Chapter Text
Yut-lung was moping.
God, that sounded so ungraceful, like some stroppy teenager throwing a tantrum, or otherwise a hissy fit (which for lack of a better explanation, he was).
He was bored out of his mind, with his life, his existence and all around him. He had nothing left. He was drained empty without his red hot hatred for his bloodline. He barely performed the minimum to survive, hardly ever left the confines of his lavish room, and never spoke to anyone- not even for business reasons- he knew he really should, and things wouldn't take care of themselves when you're the sole remaining member of the most influential family in China but… Why, seriously, should he give a damn? It's not like it would benefit his country, nor himself (it would probably include selling his body to older businessmen like he always had before as a political tactic on his brothers’ whims), and most of all, he hated his heritage, so why would he ever help it continue to flourish? Let it all burn. All he had to do, was to be lazy and rot in his silken sheets while no one tried to stop him. To say he didn't care much for his life or letting it continue was an understatement; Yut-lung wanted to die.
It wasn't an active thing, not a risk to himself, as he had no energy to kill himself. How undignified it would be, to be found with… with his beautiful wrists slit, or foaming at the mouth with his own saliva, or hanging somewhere from one of his many chandeliers. He may not care for his family's status, but he overwhelmingly cared for how he was presented- he didn't want his last impression on the world to be one of weakness- so he would wait for natural causes to take him. Starvation, illness, he didn't care. He didn't even care if it was painful, he just didn't want it by his own hands. At one point, he genuinely considered hiring Blanca or someone of the sorts to assassinate him in his sleep. At least then the people would remember him as something taken too soon, perhaps something to grieve? Even though they didn't know anything of his sins, a tragic death was enough to make anyone a saint.
The only thing that kept ticking in his life was Sing Soo-ling. Ridiculous, he knew. The only moving cog in his existence, the only splash of color in his luxurious yet undeserved life was a broken teenager who couldn't even take care of himself. Sing probably didn't even know that he was what was inadvertently keeping the uptight, snarky heir of the Lee clan alive. Better that way, anyways. He didn't want it to feel like a necessity for Sing to keep stopping by, keep energising him, keep… making him feel his age. He made him feel alive.
Even if he would never choose to show it, Sing was his lifeline, and he felt a scorching anxiousness in his chest every time he was late on Thursdays. He lived for Thursdays, even when he had nothing else to live for. It was Thursday- every week without fail- that the boy would come and visit him. He lived for Sing yelling at him, complaining that he never helped Chinatown, complaining about his attitude, just complaining. Yut-lung would always smirk, and soak in the passion of his words as a lizard would the sun; a sponge, water. He cared about him, even if he was mad, and it was better than the apathy that he always felt festering in his mind, his muscles, his organs, his being. He cared for Sing more than he cared for anything, even if it wasn't much. He knew Sing disliked him to some measure, but it didn’t matter as long as he felt something in some way shape or form.
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It was another Wednesday, dragging along in its quiet boredom that seemed to leech on whatever emotions were left in Yut-lung's self. Gods above, why couldn't it be Thursday yet? He wasn't lonely- he wouldn't go that far to say he wanted someone around, however if he was to think of anything that may rouse him slightly, it would be Sing’s presence.He hadn't even gotten out of his bed. It was a warm day, much to his annoyance, as staying under the sheets meant heating up until his expensive pyjamas stuck to his skin. It was disgusting and unhygienic, like a sweating, hellish inferno, but he really didn’t want to move. He had no reason to.
He had nothing to do all day– well, there were probably a million and one things he could and definitely should attend to, but he didn’t see the appeal of making use of himself. Eventually the burning of white bedsheets stirred him to move himself, much too uncomfortable to stay in his cocoon. He shivered as he tossed them to his side due to the combination of the sudden cool, and his sweat making his sleepwear cling to him. Vile.
He looked at the clock with an air of disinterest; it didn’t matter how early or late it was, he was still going to start drinking no matter the time.
It was 1pm.
Not the earliest he's ever opened a bottle of red.
He stumbled out of his bedroom, and made his way to the living room of his quarters. He practically fell onto the couch and reached blindly for the bottle of red that his hands knew exactly where to find, even without looking. It was where he always left it, on the coffee table to his right. He at least had the dignity to pour it into a glass rather than not doing so and drinking straight from the bottle (which he had indulged in before). He raised the pulchritudinous crystal glass to his lips, plump and soft from meticulous yet scattered skin care, and drank. It was a slow endeavour- everyone with an ounce of sense should know no matter the circumstance, you savour wine- especially red. This is what he did, looking around the room absently as he often did when unaccompanied and unoccupied. Even though this room has been his for as long as he can comprehend, he finds new discoveries every time he scans the room. He’s become good at nitpicking details recently with the lack of other entertainment.
For example, the way the banner displaying his clan name on the wall was slightly smudged in its calligraphy. He had been meaning to take it down, however couldn’t do so when his brothers were alive as they most definitely would have called him a traitor and done god knows what to him. He felt a sense of growing revulsion for the canvas as he thought of what all those disgusting weasels had forced onto him and his body, and so in a fit of bitterness he got up with the most passion he had felt in months and tore it down from the wall, ripping plaster and wallpaper alike down with his aggression. He spat on it indignantly as if it had personally offended him, and went back to lounging on his couch. Pathetic, really, that the only motivated act he could bring himself to commit to was but another defiance of his bloodline.
It was at this point that he realised his glass was empty, as was the bottle. Surely… he hadn’t had that much? Definitely not. he must’ve opened the bottle last night. He wanted nothing more than another glass, so he went to his wine rack to choose a bottle to open. All were worth more than a common person’s life, he’d reckon. He had some wines here that not only outdated him, but his father and then some. Funny to think that these wines had been fermenting their price, coming into their prime for so long and it could all be finished within however long it took to drink the measly container (under an hour in Yut-lung’s case).
He eventually settled on a bottle of 1972 Rosemount Syrah- he preferred the taste of a delicate pinot noir, however syrah was simply stronger and would get its job done while still remaining enjoyable. He didn’t really know what ‘enjoyable’ was anymore. How could he ‘enjoy’ the liquid if he was downing it solely to remain numb and above those who could only drink cheap wine?
He opened the sealed bottle, and poured it into the already used glass. He gave it a quick swirl and took in the aroma- the scent of fruit, most notably blackberry and plum were prominent, but noticeable was the aged smell of tobacco and something vaguely like peppercorn. It smelled delightful, if he did say so himself. He didn’t know why he bothered to savour it, when all he wanted was to get drunk, inebriated enough to feel absent. He knew deep down it was because he wanted to hold on to some sense of classiness when he had nothing else to define his character.
Taking sips larger than he should have been, he wallowed in himself, and the tart piquancy of his wine. How pitiful was he, at only one in the afternoon. At some point in his past, he would have enjoyed a cup of herbal tea, but even the effort of boiling the water seemed too great a toil for the reward of such a small cup; whereas his stash of wine was never-ending so long as his money held up.
He was only on the verge of being tipsy when he heard it.
A knock at the door to his room, and he paused his careless drinking.
He ran the logistics through his hazy mind- it had to be someone with access to the house, who had gotten past the guards and staff. There was no commotion, so it wasn’t an intruder. It was a Wednesday, so it wasn’t Sing, which only left one of the maids or a servant delivering a message. He debated answering it at all, as it was probably nothing important, however his hesitation was met with more fervent knocking. This baffled him- either the person behind the door had an absolutely urgent message or news, or it was someone with absolutely no respect for his status. With this in mind, he strode over to the door, chin up, ready to gripe at the person’s disrespect of authority and opened the door while simultaneously opening his mouth—
When he opened his eyes, he fell silent and confusion washed over him. “Sing?! What on earth are you doing here, troubling me at this hour?” He snapped, turning his head away with a huff, but in his heart he was unbelievably pleased to have him around.
“At this hour? Well if it’s not too early for you to be drinking, it’s not too early to call over.”
He retorted, rolling his eyes as he often did and shutting the door behind him. Yut-lung was left, mouth fumbling open, then closed, trying to find some way to address him that didn’t admit to wanting him around.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
He demanded sharply tossing his hair over his shoulder and putting on a mask of superiority, though the other boy saw right through it.
“Pffft. Do I need a reason to see you?”
He answered, but it wasn’t enough for Yut-lung. Definitely a lie- why would anyone choose to see him unless ordered to do so?
“Yeah, jokes aside. I’m here to tell you that there’s gonna be loads of celebration in Chinatown for the Shangyuan festival tomorrow, and I think you should go.”
The statement brought silence with it, along with contemplation.
It had been a long time since Yut-lung had made any effort to celebrate the traditional Chinese New Year, much less indulge in public festivities. He had never had time for any of it as a child.
“And why is it I should attend?”
He countered condescendingly. He was curious though, as Sing had never made any effort to make him… come to events before. Was this a personal invitation, or was there a reason he had in mind?
Sing scoffed, “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re fuckin’ Chinese too. I thought it’d be nice for the people to see an important figure of their race mingling among the people to show.. I dunno, you’re.. part of the community or something. You haven’t done anything to support Chinatown. The least you can do for your people is show face. You promised me you’d help sort out its whole mess.”
As he continued, his reasoning got louder and more emotional.
The other boy paused for a moment, before laughing- this bitter, unbelieving sound. Sing was about to yell at him for his rudeness, but Yut-lung spoke up before he ever could.
“You think they’ll want me down there? Some stuck up rich boy who claims to embody all of what China stands for? The most influential overseas international bloodline, who has done nothing to help people who share his heritage and race? They’d be nothing more than aggravated by my presence."
He argued logically, yet an illogical part of him dared to wonder what it would be like, experiencing something so cultural with people of his kin, from his own country, and with the opportunity to start anew, show people he cared for Chinatown… but his lack of energy would probably allow not an ounce of enjoyment, even if he went.
Sing made a noise of annoyance, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Look. All you do is mope around in your fancy room while people of your race, supposedly under your watch, get into petty gang fights, fall into poverty and illness, and die. You swore you’d help me fix the place up, and no one there even knows if your bloodline is still alive. You haven’t so much as talked to the people of Chinatown, let alone done anything to help them. Seeing you show your support for a tradition all of us celebrate would bring so much joy, and all you have to do is goddamn show up. Are you that heartless?”
Are you that heartless?
The obvious answer was yes.
He had murdered all of his brothers and kin with his own thin hands, and killed all of their innocent spouse and children. He had made multiple attempts on an innocent Japanese boy’s life. He had indirectly killed Ash Lynx, and used Sing’s brother to do so, leading to his own death.
Even with all of this, to even think Sing had the audacity to call him heartless not only pissed him off, but wounded him. His lip twitched, as if he was going to snap back, to argue, but he took a deep breath and aimed a glare in his direction instead.
“Would it please you if I went?”
He landed on asking. Sing hesitated in his answer, but only because he didn’t want to make it sound like he wanted him there for himself personally (even though that was a part of it).
He exhaled, and nodded. “Yes, your majesty, it would make me ever so happy if you would grace us—“
“Cut that childish behaviour out, or I’ll go with my gut.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Yes.”
He seethed through gritted teeth. Sing began to grin, as it was the first time Yut-lung had actually agreed to doing something (however small) for Chinatown. It was a step in the right direction.
“What time should I arrive, where should I go, and what sort of clothes should I wear?”
He asked with exasperation, sitting back down on the couch where only 10 minutes ago he had been rotting over a glass of wine which now lay half empty of the table.
Sing followed suit in sitting down, and Yut-lung instinctively moved away slightly, as if avoiding the touch of ailment, to which Sing tutted.
“Well, from what I’ve heard most people are lighting lanterns at around 9ish, so I can come pick you up at like 8 and we can get some food-“ “Oh, driving me and getting me dinner now are we? How chivalrous.”
He interrupted sarcastically, and Sing simply chose to ignore it and move on, “After that, we can see the lanterns and I dunno.. say hi to some locals? I know it sounds stupid, but seeing you could really lift some spirits.”
He finished, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Great, we’re doing a meet-and-greet to boot. What am I, a zoo animal? How can seeing an absent figure from your community bring hope?” He retorted. “Well it shows that going into the new year you’re gonna be more present, and you’re saying that you’re not too high up to enjoy the festivities of your cultural tradition-“ “Which I haven’t participated in since I was a child.”
Sing just sighed. “You’ve already said you’re coming, so just… stick to it, damnit. If not for them, come for me. I want you there ‘cause I have no one left to share the festivities with. Kinda your duty since you’re the one who took everyone who I’d normally celebrate with from me.”
Throwing in that last line twisted something in Yut-lung’s gut. He wanted to complain that he hadn’t taken everyone but.. who was there left for Sing? He had sent his only brother Lao to death, his cousin Shorter was dead as consequence for his actions, he had ordered one of his closest friends Ash Lynx to be murdered, and Eiji had returned to Japan. He couldn’t excuse all of the needless death, nor could he really allow Sing to be alone if he truly wanted to be with someone for this celebration (even if he couldn’t fathom why he would want him of all people, for all the reasons above to be near him in such a casual manner).
Yut-lung looked away and toyed with his loosely braided hair to hide the fact that he felt remorse for all he’d done, and remorse at the thought of not attending.
“Fine. I already said I was coming anyway, so you just sound like an imbecile every time you keep trying to persuade me.”
Sing had no shame whatsoever for guilting him into coming, and he knew damn well he deserved it after all he had done. It was only a small thing anyways, and he owed it to not just him, but Chinatown.
“This is such an effort now, Sing. Not only do I need to dress nicely, but shower. I was planning to shower tomorrow, but I suppose showering tonight is more logical. Not to mention, washing myself is such a pain.”
He complained endlessly about the toils of his easy struggles.
“Can you seriously not find it in you to get your skinny ass into the bathroom and shower? It shouldn’t be such a problem.”
Sing challenged him. Yut-lung scoffed immediately, turning to face him, and almost knocking his forgotten glass in doing so.
“My bathing takes a lot of time and effort I will have you know!” He was very prideful of his hygiene and beauty, and saw this as a jab at his efforts, which he would not have. It was unthinkable to let it slide.
“Oh yeah? Bet you just take your time ogling yourself in your fancy mirrors in there?”
“Oh yeah? Since you’re so confident, do it yourself! Help me bathe, see for yourself.”
He concluded easily, crossing his arms and glaring at him.
This silenced the other boy.
“I’m quite serious. That is an order, from your boss. Most servants should be well used to washing their masters.”
He added with a confident smirk. This brought Sing to growl at the degradation. “You’re not my.. my damn master, and I ain’t a servant!-”
“Well I am your boss. I think you’re just mad because you know you were wrong and now you don’t want to suffer the consequences.”
He said in a smug tone, knowing both that he was correct, and that Sing would be too stubborn to admit it.
“Yeah? Okay, asshat- I’ll wash you, and I swear, it is gonna take half the time you say it does! You’re such a drama queen, I swear to fuck.”
This made Yut-lung laugh ever so slightly, covering his mouth with his hand to hide it. In turn, a gentle dust of red settled itself on Sing’s ears and nose; For once, the other boy’s perceptiveness seemed to miss it.