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Gone were the days where Yi Sang peered into the ornate mirror to see a face plump with hope and vigor. To witness eyes that sparkled like a sea being blessed by the sun rays. Now his visage was robbed of most of its life. His cheeks turned a bit hollow. His eyes were akin to an ordinary stone; dull and lifeless. Yi Sang’s hair, which was once short and bobbed as he walked, grew greatly in length to a sheer curtain that hung from his head. A matted thing that curled at the ends from the usual lack of care.
Without giving it much thought, he listlessly picked up a wide tooth comb. An item made from fine marble that once belonged to the Young Miss. One of few items that he was allowed to keep. Much like the mirror that reflected his sulking face. The comb had no special value to her. It was one of many things gifted to her on her makeshift birthday or to curry favor. But now its value was worth more than all the treasures that could be found glistening in the family vault. It was the very same comb that once ran through her hair. The cause of much of the Young Miss’ childish fussying. Yi Sang could almost feel his lips quivering into a smile that hasn’t graced his features in ages.
He winced as the comb dug and yanked at his hair. Pain, whether it be physical or emotional, no longer concerned him, so his rhythm remained mostly unchanged. It only stuttered with unwanted nostalgia such as the time when the Young Miss asked for her hair to be placed in braids or when vision of…his face ebbs and flows in his mind. A face that ranges from irritating smugness, to a smile woven by emptiness and to impassiveness not to unlike his own. No longer a sweet child, but a mere bitter shell of his former self.
But there were…certain occasions. Events that felt more rare than stumbling upon a long forgotten artifact. When the beast within the Lord’s chest peacefully slumbers. Sometimes, he wished to take Yi Sang on a trip to brighter memories. Where he and the Young Miss behaved like any other pair of siblings who didn’t have threats looming overhead. A time where the Lord possessed a deep admiration for him. A peaceful co-existence where he wasn’t shackled to his very whims.
Yi Sang didn’t know what came over the Lord on that day. Not a single knock accompanied his presence. He did at least have the decency to just glimpse beyond the now opened door with expectation weighing heavily upon his face instead of wordlessly barging into the room meant for the adept. Yi Sang allowed him in with a stiff nod. Not like he would have much of a choice.
“Is there something that you need, my Lord?”
At first, the Lord only had eyes for the comb nestled in his grip. Another beat of silence passed. Yi Sang opened his mouth to repeat his question, but the man cut him off with a flat response.
“Your hair,” was all he needed to say for Yi Sang to feel a firm tug on his leash.
The Lord was surprisingly…gentle. Not that he was particularly cruel towards his most polished tools. There was barely any discomfort in the way his mane parts in the Lord’s hands. Just a small tug here and there. There were times where the teeth of the comb would graze his scalp. The friction came with a tingling sensation that didn’t feel unpleasant.
“You have been neglecting your care. Again.”
He said it in a tone one would use for commenting on the weather. Unfeeling, but not necessarily cold. A low hum rumbled in Yi Sang’s throat. It wasn’t the first time the Lord has made such a comment. Even now, there was a subtle “mend it” command in his words. The smallest hint of concern that could be easily missed.
“My apologies, my Lord.”
They remained quiet as the Lord tended to his hair. What exact reason beckoned the man to do this? Yi Sang didn’t question it. Would he even receive an adequate answer in the first place? Some ideas swirled in his buzzing mind. Even this man wasn’t immune to a sudden flood of memories that now tasted bittersweet on one’s tongue. Jia Baoyu only trusted a select few with his hair and Yi Sang was one of them. Taking care of one’s or the other’s hair became a daily routine between the trio. At times, he would accidentally braid the precious jade’s hair. The sound of the boy’s infectious giggles would always drown out Yi Sang’s rapid apologies.
When the Lord began massaging his scalp another sound vibrated his voice. A low groan of minimal pleasure. His long eyelashes fluttered until he could see nothing black twinged with red. His heart felt a touch lighter. Before he could even drum up the courage to lean more into him…to let the leash slack against his neck, the touch ended as suddenly as it began. The chair behind him squeaked from the Lord’s abrupt movement. It’s been some time since Yi Sang was able to run his fingers through his hair without it snagging on a knotted thread. He made a small noise of satisfaction.
“Your help is greatly appreciated, my Lord.”
He stared back at the Lord who eyed him through the mirror. An uneasy smile briefly fell on his face before he left without another word.
“Yi Sang?”
The sound of his name made his body jolt as his consciousness came rushing back to the present moment. His nose wrinkled at that unexpectant smell of rot. He looked up and the Lord was looming over him like a willowy tree with that familiar curve of his lips. Yi Sang felt himself shrinking as the other man’s face sank lower to be closer to his.
“You have been neglecting your care once again,” he cooly commented, already slipping the comb out of Yi Sang’s fingers.