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Everything was going exactly as it should. Binghe was perfect.
The theme: 90s disco. The fit: a fishnet top to tastefully show off his muscles, tight flared pants that stretched over his large thighs, heeled snakeskin boots that make him all the more impossibly tall. It all shows how Luo Binghe is so comfortable with his sexuality. He’s not afraid to wear traditionally feminine clothes. He even painted his nails. A technicolour home job that was slightly chipped already, but it added to the charm.
Luo Binghe is such a man! He looks hot in any outfit. Everyone hangs onto every last one of his words, laced with silk and drawl.
There’s a circle formed around him in the middle of the kitchen. He’s humbly denying accusations of him being the hottest bachelor in the city. Luo Binghe, how are you single? Luo Binghe, how are you such a gentleman? Luo Binghe, pay attention to us. Luo Binghe, Luo Binghe, Luo Binghe!
Luo Binghe smiles, a practised curl of his perfect lips, and everyone just swoons.
He’s here purely as a favour. Mobei owes him big time for this. Not that he doesn’t already owe him for everything already. The pathetic hunk has been eyeing a certain Shang Qinghua for the longest time. The party was meant to be an excuse to get closer to the frail, twitchy little man.
It’s reaching a breaking point. Luo Binghe is tired of listening to Mobei complain about how difficult it is to hint his feelings to Shang Qinghua. And how ridiculous. Luo Binghe knows what his friend looks like. And now he knows what this Shang Qinghua fellow looks like, barely dressed up in his oversized button up and worn out jeans. Jesus. To say he is disappointed is the least understatement. If Mobei took some of his advice for once, he could have half the city wrapped around his little finger. The half of the city that wasn’t already wrapped around Luo Binghe’s, that is.
Luo Binghe was providing moral support. Mobei was not well versed in parties. Luo Binghe brought in the guests, kept them happy, made Mobei look good for having so many interesting and accomplished friends.
And all for what? For this hamster of a guy? It’s getting despicable to look at; Mobei, tall and broad and traditionally handsome, hunched over his drink in the corner spying on the short loser like a disgraced divorcee.
Shang Qinghua stands amongst the circle of admirers, sipping on his cruiser, nodding along to all of Luo Binghe’s words with a stupid expression. Luo Binghe can’t fucking take it. Shang Qinghua isn’t in Luo Binghe or Mobei’s realm. Not in their league. Not in their tax bracket. How dare he disgrace Luo Binghe’s presence like this. He should be begging to bed Mobei by now. Put two and two together, you useless rat.
The creature removes the bottle from his lips, decidedly taking up air in the penthouse that he didn’t deserve.
“How often do you go to the gym, Luo Binghe? Must be a lot, right?” the frail thing asks.
Luo Binghe can hide his disgust, but he can’t resist what he says next. He looks Shang Qinghua up and down.
“I’m not sure my answer will help you in any way,” he says with a gentle smirk.
The circle erupts in laughter. Luo Binghe feels the warmth of the vibration swell up in his chest. This crowd of upper class socialites is fucking awful. They love awful things. Luo Binghe loves to please them. He can’t help spurring it on, really—
“Perhaps I can recommend you a dietitian. We can start from there and see where it works out. Something to work with, you know?”
Shang Qinghua stares blankly up at Luo Binghe for a moment before recognising what is happening to him, and shrinks back behind his pineapple cruiser, cheeks tinged with pink. He should be thankful he was even invited. What guts for a guy of that level to come to a place he never belonged. Luo Binghe earned his place there. As awful as the company is, they acknowledge how Luo Binghe belongs there more than any other. The perfect riches to rags to riches story. They love that shit. Eat it up like cocaine on the bathroom sink.
Luo Binghe places a hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder to seal the deal, his perfect grin flashing perfect white teeth.
“We all have to start somewhere, don’t we? Work hard, Shang Qinghua.”
Everyone laughs again. Perfect performance, Luo Binghe. You’ve done it again. Stayed playful, stayed graceful, impressed everyone around you.
“That’s not very nice.”
The voice is sharp and unfamiliar. Luo Binghe’s head snaps to its direction, to a man standing beside the still shrinking Shang Qinghua.
He’s another socialite sort. Luo Binghe can read it from his clothes, his posture. He’s dressed up to the theme, but just barely; an expensive tan suit over white tank top. Luo Binghe’s eyes flicker up and he notices that his face is pretty, but it’s almost deathly pale and hidden behind round rimmed glasses that make him look nerdy and uptight.
He’s holding a glass of wine, staring up at Luo Binghe with a disgusted twinge of his brow.
Luo Binghe’s blood turns cold for a moment, then realises people can see and relaxes his shoulders, relaxes his face into a pleasant fake grin.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. Just banter between friends, Mr…?”
“Shen Yuan,” says the man. “And you’re not friends. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know anyone here but me. Don’t bully him just because he’s not like you. You’re not all that, you know?”
Luo Binghe’s smile freezes. This fucking guy… Doesn’t he know the rules here? He pulls his lips tighter. Wider.
“In the course of an evening, even strangers may become good friends. My mistake for misreading the situation. This is just how I am. I am sorry to have offended you, Shen Yuan. It won’t happen again.”
The crowd around him fills with coos of “You didn’t do anything wrong Luo Binghe!”, “Luo Binghe is just cheeky like that!”, “He didn’t mean anything by it, really!”
Loyal pack of bloodsuckers. Always watching out for each other when the other has something to give. They’d throw him under the bus the minute he proves useless to them. He’s seen it enough growing up with his foster mother. Wouldn’t even spare a bowl of congee to an undesirable lower class citizen.
He has to laugh. If he didn’t, well. Nothing to do but laugh.
Luo Binghe chuckles softly. One of the bloodsuckers brushes against his arm as if they’re best friends.
“I hope we can still be friends, Shen Yuan. You seem very interesting.” He holds out a hand and Shen Yuan makes that disgusted face again.
“Qinghua and I were just leaving.” Shen Yuan pulls a distressed looking Shang Qinghua away by the arm, and Luo Binghe despises the protectiveness of the action. Why should someone like Shang Qinghua be protected? This is not the way of the world. The weak are punished. The weak are trampled beneath the feet of the wealthy and powerful. No one is protected here.
Luo Binghe almost bares his teeth in anger. Turns it into a polite smile as Shang Qinghua protests Shen Yuan dragging him away.
“I promised Mobei I’d help him sort out stuff for the party. I gotta go. It’s the only reason I’m here anyway…”
Luo Binghe watches with the smile plastered hard across his face. Shang Qinghua shakes Shen Yuan off and runs off into the living room where Mobei is sitting with a glass of white wine, pretending to practise moves on his ivory chess set. Luo Binghe watches Shen Yuan roll his eyes, give up and walk off into a corner with his glass of red. Luo Binghe looks him up and down one last time. Luo Binghe looks away.
He runs into him again in the bathroom. It should not have happened — there are four bathrooms in this penthouse.
Shen Yuan is sitting on the toilet seat cover, one hand scrolling on his phone and the other kneading insistently at his knee.
Luo Binghe closes the door behind him and Shen Yuan looks up, eyes wide.
“That was supposed to be locked.”
Luo Binghe locks the door behind his back. “You didn’t do a very good job, then.”
He glances at Shen Yuan’s phone, trying to spy what’s on the screen that must be so interesting that Shen Yuan barely even spares Luo Binghe another look.
“What are you hiding here for?”
Shen Yuan scoffs and finally stares up at him again. In the bright bathroom light, his bright brown eyes are amber.
“Don’t like anyone here. But Qinghua doesn’t have a ride home without me, so I have to stay.”
“What a loyal friend,” Luo Binghe comments, walking casually over to the sink. He leans against it, eyes following Shen Yuan’s every movement. He realises his comment from earlier wasn’t much of a lie, after all. Shen Yuan really was an interesting fellow.
“Yeah, whatever,” Shen Yuan replies dismissively.
He looks back at his phone. “He’s just some guy. But I’m all he has, so. Whatever. I have nothing better to do with my Saturday, anyway.”
“And what do you usually spend your Saturdays doing?” Luo Binghe asks, the gentle attentive smile on his face ignored.
Shen Yuan shrugs, attention not leaving his phone.
“Be rich and wait for death, I guess.”
Luo Binghe snorts. Snorts. Luo Binghe does not snort. He snorts anyway. Shen Yuan really is an interesting person. Luo Binghe wants to pry. Wants to get under his skin. See what’s going on inside him. Exploit whatever’s hidden.
“I notice you’ve been massaging your knee,” he comments in an offhanded tone, crossing his arms over his chest.
Shen Yuan lets out a disgruntled sigh. An emotion!
“Chronic pains. It’s whatever. I didn’t bring my cane, so.”
“That’s no good,” Luo Binghe quickly lilts.
He advances to where Shen Yuan is sitting, gets on one knee in front of him in one swift movement from the sink.
“May I?”
Luo Binghe doesn’t wait for an answer before gently removing Shen Yuan’s slender hand and beginning to rub at the knee in circles with his thumbs.
He used to do it for his foster mother all the time. It used to make her smile.
He also used to have to do it for the disgusting head of Huan Hua, before he discovered his true lineage and raised in status from new money to old.
He looks up at Shen Yuan, who is forced to look back at him now, brows furrowed, but differently from earlier that evening. Softer.
“You don’t have to—oh. You’re good at that.”
Luo Binghe grins. Genuinely. He loves to do things well.
“My mother had bad knees. She was a live-in maid. They would make her work even when she couldn’t stand for more than an hour at a time.”
Luo Binghe pauses. Oh. He shouldn’t have said that.
“Ignore that,” he dismisses. He doesn’t know yet if Shen Yuan is the type of rich to appreciate poor people stories or become disgusted and pitiful. He should have gathered a bit more information first. He’ll have to fix that to retain control.
Shen Yuan locks his phone with a soft click and Luo Binghe regrets not having snooped on it earlier. Stupid idiot, getting distracted.
“So you used to give her massages?” Shen Yuan asks. Luo Binghe feels something strange in his shoulders. He slows his thumbs and squeezes softly below the knee.
“Yeah,” he whispers, looking at his hands.
He hears Shen Yuan puff out a breath. Then, “You were a good boy.”
Luo Binghe bites hard into his lip. His body freezes over with an unfamiliar warmth. Old memories return and he’s reminded of battered kind feelings. Feelings he thought were long lost to time and a lifetime, two lifetimes, of suffering and endless work and sorrow.
He says nothing. Can’t say anything, really.
“I bet she really loved you, huh?” Shen Yuan continues, as if it wasn’t obvious that Luo Binghe was being torn apart, torn open and rearranged right there, on the floor of the bathroom, knelt in front of a toilet.
Luo Binghe’s breath is shaky.
“Yeah,” he emits.
“And now you’re a bully just like the rest of them.”
Luo Binghe’s eyes shoot up to Shen Yuan’s face.
“I’m not! I swear!” He didn’t mean to sound so pleading. His eyes are already shamefully watering.
Shen Yuan’s eyes are stern and Luo Binghe’s heart is being cut on the glass that is that sharpness, that hard admonishing disappointment.
“You were so mean to Qinghua. And what did he ever do to you? I mean, I know he’s a little asshole but, you don’t know that yet, so, what gives? Is it fun for you? Does it make you feel better about yourself?”
Luo Binghe shakes his head, his curls brushing against the nape of his neck.
“I just—I-I…” Luo Binghe scrambles for an answer, his hands on Shen Yuan’s knobbly knees, nearly shaking in his skin.
“They-they only like me if I can be mean. I have to be. I wasn’t born into this. I have to be like them if I want to live.”
Shen Yuan stares into him, expression still cold.
Then, softly, slowly, it relaxes, the furrow in his brow downturning, eyes bearing into Luo Binghe’s with that expression. That expression he had briefly given Shang Qinghua when he had noticed he was shrinking, that expression right before he grabbed him and protected him, such an undeserving soul.
“Luo Binghe…”
Luo Binghe’s breath catches. The way Shen Yuan says his name is new. Like the characters are different. Like it had just been invented. Like someone had dusted off the snow off its bevels and held it up into the sun, squinted into its sharp strokes and read out, a new discovery—
Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe.
“Y-yes?”
Luo Binghe can’t breathe. There’s snot coming out of his nose now, disgusting and ugly. He can barely see Shen Yuan through the wet blur of his eyes. His skin is hot. He hates how patchy red his skin gets when he’s emotional. He hates the way he looks when he cries. But he can’t stop gazing up at Shen Yuan. He can’t stop even though he would rather break every single one of his fingers than let someone see him like this.
Then Shen Yuan pats his head.
And oh. The world is okay again. He blinks and the tears fall, and he can see Shen Yuan’s face again, and he is smiling with— what is that expression? Fondness? God. It’s fondness. It’s fondness.
Luo Binghe wants to take that word in his hands and knead it like dough, feel the texture in his hands and squeeze it between his fingertips. Fondness! Shen Yuan! Shen Yuan must be a god.
“Don’t cry,” says the god. “It’s okay. You were trying your best. Don’t cry.”
Shen Yuan keeps patting his head, and Luo Binghe finds himself half laying in Shen Yuan’s lap. His palm closes over that knee and kneads it. Gentle, careful. He sniffles and sobs, but tries to be quiet. Tries to stop crying like Shen Yuan asked.
“That’s a good boy,” says Shen Yuan, and it’s all worth the effort of keeping the snot up his nose just to hear that.
And that’s all there is to it. Luo Binghe is kneeling on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, and Shen Yuan says he is a good boy, and Shen Yuan is petting his head, and Shen Yuan looks at him with fondness, and Shen Yuan says he is a good boy, and Shen Yuan is protecting him, and Shen Yuan is good, and Shen Yuan is good, and Shen Yuan is every good in the world, and Luo Binghe is Shen Yuan’s good boy. And Luo Binghe will forever be Shen Yuan’s good boy. And he doesn’t even have to be perfect.