Dung let Đông Anh head up to the attic room alone. After parking the car, he took his sweet time chatting with a young woman. The clang of his footsteps on the rusty metal stairs helped mask the shady orders he was whispering.
"Thiên Thanh, head inside and help Mr. Út get undressed."
"I'm sorry… what?" The girl blinked at him in surprise.
"Get him out of those clothes—every last piece. Once you've got that done, just go with the flow. Worst case, at least wash off all the bloodstains on his shirt. Got it?"
"Blood? What happened to him, sir?"
"Not your business. Just do what I said."
Thiên Thanh lowered her head. "Yes, sir."
"And stop calling me that. I'm not the boss. The young man in there is. He's the one who got you this job at Liberty, remember? So do him proud."
"Yes, understood."
"Now go—and don't lock the door."
With that, Dung stepped back into the shadows, letting Thiên Thanh slip into the room. Just like he told her, she left the door slightly ajar—open just enough for someone outside to peek through. But Dung didn't rush to eavesdrop. He leaned against the wall, letting the harsh three o'clock sun spill across the landing in front of the room. Lighting a cigarette, he strolled lazily over to the balcony rail. Both elbows rested against the metal bars as he glanced down at the street below.
The attic room—technically the third floor of Liberty—offered a decent height for any voyeur hoping to "watch the world." Too bad there was nothing picturesque about this dead-end alley. No poetic skyline. Just a tired afternoon sun rising off the pavement, forcing street vendors to huddle in scraps of shadow, waiting patiently for the weather to ease up so they could chase another day's survival.
Waiting…
Dung exhaled deeply, letting both arms fall limp over the railing. What he really wanted was to be inside that room, sprawled out on the soft mattress, dead asleep. And it was only halfway through the damn day. He'd already raced through Saigon, fired into the sky just to stir up hell, and nearly got caught when Đông Anh suddenly came running after him. If luck hadn't been on his side... he'd be a corpse by now.
Dung stood up and crept toward the door, stealing a glance into the room. On the bed, Thiên Thanh was helping Đông Anh undress. Seeing that, Dung sneered—just a faint curl of the lips—then quietly made his way over to the top of the stairs and sat down.
"Út, you wants me to trust you, but you sure don't act very trustworthy," Dung muttered to himself. "Then again... this works. At least now I know what this kid likes."
He took a long drag from his cigarette, then another. Just as he was about to head downstairs, the door creaked open. Dung turned to look. Thiên Thanh stepped out with a glum look on her face, carrying Đông Anh's clothes in her arms. A smile crept across Dung's face—subtle, but unmistakably pleased. He wasn't even sure why… or maybe he was.
"That all you managed to do—take his clothes off?"
Thiên Thanh didn't answer. She simply said, "I'll wash and dry them right away. Should be done in about an hour or so."
Dung gave a slow nod. "As long as they're ready before Liberty opens."
"Yes, sir."
With that, she disappeared down the stairs. Dung stubbed out his cigarette, then strolled back into the room.
Đông Anh was curled up in a corner of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. At the sight of Dung walking in, he instinctively raised his arms to cover himself.
"Why so shy? That might work with women, but I'm a guy too, you know."
No reply.
Dung gave the room a quick once-over and frowned.
"Damn, she didn't even turn on the fan for you… no wonder—"
"No wonder what?"
"No wonder you're sweating like hell."
Dung bent down and flipped on the old fan. Its loud whirring cut through the stifling silence of the attic. He undid a few buttons of his shirt and flopped down on the bed, prompting Đông Anh to scoot further away.
"Come on, we're both guys here. No need to be awkward. If you're tired, just lie down and rest, sir."
"I'm fine," Đông Anh snapped.
Silence.
"…Why are you staring?"
The question shot out as Đông Anh caught Dung watching him a little too closely.
"You should go shower. Still smells like blood on you."
Startled, Đông Anh sniffed his arm and gave a sheepish nod. But he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of getting up wearing nothing but his briefs. Dung caught on. He walked over to the closet, pulled out a towel and a pair of shorts, and tossed them over.
"Can I borrow a shirt too?"
"Sure," Dung said. "Just go shower first—I'll find you something that fits."
Dung's eyes lingered—unapologetically—as Đông Anh got up and padded toward the bathroom, every step dripping with awkwardness.
The sound of running water came first, followed by the scrape of a curtain and the sudden creak of a window flung wide open.
Dung inhaled deeply, letting the fresh breeze fill his lungs. The harsh sunlight had softened, and the streets below were slowly stirring back to life.
Dung flipped open the cassette player, took out the tape inside, turned it over, and slid it back in.
Clack
A familiar love song began to play.
"I love you because I loathe sadness.
I love you because I reject resentment.
I love you because I spit on lies…"
Đông Anh stepped out of the bathroom, his freshly washed face glowing. The moment he caught Dung staring straight at him, he clutched the towel tighter in front of his body and ducked over to the edge of the bed, right behind Dung's back.
"There's still blood on your back."
Đông Anh froze and glanced at the wardrobe mirror. He twisted and turned, trying to reach the red streak but no matter how he bent, he couldn't get to it. It was maddening!
Dung hooked a wooden chair toward himself with his foot and patted the seat.
"Come here. I'll take care of it."
Reluctantly, Đông Anh sat down—face to face with Dung.
"Turn around. You want me to clean your back or your front?"
Grumbling under his breath, Đông Anh shifted into position, back now facing Dung.
"Now lean forward onto the chair back. Rest your arms there—makes it easier."
Dung smiled as the boy awkwardly did what he was told. Without warning, he dragged the chair a little closer.
"Hey—"
"Relax, sir."
He laid a hand on Đông Anh's back, feeling the boy flinch at his touch.
"Damn, that sensitive? I just touched your back. Hand me that towel!"
Grudgingly, Đông Anh passed it over. He gritted his teeth as the towel scraped across his skin. And worse—he felt Dung leaning in, deliberately letting his breath fan against his damp, bare back.
Unlike Đông Anh, who sat tense and stiff, Dung looked like he was enjoying every second of it. The scent of soap and warm skin drifted into his nose, heady and clean. A slow love song hummed softly in the background, curling into his thoughts like a gentle spell. It wound its way through his nerves, coaxing his bare fingers to press deeper into Đông Anh's skin.
Immediately, the boy's chest jerked forward, startled by the sudden pressure, and a breathy "Mm!" escaped his throat. That soft sound… damn it, it only stirred Dung's teasing instinct even more.
"What wrong? Didn't they have group showers back at the seminary?"
"No."
"So you've never bathed with anyone before?"
"Never."
"For real?"
"For real!" Đông Anh turned his head, glaring at Dung with obvious discomfort.
"Are you done yet?"
"Yeah, I'm done."
"Then… could I borrow that shirt now?"
Dung chuckled and got up to grab a tank top. Đông Anh quickly reached for it, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, but not quick enough to dodge Dung's hawk-like gaze. Dung didn't miss a thing, his eyes drank in the smooth lines of Đông Anh's chest and stomach.
"Nice body, sir. Not like the priests I've met."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Most of them are soft and doughy—not exactly eye candy. But you? Looks like you've been hitting the gym."
"I just exercise every morning, that's all."
Dung smiled and changed the subject.
"You want something to drink? I can grab it for you. The laundry's gonna take at least an hour anyway."
Đông Anh shook his head.
"Don't be shy! Everything here's yours, technically. And I'm telling you, right here, this room, this hour—coffee and a view of Saigon turning gold? You can't beat that, sir."
Dung pointed out the window, a bit too enthusiastically. But all he got in return was a tired, silent look from Đông Anh.
In the background, the cassette had wandered into a loud rock track. Dung quickly reached over and hit rewind—bringing back his favorite love song.
Đông Anh quietly took a seat at one end of the bed. Without saying a word, Dung dropped himself onto the other side. They slowly relaxed into the bed, their heads resting against the headboard, facing each other in silence.
"Take a nap, sir."
Dung pulled the blanket over Đông Anh's legs—and while he was at it, tucked his own bare feet in too. The warmth of it made him smile in quiet satisfaction.
"This song playing... is it your favorite?" Đông Anh asked.
Dung gave a nod.
"What's it called?"
"Yêu em."
— Love You.
The words hung in the room, warm with sunset light, their echo flickering gently in both pairs of eyes.
"You must be in love or something," Đông Anh said. "Why else would you be into love songs?"
"Nah. I just think they sound nice. Plus, I'm curious, what would love even look like for someone who 'spit on lies'?"
Đông Anh said nothing.
"Út."
"Hm?"
"Why'd you leave the seminary and come back here to study? I mean, it's not like the seminary was a bad place. If anything, it'd be easier to get you into a study-abroad program from there."
"The reason?" Đông Anh bit his lip. "It's gonna sound silly. I… I wanted to learn about love."
"So that's it—you're here to squeeze in some love and sex before chaining yourself to a priest's life, huh?"
"No! That's not what I meant. I told you it's a silly reason—hard to explain."
"Then explain it to me."
Đông Anh looked at Dung, weighing something in his mind.
"I… wanted to understand God's love. I've read so many passages about His love and salvation, but honestly… I still don't get it. What kind of love makes someone sacrifice their whole self? What kind of feeling is that?"
He watched Dung carefully, trying to read his face.
"That's actually kind of fascinating," Dung said. "But I don't think you'll find that kind of holy love in this place." He chuckled, looking at Đông Anh. "Here, love only comes in one flavor—full of lies, selfishness, possessiveness… the kind that makes you lose your mind and go crazy."
Đông Anh frowned.
"Listen to my favorite song," Dung said. "I bet the guy who wrote it was dreaming of some perfect lover—someone pure as morning light, someone who didn't lie, didn't control, didn't play games."
"So you're dreaming of a pure lover too?"
Dung shrugged.
"Maybe. People always dream of what they can't have."
"You don't think it's because there are lies and selfishness in love that selfless love even has a reason to exist? Back in Christ's time, the world wasn't any cleaner than it is now."
Dung shook his head and clicked his tongue.
"What are you, Út—a fallen angel or something? What kind of thoughts are you walking around with?"
When Đông Anh didn't answer, Dung went on, "Let me remind you—there's a war out there. Brothers killing brothers. Every single day. And you know what? There's no such thing as selfless love showing up to save anyone."
Đông Anh didn't argue. He simply turned his face away, silent.
The sun had almost disappeared, leaving behind a dim grayness—both in the room and in Đông Anh's eyes. Dung kept staring at those eyes until they faded into vague outlines in the dying light. He could no longer see the sorrow in them, but somehow, it still hurt. A tight, uneasy twist knotted up in his chest. Was it guilt? Regret? Maybe it was both. Some strange ache, like he'd just tainted something pure… by stuffing it full of the world's bitterness.
The cassette player kept singing:
"I don't fall for long dark hair.
I don't chase after pretty eyes.
And I don't live for the world's praise or pity.
I don't need anyone to understand me
when I speak of love,
when I walk with you through the quiet of poetry..."