him—his lover. The only one who knew everything.
He’d seen the blood. Smelled it on Yetao’s skin, tucked beneath perfume and innocence. He’d held him afterward, when the shaking started, when the smile faded and the truth came through his voice
didn’t mean to,” Yetao would whisper, eyes downcast.
“They were loud. I don’t like loud people. I don’t like being touched.”
He never cried.
He never ran.
He just cleaned his hands and made tea, and asked to be held.
And what was he supposed to do?
Leave him?
No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He was his.
His to protect.
His to hide.