Chapter Text
Under the dazzling neon lights and ferment activity of the bustling metropolis, the shadows of the night have their secret rendez-vous in a lavishly decorated reception room below the scrutinizing gaze of the dragons jade statues, their eyes fierce and piercing against the warm lights radiating from the round lamps on the ceiling: they paint the room with shades of tangerine and vermillion, an ambience that should appear comforting in theory, but in reality hides a much more sinister vibe to it. Red ornaments written in golden hanzi are hung near the wall, dancing to the beat of the night’s gentle wind as it hits their surface. The owner does not care much about superstitions, and yet they’re here just for show, mocking their original purpose as symbols of prosperity and good luck– a harsh, yet fitting behavior for someone like him. The shelves are filled with ceramics of every possible color, all depicting motifs of dragons flying around until they get closer to the scorching sun. The strong smell of incense permeates the air, sticking to the other man’s clothes akin to a domineering embrace: thankfully, he’s well acquainted with such a pungent aroma, gladly welcoming it in his arms until it becomes part of his own soul. Two men occupy the secluded place– one brimming with elegance and dressed in a pitch black suit reflecting the dark side of the city, and the other one with messy hair and traditional clothing, an appearance that makes him stand out from the rest of the room, almost as if he doesn’t belong here. Shielded by the twilight’s secluded guise, the two men strike a deal– a pact sealed by the cosmopolitan mark of blood.
“Capture the traitorous doctor who fled with the organization’s research papers.” He slides two pictures across the table, each depicting the appearance of the two targets. As he adjusts his glasses, he feels compelled to add, “The man accompanying him possesses superhuman strength. Be careful of him. There’s no need to capture him– you’re free to dispose of him if necessary.”
The other man gives him a quick glance, before heedlessly accepting the photos in his hands: a smile creeps up on his face while he's being offered more details on the mission, his eyes studying the bodyguard's features, dainty and angelic despite his title of war machine. That's part of his job as well, after all. The man whose aura looms around the room in an intimidating manner is none other than a formidable assassin feared in the area, his deeds speaking louder than any word can when it comes to him.
Maybe, him and that person are not so different, in the end.
A cold room devoid of any sort of empathy fills his vision with milky white– the purest, yet cruelest color of them all. It's the color that dyed his most painful days, the one who looked down on him as if he was some sort of inferior being in the grand scheme of things. It keeps telling him to be silent, to stop fighting and surrender himself to his fate– but was that voice really it, or was it just a haphazard blend made from other's cupidity? He's not sure, really. He's never been able to hold onto his senses for long whenever they put his hands on him. But who are those people, and why are they all here? They don't look like real people in the slightest, with their white coats, big gloves and soulless face masks turning them into emotionless beasts. All he can see are their small, merciless eyes scanning him, moved by their unquenchable thirst for knowledge, science– for blood . They grab his wrists until the signs of his struggles are evident on his skin, his arms and ankles suffocating with chains as they pin his body to the bed so he cannot run away, ultimate prisoner of greed. He can't breathe. No one cares. Why would they? He's just a subject, isn't he? Electronic machinery adheres to his pale skin like it was made specifically for him, entertaining him with shock waves: he pants, sobs and cries until he feels like his heart stopped beating– no, it's moving now– and it gave up on him again, his fate in the hands of vile demons who forced him to perpetually cross a bridge between life and death. Tears ricochet on his cheeks as his chest begs for forgiveness, mauled by the men's wicked charity. It hurts, he thinks, he can't breathe, his heartbeat stops and then starts racing a second later, an unending cycle that makes him feel dizzy. He feels his consciousness slipping away, then coming back to console him only to send him a parting gift again. He does not even notice the foamy concoction on the floor, the principal sign of his battle against the grim reaper: dissociation must have made him forget about the acidic reflux rejected by his body, a way to clear him of all impurities. No one bothered to clean that up. "I'm going to die," he thinks, "I don't want to die," he begs and begs for his voice to be heard, but nobody answers. "Stop this," it's all useless. He knows it, but he's desperate enough to keep trying. "Stop this," they won't. Your job is to amuse them, don't you remember? "Let go of me," their gazes might as well be like daggers on his back. "Let me go," they won't. There's no hope left for him– that's what he deserves for being the sole survivor. "I don't want this," but they want it. They want to tear your skin apart and make jewelry with your guts so they can savor less than half of your rare DNA, they want to put you on strings and make you dance for them over a pile of your corpses. A toy– that's what he is, a mere puppet in the hands of selfish monsters. A devil dressed in pure white opens up a suitcase, caressing the sharp edges of a syringe until he reaches the pointy tip: he's aware of what's going to happen next, he's been through that multiple times already to know the feeling of multiple needles penetrating his skin, barrels slowly filling themselves with the scarlet fluid of his anguish. He can do nothing but watch as they drain him of his blood, an array of phials stuffed to the brim with carmine nectar.
It's coming closer– too much for comfort. He can see how the man is raising up his arm, ready to plunge the bevel inside his skin. It's coming– he's going to do it, no escape routes left for him. No. It's time. Can he survive this? He's already gone this far, after all. He does not want to bet on possibilities anymore. It's painful. It stings and burns like being engulfed in the flames of hell. He can already see the tip of the syringe approaching his eye like a reaper's scythe seizing a sinner's souls, and then…
… A scream. It sounds like him– it’s the only thing he can rely on if he wants to recognize his voice. As the omniscient Morpheus kindly lulls him away from that nightmare, the man finds himself in a much darker room, not an ounce of daylight gracing its dilapidated walls. Remains of yesterday’s heavy rain still linger on the floor, wet puddles scattered around to form a pattern made from the sky’s tears. Dubious dark spots of various dimensions are studding the ceiling, the prime example of a pitiful constellation of misery. The weather is humid, not too hot but definitely chilly enough to make someone shiver if they’re not wearing the right clothes. His breathing is erratic, gasping for air as he puts one hand on his chest to check out his heart rate: it’s irregular, frenetic, the result of an adrenaline rush as a fight or flight response. Droplets of sweat caress his delicate features, a river from his forehead to his cheeks. There’s someone sitting by his side– not a devil, but an angel dressed in dim clothing, a sea of amber apprehensively looking over him with his hand resting on the tattered sheets. It takes a while for him to grasp the truth of the situation, memories of the last day violently resurfacing in his mind as he recalls the warmth of the other man’s hand, their fingers tightly enlaced during their hazardous escape. It’s over now: he doesn’t have to endure such tribulations nowadays, no more demons enthralled by his lineage and unique blood– they’re all part of an old tale of the past. At least, that’s what the doctor promised, and his trust is strong enough to make him prone to discard his life as a sacrifice for him. If the doctor says so, then he will faithfully believe him, a powerless pilgrim kneeled down before the image of divinity.
“Yuèhuā?” How sweet and decadent does his name taste when it comes out of his mouth, undertones of honey and chocolate laced in between the letters. “You seem shaken. A nightmare, right?”
He nods, his reply as clear as day. He’s never really taken advantage of his voice when he needed to communicate– that was unnecessary for a test subject like him, who has never once expressed his feelings outside of merciful cries and agonizing screeches. Nobody ever bothered listening anyways, besides the kind doctor next to him– but even then, words just… didn’t seem to come out, trapped inside a cage deep-rooted inside his throat. It made him sad– to not be able to talk with the kind stranger, and yet the other never gave up on him, always by his side despite his inability to speak. He learned how to guess what he was trying to say by studying his behavior, movements and gestures, and sometimes he was lucky enough to be rewarded with quick expressions filled with extreme gratitude. They did not need any words to understand themselves, and that was just one of the various reasons that made him treasure the relationship they nurtured. Yuèhuā can truly feel at ease only when he’s beside the doctor, soothed by the gentle warmth of his sun.
“I see,” he purses his lips in sadness, a gesture that strikes Yuèhuā with guilt. It hurts when he’s sad because of him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Just know that you’re safe now, okay? I’m here with you.”
The scientist’s hand slides from the bed sheets to the other’s one, an unexpected meeting that makes the younger’s heart skip a beat: it’s a kind of pain he feels like he can handle with pleasure, a mere pull at his heartstrings as he senses the man’s thumbs drawing circles on the back of his hand, an unspoken oath and an implicit prayer for better days to come. He nods, a small smile blooming on his lips that leaves the other man in awe, a sight akin to a flower spreading its beautiful petals during a cold winter night. He opens his mouth more than once, strained noises running outside his throat to deliver a simple message as efficiently as possible.
“Tha…nk… yo…u…”
The curtains reveal a relieved look on the doctor’s face, his worries all washed off by the other’s serene guise. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he’s allowed to touch him or not –he is. Of course he is–, but refrains from doing so to avoid startling him when he’s already on edge. He’s content with just being able to share such a splendidly mundane moment together.
“Of course! Please don’t force yourself to speak if you don’t want to. You know I can understand you perfectly.” He offers an affable smile on a silver platter for Yuèhuā to dig in, but he’s well aware that affection alone is not enough to feed the two of them. “Are you hungry? I just made breakfast, and I was wondering if you would like to join me.”
The other does not waste any time nodding in reply, a swift “mh-hm” flying away from his lips with the intention of carrying a message directly to the doctor. He gets out of bed –a rather filthy mattress laid down on the floor, to be precise– , helped by the thoughtful assistance of the doctor– not that he needs that, but it’s nice to be on the receiving end of such valiant gallantry. They make their way towards the old table on the other side of the room, a type of wood that seems to come from the forests at the time of their ancestors. A couple of creaks echo through the room as they sit down on their chairs, a freshly-made bowl of rice porridge waiting for them on their respective seats. A flood of steam emerges from his plate, enveloping the young man in an aroma that reminds him of a home he’s never resided in. He reserves a quick glance to the doctor, his eyes going back and forth between his savior and the meal before him.
“Ah, you want to know what that is?” Of course he would’ve understood. “I suppose you’ve never really eaten something like that… please excuse me for not mentioning it sooner. This is called congee, a mild-flavored rice porridge– wait, you don’t know what that is either… it’s a dish you obtain by cooking rice –the small white beans you’ve seen people eat on the street!– for a long time with plenty of water to soften it. The final result should be something more or less similar to what you have on your plate! Usually it’s served with different toppings, but I haven’t been able to gather enough ingredients for that yet, so this is all I can offer you for now… forgive me. I promise I’ll treat you to something better as soon as I get paid, so hang it there for a bit longer, okay?”
His plea for forgiveness almost sounds ironic, a joke cracked open in the faint daylight. There’s no need for him to be so apologetic, not when he’s familiar with Yuèhuā’s previous upbringing: that flavorless, mushy concoction could’ve as well been a five star meal compared to the putrid liquids and disgusting moistures he was fed with for most of his life. He should chant a lifetime worthy of “thank yous” just for gracing him with the honor of savoring a proper meal at once. As if he cared about the quality of his food, either way– all he ever wanted was to spend a single moment basking in the other’s benevolent radiance.
“I’m sorry about the state of this place as well,” he continues with his defense, the look of a beaten dog as he glances at the other with a veil of woe. “That’s all I managed to afford in such a short notice… but we’re leaving as soon as Qing gets in contact with us in a few days, so hopefully we won’t stay here much longer.”
Qing, yes– that should be their accomplice in their “crime”. It’s still unknown to him how the doctor successfully managed to bring another person to their side– perhaps his loyalty towards the organization has been waving for a long time, waiting for the right occasion to strike and destroy the chains of their alliance. They agreed to stay in contact and later arrange a date when they could meet and flee the country with the stolen classified information– well, it’s more correct to call them the doctor's research to be fair, so he's just taking back what belongs to him really. They're still in the dark about the exact day and hour, but they're hopeful that it's going to happen very soon– for now, staying in the back alley of the ancient town, far away from the scrutinizing lenses of the surveillance cameras, sounds like the best option to them. The old district feels homey, comforting, a place hidden faraway from the corruption of modern society, but that also comes at the cost of being severely outdated when it comes to technology and overall quality of life: no phones or electronic devices in sight, cars or advanced machines to help you with the everyday life, a setting coming directly from an old tale lost in the ruins of time. Not that it’s a problem for them– they’re not going to stay here for the rest of their life anyway.
“Speaking of something else…” the doctor clears his voice, Yuèhuā’s eyes fixated on him like a moth near bright lights. “I heard there’s going to be a festival soon, would you like to come with me?”
The other blinks in sequence, tilting his head to evoke a question. It comes without saying, but he’s of course never been to one before, and meanwhile he desires nothing more than to be with his knight in shiny armor, on the other hand the young man is vacillating a bit on his answer: would that truly be alright to show themselves in public without getting into any trouble? What if someone from the organization appears to be there and ends up going after them? What if he injures himself– or even worse, what if something happens to the one he treasures the most?
“It’s alright,” he proclaims, as if he could interpret the tangled mess of his thoughts. “The capital and other cities don’t care about this place anymore– I might as well say that they left it to die as it is, for how terrible that might sound. Besides my clients here, nobody really knows about our whereabouts, and the citizens don’t have contact with the ‘outside world’ they despise so much. It should be safe. And besides,” he gets closer, his hands tightly embracing the other’s as a method to deliver a sensation of solace. “I promised you, didn’t I? That I would’ve let you see all the amazing colors that this world has to offer. There’s going to be music, stalls, food and a bunch of other fun activities we can do and things you’ve never seen before. I would like you to watch the beautiful sea of stars together with me again. You’ve always liked them, haven’t you?”
That claim awakens something in him– a flashback, a recollection of the day where his monochrome world had been painted with the perfect blue shades of the night sky, an entire galaxy hosted inside the doctor’s amber eyes. It’s a distant memory he holds close to his heart, always there for him when he needs it the most. He can already picture that in his mind– a coat of cobalt blue, a pattern of white and yellow dots to adorn it as the moon softly watches over its people, God’s unconditional favor and protection. He doesn’t really believe in God, because if he really did exist he would have helped the two of them. But the doctor was the one who helped him– that’s why, in his mind, he’s the closest thing to God he will ever be able to experience.
“What do you say?” The divine’s voice sounds more human than anticipated. “Have I convinced you?”
Surely, it doesn’t take long for Yuèhuā to change his mind when it comes to his saint. He chews over his choice for a short while, but he can’t help but surrender to God’s grace, his head moving up and down as a prayer.
“Really? I’m glad!” His smile could light up an entire building. “I’m so happy you said yes. I’ll do my best to let you have a good time! Today I have… let’s see,” he checks his agenda. “Three to four appointments, but I should have one hour of free time before that. Do you want to spend some time together before I have to leave?”
“Leave” is a word that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he understands that the doctor needs to do his job to ensure their survival. Since they don’t have many people well versed in medicine, news of the arrival of a doctor is sure to create an uproar, with crowds of towns folks begging in line for a single ten minute visit that won’t potentially change their lives. He replies with his usual gesture of approval, before going back to the starting point. They both lay down on their own tarnished mattresses, close enough to merge their breaths into one: the doctor’s hand timidly searches for the other’s, their fingers intertwined in forever’s embrace. A fuzzy feeling wraps around the young man as the doctor’s warmth spreads through his body, the lifeblood of a love that seeps through the cracks of time. He feels greedy asking for more, but the man is always oh so eager to oblige him, his chest waiting for someone to occupy the vacant spot. The other’s arms find a place around the survivor’s body, holding it tightly against his own in fear of him going somewhere out of reach –where, exactly, when his place has always been in the perimeter of the doctor’s benevolence?– . Yuèhuā closes his eyes, savoring the sweet taste of his deity’s tenderness, an ocean that pacifies him to sleep with its waves.
“Do you feel tired, Yuèhuā?” His free hand brushes the former subject’s hair, long threads of light pink twirling around his index. Against his poor background, the young man actually likes taking proper care of his lovely locks, not a single node in sight as he runs his fingers through them. The doctor’s guess is that he really hates feeling like it’s tangled or unkept, like that’s something out of his control. “Yesterday was quite exhausting for you. Feel free to rest here for the day, alright? We can go buy groceries tomorrow morning.”
He raises his chin a little, so that he’s able to look at the other’s face. He doesn’t say anything, but the doctor already knows what he wanted to ask. “Of course that’s not a problem! I want you to tag along. It’s best if we stay together whenever it’s possible– and I would like you to escort me to the market. That’s not a very impressive place to go, to be fair… but I still feel like it’s something worth seeing. We can consider it a good start for your sightseeing journey. What do you think?”
He thinks he would have gone anywhere as long as the doctor kept holding his hand, his grip on that same hand tightening as he leads his thoughts astray. He scoots closer to him, the scent of tea and juniper pervading his nostrils with his favorite fragrance.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Leisurely days constitute the foundations of his life, a yawn running from his lips to the refreshing afternoon breeze. His silver curls flutter in the wind, verdant leaves finding a safe haven on top of his hair. He rests his weight on top of a tree branch, arms crossed behind his neck as he relishes the peace and quiet of the empty street, the afternoon’s sun glazing the roofs of the ensemble of houses. It’s a peaceful environment that does not last long, to his immense disappointment: it’s common knowledge that a busy neighborhood is prone to attract troublesome people, whether you want it or not.
“Let go of me! I’ll call the police!”
This time, it’s the turn of a petite girl, no amount of make-up to hide the unavoidable fear in her eyes as she argues with a hooded figure, possibly a young man from his stature and timbre. She’s holding onto her bag as if her life depends on it, cries of help that will remain unanswered polluting the air in despair. The man sighs, his ritualistic moment of rest interrupted by an unchivalrous scoundrel. As an assassin, he knows he has way more important and dangerous duties to follow… but contrary to what his face might translate, he’s not the type to stand still from the sidelines as an injustice takes place– he’s not that kind of man. He descends from his hideout, a menacing shadow standing right behind the culprit of the scene: a single vermillion shade tints his all-knowing eyes as they stare at the sinner up and down, a sense of superiority that makes the other quiver in cowardice.
“You’re making a mess. What business do you have here?” His rhetorical question comes out like a knife, cutting deeper inside the other man’s flesh. “I suggest you get out of here before I get angry. Oh– wait,” a twisted idea flashes inside his mind, a sadistic grin as the perfect side dish for the main course. “I get it now. Maybe you’d like to play a little game of tag first? I’m in. Let’s play a little, shall we? You’ll be ‘it’. Let’s see how quickly I can catch you. Wanna bet? I’ll let you know, no one who dared to play against me lived enough to tell the tale. I’ll start counting then. One…”
The young rascal might as well fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness as tears run through his cheeks, but his primordial instinct of fear prevails over everything else, a shriek infused with terror before he could flee the scene with no harm done to himself. A disappointed sigh flies away from his lips as he now focuses his attention on the girl, his expression softening to the point where he could’ve transformed into a whole different person.
“Are you hurt?” he inquires with gentle concern. “Sorry if that guy was troubling you.”
At first, the girl pushed her bag against her chest in a defensive manner, as if she had a hunch that she was going to be next prey, but immediately relaxed her posture once she became conscious of the kind stranger’s altruism. “I’m okay!” she flashes out a smile. “He was more interested in my bag than anything else… but thankfully nothing has been stolen!”
“I’m glad to hear that. Is your house distant from here? Would you like me to escort you?”
“Oh, no, no!” she shakes her hands in a frenzied panic. “It’s just around the corner, really! I would feel terrible if I took even more advantage of your kindness! You already did so much for me, uhm…”
“Call me Xīyáng.” his name rings in the air with solemnity. “I’m usually patrolling around here at this hour, so feel free to call out to me if you ever need help.”
“Xīyáng!” The girl shouts out, excited. “What a beautiful name! I’m Chen. I really have to go now– but I hope to see you again soon!”
She waves him goodbye, a gesture he feels like he’s indebted to respond. Her smile is the last thing he sees of Chen when she crosses the street, her heavy heart now free of all worries. Relief washes over him as he’s now sure that the girl will safely arrive home, his contradictory compassion breaking through the role of ruthless assassin he’s been marked with. Since his job here is done and there’s no need for him to just stand idly, he carries on with his schedule, one last look at his resting spot as he reluctantly abandons it.
The doors quickly open for him, an intense aroma made from various blends enshrouding the walls of the teahouse. One second the air has a malty scent with notes of cocoa, the next it’s filled with a flowery, almost fruity fragrance, and then it turns smokey with hints of spice. An immense variety of teas is stored between those walls, all homemade by the most refined tea leaves. Huge lines of customers all come here to enjoy a nice cup of tea, sometimes accompanied with dried fruits, cake, egg tarts and other tasty snacks. The staff is polite, and the owner knows how to entertain his guests– all points that helped the establishment in gaining the traction and popularity it has nowadays. Xīyáng usually works there five days a week, with a shift that varies between five to six hours. Of course, he can’t live relying solely on bloodied money, that’s why he was very adamant about finding a reasonable job unrelated to any corner of the nightlife. Since he’s been working there for a while, he eventually built up a rather impressive knowledge on tea and its history, even cultivating the ability of reading people’s fortune through tea leaves. Tasseography might appear difficult at first, but the man always makes it look so effortless– maybe it’s because of his connection with spirituality and religion, a link that helped him polish his ability. It’s a peculiar characteristic that made him quite requested among his clients, all gathering inside the room to wait for a personal consultation from the teahouse's most interesting, mysterious and handsome employee.
“Xīyáng! It’s your turn in thirty minutes!” the boss warns, a rowdy sound as he crushes the leaves in his mortar.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” His indifference speaks volumes, from the way he replies in a lackluster fashion to how he nonchalantly blends some tea for himself right before his shift. Not that it would’ve been a problem, either way– he has more than enough time to enjoy a nice cup of assam tea before proceeding with his duties. “I’ll be ready in a bit, boss.”
It doesn’t take much for his beverage to be finished, a syrupy scent waltzing in the air as he releases the contents of the teapot. He savors it slowly but surely, the caramel sweetness of the black tea exchanging wedding vows with the sugariness of the red bean paste from the donkey rolls he chose as his designated dessert. He looks around, drowning in the sweet aftertaste of his drink as the greenery around him harmonizes a lovely lullaby for him only. He purposefully leaves some drops of tea in his cup, a solid ground for the leaves to swim on so that they could guarantee him a good read. The man tilts the teacup right and left, until the wet powder forms a pattern he can recognize.
“Is that so?” A sneering smirk haunts his face as he looks at the message he’s been given by the gods, eyes fixed on the pitch black picture formed at the bottom of his drink. Whether that’s a good or bad omen, only he can be the judge of that. “How intriguing.”
Garlands of chatter embellish the area around the market, the bustling activity of sellers and customers to announce a newfound vitality to that place. There are stalls for almost everything you may think of buying, from home interiors to accessories to food and other kinds of drinks, without leaving behind clothes or any other items you may find useful for your everyday life. A fishy smell camouflages itself with the rich and buttery scent of caramel, a pair that’s bound to confuse newcomers who are not yet used to the conflicting odors. The stall owners are trying their best to sell their products, without shying away from the use of innocent white lies, and the customers roam around the area in search of the things they may need– or just something else that catches their eyes. As long as people have money, they can buy anything they want, isn’t that right?
The doctor and his bodyguard make their way to their interested stalls, hands connected to one another to avoid getting lost in the chaos. They’re only here to buy some food, since their budget is very limited, so it shouldn’t be a particularly lengthy trip– but it’s still time they spent together in the end, and that’s all that counts.
“See anything you like?” the doctor asks, tightening his grip around the other’s hand. “I can’t promise anything for now sadly, but we can come back another day to get it.”
Yuèhuā looks around, his vision overloaded by a set of pigments and shade he’s never seen before: he’s not used to crowds, to so many people hanging out and talking with each other, and meanwhile it can be overwhelming to some, at least for now he feels… fascinated by it, by such a spontaneous and genuine display of humanity. It’s beautiful, he thinks– so amazingly human. There are so many things he would like to try out– new foods, new clothes, but he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to his doctor, nor is he exactly fond of the idea of letting his savior spend so much on him– that’s not how he’s supposed to repay him. For now, his eyes settle on a brownish orb on a stick, covered with a layer of… he’s not sure, actually. But it’s something shiny, and it feels gooey.
“Ah, a caramel apple!” His reveal is enlightening. “That’s a very good choice if you have a particularly sweet tooth. Then we’ll get one next time we come here, alright? I’m sure you’ll love them!”
“Oi, Dōngyáng!” a voice calls out to them, the silhouette of an old man emerging from behind the food stall. “I’ll be damned, I was not expecting to see you today! Here to do some shopping?”
“Mr. Guo!” he excitedly responds to that call. “It’s nice to see you! We’re here to buy some groceries, yes. I suppose your legs are doing better now?”
“Absolutely! I feel like a new man thanks to you! We really needed a capable doctor such as yourself around here! It’s mostly old geezers like me who live in this city, so having someone who can help us with our body pains feels like a true miracle!”
“You’re flattering me now, Mr. Guo,” his cheeks paint themselves with a soft pink. “I’m just doing my job, really. I spent years studying with the sole purpose of helping people in need, so your words mean a lot to me. There’s no need to thank me, though– that’s just my duty as a doctor.”
There’s a strong chivalric spirit in his words, an aura of altruism and magnanimity that makes him appear more like a brave knight than a doctor. Yuèhuā might as well imagine him dressing up in a lustrous, silver armor, sword and shield in his hands as he puts his honor at stake just to bring him to safety: in a certain sense, Dōngyáng really is his knight in shiny armor, blood-stained hands ready to let go of his weapon whenever he has to hold the other’s. He can feel the crimson trail of the knight’s sins whenever they touch, pictures of his heroic adventures flashing in his mind like a cinematic sequence: he wishes to go with him, to be part of his destiny, but he knows that their worlds are yet too distant to intersect as one. And yet he stains his hand as well, enough to feel a part of him on his skin– until he can share the sacrilege befallen onto his hero’s name together with him.
“No need to be so humble, boy!” The sound of the man’s hand smacking the doctor’s back can be heard across the whole market. “You’re a real lifesaver! If you’re in need of groceries, feel free to come to my stall! It’s all on the house!”
“Ah– I appreciate it, but there’s no need to, really!” He tries to politely decline his offer, a slight sense of guilt at the fear of taking advantage of a poor man’s kindness. “I’d feel bad about capitalizing on you like that… I wouldn’t mind visiting your shop, but please let me pay full price!”
A huge whistle escapes from the man’s mouth as he lets out a heartfelt laugh with a positively obnoxious liveliness. “Handsome, clever and so well behaved! You’re a true gentleman, boy! Your future wife will be so lucky to have such a considerate man at her side!” He discontinues his praise for now. “But I insist, really– you just moved here, right? And you mentioned that your financial situation is not exactly the best. Feel free to save that money and rely on me for today– you both need to eat, after all!”
Dōngyáng hesitates a little, still remorseful about this situation, but he knows that a further rejection would only sadden the shopkeeper. “Alright then. I’ll take your offer for today! Thank you so much for treating us!”
“Speaking of that–” the old man’s curiosity has the better of him. “Who’s this cute boy right next to you?”
The young man jumps a little, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment of his existence. He tries to utter some words, but even the sound of his own name falls into asphyxia, forever chained at the sides of his throat. He wants to let his voice roam around freely, to hear how he truly sounds when his vocal chords are not busy carrying out his agony– but he can’t . Not yet, at least, that’s for sure. He looks around– shyly, tormented by the people’s judgmental gaze: why can’t he be normal? Is he a human being, or just a mass of trauma and sorrow poured together in a singular body? Will he ever be something more than his past, than the people he had to leave behind as corpses forever looming over his pathetic excuse of happiness? The answer remains unclear as the doctor takes the reins of the conversation, giving the other a proper, satisfying reply to his question.
“Oh, he’s my friend!” There’s nothing but unfiltered happiness in the way he describes it. A longing light fills Yuèhuā with the desire to grab the words coming directly out of his lips, slowly tasting them to savor the same joy he feels. “You can think of him as my faithful companion in this new adventure. He woke up with a sore throat today, that’s why I’m talking in his stead. His name is Yuèhuā”
“My, is that so?” His expression turns more on the apprehensive side as the man pats his shoulder. “Hopefully it gets better soon for you, boy! Nice to meet you!”
He nods, a faint smile on his face as a symbol of cordiality. Both the doctor and the former test subject share a look of complicity soaked with unspoken appreciation, something the other is quick to catch onto. As always, no words are needed for them to understand each other. They spend some time hanging around Mr. Guo’s shop as they decide what to bring home with them: some veggies, milk, eggs, noodles and two mouth-watering steaks under the shopkeeper’s vehement persistence. When they feel like they have everything they need to survive for at least the next week, they pack all the items away in some plastic bags, another wave of “thank you”s to the older man for his generosity. They try waving him goodbye, but he stops them right before they can depart.
“Wait,” he grabs the doctor’s arm to catch his attention. “Before I forget– here.”
A white handkerchief with golden embroidery emerges from the shopkeeper’s bag, the fabric still pristine as if it had been cleaned up just recently.
“I found this next to my dinner table last night. I suppose you must have left it there after our consultation?”
“Ah!” The doctor’s face instantly lights up when he sees it, marking the object as one of his precious possessions. A sense of utter relief washes him off once he finally reconnects with it, placing it in the comfort of his pocket. “So that’s where it was! Thank you so much, really– oh gosh, I’ve been looking for this all day…”
“No problem! I guess that’s something important to you, right? You seem way too happy about such a simple handkerchief.”
“Well…” there’s a pause, one in which Dōngyáng takes all the time he needs to recall lost times and people forever drowned in the sea of his old memories. He recites his words with a melancholic overlay, a sour aftertaste on his gentle smile. “That was a gift from someone dear to me, that’s why. I’m a rather forgetful person, to be honest, so it’s not unusual for me to forget my things somewhere else…”
A foreign pain stings Yuèhuā’s chest, an ache he can’t quite pinpoint the origin of. Why is this the first time he’s heard of such a thing? Was he not important enough for the doctor to confide in? Why did he keep this a secret from him? Does he not trust him? Can it be that he secretly loathes him? No– no, that can’t be it, or else he wouldn’t have snatched him away from that hellish place. Then why? Why wasn’t he made aware of this? Was he that worthless as a human being? To someone who so deeply desires to know everything about him, to crawl inside his skin and become a part of him until their souls merge together and they can count as one, this might as well count as a stab in the back, a cruel betrayal from the person he loves the most. His heart feels heavy, full and empty at the same time as his emotions swing between white and black. For a moment his stare turns blank, devoid of any hints that can associate him to a living entity, pupils reflecting the scene happening in front of him as he separates himself from reality, a mere ghost spectating the life of someone else in third person.
“You oughta be more careful, boy! I’m a nice person, but I can’t say the same thing about other people.”
Was it something he said or did? Was he ever annoying, or unpleasant to have around? Was he really that unlikeable as a person to begin with? Does he even like him to begin with, or is it all just a huge hoax?
“I know, I know! I just never lost it before, that’s why I was so surprised this time…”
Who even is the person that gave him that handkerchief in the first place? Was it someone more important than him? Were they better than him? Does he like them more? Does he wish they were here in his stead? What kind of relationship did they have? Would he have replaced him with them if he only had the chance to do so? Does he wish he was more like them?
“Consider it a lesson for the future, then! Always check your belongings before leaving.”
If he gave something to him as a present, would he deem it as something important? Or would it be just another useless trash to add to the pile? Would he treasure it, or would he not think much of it? Does he think much of him? Does he like him? Does he hate him? What does he think about him?
“I’ll make sure to do that, thank you!”
Looking at that handkerchief only contributes to enraging him further. He wants to rip it off in a million pieces until its existence becomes a corrupted retrace in the history of time, he wants to erase any proof of the materials it was made with and the fingerprints of the person who made it. Annoying, insufferable, detestable. It should’ve been him. It should’ve been him. It should’ve been his gift instead lying comfortably in the doctor’s pocket. It should’ve been him.
“I think it’s time for us to go now, right Yuèhuā?” His voice works like a spell, the only magic capable of waking him up from his daze: the aftermath of his consuming feelings tastes like iron, a metallic sourness that leaves a mild bitterness in his palate. He’s ashamed at the idea of allowing such indecent thoughts to roam freely inside his mind, to lose his internal battle against his insecurities in such a dire situation. It’s useless to compare himself to other people– he’s him, and they’re them, and the doctor is always so kind to remind him of how much he loves and appreciates him… he can’t be so ungrateful to turn his back to the gates of heaven opened wide before him, to leave his angel all alone with the scenic chorus of cherubs to mellow the wounds of his defeat. There’s an apologetic look on his face as his eyes gloss over the other, but the doctor is not quite sure of the reason behind his sadness –and how could he, after all?– . “Thank you so much again, Mr. Guo! Have a great day!”
This time, they’re finally allowed to leave the shop, the robust arm of the older man still waving to them as their figures confuse themselves with the crowd. Silence befalls the two as they proceed with their exploration, a sepulchral yet ceremonious aura that fades away at the sound of Dōngyáng’s lamblike voice. “Since we didn’t have to use our money,” he subtly drops some hints. “How about we get that caramel apple you really wanted earlier?”
Yuèhuā feels like the whole world just lightened up for him, a cosmic island of stars hidden in plain sight in the amber ocean of the doctor’s eyes. Attention tastes so sweet when it’s given to him exactly when he needs it the most, but there’s still a part of him that feels remorseful at the thought of letting the other spend money on his selfish wants. He grabs onto his sleeve, and the other understands the message he’s trying to relate straight away.
“It’s fine!” He ruffles his hair, and the young man feels the sanctity of benediction on the other’s fingertips. “I want you to try it out for yourself– let me know it tastes, and if you like it. I want you to enjoy all kinds of different foods and tell me your opinions afterward. I’m curious about what beautiful colors you will see this time.”
The young man can taste a slice of paradise in that precise instant, a rapturing euphoria flowing across his entire body until the only thing he can hear is an angelic choir welcoming him to the heavenly kingdom. His thinking becomes pure white again as his mind saturates with feelings of unadulterated adoration for the man, a love he feels in every inch of his body– his head, his lungs, his flesh and bones and obviously that heart that beats so much whenever he graces him with a single glance. Yuèhuā’s state becomes stable again, an enthusiastic nod of his head that makes the doctor giggle gleefully from how adorable he is in that moment.
“Then it’s settled! Follow me– ah, and make sure not to let go of my hand.”
Desolate alleys are their best friends when it comes to spending some time alone in quietude, the chirping of little birds as their only orchestra. Yuèhuā admires the feathered friend in front of him with interest, his beak intent on catching the seeds coming right from the doctor’s pouch. It looks so carefree as he spreads its wings, flying high in the vastness of the sky to reach its next destination: it must be nice, he thinks, to be able to roam around the world of your own accord, without any anchors pinning you down to the mainland. That’s a level of freedom he will never be able to attain, perpetually confined in the trench of his past as he’s forced to lay on the pile of relics of his former selves, a repulsive amalgamation of blood and soil under his nails as a reminder of the futility of his will to escape from imprisonment. He smothers his jealousy in the saccharine taste of caramel, the tanginess of the apple to give a touch of freshness to the treat. It’s a new flavor he senses every time he chews, the sugary coating always present on his lips after each bite.
“How is it?” the other quizzes, staring at him in absolute delight. “You look like you’ve been enjoying your snack.”
He opens his mouth more than once, his voice eventually warming up to the thought of being heard. “De…licious…” he mutters, eyes fixed on the shiny sweet in his hands.
“I’m glad!” a strong exhale. “I’m glad, really. I was worried you wouldn’t have liked it. So that means you like sweets, hm?” He changes tracks once he notices the curiosity on the other’s face. “Ah, sweets are… well, sweet! Their flavor is what separates them from savory food. It’s kind of hard to explain right now, but I’m sure you’ll get the gist of it! I’ll try buying you different kinds of sweets whenever I can afford it so you can sample them all.”
The doctor looks like he would like to say more, but the words can’t come out of his mouth just yet: he grips the fabric of his shirt right in the site where his heart resides, extending his feelings so they can come in contact with the other’s. “You know, Yuèhuā,” he puts on a strong front, one that is easily unraveled by the staggering clue of heartache glazing his voice, by the melancholic hues of sunset hovering on his lips. “This might sound weird and out of the blue, I’m sorry– I just wanted to say that I’m happy you’re here.” The delivery of that line makes both of their hearts race, a bullet shot to suffuse their chest with feathered tenderness. “I’ve been on my own most of my life, so I started to forget how it feels to have someone you can talk to, someone you can hang out with and rely on– that sort of companionship, you know. It’s great. Even if we’re not exactly in a great position right now, I’m happy to have you by my side.”
The young man tugs at the other’s sleeve, a signal the doctor recognizes quite well. “Oh, give me a second– ” he pleads as he rummages through his bag in search of a tiny, simple notebook, the thing that interests Yuèhuā in that point in time: he always does that whenever he needs some ground for him to express the most complex thoughts he’s not able to verbalize just yet. The man offers him a pen to enable his thinking to roam free on paper, a curious look on his face as he patiently awaits for the other’s statement to be delivered. Once he’s done, Yuèhuā flips the journal to the other side to show off his weirdly sophisticated, impeccable cursive to the man of science, a writing that does not seem to belong to someone who’s been living in captivity for a good chunk of his life. Dōngyáng has to flick through old notes to find the one of interest, the ink fresh enough to cause smears on the paper.
[Do you really think so? I don’t feel like I’m really that good of a company, to be honest.]
“What are you talking about?!” Pink threads flutter in the wind, following the rhythm of Dōngyáng’s hand. “Of course you are! You’re the best friend I could’ve ever asked for.”
Yuèhuā has to stare at him in awe, a sinner’s serendipity harvested from his savior’s iolite. After indulging in a short moment of blessing, he resumes his activities, frantically using the pen to let his point across: this time, his writing looks a little messy, as if it has been driven away by his raw emotions.
[You think of me as a friend?]
A clear, crystalline sound bejewels the air around them, a heartfelt laugh prone to melting even the coldest of spirits. He sees the vivid colors of the nebula in Dōngyáng’s tearful smile, in how outstandingly warm his gaze feels on his body. He might have said something stupid, but the doctor does not intend to rub it in his face – instead, he places a soft stroke on the other’s head, a transient touch that makes Yuèhuā lower his head in a shameful way.
“Obviously! Don’t you?”
There’s a cheeky smile on the young man’s face as he repeats the word “friends” in his mind, an ephemeral enlightenment that plays a song of love and devotion with his heartstrings. He’s always thought highly of the doctor, but never once believed he was worthy enough of being called his friend– and yet there he is, so casually bestowed with the title he yearned for ever since. Not another word is required as they listen to the tune of the leaves, swaying peacefully in the air upon reaching the ground. It’s a moment of tranquility that does not last long, for an uninvited guest soon appears on the playground– a stray, gray cat, his little head pointed towards the sky as he aggressively meows in their direction, almost as if he saw something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Oh, a kitty!” It’s endearing how a man of science can so nonchalantly approach such a small creature. “I don’t see a collar, so it’s probably a stray. What are you doing here, little one? Can we help y–”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, for the universe had other plans in store for him: he feels his wrist enclosed in the severity of Yuèhuā’s vigilant hand, a grip so tight it steals his breath away. The guard holds onto his patron like his life depends on it, a billion years of bad luck if he ever lets go of the other. In spite of his petite build, the youngest can outright move Dōngyáng’s robust physique behind his back like mere child’s play, a strength they’re unsure if it belongs to his heritage, or to the fruits of the demons’ cruelty. He throws what’s left of his cherished treat towards the thick foliage of the tree beyond them, waiting for some sort of sound to confirm him of an intruder’s presence. Even if for just a brief moment, the doctor is sure to have spotted a ruby haze near the former subject’s eyes, a phenomena that made them glow with a ferocious ardency that turned him into something that can’t be possibly qualified as human. He can’t do much but stare at Yuèhuā from behind, a civilian at the mercy of his fate. What meets them is nothing but silence, a total absence of sound that dissipates the tension in the air– just them, the autumn breeze, and the unaware kitten at their feets. Resigned, the bodyguard turns around to face his dearest partner, his visage strained with worry as he gazes at his reflection in the other’s eyes. He leaves space for his silent question to be dispatched, until it arrives at its final destination– the doctor’s keen, observant mind.
“I’m alright…!” Catching his breath after such an abrupt series of actions is no easy task. “I’m alright, no need to worry about me. Is something wrong? Did you hear something?”
A hushed, yet severe “danger” comes out of his lips as a whisper, not taking down his guard despite the apparent false alarm. It’s obvious that the guard sensed something back then, be it just a gut’s feeling or a tangible threat. And the brunette knows well that he needs to trust the other’s judgment and senses, enough to not dismiss the importance of his claims. He ponders about his next course of action for a while, taking the younger’s distress into consideration for his final choice.
“So you’re saying it’s dangerous here…”
“Go… home.” Yuèhuā attempts to notify, a warning Dōngyáng doesn’t feel to ignore. His eyes brim with resolve as he takes his stance, his fingers tracing the path from the other’s wrist to his hand, pulling it in a secured embrace.
“Let’s head back, then. We bought noodles and veggies, so how about cooking something nice for dinner tonight? You’re more than free to help me if you want.”
The rest of their conversation blends itself with the colors of the sunset, a marriage formed from the union of hues of charming gold and wine red. Even after being succumbed to such a scare, they’re still able to laugh and chat like nothing truly happened as they walk freely around the neighborhood, shielded by the suffused light of the settling sun. Back at their spot, the cat still stands there unbothered by the prior display he’s been subjected to, its meows growing more acute as it focuses its attention on the big tree before it. Unexpectedly, a faint sound of rustling leaves can be heard as a figure gradually climbs down the log, making sure nobody was around to witness it as a true assassin would. He shakes his head, remnants of now withered leaves abandoning the nest made in his silver hair. He’s quickly approached by the small animal as he enthusiastically rubs its little head on his leg, a content concerto of purrs to express his joy upon seeing him.
“Geez…” he sighs, even though his hand finds his way on the cat’s head, lovingly scratching its fur. “You almost made them find out about me. What am I gonna do with you?”
There’s a teasing affection in his remark, one which the cat replies with an apologetic meow. He ends up forgiving it as always, absentmindedly petting his tiny assistant as he recalls the details of the conversation he eavesdropped.
“Their faces were exactly like in the photos… it’s them, I’m sure of it.”
He didn’t get as much intel as he wished, but the exchange was still something worth taking a quick note of, since it helped him discover a couple of informations he’s not been provided with. He tries recalling the appearance of their targets, from the doctor’s prominent features and fancy glasses to the guard’s long, glossy hair, to the look of unrestrained bloodlust that truly marks him as a war machine. Remembering the unforgiving sanguine glow in the young man’s eyes sends chills down Xīyáng’s spine, a morbid appetite that makes him shiver in hunger as a chuckle breaks free from his trembling lips.
“As I guessed,” amusement tip-toes on his words. “You’re just like me, after all.”
The cat looks at him with its head tilted in confusion, to which he has to reply by another series of cuddles to confirm that he’s alright. That seems to placate his grotesque lust, a smirk of satisfaction as he shifts his gaze to the horizon.
“This is going to be so much fun.”