Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sing remembers all of his dreams.

They all feel soft, like his dreams are inside the clouds in the sky. Everything happens in the background, except he’s also part of the background. Everything feels gentler, and he can’t hear any sounds but he knows there are words being said.

He can feel things. He can feel things like skin, feel things like colors and silk. He can feel things like hair across his shoulders, hair flowing down his skin from above. He can feel Yut Lung.

He can feel Yut Lung’s arms wrapping around him like warmth on a cold winter’s night, he can feel Yut Lung’s skin on his like velvet, smooth and flowing, like it could slip away at any moment and he wouldn’t even realise until it was gone.

He can feel his breath on the nape of his neck, they’re so hot, except they aren’t, because he can’t really feel them at all. He’s in a dream, after all, although he isn’t always aware of that until after he wakes up, cold and disappointed, the sheets around him too thin and the air around him not quite warm enough.

Sometimes, if he tries to remember for long enough, he can feel the echoes of Yut Lung’s lips on his, on his cheeks, on his neck. They’re smoldering softly, like burn marks slowly fading away, a fire imprinted in his memory he hasn’t quite let go of.

He isn’t aware of his surroundings, when he dreams, it all feels sort of fuzzy, like static on a television screen, moving, blurry, indistinct. He doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks, because it helps him to forget about everything else and focus on the fading touches and sliding satin, fleeting visions of glowing skin and sculpted features, lines cut into his features like knives in flesh. They’re distinct, they mark him as beautiful and unearthly.

He is, yes, he’s both of those things, beautiful and unearthly, but they call him that for his pale skin and delicate features, and they forget that there is something underneath all that, something that twists and swirls inside of him, golden, syrupy like honey, coated in bitterness and caustic words so that the gold is never visible.

They call him beautiful, and they call him unearthly, and that is exactly how he appears when Sing dreams of him, but he can see honey-covered insides dripping in double-edged words he uses as a shield. He can see inside Yut Lung, he can see cracks in clear golden glaze, he can see where it sticks to the words and twists them so they become something not quite sweet but not quite sour, either.

He can see all of Yut Lung, and even though sometimes he has dreams he wishes he could forget, he’s glad he can hold his dreams of Lee Yut Lung and lock them away with a key he’d lost somewhere in his heart some time ago. He’s glad he can hold them, if only for a little while, before he sees him again.

Sometimes seeing Yut Lung makes him wonder if they’re telling the truth when they say that dreams really do come true.

Chapter Text

He’s being ushered into the Lee Mansion by two of Yut Lung’s bodyguards. He doesn’t like the feeling, not exactly, of people surrounding him because they think he could just murder Yut Lung at any moment.

Really, all Sing wants to do is pay a visit to someone he would grudgingly consider a friend.

When he walks into the living room, where Yut Lung is comfortably splayed on a large leather armchair, he immediately takes in the scattered bottles of wine, corks strewn across creme cashmere carpets and drops of white wine pooling onto it.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Sing, and he looks up to see Yut Lung, hair sloppily braided and sweater falling loosely and bunching around his hips.

“Hey,” Yut Lung says, and good god, he reeks of alcohol.

“Are you for real right now? It’s barely eleven o’clock, Lee. It’s not even noon.”

Yut Lung pauses for a moment, probably thinking about how he should be reacting right now, and then he scrunches his eyebrows and folds his arms, lower lip sticking out.

“So?” he asks, tilting his chin upwards, the effect somewhat ruined by his unfocused eyes. They look glazed and vaguely milky, and Sing wonders just how much he’s had to drink, exactly.

He’s not sure he wants to know. He can only hope that someone else had drunk some of the wine that’s on the floor right now, because if he drank all of it by himself, he is drunk out of his mind.

“Jesus. Why do you do this shit?”

His face scrunches even more, eyebrows turning upwards a bit. Is he pissed? Sing can’t even tell, at this point, because his eyes look like they’re about to roll out of their sockets.

“Why don’t you want me to be happy?” Oh. So he is pissed. God, he’s a dramatic bitch. What a goddamn pillow princess.

“You’re so gone, Lee. You don’t know what I want.”

“You’re wrong! I do too know what you want. You want, you want everyone to be happy. Right? Well, too bad! There’s always someone that isn’t happy! Even you can’t make everyone happy. That’s just… what - what was I saying again?” His words have trailed off, tangling in slurred words and stuttering and stumbling over every other sentence.

It’s largely incomprehensible, Sing thinks, whatever had just come out of his mouth, and yet something twists inside him, something that whispers, Hey, he’s not really wrong, is he? And if he can tell when he’s drunk off his ass, who knows who else can tell when they’re sober?

He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like the twisting in his gut. It makes him shiver, and not in a good way, either - like something cold and slippery is sliding down his throat and settling in the pit of his stomach, heavy like lead and hard like diamonds.

He doesn’t reply, and Yut Lung just starts talking again. “Oh, yeah. I was talking about what you want. Well. You want good food so that you and your little gang are well fed, you want somewhere warm to sleep so that you don’t have to keep freezing with your shitty, low-quality sheets on ten dollar sleeping bags from Walmart. You want - ”

Sing puts his finger to Yut Lung’s lips. “Shh. Just, just shut up, okay? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Yut Lung looks up at him, then, and his eyes look strangely focused, obsidian eyes sharpening for a moment before clouding over again. The clouds look different, though, this time, because instead of a foggy haze, there are scattered streaks of cotton candy in them, soft and untouchable, out of reach and out of mind.

Yut Lung puts his hands on Sing’s chest and pushes him away, because for some reason without him noticing they’ve gotten unreasonably close, close enough so that Sing can hear Yut Lung’s heartbeat and feel his breath on his face.

They look at each other for a little while, silence ringing between them, and then Yut Lung says, “Hm. Maybe I don’t really know what you want after all.” Sing feels heat creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks, because he can’t really be saying what Sing thinks he’s saying, can he?

“Sing, I’m tired,” Yut Lung says, and then flops back down onto his leather armchair with an exaggerated sigh.

“Did you spend all of last night drinking?”

“No,” Yut Lung says, and then after a skeptical pause, adds, “Not all of last night.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Another pause. Breathing.

“Sing?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to fall asleep now.”

“You do that.”

Silence, more breathing.

“Sing, will you hold me?”

Sing thinks that had he been drinking milk, or something, it would just be another mess on Yut Lung’s carpet, because even though Yut Lung gets drunk a lot, he never says shit like this, and he isn’t quite sure how to react.

“Sing, please? I’m asking nicely.”

“I - I. Okay! Okay, fine. I, I don’t really know how to do this. You’re sitting on a chair meant for one person.”

“So? I’ll just scooch up a little. You’re small. We can fit.”

“Fuck off. I’m taller than you,” Sing grumbles, but moves to sit on the armchair anyway, Yut Lung staying true to his word and shifting a bit to make room for him.

It takes a while for them to find a comfortable position, Sing’s arms getting tangled with Yut Lung’s and his legs trying to stretch into places that aren’t really there, but after a few moments of silent repositioning and careful maneuvers, they finally settle into the cushioning of the armchair, Sing’s arms wrapped around Yut Lung’s body and his breathing finally evening out.

He’s warm, he thinks, and Sing wonders why he’d almost thought he’d be cold, but he isn’t, not at all. Sing thinks that this is kind of what it feels like to hold a hot mug and feel the warmth seep into your skin.

They stay like that for a few moments, and just when Sing is beginning to register that, oh, he’s really sitting here with his arms wrapped around Lee Yut Lung, who is literally about to fall asleep, and then he’s going to be stuck there for the next hour or more, Yut Lung says, “Feel my hair. I conditioned it last night and I need someone to feel how soft it is.”

Sing’s mind goes blank, and he just pats his head uncomfortably, because his hair is still in a braid and he’s not quite sure what to do. “Like this?”

“No! Put your fingers in it.”

“It’s in a braid.”

“Then take it out! It was starting to look bad, anyway.”

“Do I just…?”

“Just take out the ribbon and run your fingers through it.”

Sing slips the red ribbon off, handing it to Yut Lung before turning his attention to his braid, which now seems to be coming undone a little but not enough. Sing tries to put his fingers in the top part of the braid and go down from there, but it stops after a few inches, and that’s not what the plan was. He goes from the bottom, instead, and Yut Lung says, “Yes, like that.”

His hair is like silk, smooth and shining underneath the sunlight streaming in from the tall glass windows, onyx in the sun. It feels so nice, like water, almost, and Sing forgets that he’s literally running his fingers through Yut Lung’s hair, lost in the feeling of it sliding through his fingers and lost in the waves of black tumbling across his shoulders.

“That’s nice,” Yut Lung says quietly, startling Sing out of his reverie, and then his head falls back onto Sing’s chest, his soft snores the only noise in the room.

That is, of course, other than the loud rattling of Sing’s heart in its ribcage.

Chapter Text

He’s not drunk, this time, which is a welcome change.

Now, he’s bent over a coffee table in his study, rifling through papers, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Sing knocks on the door, even though it’s already open, because that’s a thing that people do, apparently.

Yut Lung looks up, and Sing notices for the first time that he’s wearing a pair of round glasses framed in silver wire. They’re delicate, silver glinting against his pale skin, the roundness of the frames softening the harshness of his cheekbones and the severity of his angular face. He looks nice, Sing thinks, and then he wonders why he doesn’t wear them more often.

“Hey. What are you working on?”

Yut Lung blinks. “You mean this?” he asks, gesturing to the papers scattered around him. “It’s just financial stuff. You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m not. So hey, since when did you start wearing glasses?” Sing asks, flopping down next to Yut Lung on one of the couches near the fireplace.

“Hm? Oh, these?” he asks, lifting a hand to touch the frames of his glasses. “I’ve had them for a while. I usually only use them for reading, though.”

“Oh, okay. Can I try them?”

“I - ” He blinks again. “Why?”

“Dunno. Just feel like it. So can I?”

“I - I suppose so,” he says, taking the glasses off his face and passing them over to Sing. He takes them, flashing him a quick grin before putting them on his face.

He startles when he puts them on, everything sharp suddenly blurry and out of focus.

“Fuck! I can’t see shit. Are you blind?"

“They’re reading glasses. They’re for reading. They’re not for you to go stargazing with.” He doesn’t add the you fucking dumbass, but Sing can hear it in his tone, just fucking spilling with judgement.

“My bad.” Sing scooches next to him, leaning close. “So if I look at you from close up, I can see you better than if I go farther away?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking for confirmation - he can see him pretty damn well now. Better, at least, than when he was on the opposite end of the couch.

Yut Lung turns to look at him, and, oh - Sing can see him really clearly.

Everything is magnified - his eyes are bottomless, he thinks. Sing can’t really tell where his pupils end and his irises begin, because both are so black that Sing thinks that if he fell inside them he would never be able to come out again. He wonders if he would even want to, because he knows what they say about getting lost in someone’s eyes, and he wonders if it’s a feeling he would welcome or try to push away.

His cheekbones are high, but he’s always known that. But now he can see the softness of his face, like the flame of a candle melting wax, and it drips down, it drips and drips and drips, and now his features are softened wax, molded and not quite hardened, but he’s still really, really beautiful.

His lips are pretty and pink, full and inviting, they look like they would taste like peaches - his eyes snap back up to meet Yut Lung’s, and this is when he realises he’s been staring at his lips and his face for a very long time, a much longer time than what’s appropriate, and, well. He’s not exactly sure how he can cover his tracks.

What’s he supposed to say? Oh, yes. This is something that bros do, like, all the time. They just. Stare at each other’s lips. In a bro way, you know?

He’s starting to panic, it’s running through his veins, and then he feels his cheeks start to turn red, and then - then he notices the pink tinge crawling up Yut Lung’s neck.

His face is the same, unwavering, unchanging, it looks exactly the same as it did before - perfectly neutral. Christ, he’s got a hell of a poker face.

And yet - he’s blushing.

Because Sing was staring at his lips.

Sing smiles, he feels it stretching wider, wider, and he watches the expression on Yut Lung’s face as he does this, but he doesn’t waver, not until Sing raises his eyebrows. It’s barely anything, his face sags just for a moment, but it’s enough for Sing to see that his eyes aren’t all that bottomless, after all.

Sing leans closer, smiling predatorily, and Yut Lung’s face is flickering, on off on off on off. His eyelids are fluttering rapidly, and Sing can barely see his eyes, but when he can catch a glimpse, it looks like they’re not entirely opposed to whatever is about to happen.

Sing closes his eyes, he can’t see anything, now. But now, he can feel, feel Yut Lung’s lips against his, and they are just as soft as he thought they would be, but they don’t taste like peaches, they taste like plums and are twice as sweet. He can feel the glasses on his face press against Yut Lung’s cheeks, and he tilts his head a little so that they’re not in the way, and then he realises that Yut Lung isn’t moving at all, his lips have remained unresponsive underneath his, and he jerks back, like he’s been burned.

“Fuck! I’m. I’m so sorry. I - here, I’m so sorry.” He tears the glasses off his face and tosses them at Yut Lung, who is still sitting there, eyes wide and face otherwise expressionless. There’s panic running through his veins again, but it’s ten times as fast now, something like dread settling itself in his stomach, because, oh god, he just kissed Lee Yut Lung, and he wasn’t kissed back.

He’s stuttering, apologies streaming out of him, he has no idea what to do. “Shit, oh god. I’m so sorry. I’m, I’m, should I go? I think I’m just gonna go now. Oh, god. What have I done? Oh, god, I’m so sorry. I’m just, I’m gonna go now. I’m leaving.”

He rushes out of the door, running through the halls of his mansion and praying he doesn’t run into anyone, because he really doesn’t think he can deal with that right now.

He bursts out into the open air, burning with shame and regret and the utter embarrassment of knowing that he’s really, truly fucked up this time.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t come back for another three days. Instead, he goes about his daily tasks, managing his gang’s weaponry, breaking up fights, making sure the weaponry is only used when necessary, all the while stewing in the uncomfortable heat under his skin that screams, You fucking idiot!

Sing wishes he could forget it ever happened, but it’s so persistent that he can’t think about anything else. It’s just blaring in his mind, alarm bells shrieking obscenities like, How did you fuck up that badly? You goddamn dumbass! Why the fuck did you think that was a good idea? Did you seriously just fucking kiss him and think there was nothing wrong with that?

Yeah, he knows he fucked up. But what the fuck is he supposed to do about it? He can’t fucking go back in time, can he? God, he wishes.

So, anyway. Apparently three days without seeing Yut Lung was a little too much for him, and he'd caved a little past four o’clock on the third day, because he hadn’t really had anything else to do at that point. Even though he’s dreading the moment where he’ll actually have to confront the fact that he dared to put his unclean peasant lips on Yut Lung’s, at least once it’s over and done with they can move past it. Hopefully. Hopefully he hasn’t really fucked anything up.

At least, not permanently. It’ll probably be a little weird at first. Oh, fuck. It’s gonna be weird between them now. Shit - it’s too late. Sing is already ringing the buzzer, and now he’s being ushered in by one of his bodyguards, and really, it would just be embarrassing if he tried to turn back around now.

Now he’s standing awkwardly at the entrance to his study, hands shoved in his pockets and tapping his foot.

When Yut Lung finally looks up from whatever the fuck he’s doing, (Why is he always doing paperwork?) he raises his eyebrows, and Sing smiles sheepishly.

“So you’ve finally decided to make an appearance, have you?”

Sing feels his cheeks starting to heat up. “I guess.”

Yut Lung smirks, eyes glinting. “What kept you away for so long?”

Sing swallows, and there’s a pause before he adds, “Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me to forget to invite you to sit down. Come, have a seat.” His grin stretches wider as he pats the space next to him on the sofa.

Sing shuffles over, tension making him rigid. His face is on fire now, cheeks red hot. He’s burning with shame and he hopes Yut Lung has forgotten he’d even asked a question in the first place, but luck doesn’t really seem to be on his side right now.

“So? What kept you?” Yut Lung says, and Sing has to suppress a disappointed groan.

“I - I was busy,” Sing stammers, and holy shit, how is he the worst liar ever?

Yut Lung just smiles even wider. “You were… busy. Doing what, exactly?”

Please, Sing begs silently, If there’s a god out there, any god at all, or if anyone is listening, please, just end me now. Spare me from this suffering.

There isn’t a reply, not from a god or otherwise. Not even a miraculously well-timed visit from Yut Lung’s countless bodyguards or one of his chefs, or a butler, or anything.

And so he spews more poorly thought out bullshit. “I, uh. Just, gang stuff, you know? Guns. And things. Violence. Lots of it.”

Real smooth, Sing. Real smooth.

“Is that so?” Yut Lung’s smile is stretched so wide, and Sing hadn’t even noticed beneath his embarrassment, but now he’s noticing, even though he’s still embarrassed. He’s noticing that, wow, he actually has a really nice smile. It kind of makes him feel like he’s melting, a little, like butter. It makes him feel sort of gooey, inside, which is sickening, yeah, but he feels like a cookie that’s just the right amount of soft, the insides not quite done and chocolate chips melting everywhere.

This only makes it harder for him to stammer out a reply, and after a few moments of incoherent noises inside his head, he manages to stutter out, “Uh, um. Yes.”

“You weren’t, you know. Embarrassed, or anything. Were you?”

Oh, god. He really can’t catch a break, can he?

“What would I have to be embarrassed about?” Sing says, and honestly, he’s kind of impressed with his lack of stumbling for that particular phrase.

“Oh, just the fact that you kissed me, and all. And then ran away after. But I guess it wasn’t really that big of a deal.”

Today Sing discovers that yes, choking on air is indeed possible, and he’s just found out how to do it. He dissolves into a coughing fit, with Yut Lung patting his back, which really isn’t helping matters at all.

Once he’s managed to regain control of his body, somewhat, Yut Lung’s smile has softened a bit, less mocking and more just very, very amused, which kind of makes Sing want to burst into flames but it also makes him melt just a little bit more.

“Are you okay, now?” Yut Lung asks.

“I, yeah. I’m, I’m fine now.” Why the fuck can he not form proper sentences?

“Good,” is the only reply, and suddenly Yut Lung is leaning closer, and Sing’s brain short circuits, because he can’t possibly be…

And then Yut Lung is pulling Sing closer and then they’re kissing, and he tastes just like he did last time, like sugary sweet plums, except now it’s even sweeter, because now they both want this, and Sing thinks that everything inside of him must be exploding. His nerve endings are alight, his brain had stopped working a long time ago, and now the only thing he knows is that Yut Lung’s lips are very, very soft, and that this feels like something he wants to hold onto and never let go of.

Sing presses closer, because he wants to be as close to him as possible, and he feels Yut Lung smile against his lips - and suddenly everything inside of him has melted into a puddle of chocolate, sugar, and butter, and his skin is prickling and he thinks that maybe he likes this feeling, maybe he likes it a whole lot.

He wonders if they can do this forever, because he thinks that he wouldn’t mind.

No, he wouldn’t mind at all.

Chapter Text

The next time they meet, it’s in a coffee shop a few miles away from Yut Lung’s mansion.

Sing’s been waiting there for a few minutes already. Yut Lung is late, because of course he is, but Sing doesn’t mind, really. More time to think, he guesses.

After a few moments, Yut Lung sweeps into the coffee shop, hair fluttering behind him and a smirk on his face as he catches Sing’s eye.

Bastard, Sing thinks, but he’s suppressing a grin.

Sing watches him take his order, and when he slinks over to Sing’s table, he quirks an eyebrow.

“What’d you order?” Sing asks as he pulls out a chair.

“You’ll see,” he says, and smiles.

“Keep your secrets, then,” Sing huffs, but he can feel his skin start to prickle and warmth start to curl inside him. “You’re late, anyway. What took you so long?”

“Do you think I get out of bed looking like this?”

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Your point being?”

They’re interrupted by a voice calling, “Caramel latte with half sugar, two shots of espresso and extra whip for… Lee?”

Yut Lung shoots Sing a grin and says, “That’s mine!” before fucking sashaying up to the counter to grab his mug.

Sing looks at him when he comes back, pausing for a moment before saying, “Of course you got the little bitch drink.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you’re drinking something suitably masculine? What even are you drinking, anyway? Looks like garbage, if you ask me.”

“Good thing no one did,” Sing sniffs. “And it’s a cappuccino. What’s wrong with that?”

“Very manly,” he deadpans.

“I am the epitome of manhood.”

“Prove it,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Are you asking me to show you my dick?”

Yut Lung chokes, whipped cream flying out of his mouth and back into his coffee cup.

“Gross,” Sing says, and Yut Lung makes a face.

“You know, you could have just asked nicely,” Sing continues, like nothing happened. “I would have said yes.”

“You are shameless,” he chides, but there’s no bite.

Sing gulps down the remainder of his cappuccino and leans over the table. “So, I’ve been wondering - is this a date, or what?”

Yut Lung sucks in a breath, and then turns to look at Sing. “I don’t know. Is it?”

“Do you want it to be?” Sing asks, and he’s smirking again, but his heart is thudding in his chest.

Yut Lung turns his head and raises his chin. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind terribly if it were.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sing says, but he feels relief surging through him and a smile stretching wide across his face.

“Didn’t I just say yes?”

“Not really, but now that you have, I’m feeling a lot better about myself.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?”

“Nah, not normally. You’re just easy to wind up.”

“I resent that.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. So, I’m thinking - if this is a date, do we get to kiss at the end?”

Yut Lung sighs exaggeratedly. “If we have to, I suppose I might be able to stomach it.”

“Glad to hear that. So, if that’s the case - can we just skip to the end, then?”

Yut Lung glares at him half-heartedly. “I haven’t even finished my coffee yet,” he protests weakly.

“So what? Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you another one some other time, okay?” Sing holds his breath - he’s testing the waters. A promise for a next time.

Yut Lung sighs again, but now his eyes are shining even brighter. “Since you’re so persistent. But you have to take me home, first. Then you can have a kiss. If you’re lucky.”

Sing smiles, and leads him outside, where Yut Lung’s driver is already waiting for them. Hell yes.

Sing opens the door and gestures for Yut Lung to climb in first, bowing deeply.

“Such a gentleman,” Yut Lung says, rolling his eyes.

“Aren’t I?” Sing smiles, and then slides in next to him. Close. Really close.

“You’re awfully confident, now, aren’t you? You could barely stutter out a sorry two days ago, if I’m remembering correctly. What, did you have some sort of miraculous transformation overnight?”

“Not really,” Sing says, wrapping his arm around him and leaning close. “Guess it’s easier knowing the feeling’s mutual, now.”

“How bold of you to assume I care anything for you,” Yut Lung sniffs, and sticks his nose in the air.

Sing places his hands on his chest dramatically, mock-wounded. “All these years and I was nothing to you? I’m hurt, truly, I am. How could you lead me on like this? I feel deceived. I’m devastated. Distraught. I feel tricked! Manip- ”

“Alright, alright! I get it! Fine - perhaps I’ve… somewhat come to enjoy your company.”

Sing grins at him. “I see how it is. Playing hard to get, are you?”

“Suck my dick, you conceited asshole. When the fuck did you get so smooth? Go back to being a stuttering teenager. I liked him better.”

“Oh, so you like me, do you? And did you say you want me to suck your dick? Because really, you could have phrased that a lot more politely. Haven’t we been through this already?”

Yut Lung huffs, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Hey, now. There’s no need to be like that. So how about that kiss, huh?”

“Oh my god. How horny are you? We’re literally two minutes away from the house. Can you not wait that long?”

“But I’ve waited my whole life for this,” Sing says mournfully, bottom lip quivering.

“We kissed two days ago.”

“But it feels like I’ve been waiting for decades, my love,” Sing proclaims, flinging his arms out as far as they can go, which, it turns out, isn’t all that far, because the car has a roof.

“My love? You are unbelievable.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Yut Lung massages his temple. “Wu, how much farther do we have to go until we arrive?”

“We’re arriving now, Young Master,” he replies, and Yut Lung breathes a sigh of relief.

Sing climbs out the car, holding the door open for him once more.

When they’re both out of the car and Wu has driven away, Yut Lung cups his hands around Sing’s face and pulls him close. He gives him a chaste kiss, and pulls away.

“Is this what you wanted?” Yut Lung asks him, his cheeks pink and eyes still glinting, a little bit.

Sing smiles, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I don’t know. Is this what you want?”

Yut Lung goes soft, then, eyes melting like ice, the glittering of hard metal replaced by the soft sparkling that comes straight from him, from directly inside of him, and he says, “I think it might be,” and kisses Sing again.

Yut Lung tastes like caramel and coffee and everything wonderful, and his lips are just as soft as they were last time, and everything is so perfect that he almost doesn’t register that Yut Lung has gently pushed him away, smiling softly. His lips are red and swollen, the sun is shining against his smoke-colored hair, and Sing thinks that he looks really, really beautiful.

He has to blink a little, disoriented. “What - What’s wrong?”

“Let’s save more for another time, shall we? We can go slow. We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

Sing almost wants to protest, but Yut Lung looks so very soft in this moment that all he says is, “I see. Save the best for last, huh?”

Yut Lung just shakes his head, smiling fondly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave you to your privacy,” Sing teases, looking meaningfully down at his crotch.

Yut Lung’s cheeks turn red, and all he can manage is a near incoherent, “Get the fuck out, Sing.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m leaving!” Sing snickers, hands held up in surrender, already striding away.

Sing thinks that maybe he hasn’t felt this light in a really long time.

Chapter Text

Sing is exhausted.

Both mentally and physically - they’ve been hiking for over an hour and a half, by now, and not only is he sweating like a goddamn pig, he’s been listening to Yut Lung bitch about how tired he is and how much he’s sweating, when Sing has been hiking for just as long and he hasn’t said a word in complaint.

“How did I even let you talk me into this?” Yut Lung whines.

Okay so, fine. Maybe one of the reasons he hasn’t complained at all is because it was his idea, and really, he’d just look like a total pussy if he started complaining about his own idea for a date.

God, what an awful idea. How did he even come up with this? In his head, he’d pictured a short walk in the forest, the sun shining brightly but not too brightly, birds singing songs in the background, and maybe he’d even get to hold Yut Lung’s hand for a little while.

In reality, the sun isn’t visible, but holy fuck, you can sure as hell feel it, and he’s pretty sure that if they were up to it, a dwarf or two could use his back as a fucking Slip n’ Slide. He smells like shit, he’s sure, and yeah, the birds are fucking singing, but it’s more of a nuisance than anything else, and maybe if he were a little bit ruder he’d just shout Maybe can you shut the fuck up? They’ve been walking for so long, and he doesn’t know why, but he hadn’t expected to hear Yut Lung’s bitching the entire trip up. Not that he doesn’t agree with him, but really, why is it necessary for him to repeat the same damn complaints over and over again?

So, yes. A lovely little idea in theory that hadn’t done so hot in practice.

“Because I’m very persuasive?” Sing finally replies after a long pause full of heavy breathing and the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet.

“It’s just because I like your face,” he grumbles.

“I’m touched,” Sing says, voice dry.

“Sing, my feet hurt. How much farther is it?” Christ. The complaints never end. He’s heard the same thing at least three times already.

“We’re close, now.”

“You said that two miles ago!”

“Well, now I mean it this time! And I don’t know why you’re complaining. I’m the one carrying all of our bags.”

“You’re carrying one backpack. And you’re the one who chose to bring it, anyway! I really hope there’s food in that thing. I’m hungry and tired.”

“So you’ve said. And I already told you there was! I also told you that you can have some when we reach the top!”

Yut Lung huffs. “I don’t know why you wanted to take us here. Why couldn’t we have gone somewhere with air conditioning? What was wrong with the coffee shop we went to last week?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just thought it would be a nice change.”

“Nice change, my ass. You were just too horny, last week. It’s hard to get it up while you’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere with some trees and not much else. That was the issue, wasn’t it?”

Sing opens his mouth in outrage, and then shuts it. He’s not… entirely incorrect. “You know what? Yeah. And maybe it would be easier for me to get horny if you fucking walked with me, so that I could fucking see you and maybe even - god forbid - hold your hand - instead of walking behind me and bitching the whole time!”

“You can’t get horny here! It’s physically impossible! We’re in the middle of the woods under the blazing sun! And I’m not holding your hand because, first of all, I didn’t even think you wanted to, and, second of all, we’re both sweating fucking buckets! Do you really want us to rub our sweaty palms together? I haven’t been bitch - Oh, wow.”

They’re emerging from the canopy of trees - they’ve reached the top. It’s, for lack of a better word, really, really breathtaking, because Sing feels like he’s on top of everything, and it’s just them, just him and Yut Lung. Just him, Yut Lung, and endless blue sky. The sun suddenly feels a lot less suffocating, it’s just shining now, it’s shining just for them, and despite himself, Sing feels himself start to smile.

There are thousands of trees stretched out below them, and they’re so far below, they’re so high up Sing can barely believe it.

He turns to Yut Lung, and his mouth is just slightly open, eyes wide, and Sing’s smile stretches even more.

He elbows Yut Lung, earning a yelp and a halfhearted glare. “Not bad, huh?”

Yut Lung glances over. “Passable.”

Sing snorts, and sits down on the large slab of stone they’re standing on, tugging Yut Lung down with him.  

“Didn’t you say there was food in the bag? I hope you’ve brought something good.”

Sing pulls out a bar of dark chocolate and a bag of trail mix and smiles sheepishly. “I wanted to go along with the whole hiking theme. But now I’m kind of wishing I’d just brought a bag of chips.”

Yut Lung snatches the bar of dark chocolate. “This is mine. I don’t care what you say. You dragged me into this. You owe me.”

Sing stares at him, aghast. “Are you really gonna eat that whole thing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. And honestly? I won’t regret it at all. I’m already in negative calories, Sing. I’ve already burned off everything I’m about to eat right now. Enjoy your trail mix! It looks like shit.”

Sing looks down morosely at his bag of trail mix, which does, indeed, look like shit. It’s not even the kind that has chocolate chips in it. He hadn’t really envisioned “sadly shovelling trail mix cashews in his mouth while staring longingly at a bar of dark chocolate that’s currently being devoured by the head of the Lee clan,” as part of this fun hiking adventure, and yet -

Here he is. Karma’s a goddamn bitch, isn’t she?

After a silence which really, could be a lot more comfortable if Sing also had some dark chocolate, Yut Lung lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“You are so needy. Fine! I’ll give you some. But only since you look so lost. What are you, a fucking puppy? Pull yourself together.” He snaps off a quarter of the chocolate bar, handing it to Sing. It’s melted in his hands a little, and now there’s dark chocolate on his fingers.

Sing takes the chocolate gratefully, savouring the bittersweet taste. Ha! Joke’s on him, now he has chocolate and trail mix. Who’s the real winner here?

He knows it isn’t him.

After Yut Lung has polished off the rest of his chocolate and Sing’s trail mix really just isn’t doing anything for him anymore, he packs everything away and looks out.

“How about now?” Sing asks.

“How about now what?”

“We’re not sweating anymore.”

Yut Lung smirks. “And?”

“And… we could do that thing now.”

“What thing?”

“You know.”

“I’m not sure I do. Please, Mr. Soo-Ling, enlighten me.”

Sing scowls, and pauses before snatching his hand.

“You're so annoying.”

Yut Lung smiles, now. “I just wanted to hear you say you wanted to hold my hand.”

Sing flushes. “Why?”

“It’s just nice to have verbal confirmation sometimes.”

Sing looks away. “Alright, fine. I wanted to hold your hand, okay? And I still do. I like this,” he says, flushing even deeper, but he squeezes his hand anyway.

Yut Lung’s smile turns soft. “I like it, too.” He laces their fingers together.

They sit in comfortable silence for a little while, and then Sing says, “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Yut Lung laughs. “Get over yourself. This was a terrible idea and you know it. Just buy me a latte, next time.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s best. But we’re still not having a terrible time. Admit it. You like spending time with me.”

“I don’t like hiking.”

“But you like spending time with me.”

“Yes, I do.” Yut Lung turns to him, then, and then sun is shining in his eyes. He’s so radiant that Sing feels like he’s melting in his presence, melting into a soft heart and beating flesh.

Sing squeezes tighter and lets himself melt a little bit more.

Chapter Text

“You know, I don’t think I’d ever pegged you for a cuddler,” Sing says on a bright morning in November, tangled in the sheets of their bed with his arms wrapped around Yut Lung.

“Shut up. Just hold me closer,” Yut Lung snaps, but his words are missing the sting that they once held, so long ago.

“You know,” Sing smiles, “You’re awfully bossy for a bottom.”

Yut Lung shuffles farther back, pressing himself into Sing’s chest. “Fuck you.”

“You can’t. You’re a bottom.”

“You’re a bully and I hate you,” Yut Lung pouts. “You know, I don’t even know why you’re trying to make fun of me for being a bottom. You’re the one that benefits from it.”

“I’m just teasing,” Sing says, laughing.

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m sorry,” Sing says, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck in apology.

“Do that again and I might forgive you,” Yut Lung says, pressing himself closer to Sing.

“Sorry,” Sing’s lips mouth against his neck, and Yut Lung arches into his touch. Sing’s fingers slide into Yut Lung’s hair, and he pulls away before turning him around so that they’re facing each other.

Sing looks at him for a moment, taking in flushed cheeks and open lips before pulling him in and kissing him languorously, lips moving slowly and tongues entwining lazily. It feels comfortable, everything is radiating warmth. He’s oozing happiness and contentedness from every pore, it’s spilling and surrounding them, enveloping them in gentle waves of heat. It pulses around them, blurs everything but both of them, here in this moment, there’s only this, with soft touches and softer emotions, gentle lips and gentle hands.

Sing pulls away, breathing hot and heavy, and stares, because Yut Lung is beautiful. His eyes are half-lidded and they hide gems no one would dare put a price on, his lips are red and swollen, kiss-bitten and full. His neck is littered with bruises and Sing knows it means he’s his, all his, and nothing makes him feel more full than the knowledge that he can hold him like this, kiss him like this, touch him like he’s loved and hold him like he never wants to let go.

Sing leans in close, breaths caressing Yut Lung’s ear, and his cheeks heat up, just a little, because maybe he isn’t quite used to this yet. “I love you so much,” he says, and he feels a little thrill go through him when he says the words, because, god, isn’t it just the most wonderful feeling to tell someone he’s in love?

Yut Lung buries his head in the crook of Sing’s neck, and Sing can feel uneven breaths on his skin, against his heart beating to the rhythm of love and euphoria.

“I love you, too,” Yut Lung says, speaking into the skin on his neck, speaking into a heart that’s so very full, and Sing holds him closer. He feels like he might burst with happiness, combust into a mess of love and joy, a beautiful disaster held together by stolen moments and silent promises.

This is everything he’s ever wanted. He wants this now, he’ll want it in two years, he’ll want it in ten, and he’ll want it forever - he isn’t sure of much, but that is something he’s absolutely certain of.

He wants this all, he wants it forever, he wants early morning sunshine on tangled limbs and tangled sheets, he wants lazy kisses in the morning, and he wants to see Yut Lung’s porcelain skin and midnight hair next to him when he goes to sleep and when he wakes up.

He’ll want it forever, and that’s never going to change.

“Aren’t you going to make breakfast now? I’m hungry,” Yut Lung whines.

Sing smiles. “Yeah, soon,” he says, and lets himself be swallowed by warm skin and onyx eyes.