Chapter Text
The narrow, rubbish-strewn and graffiti-stained alley is pitch dark as Dan Heng valiantly holds up his drunk friend. But it's like pulling the leash on a stubborn, over-excited dog. Or a trash panda, or whatever Caelus resembles as he stumbles along, dragging Dan Heng behind him as his eyes light up going from trash can to trash can. He even stops to hug a graffitied wall with glow-in-the-dark paint, pasting his face against it and rubbing it lovingly a few times, mumbling some new nonsense.
“This wall! So it was here all along! I've finally found it, the hidden piece done by Silverwolf, ah damn - Dan Heng, quick! Help me take a pic!”
Dan Heng stares at his drunk friend who's almost making out with the wall and striking a weird, unglamorous pose.
Heaving a sigh, he snaps a photo for him, the flash going off bright in the lightless street. He had left the party with Caelus to head back home, but had underestimated his friend's energetic spontaneity even when dead drunk on his feet.
Caelus had wanted to do some thrilling night time exploring this seedy looking alley, claiming it's a famed place for street art and it's a lot safer now compared to the past.
“And I have you, don't I?” His friend says, holding up an empty ink bottle to his face, not even glancing at him.
“...Just finish what you're here for and let's go home.” Dan Heng leans against the wall with folded arms, no longer bothering to correct him that his work does not equate to being fitting as a bodyguard, especially in an unfamiliar city which had only recently lowered its crime rate.
“Killjoy.” Caelus rummages through the trash some more, holding up more of those small, emptied bottles. He jolts upright, excitement racing over his trembling arms as he holds the bottle like it's something precious. “Tattoo ink! I knew it! This brand! This place!”
He spins around and scampers off before Dan Heng can tell him to stop.
Caelus's voice rings loudly in the narrow alley as he skips ahead on wobbly legs. “Do you know how badly I've wanted to get a tattoo? Since I was seven. Se-ven. I thought it'd be neat to get one of the Masked Stellaron Riders on my hand.”
Dan Heng is glad he didn't, but wouldn't judge him if he did.
“Fortunately I was too young, else that'd be pretty embarrassing. But then I saw this artist's work of movie and game stuff and damn...The symbols, the props, the characters. That style. It's somehow artistic and not in-your-face yet you can tell it's from the game or movie just by looking at it if you're in the fandom, you know? And he has the best colours and linework too. I've never seen a tattoo artist be this good at both delicate watercolour and realism.”
He continues to walk, leaning back on crossed arms over his head and occasionally turning to check that Dan Heng is following. “Wouldn't it be so cool to get a full sleeve of mecha like the Terminator: Dawn of the Antimatter Legion? Or an abstract, watercolour galaxy back piece of Interstellar Wars? Hmm, or do you think I should heed March 7th's idea and go with something that's more me and quirky like a trash racoon? But would it look better in a cute style or popart? Say, have you ever thought of getting a tat, Dan Heng? You'd look badass with a dragon sleeve or shoulder piece. Even March 7th fell for the pretty watercolour ones I showed her.”
“No.” Dan Heng replies simply, catching his friend when he almost trips over his own feet.
“Bo-ring, sure you don't wanna consider? You'll live up to your name in the - whoa!” Caelus stops abruptly, causing Dan Heng to nearly crash into his back if not for his excellent eyesight and fast reflexes.
He turns his head to see what got Caelus's eyes looking like they're emitting sparks.
They're in front of a small shop, nestled away and hidden between the two larger ones. If not for the striking, red spider lily symbol on the black door, he wouldn't have even noticed it was there. A faint yellow light shines from behind the tinted glass windows. The sign on the door still says 'open', despite the lack of life behind it and the ungodly hour of 1am.
This place can't be open 24 hours, can it? Dan Heng is about to question Caelus, but his friend is already at the door and making a fuss trying to peek inside the windows, letting out a strangled series of inhuman speech.
“Ahhh! I'm here! I found it! I can't believe I found it like this!' His excited voice can hardly be called quiet even if he's trying to suppress it. 'I thought I had to take a long time to hunt it down after he changed studios - oh...it's not locked.”
Caelus slowly turns to meet Dan Heng's eyes, and he instantly recognises that troublemaking glint that can't be stopped.
“...No. We shouldn't. It's trespassing.”
“I know! But I just want a look! He's not even there. Or is he, wait, maybe I should knock first”
“Wait”
“Helloooo? Blaaadie - oops shit I said his nickname, ahem - Mr Ying Xing! Are you home? Oh wait, he doesn't technically live here.”
Dan Heng doesn't know if he wants to cover his face and die of shame, or be glad that no one is around to witness his drunk friend making a scene and committing a crime by accidentally pushing open the door after knocking on it too hard and almost falling onto the carpet.
Or onto the knife held in long pale fingers belonging to a tall shadow hiding right beside the door.
Dan Heng reacts faster than his mind can process, fist jabbing forwards at the figure's face with his other hand grabbing the wrist and twisting it hard.
The short knife clatters to the floor as Dan Heng slams the taller figure into the wall, pressing his arm against the person's neck and choking him.
Vivid, red-gold eyes glare at him with incredulous resentment as their owner coughs, digging his hands furiously into Dan heng's arm. He's barely avoided the punch, but it still caught him on his chin, dizzying him and causing him to accidentally bite down on his lip and making it bleed.
“Let go.” The person's voice is deep and husky. Slightly strained from the pain and breathless from the unrelenting pressure Dan Heng is still exerting on his neck. Yet he doesn't sound scared or intimidated by what would be two strangers breaking into his house at all. More gruffly annoyed than anything else.
Remembering that they are the ones trespassing, even if the owner of the place had attacked with a knife, Dan Heng gives him a onceover before letting go of his throat and stepping back.
His eyes flit to the stranger's hands in case he has any other weapon on him, but the stranger simply remains standing still and turns his attention to Caelus's gaping face on the floor.
“I-I'm sorry!” Caelus yells, loud enough to shatter Dan Heng's eardrums up close in the small room. “Bla-Mr Ying Xing, sir! I'm a fan of yours!”
Dan Heng wants to cover his face again or sigh. Great. Now, this guy probably thinks they're stalking him on top of trespassing and breaking and entering.
The man before them goes still, then continues to stare at Caelus with suspicion. “What are you doing in my studio? Bookings are over. The shop's closed.”
Caelus instantly jumps to his feet and raises his hands. “Sorry! I didn't mean to barge in but the door was unlocked and I, uh, just wanted a look. I've been trying to book you for years - Bla- Mr Ying Xing!”
The man he folds his arms, staring Caelus down coldly like he can't be bothered with him.
“I'm trashpanda! I mean, that's my online sig, not my real name of course - my real name is Caelus, Mr Ying Xing”
“Blade.” The man corrects. He tips his head a little as he regards Caelus. “You...I know you.”
“You do?” Caelus exclaims excitedly, stars spitting out of his eyes, not noticing the subtle twitch to Blade's mouth within that arrogant, intimidating stare.
“You're that...stalker.”
“Yes I'm - wha?”
Dan Heng looks in-between Blade and Caelus, as astonished as his friend. But Blade merely gives a low 'hmph' before continuing.
“You're the one who sent 30 emails in one week whenever I open my bookings. Not including the 20 or so submissions online. And the comments on every one of my social pages.”
It is now Dan Heng's turn to stare at his friend. Caelus's face turns red under their combined looks as he looks up at Blade sheepishly.
“Was it that much? I wasn't counting, haha. Uh, I just couldn't decide, you know...b-but, you immediately gave my slot away when you received my application last month!” Caelus cries, looking clearly dejected with watery eyes. If he had puppydog ears and a tail, they’d be falling flat by now.
Blade remains unimpressed. “I do not do work for clients who are uncertain. Find someone else for that.”
“Nooo! It has to be you! I've been waiting for your booking rerun for years but I keep losing slots to someone else. Just give me a chance - I'll decide on something! I swear I won't regret anything you give me either! It can be bad and I'll still like it - I mean, not that anything you do is bad at all.”
“No.” Blade says, arms still folded and aloof as he peers down at Caelus like he’s some annoying dirt stuck to his shoe.
The rejection only makes Caelus more desperate. He steps up to Blade, causing the other man to stiffen at the sudden intrusion in his personal space. “Please! Please just give me a chance! I’ve followed you longer than even that brat Soulsteelrising88, from your Giger-style, mecha beast drawing days. I beg you – Ink Master Ying Xing!”
Dan Heng is certain that the displeasure that flickers across Blade’s face contains some sort of cringe and something like surprise beneath the increasing annoyance. Caelus stumbles forward, fingers outstretched and looking ready to either grip onto the man or drop down posturing onto the floor.
“You…don’t call me that.” Blade stares down at him, bafflement overshadowing his disgust. Not backing down but clearly tensing with Caelus’s drunken approach.
This had better be stopped before it gets any worse, Dan Heng thinks. He steps up, moving to pull Caelus off. “I apologise. My friend has had too much to drink”
But Caelus slaps his hands away and remains grovelling embarrassingly. “I know what I’m doing! I will no longer remain indecisive, I- I” he pauses, swaying on his feet. “I don’t feel so good.”
Dan Heng hardly ever curses. But at that moment, a rare Xianzhou curse word flits through Dan Heng’s mind. And likely, Blade’s as well, when Caelus proceeds to fall straight onto Blade.
And puke all over him.
The three of them stare at each other in silence. Or two, with Caelus falling into an unconscious heap onto the floor at Blade’s feet, drenching the man with puke from his shirt down to his pants.
Red-gold eyes, darkened with anger, coldly glare at Dan Heng. “Get out of my shop.”
Dan Heng is about to apologise, but pauses when he looks outside the window at the darkened streets. There should be less gang activity these days if the news reports are correct. He hadn’t wanted to venture down this alley at all, and had only decided to heed Caelus for a while. But defending himself and a friend while running away in case of trouble is still different from having to protect a fainted liability.
Sighing internally to himself, he straightens from trying to pull up Caelus to face Blade. “Look. I’m sorry for trespassing and for my friend’s behaviour. But could we stay here until I call a cab to fetch us back? I won’t trouble you any more than that.”
Blade gives him a onceover and sneers. “You and your friend expect me to do you favour after favour, while you remain standing in my place looking like a thief.”
Dan Heng tenses. He’d been wearing a black lower face mask, cap and hoodie when he first arrived in the city. His manager had warned him not to remove it or let others know of his identity until the announcement is made official. How is he going to convince this man that he isn’t some criminal without revealing his face?
He reaches up to remove his cap but stops at that. “I…am unable to let you know my identity due to personal reasons. But I can assure you that I’m not carrying any firearms or weapons. And my friend is a genuine fan of yours who would never think of stealing from you.”
Blade stares at what he can see of his face with narrowed eyes. “Hmph. So all I have is your word.” He pauses to think, and then points at Dan Heng’s hoodie. “You. Take off your shirt.”
Dan Heng remains unmoving, senses on edge. But Blade only scoffs at his face. Amusement colours his low voice for the first time as he speaks. “Kid, it’s not what you think. I need to check if you have gang tattoos. Remove your companion’s shirt as well.”
The tension rushes out of Dan Heng’s shoulders, embarrassment taking its place in a hot rush over Dan Heng’s chest. He glances at the man before him. They don’t look that far apart in age give or take five years or less, yet he had been constantly speaking down to him. He probably thinks Dan Heng is a college frat boy.
He pauses for a second, but pulls off his hoodie. When Blade doesn’t speak but continues to stare at his naked upper torso, Dan Heng fights the urge to shift on the balls of his feet. He can’t quite read the other man’s eyes under the long dark lashes and fall of hair as Blade covers his mouth and watches him with his head slightly lowered.
He’s used to being half naked for the most part, but for some reason, his embarrassed heat hasn’t fully dissipated, and instead, starts to creep slowly up his neck. Just when he’s beginning to feel uncomfortable, Blade motions for him to turn around. He does so, and waits for another few, long seconds to pass, feeling the eyes on his back move across his shoulders and arms to his lower back.
“Next.” Blade says flatly. Dan Heng turns around. He’s about to tug his hoodie back on when he notes the frown on Blade’s face. It disappears before he can inspect it further.
He goes on to remove Caelus’s shirt. By some sort of miracle, Caelus had kept his own shirt clean while puking his guts out all over Blade. This fact doesn’t escape Blade’s notice, as his eyes narrow with displeasure at the sight. Having seen nothing noteworthy on Caelus, Blade lets Dan Heng cover Caelus with his removed shirt. He stares at his friend who remains lying on the floor.
As if reading Dan Heng’s thoughts, Blade gestures to the sofa. “Place him there, but don’t dirty anything.” He turns his back on Dan Heng next. “I’m going to take a shower. Call your cab.” And get lost the moment it arrives, is unsaid, but lingering in the air.
After finishing the call, Dan Heng heaves his friend up onto the sofa and sits down beside him. Holding back a sigh, he recollects himself, glancing at Caelus once more before looking around the room.
In the dim lamplight, he sees a couple of armchairs and stools, next to a messy desk piled with bottles of inks and sketches and what looks like an array of tattoo tools. Framed, vibrant artworks cover almost every inch of the walls in a collage containing every style and subject matter possible, ranging from delicate, dancing watercolour fairies to nightmare fuel-inducing mechanical beasts with gaping maws. He recognises some life-size movie and game replicas of weapons and props littered around the studio. One sculpture in particular, is breathtakingly lifelike and beautifully carved and painted – a twisting body of a water dragon holding a pearl in its mouth, its scales glittering blue-green even in the low light. Was that from the movie, Return of the Dragon? Long’s Scion or something. His manager had used it as promotional material for himself, and his embarrassing nickname had stuck.
Are these all created by Blade? What had Caelus called him, Ink Master Ying Xing? The name had felt familiar, but Dan Heng’s only knowledge of the arts field comes from his friends, so he can’t remember much. But he does recall that the man called Ying Xing used to be a professional sculptor and prop maker, but had vanished from the industry for years before starting again as a tattoo artist underground. Caelus had followed him for years and moped terribly when the news broke. Some had even thought that the artist had died back then. The man had stayed on the low after restarting as a tattoo artist, cutting himself clean of the fine arts and entertainment industry and preferring to do small bookings and odd side projects as he likes. According to Caelus, even getting news about his next booking is difficult.
‘He’s as much of a social recluse as you’, Caelus had snorted. ‘Except compared to you, there’s hardly any photos of his face online. The last time a fan tried to post a sneak shot, his hacker friend caught them and destroyed all their game accounts and blacklisted them from all future bookings.’
He hadn’t asked, but Caelus had explained anyway. ‘He hates it when people focus on his face instead of his art, even if it may help him sell more pieces or regain his reputation.’
Dan Heng can only agree. His nickname is cringe enough. In the past, after a winning debut, he came to realise that half of the people who’d stopped him on the streets didn’t know anything about him except his face. It was why he’d started wearing a mask afterwards.
There’d been something strange about the way Blade had paused upon meeting his eyes after Dan Heng had removed his cap. And when he had eyed Dan Heng’s body in contemplative silence. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to recognise Dan Heng. And hadn’t insisted on having Dan Heng remove his mask. Like it didn’t matter to Blade who Dan Heng was and he hardly perceived he and Caelus as a threat, going so far as to allow them to stay alone in the studio when he heads off to shower. The man didn’t strike Dan Heng as a gullible or careless type. Staring at the items scattered around the room in a hot mess with some of it covered in a film of dust, his gut tells him that Blade simply did not care if any of his things got stolen. Like all of the value in his old creations were just that, past creations and nothing else. Yet he had clearly seemed to care when Caelus had mentioned his old nickname despite telling him not to bring it up.
A loud string of music jolts Dan Heng from his thoughts. It takes him a second to realise it is a ringtone. And another to note that it is coming from somewhere behind him…buried in the pile of things on the table behind the sofa. Or under the sofa. He has no idea.
The ringtone ends, and restarts again, oddly sounding even louder and more annoying than before. It goes on for several times, until the sliding doors slam open. Dan Heng looks up, but whatever he’d wanted to say dies on his lips when he sees Blade walk over in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist and a darkening expression on his face.
He’s about to stand up, but Blade ignores him, and leans over to dig through the pile of mess behind him. Dan Heng freezes, not moving a muscle at the closeness of Blade’s chest almost pressing right against the side of his face. The scent of white lilies drifts over from Blade’s body, still dripping water onto Dan Heng’s shirt and his neck, the cold drops seeming to instantly evaporate off the heat of his own skin.
They’re not touching, but he can almost feel the soft curve of voluptuous chest muscles in their relaxed state, as Blade picks up the phone and answers the call with a slightly mocking familiarity, as though he cannot be bothered with the caller. “Took you long enough to call.”
Blade straightens up from the sofa, long hair brushing over Dan Heng’s shoulder lightly and leaving a dampness to seep through his hoodie and into his skin. His chest glistens in the dim light, water droplets trailing over their fullness, down the engraved lines of his abs, and into the thin white towel grasped in elegant pale fingers over a slim waist.
Dan Heng has seen half naked bodies before, given what he does. He doesn’t think much of it, and can’t think much of it when he’s focusing anyway. He’s seen his roommates naked and passed out drunk. And has gone to the spa with Caelus and other friends a few times. Not to mention the men’s locker rooms in the gym.
He’s seen bodies in peak athleticism with muscles of all shapes and sizes. He’s seen his own in the mirror numerous times and when he’s weighing himself on the scales. But there’s a stark difference between muscles honed for strength and agility, versus those for aesthetics, especially when genetics play a part. Well…he’s at least certain that it’s impossible for him to ever gain that kind of chest, even if he goes up a weight class.
Blade turns his back on him and continues the call. His long dark hair swings with his movement over the sharp v of his shoulders tapering down to his waist, flaring out over the striking curve of hips and thighs that really should not belong on a man.
At the back of his mind, the question of why Blade is half naked is swallowed by another of how Caelus would react if he were to see the person he admired for so long like this.
“Did you take my spare clothes when you dropped by on Monday?” Blade asks the caller. Dan Heng’s gaze flicks over the expanse of his naked back. At least that explains the first question.
Seemingly unhappy with the response, Blade continues. “Don’t ask. Get to the point.”
“Hmph. So he agreed?” Blade proceeds to sit on the couch opposite Dan Heng. The towel on his waist loosens a bit, flashing smooth, thickly curved lily-white thighs and extending long legs that edge into Dan Heng’s vision and intrude uncaringly into his personal space.
“No, I don’t need his details…I do not care what his face looks like. Tell him to contact me when he’s there. Is there anything else?”
A light scoff, almost a laugh draws Dan Heng’s attention. He looks up to see a curve appear at the corners of Blade’s lips despite the derisive lilt to his voice. “Relax, I have not forgotten your birdhouse. You will see it done at the end of the month and no sooner.”
Ending the call, Blade places the phone onto a heap of items on the nearby coffee table. He leans over to grab a pack of cigarettes. And proceeds to light it without asking if Dan Heng minds.
The smell of classic tobacco smoke, and not the unpleasant kind, curls in the air around them, entwining with the alluring scent of cold lilies drifting off Blade’s damp hair and skin.
With Blade seated closer to the lamp light, Dan Heng can better make out his features. Red gold eyes framed by lush dark lashes match the faintly burning embers in the stick held in sensually curved lips. One corner of his mouth is a darker red, slightly bruised from his earlier bite. Blade sits back in his chair and tilts his head a little as he smokes, revealing the ivory pale length of long, slim neck and its slightly bobbing Adam’s apple, completely disregarding the two strangers in his studio.
Dan Heng shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat. Seeing it feels oddly intimate, like he’s not normally able to lay eyes on that column of skin. Smooth and unmarred by the sun. Cold and white like fine, wet porcelain. A drop of water rolls off Blade’s neck to pool in the hollow of defined collar bones.
His eyes meet red gold ones that gleam with what feels like mocking amusement at having caught him staring.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologising.
“I thought most tattoo artists will have tattoos.” Or why he feels the need to give an explanation or excuse for his staring.
He instantly knows that he’s said the wrong thing, when Blade’s lips tilt up more in that arrogant, wickedly amused grin. “It could be somewhere you can’t see. I’ll tell you if you remove your mask.”
He’s being mocked, but he can’t stop the hot flush from creeping up his chest and his eyes from darting at Blade’s words to his thighs covered by the towel.
Blade lets out a light scoff. “Kid, I don’t have any.”
“I’m not a minor.” Dan Heng says flatly, but Blade does not seem to care.
He holds out his pack of cigarettes to Dan Heng. “Since you say you’re not.”
“I can’t.” Not because of his mask, but he’d rather let Blade believe it is so.
Blade retracts his hand and continues to smoke, unbothered by Dan Heng’s rejection. It is quiet in the studio and outside of it. Dan Heng recalls seeing no other shop with its lights on at this hour. He’s curious as to why Blade is still there after closing hours, but doesn’t ask. It isn’t any of his business anyway. However, his friend had been genuinely pleased to meet Blade, no matter if he had done it in a scrupulous manner.
“Caelus…He’s spoken about you many times. He’s been following you before your art started trending, when you were doing those…monster drawings.” He’s seen those nightmare fuel concept art designs before. Mechanical beasts that belonged in sci-fi horror films. Yet the paintings always had a sense of desolation and sadness to them beneath the twisted metal and flesh. It was through this uniquely emotive aspect that he got famous – which was what Caelus had told him.
Blade scoffs but quietly gazes at Caelus’s sleeping face with its drool dripping out his snoring mouth. “That was a long time ago. I was not yet known by my alias back then.” He takes a deep draw on his cigarette, and blows a plume of smoke which blurs the outline of his figure in the dim lamp light. “Most people would have forgotten that name had even existed.”
He doesn’t talk about what had happened. Dan Heng doesn’t know much, but from what he had gleaned from Caelus. Some scandal had happened, on top of a passing of Blade’s family member. Blade had been blacklisted in the art industry until his name was cleared, but by then, he’d been furious and had coldly cut ties from that place including the fans who had turned on him.
‘Fuck, trash like them deserve to be beaten up’. Caelus had said, shivering a little.
Dan Heng had heard his friend curse in that barely suppressed tone only once, when some girls had tried to dox March 7th for being close to Dan Heng after a photo was leaked online.
“He may be indecisive at times and can overstep his bounds from being over-excited, but he’s loyal and stubbornly honest about what he likes. I’ve known him for years and he’s always been following your works.”
Blade remains silent. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it between his fingers. Red gold eyes quietly pierce Dan Heng from under long dark lashes. “I am unable to do anything for someone who has no idea what he wants.”
Dan Heng’s fingers tighten a little as he holds Blade’s gaze.
“Your friend has terrible taste,” Blade continues, puffing on his stick. “…But if he can settle on something, he can look for me.”
Dan Heng’s eyes widen at Blade’s words. The man remains blowing the smoke from his cigarette, his expression going back to once of aloof arrogance. But he had agreed.
“Thank you.” Dan Heng says with sincerity, to which Blade simply shoots him a look.
“Do not thank me for things I haven’t yet done. Tell your friend to do it after he sees the outcome.”
He says this as if he knows that Caelus, or whoever requests for him, will be pleased no matter what. Yet for all his arrogance, it feels certain that he will be able to back it up.
They sit in silence for a while, with Blade smoking his cigarette. His voice is huskier when he speaks, like the lingering, soft curls of smoke surrounding him. “Are you trained in boxing?”
The question throws Dan Heng for a loop. He decides on a semi-truthful answer. “I used to in the past.”
Blade regards him, giving him a onceover. “You’re good. But I wouldn’t count on being able to fight your way out if you get caught in a gang war over here.”
“I thought the police had turned in most of the triad heads?” Dan Heng asks, remembering the newest report. “There’s been far less criminal activity as compared to in the past years.”
“Hmph. You’re not wrong, but the remaining ones are still lying low in these streets. Even so, it is a matter of time before they die out to themselves or the local authorities.”
Dan Heng recalls seeing the news online a few years ago. After the corrupt police officers had been flushed out and jailed from Xianzhou Luofu, a new Commissioner had taken over as head. Director General Jing Yuan had uprooted the city’s gangs and stopped the decades-long criminal activity in the region, and was hailed as a hero during that time. This particular street used to be infamous for fights breaking out at night and bloodied scenes in the aftermath. According to Caelus, Blade’s old hometown was somewhere else, and the man had spent majority of his old career working in the star studded city of Zhuming, so it didn’t make much sense for him to choose to settle down in Luofu when he could have gone anywhere else.
“Why open your studio in this place?” The question falls unbidden from Dan Heng’s lips. Caelus had wondered it so often himself that it was the first pressing thought to jump at Dan Heng, though he can’t deny that he is curious himself.
Blade peers down at him snidely. “Why did you and your friend come here past midnight? It appears that your friend came to look for me, but you don’t seem to be one of my fans or a resident around here. Did you follow to play bodyguard despite knowing the reputation of this area?”
Dan Heng returns his gaze coolly. “We hadn’t planned on coming out this far. And I’ve come to visit my friend while on personal business.”
Blade huffs a light laugh at his answer, sending smoke spiralling close to Dan Heng’s face. “Likewise, it is my personal business why I set up my studio in this region.”
This man has a way of closing himself off yet provoking others when he wants to. His voice swings from that arrogant lilt to reserved coldness, yet there’s a burning ember of genuine emotion underlying whenever Caelus or Dan Heng brings up his past works and nickname.
“If you are not from here, where are you from?” Blade asks, tone languid as he peers at him over his cigarette.
Belobog. That was where he had last finished his rounds. Astral Express State. That was his official base, or what his manager likes to call it. Truthfully, Dan Heng has been travelling to the major cities holding the leagues for the past few years, and has been going from place to place even longer before that.
“IPC City.” He decides to go with the large and bustling city, having been there back and forth countless times.
Blade smirks, eyeing his mask. “Running away to erase a past record with the IPC enforcers?”
Wrong, Dan Heng thinks, but Blade has no idea how close he is to one part of the truth. “Starting anew on a tourist pass in the Luofu.”
The mocking smile on Blade’s face flickers as it loses its edge for a brief second. “Ah, I see” is all he says quietly, looking away from Dan Heng to take a long draw on his cigarette. The light from the lamp casts shadows over his face, lengthening his dark lashes and painting his profile in an oddly forlorn look. His eyes seem to be focused on someplace far away in the silence.
He must have accidentally reminded him of something. An uncomfortable emotion turns in Dan Heng’s chest, feeling like he should say something. But what? Caelus is the one who knows the most about this man’s past, and even his number one fan does not have the whole picture of it.
“Your friend doesn’t look like he stays in this side of Luofu. He should come during the day instead of at night to this street if he values his life.”
It sounds like a threat when he words it that way, in that condescending yet detached tone, but isn’t.
“I will tell him that.” Dan Heng replies, not knowing what else to say.
Blade scoffs. “You should teach him some self-defence…or common sense not to break and enter into a stranger’s place.”
“Hmph.” Dan Heng can’t help but snort at that. Heavens knows he tried. But Caelus couldn’t hold still to repeat a move for longer than fifteen minutes without getting bored or distracted. It’s a good thing he used to be on the baseball team. He packs a good hit with a bat or any stick picked up from the trash.
“For how long are you staying in Luofu?” Blade asks after a while.
“Two weeks, possibly a month, maybe longer. I’m not certain.” Dan Heng realises how it sounds after he’s said it, no matter if what he’s said is the truth.
Blade shoots him a derisive look. “That sounds similar to an email I received from your friend.”
“My schedule…is unfixed for the interim.” He isn’t sure why he feels the need to explain to Blade, except that the familiar heat of embarrassment is back again in his chest, making him feel like the college student Blade thinks he is.
A notification rings in Dan Heng’s phone, catching both their attention. He checks his message to see that his cab has arrived.
Blade puts out the finished end of his cigarette and slowly stands up, slim, elegant fingers holding onto his towel as he does so. “In that case, you will be able to see what your friend has decided on, if he manages to while you’re still here.”
Dan Heng pulls up Caelus, who snores and slumps over on Dan Heng’s shoulder’s in a dead weight.
Blade doesn’t offer a hand when he sees Dan Heng carry his friend with ease on his back. He turns and leads the way to the door. The unmarred, porcelain-like surface of his back peeks out from under his long dark hair as he walks.
When they reach the door, Blade unlocks it before turning to Dan Heng. “Have you ever thought of getting one?”
It’s clear what he’s asking. “No,” Dan Heng replies. “I’ve never felt the want nor need.” Caelus had asked him before in the past, and had even given him ideas and pictures. But to Dan Heng, who’d just barely gotten out of a slump in his career, body art is the furthest thing from his mind, and one he’d truthfully never given thought to. He’s always been the cautious, planning type. Having a life-long mark on one’s body is a commitment and expression he’s simply never needed.
Shifting his eyes up and away from Blade’s chest before him, the question falls from his mouth again as he steps through the door. “What about you? You’re a tattoo artist yourself.”
Red gold eyes meet his and the owner’s lips quirk up at a corner. “I can’t do it myself, and I’ve never met another artist I trust enough to do as good a job.”
Such arrogance. Dan Heng snorts, but a small smile twitches at his mouth regardless.
“I’ll see you then.” He says. Blade pauses and looks at him with mild surprise, as though not expecting his words. He ends up nodding at Dan Heng before Dan Heng turns to make his way to the cab.
The door closes with a locking sound behind him.
He slides Caelus into the cab and gets in before telling the cab driver Caelus’s address. As the car pulls out of the narrow driveway onto the road, Dan Heng turns to look back at the shop in the distance.
Its dim amber light in the window is still on, a sole glow in the dark of the long, lonely street.
The phone rings several times before it’s finally picked up by a half-awake voice. The receiver breathes out a helpless sound in-between a laugh and a sigh.
“I believe I returned your call an hour ago after you texted me…Is this revenge for the time I accidentally spilled coffee on your drawings, Ying Xing?”
Blade doesn’t bother to correct him anymore. “I need you to come over right now and bring me a set of clothes. Mine got dirtied and I have nothing to wear after you took my spares.”
“So that’s what you meant when I spoke to you earlier…May I ask how did your clothes get dirtied again?”
Blade looks at the closed door and the remaining mess in the walkway. “That is not important for you to know, Jing Yuan. Just bring me the clothes.”
“I have work tomorrow-”
“Today is Friday, and you hardly ever head in to work before noon.”
Jing Yuan pauses on the other side. Then, he questions Blade again, sounding more amused and less half-asleep. “Wait…do you mean to say that you’re standing around without wearing anything in your studio right now?”
“…Say another word and I’ll put your birdhouse on hold.”
“Alright alright, fine! ...Give me twenty minutes.”
“Make it quick.”
True to his word, twenty minutes later, Jing Yuan pulls into the driveway. He knocks on the door, merely smiling a bit when Blade opens it in his towel, eyes daring him to say something about his state of undress. Jing Yuan wisely chooses to avoid that topic and holds out the clothes instead.
Blade takes them from him and moves behind the piled up mess on his table to change, leaving Jing Yuan to stand in the middle looking around his studio.
Jing Yuan pauses his perusal when he smells the smoke in the air. “You…do you need me to fill your cigarette packs with candy again?” The words spoken are gentler than usual beyond their languid remark.
Blade pauses his tugging at the sweatshirt’s front – the chest area is a bit tight as well as in the thighs. “…No need. I’m cutting it down.”
He’d felt the urge to smoke, holding a cigarette in lightly trembling fingers until he forced himself to calm down over his reflection in the mirror. Even a year later, it’s still a terrible habit.
Jing Yuan gazes at Blade’s long dark hair nearly covering dimly gleaming red-gold eyes and decides to change the topic. “What have you been so busy with that’s keeping your shop open this late at night? Are you going to be alright making it to the meeting on Sunday?”
Blade scoffs. “I’m not you hence you needn’t worry. I was trying to finish the booking design drafts for the week.”
Jing Yuan laughs. “Ironic as it may be, you seem to be even busier now compared to when you were still working in the industry.” His golden eyes twinkle a bit as he peers around the studio while leaning against the side of the couch. “Is there anything I can see of my aviary?”
“Your birdhouse? I’m not showing you the blueprints until they’re finalised.” The last time he did that, Jing Yuan had pestered him nonstop about wanting all the design features in one model, even though the blueprints were all of different themes and would not have worked well together. Needless to say, the end result was a weird chimera of an armoured, dragon-tailed and phoenix-winged lion mailbox – ugly looking in Blade’s eyes, but perfect in Jing Yuan’s.
“Hah…I’ll trust that it is in good hands with you then, Ying Xing.”
“Hmph.”
Blade finally finds his keys from the items in his drawers to lock up his shop. As they stand on the front porch, Jing Yuan stares down at the bunch of big and small keys in Blade’s hands tied on a tattered red ribbon with a grumpy black cat keychain hanging off it.
“You know, you really should consider building an organiser-”
“Drive your car.”
Weekend mornings are made to be slept in, but Dan Heng’s used to getting up early. Today however, he has a change of plans as he finishes lacing up his sneakers and heads to the café instead of the gym.
He checks himself in the mirror one last time before leaving the house. Being unused to wearing contacts for continuous days on end, his eyes had ended up feeling dry, so he’d skipped the coloured contacts, opting for glasses instead with his usual mask and cap.
His manager had told him to bear with it until the announcement is made public. ‘Sorry Dan Heng, but we can’t have anyone knowing you’re here yet’, Welt had said.
The other annoying blue-haired PR manager had piped in as well. ‘Trust me, there’s no better way to create hype than to drop the bomb when no one is expecting.’
Dan Heng doesn’t like him much, but despite his sleazy and flashy methods, Sampo does manage to bring in the results. He is at least better than Dan Heng’s old IPC management.
‘About that other thing, have you considered…?’ He had asked, eyes flicking to Dan Heng’s arm.
‘No.’ And that had been the end of talk, so far.
He continues walking, until he sees the café across the road. It’s a small and quaint place tucked away in a corner of the streets with a vintage cobble-stoned storefront and a hand-drawn menu on the chalkboard in front, next to a row of cheery pink and blue flowers March 7th would have liked.
Opening up his phone’s messages, Dan Heng sends a text to the person he’s supposed to be meeting.
I’m reaching. Where will you be sitting? – DH.
He remembers Caelus’ reaction when he’d heard about him taking up the job. His friend had gone bug-eyed and spat out his drink all over the table. ‘Modelling! You?’
‘Figure modelling.’
‘What! Do you mean you’re gonna be nude-’
A look instantly shuts Caelus up. ‘…No. There’s no need to go that far for this project.’
‘Huh…still…that is surprising.’
He wasn’t wrong. Even without his PR manager trying to pull him into the limelight and him rejecting, Dan Heng prefers to avoid anything outlandish.
The request had come during his slump, and from Himeko, his old art teacher in college, so he’d given it some thought. Apparently, the artist had rejected tons of models and was searching for someone who could ideally embody the athletic build he had in mind for a character sculpture. He’d seen Dan Heng’s cropped pictures from Himeko’s friend, and had directly requested for him, refusing to settle for anyone else.
Artists are certainly a strange bunch. Dan Heng thinks, when he receives a short reply from the person.
‘At the back. Left corner.’ – X.
The person had not even given his name, nor asked Dan Heng for his own or any other detail.
‘Got it. What are you wearing?’ – DH.
‘?’ – X.
‘I need to know how to find you.’ – DH.
‘Black.’ – X.
Dan Heng pauses at the café door. This person is even more reticent than him in text.
He’s about to ask for more details when his phone vibrates again.
‘And red.’ – X.
After giving his order to the server, Dan Heng passes the counter and heads for the back. There’s only a single person seated in the shadowy corner, long dark fringe covering their face as they remain focused on sketching on their tablet.
Something about this…man seems familiar.
Dan Heng feels a strange twist in his chest when he reaches the table, and stands at it, staring at the man who finally looks up.
In the brighter morning light, the tattoo artist’s features are clear and sharp, his skin just as white but with a healthier glow than the ghostly porcelain pallor at night.
He slowly blinks up at Dan Heng, a look of stunned surprise piercing through his widened red-gold eyes.
“You…are that boxer…Dan Feng?”
It’s now Dan Heng’s turn to halt. How had he known his identity? He’s still wearing his mask with his face covered. And why hadn’t he recognised him when they’ve met on Friday night?
“You’re that tattoo artist from that night. How do you know who I am?” Dan Heng asks.
He removes his mask. There’s no need for it now in front of Blade, and he doubts anyone else would recognise him without his red eyeliner and with his glasses on…Not in the way Blade had.
Confusion flits through Blade’s face for a moment before settling. “It’s…you. The one with the stalker.” He continues when Dan Heng does not speak. “I know your eyes. But they weren’t this colour back then.”
Did he seriously just…not recognise him after seeing him in person barely two days ago, but somehow managed to recognise his professional identity? And from his eyes alone?
Dan Heng doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony, feeling a slightly bitter sigh slide down his chest as he pulls out the chair and sits himself down.
He looks across the table at the man again. “Dan Heng,” he states. “That is my actual name. Please refrain from speaking my alias in public. It’s not supposed to be known that I am in Luofu right now.”
Blade gives a small “hmph” in response, but does not object. “I did not know that you were the model in the pictures.”
“Do you...follow my matches? Is that how you’re familiar with my alias?” Dan Heng asks. To recognise him that well, could he be a fan of his?
“No, I do not follow the sport. I’ve only come across you when searching for art references.”
Dan Heng stares at Blade in silence, at a loss for words. If Caelus were here, he’d probably laugh his head off that the infamous Dan Feng, lightweight MMA champion, was recognised by someone as an art reference, and not for his fights, or even his idol-like face.
“…Is that so? Normally, people don’t recognise me that easily without the contacts and eyeliner.” He watches as Blade takes a swallow from his coffee.
“Your physique is balanced in the golden proportions between athleticism and aesthetics. And your eye colour is particularly memorable.” Blade says matter-of-factly as he sets down his cup, like he’s listing off the ideal attributes of a material he found perfect for use in his craft.
“…I see.”
Fortunately, the server arrives in time with Dan Heng’s food, breaking up the awkward silence. Blade casts his gaze over the large stack of sausages, bacon, potatoes, bagels and salad that clearly does not fit Dan Heng’s size.
“I’m moving up a weight class.” Dan Heng explains as he digs in.
“Welterweight?” Blade asks, watching him eat.
Dan Heng nods but doesn’t add anything further. He doesn’t know if Blade is aware of the whole reason why he’s even here in Luofu, with a scheduled fight in the welterweight league. The one he had lost in a terrible match last year against its reigning champion.
That match had been why he had switched companies from IPC’s to Belobog’s. And the reason for his slump, before he’d gone back to his previous weight class defending his title with some bitterness. Blade’s request had come several months later during that time.
He’d agreed to it because the location and timing had coincided with his managers pushing him to return to the ring with the season’s match held in Luofu. And also, because…
“So this is what you meant when you said you did not know how long you will remain here,” Blade says, bringing Dan Heng out of his thoughts. “Your matches are decided but unannounced.”
Dan Heng swallows his food and looks across at Blade. “That is unpublicised news.”
Blade snorts, getting his hint. “I have no time or interest in spreading that sort of thing, nor do I follow the boxing matches.”
“MMA,” Dan Heng corrects. Blade doesn’t reply him but returns to riffling through his tablet. A myriad of colours flash across the table at Dan Heng.
They sit in silence. Dan Heng finishing his upsized breakfast, and Blade quietly doing some sketches on his tablet while occasionally being interrupted by his phone messages. Dan Heng had thought Blade would leave his phone ignored on silent after a while, but the man surprisingly picks it up to reply a short message when he sees the sender now and then. Although, judging by how quickly he sets his phone down, his replies are bound to be as curt as the ones sent to Dan Heng himself.
The silence isn’t exactly awkward. Neither of them are the type to force or engage in small talk, preferring to keep to themselves if the other doesn’t pursue the questions, of which Dan Heng is thankful for. He doesn’t want to delve into what had happened with his ex-management again, although he does find himself wondering about the mysterious tattoo artist before him.
Blade gives off an aloof vibe from his mostly black dressing and expressionless face. The burning red-gold of his eyes would appear boldly overbearing, if not for their downwards tilt and the porcelain pallor to his skin contrasting with the reddened bruise at the corner of his lips, made redder by a single, blood-coloured earring – the aftermath of Dan Heng’s jab from last night. He sits with his back straight, head tilted down and focused on his drawing, pen moving in smooth flowing lines within the grasp of pale, elegant fingers. His eyes are mostly covered by his fringe, but when he moves a little to inspect his work, the brief sunlight filtered by the café curtains falls over his face, subduing those blazing eyes a hue warmer. Or cooler, with a tinge of almost sunset-like violet under shadowy lashes.
Blade’s focused look breaks as he looks up, the cool-toned hue disappearing completely from his eyes like a trick of filtered light.
If he’d felt Dan Heng observing him, he makes no comment. Or simply does not seem to care. Red-gold eyes sweep across Dan Heng’s emptied plate and glass. “If you’re done, we will head to my studio.”
It’s clear that the studio he’s mentioned is the same one they’d been in on Friday night. Dan Heng nods, standing up to follow Blade out of the café.
As he follows half a step behind Blade in the bright sunlight, Dan Heng notices the other man’s dressing. Blade is wrapped up from head to toe in a black high turtleneck, trench coat and jeans. His hair isn’t black like he’d thought, but deep blue with its ends dyed in red.
It feels a little odd to see him mostly covered like this, when Dan Heng had seen him in barely a towel. However, the irony of having to be in a similar state of undress later is not lost on Dan Heng. Although, he does wonder why this man had requested for a model, when the lines of his own figure should more than qualify as an art subject. But compared to his own leanly muscled physique, Blade’s body looks more like a model’s than an athlete’s. Or an actor in a an AV or a cam boy’s.
Dan Heng comes to an abrupt halt at the traffic intersection and looks away from the other man’s back. Where had that thought come from…He’s definitely been spending too much time around Caelus and letting the other run his mind through with all kinds of weird background knowledge.
Sensing Blade peering down at him, Dan Heng glances at him from the side. “What?” His word comes out harsher and more wary than intended, but Blade pays it no mind.
The taller man merely continues to hold his gaze for another long second. “Nothing. Your eyes in person are brighter than in pictures.”
Before Dan Heng can ponder what he means, the traffic light flashes green, and Blade takes off down the road.
He catches up with Blade easily, following suit.