Đông Anh flinched as a foot jabbed his leg. Then a shoulder hit him hard, sending his tray lurching in his hands. The cafeteria melee showed no sign of dying down. He gritted his teeth and looked down at his pitiful tray: plain rice, stir-fried greens, and a splash of watery soup. If he wanted meat or fish, he'd have to throw himself into that whole food brawl."
Đông Anh's eyes scanned the mess, he spotted Dung near the food counter, just barely visible. Couldn't see his face, but Đông Anh had no doubt the guy was in full swing, mouthing off at whoever dared go up against him. With a sigh, Đông Anh chose peace and headed toward the dining tables. Hiền waved him over when he saw him wandering alone.
"How'd you guys score the good stuff?" Đông Anh asked, eyeing their trays piled with meat and fish.
"We're used to fighting for our food," Phú said, barely hiding the dig. "Ain't like we got butlers bringing us breakfast in bed."
"If you come early next time, it's easier to grab something," Hiền said with a grin, sliding his tray toward Đông Anh. "Come on, eat with me."
"I'm good. This is enough for me."
Phú elbowed Hiền. "What're you worried about? The guy's got a private room. Doubt he's starving. Look—his servant's here now." He pointed behind Đông Anh.
"My servant?" Đông Anh turned his head. Dung was making his way over, smiling, balancing a tray of food.
"He's not a servant. Don't talk nonsense."
"Then what's he doing here? He ain't even a student," Hưng said.
Before Đông Anh could answer, Dung called out cheerily:
"Sir, why don't you sit over there? Better breeze."
He pointed toward the officers' section. A few students lounged there too, sons of somebody, no doubt.
"Bootlicker," Phú muttered.
"I'm fine here," Đông Anh said, scooting in to make room.
"Knew you'd lose the food fight," Dung grinned, sliding into the seat—without noticing Phú's leg sticking out. He tripped, didn't fall, but the soup splashed straight onto Đông Anh.
"Damn it!"
Dung tossed the tray hard onto the table and reached over to pull up Đông Anh's shirt.
"Stop it, what are you doing?" Đông Anh recoiled.
"Take it off, I need to check if it burned you!" Dung barked, still going for the hem.
"I'm fine. Let go!"
Đông Anh shot him a glance, nodding toward the students watching them. Dung's jaw tightened. He shot a sharp look at the three seated across the table, then grabbed Đông Anh by the wrist.
"Come to the room, now!"
"I'm eating. I told you I'm fine."
"I'll get you food later. Let's go!"
And he dragged Đông Anh away.
Once they were out of sight, Phú snorted. "Did you see that? Like someone just messed with his damn treasure. Fuckin' lapdog."
But Hưng grabbed his arm, face pale. He had just seen Dung whisper something to a uniformed officer. Then came that sharp-eyed flick toward their table.
"You think… he's ratting us out?" Hưng whispered, voice dry.
.
"Take your shirt off," Dung said, gently nudging Đông Anh into the room before dashing back out. Within seconds, he returned, just in time to see Đông Anh undo the last of his buttons.
"Damn it," Dung cursed under his breath when he saw the burn on Đông Anh's side. He popped open a jar of ointment, dropped to his knees, and brought his face level with the angry red mark blooming across Đông Anh's right waist.
"That's pretty bad. Does it hurt much, sir?"
"I'm fine… Hey, what are you doing?"
Once again, Đông Anh had to stop Dung from unbuckling his belt.
Dung looked up with the most innocent face he could manage.
"Checking if the burn went any lower. What else?"
"It didn't." Đông Anh batted his hand away.
"You shy or something?" Dung smirked. "You think you got something I don't?"
As Đông Anh turned to walk away, Dung caught him by the hips.
"Hold still! Let me treat it properly."
He grabbed a bottle of water from the bedstand and gently poured it over the burn.
"This might sting a little. Hang in there."
Đông Anh kept his eyes down, watching the man kneeling before him. Every small gesture, every delicate touch made his skin crawl with unfamiliar heat. The position Dung was in—knelt there—too easily misunderstood.
Dung dabbed on the ointment. The cool balm on the outside clashed with the hot twist inside Đông Anh's gut, and without thinking, he gripped Dung's shoulder.
"Hurts?" Dung asked softly.
"Just… uncomfortable," Đông Anh murmured.
"This'll help it heal faster. I'll find you something to fade the scar later."
"No need. A man can live with a few scars."
Dung stared at the mark on Đông Anh's skin, his fingers tracing along its edge.
"Such pale skin… would be a shame to ruin it."
His breath grazed Đông Anh's stomach, making the boy's breath catch. His lower abdomen rose and fell in a rhythm that held Dung's gaze hostage. Dung's fingers trailed along Đông Anh's hip bone, then spread open to clutch his waist.
Đông Anh watched Dung's quivering lips, then his neck, where blue veins stood out. They were so seductive that Đông Anh yearned to trace them with his hand. And then his palm touched Dung's jawline. When their eyes met, Đông Anh suddenly came to his senses. He quickly pulled his hand away from Dung's face, backing out of his embrace.
"I… I'll go change," he said, ducking into the bathroom.
Behind the closed door, he could still hear Dung's voice:
"Take the afternoon off, sir. No need for drills today."
"How can I skip?"
"You can. With me here, you don't have to worry about a thing."
.
"Serves us right. You had to trip Dung Tây, and now look—we're stuck washing dishes," Hưng grumbled, tossing a soapy tray toward Phú. "And tell me I wasn't right—soon as I saw him chatting up that officer, I knew he was setting us up."
"That bootlicker's worth chopping into pieces. Just you wait, one day I'll beat him to death," Phú said.
"Keep your voices down," Hiền warned, eyes darting around. "You both know Dung's not someone to mess with, so why poke the bear?"
"So who the hell is he, anyway—swaggering in here, ordering officers around? If he's just some pimp, what makes him that bold?" Hưng asked.
"You really don't know, do you?" Phú lowered his voice. "Word is, in this city, Dung hears everything. A guy like that's got to be an informant or some kind of spy."
"Spy for who?" Hưng pressed.
"For the government… or the Westerners," Phú shrugged.
"You think he's with the ones from the other side?"
Phú just smirked at that, so Hưng turned to Hiền. "What about you? Who do you think he really is?"
"I don't know."
"Come on, guess."
"I said I don't know," Hiền repeated. "But whatever side he's on, it's not ours. Be careful! Guys like him don't just wander in here for nothing."
"Isn't he here to serve that rich boy?" Phú asked.
Hiền met his eyes but said nothing. From what he'd seen living under the same roof as Dung, he didn't much believe the man would go out of his way just to look after someone who meant nothing to him