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"GET. THE. HELL. OUT!"
Blanca narrowly avoids getting clipped, offering up a softly spoken apology anyway as Sing barrels out into the corridor, ignoring the tall man, clenching up his hands and silently fuming. He blinks inquisitively.
There's a faint and burning-pink outline of a handmark to Sing's cheek.
From the open parlor-room where he heard Yut-lung screaming at the top of his lungs, Blanca also hears smaller furniture violently being upended. Glass breaking upon the walls. He supposes that it is Yut-lung himself doing this, losing his often quick temper for some reason or another.
But a coruscate of restless, protective instinct rises in the front of Blanca's mind.
Yut-lung finishes tossing aside a decorative, silk pillow onto the ground, breathing hard and whirling around to face Blanca. A welt, about the size of a boy's palm, grows a dark red color against Yut-lung's face. His black hair loosened from a thickened and neatly plaited arrangement.
He's infuriated. Yut-lung's overly pale features scrunch up in defiance. Blanca tries to approach him, wordlessly touching his shoulder before Yut-lung jerks away, composing himself and frowning.
Pretending like nothing has gone amiss often is a sign of a much larger problem.
"… Thought you would have left by now," Yut-lung mutters, snatching onto the untouched glass of wine left from the mantle. An expensive, glimmering white. He drapes himself against one of the settees, inhaling the fragrance and swallowing down a mouthful without pausing to exhale.
"I wanted to see you how you were first."
Blanca tries to be honest, but calm and friendly, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. It's met with Yut-lung's obvious sarcasm as the fiercely beautiful and young man gestures around him idly with his wine glass. "As you can see… everything is as it should be without you."
He makes note of the stench of perfume and Chateau d'Yquem and ruination of their surroundings. Goose-feather pillows torn apart and ripped with a blunted, ceremonial knife. One of the tablestands lying on its side, drenched with wine and shards of glass. The brightly patterned rug kicked aside.
Blanca's indigo eyes follow over to a laptop, still plugged in, with a visibly cracked screen.
"Yes, of course," he says, reaching up and slipping off his eyeglasses.
Going back the Caribbean to retire and vanish from memory is what he longs for. And yet, vanishing from Yut-lung's life seems to be a poor decision. This boy would not last long. He's anticipated this.
Yut-lung can be intimidating when he means to, using his influence and wealth, gathering the darkest secrets of his enemies and surviving. He calls himself a monster, and yet, Blanca pities him. Unloving and unloved — that's what Yut-Lung has internalized about himself from a tender age.
"Eiji has left. Ash was found bleeding out at the public library." The violet hue to Yut-lung's eyes brightens with unshed and deeply brooding tears. "Ash should not have to die for someone like… him…"
Blanca makes a thoughtful hum, grabbing a dinner-napkin and a handful of ice from a container.
"You've never had someone who put their life before yours," he observes. "Neither have I." Yut-lung flinches as Blanca's hand presses the makeshift icepack to his swollen facial injury. "I wanted to protect you because of you. Because you reminded me there are people who are worth protecting."
"You wanted to protect Ash."
"And you, Yut-lung," he amends, gripping over Yut-lung's hand resting against his own knee. "You said yourself you were both the same. That Ash could not save himself from his anger. He found a way. So you want the same thing, but that fear of never achieving it has become too strong."
More hot tears roll down Yut-lung's face. He rears back his other hand, cursing and preparing to hit Blanca, bellowing to be "let go!" when the other man catches Yut-Lung's wrist effortlessly.
Yut-lung leaps onto his feet, glaring, his fingers digging onto Blanca's scarf.
He doesn't move, or react, not even when Blanca's hand runs through Yut-lung's hair, the man's lips kissing the dark strands chastely and pushing them aside. "Stop crying," Blanca tells him monotonously, thumbing affectionately over Yut-lung's ear, his nail budging against the sterling-white piercing.
"Go to hell," Yut-lung murmurs, grumpily accepting the embrace from him.
This might be easier done together.
Existing, not vanishing.
Blanca is willing to give it one more try.
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Banana Fish isn't mine. DSGHHRENDG blanca is really out here calling yut-lung on his shit I love them fight me ANYWHOOOOO my last day for posting Banana Fish Angst Week 2019 fics! It's been fun! I would love to do more fests eventually! Today's fic is based on Day 6 prompt "Self Harm/Violence" and I went with the violence route. They're still tender and sweet but gotta have that buttload of angst. Thanks for reading my junk and any comments/thoughts are welcomed!