Archive of Our Own

“Ugh, that guy seriously pisses me off sometimes!” Bacchus angrily complains. The teacup he holds between his fingers shakes within his grasp, the liquid inside threatening to spill over. He tries to strengthen his grip around the handle, but his hands won’t stop trembling because damn does Rakta manage to get on his nerves in the worst way possible. So much for having a normal brotherly relationship or whatever. Even though they aren’t actually blood-related.

“Be careful with the fine china,” Sunfei, the youngest and most genial of his two sworn siblings, reminds him. “You don’t want to spill the tea on yourself again, do you?”

That ‘again’ only stokes the flames of Bacchus’ anger—though it injures his pride more than anything else. Why did Sunfei feel the need to bring that up? It was one time—only one time—and the tea was hot enough to leave a nasty burn on Bacchus’ abdomen. Never again.

Bacchus supposes he should properly listen to Sunfei this time around.

“Here, take this,” Sunfei beckons. He hands Bacchus a saucer, rimmed with the same intricate design that borders their teacups. Bacchus accepts the small plate and places it under his own cup, letting it stabilize onto it with a subtle clink.

“Thank you, Sunfei,” Bacchus replies. Sunfei is always so patient, even when he deals with his explosive outbursts. Now Bacchus just feels ashamed. He should know better, as one of the oldest. “Sorry for getting so irritated there.”

Sunfei only smiles back. A silent acknowledgement. “Drink the tea,” he merely responds. “It’ll help you relax.”

Bacchus tentatively brings the cup to his lips. The porcelain isn’t scalding to the touch. That’s good. Sunfei must’ve brewed the tea at a lower temperature this time. Though the scent of it is… questionable. He takes a swig regardless, and the dark liquid is horribly—

—Bitter. Alkaline, even. The staunch earthiness of it floods his palate, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint for Bacchus to not instinctively cough the liquid up. Bacchus can feel his eyebrows furrow, his facial muscles contract and gag reflex nearly kick in—as well as the concerned gaze Sunfei has on him. He chooses to begrudgingly swallow the otherwise lukewarm tea down. The feeling of it travelling down his throat to his esophagus is so, so gross. Why is this blend so horrid? He’s never tasted anything like it.

“Sunfei,” Bacchus breathes, exasperated, “What the hell is this?” He’s accustomed to drinking Sunfei’s bitter herbal teas, but nothing like whatever that was.

“Poppy seed tea,” Sunfei noncommittally responds before taking a sip of his own.

“You’re kidding,” Bacchus remarks, wide-eyed. Sunfei has always been experimental when it comes to his little tea connoisseur hobby—even obtaining the most obscure of blends and pleasantly drinking the most foul-tasting of teas. But this? It’s borderline stupid, especially for someone so intelligent and well-mannered as Sunfei.

Out of everyone in the Red Chanpurus, an officer—especially an officer—should know how dangerous it is to smuggle any sort of drug into Bankoku-gai. Not for the residents, no, because trafficking of drugs (at least) lands you the death penalty. They’re ordered not to show any mercy, because how dare people try to threaten the stability of their city just for a measly profit? Using such underhanded tactics to spread an epidemic of addiction is utterly unforgivable. So why, why would Sunfei try something like this? He’s only had relatively wholesome teas before. Was spending all that time in a crime-riddled Makochi enough to exert a bad influence on him—

“It’s a mild strain—!” Sunfei hastily reassures. The youngest’s once pleasant smile is now overtaken by an expression of guilt-riddled concern. “It isn’t potent enough to be a drug.”

Bacchus breathes out a sigh of strained relief as Sunfei continues, “I should’ve told you beforehand. I’m really sorry, Bacchus.”

Bacchus raises an eyebrow. It isn’t like Sunfei to be… careless? Not like Bacchus can blame him, though. Sunfei’s long-term mission at Makochi must have taken a toll on him mentally. Not to mention the long commutes to the town and back to Bankoku-gai. It’ll take time for Sunfei to get properly settled again. That’s what he thinks is the case here.

Admittedly however… Bacchus is grateful that Sunfei can let his guard down like this. At least around him. Outside, to the residents of Bankoku-gai and fellow Red Chanpuru members alike, Sufang Sunfei is a reliable and mature young man. Always polite and gracious, even with the power he holds as an officer. All at fifteen years old. Still Bacchus is worried, of course, even if he knows how capable his sworn brother is. Yet Sunfei always hesitates to divulge his true feelings to those he’s closest with.

Nothing like Bacchus, who is apparently ‘too easy to read’—the familiar words slip into his mind like a drug, pliant and vexatious. Just thinking about Rakta’s dumb nagging gets him agitated all over again. Why is he like this? Bacchus takes another sip of his tea and bears the acrid taste of it.

“It’s fine,” Bacchus finally responds, setting the saucer down on the table. He takes another sip of his tea, and the strong, earthy taste is a bit more tolerable now. “I was the one who suddenly joined you during your tea time. Should’ve been me asking about the tea earlier instead.”

Bacchus looks at Sunfei, the latter's expression now unreadable. Blank, save for the shallow gleam of his sanguineous eye, the thin press of his thinner lips. It makes him uneasy when the youngest starts acting distant. Out of reach. “But like,” Bacchus starts, “this tastes awful. It’s more awful than your usual blend herbal tea, and that’s saying something.”

Sunfei tips his teacup towards himself. Of course he’s able to drink something so foul without even a grimace. Bacchus can’t see Sunfei’s lips properly with the cup obstructing them, though words come from his mouth anyway: “As I said, the tea helps with relaxation.”

Bacchus takes an inquisitive stare at his own cup. In it he sees his warbled reflection within the dark colored liquid. Maybe it’s late, but he does look… tired.

Well, being part of the Chanpurus is a stressful job, even with his years of experience. From patrolling the streets with his brothers (where Rakta always insults him any time Bacchus speaks up), taking care of troublemakers and the stray bandit (to which Rakta always criticizes his fighting style), and training the kids at Crimson Vortex (Rakta has some choice words to say about his teaching style, too), keeping up with the studying that Sunfei and—Rakta seem to diligently keep up with, and Rakta’s nuisance of a presence whenever Sunfei’s away was so—

Okay.

He does need to relax. And forget about this.

“If the tea is too strong, you can always have some of the new sweets I bought,” Sunfei offers, motioning to the quaint table in front of them. It’s littered with snacks—most of them being typical Chinese teacakes, though there are a few distinct sweets that look more domestic. They must be Japanese, given that few of them are shaped like cherry blossoms. All colorful and cute.

Bacchus says nothing of it and takes another sip of the tea. The aftertaste of it is a lot more bearable now. He places the saucer on the table, cradling the cup with both of his hands instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bacchus can see Sunfei’s now visible lips soften into that typical, reliable Sunfei smile. His familiar rictus just comes that naturally.

“So,” the boy begins, “What were you saying about that guy making you feel… irritated?”

Bacchus doesn’t immediately answer, opting to gaze at his now empty teacup. The once porcelain-white is now enveloped by a concave-like film of the liquid’s scant remains. The china looks like a muddied bowl now. Mindlessly he reaches towards the center of the table, to the teapot that stands amidst the array of sweets, and pours himself another cup of poppy seed tea.

“Forget about it,” Bacchus relents. “It’s just about the typical bullshit Rakta puts me through. Not like that behavior of his will ever change.”

“Bacchus…” Sunfei tilts his head, imploring, the cast shadows under his eye striking. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He takes a rather small sip of his tea in tandem.

Bacchus only blinks at the youngest. Shouldn’t I be saying this to you, he thinks, but it’d be a fool's errand to coax Sunfei into opening up like this.

“I just don’t get why he always insults me like that,” he sighs, relenting. He drinks his tea in one gulp this time, letting the bitter aftertaste overwhelm his frustrations away. It’s a miracle he hasn’t spat any of the liquid out.

“I think all those insults come from a place of concern, though.”

“Wuh-?!” Bacchus makes sure to swallow first before he chokes his confusion out. The liquid harshly scrapes the inner walls of his throat. This isn’t another one of Sunfei’s little lies, is it? Or is it just the typical, vague nonsense he spews out sometimes? The kind of stuff that only a smartass like Rakta can supposedly understand?

“No way in hell,” Bacchus argues. “That guy would never—”

Sunfei interrupts him regardless: “But if you think about it… Rakta only talks down on things like your fighting style, or your language skills. Things that can always be improved on.”

“So you’re saying I’m not good enough?” Bacchus retorts, eyebrows furrowing. Instinctually he finds his fingers reach the teapot again, feels his hand tip tea into his cup again before placing the pot back in the center. Somehow they don’t tremble.

“Oh, no, no,” Sunfei waves his free hand placatingly, “I know you work hard already, Bacchus. You’re doing a good job,” he smiles.

A pang of guilt, sharp and needle-like, twists inside Bacchus upon hearing those words. Sunfei is just trying to give him a peace of mind. Like he always does. He’s always so patient and polite. Bacchus likes that about Sunfei. As much as it worries him that Sunfei can only be placating at times.

Sunfei is nothing like Rakta after all, who quite frankly acts like he’s dead inside no matter the occasion. Like an emotionless robot. Maybe his emotions have died out after all these years. Begrudgingly, Bacchus cannot fault Rakta for that.

Well, he has enough snark left to be a total asshat around Bacchus. Even then, he’ll still have that blank gaze, those blank eyes that somehow pierce through Bacchus’ soul. Not that he likes looking at them or anything. At least Sunfei’s smiles can easily be summoned onto his features, no matter how ingenuine they may be.

Bacchus can’t remember the last time Rakta has cracked a smile. If he’s smiled even once in the past couple of years. Is Bacchus forgetting something? Sunfei once told him a smile is a reflection of the beauty in one’s soul. A precious commodity. Is that why Sunfei is so eager to always offer his own? Bah. Whatever. Bacchus downs another mouthful of tea.

He might as well apologize to the youngest—again: “Sorry, Sunfei. Please continue.” The tact in his words feels unstable. Bacchus darts his eyes downward, to his half-empty cup, not wanting to look at the expression on Sunfei’s face now.

He hears Sunfei shift in his seat. “I think Rakta just wants to see your full potential. Everyone has the capacity to improve, right? Even if one thinks of themselves to be adequately equipped, there are always new heights they can soar to. New things they can learn. New sides they can discover about themselves...” he trails off.

Bacchus flits his eyes back to Sunfei, who now holds one of the blossom-shaped tea snacks between his fingertips. His lips are parted, ready to pop it into his mouth, but his eye—

—His singular eye is clouded over. Empty, as he listlessly stares at the sweet. Not even blank like Rakta’s usual bitch-face.

Despite the static haziness of his iris and the droop of his eyelid, Sunfei keeps his gaze intently fixed on that blossom-shaped snack. It’s of a piercing intensity that Bacchus cannot fathom to even describe.

Because Sunfei is utterly unreachable like this. Nothing Bacchus will say or do can reach him. He’s impossibly distant, like he’s stranded at the ends of the Earth. Or in a small town two hours from home.

“S-Sunfei?” Bacchus questions. He wants to express his concern more adequately, because why is Sunfei acting so hesitant and dissociative right now, yet he cannot muster the words to articulate his feelings. Maybe Sunfei can’t either.

A candid flash brightens Sunfei’s eye upon Bacchus’ call, and he nearly jolts in his chair. Nearly, because the youngest is not the type to let himself be scared so easily. They’ve all dealt with much more harrowing things. Things that they wouldn’t want to even disclose to each other—god forbid they remind themselves of their shortcomings—stuck to the back of their mouths like sticky caramel. Maybe it’s more like embittered tea?

The three do sometimes make an effort to confide in each other, at least. In mundane moments like these, over a cup of tea or a bowl of food. Even Bacchus and Rakta talk to each other when they aren’t at each other's throats. About the things they don’t want their young Sunfei to know.

With the way Sunfei’s gaze still lingers on that damn sweet, Bacchus can’t bring himself to pry into the youngest’s worries, or even vocalize his own. The intensity of the tea has numbed his mouth, like there’s cotton in his gums. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to know. That it isn’t his place to know.

Because he can’t help Sunfei all that much in the end. Even as his older brother, even when they’ve known each other for so long. This is a fact Bacchus has long since accepted. He can’t bother to be ashamed of it anymore. Sunfei is just Sunfei, and Bacchus can’t change that about him.

“Ah. Sorry, Bacchus. I zoned out for a bit~” Sunfei apologizes. Even his words have this faraway echo in every syllable, each enunciation impassive.

The boy places the blossom-shaped sweet in his mouth finally—he chews exactly four times, then swallows it completely. “This is good,” he distantly comments. Bacchus wonders how that tiny snack drew Sunfei’s interest more than the bitter tea made of literal flower seeds.

“I’m sure,” Bacchus noncommittally responds as he finishes the rest of his drink. He feels the mechanical movements of his hand reaching for the teapot and pouring himself yet another cup, but his mind doesn’t consciously process these actions. “What was that snack?”

Sunfei doesn’t answer. “Bacchus, you seem to have taken a liking to the tea,” he says instead, while the latter places the teapot back on the table, again. Sunfei’s lips curve into his typical smile—again: “If you can handle this strong of a blend, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle Rakta’s chiding. Handle anything, really.”

“W-well, yeah,” Bacchus stammers. He has become accustomed to the strange taste of it indeed. How curious.

Bacchus finishes all his tea in a singular gulp once more, as if to prove Sunfei’s claim, before continuing, “I get what you’re saying, but… why? Why does he have to be so mean about it, then? Aren’t people supposed to show concern in a—yanno—concerned way?”

“It’s how he expresses his care indirectly. You know he isn’t the type to show his true feelings outwardly. That’s just how he is. It’s natural to be like that,” Sunfei rationalizes.

But you’re the exact same in that regard, Bacchus thinks. How is that okay? But he shoves those thoughts down and pours his fifth—sixth?—cup of tea. The ceramic teapot feels considerably lighter this time.

“What does that even mean?” Bacchus retorts. He purses his lips around the cup and drinks. It doesn’t taste like anything anymore. Weird.

“Rakta just wants to challenge you. He probably thinks that riling you up will motivate you to work harder,” Sunfei supplies. “Though, I suppose that isn’t working, is it…” he sheepishly trails off. Damn right it isn’t. If anything, it just makes him feel angrier. At Rakta, and at his own inadequacies. Even though Bacchus thinks of himself as a perfectly capable person, despite not being as diligent as Rakta or Sunfei.

“We’ve known each other for years. From training under the same master to our promotion as officers. Even if you two argue all the time, I know Rakta still cares for you. You care for him too, right Bacchus?”

The man in question stills. A beat passes, then two, after Sunfei voices his doubt. Then:

“…Yeah. I do.” Bacchus can admit this, at least. No matter the grievances he harbors towards his sworn brother, no matter how annoyed he gets, Bacchus undoubtedly cares for him. It’d be silly for him not to, no? The trust and care he places in Rakta and Sunfei is nigh unquantifiable—so much so that Bacchus wishes he could simply be a bit more at ease around Rakta.

It used to be like that when they were younger. Or was it? Bacchus doesn’t like dwelling on the past—none of the three do. No matter how much it’s hurt them, how much it haunts them, even—they have to focus on their duties as Red Chanpuru members. That’s just how it is. Their dedication to the organization and the people of Bankoku-gai is more important than their individual problems. They all have to look forward to the future, even if Bacchus is doubtful that things will ever improve.

Still… Bacchus can’t help but remember what it was like before. Rakta did smile more when they were children, and Sunfei even less. Maybe they’ve become too jaded throughout the course of their lives, because now it feels like Sunfei and Rakta have swapped places: the younger brother full of vitality, the older impassive and indifferent. While Bacchus has always been the same old Bacchus. Stationary, stuck in the same place with his brothers soaring to greater heights—as Sunfei himself oh so wisely put it.

But that stagnant familiarity isn’t so bad. As long as they can carry out their duties to the best of their abilities, change doesn’t matter. It’s really just an excuse that Bacchus tells himself, but this cognizant routine of theirs is, at the very least, comfortable. A constant in their tumultuous lives. Maybe it’s why he lets Rakta always get under his skin—why he never questions it and can only half-heartedly threaten him back. Maybe it’s why he lets Sunfei go about his own business, even if he harbors burdens no kid his age should.

Despite that, Bacchus still sees Sunfei’s smile every day. Even after everything they’ve been through and continue to experience. It must be some sort of innate power someone like him could never obtain. Though Bacchus wonders what one from Rakta’s nasty mouth would look like nowadays. What the beauty of his soul is like, now older and wiser.

Because Bacchus does love him—that has never changed. Or will ever change.

In the way sworn brothers do. The same way he loves Sunfei. Obviously. Even if he hates Rakta’s guts sometimes. Even if neither of them will admit it. Bacchus has heard that sibling relationships are like this sometimes. They fight, then make up, because at the end of the day they’re family, right? But Rakta has never apologized to him, so what does that make them? And he’s supposed to think he actually cares? This is why Bacchus doesn’t think about these things. They’re too complicated for his brain to handle.

“I don’t doubt you, Sunfei, but how do you know all this…? If it’s even true?” Bacchus wonders aloud. The always studious and forever intelligent Sunfei knows so much about the world. Even about the things he should’ve never known. Or experienced. Seriously, what is Bacchus doing taking advice from a fifteen-year-old? It should be the other way around—though these kinds of things do allow a mutual compromise of sincerity. He supposes he can’t complain.

“I just do,” Sunfei simply replies. He isn’t looking at Bacchus anymore, instead staring down at his empty teacup mindlessly. Something inscrutable shadows his lone eye—perhaps it’s sadness? It doesn’t show on his lips, however—there is a certain tenderness to the corners of his mouth that Bacchus can’t quite place. He can only wonder what Sunfei sees within the dome-like hollow of patterned ceramic.

Now it’s Sunfei reaching for the teapot after he snaps out of his trance, only to come to a standstill when he holds it in his hands.

“Bacchus.” Sunfei’s voice is pointed like a blade. More like a metaphorical finger at Bacchus: “The teapot is empty.”

“Oh.” Bacchus stupidly murmurs. Since when… When did he finish all of the tea? “Sorry—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Sunfei mumbles impassively. Still Bacchus cringes, able to discern the disappointment in his tone. “I’ll just brew another batch tomorrow.”

Bacchus clicks his teeth. Since when did he get so… overzealous? He should be a bit more sorry for finishing all of Sunfei’s brew, yet the only thing he feels is this latent languidity flowing throughout his body. He can’t find the will to apologize again.

Instead, Bacchus places his cup on the saucer in front of him. “You can have the rest of mine,” he offers. Better to show than tell, right? They’ve known each other long enough to casually use each other's utensils.

“No need,” Sunfei responds. A smile graces his features again. “If I knew you’d take this much of a liking to it, I would’ve made more.”

“I didn’t know I’d drink this much, either…” Bacchus sheepishly comments. “It’s uh. It’s—”

“It is?”

Bacchus stares at his cup. Seriously, how did he get so carried away? This stuff doesn’t—didn’t—even taste good.

“Nevermind,” he sighs. Bacchus picks his teacup up, perhaps with less hesitation than he’d like. “So about Rakta,” he starts again, just to distract himself, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“W-well,” Bacchus coughs, “Thanks to this new… realization I’ve had—well, because of you—am I just supposed to take it to heart less?”

“Who knows,” Sunfei muses. “Maybe you could tease him back a bit. Just to show you understand his true intentions.”

Huh.

That’s pretty smart, actually. Why has he never thought about that? He’s always threatened to kick Rakta’s face in for his snide comments instead of simply reciprocating that criticism. Bacchus could take out his frustrations easily, but—

“I’ve never been good with my words, you know,” he sighs. “What am I supposed to say to him?” He drinks the rest of his tea in one go.

“You’ll get that spark of inspiration sooner or later,” Sunfei grins. An almost mischievous one, Bacchus notes. Though he still has no idea what Sunfei means.

Bacchus doesn’t dwell on it. He places his empty teacup on the saucer again and gets up from his seat. “Thanks for the tea. And advice. It’s getting late, so I’ll clean up for us.” That should be a more apt repentance for greedily gulping up all that tea.

Sunfei’s eyebrows soften. “Thank you, but—”

“It’s not every day that you get to sleep so early, right? So turn in for the night,” Bacchus advises. Someone as young as Sunfei needs his full eight hours of sleep, after all. Before his mission ceased, he was coming back home at thirty-past-eleven sometimes. That’s no time a teenager should be sleeping at. Not that his position as an officer lets him be an actual kid, anyway. None of them has had that luxury of innocence.

Sunfei just nods in surrender, getting up from his seat. “I suppose that’s true. Good night, Bacchus.”

“Good night, Sunfei,” he replies. Bacchus watches the youngest disappear from their alcove near the kitchen and into his sleeping quarters. He can only hope Sunfei does actually sleep soon.

Bacchus focuses on the task at hand: cleaning the table. Usually Sunfei does this, but he’s at least sensible enough to know how to do the dishes and where to put away any remaining food. Obviously.

He makes quick work of putting the sweets away in their respective cabinets. Gently piling the ceramic dishes together—their clinks resounding like a wind chime—Bacchus dumps them into the kitchen sink and… stares. Suddenly the red intricate flowers that adorn the edges of the cups, coiling the teapot’s handles and body seem very, very mesmerizing.

He should turn on the water. So he does, and it flows from the spout in a neat, linear stream. Save for when the running water hits the ceramic-pile in a huge splatter. Multiple, continuous splashes, as water flecks from the various dishes. The hollow teacups fill to the brim, each one overspilling tiny waterfalls.

It’s a waste of water, Bacchus realizes. Indolently he continues staring. Blankly. He does not reach for the scrubber, or the gentle dish soap, or even the faucet. His hands instead are stationed to his sides, sweaty and clammy and trembling. All while the abscissa of red flowers beam at him, the elaborate patterns sinuous like blood. The shiny teeth-flashes of white between the compacted reds are sultry, brighter than light, the curve of the cups and the spilling, streaming water, and, and—

He’s high, isn’t he?

The distant realization surprises Bacchus himself. Right. That makes total sense. At least he’s self-aware enough to catch when he’s slipping.

Of course he’s high. It must’ve been all the poppy seed tea. Opioids, huh? Bacchus assumed Sunfei was just being experimental, but was he trying to drown his worries in a drug? He can’t do that. Not at his age. Not ever. Bacchus never should’ve let that slide. He shouldn’t have.

For some reason, he can’t bring himself to get mad at Sunfei’s idiocy. It’s like all negative emotion and energy have been drained from him like a flowing waterfall, pooling in the basin of his soul. Yeah. The tea is making him relax.

On that note, Bacchus finally turns the faucet off. With it, the water’s flow ceases, leaving the rest of it stagnantly pooled in the ceramic teacups. He should at least deal with all this before—

“I’m home.”

—Rakta’s back.

For a split-millisecond—so fast and fleeting that he nearly loses that foul feeling if it weren’t instinctual, ingrained into his nervous system—Bacchus is annoyed. Why is he back so early? Especially in a situation like this. Rakta’s just going to make fun of him again. Fuck.

Yet when his eyes jolt wide open at Rakta’s disembodied voice, when he whips his head towards the click of the door, he feels nothing but pure, pure elation.

Any residual anger Bacchus has immediately gets snapped out of his memory. It’s good to see Rakta. It feels good to see Rakta.

“Welcome home!” Bacchus calls out, ecstatic. He’s truly, truly so happy to see someone he loves after such a long day. So why does Rakta only raise a skeptical eyebrow at the pitch-perfect mania in his voice? Is he not happy to see Bacchus either?

Bacchus will try to be more accommodating, then. “How was your day?” he asks, suppressing the hysteria infecting his tone.

“Fine…?” Rakta is still confused. Why? Can’t Bacchus be nice to his brother for once? Kill Rakta with kindness?

Bacchus blinks. Yeah. Maybe this is what Sunfei meant. If he can’t top Rakta, he’ll just have to stoop below his level. Killing them with kindness, huh? Just to rebuff how mean Rakta can get.

“Tough day at the dojo, hm?” Bacchus keeps his hawk-like stare fixed on Rakta, the talons of his gaze sinking into his brother’s very being. The dirty dishes in the sink have now been utterly forgotten.

“Hey, idiot. What are you talking about.” Rakta asks. With no question mark.

“You know, like going on patrol without our backup, dealing with petty disputes and thievery, having to kick the living lights outta—” Bacchus rambles on, but then he pauses. Those aren’t the duties they perform at the dojo: “Oh, did I say dojo? I mean work. Work. A hard day at work. My bad!” he hysterically chirps. 

Before Rakta can unleash some sort of counterargument, Bacchus strides over to his side in a heartbeat. Poor guy, he must be taking his frustrations out on Bacchus like this because he's been so tired and stressed from work. Not to worry! Rakta’s loving brother is here to take care of all his worries. Bacchus slips behind the man, places both of his hands on Rakta’s shoulders, and guides him away from the lounge to the alcove near their kitchen.

Bacchus then pushes him onto the chair Sunfei once sat in. Thanks to their difference in height and build, moving Rakta around doesn’t take much effort from his end. Almost like Bacchus is manhandling him. The idea of manipulating Rakta’s body in all sorts of ways, limbs pliant without the slightest bit of resistance, makes something twisted and euphoric boil in Bacchus’ stomach. His brain feels fuzzy with it, too. How long has it been since he’s sparred with Rakta? He’s raring to go, eager to release all this ecstatic energy pooling in his head, but first—

“I’ll fix you a cup of nice, piping-hot tea to help you relax,” Bacchus smiles at Rakta. Rakta only stares at Bacchus. Blankly, save for the furrow of his thick brows and the crease between his eyes.

Bacchus pays no mind to it and turns back to the kitchen. He keenly darts his eyes around the space, but they decide to settle onto the sink full of neglected dishes instead. Right. He was supposed to do that earlier. But Bacchus really doesn’t want to… doesn’t Sunfei have extra tea sets around here? He shouldn’t waste Rakta’s time, not when it’s so late. Both of them have a long day tomorrow.

Bacchus blinks, and suddenly Rakta is right in front of him. Blocking the sink with a stern glare on his face. When did he get out of his seat? The one Bacchus oh so graciously allocated for him?

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Rakta snaps. His fists ball at his sides.

“What, I can’t do anything nice for my fellow brother?” Bacchus smiles, the corners of his rictus stretching up, up, up—until they reach his eyes. Eyes that are chock-full of Rakta, Rakta, Rakta. “Even if you insult and berate me all the time, I still love you, you know.”

Now it’s Rakta’s turn to act all flustered—his dark eyes widen for a moment, before darting away to some benign corner of his room. He tsks at the comment, but even if Rakta won’t face Bacchus, there’s no hiding the flush that creeps his normally stoic face. Cute. The furrow of his eyebrows are cute, too. Bacchus hopes he’s writhing under the weight of his words. Who knew revenge would feel so good—though Master would rebuke him for harboring such vindictive and malicious thoughts.

“A-are you drunk? Dumbass,” Rakta questions, agitated. That stutter makes Bacchus’ pride as well as something in his chest swell and soar into the sky. Oh, how blessed he is… how truly jovial he is at this very moment…

The wide grin plastered on Bacchus’ face is beginning to ache, but it doesn’t die down. This must be what Sunfei feels when he flashes that typical, reassuring smile all the time. And in typical Sunfei fashion, Bacchus can only offer a half-truth: “No.”

He acts way more rambunctious when he’s chugged down a good spirit or two. Nothing like this fizzling, fluttering bliss metastasizing throughout his body right now. But that doesn’t stop Rakta from angrily backing him forward, demanding further answers. Bacchus walks backward in tandem with Rakta’s menacing steps, but his ankle hits the tea table behind. And Rakta uses this opportunity to push Bacchus downwards and pin the upper half of his body onto the small table.

Bacchus gasps in surprise when Rakta catches his wrists. His knees uselessly bend toward the table, inadvertently accommodating the other man’s looming form. It takes a moment for his brain to adjust to the difference in position, but when Bacchus glances up at Rakta that feel-good ecstasy begins to slowly dissipate.

Instantaneously Rakta’s pupils dilate upon eye contact, two dark chasms swallowing the luster of his irises. In tandem they swallow Bacchus, too—trapped, he can only gaze back at the abyss that engulfs him wholly. Rakta’s gaze makes him feel small, like a little child, and he hates it because despite their difference in height and strength, Rakta still manages to hold dominion over his being.

“Bacchus.” The use of his name—not birdbrain, not moron, not idiot, but Bacchus—is a blade piercing his chest. The second sentence twists it in deeper: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I'm nuh’ lying,” he slurs. His heart jackhammers against his sternum, ready to burst at any moment. Though Bacchus can’t help but still cling to the unravelling ribbons of his elation. What’s Rakta going to do now? He’s terrified. He’s thrilled. Bacchus’ face and body and mind surge to feverishly warm temperatures under Rakta’s hold, and beads of perspiration matte his forehead with sweat.

Instead of replying to his excuse, Rakta shifts himself downward, then leans forward. Closer and closer and closer as if they're about to kiss. The grip he has on Bacchus’ wrists only tightens. Sunfei would be pissed at them, using his tea-table for such filthy, filthy things. But, but still— Bacchus can’t help but—

But Rakta’s nose only twitches when he reaches Bacchus’ lips, before retracting himself. The latter stifles a groan of disappointment between his teeth. At the very least, he was looking forward to Rakta using that nasty mouth for something useful…

“I don’t smell any alcohol on you,” Rakta comments. His eyes are nothing but dull, yet within those hollows there is that wayward glint which perforates incandescently. It splits his dark irises into so many splinters of light—pure, pure light. Maybe Bacchus is seeing things. But all he wants to do is look at Rakta’s eyes—lose himself in Rakta. Lose himself in this feeling, this reverie, so even when the curtains eventually drop Bacchus will never, ever forget that fleeting, sacrosanct moment.

Rakta is so, so beautiful, even with those stupid stern eyes, rebellious strands of his usually neatened hair loosely draping like vines near his pretty face…

“What the hell is going on with you?!” Rakta interrogates. Those harsh words snap Bacchus back to reality—instead of Rakta’s eyes only, he can see the scowl his mouth has twisted into and the stress-lines that fold his skin inwards. His breath hitches. If Rakta finds out about the poppy seed tea, he’s toast. Not only him, but Sunfei too. Bacchus has at retained enough of his sanity to come to that realization.

“I… might’ve had a few glasses of wine earlier…” Bacchus mindlessly mumbles. He hopes the false confession will ease Rakta off of him.

“There were no wine glasses in the sink.”

“Cause I had to clean them before Sunfei’s tea time.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Rakta retorts, though there is an undercurrent of worry and desperation to his voice that Bacchus doesn’t fully register. “I can obviously tell you were just having tea with Sunfei instead of your bullshit excuse. You’ve always been terrible at lying. Nothing I wouldn’t expect from a moron like you.”

And that—does it for Bacchus.

“Why are you always like this—?!” he exclaims. Bacchus yanks his wrists free from Rakta’s hold, flicking them. Rakta only jolts backwards at the abrupt motion. Fuck what Sunfei said. He’s just a hurtful bastard through and through. Something awful and pathetic begins to uproot itself in Bacchus.

“All you do is insult me no matter what I do! It’s so unfair! And mean! Why are you always so mean to me, Rakta?!” he cries out. Like a petulant, small child.

Rakta’s face morphs into one of confusion as Bacchus rambles on: “Even when I try to be nice to you and do something good, you still dismiss me! Even when I try my best, you always have something to say—”

“Bacchus—”

“SHUT UP!” the man bellows. He gets up from the table in one swift motion, sheer adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Why are you—you—” Bacchus starts, but the words die in his throat. Because Rakta already knows of his worries and issues. Bacchus does, too. He doesn’t need to say how he feels around him. Nor does he need to coax Rakta despite his stoicness. Bacchus only gets the short end of the stick because they are already at their most vulnerable in moments like these. Why keep up any niceties when they know each other so well, and for so long?

“I’m so tired,” he admits. He hangs his head in defeat. Bacchus feels like he’s about to burst into tears now. Pathetic. Bacchus is too wrung out to garner that blissful, opioid high he once had. Why is he getting so emotional over this? This is just routine for them. 

His next words contradict his remaining semblance of rationality: “I just wish you’d be more easier on me. I want to see your smile again—”

Two firm hands around his shoulders startle he out of his little soliloquy. When Bacchus looks up from the floor, the sight of Rakta floods his hazy eyes again. Instead of his typical stare or a scowl, he looks… worried. He hasn’t seen Rakta make an expression like this in years.

“Bacchus,” Rakta starts. “Calm down.”

Bacchus only responds with a shaky exhale.

Rakta slowly retracts his hands as Bacchus’ shaking begins to cease. He pinches the bridge of his nose in contemplation. “Don’t tell me all that stress from work and lack of sleep finally made you break.”

Bacchus can only tilt his head in confusion. “Wuh?”

“Nevermind,” Rakta sighs. “You’ll probably feel better after a night's rest.” Before Bacchus can register it, Rakta slips next to him and slings Bacchus’ arm over his own shoulder. “Off to bed you go.”

Bacchus lets Rakta nearly drag him to his sleeping quarters without protest. God, he’s so, so tired. His vision’s starting to blur, the hallways rendering unrecognizable.

He doesn’t jolt at the click of an unfamiliar door. Pliantly, Bacchus succumbs to Rakta maneuvering his body onto the bed. Gently. Too gently, that even Bacchus would harbor suspicion if he were of a clearer mind. Though Rakta treating him without this ingrained malice is comfortable and nice. He’s too tired to fully process this rare display of affection, though.

When Bacchus’ head hits the pillow and the blood in his brain rushes downwards, he can’t keep his eyes open for a second longer. But within the waver of his hypnagogic vision, he catches the cinematographic still of Rakta’s features softening, his dark eyes glancing down at Bacchus with a tenderness he’s never seen before, and his lips curling into a tiny… smile?

The beauty of Rakta’s soul sears behind his eyelids as Bacchus falls into a deep sleep.

.

A good nine to ten hours later, Bacchus finally wakes up. With a pounding headache.

He curls into himself as he slowly wakes, cringing in pain. Rubbing between his eyebrows and then at his temples does nothing to alleviate it. What the hell happened? Is he hungover? Bacchus has zero recollection of the night before. How shitfaced drunk did he manage to get? If he was even drinking.

Bright sunlight filters into the room through a high window, illuminating the space in front of Bacchus. It also shines directly into his eyes, making his skull throttle into itself even harder.

Bacchus slowly comes to his other senses, taking in the scene around him. He’s at least changed into his nightwear, but the bedsheets under him are unfamiliar. The walls are unfamiliar too, and so is the decor and furniture littered in his vision. The room itself is different, because Bacchus’ quarters do not have a high window.

Why the hell is he in Rakta’s bedroom?

Bacchus immediately jolts upwards at the realization. The memories of last night come flooding in immediately after—from having tea with Sunfei to fighting with Rakta. Only this time, he’d deviated from their typical routine somehow.

What the fuck? Bacchus tries to rack his brain for the finer details, but they’re grainy and sand-like. The headache is barricading him from thinking too hard. Great. He needs to take something for that soon.

He turns towards the window to his right—though his eyes don't miss the subtle divot on the other side of the mattress—and squints at the bright, bright sun. Actually, how is it so bright right now? Bacchus’ eyes scan the room, trying to find a clock. One embedded on the wall does catch his gaze, only to find the little clockhand pointed to a very incriminating nine, and the bigger one pointed to an even more incriminating ten.

Which means he’s late. Very, very late.

Bacchus immediately scrambles out of bed and dashes towards his room, thanking the now dormant stars that his quarters are right across Rakta’s own. He makes himself look presentable in record time—quickly changing into his usual attire and combing his hair in mere minutes.

When he rushes to the dining area, he’s greeted by Sunfei’s stare and a sharp “You’re late,” from Rakta’s scowl. Bacchus scowls back at the latter. Asshole.

“Good morning, Bacchus,” Sunfei offers an apologetic smile. Perhaps as compensation for yesterday, but what is he even saying—well, not saying—sorry for? It was his fault that he got so carried away yesterday. Bacchus’ eyes dart towards the kitchen sink in reminder, only to find that it’s devoid of the abandoned tea set. One of the two must’ve washed them instead. Fuck.

“Good morning, Sunfei,” Bacchus responds. He does not offer Rakta a greeting, because upon catching his glance at the sink, he has the gall to point out how “This moron can’t even clean up after himself properly.”

“Rakta’s only grumpy because he’s been waiting for you to wake up all morning,” Sunfei explains. Now Rakta’s glare directs itself towards Sunfei, but the youngest only smiles back at his older brother.

“You mean we,” Rakta mutters.

Bacchus only raises a confused eyebrow. Why must Rakta be so difficult and confusing like this? It won’t kill him to be a bit honest—especially after the events of last night.

“Well, I would’ve gotten up earlier if you hadn’t made me sleep in your room, Rakta.” Bacchus jabs. “But thanks for taking care of me,” he grins—half-cloying and half-genuine. Kill them with kindness, as they say.

Rakta’s face turns beet-red for the second time in the span 24 hours—he tries to quip back as utter embarrassment overtakes his features, but not before Sunfei bursts out laughing. The two older brothers divert their attention to their youngest’s rare display of genuineness. Sunfei stifles his giggles behind a polite hand as he exclaims an exalted: “Oh Rakta, I didn’t know you cared for Bacchus this strongly!”