Idk if you do YueSing, but could you do “Please don’t cry.” pls if you do
They’ve been in the mansion for a while, just ... well, enjoying each other’s company, if Yut-Lung is being honest with himself.
But now Sing is pulling out that voice, and Yut-Lung doesn’t know what to do about it.
Yut-Lung clears his throat. “Yes?” he asks.
“Why did so many people have to die?”
Freezing up, Yut-Lung sucks in a breath. This is a difficult question under normal circumstances, and it’s made worse by the fact that Yut-Lung knows which people Sing means.
And knows that every single one of those deaths is, at least in part, Yut-Lung’s fault.
“I—I’m sorry—” Yut-Lung stammers.
“Sometimes I do blame you,” Sing whispers. “I don’t hate you, but ... Sometimes I get so angry.”
Not sure how to respond, Yut-Lung just wrings his hands in his lap. Sing sits across from him in an overly plush chair, Yut-Lung sprawled out on the couch.
Sing sniffles. Oh no. No, this can’t be happening. Only Yut-Lung is allowed to cry in his mansion.
“But right now?” Sing continues. “Right now I’m just sad.”
“Please don’t cry,” Yut-Lung says quickly. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do if you cry.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Yue. I just ... Sometimes you just need to cry. You get it, right? I’ve seen you cry a million times.”
But it’s different. Yut-Lung has always been pathetic like that. Sing is supposed to be the strong one between the two of them.
“Sing ...” he starts. “What, um—what do you need right now?”
Sing shakes his head. “I don’t know. I never know anymore.”
“Can I ... I mean, would you like me to comfort you ... physically?” Yut-Lung winces. “I mean—not like—”
“No, I get it, Yue,” Sing says softly. “And ... yeah. Can you just hug me?”
Yut-Lung nods, and crosses the space between them. Sing sobs, standing up to meet him. A little stiff, very awkward, Yut-Lung wraps his arms around Sing’s shoulders.
“I wish we had met under different circumstances,” Sing whispers, burying his face into Yut-Lung’s shoulder. “Like—normal kids at a high school or something. People who could be together, without being ... like us.”
Yut-Lung blinks. He’s never even considered something like that. His wishful thinking always takes different forms. His mother never dying, or his father still taking care of him. His brothers never existing. He’s never thought about ... being normal.
But maybe he wants to, kind of.
“It’s not too late,” he whispers.
“What?” Sing asks, startled.
“I can make it happen. We can—It’ll be easy to fake a background, and we can go to school. We’ll always be ... us, but maybe we can be ourselves in a different world.”
Sing nods against Yut-Lung. “If you really think we can do it ... I think I’d like to try. But I’ll still be mad at you.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to forgive me.”
Sing is silent for a bit, long enough that Yut-Lung thinks the conversation is over. He wonders if he should pull away or not.
But eventually, Sing says, “I might. Forgive you, I mean. ... Eventually.”
Yut-Lung sucks in a breath. “I’d like that,” he whispers. “If you could.”
“Maybe,” Sing responds. “Maybe.”
