Work Text:
“Boss, the plays over,”
Sitting on the wooden chair, Sap Yi Siu’s eyes were tightly closed as Gat Cheung’s voice faded from his ear, like a bird fading out of sight.
He tries to collect his scattered thoughts and calm the sense of unease holding him. Though his eyes were closed, flickering lights and fire seemed to illuminate his world, gradually bringing it into focus. He gradually heard the sound of metal weapons clashing on the stage in front of him, followed by the sound of the weapons falling to the ground as the actors bowed before the curtain descended. The play had come to an end, signaling to the audience that it was time to leave.
When Sap Yi Siu opened his eyes, he appeared completely alert, as though he had never been asleep. Gat Cheung’s face was less than two inches from his right cheek, leaning in so close that his breath could almost be felt. Gat Cheung’s fingers brushed against the edge of Siu’s earlobe, then threaded through his messy, wavy hair, as if searching for something hidden within. His hands, accustomed to rough, manual work, lacked gentleness, his gestures more rugged than tender as he tousled Siu’s hair.
The warm breath brushed against Sap Yi Siu’s face, unnoticed by Gat Cheung, who leaned in so close that his own face had turned redder than the lights on stage, unable to bear the searing heat—hotter than the thick humid air after a summer rain.
Sap Yi Siu blinked quietly, stealing a glance at Gat Cheung movements. His deep red hair, neglected for so long, had grown just a little too long, curling messily around his face.
“I want the length to be the same as Boss’s hair,”
Those words stirred a vague memory in Sap Yi Siu’s mind. Gat Cheung had said something similar once before, though he couldn’t recall how long ago it had been. Back then, Gat Cheung’s hair wasn’t this long, and he would often chatter endlessly at Sap Yi Siu’s ear. His topics ranged from the important, ‘where to eat tonight’ to the trivial, such as how many men had joined the Gaa Sai Tong gang. Even his sister’s dating life became part of his running reports. Gat Cheung’s thoughts always seemed disconnected, one idea jumping to the next without any cohesion.
Gat Cheung raised his head and stood upright once more, smiling at Sap Yi Siu as he silently formed the word ‘blood’ with his lips, letting the shape linger for a moment. It was only then that Sap Yi Siu noticed the red smear on Gat Cheung’s fingertips—it was blood. The same fingertips that had traced his hair and earlobe now left their mark, staining them.
Without hesitation, Gat Cheung licked the blood from his palm, his innocent expression entirely unfeigned. As if nothing had happened, he asked casually, “Boss, the play’s over. Do you want to go home?”
The sound of rain rustled softly against the curtains on the stage, and the clanging of weapons outside gradually fell into silence.
“Go home,” Sap Yi Siu spoke.
Outside, the fine drizzle fell, forming puddles on the ground. Ripples spread out one by one—perhaps from the rain, or perhaps from blood. Beneath his black stand-up collar, Sap Yi Siu felt the dampness of sweat collecting on his skin. Maybe it was from the humid air, or maybe it was from Gat Cheung’s casual, careless movements.
“You’re tired, so I’ll send you back,”
Gat Cheung stood in front of Sap Yi Siu, his silhouette backlit by the light. Siu could only make out the blurred curve of Gat Cheung’s smile, but his squinting eye was brimming with joy, as though he were performing a trick. A key appeared in his hand, twirling effortlessly around his right index finger.
“I know you only like to ride motorcycles. I just stole this one—it won’t disappoint you,”
“Let’s go,” Sap Yi Siu said.
He picked up his long blade tied with a red ribbon standing next to the wooden chair and climbed onto the back seat of the dark red motorcycle. Red was a color he both cherished and despised equally, just as he cherished Gat Cheung but despised the sight of blood. But when the two were entwined, perhaps he liked it more than anything else, he thought.
In a fleeting moment of distraction, Sap Yi Siu had already fallen asleep against Gat Cheung’s back—or perhaps he hadn’t fallen asleep at all, only closed his eyes. Gat Cheung, for once, resisted the thrill of speeding on the open road, instead carrying Sap Yi Siu home safely and quietly. The road wasn’t long, but Sap Yi Siu kept his eyes closed, not seeing the red scent in the air that even the night couldn’t conceal. All around them, the swept streets were devoid of life.
Gat Cheung regretted choosing a red motorcycle, thinking to himself that perhaps his Boss didn’t like the color red after all.
The rainy road was empty, with no other subordinates following them. After the play ended, the world seemed to lose its voice all at once, leaving only the two of them behind. Gat Cheung whistled an offbeat melody, uneven and dissociated, breaking the quiet.
And then there was the sound of the heavy rain, a constant rhythm against the silence. It was a hot, humid August night—the height of a stifling summer.