"Út… Út…"
In the drifting haze of half-consciousness, Đông Anh kept hearing that familiar voice calling him, again and again, until—after what felt like a long while—it faded into a hollow silence. The absence made him uneasy.
"Út, you're awake?"
Đông Anh blinked, trying to get his bearings. Then he turned toward the voice.
"Ba?" (The sencond sister of Đông Anh)
"It's me. Why're you looking at me like that? Do I look that strange to you?" The young woman's long, jet-black hair spilled over her back as she spoke.
"No. I'm just… surprised. Didn't expect to wake up and see you right here."
"You brat! I just came up from Grandma's. How are you feeling? Any headache, dizziness?"
"No. Just… you look even prettier than before, Ba."
"Ha! So you've learned how to sweet-talk now?"
She turned to the maid.
"Go tell my ma that Út's awake, so she won't worry."
"Yes, miss."
Once the maid slipped out, the two siblings kept talking.
"So what happened yesterday that made you faint like that, Út?"
A flicker of memory—someone's body hitting the floor with a sickening thud, blood everywhere—made Đông Anh sigh. Then, as if remembering something urgent, he asked:
"How long was I out?"
"More than a day."
He looked toward the window. Sunlight was pouring in. He remembered arriving at the police station at midday—meaning he'd slept far too long.
"Then… who brought me back here?"
"Grandma, of course."
"I mean… the one who actually carried me inside?"
"Oh, that fellow who always works for Dad…"
"Dung?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Carried you right into the house."
"Did Grandma yell at him again?"
Ms. Ba shook her head. "Don't remember. The moment you passed out, the whole house was in a tizzy. Everyone crowding around you, I couldn't pay attention to anything else."
Đông Anh sat there, thinking of the slap Grandma had given Dung.
"Well, well, so the little prince is finally awake. Here, porridge—eat!"
Ms. Tư's voice blared from the doorway before she marched inside. She eyed her younger brother's pale face and scoffed:
"See? I told you—Dad and ma spoil you too much, so now even the tiniest thing knocks you out for a whole day."
Ms. Ba smacked her younger sister's arm and pulled her to sit on the bed.
"You loudmouth. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."
"Don't you coddle him, Ba. Me? I gotta teach this kid some manners. I mean, what kind of guy faints just from seeing someone take their own life?"
"Oh please. If I saw something like that, I'd probably faint too!"
"You're a woman—that's different. But let me tell you… in times like these, dead bodies on the street are nothing to be afraid of. You two sisters better toughen up."
Fed up, Đông Anh turned his back on them.
"See that? Your darling baby brother doesn't even listen to the grown-ups," Ms. Tư said, swatting his backside. "Turn around—did I say anything wrong? What kind of man lets some servant guy carry him home?"
"Quit hitting him—he's sick!" Ms. Ba cut in.
"Where is he now?" Đông Anh suddenly asked.
"Who?" Ms. Tư replied.
"Dung."
"How would I know? Probably over at Liberty."
Hearing that, Đông Anh climbed out of bed and went to his wardrobe.
"You two go on out, so I can get dressed."
"Where are you going?" Ms. Ba asked.
"Just remembered I've got a meeting with a friend. Gotta head out now."
"And you're not gonna eat the porridge Ma made?" Ms. Tư pressed.
Đông Anh gently pushed both sisters toward the door.
"I'll eat later. Go have your sister talk somewhere else."
Before either of them could say more, he shut the door tight.
.
It was around eleven in the morning—the usual closing hour for Liberty, the biggest nightclub in Saigon.
Outside, a neatly dressed young man paced back and forth, his expression caught somewhere between hesitation and nerves. Every so often, he cast a glance at the tightly shut door of the club.
"Mr. Út!"
A girl's voice rang out, cutting through Đông Anh's thoughts.
"Thiên Thanh! Thank God I ran into you!"
"You here to see someone, Mr. Út?"
"Uh… is… is my father here?"
"No, sir. The boss rarely shows up at this hour."
"Oh… then… is Dung here?"
"He is. He's inside."
Đông Anh gave her a polite nod but kept staring at the closed door, clearly unsure of himself. Sensing this, Thiên Thanh reached out and took his hand.
"Let me take you in."
Inside, the nightclub was fast asleep—no flickering lights, no thumping drums or blaring music. Just the heavy sound of footsteps hitting the worn wooden stairs.
"It gets a bit stuffy around this time," Thiên Thanh said as she led the way briskly up to the attic room where Dung stayed. "Don't know if he's awake yet. If he's not working, he tends to sleep in."
Just as she was about to knock, Đông Anh stopped her.
"Wait—what if he's still sleeping? I don't want to bother him."
Thiên Thanh quietly cracked the door open, just enough for both of them to peek inside. The curtains were still drawn, the room dark and dim. A man lay stretched out on the bed, unmoving, his breath steady and even.
"He's still asleep, Mr. Út," Thiên Thanh whispered.
"In that case… I should probably go."
"Why not just wait inside? He'll probably be up in ten, fifteen minutes."
With that, Thiên Thanh gently pushed Đông Anh through the door and pulled it shut behind him.
After a few minutes getting used to the room's faint heat and low light, Đông Anh quietly stepped closer to the bed. He tiptoed carefully, trying not to disturb the steady rhythm of the sleeping man's breath.
He looked down at Dung's face and noticed a red mark blooming on one cheek. "Must've been from Grandma's slap", Đông Anh thought, leaning in for a closer look. "It must've hurt..."
A pang of guilt welled up in him. He reached out, meaning to touch the mark gently—to soothe it somehow. But just then, Dung's breathing hitched. His eyes snapped open. In a flash, he grabbed Đông Anh's wrist and slammed him onto the mattress. One hand clamped around Đông Anh's neck, the other pointed a pistol straight at his forehead.
Đông Anh froze. His lungs tightened under the pressure of Dung's grip. It kept squeezing, squeezing—until his throat couldn't hold back a faint, choked gasp.
"Uhm…"
"Út?"
Realizing who he had pinned, Dung immediately dropped the gun.
"You should've woken me up, dammit. Sneaking around like that, I thought you were some intruder."
Đông Anh didn't answer. His eyes were still locked on the gun. Dung followed his gaze, then saw the shift in his expression—the ache crossing that delicate face.
"Damn it," Dung cursed under his breath. He knew exactly what Đông Anh was remembering. Without a word, he shoved the gun under the bed and reached for Đông Anh's chin, making him look directly into his eyes.
"Don't think about it anymore. It's over."
Đông Anh gave a faint smile, then looked at Dung and asked softly, "Is it really that dangerous living here, that you have to keep a gun under your pillow?"
Dung sighed. His hand slid off the bed and he collapsed onto Đông Anh's chest, face down.
"I haven't even had a proper night's sleep. And first thing in the morning, you scare the life outta me. Sir… I think you owe me for that."
Even though there was no longer a gun to his head, Đông Anh lay stiff as a board. He didn't move until Dung lifted his head and asked slyly:
"Why so tense, sir? Your heart's racing."
Đông Anh's cheeks warmed. He turned his head away, but Dung followed him, persistent.
"What is it? Tell me. Or… is it because of me?"
No matter how Đông Anh turned, Dung kept hovering in his line of sight.
"Is it, sir? Tell me!"
"Get off me already!"
"We've slept in the same bed, and you're still being shy?"
"Get down!"
"Answer me first, then I'll get off."
Đông Anh shut his eyes tight, refusing to say a word.
"Fine. Just open your eyes and look at me, that's enough."
And the moment Đông Anh opened his eyes, Dung greeted him with the warmest smile.
"Good boy, listens so well," he teased, ruffling Đông Anh's hair. Strangely, the other boy didn't protest. His eyes were fixed on Dung's cheek.
"Still hurts?" Đông Anh asked, raising a finger and gently touching the red mark.
"It does," Dung said, grabbing Đông Anh's hand and pressing it against his cheek. "But it's not just here, it hurts right here too."
He slowly guided Đông Anh's hand down to his chest and pressed it there.
"Your grandma gave me one hell of a slap in broad daylight. You think that didn't sting? You gotta make it up to me, sir."
He stared at Đông Anh's startled face with glee. Those eyes, that nose, that mouth—bathed in sunlight—they made Dung's breath catch.
Đông Anh's lips moved, as if to say something. But Dung didn't hear a word. He leaned in, hungry to taste those lips.
Touch.
Dung's lips touched the back of Đông Anh's hand.
The young master had timed it perfectly—intercepting the strange, swelling heat between them. Using all his strength, Đông Anh shoved Dung away. But Dung, stubborn as ever, refused to budge.
"You're heavy! Get off!"
"No. I'm still sore. Still humiliated. I'm not getting off."
"And lying on top of me's gonna fix that?"
"Like it."
Dung answered without missing a beat. He pressed his cheek against Đông Anh's chest, listening.
"He's nervous. His heart's pounding", Dung guessed.
He closed his eyes, taking in the rhythm of Đông Anh's heartbeat, and the scent of the boy he'd grown used to.
Time passed quietly.
For a moment, Đông Anh thought Dung had dozed off again until he suddenly spoke.
"Sir, just now… who let you in?"
"Thiên Thanh."
Dung immediately sat up, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. It had apparently been slightly ajar this whole time. He frowned, then gently pulled Đông Anh up to a sitting position.
"You haven't had lunch yet, have you?"
Đông Anh shook his head.
"Then let me get changed, I'll take you out for a bite."