"I'm taking you out to eat, sir."
"I'm taking you out for a drink, sir."
"I'm taking you out for a stroll, sir."
"And after the stroll, then what?" Đông Anh asked as he walked leisurely along the sidewalk. When Dung didn't answer, he glanced over. "What's with that blank face all of a sudden?"
"I was just thinking… when I stepped out the door earlier, did I lead with my left foot or my right?"
"Huh? You believe in that superstitious stuff too? Did something bad happen?"
"Nope. Quite the opposite—feeling lucky as hell!" Dung grinned. "Look over there!"
Following Dung's pointing finger, Đông Anh's gaze swept across the street. In the middle of a lush green park, a crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage. They swayed and bobbed to the beat of the music.
"You know which band's playing, sir?"
From this far away, the sound kept cutting in and out, making it impossible for Đông Anh to catch the song, let alone recognize the singer. But when he spotted the frontman—bell-bottoms, bobbed hair—something clicked in his mind.
"Is that… that bird band or something?"
"It's Phượng Hoàng - phoenix, man!"
"Oh, right—Phượng Hoàng. The one you're obsessed with?"
Dung nodded eagerly.
"Come on, let's go!"
Without thinking, Đông Anh grabbed Dung's hand and pulled him across the street. Dung just followed along with a pleased little smile, looking for all the world like a kid being taken out for a treat. When they reached the performance area, Đông Anh let go, only for Dung to catch his hand again.
"Huh?"
"Don't want you getting lost. Stick with me."
Dung kept a firm hold as he scanned the area, then led Đông Anh to a big tree. The spot was a little removed from the stage, so fewer people sat there, and the broad shade made it perfect for lounging. Dung shrugged off his overshirt and spread it over the grass.
"Hey, you'll get it dirty. No need."
"It's fine. Sit down, sir."
He sat first, patting the empty space beside him.
"Come on. Days like this—warm sun, live music—you gotta make the most of it."
Once Đông Anh settled in, Dung gestured to the tree trunk, telling him to lean back.
"Comfortable?" Dung asked.
Đông Anh nodded. He steadied his breathing and let himself sink into the easy rhythm of the afternoon. The rock melodies overhead seemed to set the sky aglow in the fading light.
"Why're you smiling at me like that?" Đông Anh asked.
"Give me a smile back."
"You're such a fool," Đông Anh muttered, though his lips betrayed him with a shy curl. "Stop staring at me and grinning like that!"
"Why? I'm happy."
"Focus on the music!"
Đông Anh nudged Dung's face toward the stage. Realizing the teasing was over, Dung finally sat up straight and turned to the bob-haired singer plaintive voice:
"A life without chasing ranks or titles,
so I can stay drunk on the scent of the fields.
Just get through the day somehow.
Don't be sad—what's the point of wishes and dreams…"
(Song: Sống Cho Hôm Nay by Nguyễn Trung Cang)
"Why do you like this band so much?" Đông Anh asked.
"'Cause I get what they're singing about, so I listen."
Đông Anh swept his gaze over the crowd ahead.
"Kinda strange though… everyone here's around your age. Why're young folks into music that's always blaming the world?"
"Blaming the world?" Dung thought for a moment. "Yeah, you're not wrong."
He leaned back against the tree and added calmly, "But if they didn't blame the world, what do you expect from them? Be full of hope? Fired up with passion? While not even knowing if they'll be alive tomorrow? Not knowing when they'll be shipped off to the battlefield? Hell, youth these days can't even choose their own future."
Suddenly, Đông Anh remembered the spy who'd died at the police station and Hiền's group of defiant students. They were all young, all burning with ideals.
"To have something to burn for, something to chase after… that's better, right?" Đông Anh said. "Wouldn't it be sad if you lived till sixty, still blaming the world, still drifting through life?"
He looked at Dung, clearly waiting for a reply but Dung just offered a vague smile and let the moment pass.
"Something to burn for…" Dung murmured.
"Sir."
"Hm?"
"Can I call you Đông Anh?"
Surprise flickered in Đông Anh's eyes.
"Why not? I never told you not to. Back when we first met, I even told you to just call me by name..."
The mention brought Dung back to the first time they met—when he picked Đông Anh up in Đà Lạt, on another sunny day like this. Đông Anh had probably been just as pure then as he was now. Only now, something was missing: that scent of Đà Lạt… a scent Dung had never been able to find again.
"You're spacing out again," Đông Anh teased. "What're you thinking about now?"
"Nothing. Just wondering why I always end up calling you sir or Mr. Út."
Dung brushed it off and fell quiet again, letting the lyrics spill into the silence:
"Let love not lie,
don't talk of futures together.
Just forget tomorrow…"
"Getting sleepy yet, sir? You haven't napped at all today."
Đông Anh shook his head, gaze drifting downward into stillness.
Applause rang out as the song ended. The band launched into a prelude for the next track.
"The next song is called 'Look Down at Your Feet, (Hãy nhìn xuống chân)'" the singer announced, and the lyrics began:
"Look down at your feet,
at those who live in misery,
Living in darkness, like worms groveling in the dirt.
Look down at your feet,
at those who've fallen,
died so we could climb higher."
"How dark," Đông Anh thought, though his ears drank in every line.
"This kind of sorrow… it must come from someone who deeply loves life. Someone like… him."
Đông Anh's gaze lingered on Dung's face. The image of a hustler gently feeding a child at the orphanage floated into his mind. Maybe, in another life, this man could've been someone better—someone alive with purpose, someone happy.
"Look down at your feet,
to forget your own misfortune.
Born in the wrong land,
in the wrong century.
Look down and pity this life:
Living just to wait for death,
like once we waited for joy..."
"Dung!"
"Yeah?"
"Why that line: 'Living just to wait for death, like once we waited for joy'?"
Dung looked at Đông Anh, eyes heavy with everything he couldn't say. Then finally, he let out a sigh and shrugged:
"Beats me."
"Didn't you say you get their songs?"
Dung clicked his tongue. "I dunno—maybe the songwriter spent so long being scared of dying, he got used to it—and figured, screw it, might as well smile."
"Then… do you have that kind of joy?"
"Nope. But today, at least, feels like a day worth living. I got lucky."
Đông Anh could see the joy glittering quietly in Dung's eyes. Suddenly, Dung pulled him close by the shoulder.
"Come lie down a bit, sir. You're starting to talk nonsense."
"Quit it—you're so weird," Đông Anh said, quickly scooting away.
You stubborn thing, sir." Dung sighed, half amused, half exasperated.
Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a large black umbrella, popped it open, and held it in front of Đông Anh like a makeshift curtain.
"Now you can nap in peace. No one can see you."
"Where the heck did you pull that umbrella from?"
"Since I started babysitting you, I've learned to carry all kinds of backup plans. Now come on—lean back and rest!"
Holding the umbrella in one hand, Dung used the other to wrestle Đông Anh toward him. The boy squirmed and resisted, but in the end, Dung still managed to throw an arm around his shoulders.
"I'm listening to the music, not looking at you, okay? Go on and sleep!"
Dung's chest rose and fell steadily, his patience unwavering. It wasn't until a long while later that the boy under the umbrella finally let his head rest against Dung's chest. The warmth of that touch sent a quiet rush of heat through him—soft, dizzying. But it wasn't just a simple resting of the head. Dung smirked the moment he realized: His little boss wasn't all that innocent after all.
The boy kept fidgeting, his fingers brushing across Dung's body in ways far too curious to ignore, until Dung finally caught his hand.
"What the hell are you trying to pull?"
"You said you always bring everything with you… I'm checking if you packed a gun."
"Damn it," Dung cursed under his breath.
"There is one, yeah. Just not the kind you're thinking of."
"Huh?"
Dung pressed Đông Anh's head more firmly into his chest.
"Just sleep already. I'll give you the gun next time."
"What kind of gun are you even talking about?"
"Sleep."
Dung slipped his fingers into Đông Anh's hair, stroking it gently to soothe him. Slowly, the boy finally stilled.
Then Dung's own fingers started wandering. They traced the bridge of Đông Anh's nose, brushed the tip, then drifted down to his lips. They hovered there, gliding lightly over the warmth. A part of him wondered—if he stayed still long enough, maybe those lips would kiss his fingertips back. He caught himself smiling and shook the thought away.
"Must've dozed off already," he muttered.
Carefully, Dung laid his whole hand over Đông Anh's and let himself soak in the calm of a day that, somehow, had gone surprisingly smooth.
But peace never lasted long.
Suddenly, the wail of whistles tore through the air like claws ripping into the quiet afternoon. Gasps broke out. People scattered. A squad of baton-wielding officers stormed the park, shouting for the concert to disperse.
Startled, Đông Anh jolted upright. Dung immediately rubbed his shoulder to calm him.
"It's nothing, don't be scared."
"Why are the police chasing them off?"
"They're probably worried someone'll hijack the gathering to stir up trouble. Or maybe… the concert didn't get a permit."
Dung exhaled. "Doesn't really matter. The cops only need one reason to shut things down: they want to."
He helped Đông Anh up, and together they slowly blended into the crowd spilling out of the park.
"…What a shame." Đông Anh's soft voice slipped through the angry mutters around them.
"A shame?" Dung turned. "What are you feeling sorry for, sir?"
"I mean…" Đông Anh glanced at Dung, then quickly looked away. "Just… sorry we didn't get to finish watching the clouds or hearing the rest of the music."
"Ohh, that's what you regret, huh?" Dung replied, grinning slyly. "Here I was hoping you'd regret something else…"
"Regret what? You've been talking in riddles lately."
"You're the one pretending not to get it," Dung said, slipping an arm around Đông Anh's shoulders. "It's not that hard to figure out."
"I don't get it. Let go—just take me home!"
"Aww, sir, don't be like that. We were having fun. How about I take you somewhere else?"
"No, I wanna head back."
"You've got no pity for me, huh?" Dung sighed dramatically. "Because of you, I was locked up in that camp for days. I didn't even get to party or anything."
Catching that slip, Đông Anh narrowed his eyes, head tilting.
"So you're saying you resent it?"
"Hell no!" Dung rushed to correct himself. "I followed you willingly, sir. That's why… now maybe you could go easy on me, yeah? You know," he added, "I was supposed to go to Vũng Tàu this week. Had it all planned out…"
Seeing that Đông Anh's face still looked stern—like he was about to issue an imperial edict and declare someone guilty—Dung gave up on the whining. He sulked his way over to his Honda 72, climbed on, and revved the engine.
Dung twisted the throttle a few times, making the engine roar—VRROOM VRROOM—as if to broadcast his silent, sulky protest.
"You good back there, sir? Better hold on, or you fall, don't blame me."
And with that, Dung gunned it.
The bike shot forward so fast that Đông Anh nearly faceplanted into his back.
"If you keep driving like that, you can forget about that beach trip!"
"What? What did you say, sir?"
"If you didn't hear it, that's your problem."
"Come on, sir, say it again for me… please…"