Archive of Our Own

SUPER BROTHER SHORTER!!

Shorter was a superhero. At least that’s what he told Sing when he was eight, already donning bug-eye glasses because he pored over books too much.

As a kid, Sing remembered Shorter being bald and sporting those bootleg square Ray-Bans. He was also a pretentious piece of shit and a bad influence on the likes of him, as his dear ma and pop mentioned every night before planting a kiss on his forehead. That’s why they gave Sing a large almanac that his snot-nosed self was more than happy to finish gobbling up. Words were his friend, not these dirty, washed up drunks in the annals of Chinatown.

He was also keen on avoiding Shorter, who was already tan and screaming from his graphic shirts and half-laced Chucks that he had no intention of being like their conservative forefathers. He cared less of being anyone’s poster boy, and his parents said those people had no future waiting for them.

Shorter doesn’t give a shit at what Sing’s wishes though and cornered him one afternoon. His older brother, Lao, was with him, attending the school beside his. He was ruffled as his little brother.

“Bi-big bro-“

The intruder did not provide any openings and swiftly grabbed the books from his fleshy and stubby hands. He examined Sing carefully and asked what he was holding.

“It’s a book that tells me everything,” he explained because Shorter must have stopped school a long time ago and forgot a lot. His parents never talked about Shorter in front of him. If they did, they told him to avoid talking to him or his brain would shrink.

“Really?” Sing did not like how his lips curled into an unapologetic sneer. His stomach lurched as multiple fingers caressed Shorter’s chin as he idly leaned against the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Can it tell me how old I’ll be before I kick the bucket? Or how to make crack?”

Sing didn’t understand the last question, but he knew that this truant was making a fool out of him. “You’ll die before you get married if you keep being a bad person! And I know how to crack a joke!” He recited a passage in the almanac about minding their own beeswax (as well as giving a context on where that term originated from, specifically from European royalty).

Shorter took a while to process Sing’s words and began to laugh ten seconds after he finished. “You’re a cheeky little shit, aren’t ya? You might have a future little rebel in your hands, Lao,” he ruffled Sing’s hair, only to howl in pain when Sing kindly sank his teeth in return.

“Don’t say anything like that in front of his folks,” Lao said, scratching his head ruefully. Sing could not believe his eyes at this. Even Lao respected this- this- excuse of a big brother? He had noticed how the younger kids and the rest of the older teens revered Shorter to a greater degree than his more successful and Ivy League-prepped peers.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Shorter patted Lao’s shoulder in return and then Sing’s. “Already throwing your childhood away by being a goody-goody kid to your fam, huh? That’s cute.”

“At least I have a fam to tell me what to do,” Sing exclaimed. Chinatown knew what happened to the Wongs.

“All bark and bite, that’s rare,” Shorter brushed his sob story off with a lazy wave. “Grow up a little more, and maybe I’ll let you in our group.” Sing hated how effortless his goodbye was and Lao’s awestruck stare that stayed even when they entered their apartment, his homework and books greeting him instead of their parents who were still working in the restaurant nearby.

Sing knew how superheroes looked. He had a secret stash of comics he bought from a small store two blocks away from school. He made Lao swear not to tell their mum and dad about his illegal purchases. His lunch money was a small price to pay for prints that would last forever. He even made money selling his drawings of superheroes to fellow kids on his street to go to a book signing for his favourite artist next month.

Anyway, he knew that superheroes had secret identities. Shorter Wong did not even bother to have a nickname. He was pretty well known already around their streets, and his name was enough of a draw for everyone to join his gang of squirts. Shorter remained the tallest of the lot, hair absent on his head and still donning those sunglasses that remained two sizes bigger than him.

“Man, I can’t wait to be part of Shorter’s!” said his playmate after another intense session of Cat Catching Mice. Sing only had an hour’s break each day before he retreated home to study and was more than willing to make these breaks count. “They give free food over at the Chang Dai every Friday.”

“Momma and pop told me they’re good-for-nothings!” Sing proclaimed, folding his arms.

“I like it there though. The big bros give us balls to play with!” another one his playmates said. “And big brother Shorter is nice! I heard from Chad- you know one of the Ng’s living in Bayard? He said that big brother Shorter always invited them to tag along when they’re walking off to eat somewhere in Little Italy. The little kids can also play with the older ones!”

“Yeah, we-well who cares about that?” he said, now turning red because dammit, that sounded so cool and inclusive and fun. His parents will kill him if they found out that he uttered a single word of envy. He stood up and cracked his tiny knuckles. “Let’s play, let’s play!”

“’Kayyyy…” his playmates rolled their eyes. Sing could not pull off a convincing poker face.

Superheroes also wore capes. Or at least gaudy costumes. Sing had the audacity to point this out because he knew he was an awesome little shit and the likes of a budget superhero like Shorter must acknowledge it.

“Here comes Captain Shorter!” he surprised Sing one day as the child was poring over his new Fantastic Four issue that he bought and was reading in their apartment rooftop. He still had fifteen minutes left to finish the book only to have it snatched from his stubby fingers.

“Give that back,” he said, fixing his large glasses. He tried jumping on the crate he was sitting on to no avail.

“My, my, my what are you doing here by yourself little Sing? And with a comic book no less… Your ma and pop will be worried-“

“Give that back!” An edge of panic remained stuck in Sing’s voice because this bum knew enough, just by his seclusion alone that he was doing something taboo and the Soo-Lings were more than happy to throw the issues he kept pristine in plastic along the Hudson River.

“Ooh, what’s wrong? Is it that hot out today?” his grin grew wider. The sky was downcast.

“Give it back! Please-“

“Aww, that’s cute. You’re not a rude little bitch like I thought, ain’t cha?” He lowered the issue to the younger child’s eyes which Sing grabbed without uttering a single thank you. “Your folks don’t know your trips to the bookstore downtown do they?”

He knows. He knows. Sing’s cheeks dampened the more he blinked. He hastily wiped them. “Please don’t tell,” he mumbled.

“What? I can’t hear you,” Shorter craned his hand at his nearest ear. Sing never thought a human can grin like that.

“Please don’t tell! They won’t let me play again!” Sing looked away and began cradling his precious Fantastic Four close to his chest with both arms.

“You already know that shit ain’t free around here, don’t you?” Shorter pulled out a toothpick and began cleaning his yellowing teeth.

“I-“ Sing hesitated and cursed Shorter to die that instant, or at least die before he gets a girlfriend. “I’ll do anything…”

“Anything?”

I hate you. “Anything!”

Shorter squatted down and peered at Sing surreptitiously. “Ok then. That’s a promise, ok little man?”

“O-Only if you don’t tell!”

He laughed as he slapped his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, you squirt. I promise. ‘Kay then, swear to me that you won’t ever stop going to school.”

Sing completely wiped his tears then and looked up in bewilderment. Despite already being on top of the wooden crate, Shorter’s scrawny tank top figure still appears so tall. “What?”

“Promise that you’ll stay in school. Don’t want to end up like big brother Shorter, right?”

“That’s easy! I’ll never end up like you!”

Shorter laughed at this. “You better mark your words, little man!”

“Don’t need you to tell me!”

That night, Lao gave him a large parcel. He had his big brother open it to reveal rare issues of Fantastic Four he never saw in bookstores. Hell, there are even three or four issues with creators’ signatures!

“He said you can keep them if you keep your promise,” Lao grinned as he ruffled Sing’s hair, perhaps to wake him up from ogling too much at these precious gems in front of him. He can’t wait to read and inhale every single page.

Shorter was nicer than he thought. He didn’t say this out loud though as he asked Lao’s help in covering the comics in cellophane.

Sing, of course, being a child and a self-proclaimed precocious little shite, cornered Shorter one day while he was busy serving guests in Chang Dai.

“Where did you get the issues?” he demands at the server as Lao orders white tea beside him.

“We have a children’s menu for you, little man,” he says, ruffling Sing’s hair. “Are you studying well?”

“Of course I am! I got a perfect score in my quiz today!” he says, whipping out his a paper with triple stars.

Shorter grins at this and ruffles his hair. “Cool, so are you gonna order little man or-“

“Where did you get the issues?” Sing demanded before pointing at the congee with extra meat and spring onions.

“They were from me and the gang. We don’t really read too much comics anymore.”

“Why? Comics are cool!”

Shorter shrugged as he repeated their order. “You can’t dream of superheroes coming to our aid forever. You have to be one when they don’t.”

Sing blinked. Lao chortled at Sing’s open mouth when Shorter left. “He’s not a superhero!” Sing huffs. “He doesn’t have a secret identity!”

“His sunglasses can be a mask though,” Lao pointed out.

“But… but he’s still not wearing a costume!” Sing said. “And he doesn’t have any powers!”

He didn't get his appeal, yeah. He thinks his friends, as the years pass a little, will grow up from praising Shorter or dream of being part of his crew. But compared to Sing, their clamours and limpid enthusiasm only grew as their height had.

During that time, one of Lao’s friends introduced Chinese garter to the young ones, and the fever swept Flushing up to Brooklyn’s own Chinatown. Competition was fierce, and even Sing would study twice as hard just to have a chance to practice when he faces off with the other kids in their group tournaments.

“You remember when they confronted Ying’s stalker? Or the time they helped your little sis before someone took her away, Dex?” they said.

“Don’t forget about the police! They don’t even attempt harassing us like they used to because of them!”

“Man, I can’t wait to be part of big brother Shorter’s gang!”

“I still can’t think of anything to impress big brother Shorter though,” one of his friends, Felix, rubbed his chin. “You have to impress him real bad if you want in. Have you thought of anything yet?”

“Heard they’re hosting a Chinese garter tourney next week. Maybe if we win our division, we can be-“

“I thought you guys would grow up and study more so you won’t have to rely on those people protecting us,” Sing insisted. “Who cares about him?”

“Not everyone’s like you,” said Ming, one of the game posts. “You know already you want to be a doctor. Ma said I should start thinking of helping out in the shop after high school.”

“And outside Chinatown, who will protect us? We don’t feel like we’re out of place when with them. My other classmates still look at me funny. They do to you too, right?”

“Your brother’s also with big brother Shorter now, right? Don’t you want to be in there with him?”

“Uh-“ Sing swallowed. It had already been half a year since Lao joined their crew and stopped coming with him to school. He has rarely seen his brother now and his family has been insisting that he won’t go following his footsteps. It was a good thing he wasn’t lonely starting middle school because he finally had another Chinese classmate who walked home with him. Ced was also a fan of comic books (mostly DC and Fantastic Four) and watched He-Man and Super Friends with him at his house before slaving away in books again. “I can’t. I won’t have time to study.”

“Eh, good for you, knowing what’s next,” his friends shrugged. They did not invite Sing to play with them after that.

Sing didn’t care. At least until Ced moved away to San Fransisco.

Adults say it was because Ced was performing poorly in school. His parents could not stand the shame. Sing knew better. They weren’t there in the classroom with him. Or in the playground.

They did not see how some of his classmates roughened him up. Took his belongings. Filled his bag with dirt or poop. Ripped apart his favorite comic. Picked him last during playtime. Called him yellow.

He was lucky, he guessed. He had friends aside from Ced. When they chose to look the other way, Sing decided to look the other way from them too. He helped Ced clean his things after class. When a teacher turned a blind eye when Sing complained, he kept walking with Ced home. His parents were furious when they saw him either with a black eye or a bruised cheek or broken fists, but he said nothing.

He was about to ask for Lao to teach him how to fight when Ced moved away.

They did not lay a finger on Sing. None of his classmates would bother, even his classmates who hurt Ced. He did not care.

Ced did not say goodbye.

Sing would later find out he never will. He did not move with his parents to California. He stayed behind, sleeping in the center of Queens.

So he joined the Chinese garter tourney.

“You don’t have a partner,” his ex-playmates said when they saw him wearing his usual jersey shorts- Lao’s, which reached up to his shins. He had band aids dabbing his elbows and wrists and face because he had to resort to playing with the lamp post and the metal pole behind their house.

“Where can I join by myself then?” Sing asked.

They pointed at the free-for-all division.

“Ok,” Sing said, taking out his black fingerless gloves. Ced gave it to him to look like a superhero, until he had his own costume, he said.

Shorter was with the others, chatting amiably and losing their heads when they saw the child signing his name on the table a few feet away.

“You sure, shrimp? The kiddie version’s over that lot,” one of Shorter’s men, a fellow skinhead cackled.

“If I win, I can join you guys, right?” Sing ignored him and walked up to Shorter. Just behind him was Lao, whose eyes widened at the sight of his snot-faced and tank-top jersey-wearing little brother.

Shorter took awhile to respond. “If you win,” he showed his white, almost razor sharp teeth. He was growing his hair now and looked like a Hong Kong movie star wearing shades.

“Ok,” he said, sporting a wicked grin. “I will.”

“Holy shit,” Lao muttered under his breath and silently prayed their parents were still at work.

One of Shorter’s men had borrowed a massive boombox from the Black Sabbath guys in Harlem and was blasting metal as everyone was now watching the semi-finals of the free-for-all division.

Sing’s former playmates couldn’t believe their eyes.

He won.

“You’re so cool, Sing!” they said, crowding around him after finishing his six-feet jump.

“Well I’ll be damned,” some of Lao’s comrades said as they patted his shoulders. “Your little brother wants to be like you!”

“Is this even allowed?” Lao said as he turned to Shorter then. “He’s only ten. Are you really-“

Shorter yawned as he stood up from his mountain of crates that they nicked from the green market. “He still hasn’t won yet. There’s still the grand finale.” By then, he did a large leap and landed just beside Sing and his circle of now-friends. The children squealed as they finally were face-to-face with their idol. He lowered his sunglasses and winked at Sing. “So it’s you and me huh, little man?”

His playmates then screamed. “We forgot Shorter won the free-for-all last year!”

Sing readied his gloves then, refusing to lose at his staring match with Shorter. “Bring it, you cheap baldy.”

Lao had to be rushed to the hospital for choking on his coke.

The first three stages were easy to clear. Sing and Shorter managed to jump and skip ahead with no problems.

“Can’t believe that we’ll have a ten-year-old as the free-for-all runner up,” Shorter said after clearing the shoulder-level, about five feet. “Good lu-“

Sing did not waste time letting this smug superhero-wannabee get to him though and proceeded to do a cartwheel past the garter before Shorter could finish. His friends and the rest of Shorter’s stunned crew began clapping. He was going to show them he meant business. He did not need their cheers as he returned to his position earlier, wiping the dirt off his gloves.

“If last year’s winner loses to a ten-year-old, who knows what your men will think,” Sing rebutted.

Shorter began to laugh. He still couldn’t believe Sing would have the confidence to stand on even ground with him. “Alright, I accept your challenge little man.” He threw his glasses to his nearest hench man. He looked naked and raw without it. But Sing froze when he saw the intensity emanating from his eyes. He twisted his shoulders and stretched his legs. The ‘umpires’ raised the distance to seven feet this time. He took of his shoes and socks and rolled up his pants. “Game on,” he seethed as he walked several feet away and then began to run, hands up and ready.

Sing did not think Shorter could do it, but he opened his mouth wide like the rest when Shorter spun in a cartwheel before freely flying out into a full somersault, barely skidding past the garter. There was a swoop of loud cheers and applause and back-patting when Shorter stood up. All of his mates were quick to rush and congratulate him. That was the first time they saw him jump that high.

Sing felt a sudden chill in his body. The baldy was too good.

“Couldn’t do it though if it weren’t for our little man over here,” he grinned as he patted Sing’s head. It was then that Sing began to tremble as he looked at his bare and dirty feet. It was the first time that he could feel the brimming confidence being slowly sucked dry out of his body. There was no way- even if he did clear that- Shorter will just keep coming- Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck fuck- what was he thinking of challenging the famous dragon of Chinatown? He can’t win. That was an amazing jump. He really looked like those heroes he watched and read and breathed and dreamed to be. Dammit. Dammit.

“Hey, you ok, little man?” he could hear Shorter say, now leaning down beside him. He looked at his feet again and saw liquid dripping down. He quickly wiped his face and swatted his hand away.

“You’re pressuring the kid, big bro!”

“Yeah, that was radical man! Even the shrimp can see he doesn’t stand a chance-“

“Shut up!” Sing screeched then as he readied his gloves again. He kept wiping his eyelids and nose. He couldn’t back down now. He had to remember his friend who had to struggle by himself. He had to pay back those fuckers who did him in. Shit. Shit.

“Hey little man,” he could feel Shorter’s fingers on his left shoulder. “You forgot this.”

“Don’t coddle me!” Sing said again as the audience started to laugh and cheer. When he turned around, he saw a powder blue handkerchief on Shorter’s hand.

“Can’t jump if you have snot all over your face right?” he chuckled as he patted Sing’s hair again.

“Th-Thank you!” he snorted as he blew on his handkerchief. He can’t say bad words because his playmates were there.

“Relax, you saw what I did right?” Shorter said. “If you can’t copy me, then do your own thing and blow us all away.”

“How can I do my own thing, geez…” Sing muttered as he kept the handkerchief in the roomy pockets of his grimy shorts. The wannabee superhero was cheering him on. He’ll show him. He retreated two feet more than Shorter had earlier.

“Blow us all way then, kid!”

“Make your little league proud!”

Eff you, Sing thought as he then began to run to do his first somersault. He remembered Ced. He remembered the time he was allowed to sleep over at his place. He showed all the signed comics Shorter gave. Ced wasn’t finished reading them too.

He nailed the second one then. He blinked once to hold back the tears as he readied himself for the third. He remembered the first time he walked home with Ced missing a shoe. How his feet were too small to make him borrow his.

He was nearing the point of no return. It was then or never. He wasn’t going to fail. Not this time. His feet left the ground, ready for the final leap and then somersault. Shit-

Sing opened his eyes. He could no longer hear the crowds. Nor can he see the mountains of crates, or the garter, or the blue sky. All he could see was a wooden ceiling smeared in red paint. There was a leak near the edge.

“He’s awake now,” he heard a woman’s voice from his right, and the sound of creaking chairs. He let out a look of disgust when he saw a grinning Shorter with no sunglasses hovering at him like a ghost from that awful white person’s Christmas Carol.

“Thanks sis,” he turned to the woman who spoke earlier. It was one of the owners and cooks in Chang Dai, Nadia Wong. He heard that about 70% in Chinatown were rejected by her. The rest were done away with by her little brother. “You ok now, little man?”

“I-“ Wait, he lost…? Did he hit his head when he fell, that’s why he’s with the Wongs?

“You cleared it, but you weren’t in a state to continue,” Shorter then folded his arms. “Got a lucky win. You had me in a cold sweat there when you passed it.”

Sing closed his eyes. “I would still have lost either way.”

“Where’s the feisty fireball from earlier?”

He looked at his left. The sun was just starting to rise. It was then that he realised that he did not get to go home and he might get a beating later shit- He quickly rose from his bed only to feel a little whoozy. “Ma and pop will kill me-“

“You’re fine,” he waved off. “I had Lao going back there to wipe your mess.”

Sing bit his lip then and sank back at the pillows. “Thanks.”

“Oh, didn’t catch that?”

“I said thanks!” Sing flushed. “I’ll stay here for another half hour and then you won’t see me again-“

“Wait, hold up, hold up! Before that, you didn’t explain why you wanted to join my gang in the first place…” Shorter said, scratching his nape.

He wouldn’t like what Sing wanted to say. Sing bowed his head and clenched his fists.

Shorter sighed. “Heard from the folks that the Wu’s moved a week ago. And what happened to their son.”

Sing’s blood turned cold.

“Wanted to hit back at the people who bullied him, eh? Can’t use my men for some petty revenge.”

“I want to get stronger.” The kid bit his lip. “They killed my friend.”

Shorter exhaled again. “Alright. I’ll help you. But you have to keep a promise alright?”

Sing covered his eyes and nodded earnestly. “Who do you think I am? I keep my promises.”

“Alright then,” Shorter laughed as he ruffled Sing’s hair again. “Promise me you won’t interfere.”

“What-“

“Say it with me, little man. I won’t interfere.”

“But-“

“You must promise,” Shorter sang out.

“…I won’t interfere. I promise.”

“Atta boy,” Shorter said as he threw the boy in a tight armlock. “Lao told me he didn’t want you to join the crew too. Have to respect your brother’s decision.”

“I want to-“

“Who doesn’t?” Shorter laughed. “Also thought you’d make a fine gangsta one day when you’re about my height. But we can’t have you skipping classes can we?”

"If you're done lecturing him," Nadia then sang out as she entered, bringing in the heavenly smell of shrimp dumplings. "It's the Wong tradition to keep our guests well fed, right? Fetch some tea and make yourself useful little brother."

"Ah right! On it! Love ya, sis!" Shorter attempted to plant a kiss on his sister's cheek but received a palmful of pain for the trouble.

"Apologize to Sing over here! Seriously, to have you stoop so low and compete with a ten-year-old..." 

Three months passed and Sing finally decided to visit Ced and show him his drawing by walking up to Laurel Hill Boulevard in Queens, up to the Calvary Cemetery that late afternoon. He had a breath taking view of the setting sun behind the Manhattan skyline just in front of them. By the time he lowered his drawing in front of Ced’s small grave, he heard the familiar labored breathing of a man wearing sunglasses, hair now in a short mohawk, trudging up to him a few feet away. His arms were full of white and yellow chrysanthemums wrapped in burlap.

“Your mom's here too, right? That your friend?” pointed Shorter at the drawing he framed.

“I already visited her." He did not really have any lasting attachment to his mom. She left before he was aware that Lao only shared half his blood. "He wanted to be part of Fantastic Four,” Sing said morosely as he looked at his friend wearing blue tights and wielding ice crystals on both hands. “Maybe he is now.”

The people who bullied his friends had mysteriously stopped attending class one by one for the past two months. Their homeroom said three of them had transferred out of New York. The rest he didn’t know. Sing never uttered a work and let his classmates chatter as usual. He had a different set of friends who were from the classroom next to theirs.

“Figured he’d want some flowers to go with that,” Shorter said as he lowered a knee and laid the flowers at Ced’s feet. Probably.

“What happened to them? Can I ask that?” Sing kept his sight fixated on the grave.

“Hmm… don’t really have too much a hand in that. Figured some had been murdered with their families, some fled the state, some had to file for bankruptcy…”

Sing looked up at the teenager who grinned broadly at him. “You can’t file for bankruptcy in just three months!”

Shorter by then had lit himself a cigarette. “The people I’m working for have ways. Did them a ton of favours already and they were willing to return it in kind.”

An antihero. Definitely no Superman or Captain America. Batman? The Punisher maybe?

“Just think I’m a funny wise guy,” Shorter shrugged.

“Why?” In the end, it all boiled to that question. Why help him, and in that manner too? It was overkill. There was a ton of things he didn’t understand about Shorter. He did not know if he wishes to understand them either.

“Hmm…” Shorter rubbed his chin again. “You did land first runner-up in the tourney. It’s your consolation prize.”

“You did not have to go that far.”

“Well,” Shorter said before taking a long draught. “Sometimes you don’t care and completely weed out ‘em fuckers. Most of the kids who led your friend to do what he did had families from the higher up and have beef with my bosses. Their sons didn’t behave so…”

Sing knew he had no more say in it. He wanted this. Shorter was right. You had to prepare for the consequences.

“You scared, little man?”

Sing shook his head. “You did not involve big brother and his friends.”

“Can’t stand getting their souls destroyed for my selfish whims,” Shorter shrugged. “I give them nobler battles to fight for. That’s the true calling of a boss.”

Sing felt his hairs stand on end as Shorter stomped on his cigarette and went ahead of him.

“Shorter had it rough,” Lao said as they continued to munch the leftover egg tarts Granny Sue gave after closing time. Sing had been keen on visiting Lao whenever he can. The police had been consistent in their crackdowns across several establishments in Chinatown. “He doesn’t want us involved with his debt to the Lee’s.”

“Aren’t they the ones who own the banks here?”

“Uhuh, but my mates say that they’re big underground too and the Wongs owe them big time.” Lao thanked Sing for the tea-filled thermos and began to drink its contents. It had been awhile since he last went home. “His parents told them to-“

“Can I chime in with you guys?” Shorter’s sudden appearance behind them made Lao screech bloody murder as the two backtracked from the sudden intruder. He laughed at their expressions and began whistling a low rendition of some Eagles song.

“W-Why are you here, boss?” Lao said, scratching his head.

“Nothing much. Nadia told me you dropped by the tea house earlier. Man, these tarts are good!”

Sing and Lao looked at each other and then at the plastic bag that was half-empty with tarts on Shorter’s left hand. He kept munching on them absent-mindedly. “I want to ask a favour from you guys, actually. Especially you, Sing.”

Just when Sing was about to have a peaceful life finally- “What? Spit it out already.”

Shorter swallowed two more egg tarts before handing them to Lao’s hapless hands. “Can I crash over your place tonight?”

Tonight then stretched to five days and Sing was close to breaking point.

“You said one night!” Sing complained, shaking as Shorter kept scattering his issues wherever in his bedroom after he finished leafing through each one.

“Yeah… I have to stay for an extra night. Sorry ‘bout that-“

“You said that last night too!” he thundered back before marching at the door, sticking an ear close in case his parents come back. “Shit, it’s a good thing my parents haven’t suspected me yet.”

“Language, little man! Since when have you learned to swear?”

“Your men swear all the time!” He noted how two strangers at the minimum will suddenly pop by his room, getting their filthy hands on his issues as they share the news with their boss.

“If you swear all the time your teeth will rot,” Shorter said matter-of-factly, nodding his head at his own words.

“Liar. You can’t fool me,” Sing stuck out his tongue. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Hmm… doesn’t look like it,” Shorter replied as he opened the first page of last month’s Green Lantern issue on his lap. “How was school?”

“You sound like my ma,” Sing grumbled as he sprawled himself over his bed, Shorter just beside him. It was a good thing he still fitted inside his closet behind his clothes and other stash of comic books. He’d only let him out when he arrived after class. It kinda sucked that he wasn’t able to use his one hour of freedom to play with his friends. “Uh, is there news about my brother?”

“He’s at the Chans the last I heard,” Shorter yawned. “Can’t have him running around too much on my expense.”

“What did you do this time?” Sing said.

“Same old. Gangs outside are just jealous of my good looks.” He then craned his head at the window for a moment. “One more night with Captain Shorter, promise.”

He did not know how Shorter and his men do it, but for some reason, when he arrived from school or from playtime with his buddies (he had mastered the pogo-ball recently and was still teaching his friends how to jump effectively without letting their faces meet the sidewalk), he saw Lao, Shorter, and two more teenagers sitting around the edges of the bed, his comic book pile in the middle.

“’Sup little man, was waiting for you!” Shorter sang out. Sing was quick then to charge and cover his mouth.

“Shh! Ma and pop are coming in early today.” And that was how he taught them sign language with his brother when they kept coming round three times a week at most. The most frequent would be Shorter, however, and he always asked Sing to hide his sacks full of toys.

“Don’t tell no one, alright? Even Lao,” he said, again with that carefree smile that Sing was beginning to no longer resent. By then, his mates will then arrive and they’d start playing cards or mah-jong or even tic-tac-toe if they were too lazy reading his stash. Shorter kept bringing a new issue every week for him too, a peace offering he deserves. He had to resort playing classical music at medium volume. By then, his parents had him take piano lessons, shortening his time with his playmates even further (he still had to practice though in case any of his parents do ask him to play for them).

He never got to ask Shorter during his visits where the hell he’d get his toys. He assumed this guy was a big bully and an infamous pilferer of the old timers’ toy stores. Sometimes, the sack was filled with IDs from the same school; balls of opaque white crystal that would have fitted snugly in any granny’s china collection if it weren’t for him breaking them into chunks with Sing’s help; toys such as those orange and blue painted large butcher knives and pink and green guns that were heavier and more detailed than the ones they play with. There were even separate magazines and coloured bullets for crying out loud!

“What are these balls for?”

“Hmm… they’re like candy. Not as sweet but thrice as addicting.”

“They smell weird.”

“Because they’re for the big boys. Not for you.”

"What about the ID's?"

"Secret identities. Superheroes can't be unmasked."

“You're doing it wrong then. What about the toys? They look heavy.”

“They’re for big boys too. You playing with ‘em?”

“’Course not! They’re not my stuff. And- And my toys are cooler!”

Shorter laughed at this and continue reading his comic.

“Who’s gonna buy ‘em?” he asked one day after finishing his homework.

“Dunno, I’m just a delivery guy,” Shorter shrugged. “Careful with the toys alright? Don’t want you ruining the merchandise.”

“You don’t need to tell me!”

Shorter would always take them away come his next visit, saluting Sing with another new issue and candy he nicked from those posh stores back in Manhattan.

His friends pointed out to Sing that they were jealous.

“We want to come to your place and hang out with big bro!” Felix insisted.

“Yeah! You rarely come to play with us anymore. Think you’re so cool now, huh?” Ming said.

“It’s not like that! I didn’t want to be part of it,” Sing insisted. He hated this kind of petty infighting. He’d see playmates at his school do this trope to death and he wished his friends would outgrow this shit. “It’s dangerous. I know I sound stupid, but something’s off about him.”

It then hit him. Of course. Shorter had only started visiting him often after helping him get back at Ced’s bullies.

“Big bro like a toy you don’t wanna share?”

Goddammit, he wanted to punch Ming then for the first time. “You guys won’t understand.”

“If you won’t let us in, might as well,” they then shrugged and turned their backs on him.

Sing looked up and saw a lone crow looming low just above their rooftop. He bit his lip and refused to cry.

“Why me?” Sing asked quietly as he continued breaking the last of the crystals. Shorter was too busy reading New Yorker so Sing seizes his share and breaks those too.

He had been wrong about assuming Shorter was a slob. Their crystal cracking didn’t leave any shimmering dust littering Sing’s table and floor. Shorter also tidied Sing’s books and comics when he finished gorging the words.

“I can trust you, I guess?” He was also wrong to assume that Shorter was dumb. He definitely wasn’t. There’s a certain humble sensibility to him. His men liked how he controlled the room and made the new guys feel at home with just a few jokes.

He definitely was amazing. How stupid he was for seeing that now.

“Uh-“ he bit the inside of his lips as he looked down at the crystals he was then starting to seal in plastic bags. “Do you think I’ll grow as tall as you one day?”

His friends had already started shooting up an inch per week and he was still barely five feet.

Shorter was quick to ruffle his hair. “Drink your milk, eat your mom’s broccoli, and we’ll see!”

Three months later and his parents asked him why he was no longer playing the piano. He told them he was starting to prepare for his final exams and did not have enough time to play five hours a night.

It was one of Lao’s close associates who told him that Shorter got involved in a crossfire and was arrested by the police in the scene. None of his men were there to help him.

“Dammit!” Lao wasn’t the only one cursing and banging the walls of their hideout like some lone protagonist in a soap opera. “We can’t even save big bro.”

Sing looked on as he sat near the door, marvelling at how these men did not blame Shorter for going out alone. Much more, they did not call him boss even after such a long time.

“Heard from Black Sabbath that he’ll be out in a few months,” one of them said.

“What are we gonna do then?” one of them piped in.

“Ain’t it obvious?” Lao said, boldly standing up. “We’re gonna make sure none of us gets done in too. Don’t want him to count us and ask ‘Where the hell is this motherfucker?’ He’d probably cancel the trip to that diner in Queens because one of us screwed it.”

They roared with laughter then.

“You can say that again. Fuck you, V, you were the reason we cancelled our trip to that swanky club in Staten Island.”

“Sh-Shut up! Remember ‘bout the Pool Tourney that fizzled because someone got caught pilfering that grumpy gramps’ oranges?”

“So…” Sing then said as he stood on tiptoes to talk to Lao. “You guys don’t go bang-bang or chop up people? Never?”

Lao shook his head. “Except for the gang wars, of course, but it’s mostly because some little guys get cocky and attempt to ruin big bro’s day.” He smiled and then pushed Sing forward. “Hey guys, this is my little brother. Remember him when we were hiding from the police because someone botched lopping off that pedo’s heavenly jewels?”

Holy crap. Sing’s eyes widened. He remembered the man on the news to be a famous celebrity.

“Yeah, your comics are pretty rad!”

“Your choice of music wasn’t exactly stellar, but you made up with those toys. You also got skills in mah-jong, little man!”

Sing felt a jolt in his chest then. He hadn’t gotten to be called that nickname in so long it didn’t feel right. “That’s because you weren’t allowed there, you dumbasses!”

“Big bro likes your guts!” they said after a ripple of laughter. “You really drove him in a corner during the Chinese garter tourney.”

“Yeah, thought you’d win,” one of them scratched his nose. “Imagine that!”

Sing turned pink. “We-Well, I didn’t so keep imagining.”

They howled with laughter, continuing to take Sing aback. “Can’t wait for big bro to come back. Gonna have a new gopher.”

“Dream on, Junwen. Big bro’s fond of the little man. Anyway, you should think of a new move or something to impress him and make you part of the family.”

“Really?” He turned to Lao. He did not expect his big brother to nod.

“Big bro likes you. Might as well accede,” he shrugged. “Mom and dad should be proud.”

“You should come home more often then. Maybe they’d be prouder.”

Shorter did not like it.

It must be the first time his men saw him that livid. He took out his shades then. None were able to maintain eye contact for more than two seconds.

“That’s not what you promised,” he said coldly at him.

“I’ll stay in school! It’s no big deal…” he felt small underneath his gaze as his voice grew weaker with each syllable.

“No,” he said and that was that.

Sing ran that day. He ran and ran and ignored the rising and setting sun as he stood on that same rooftop, holding that same damn Fantastic Four issue.

That was his bat-signal of sorts. Pretty sure he’ll come. Sing bit his lip and clenched his fists.

It was his first time skipping class. He was already eleven, dammit. He could’ve handled the situation better than running away. Plus night was falling past. He shivered at this and began rubbing his hands.

“Here.” He did not hear the door opening as he felt a fluffy blanket covering him. It was too hot for spring. “Hmm, still mad at me?”

“No!” he fumed. Geez, the blanket was hotter than it ought to be. He hung his head then as he covered his face with it. “I’ll come to school tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“You’re supposed to get mad at me. For breaking my promise.”

“You said you’re coming to school tomorrow, so no harm done.”

Sing then took off his blanket and faced Shorter. “Are you like this with your crew? That’s why you’re always in trouble!”

Shorter smiled. “Didn’t think you’d care, little man. I am honoured.”

“Take this seriously, dammit! You are always so carefree. And you keep babying my big bro Lao and the rest… Always treating them…”

“You jealous?”

“No!” Gosh, why won’t he understand… He wanted to go eat in that famous hotdog stand near uptown Manhattan too. “What if you get in trouble again? Who’s gonna bust you out?”

“Hm… that’s really thoughtful of you,” Shorter then squeezed Sing’s right cheek, making him slap his hand aside. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just-“ His cheek hurt. That was why liquid was pouring from his eyes. Really. “You’re not a good leader dammit, if you leave your men in the dark like that! Do you know how worried they are when you’re not there?”

Shorter did not say a word as he let Sing cry and slipped on his accursed sunglasses. Come to think of it, Shorter was already sixteen then. Kids like him normally would start scouting for universities to apply to. That was where he was heading anyway, and no matter how many milk he drank and broccoli he ate and midnight oil he burnt, he wasn’t seeing any results.

Meanwhile, Shorter felt more distant now despite their time together. He was different from the Shorter he remembered when he nicked his almanac the first time.

“Are you worried about me too, then?” he said as he looked forward, back at the numerous buildings that keep shooting up. There was no end to them. New York was still a massive urban enigma that was keen on swallowing him up one day too, if he wasn’t too fortunate. His parents say the ticket out was getting a good degree and getting the hell out.

Sing nodded before flushing hard. “Not just you, but my big bro and the rest.”

He never thought a smile would look so painful. Shit, he felt his eyes tearing up again. “You’ll make it far, little man.” By then, his grin became more familiar as he picked him up on one arm with minimum effort. “My, my, you’re lighter than last time. You skipping on your meals? That’s not good if you want to become as tall as super brother Shorter!”

“W-Where are you taking me?”

“Home. Lao’s downstairs. He’s been worried sick. Geez, youngsters are so cheeky nowadays-”

“Stop sounding like an old fart, you dumb baldy!”

If Shorter wasn’t gonna let him in his gang, then at least he can work at Chang Dai and help Nadia during weekends without his parents’ knowledge. His sister was kind enough to give him piping hot wonton soup after half a day helping her. His parents did not complain. As long as his straight A’s kept rolling, they did not care much.

Aside from that, he began practising with a special weapon he made from the wire he nicked from Lao. He had been obsessed with going to their local movie theatre and watching old Bruce Lee films along with Jackie Chan and Sonny Chiba. He was still having difficulty controlling his throw and the length was a little long, hurting himself more often than actually hitting the books he stacked in his bed. He tried hitting the crows in their apartment roof too and nearly got a gouged eye for the trouble. This was his ticket to Shorter’s gang, and he was willing to snatch that away.

“You’re an extremely hard worker, Sing,” Nadia would often say when he finished. This was enough reward for him (and her cooking, of course!) to keep at it. His playmates would avoid him when they see him on the streets, but he kept his head up.

Despite his hopes to see Shorter, he rarely came home during weekends. Nadia said he’d often miss Shorter because of his curfew, making him hone his escape artist skills and use his small and stringy body to his advantage, slipping from the window and climbing down the pipeline using his wires to run and see Shorter.

It was weird too how Lao had informed him that Shorter was actually teaching them how to fight for real. They always knew Shorter knew a thing or two about combat, but they never thought he was that good. Their respect and love for the boss kept soaring.

“He had to grow up fast when their parents died. Plus the Lees think he’s an expendable tool, those fuckers. If it weren’t for him, Chinatown wouldn’t be as peaceful.”

Lao said further that he never saw Shorter act so strict and assertive when he trained them.

“He said it was the little man who knocked some sense into him,” he laughed. Sing’s face felt hot at this.

Shorter elaborated when he suddenly appeared in his bed like the usual, another new comic in his hand. Sing just arrived from another afternoon in Chang Dai.

Sing mutely accepted his gift and sat a few feet away in his wooden chair, mumbling thanks.

“What? My sister taught you how to treat your elders properly now?”

“Shut up!” Sing hissed. “You could’ve told me you were coming. Didn’t get to clean my room…”

Shorter laughed. “My, my, my, you’ve become quite a big boy now.”

“Why are you here? Got some crystal for me to crack?”

The teenager shook his head. “Nah. Just wanted to see you. Missed your crib, that’s all.”

Sing said nothing as Shorter’s smile grew smaller and more genuine. He felt his chest constricting a little as he then raised his hands at the back of his head as he lounged himself on the bed.

“You’ve changed some since you came back,” Sing said. “It's weird, but I like it.”

“Well consider yourself the minority. Everyone doesn’t,” Shorter sighed. “Said I’ve become stingy and a pain in the ass for not treating them out like the usual.” He scooted over so Sing can also launch himself in the bed beside him.

“They should be grateful you’re teaching them to fend for themselves,” Sing huffed.

“Don’t be too harsh on them,” Shorter said, patting Sing’s head. “They’re not like me and you who had families who cared enough.”

“That ain't an excuse for them to take advantage of you.”

“Hmm… It’s not like that. I guess you’ll understand when you put yourself in their shoes,” Shorter said patiently. “Maybe one day.”

“Giving me that geezer talk again, sheesh… Hold up! Why are you opening my closet?”

“My, my, my…” For some reason, that fucker got his wires he had hidden in the utmost depths of his closet and admiring his handiwork. He just tied a small black blade at one of the tips last night. “You some kind of ninja now? I don’t think this can work in close quarters though…”

“Sh-shut up!” Shit, that was a surprise for him! He didn’t want Shorter to see until he had perfected it.

“Or maybe you’ll prove me wrong like last time.”

With that, he takes out a red silk handkerchief from his pockets and ripped a quarter of it. He then proceeded to redo Sing’s clumsy knot and tied the rag on top of it. “Now it looks cute.”

“It makes it look childish!” He groaned.

“I think it looks cooler now,” he said. “Can’t wait to see it in action. Pretty sure you’ll blow us away like back then.”

Sing quickly snatched the weapon away and hid it under the clothes of his sticker-ridden cabinet. Shorter by then whipped out a New Yorker from his bag and started reading. Nadia told him that despite Shorter’s present, his past was surprisingly similar to Sing’s. A good student and was fawned over by his parents. But yeah, opportunity had to close its gates when his parents died and left their name smeared in debt. He saw a family picture when their ma and pop were alive, somewhere in the beach. The Wong patriarch's sunglasses looked eerily similar to his son's....

Shorter hid it so damn well. But he couldn’t fool Sing. Not anymore.

“Can I ask you something?” he then asked as he sat on the carpeted floor. Under the bed, he could see He-man’s hand sticking out. He hadn’t played with his toys for quite awhile since he started working at Nadia’s. He should try asking his folks if he can hold a yard sale for extra money. He was planning on giving Lao brand new clothes for Christmas. He’ll think of something for Nadia and the rest of Shorter’s crew.

“What?” Shorter closed his book and took off his sunglasses. He just noticed this, but he never did that even in the presence of his crew.

“What made you start with, y’know, this gang business? Big sis Nadia told me how you were prepped to get a scholarship in a private school in Vermont even after your ma and pop died. Uh…”

Shit, that was pretty personal for him to ask that out of the blue.

“Hmm… well, my sister would be lonely, I guess. I don’t want her to shoulder our debt by herself… hmm…” he laughed. “Also, couldn’t ignore some people. Had some spare money and invited some guys and then they kept coming. Dunno how it started exactly, but somewhere along those lines.”

“You’re too nice, you stupid big brother!” Sing said.

He shrugged. “Ya think so? Thanks!” Sing hated how his eyes smiled along with his lips. “If you don’t like that kind of life, then stay in school. Keep up the good work, all that happy bullshit. You’re too young to regret. That’s our job.” He gave him a thumbs’ up. “Guys like me don’t have a future, do we? So it’s our job to protect the ones who do.”

Sing never forgot those words.

Shorter never visited his place again. Lao told Sing he wasn’t allowed to come with him anymore too.

A storm was brewing, his brother said. He had no part in it.

Nadia still lets him assist in Chang Dai though. For awhile, Sing did his part, asked no questions, and attempted to move on with his life. He managed to befriend some classmates in school, forced them to watch martial arts films in Chinatown.

He catches himself looking behind his shoulder though for a glimpse of those bootleg Ray Bans at work, or at work. A month passed without any problems. By then, Sing already stopped collecting more comic books and kept his stash on top of his closet. He did not know if he will dare open them then. He was more inclined to play with his dragon fang or practice some styles that would prevent him from tripping and covering his body with wires.

It was always a chore going home. Sing was never a true fan of silence. Chatter was his friend, not this thick air like bitter cotton candy that was difficult to chew in. Normalcy, after months of getting wound up in the dank underbelly of Chinatown felt alien to him.

Or maybe he was just lonely.

In the end, he’d lose himself in his practices at the rooftop, weaving to and fro his wires and thinking of possible angles to throw his feeble excuse of a weapon. He let the series of A’s run its course in school too so he wouldn’t receive any more questioning from his family. Things were fine and his path was set.

“My brother’s happy that you’re still going to school,” Nadia said to Sing after closing time. “Also wanted to give you this,” she said as she gave him a new copy of Batman. “He said there was a new Robin debuting. Said you might want to check it out.”

Sing looked on and thanked Nadia. His voice sounded hollow in his ears. “Are we still gonna have Christmas dinner together?”

“I hope so,” she said with an unwavering smile. “I still want you to taste our Wong Christmas Feast.”

Sing returned the smile. “Uhm, ok. Cool.”

He did not expect her to pull him into a bear hug. He liked her perfume. Something citrus, something sad.

Batman #357 still lay untouched on the top of his desk.

Lao noticed it gathering dust in the corner when he visited his brother for the first time in months. He only glanced at it for several seconds before turning his attention at his brother again.

“Things are heating up in Lower Manhattan. Big bro told us to lie low for now,” he said as he sat beside Sing, who was still fidgeting with his weapon. Lao did not comment on the shallow cuts in his arms and cheeks.

“What’s up? You guys haven’t been home that much.”

“Turf war of sorts. Lots of shoot-outs and Shorter decided to be in the middle of it.”

What- Sing opened his mouth. It was absurd, to hear Shorter attempting to take action at the cost of his friends’ lives.

“Yep, but after Stephen and Ushi got offed a week ago, he told us to keep out of trouble. Most of us insisted to stay, but he was having none of it. Pisses me off that we can’t fight without weighing him down.”

“Is someone wanting to take Chinatown away from him?”

Lao’s lip curled. He closed his eyes. “No.”

“Then why-“

He’ll find out three seconds later when Lao’s friends begin calling his older brother out the window. Shorter had been shot.

 Sing no longer hid his tears when he hung his head near Shorter’s bedside. He wasn’t the only one.

“Big bro’s quite a handful, isn’t he?” Sing said after Nadia closed Chang Dai’s front doors that night, shooing the rest of her brother’s men. It had been an hour already since the back-alley doctor from Flushing came to take out the bullets riddling Shorter’s upper body. Sing and the rest had helped Nadia change the sheets and take of their boss’ tattered clothes.

Nadia tittered lightly as she finally collapsed on the chair. When Sing approached to fan her she pats his head then cups his cheeks. “You don’t belong here.”

Sing bit his lip. He could smell the alcohol in her breath.

“Shorter asked you to do things for him, hasn’t he?” she added. “He’s not a good man, Sing. As I am not a good sister…”

“That’s not true!” Sing said as he embraced Nadia. Despite being flushed red already, her eyes still refused to relent. She was used to this kind of scene. “You’re a great sister! If you did not get the doctor, maybe- maybe-“

“He had always been fighting alone. Never really told me anything. About what the Lees where making him do. About the real business those bastards peddle… I’m sick of it, Sing. Just sick of seeing my brother suffer. I refused him a happy life…”

Sing kept shaking his head. Shit. If only he was strong enough. If he had caught on early, about the meth and illegal ID’s and firearms and cleavers Shorter had him hide… Jesus, he was still so damn naïve. He could feel his gut hurting. He was sorry. Gosh, he was so sorry.

“You’re a good sister for supporting big bro whatever things he did,” Sing said. “Doing something wrong doesn’t mean you’re evil.” He understood that now. He’ll stay.

That was the first time Sing felt a woman’s embrace. It was not as strong or as warm as Lao’s or Shorter’s, but it made his face tear up all the same.

“I wished Shorter was wrong about you,” Nadia said as her voice broke. His left shoulder was becoming damp as she leaner her head on it. “I wished you weren't him.”

“Here,” Nadia said then as she began handing white pork buns. “You haven’t gone home for two days now.”

“Not hungry,” said Sing as kept his head on near Shorter’s right hand. “I don’t care. Ma and pop won’t mind anyway, as long as I keep my straight A’s-“

Nadia gave him a quick and hard smack. “You promised Shorter you’ll go to class. If he finds out you’re breaking his promise-“

This made Sing quickly make his way out of the door with a plastic bag full of pork buns. He could still remember Nadia's words as she wept nights before.

The rest of Shorter’s men were waiting outside, a pork bun in hand, and unwanted opinions in another as they whispered.

“If the boss didn’t agree to help-“

“It’s that white boy’s fault. The boss shouldn’t have winged it for that mutt.”

“Big bro would have just done away with him. We’re risking our stake in Chinatown because of that-“

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Sing did not like the words coming out of their blasphemous mouths. He checked his pockets for his dragon fang. Their mouths were next. How dare they- How could they-

“Didn’t you hear?” One of Lao’s confidantes said when all of them noticed Sing. “Boss befriended this white kid when he was in the slammer. Apparently, the kid’s fighting tooth and nail with the other gangs for Lower Manhattan-“

“What-“ Sing nearly dropped his bag. “That’s not like him-“

“Lao kept telling him to snap out of it. Said it wasn’t his business to meddle. He put us out of commission for meddling. Can’t believe he’d choose that white kid over us. Now look at us- we don’t even know if we can protect Chinatown if these gang wars go on-“

“That’s not it…” Sing said and shuts his mouth again. Right, what does he know? He’s never been part of the crew.

He didn’t like them to cast their doubts behind Shorter’s back. That was unfair. All of them kept taking shit from him. Even his dignity as a boss. What did they give him in kind out of all the shit he had done for them? “You’re selfish little brothers. All of you are greedy and insensitive fuckers who never asked what Shorter wanted! Don’t act like you have a right to know what’s good for Chinatown! You’re just thinking of yourselves. Can’t you believe in big bro when he needs it most?” He began wiping his face. Maybe this was why Shorter never wanted him to join. He knew Sing may become like them one day. Taking and taking until he was less than a shell- Damn them, damn them all to hell.

He ran outside then, making sure the pork buns were still hot for his parents to try before he takes his bus to school.

 Sing did not expect Lao and the rest to bow their heads at his direction when he arrived outside Chang Dai the following afternoon following his piano lessons. He turned pink and began to cover his face. “What are you doing? This is weird-“

“We’re sorry,” Lao said as he made his way forward and bowed his head a little more. “To be schooled by a twelve-year-old really made us realize we’re a humiliating bunch to consider ourselves the heralds of Chinatown.”

“Uhm… big brother… you weren’t even there…”

“Ye-Yeah!” One of the people badmouthing Shorter said and also made his way on Lao’s left. “We’re sorry! We’ll do better next time!”

“We’re sorry! We’re gonna be the best men the entire New York’s ever seen!”

“We forgot to put big bro’s needs before ours!”

“You shouldn’t apologise to me!” Sing thundered then, putting his arms over his face from blushing too much. “Go to your boss instead!”

“They had actually,” Nadia smiled as she opened the door, making the rest bow hastily at her direction as well. “He told them to apologise to you too.”

Sing couldn’t control himself and completely covered his face with his knees. “He didn’t need to go that far! It’s like I’m the victim here!”

“Ok, now that the drama’s over, let’s eat some noodles, shall we? On the house,” Nadia said. “No one leaves with an empty stomach on my watch!”

Everyone cheered.

Sing felt his legs becoming jelly the more he stepped closer towards the outside of the door.

“Calm down, Sing,” said his big sis as she gently placed a hand on each shoulder and proceeded to massage them. “Better now?”

Sing turned red again. He was no good with women at all. “Uhuh.”

“Shorter wants to thank you for standing up for him,” Nadia said. Sing felt his heart deflating along with the stress on his shoulders. “Said that was very heroic of you.”

“Nuh-uh. Just don’t want people saying mean things about brother after everything he did. He didn’t need to take up everything himself, but he did it anyway.”

“He’s an idiot, isn’t he?” Nadia smiled. “Even now, I still don’t know what his men saw in him.”

Sing hummed softly. “They saw something larger than themselves.” It was the same for him too.

He wanted to ask Shorter what it was like having people look up to him only to watch their bitter disappointment once they saw the man behind those Ray-Bans. He realised when he saw the look on Lao’s face that time that despite Shorter’s best qualities, he was lonely too.

He embraced Nadia then before he opened the door. Maybe all heroes had that moment once in their lives. Despite possessing all the powers and adoration in the world, they don't find themselves worth saving.

Shorter’s budget Ray Bans framed his face better now. He looked like he had carried the world far too long and his back was concaving because of it. The Art of War was spread out on both hands. “Yo, how are you, little man?”

Sing forced a big, big smile even as tears rained down. “Still not growing.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Shorter said as he dropped his booth and stretched his arms. “Come here. Looks like someone needs a power hug from Captain Shorter!”

Sing obeyed, making Shorter yelp as he forced his small weight of a body onto the bed to take him in. He smelled of yesterday’s sweat, but Sing didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry for being weak,” Sing said then. “I’m sorry we’re all weak.”

“Wow, looks like your diet messed up your brain somehow?” he laughed. Sing kept hugging him tighter. “You really missed me a lot huh?”

“No shit!” Sing cried. “You’re a stupid big brother for letting them think they can’t protect you and fight your battles.”

“Well,” Shorter laughed again. “It’s not for the Lee’s best interest, to tell you the truth. I only jumped in the line of fire for personal reasons.”

“Explain!” Sing demanded.

“Hmm… you can say it’s because I want to help my friend,” Shorter said. “Ow, you’re crushing me now, little man-“

“A friend… huh…” Sing by then felt his tummy squirm, eyes flashing green as he threw himself back. “Hmmph. You never told us you had a white friend.”

“Aww, you look your age more when you’re jealous,” Shorter cackled. “Yeah. He’s fighting an uphill battle at the moment. I can’t stand by and watch as he claws his way to survive. I don’t want to see another person fight battles he never asked for.”

There was a softness in his expression he did not understand. His smile was fainter and yet was the look of purest joy he had ever seen someone grace.

“He’s that important to you, huh?” Sing said quietly.

“You can say that I’m the only friend he has at the moment,” Shorter grinned. “He bites at first, but he’s a dependable guy deep down.”

Sing could see his eyes then despite the faint light of the setting sun. For the first time, Shorter looked happy.

“Anyway, since we missed Christmas, what do you think of spending the Chinese New Year here? We’ll even let you come do the dragon dance with us.”

Sing’s expression lit up. “You’re on!” It’s only a month away too. He had an excuse now to skip his piano lessons the day before.

“Also, can you ask Nadia to bring more mooncakes? I can’t stand eating rabbit food all day. I’ll end up growing bunny ears and a tail if this keeps up.”

“No way! You need to regain your strength!” He looked at his watch. “Tomorrow’s a Sunday. I’ll come by at 8 to make sure you’re ok,” Sing said, picking up his bag.

“You don’t have to,” Shorter said.

“No,” Sing said. “I don’t have to. But I will.”

It had been a while since Sing wore red silk robes again. He had a great time prancing the dragon around with Shorter, Lao, and the rest of team Chinatown. Afterwards, he even had the honour of meeting some of the Lee’s including the youngest son who looked like a girl.

“Alright, alright can I have everyone’s attention please?” Shorter then said as he clinked his glass. “First, I would like to say you dumb fucks better drink up and be merry because tomorrow onwards we’re gonna fight a war. If you have stomach problems or are plain big chickens, you can drop your Tsing Tao’s and get the hell out of my restaurant.”

No one made a sound.

“Ok now that’s over, I’d like to propose a toast to the reason I even held an afterparty and threw some cash for you fucks to blow on mah-jong anyway,” Shorter said, raising his glass. “Without further ado, I’d like to propose a toast to the spunky new member of our little gang, Sing Soo-Ling!”

Sing’s eyes widened at this as he stood up. “No way! But you said I have to prioritise my studies-“

“You’ve been doing a good job studying despite getting mixed up in our business though,” Shorter scratched his nose. “Think of this as your new part-time job now! Just don’t tell your parents.”

Sing’s mouth was a thin line. “I can’t accept this! I thought that I’d have to do something cool, like showing off my new technique-“

“You’ve already done something cool,” Shorter said, scratching his head. “You banded us together." He then ruffled through his pockets. "So here is the honorary badge of membership," he then said, taking out a piece of crumpled paper with 'sidekick' written on bold black felt tip that gave out half-way. The k at the end was barely even visible.

Sing shuddered. "Don't want to. I'll look stupid with that thing on."

Shorter, as usual, didn't give a shit what he thought though and avoided all of Sing's blows with that unpredictable and nimble footwork of his, hands on his back before Sing tires. He then tapes that excuse of a badge on top of Sing's shiny forehead. "Now you're one step closer to becoming a superhero like your super brother Shorter!"

Before Sing could give an excuse though, the rains of whoops and cheers deafened his ears enough to stop himself from complaining. Shorter by then had swooped back in front and raised his glass again. “Didn’t get to tell you guys, but lip-service ain’t enough to showcase what this man’s done for me. So thank you, Sing. Anyway, let’s drink up and then we’ll have the man of honour have his speech too!”

Sing drank his apple juice but someone accidentally switched his drinks. This was how he fell on his head as he went to the bathroom to practice and was quickly carried home by his hapless older brother.

No one would dare admit it, but all of them, even Shorter had a wicked hangover that lasted through the entire day when Shorter had them go on the front lines. They were split into four groups this time. Sing wasn't with his brother or his boss and was one of the infantry.

"Hey Sing, you still got that thing on?" his leader asked incredulously when he pointed at the 'sidekick' on Sing's forehead.

"Mind your own business," Sing turned pink. "What about you guys? Where are your badges of honour?"

"Uh- Shorter didn't give us any- and that will make you an easy target."

With this, Sing grinned. Challenge accepted. "Let them try." He didn't have a clue then that Shorter never gave any honorary badges at all. He may look like an idiot, but he was the only idiot Shorter decide to crown. Suck on that.

"What the hell?" Even Shorter was taken aback when he looked at the paper that remained in Sing's forehead. "Do you even take that off?"

"When I take baths, dummy," Sing said as he sat on his boss' left. It was still noon and he brought Granny Sue's egg tarts Shorter can't get enough of. By then he then took out his dragon fang and began sharpening it again. Despite knowing how to use a gun and knowing better preferring it in battle, he still had a soft spot for his signature weapon. That he only used once. In a spar.

“Heard you’re more interested in martial artists now,” Shorter said as Sing tested the tip of his dragon fang. “You still have the ribbon on. How cute.”

“Shut up!” Sing flared up. It had been more than a year since he was inaugurated in the gang and defeated the forces of evil to cement Shorter’s crew as the men to be feared. Despite the time he had spent rising through the ranks and being one of Shorter’s confidantes, he still hadn’t met Shorter’s best friend, the infamous Ash Lynx, even during their Sunday lunches. He had become too far preoccupied with school and his parental drama. With Lao absent, he had to calm his dad down in case he attempted to hit his stepmom again. He really pitied her sometimes. She was a kind woman, though a little strict. She had this look in her eyes whenever she does look at him though. Guess her mom’s ghost is a handful at times. “I’ll read the last comic you sent me when I finish filling up the forms we’ll give to our counsellor.”

“Oh, that’s good that you’re not planning to be part of the crew forever. That would suck,” Shorter snickered. A gentle breeze ruffled his mohawk a little bit. It was chilly there on the rooftop. “Imagine your parents getting disappointed when they find out that their last remaining son threw everything away and followed his brother’s footsteps.”

“Don’t jinx it, dammit!” He then turned at Shorter. “So, why did you send for me?”

Shorter lowered the bag of pastries. Stretched his hands and legs. “Just wanna have a little showdown with the great martial artist Sing Soo-Ling.”

“Where did that come from?” Sing felt his hands quivering again as he took a step back. “I haven’t- I’m no martial artist- Just copying from the movies-“

“Just wanna check something.” There it was again, that carefree grin on his face, hands on the back of his head as he walks up to Sing, who kept his distance. He hastily put on his gloves and kept his dragon fang at bay. “Figure you still want to get back at me for that inconclusive ending in our match years ago.”

“I-I don’t care about that!” Sing said, legs still shaking as he remembered and saw for the first time what a monster Shorter truly was in the field. He wasn’t someone to be trifled with if you attempted to cross swords with this son of a bitch. “I don’t… I’m not-“

“You don’t know until you try,” Shorter said in a sing-song voice before rushing for a quick crescent kick that Sing dodged by inches. “Come on, little man. Show me that flying dragon fang of yours that you’re so proud of.”

Sing closed his eyes as Shorter attempted to strike him again and received a punch to the stomach for the trouble. He fell on his knees. Shorter was not fucking around.

“Seriously, Sing, you’re better than this!” Shorter egged him on, now taking out a goddamn butterfly knife from his pocket and began twirling it with cautious dexterity on his left hand. “Let’s try again-“

Sing screamed as he let his dragon fang fly straight at the hilt. By some miracle, it managed to force the knife out of his hand. But that wasn’t the end.

“Don’t forget this-“ Sing managed to duck Shorter’s fist as he fell on his back at the ground and rolled to the left before his boss stomped him over. But he forgot, he fucking forgot- “Shit!” He squirmed as the wires ended up tangling him instead, the sharp edge now piercing his right hand the more he struggled. “Shit- Shit- I told you-“

“Well, this sucks,” Shorter then sighed as he quickly unrolled the helpless kid from his prison. “You’ll be dead if this was the real thing.”

“I’ll be dead if I fight you!”

Shorter kept clicking his tongue as he took out some gauze and disinfectant from his magic pockets. “You can’t have fear taking hold of you forever, Sing. No one’s gonna help you when the time comes.”

“Shut up, Master Miyagi! I don’t need you to act all sensei on me because I don’t plan on becoming anyone anytime soon.”

He did not like the look on Shorter’s face as he ranted. Sing by then felt the pain all the more as Shorter began covering his wound. “Shit, no way- Don’t- Please, I swear to god-“

Shorter kept his sad smile. “Sorry about this Sing, but I’m leaving for awhile. There’s no one else I can entrust this sanctuary that I built but-“

“Shit-“ Sing kept shaking his head. “Why? Why? Goddammit, why?”

Shorter sighed. “And I thought I’d be able to leave without any complaints… I even set up our ultimate duel so I’d pass the torch without any problems like those action flicks you gush over so much.”

“You’re not making any sense again!”

“Still as straightforward as ever, huh,” Shorter said with a heavier sigh. “Either way, you lost, so you have to do whatever I want. And it’s not like I’m not coming back. Just keep things straight while I’m away. Lao will cover for you when you’re busy with school.”

“You’re still not making sense!”

“Ok… well, you can say that my friend’s in trouble, and he needs Captain Shorter to save his ass again,” Shorter said, now standing up with hands on his hips. He remembered the other guys talking about this Japanese that came earlier, looking high and low for their boss. He should've fucking known.“I dunno when I’ll be back, so hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

“You’re always making things hard for us,” Sing said, looking at his bandaged hand before sticking his tongue out at his boss. “Why me? I don’t think they’ll listen to me. I mean, I’m barely even fifteen. I don't-“

"Well, I dunno either," Shorter grinned with confidence despite that damn contradiction in his words. "You're the random person that popped in my head, really."

Liar. "...You never think things through. You already told big sis?"

"Uhuh, told her to quit shagging that damn mustachio too much while I'm away. Keep tabs on that white officer just in case," Shorter said. “And not like things are gonna be hectic for you. We’re lying low for now. Ash’s involving as few people as possible.”

“You really chose the wrong person to befriend,” Sing said. He flashed a big grin again. “Not like I chose the best person to look up to.” Supers shouldn't cry in front of the people who needs them. He took his brother’s hand and did their gang’s signature handshake with him. He followed it with a hug. “Don’t die on us, ok? You know better.”

“You sound like my dead mother,” Shorter laughed as he hugged him tighter. He took off the paper on his forehead. "I’m counting on you, Sing, to carry this burden with me.”

"No honorary badge for me then?" Sing said as he patted the back that carried all their broken hopes and dreams and tried making it into something bigger than themselves. Will he be able to do the same? he wondered.

"You don't need to remind the world that you're a hero. Action's enough," Shorter said. "Be sure to finalise your name and catchphrase when I get back, yeah?"

“Ok,” he wore that smug grin he used on Shorter during that tourney. He knew better now. But he’ll be able to learn more from this superhero of a man after he returns to save another foolish soul like his, no doubt about it. “I will. I promise.”

Shorter ruffled his hair roughly and proudly one last time. He hasn't told Sing this, but there was a good reason why he always donned sunglasses. Today was one of those days.

...