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Sing Soo Ling sighs heavily and trods his way across the hall towards Yut Lung's room. He wonders idly if Yut Lung will bark more orders at him today or just stare in cold silence. He never knows what kind of mood Yut Lung will be in, or how it will affect their conversation. Sing usually brings his lackeys along, but today he traverses the long narrow hallway alone, his mind far off with thoughts of Chinatown and it’s never ending issues.
Sing pauses just outside of Yut Lung’s room. The door to Yut Lung's room is ajar, and Sing cocks his head to the side, curious. He usually knocks, but since the door is already open, he pushes a few fingers through the crack and opens it wide, letting himself in.
Yut Lung is seated at the edge of his bed, back turned towards the door. He stares out into the open window, listening to the gentle breeze and lazy birds' song. He is elegantly poised, his black hair cascading over one shoulder as he combs through it mindlessly. His stark black hair contrasts his light green silken shirt and pearly white pants. He is like a prince, seated lonely in his world of duty and royalty.
Light pours out the window and casts dancing shadows on the oriental rug by the bed, giving it an ethereal glow of vivid colors against the otherwise ordinary room. A gleam casts off the purple comb in Yut Lung's pale and slender fingers as he continues to brush through his tangles. Sing can't see Yut Lung's face from this angle but he imagines his perfectly sculpted features, like that of a porcelain doll. With his high cheekbones and smooth complexion and dark almond eyes that pierce right through the soul, Yut Lung has all the look of a cold and menacing leader, one who can lure you to your demise with his scathing tricks and poisons. Yet Sing knows him beyond this scope, has seen him broken and weeping like a child. The truth behind that beautiful sneer is one of raw loneliness and pain. Yut Lung has known a life of despair, and his sorrow led him down a path of hatred before Sing came into his life.
Sing knows that resentment and hatred still exist in the burrows of Yut Lung's heart. Anger dwells under his bitter tones and sharp, dagger like glances. But that anger has begun to fade away, slowly, like the ebb and flow of the ocean after high tide. Lately, Sing has noted a change in Yut Lung, in his demeanor and in the way he speaks to others. Every once in a while, a smile or soft laugh escapes Yut Lung's lips. Those delicate, nearly coquettish laughs warm Sing's heart like nothing else in this world. After all that Sing's been through, he deserves to finally break free and to laugh joyously.
Sing approaches slowly, not wanting to disturb Yut Lung from his transfixed thoughts. Sing is drawn to Yut Lung's relaxed form, like a moth to a flame. He rarely sees Yut Lung like this - unprepared for guests, combing away at his long tresses without a seeming care for the world around him. He is graceful, silent, and calm.
Sing reaches only as far as half the length of the room before the floor creaks, alerting Yut Lung to his presence. Yut Lung snaps his head around in a shock to see Sing standing there, hand raised in awkward greeting. Yut Lung’s eyes are sharp, menacing; he always expects the worst, is ready for any unexpected enemy attack.
But he sees that it is only Sing and Yut Lung's shoulders fall in relief and a small smile curls upon his face. His eyes return to a gentler hue, and he exhales deeply. "Sing, I didn't expect you so early," he says, his hands still mindlessly combing through his hair.
Sing keeps his eyes affixed to the purple comb, watching it go up and then softly back down through a tangle of onyx strands. A deep urge tells Sing to reach out and touch Yut Lung's hair. He moves forward slowly, testing the waters, his breath stuck in his throat. He says nothing, and waits.
He is mere inches from Yut Lung now, the energy between them palpable. "I finished your request early. Chinatown is still in a state of unrest, but things are beginning to run smoother again." Sing reports this information in a daze. What care does he have for Chinatown and for Yut Lung's orders right now? He can't focus on anything other than the gorgeous tumble of hair draped over Yut Lung like a shawl. He’s never seen it like this - without a braid or ponytail, slightly unkempt and loose, natural.
His arm reaches forward instinctively, filling the desire to feel the strands between his fingers. He smooths his palm over the top of Yut Lung's head and down across the threads of hair that feel like silk. Yut Lung flinches, unsure what to do. Sing rests his hand against Yut Lung's shoulder, toying with some hair between his forefinger and thumb. It is velvety soft and delicate and the sweet scent of roses accompanies the touch. "I've never seen you like this," Sing finally manages to say, hoping that this can explain his need to play with Yut Lung's hair. Yut Lung relaxes some, although his eyebrows are knit with worry.
Yut Lung's mannerisms are unlike himself in that moment. Instead of his usual standoffish and ruthless demeanor, he is vulnerable. He allows Sing to comb his fingers down to the tips of his hair, watching with a careful hesitation. But Sing is gentle and tender with his touch, acting as though Yut Lung's hair is a precious commodity. Yut Lung watches his every move, immobile on the bed.
"This feels nice," Yut Lung confesses after a while, leaning his head back to rest against Sing. "I have some hair pins in my drawer there. They have lilies on them."
Sing finds the hair pins and places them on the bed before continuing to comb Yut Lung's hair with his fingers. The lily is an ornate ivory, each petal given careful attention to detail. Sing clips the lily into Yut Lung’s silken hair, right over his right ear to tuck back the strands out of his face. The lily gleams brilliantly against the cascade of raven colored hair. In that instant, Sing finds himself deeply appreciating Yut Lung’s pure and natural beauty. Sing is breathless with the realization that Yut Lung means more to him than just a friend.
“Thank you,” Yut Lung breathes out, closing his eyes. “You’ve lost some of your attitude with me lately. You’ve been kinder to me since...that day.” He’s referring to the time that he broke down in tears before Sing. Sing was exposed to the reason for Yut Lung’s hatred of Eiji that day - that deep down, Yut Lung was jealous of Ash and of the unconditional love shared between Ash and Eiji.
“Same goes to you,” Sing admits with a soft chuckle. The piercing venom in Yut Lung’s words from before has been sucked dry. Yut Lung is an altogether different person since Ash’s passing.
Yut Lung smiles warmly, lifting his eyelids slowly, “I figured we might as well get along, you and me. We’ll be working together after all.”
“Right,” Sing agrees. His hands have found their way into Yut Lung’s hair again. He twirls strands between his forefinger and thumb, amazed at the satin-like feel. “I’m glad,” he adds on.
“Glad?” Yut Lung asks, peering up at Sing with his dark eyes.
“Glad that we can form a friendship,” Sing explains. He watches Yut Lung’s face as it dusts with pink. He knows that he’s hit the mark, that he’s uncovered Yut Lung’s true desire. What Yut Lung wants more than anything in the world is to gain a true friend.
A peaceful silence carries out between them. Sing continues to touch Yut Lung’s hair, grooming it with either his fingers or the purple comb. They listen to the music of the bluebirds outside of the window, serenading their harmonious tune amidst a sunny, sweltering day in New York. The balmy breeze from outside reminds Sing of happy memories with Shorter and his gang, roaming through the winding streets of Chinatown, feeling as though they were unstoppable. Sing smiles softly to himself. Although those days are long past, their memories bring a tenderness to his heart, and make him yearn for moments like those again. With Yut Lung as his new boss, hope presides that Chinatown can once again thrive like before.
Yut Lung also is lost in thought, sighing contentedly as Sing massages his head, watching the ruffling of his jet black hair. Yut Lung’s hair bounces down like ribbons, framing over his slender body and his backside in such thick quantities that Sing doesn’t quite know what else to do with it besides comb it.
“Do you know how to braid?” Yut Lung asks, breaking the silence. His lips are curved upwards with the shadow of a smile. He seems to be enjoying the attention.
Sing nods, “somewhat...I may not be as good as you.” But he gives it a shot, passing one strand over another, working his way down through the thick and long sheet of hair. He ties it up at the end with a hair tie, then clears his throat to signal that he’s finished.
Yut Lung takes a glance at himself in the mirror on the wall to see Sing’s work. He smirks, “how awful.” Sing’s entire body tenses, but then Yut Lung does the unexpected - he laughs.
Sing joins in the laughter, conceding the truth - his braid truly is atrocious. Loose strands stick out at odd ends, and the braid is uneven, winding down like a twisted root over Yut Lung’s backside. Sing hands Yut Lung his comb back, a silent plea for Yut Lung to take over his hair styling again.
“Let me show you how it’s done,” Yut Lung says, patting the area next to him for Sing to sit. Sing takes the spot carefully, very aware of how close he is to Yut Lung. He can see every individual eyelash, and the sweet floral scent has become stronger.
Yut Lung disentangles Sing’s attempted braid and starts over, combing through his hair to section it out correctly. “You don’t have long hair, so of course you wouldn’t know.”
“Yeah,” Sing says, engrossed with Yut Lung’s deft and lithe movements.
Yut Lung smirks once more, noticing the awestruck expression on Sing’s face. “Is my hair really that fascinating to you?” he asks.
Sing turns his face away to hide his embarrassment. He was caught off guard by that question. The truth is, everything about Yut Lung fascinates him. Yet he can’t ever say that in front of him. Admitting that would surely cause him to melt into the ground.
Yut Lung chuckles, warm and deep inside his throat. His soft laughs remind Sing of honey, and an unknown warmth pools inside of him at hearing the sound. Sing turns to face Yut Lung again, his cheeks still heated. Yut Lung grabs Sing’s hand and guides it to his hair, allowing Sing to feel the smooth braid thus far. Yut Lung is still coiling the strands together, not yet finished with his work. Sing watches, bewildered, his hand resting awkwardly on the spot where Yut Lung left it. Sing skims his fingertips over the tight and smooth braid at the nape of Yut Lung’s neck. He trails his fingers over the lily pin again, mesmerized by its sheer beauty. A lily is the perfect flower to represent Yut Lung, Sing thinks to himself. White lilies are delicately gorgeous, symbolizing purity and chastity. Lilies can also be poisonous though, and should be handled with extreme caution.
Yut Lung reaches the end of his hair and closes the braid with his tie. Hands free now, he places them around Sing’s waist. Sing stiffens, his stomach clenching. His face is burning, he never expected Yut Lung to touch him like this - so carefree, tender and intimate. Yet Sing is the one that brought this on, that started this by playing with Yut Lung’s hair. His words feel stuck in his mouth like peanut butter; there are several things he would like to say. But he simply sits there, embraced by Yut Lung’s arms, mind whirring. He looks at Yut Lung, inquisitive, marveled by his gracefulness.
Yut Lung impulsively inches closer, leaning towards Sing with the clear intention to kiss him. Heart hammering, Sing closes the gap, his hand sliding down from the lily to cusp Yut Lung’s face. Their lips meet, soft and warm, leaving Sing breathless. It is a close-lipped, innocent kiss, but Sing treasures every sensation, keying away this memory forever. His chest flutters madly, so much so that he barely realizes when Yut Lung pulls back, his lips departing from Sing’s with a tiny gasp.
“Sorry,” Yut Lung’s voice is anguished, and Sing has to blink several times to bring himself back to reality, back to his spot next to Yut Lung on the bed. He only now finds that Yut Lung’s hands are no longer wrapped tightly along his waist - they are tangled together in Yut Lung’s lap, fidgeting with doubt.
“I shouldn’t have,” Yut Lung starts, then closes his mouth, unsure how to pose his statement. “You didn’t want that,” he finally manages to choke out. His voice is strained with the promise of tears, his eyes pointing downwards to the floor.
Sing shifts closer to Yut Lung, until they are seated right up against one another. He boldly places his hand back on Yut Lung’s face, grasping his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “If I didn’t want that, I would have pushed away,” Sing declares, “that was...nice,” he says, for lack of a better word. He isn’t sure how to convey the turbulence of feelings mixing inside of him. But he is sure of one thing - he doesn’t regret kissing Yut Lung.
Yut Lung slowly raises his head and turns his dark almond eyes back to Sing. They are full of doubt, confusion. Sing chuckles - he knows that Yut Lung still distrusts most people in this world. He’s lucky that he managed to steal a kiss from the stubborn master of poison and secrecy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” Yut Lung blushes and scowls, misinterpreting Sing’s laughter.
Sing sighs, “I’m not. I’m being serious,” he smooths his hand up Yut Lung’s perfectly soft face and back into his hair, his fingers finding solace like home. “I like you. And I want to do more of that. I just think we both need time. We should take things slow. I want to build a friendship with you.”
A tiny smirk etches across Yut Lung’s lips, and Sing feels his chest exhale with relief. He never realized he was holding in his breath, desperately hoping for Yut Lung to smile, to be okay. Yut Lung closes his eyes and traces his fingers up over Sing’s arm. “Sing, I don’t know what to say. No one has ever had feelings like that for me before.”
Sing falters at that comment - is that really true? Perhaps it must be though. Yut Lung has been lonely for so long, grasping in the darkness onto his twisted path for revenge against his brothers. Love never meant much to him, as he had it snatched away cruelly at a young age. Sing’s heart pangs at this thought, how Yut Lung has never been told before that he’s liked, that he’s wanted.
“Well,” Sing clears his throat, the awkwardness of the situation is making his mouth feel dry and his palms sticky. He musters up his courage to ask, “Do you like me?”
Now Yut Lung starts to laugh - a soft, inward giggle that inflates Sing’s chest like a balloon. “I kissed you, what do you think?” Yut Lung asks, as though the answer should be obvious.
“So...you really like me?” Sing still doesn’t believe it. Yut Lung nods in response, his face burning.
Sing’s heart soars, although he tries to keep his cool outwardly. He looks at Yut Lung, studying his reddened face for any sign of deceit. He sees none.
“So…” Sing clears his throat, unsure what to say, how to progress.
Yut Lung repairs the conversation for them, realizing that Sing is incapable of figuring out the next step, “Friends...I think that’s a good place to start.”
“Right, yes!” Sing says in an uncharacteristically high pitch. He swallows hard and tries again, “so, what do you like to do with your friends? What sort of hobbies do you like?”
Yut Lung gives Sing a glare and Sing blanches, “I don’t have any hobbies.”
“What?” Sing questions, flabbergasted by such a statement. “That can’t be true. Everyone has a hobby, or interests.”
Yut Lung raises an eyebrow at him, “what’s yours?”
“The guys and I like to play basketball in our spare time,” Sing says.
Yut Lung doubles over with laughter, “You? Don’t you have to be tall in order to play basketball?”
Sing stands up, defiant, “I’m not that short! And besides, I can jump!”
Yut Lung is still laughing, and Sing smiles. Although Yut Lung is poking fun at him, it’s alright. Sing doesn’t really mind.
Yut Lung breathes in hard to calm himself down, “Sorry...but sure. We can try playing basketball sometime if you think that will be fun.”
“Alright,” Sing smiles, “you should watch your mouth though - can you really handle running around the court and getting all sweaty?”
“Oh, bring it on,” Yut Lung narrows his eyes, the fire of competition burning in them.
Sing laughs at that and steps aside so Yut Lung can finally stand up and move away from the bed. Yut Lung places his comb on his nightstand and turns to Sing, still pink in the face and overwhelmed with the events.
“Well,” Yut Lung says carefully, “we’ll have to postpone our competition for a later time. We still have important matters to discuss...we got a bit distracted from the point.”
“Yeah,” Sing agrees. The image of Yut Lung’s ample lips pressed up against his own causes him to fidget nervously as he tries his best to focus on anything other than that kiss.
“Take a seat,” Yut Lung indicates the couch seated across from his ornate armchair. He is composed and businesslike again. It’s almost as if the last few minutes never happened. Did Sing daydream the kiss and the feel of Yut Lung’s lustrous hair?
Sing takes a seat, ready to talk shop with his boss. As he does, he glances upwards at Yut Lung, noting again the lily hairpin adorned in his hair. It sits awkwardly upon his head, and that’s because Yut Lung never bothered to fix Sing’s misplacement of the pin. A smile finds its way on Sing’s lips.
Certainly, none of this had been a dream.