#wiptale

-o-

As midnight approached, Kayo finally decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep looking for more subjects - she only had a few hours before her early morning train back home, and she needed the sleep more than she wanted the photos. Sighing, she put away her camera - her most prized possession, a genuine professional-grade DSLR, bought used from a relative who ran a photography studio - and headed for the capsule hotel. Leaving behind the chic, neon-lit fashion highway felt like such an appropriate metaphor for Kayo’s life - ever the visitor in such splendid places, never allowed to stay for longer than a few hours. The dim side streets were much more her place, getting dingier and smellier the further she walked. Only some hundreds of meters from the hotel, Kayo stopped. Ahead of her stood someone with a large wooden backpack, and a colorful haori. Perhaps she had found another subject, after all!  Must’ve been making their way back home from Harajuku, like her, another sorely disappointed fashion fan. Not old-school, with such unorthodox patterns and garish color combos, but clearly taking inspiration from traditional garments. A paper umbrella and geta, paired with what might have been an exceptionally long heko obi, since the ends were long enough to dangle past the knees. Kayo didn’t know that much about obi knots, not being all that into kimono herself, but she knew the backpack had to digging the knot uncomfortably into the person’s back. The only style she ever wore was karuta musubi because it was so easy and flat.

Digging out her camera again, she took one candid photo - only one, that she would ask permission to keep - because the composition of the figure standing in the middle, faintly haloed by the rain and streetlights, the street stretching out behind him, well...  it was just too photogenic to pass up. The shot even turned out well despite the dismal lighting, and some color correction on photoshop would fix the values. She would send a printed copy to her subject, if they wanted.

“Excuse me!” she called out and started jogging up to her target. They must’ve been wearing earphones, not hearing her, since they didn’t turn around. Well, at least they stayed still - a man, it turned out, and a beautiful one at that. But not wearing earphones, and talking to himself silently - so, a weirdo. But definitely a beautiful weirdo. A cosplayer, surely, from the markings on his face and the pointed ears. Very good quality prosthetics, looked completely real. The blond wig was just as good, a naturally plucked hairline and very fine mesh to hide the edges perfectly. This person had a lot of time and made good money. Also pale, flawless skin, and long, elegant fingers, and mesmerizing blue eyes. They didn’t even look like colored contacts, the look in them wasn’t uncomfortably staring at you with pinprick pupils. It might have even been his natural eye color. Half Japanese? If that was the case, then the hair might have been real, as well. His nose also suggested non-asian heritage, as long and pointy as his ears.

It felt like Kayo had been taking in the stranger’s appearance for minutes, him never acknowledging her until he finished his silent monologue. Only his eyes turned to look at her, a small, knowing smile on his already makeup-smiling lips.

“Good evening.”

His voice was pleasingly low and steady, his speech calm and slow. He kept looking at Kayo from the corner of his eye. The markings under his eye and on his nose intrigued Kayo, what was the story behind the character’s design? And the lavender smile, not something Kayo remembered seeing on any other -

“Ah - good evening!”

How rude, she had just kept staring!  Even if he was dressed to be stared at! So embarrassing, getting caught up in her thoughts! Just because someone looked good and strange was no excuse for bad manners. Thankfully the man did not seem to mind, just kept smiling faintly, and slowly lowered his eyes to the camera Kayo was still holding tightly in her hands.

“You are a photographer now?” he asked, not really making it sound like a question, and the now part bothering Kayo. She didn’t think they had ever met before, she was sure she would remember eyes like his even if his appearance otherwise had changed completely.

“Well, yes, not professionally - I came to take photos, but the weather - could I take your picture? Fashion is a hobby of mine.”

 “That never changes.”

Kayo was almost regretting talking to the guy, he might have been high. He was acting weirdly enough, and his halting speech wasn’t exactly helping dispel the thought, either. It was oddly hypnotic though, with his quiet voice you had to stop and listen, and with the slow rhythm you had to keep listening, and with the weird pauses mixed in he sounded otherworldly.

“A photo in exchange for a favor, perhaps?”

He was still calm, the half-lidded gaze not threatening in the least, but no matter how unassuming a guy looked, Kayo was not stupid enough to agree without knowing the terms. She steeled her face, trying to appear as someone you couldn’t bend.

“Depends on the favor. I’m not desperate so don’t even dream of anything pervy!”

The man chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He finally turned to face Kayo directly.

“Some things do change”, he commented cryptically. Kayo decided not to question it, the guy was clearly either on drugs or having a psychosis. Why did he keep thinking he knew Kayo? Maybe she resembled someone he did know, or used to know?

He lifted a finger, pointing with it’s sharp claw to an alley. “Can you see anyone on that street?”

A quick look revealed the two of them were alone, everyone else having opted for the better-lit main streets, and Kayo was starting to feel more nervous. Not that the guy was looking or acting any more threatening, but being alone with a male junkie on a deserted street in the middle of the night  tends to make a girl jumpy.

“No, seems empty to me”, she said in a confident tone, like she wasn’t even thinking of the possibility of being assaulted. A strong girl like her? No one would attack her!

The stranger made a non-committal noise, and his eyes turned more serious. He looked at the alley thoughtfully. “A most troublesome form, indeed. I wonder, why do some see it while others don’t.”

“Was that the favor? Can I take that photo now?”

The amused smile came back.

“Take as many as you like. But I must keep working, do not disturb the scales.” And with a small gesture of his finger, a drawer in the backpack slid open and something flew out.

Okay, it was official - Kayo had gone nuts. First going on this trip even knowing it would fail, then talking to a total stranger in an empty street at night, then not walking away when it turned out the guy was on drugs. Now her madness had extended to seeing hallucinations.

At least the hallucination was polite - a metal thingamajig that looked like an art deco butterfly bowed to her before continuing on its way further down the abandoned alley. Its friends soon followed, a veritable swarm of metal butterflies - scales, the man had called them. Kayo couldn’t possibly say what they measured, or how. By the time she shook off her stupor, odd paper charms had also appeared on the walls out of nowhere. A staticky hum filled the hair, raising the hairs on Kayo. Some form of electricity, maybe.

“Kayo-san, is it? You came here to take photos, and your time is limited.”

A cold wave washed over Kayo. She knew for a fact they had never met in their lives, and there was no way he could know her name. They had come across each other by pure accident... It just wasn’t possible...

“Do you know me from somewhere?” she asked, stupefied, heart skipping beats here and there. This was so odd, scary, and yet she was not nearly as scared as she felt she should be.

“We know each other from several places, but we have never met before.”

“How does that even make sense! What the hell do you mean by that? Which one us has gone crazy here, I don’t understand anything anymore...”

But even so, she lifted her camera and started taking pictures. Of the man, of the scales, of the empty alley. She didn’t even care about angles, lighting, composition, she just pressed the shutter. She ended up with nearly a hundred photos, majority of them incomprehensible, before the man directed her to keep going on her way. She had obeyed without question - the atmosphere had gotten oppressive, the feeling of a storm encroaching.

-o-

All her life, Kayo often thought back to that night. It felt unreal, but the photos were undeniable evidence of the opposite. Sometimes she thought she really had experienced some sort of short-lived psychosis, but mostly she had no idea what to think of the event - of the one time something strange happened in her life, something intriguing. She only talked about it to someone twice on her life - once to her husband, and once to her daughter. She did eventually develop one of the photos into a print - the one she had taken first. The nameless man, standing alone on an empty street, rain streaking the lens. A beatiful picture, a strange memory, and a lifelong regret.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles  if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in.  When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

-

Fussing with a strand of hair, he tried to weigh his options – ideally he would find a place on the other side of the country, even abroad. Canada, at least, but preferably Asia, maybe Mongolia – not Hong Kong, where the Lees were a considerable presence. But he had no money, and he could only get so far walking. And it was still cold enough to freeze to death in the night without even getting out of New York City first. Stealing would solve a part of that problem, but where could he find enough money? Pickpocketing might net him some loose change and maybe a few phones he’d need to sell for cheap, saving up that way would take too much time, and he was likely he’d get caught sooner rather than later anyway, since he had zero practice. The house was a no-go as well, Mrs. Sun didn’t keep a lot of money in the house, partly because they didn’t have much to save to begin with, and Yue Lung wasn’t rotten enough to steal from his saviors anyway. Maybe if they were filthy rich, and their finances wouldn’t be affected by a few thousand dollars going missing, but it still wouldn’t leave a good taste in his mouth.There was always the option of finding work, but who would hire a 11-year-old, who apparently didn’t exist because he had no ID? He could hardly ask Mrs. Sun money for helping around the house. He didn’t know how to do anything, except grow plants. He could have maybe sold medicinal herbs and such, had he a place to grow them and the knowledge how to use them – his education hadn’t yet included much but the most basic poisons. He also had a lot to learn about acupuncture, too. What else was there? If he couldn’t steal, and he couldn’t work, what else was left? Twisting and twirling the strand, twitching his foot, gnawing his teeth, there had to be something he could do! Just anything to run, or keep hiding, think! Think! Considering how much Mrs. Sun was gossiping about her newest “daughter” it was safe to assume Yue Lung’s brothers would soon hear about this mysterious girl who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, running from an abusive family, who just so happened to bear the name of the former patriarch’s deceased concubine! Fuck, what a fucking idiot a person can be! Using his mom’s name! Yue Lung might not have been able to do anything about Mrs. Sun’s benign airheadedness but he should’ve known better than be self-sabotaging dumbass! Okay, okay, what’s done is done, what he needed now was damage control. So, to keep running Yue Lung needed money, and he couldn’t get it yet. Which left hiding. Mrs. Sun was his saftest bet for now, and however talkative she might have been, Yue Lung was dependent on her goodwill and criticizing her would hardly endear Yue Lung to her. It had to be accepted that Dai Yu would be a known face around town, though it would be nice if it would attract less attention. Wasn’t there something he could do about that? He couldn’t change his face, apart from scarring it, and that would only make him more noticeable. It would take several years before he could grow a moustache or a beard, and with his genes it was likely to be a bust anyway. Unless he wanted to make a beard toupee out of his hair, and what would look more natural on a preteen than a hairbeard? One that was tangled to death from nervous fiddling. The strand around his fingers was getting knotted to the point of needing scissors to be solved. Wasn’t there anything Yue Lung could do to stay hidden? The strand twirled, frayed and split. ...The hair had to go. It was too noticeable. Having it shorter wouldn’t stop anyone from recognizing him, but it would cut the number of looks thrown his way. That was the key – stay low, stay humble, stay dull. Under any circumstances, do not attract unnecessary attention. Have average looks, have average manners, have average intelligence, be an all-around average girl and soon enough no one would care if you live or die! Blend in well enough and you might as well not exist. Mrs. Sun trimmed her own and her children’s hair, Yue Lung had seen the hair scissors in the bathroom. They were kept in a sleeve that looked homemade, and at least a decade old. One could only hope the scissors themselves were newer than that, or at least kept sharp – no such luck. Most things in the household were long past their glory days, full of holes or chips and dull as a cloudy day or a newborn’s teeth. The unsteady shhhk of the dull scissors trying to cut through a thin strand and Yue Lung’s frustrated grunts must have been what eventually caught Mrs. Sun’s curiosity. “Heavens! Dear girl, what on Earth are you doing?” Yue Lung thought the answer should have been clear as day, but he answered anyway. Mrs. Sun shook her head in disbelief and affectionate frustration. But, since the damage had been done, she demanded to even out the cut. “Aiya girl, you should have to come me in the first place!” she nagged as she snipped. “I would have cut it. I don’t understand why you would want to, your hair is so beautiful, Dai Yu.” Feeling that Mrs. Sun wouldn’t quit until Yue Lung gave some excuse to his haircut, he decided to play on a bit of admiration. He had found that often a transparent flattery would fall flat and have the opposite effect desired, and it was better to be less direct about the approach. It tended to work best with a bashful admission. “I wanted it to be like yours”, he mumbled quietly, affecting an embarrassed tone. It worked exactly how he had wished it to – Mrs. Sun cooed at him, calling him a silly girl but leaving it at that. Once she was content with Yue Lung’s new haircut, she called her sons to take a look. Yue Lung twirled around, supposedly pleased and proud. Yen Tai just said it looked fine and left like the moody teenager he was, but Soo Ling stayed quiet and thoughtful. Yue Lung thought he might have caught the longing look he had thrown at the long strands abandoned on the floor. He was weirdly silent for a few seconds, before saying “Dai Yu looks nicer with short hair.” Some kind of dam broke inside Yue Lung. He looked at the arm-long strands strewn about, curling around each other in embraces soon to be broken to clean up the remains of a burial. Dignity shed, thrown aside to further the selfish ends of another. A once treasured possession turned to trash. “How could you say that?” said Yue Lung, throat constricting, and his voice wasn’t any easier to mask than the tears falling to the floor. With a sharp inhale he tried to mask as anger, fully in vain, he broke down with a sorry mewl. “Aiya, it’s okay, it’s okay! It really looks nice on you!” Mrs. Sun tried to comfort. “Dai Yu, it’s alright. You look so pretty with your new hair! It makes you look so much softer!” Soo Ling ran to the kitchen and came back a little while later with a few almond cookies in hand. He offered them to Yue Lung, while Mrs. Sun still petted his back and muttered Aiya, poor girl, and I knew you would regret it. “Dai Yu, don’t cry. It’s just hair.” Just hair? Of course a boy would think it was just hair. He jerked at the look Yue Lung threw at him, like it had physically stung him. The Dai Yu he knew was distant and stiff, even cold, but always reserved, so he wasn’t prepared for the concentrated vitriol pouring out of the girl. He hesitated little before wisely fleeing from the girl. All this was hidden from Mrs. Sun, who unknowingly dried the tears of a beast and privately chided her son for being so rude to a crying girl. “Dai Yu, why don’t we gather up this hair and braid it. You can keep it safe until your hair grows back.” Silently, exhausted, Yue Lung nodded slowly. “I’ll do it myself. I’m sure you had something else to do before I disturbed you.” “Oh, it’s no trouble. Go find some pretty ribbon in the –“ “Please let me do it alone.” Mrs. Sun finally understood he needed a moment alone and left to find the ribbon herself. Yue Lung quietly, slowly, gathered the strands together. His neck itched. The short hairs from the last clean-ups had stuck to the skin. The ends of the dead tail of hair were uneven. It was an ugly thing, gathered up from the floor, not bundled together before being cut off. A dead keepsake, a far cry from the real thing, and the pain of it was more pressing than the dear memory. He would give it a proper burial. This one thing would escape the legacy of Lee Hong Lung and gain back some of its dignity in death.

--

Maybe it was all just because of that mental illness he refused to acknowledge. It’s never easy losing your parents, and it sounded like Vanya had been pretty young when it happened. He said they had moved to the States in 1996, so Ivan had been, what, around... Uhm, 2015 minus 1996... that made 19... and now Vanya was 32 so that minus 19... Uhhhhhhh around 12. Close enough, Al had never been good at math. Well, 12 wasn’t that young, didn’t sound to Al like a death in the family would be that traumatizing at that age. Al had been 10 when Artie moved back to England, and it hadn’t fucked him up bad. So it wasn’t the exact same thing, but it had been close. Five years of radio silence from someone who was practically his older brother. That’s basically a death. So maybe it wasn’t just a simple death, maybe there’d been some weird, special circumstances. Could be that Vanya had been a huge mama’s boy. Or maybe it had been an accident he was present at, like a car crash. If it had been that, Al sure was lucky Vanya had survived. Kids are so fragile, they can die from the dumbest things. If he hadn’t survived, or if his mom had, Vanya would’ve never moved to America, and then Al would’ve never met him. Al hated thinking that it was a good thing Vanya’s mom had died, but he couldn’t help it – as infuriating and incomprehensible Vanya was, he really was The One for Al. Despite all their differences, despite all their problems, despite all their fights. Al was again reminded of their first ever fight, the one with rape fetish accusation. Dubois had been killed that same night, and Vanya hadn’t replied to Al’s texts until two days later. If Dubois had been found as quickly as the other bodies, within a couple days instead of ten, Vanya would have been too busy to ever be willing to fix his relationship with a guy he had only been dating a couple weeks, max. Funny how many hurdles they had passed without ever knowing they had existed. If Kyle had gotten to Al first, if Al had followed the street signs better, if Dubois had been found earlier… They were like Romeo and Juliet, destined to be together, star-crossed lovers. If that wouldn’t convince Artie that Vanya was awesome, nothing would! He was into occult crap so he must’ve believed in fate, too. Come to think of it, what if Vanya had met Dubois instead of Al that night? He did say they were very similar, he might have fallen in love with Dubois, as well. Al liked to think that he was a special case, that Dubois wouldn’t have been as invested and smitten with Vanya as Al had been from the get-go, but who’s to say he couldn’t have held Vanya’s interest just long enough for Al to pass by unnoticed? Or what if BK had chosen to kill Al instead of Dubois? If they really were that similar to an outside eye, it wouldn’t have mattered which one died. Al was lucky he had been too pissed off to even think about going out that night, or it might have been him strangled and castrated. He wouldn’t have put it past himself to pick up some random guy and agree to an alley fuck. Maybe Dubois had had a fight with his boyfriend, too. Maybe he hadn’t been past having revenge sex. Maybe he had liked rough sex. Maybe he wouldn’t have been scared by Vanya’s violent fucking. Maybe Vanya would have run into him and pounded him into blissful goo. Maybe Vanya would have liked imagining he was beating Al. Sliding doors, like Al had said about Kyle. In one continuity, Al was dating Vanya and Dubois was killed – in another, Al was killed and Dubois was dating Vanya – and in a third, Al had a one-night stand with Kyle, Vanya had no one to pull him out of depression, and Dubois was dead.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan entered the office with three coffees in hand – two blacks and one with milk. This was the easiest Toris-like behavior to replicate, and would likely raise the least questions since it also benefited himself. He made sure to let Amanda see him set his own coffee down on the desk before giving hers, and she wasn’t weirded out. That was a relief. “Good morning”, Ivan said, without smiling, because that would have been pushing it. Amanda nodded in acknowledgment and took a sip of her coffee, then said a simple “thanks” before opening her computer. When Toris came in, she smiled to him and greeted him cheerfully. After she turned back to her computer, and wouldn’t see Ivan’s face, he also smiled slightly as he nodded his greeting to Toris. That day, Ivan concentrated on trying to replicate the smiles Toris often employed – the ones that didn’t express happiness, but were rather meant to ease to atmosphere. He made it look easy – it came out naturally, at the right time, and did what it sought out to do. Ivan only knew how to do sarcastic smiles, and by the end of the day Amanda was almost angry enough at him to actually say something to his face instead of muttering quietly to herself. Exhausted from the mental work, Ivan didn’t even bother getting out of his coat before collapsing face first on the sofa. “Rough day, huh?” Fredya chuckled. Ivan made a grunt, and Fredya crouched down to see his face. “I know what’ll cheer you right up – some quality cuddles and a good movie!” Ivan was too tired to correct him, and so let Fredya take off his boots and peel off his coat. He nearly refused the cuddles, but surprisingly found that he didn’t mind them much, after all. He still would have preferred a nap alone in bed, without explosions and dramatic bass going off every five seconds and Fredya’s elbow digging into his stomach. Somehow he still managed to fall asleep for a few minutes, not enough to feel rested, but much calmer than before. They heated up leftovers from yesterday, moved back to the sofa where Fredya picked out a new action movie without even finishing the first one, and Ivan took out his notebook to arrange his thoughts. About an hour passed, with Fredya saying whatever came to his mind and Ivan replying with a short comment every now and then, peacefully, until Ivan’s phone rang. That was starting to happen abnormally often – before he had crossed paths with Fredya, the phone would ring once every couple months, mostly work related. Now Fredya called him every once in a while when he was feeling too lazy to type, and even Katyushka seemed to have been bitten by the call bug. Two calls from her in as many weeks? Ivan hoped she was only calling to borrow some more money. “Excuse me for a moment.” “Work?” Fredya asked, pausing the movie. He still thought Ivan was actually watching that garbage. “No, it’s Katyusha. Unpause that mindless drivel.” Ivan got up from Fredya’s lap, already stressing about what was pressing on Katyushka’s mind. Don’t get him wrong, he loved both his sisters more than anything in the world, but Katyushka barely ever called for anything other than pressing matters, so Ivan had learned to associate calls from her with crying and pressure. “Yes, Katyushka?” “Hey, Vanya. Is this a good time to talk?” Katyushka greeted cheerfully. A weight immediately lifted off Ivan’s shoulders. “Yes, I’m at home. It sounds like something good happened, yes?” “I think so!” she giggled gleefully, sounding like the careless teenager she had never gotten the chance to be. “I was talking with Tasha earlier today and she told me some interesting news!” she sang teasingly. How odd, Ivan had no clue what news from Tasha might warrant a call to Ivan. If it was related to Tasha herself, Katyushka would wait for Tasha to tell the news herself, and there were few other people in their lives to get excited about. Tasha was interested in celebrity gossip, but Katyushka did not share that interest, so it couldn’t be a movie star getting married. “Oh? Pray tell.” “Don’t play coy with me!” Katyushka laughed. So it was news that Ivan should already be aware of. But then why would Katyushka be telling them to Ivan? “If you’re going to make me guess, we’ll be here the rest of the day”, Ivan replied. “You have a boyfriend!” His heart froze over in panic. “What?! No - I mean – Tasha told you that?” He was hardly intelligible, it felt like his tongue had thrown in the towel. “Uh-huh!” she squeed, for once oblivious to his terror, and Ivan could picture her jumping in joy. “She was jealous because you haven’t been spending time with her so she complained to me! Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I – because – Tasha… Tasha gets jealous very easily, so I did not wish for her to know”, Ivan stuttered, panic setting in, before remembering that Tasha already knew about Fredya. He didn’t need to stay a secret anymore. Ivan was just so used to hiding his relationships from Tasha he did without thinking. “Hey, you could’ve told me! I can keep a secret!” Not from Tasha she couldn’t. Unintentionally or not. “Ooh, I’m so excited, it’s been a long time since you were with anyone! Is he nice? Good-looking? Does he also want kids? Gay or bi? Single or divorced?” Katyushka had always been the one most interested in romance, despite never having dated in her life. Since high school she had kept claiming that she didn’t have the time needed for a solid relationship. While that was true, if only because she would not let herself have the time, Ivan was sure the actual reason was Katyushka being afraid of the apple not falling far from the tree. Her mother and sister sure had trouble picking good men. “You are not giving me any time to answer”, Ivan said, both relieved and nervous. He didn’t mind Katyushka knowing about Fredya, in fact they would get along nicely, but Ivan was worried about her putting ideas into Fredya’s head. Ivan had only ever dated for fun, but each time his older sister had started planning weddings right away, and Ivan didn’t want to scare Fredya away so soon. “Don’t be nervous! I’m really happy for you! You know you’re not getting any younger and it doesn’t help that you’re so shy, plus you’re picky, so all the time I’m worried no one is good enough! So tell me about him!” Katyushka urged. “Well, um, he’s – um, American, he’s a little younger than me. He’s very lively. Please don’t tell Tasha –“  Right, Tasha already knew, as they had established at the very beginning of the call. Talk about conditioned behavior. “His name is Alfred. Do you remember the drunk man who paid our dinner in the Ladle? That’s the man.” “I do!” Katuyshka squealed in exhilaration. “So it’s thanks to me that you guys got together. You were so oblivious to his flirting that I had to give him some tips”, she giggled. “He seemed like a fun guy.” “He is”, Ivan agreed wholeheartedly. “He’s the complete opposite of me. He’s very social, for one.” “I hope he doesn’t drink as much”, Katyushka said, and although her tone wasn’t accusatory at all, Ivan immediately felt guilty. She had known about his drinking problem almost from the start, but wasn’t aware of how bad it had gotten in recent years. “He usually only takes a few beers every now and then. That night was a rare exception”, Ivan assured her. The only other time Fredya had gotten shit-faced was when he had tried challenging Ivan – Fredya learned from his mistakes, even if he liked to pretend otherwise. He always gave off the air of not trying at all, but sometimes you could catch a glimpse of the truth - Fredya did nothing by half-measures, he always did his best because nothing else was good enough for him. Being his best self was so effortless to Fredya, watching him was a joy, no one else could have such spirit. There was a beauty to him – a sincerity. “He’s – Katyushka, he’s amazing. Thank you.” “Vanechka… Oh my god, I’ve never heard you say that about anyone! Aww, that’s so romantic! When are you bringing him to meet us?” “Uh – I don’t think that would be a good idea. Tasha would get jealous.” “Come on, you can’t talk him up like that and then not let me talk to him! He still needs to get the family’s approval! Ask him if he’s free this week, I’ll make time!” She was so excited it would crush her if Ivan didn’t comply. It was still a difficult decision to make - he knew Fredya liked him, but doubtfully to the extent of wanting to meet his family. It would heavily imply a wish for long-term attachment, and Fredya was not the type to settle down. He would run to the hills the second Ivan implied wanting to keep him for life. But Katyushka had asked – Ivan had to do it for her sake, Ivan owed her, and not only for being the catalyst for their relationship. “Alright”, he finally said, and the answer was an overjoyed yippee that sounded wholly inappropriate from a 36-year old. “Let me know when he can make it! Talk to you later!” “Wait, you don’t need to hang up. He’s here.” With his heart thumping painfully, Ivan opened the bedroom door with shaking hands. Fredya was thankfully still concentrated on his idiotic movie so he didn’t notice. “Um, Fredya?” Ivan asked cautiously. “Ya?” he asked distractedly, popping a chip in his mouth, the crackle probably audible even through phone. “Katyusha is on the phone. She has a request.” “Oh, should I leave?” “No, no, it actually has everything to do with you. She would like to meet you sometime this week.” The reaction Fredya had to this invasion of intimacy was very far from the one Ivan had expected. Instead of being weirded out and declining outright, his face lit up in a smile wider than Ivan had ever seen on him. “Are you serious! Of course I’ll meet her!” He was so ecstatic that Ivan was sure he was not aware of the implications. He was afraid Fredya was running headfirst into something he thought was casual friendship. Even so, Ivan was afraid of stating clearly what meeting Katyushka was really about, because even suggesting meeting her implied Ivan wanted to tie Fredya down. He would not be opposed to it, if that was what Fredya wanted, but it would be very presumptuous of him to suggest it himself. “She seems to have a different idea of our relationship than we do, so please disregard whatever she might say about that.” “Chill, dude, I can handle girls. When?” “Vozlyublennaya sestra, pozhaluysta, ne govori nichego o svad'bakh ili detyakh”, Ivan pleaded to the phone, and Katyushka promised she wouldn’t. She had good intentions, but she wasn’t very good at keeping herself in check, rest assured she would forget all about the promise when she saw Fredya in the flesh again. Ivan put the phone on speaker so they could all weigh in. They eventually settled on Wednesday. Katyushka suggested gathering at Ivan’s house, but he was worried it would feel too domestic and final, and suggested a restaurant instead. He would of course pay for Katyushka’s meal, he couldn’t very well force her into paying herself when she was already behind on so many bills.

--

Vozlyublennaya sestra, pozhaluysta, ne govori nichego o svad'bakh ili detyakh.(Возлюбленная сестра, пожалуйста, не говори ничего о свадьбах или детях.) : Beloved sister, please don’t say anything about weddings or children.

Yue Lung hadn’t been grateful to Soo Ling for sparing his life, and still wasn’t. He wasn’t grateful for being forced to slave away until Chinatown returned to its normal state, but he didn’t resent Soo Ling for that, either. It was simply a duty he eventually felt like he owed to Soo Ling. Now that everything was stable, that duty was fulfilled. Chinatown was safe. Soo Ling was doing well, he’d been accepted into business school with Yue Lung’s recommendation, and was looking to a future as the CEO of Yue Lung’s group. He no longer pitied Yue Lung, much less needed him. The emotional tangle inside Yue Lung had slowly disintegrated over these few years. Thanks to Soo Ling, he no longer felt like a mere vessel for vengeance, or indebted to anyone. For the first time in his life, Yue Lung felt calm. At peace. His relationship with Soo Ling had evolved over the years to something resembling friendship. Soo Ling was forced to work with Yue Lung for an extended period of time, and as some sort of coping mechanism he came to think he actually liked Yue Lung, and started visiting outside of business. Yue Lung didn’t mind it much, if nothing else then Soo Ling was pleasant company the majority of the time. Besides, once Yue Lung would no longer be there, he would soon forget everything. Why not enjoy it while it lasted? Soo Ling made him feel normal, like someone who hadn’t been raised as glorified merchandise. They talked about their day, movies and economy, all sorts of mundane things instead of assassinations, poisons and shady business deals. Soo Ling had taken Yue Lung to a karaoke bar on his 18th birthday. They were both terrible singers. Yue Lung had returned the favor on Soo Ling’s own 18th birthday party, renting the whole bar so all his friends could come. They felt comfortable in each other’s company. Soo Ling came over often, usually bringing take-out Chinese food with him or forcing him out to eat because he knew Yue Lung drank more than he ate. Sometimes he helped Yue Lung get to bed, on the nights he was too drunk to make the trip himself, and he’d stay the night so he could lecture Yue Lung about it, all the while having just as bad a hangover as Yue Lung. At first these small signs of concern had irritated him, but with time he had come to appreciate them. Soo Ling could be harsh and demanding, but that was only because he had a strong sense of honor and demanded others to live up to it as well. It was thanks to that demand that Yue Lung was able to feel redeemed to some degree. At least there was now one person in the world who didn’t look at him with contempt. Just one person who would sit with him in the garden and gaze at the flowers.