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“Yang Cheng,” Xia Qing’s looking at him holding out a damp napkin to him, confusion sets in but before he can ask, she points to his jacket. “You spilled something on your jacket.”
Whipping his head down Yang Cheng finds that there is a stain of amber on the front of the jacket; it stands stark against the blue and white of the hoodie. Alarm ripple’s through him. He had been so good at making sure the piece of clothing had always stayed fresh and spotless. But that was before he went out as much as he does now with Shang Chao, Xia Qing and little Pomelo. Before, when he had made it a habit to take it off when he knew there was a probability that it would get dirty. It had been a neat freak that had stuck with him since he was young.
He reached for the offered napkin but dabbing at the spot only seemed to make the stain worse. Frustration coiled in him; his chair squeaked in protest as he pushed back from the table the sound of it gaining looks from the other people in the restaurant. He didn't care, cursing he pocked the napkin and stripped the jacket off, bundled it in his arms and made his way to the restroom. Xia Qing looked like she was going to chase after him, but she must have realized where he was going, so she backed off.
The restroom was thankfully empty when the door opened, he headed straight for the sink turning the water on the hottest setting that it could go, steam eventually rose up from the tap, fogging the mirror. He dipped the front of the jacket in, grabbed the napkin that he shoved in his pocket, put soap on it and scrubbed.
Tears felt heavy and foreboding as they prickled in the corners of his eyes. It was ridiculous, he knew, to get so emotional over something so trivial. People dirtied their clothes all the time and they didn't get emotional over a piece of fabric.
But this had been his dad’s. His dad has worn this jacket all the time, he wore it when they had cuddled close together when Yang Cheng couldn't sleep. His father had worn it when they went to the conventions, to parks, to the movies. His father had worn it for so many of Yang Cheng's events that after his death he grabbed it and planned to keep it for the rest of his life.
Up to this point he had done just that, he kept it to his side no matter the day, no matter the weather, it was either on him or wrapped tightly on his waist. It was his one comfort, his one stability, his one connection to his father.
Suddenly there's a knock at the door.
Yang Cheng tried to dab at the comers of his eyes with his elbows to wipe away the evidence if any tears had made their way down his face. Slowly, humiliation seemed to flood him as footsteps fell into the room. Childish, this could be seen as childish. Here he was hunched over a sink with a jacket, scrubbing the hell out of the piece of clothing as if his life depended on it. “Sorry,” His voice sounded almost raw, and he cringed at the sound. “I'm almost done. I just– there was – stain–”
“Yang Cheng.”
His breath hitched.
Shang Chao.
He had forgotten about Shang Chao.
He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, maybe loud enough for the other to hear. Again, the hot searing feeling of humiliation set into his body. Because of course it had to be somebody he knew that would come in to talk to him, to console him of what looked like and probably was a downward spiral. Of course, it wasn't some nobody that would go in and go out, they probably might say something to his friends once he was out, like, ‘I saw this kid having a breakdown in the restroom. I wouldn't go in there if I were you’.
But alas lady luck was rarely on his side.
So of course, it was Shang Chao that was there to see his downward spiral.
Yang Chang feels like cursing, feels like he needs to scream. He doesn't though he just digs his fingers into the damp hot clothing wringing it out, hot water droplets make their way down his arm, its grounding, the pain. Footsteps make their way towards him slow and deliberate as if approaching a spooked dog.The urge to scream returns.
“Yang Cheng," Shang Chao says, his name in the most soothing way possible, caring and kind, soft and gentle that he can feel goosebumps form on his skin. “Are you okay?”
He wants to snap back a snide remark of does he look okay? But he doesn't, instead he feels tears starting to pull at his eyes again. He was never good at reigning in his emotions.
Should he lie? Tell Shang Chao that he's fine even if all things point to him being completely not fine.
Or should he do the most honest route? The most sincere route?
‘Yeah, no– sorry Shang Chao, I'm not fine, you see this hoodie, yeah it belonged to my dead dad, now I wear it every day to feel close to him. Not only that but this necklace I wear all the time that was my mothers, my dead mother.’
Yeah. No. It's too much.
He breathes in.
He breathes out.
Shang Chao beats him to anything he might say.
“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
As Yang Cheng let out a sigh of relief, he heard the shuffling of feet. Shang Chao appeared next to him, eyes downcast not looking straight at Yang Cheng. He's grateful, he doesn't know if he could've handled whatever look was in the others eyes.
“Thank you…” he mutters.
Shang Chao nodded. He doesn't say anything though as he watches Yang Cheng continue cleaning but he leans over, hands hovering over the knob to the hot water.
Yang Cheng opens his mouth to protest the action. He's almost done—majority of what looked like grease has come off, just the little remnants remained clinging to the fabric. “Just—”
Shang Chao turns the knob of the hot water, the gushing slowly receding into something more gentle. “It's almost out.” He gestures down to the fabric. “But you, on the other hand, need a break. Your hands are red from the hot water. Relax, take a break, let me help.”
It feels surreal having someone offer him help. It's not that Shang Chao hasn't before but now it's gentle, it's caring and he finds he would like to be on the receiving end of such kindness more. Hands grabs his own and then again the heat of Shang Chao is near his hip gently nudging him off to the side of the other sink.
He's speechless for a second before looking down at his hands–and yes, they're tinted a bright red. He grabs napkins from the dispenser and dries them before turning to Shang Chao and letting out another quiet ‘Thank you’ into the space between them.
His eyes almost feel like they want to clasp close and let tears gently fall away on the soft ground but he stomps it down. He can't appear more timid and weak than he already has in front of Shang Chao.
The water from the sink warms the room but he can still feel the coldness seeping into his skin. Shang Chao is gently needing his hand into the fabric when he's done he checks the spot where the stain was.. His smile is bright and Yang Cheng's heart flutters. “They're all better. We can put it in the load when we get back just in case.”
Relief is instantaneous he feels his legs collapsing from underneath, his body hitting tiled floor with a resonating thump.
“You must think I'm pathetic. Crying over something so ridiculous. So childish. ”
Shang Chao is by his side in an instant, gently putting the wet jacket into Yang Cheng's hands. “Hey I don't think you're pathetic and it's not ridiculous. I'm going to take a guess and say that this jacket means more to you than just a jacket. If it means so much to you, it's not ridiculous. The complete opposite.” Shang Chao squeezes his hand “It's human.”
It's enough to choke off a sob from his throat.
“It's just… this jacket was my dad's, it's the last thing I have of him I can't, I won't get it dirty. It's all I have…I don't even remember his face anymore.”
Yang Cheng shoves his hand underneath his shirt pulling out the necklace. “It was my mother's. This is all I have left of them–I can't lose these, it'll be like losing them all over and I can't do that…Not again.’
“You won't and even if you did, you won't lose them, not really. They live on in you, you know their story and you cherish their memories. They'll always live on in you”
An idea occurred in Yang Cheng's mind at the time. At some point he won't be alive and their memories would fade into the dark and nothingness that was always there. Their thoughts, their actions, their little habits that he still remembered to this day. They would fade and he did not want that he gripped the Jacket tighter even though the water sunk into his white shirt.
“Can I tell you about them?”
“Your parents?”
He nodded.
“I would love that.”
He didn't want to be the only one who remembered them for their lives to be cast aside like they meant nothing. So he told Shang Chao. They sat on the floor for what felt like an hour, words going from Yang Cheng’s mouth and flowing into Shang Chao’s heart.
They would live on through the both of them
There are only a handful of things that Yang Cheng has from when he was a child.
His father's hoodie had been the first thing that he had grabbed when child services escorted him back to his home to collect his things, it was folded on his parents bed the weather had been getting warmer making his father opt for leaving it off. His father couldn't have known what tragic fate that was going to befall him, but Yang Cheng found himself grateful that his father had left the article of clothing behind.He never would have been able to wear it had it been soaked in blood. It was big, so big that the sleeves fell over his hands, the length of it all but reached his knees. He probably looked ridiculous, he didn't care he brought the fabric to his nose and cried as the familiar smell of his father washed over him.
Yang Cheng took in a breath, guilt, grief and anxiety were burning in him, it was all too much
His mothers' necklace had been second; she had it looped on her jewelry tree, he waddled over to grab the rabbit shaped necklace. Fingers tracing the design made it all so real that he would never see her again and would never help her put the silver piece of jewelry on again. More tears pooled off his face, and snot steadily ran down his noise. The clasp was fashioned shut but the constant shaking of his hands made it difficult to remove it from the chain, so he settled for pushing it over his head. It was easy enough the chain fitted over his head almost too perfectly
His feet had led him to his room after that. He stared at his walls, the posters that lined them vibrant and full of all his interests-- from the cartoons he watched to posters of the current top ten heroes. He knew what he wanted to grab as soon as he made his way over here, the figure was nestled neatly on the desk in the same spot his father had left it, he looked at it for a moment then neatly placed it in his bag.
As he left his home for the last time he saw the couch where he and his dad had stayed up and watched countless videos of heroes. His mom would show up after, scolding his father for the late hour and telling Yang Cheng how he needed to stick to his sleep schedule. They had bickered for a moment then after his mother had relented and joined them. He missed those times. He would miss their house. He missed his parents
This would be it, all he would have with him from his childhood, a jacket that fit too big, a necklace that's shine was dull, a figure of the hero who saved him, and the hope that he himself could be a hero too.
Yang Cheng had never told anyone about the jacket that had been his father's, nor the necklace that had been his mother's. But he felt calmer when he told Shang Chao, he felt more at peace than ever. There had been a lightness that he never thought he would never feel again since he was younger.
Now as blood soaked into the jacket, the deep color already seeped into the fabric staining it in the forever color of death. Yang Cheng felt none of that.
Why.
Shang Chao didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to die. He was so much better than Yang Cheng—he had so much more potential than Yang Cheng ever could. Everything Shang Chao wanted to achieve he earned himself. Shang Chao had fought for every opportunity that was presented to him, he had worked diligently and restlessly to land his internships, he had worked hard to make himself a name in the hero society.
Yang Cheng on the other hand had built himself up from a legacy that wasn't even his own to begin with. He sat on a throne out of lies and deceit— and now he had to watch as his kingdom paid the price as walls crumple and the foundation was laid bare. He was slowly coming to a realization that he was made of lies and at some point he was going to be seen as who he was: A fraud.
But the people would never see him as that. To them he was E-Soul. That's all he was and all he could ever be.
He was E-Soul.
At some point he thought that was enough, though that's all he wants to do, help people. Become a hero and save people like E-Soul once saved him. Aspire hope and joy into people who have none, he wanted to be like what E-Soul was to him at once point. But now? Now all of that felt far away now. Untenable. Out of his grasp.
Now it was just sad. Sad and pathetic. He clung to a name that had killed someone he cared for.
Now he was going to use it. Use it to really make a name for himself.
Copper was permeating his noise, the scent still clinging to the Jacket in front of him. Blood was beginning to dry crisp flakes gently falling off as he shifted the jacket in his arms.
Maybe the Jacket was cursed—or maybe Yang Cheng himself was. Cursed to cause pain and despair to others around him. Cursed to watch as people he loved died in front of him.
Cursed, he thought as he imagined his mothers and fathers smile.
Cursed, he thought, as imagined the day in the restroom with Shang Chao.
Cursed, he thought as he remembered giving Shang Chao the Jacket the night before he died.
Cursed, he thought, and it almost felt right.