Chapter Text
“Hold still, young master.” said Blanca and peered cautiously at his shoulder, presumably at the spot where a bullet had inched itself into his skin ten minutes ago.
Yut-Lung himself had no clear view of his own injury. He owed this aggravating circumstance to a certain fourteen year old Chinese wannabe of a gang leader, who had squatted down next to him and was trying to tilt his face away from the scene of the medical examination.
“Let go, Sing!” Yut-Lung finally snapped, struggling against the stubborn force of his hands, “I’m not going to faint.”
“Yeah well, there’s a lot of blood there.” Sing retorted, raising his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to see it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yut-Lung took in Blanca’s agreeing nod.
“Pardon me, but I’m not you.” he hissed venomously.
Apparently, even Sing knew when not to push his buttons anymore and let go, hands raised in defeat as dropped on the ground on his rear.
“Suit yourself, dickhead.”
Yut-Lung pretended as though he didn’t exist.
“I shall now inject the local anaestehtic.” his doctor, a balding man close to the age of retirement, who had served the Lee family for generations, announced.
Yut-Lung clicked his tongue. “This won’t be necessary. I am fine without such methods. I shall endure the pain like a man.”
Blanca sighed. Sing snickered to his left, giving a thumbs up.
“Oh yes, doctor. Don’t inject it. I want to find out if he actually screams like a girl, or if he only looks the part.” he taunted.
“Shut up, Sing!” Yut-Lung snarled, and whipped around to glare at, already planning to verbally demolish his unwelcome guest.
The sudden movement however, did his injury no favour. Yut-Lung swore that the slight, but far too hectic movement had the bullet drilling even deeper into his tissue, but before he could elaborate on the thought anymore, his sight blanked out into a white haze.
His senses shut down, and then there was nothing but an agonizing, all-encompassing sensation of pain that knocked all breath out of him. Someone screamed.
It sounded pathetic, thought Yut-Lung.
It was likely only seconds later but to him felt like an eternity, when he came to, a salty taste on his lips and faint beeping in his ear, gasping for air, tremors coursing through his chest and ribcage and making his hands quiver.
“Young master.” Blanca’s voice sounded strangely distant although Yut-Lung could swear the man was kneeling in front of him, eyebrows slanted in concern. He shook his head, breathing in deeply, listening to the beeping slowly receding, his hearing returning to normal.
“Young master, can you hear me?” Blanca asked, almost gently, and Yut-Lung forced himself to nod as his words were now perfectly audible.
“What happened?” he shot at him, his voice cracking.
Blanca didn’t answer, instead turning to stare at someone behind Yut-Lung.
“Out.” he said, the angry command slicing the air like a knife.
His eyes, Yut-Lung pondered, betrayed nothing of his emotion but then, it didn’t even have to- Blanca could certainly give a gang leader a run for his money in terms of intimidation through mere eyecontact.
“I’m sorry.” Yut-Lung heard Sing mumble, before the latter stepped into his field of view, expression unmistakably one of guilt.
It stirred something in Yut-Lung’s memory, but before the thought could form fully, the other boy had already disappeared, the ornamented doors closing behind him with a soft click.
“You got upset and moved too abruptly.” Blanca said, with a fond smile, “The pain must’ve given you quite the shock. Better hold still now, okay? First the injection, and then once the anesthetic takes effect it’s all going to be easier.”
Oh right. Sing’s taunt. Yut-Lung clicked his tongue, irritated at how he had fallen victim to such a an obvious provocation.
“Please go on.” he directed at his doctor, who had patiently stood in wait for the situation to calm down. The physician nodded, resuming his treatment.
Tilting his head back against the sofa, Yut-Lung noticed the air felt strangely cool against his right cheek. There was still a lingering salty taste on his lips. And – hadn’t there been a scream?
Horror coiling in his gut and urging for a confirmation, he touched his face. His fingers came back wet, and he cursed in Mandarin, angrily wiping at his cheek, realizing the show he must’ve given them all.
Blanca noticed his distress, and discretely offered a napkin, one which Yut-Lung grabbed and immediately crunched in his fist, nails digging indents into porcelain skin.
His bodyguard accepted his irrational reaction without as much as a comment. He sank onto the couch next to him, laying a hand on his arm in what could be presumed a gesture of comfort, withdrawing it however when Yut-Lung fixed him with a furious glare.
“It’s going to sting a little, Master Lee.” he heard the doctor caution.
“That’s fine.” Yut-Lung replied, his own voice sounding hollow to him.
He winced at the prick before biting his lip, shoulders stiffening, hands curled into fists, and endured.
Sing seemed to take a special interest in the date of the party.
It was crystal clear that he hadn’t paid him a visit out of the kindness of his heart, but to gain intel for whatever he and that eyesore Eiji Okumura were scheming in their mission to save Ash Lynx.
Yut-Lung wanted to be feel more betrayed than he did, but then betrayal was his middle name, and Sing had, at least, helped eliminate the assassin and saved his life – something that still tasted sour in Yut-Lung’s mouth- so he judged them to be even.
He settled against his bed frame, the mattress underneath him soft and welcoming, and allowed himself to relax for the moment.
After escaping with his life by a hair’s breadth, he surely had earned it.
“We have to decide on what to do for dinner.” Blanca said, stretching in the afternoon sun that fell through the large windows of the Lee mansion.
Yut-Lung stared at him as though he’d grown a second head, utterly perplexed that Blanca would consider such a mundane topic of all things.
“Dinner?”
“I’m not sure if the cook prepared something before he tried to assassinate you, but even if he did, I wouldn’t touch it.” Blanca said, humor swinging in his tone.
“Might not be a bad idea to completely clean out the kitchen.” Sing threw in, grimacing, “I can’t imagine a bigger hassle but probably worth it if you want to make sure. I mean, if I was an assassin cook, I’d try to poison my master. Actually.”- and he scoffed, “What was that guy, super dumb? Wouldn’t it be the easiest and most effective way to simply throw some cyanide into your zha jiang miang? Why go through all that other trouble? He wasn’t even a good shooter. Makes me wonder if it was just his backup plan that he made Plan A for some reason.”
“Blanca, make Sing stop talking.” Yut-Lung ordered, scowling when Sing stuck out his tongue at him.
“Have fun dying when you dine on your poisoned cereal.”
Yut-Lung’s eyes flashed. “Screw you-”
“Boys, stop.” Blanca said, sighing, which Yut-Lung realized was becoming a regular occurrence.
“I agree with Sing’s suggestion. I will personally see too it that the kitchen is being taken care off.”
“You better not throw away the silverware.” Yut-Lung threatened and to that, Blanca laughed heartily.
“Unless I find traces of poison on it, that won’t be necessary.”
Yut-Lung’s stomach turned. His brother’s had enjoyed torturing him, but had been merciful enough to forego any attempts at poisoning him. It probably tasted bitter, he thought, shuddering, more bitter still than the antibiotic the doctor had made him swallow and that he was doomed to take for the next couple of days to help prevent an infection from developing.
“I’m not actually that hungry.” he said, despising himself for the tremble in his voice.
Blanca nodded in understanding. “You should still eat something. It won’t do to go without anything. Your body is weakened after all.”
Yut-Lung pursed his lips, swallowing down his irritation at Blanca calling him weak.
“I’m fine. Some days, I don’t eat at all.” he said, haughtily.
“Yeah, and that sounds very healthy and not like you’ve got some weird kind of anorexic, self-destructive behaviour going on at all.” Sing interjected sarcastically, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Blanca’s reflexes and foresight were what prevented the remote from smacking right into the gang leader’s face, and instead bouncing against the wall, where the it cracked open, batteries spilling out.
Yut-Lung’s glare was murderous.
“Come with me, Sing. Let the young master get some rest.” Blanca, who still held onto the scruff of the latter’s lightblue jacket from where he’d yanked him out of harm’s way only seconds ago, said. He threw his employer a reassuring smile, and then they both left the room. With a flicker of smugness, Yut-Lung noticed that Sing still seemed a little shocked.
“I won’t be long, young master.” Blanca told him, and when Yut-Lung waved him off, he quietly shut the door.
And with that, Yut-Lung was alone.
(That was the way he preferred it, after all.)