And all I do is sit and think about you

If I knew what you'd do

Collapse my veins wearing beautiful shoes

It's not living if it's not with you

All I do is sit and drink without you

If I choose then I lose

Distract my brain from the terrible news

It's not living if it's not with you

~"It's Not Living (If It's Not With You,)," The 1975

Christmas was less than two weeks away now, and New York was limping along after a snowstorm. Eiji stretched, listening to Yut-Lung and Shorter bicker over something in Chinese. Ash had gone out despite the dreary weather, claiming he needed to talk to Charlie. He wouldn't tell Eiji what it was about, only that it wasn't anything to worry about. Which of course meant Eiji was worrying.

His face heated as he remembered the way Ash kissed him in the park: different than before, harsher, more desperate, freer, like nothing was holding him back. It wasn't the sweet hesitance of recent weeks, or the determination of the kiss Ash gave him in prison to pass Eiji that message. And he'd been kissing him like that almost every night since then, his fingers digging into the back of Eiji's neck.

Eiji liked it.

Who would you be, Ash, if no one had ever clipped your wings?

I want you to have that chance. As much as it's possible.

Shorter got up, laughing. Judging from the smirk on Yut-Lung's face, Eiji gathered that Yut-Lung had won whatever the argument was. "See you later," said Shorter, ducking out of the apartment.

"Going for food?" Eiji asked.

"I think to see Nadia," said Yut-Lung. He folded his hands on the kitchen table where he sat. "Hey, Eiji?"

"Yeah?" Eiji grabbed a throw pillow from where he sat on the couch, holding it on his lap.

"Do you ever worry that your family won't like Ash?" Yut-Lung got up and put a kettle on for tea.

Eiji flinched.

"I mean, since he's a gang leader in a foreign country with a criminal record and—would a respectable Japanese family—" He swallowed and clutched his forehead. "I don't mean to sound so—"

Eiji got to his feet, heading into the kitchen area. "I don't know. It doesn't matter." He swallowed. "I love him." His father was sick anyways, always in and out of the hospital, and so his mother had other things to worry about besides him.

Yut-Lung's shoulders slumped.

"Are you worried about meeting Nadia?"

Yut-Lung nodded. "The Lees were always—respected and feared. I know Shorter's parents taught them to respect and fear us. But they—we—threatened her life, forced Shorter to—I know he doesn't hold it against me, but he's her baby brother."

Eiji had a hard time picturing Shorter as anyone's baby brother, even though he knew it was true. He sighed.

"If someone threatened you to get to your little sister, even if they worked it out, would you—"

"Hey, how do you know I have a little sister?" Eiji demanded. He was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned it to Yut-Lung.

Yut-Lung grabbed two mugs. He smirked again. "I know lots of things."

Eiji glowered at him. Yut-Lung laughed.

"I don't know," Eiji admitted, biting his lip. "But you're what, seventeen now? None of us fault you for it. Shorter really likes you. Ash has commented on it. He's happy you make Shorter happy."

Yut-Lung's face flushed. "I love him." The words came out quiet, roped with hesitance and with shields lowered, but still held just in case.

"I'm glad," said Eiji. "You and Ash both deserve to have someone to love."

"So do you." Yut-Lung poured tea, but he was smiling.

"Well," said Eiji, leaning over the counter. "I don't know what Nadia will think, but I know what Shorter will think, even if she doesn't like you. He'll stay by your side. That's what I would do."

Yut-Lung froze, hand clutching the mug's arm. He swallowed. "I hope so." He studied his shoes. "Thank you, Eiji."

"I want Ash to meet my family," Eiji said, sitting across from Yut-Lung at the table. "Eventually. When he's ready." He sipped the tea. It was too hot, but the taste of jasmine soothed the burn on his tongue. He could call them tonight. Tell them that he'd fallen in love with Ash.

I'm still afraid to take risks sometimes.

But Ash, for you…

"Can I ask you something?" Eiji asked, chest tightening. This. This was a risk, right now. His face felt more scalded than the tea mug he clutched between his hands.

"Yes," said Yut-Lung. "Though, just so you know, it's actually may I, not can I. Can implies that you don't have the ability, but you do, unless your tongue's about to fall out of your mouth."

"Okay," Eiji said, wrinkling his nose. "May I?"

"Yes." Yut-Lung sounded pleased with his grammar lesson.

"It's personal," Eiji warned.

Yut-Lung stiffened. "Okay…"

"What's sex like?"

Yut-Lung choked on his tea.

"I thought about asking Shorter, but I think you're more likely to be respectful," Eiji rushed to say. "I mean, I thought—because you and Shorter were in the same room, sometimes—so—Ash and I haven't—but lately he's been kissing me and I was thinking about it and—I don't want to push him, I'm okay waiting like years, or never, but I was just wondering what and how—because of Ash's—and you—" He was messing this up. "You really don't have to answer if—"

Yut-Lung grabbed a napkin, wiping tea from his mouth and shirt. He eyed Eiji. "I wouldn't know. I'm not the person to ask. Shorter and I have not... had sex."

"Oh." Eiji now wanted to die. "I'm sorry. I assumed—"

"You don't have to be sorry," Yut-Lung said. "It's not an... illogical assumption. I've been sleeping in Shorter's room the past week because I keep having nightmares. We just—it hasn't gone that far."

"Ash gets nightmares, too," Eiji said softly. Guilt chewed at him.

"Unfortunately, my only—experiences—have been with—well, not exactly—you know what I'm saying." He looked down into his tea. "And same for Ash, I imagine, and Shorter's only done with with girls, so if you're looking for specifics you're fresh out of luck." A smile curved at his lips as if he was enjoying Eiji's discomfort.

"I wasn't—"

"Though," Yut-Lung said. "I do wonder what it'd be like. I think about it. Doing it with someone you like, who likes you, someone you know won't hurt you. Making a choice for yourself." He rested his chin on his fist. "I think I'd like to do it, then. But there's a part of me that—is nervous that if I even suggested it I'd be—what they used to make me—but—" He met Eiji's eyes. "It means a lot to me that Shorter's never pressed."

Eiji nodded.

"But part of me also wishes he would," said Yut-Lung. "I'm sure he would have suggested it, if I weren't me. With all my baggage."

"But you are you," said Eiji. "And he's dating you, and he wants to be with you."

Yut-Lung's face softened. He nodded, drinking more tea. "I would like to," he admitted. He studied Eiji, as if looking for a sign of judgement.

Eiji nodded.

"Give Ash time," said Yut-Lung.

"If he never wanted to, I would not care," Eiji said. "I just wondered because of that kiss in the park. I like him because he's him, and—"

"I know," Yut-Lung said. "You don't have to convince me."

"What are you two talking about?" called a voice from Yut-Lung's room. Eiji stiffened. He'd forgotten Sing had taken a nap in there.

"Nothing," Eiji insisted.

Yut-Lung groaned.

"I heard the word sex," said Sing, settling down at the table. "So I was wondering—"

"This is not a conversation for a fourteen-year-old," Yut-Lung snapped. He rolled his eyes at Eiji, and Eiji thought of how Sing was like him, growing up without this kind of pain.

"Why not?"

Eiji covered Sing's ears for him. Sing yelped.

"I will poison your food if you even think about it at your age," Yut-Lung warned.

"I'll help," Eiji said.

"Jesus!" shrieked Sing. "Okay, okay, you're both sick!"

"Wait, you're going shopping?" asked Sing. "Can I come with you?"

Yut-Lung rolled his eyes. He had to excuse himself from that conversation before his organs melted from embarrassment. "I'm not buying you anything."

"Why are you like this?" Sing complained, face red.

"Coming or not?" Yut-Lung adjusted his coat as he stood in the doorway.

"Coming," Sing mumbled, dragging himself up. Eiji waved.

His words echoed in Yut-Lung's mind, the innocence of his question. What Yut-Lung would give to have to ask that. Though, he supposed he didn't know what it was like to be with someone you loved. If his mother hadn't been killed, he might be at an age where he'd only just be starting to think about sex, like a normal teenager. He leaned his head back against the elevator wall.

Seventeen. He should still be in high school, or college, since he'd gotten his high school diploma well over a year ago. Not a murderer given another chance, heir to a crime syndicate he was passing on to others.

"Remember when I had to guard you?" Sing asked.

Yut-Lung glared at him.

"Whoa, chill, I'm just teasing." Sing's hands flew up. "Shopping with you is always an adventure. It's like you grew up in a different world."

Yut-Lung shrugged. "They said I'm the one who gets it all, according to my brothers' wills. Even though I killed them." The police didn't seem pressed to look too deeply into it. Which Yut-Lung was both grateful for and felt guilty about.

"Why do I get a second chance?" he'd asked Shorter, huddled in his bed with his knees up against his chest.

"I must have missed something, because I didn't realize you'd gotten a first one," Shorter had replied.

Fair enough, Yut-Lung supposed. "I want to use it for something that makes people smile instead of afraid," Yut-Lung said. "Though Eiji got Ibe to make sure I put some into savings." It wasn't like Yut-Lung didn't know that, though. His brothers were bankers. He knew how it worked. But he kind of liked having someone tell him what to do, like he was any other naive seventeen-year-old.

I just want to be normal.

"Do you know what you're getting Shorter for Christmas?" asked Sing. "We don't really buy each other things. Lao got me scratch tickets last year. They were fun. I won a dollar."

"I don't know what I'm getting Shorter and I don't know what I'm getting you," Yut-Lung said. The cold nipped at his nose. The city was lit up with Christmas lights at night. He hesitated. "I did say I'd be your benefactor once."

"What's that supposed to mean? You've like, already handled over control of Chinatown to me and Shorter. You're pretty much just in name only. Also, you said you weren't buying me anything tonight and now I'm going to hold you to that."

"I'm aware." Yut-Lung blew his breath out. It formed a frosted puff in the air. "For my gift to you, why don't I give you money, so you can buy what you want for people? Without having to worry about affording it."

Sing eyed him. "Who are you, and what have you done with Yut-Lung?"

Yut-Lung flipped him off. He ducked into a department store, Sing following. "Last time I was in a place like this," said Yut-Lung. "Was when I bought Shorter his sneakers. The salesperson assumed Shorter and I were dating."

"He was psychic," declared Sing.

Yut-Lung eyed the merchandise. He could get Eiji a leather jacket. Eiji would look great in it. Ash was harder to buy for. Maybe a book, but he wouldn't find it here. He and Sing stopped to buy fancy hot chocolate, the kind that came with a small sample of gourmet chocolate, and were about to leave when he heard a voice calling out to them.

"Sing! Yut-Lung!"

He turned. Max waved at them, Jessica and Michael behind him. "This one wanted to see Santa," said Max.

"He's not real," said Michael. "But he is fun."

Sing snorted.

Yut-Lung gulped. He still couldn't look Jessica in the eye, when he remembered the things that were done to her under his brother's direction. And his, even though Jessica said he was just a child.

"He is too," Max insisted.

It's a lost cause, give it up. Yut-Lung studied his shoes, scuffed and stained from the salt coating the sidewalks. Sing and Michael started debating about a comic book superhero.

"Hey, rude boy," said Jessica. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Yut-Lung stiffened. He turned to her, pressing his lips together.

"Looking forward to seeing you at Christmas," was all she said, but she smiled.

Yut-Lung opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He nodded.

"Why is your hair so long?" asked Michael, looking up at him.

Me? My hair? Yut-Lung stared down at the child. "I like growing it out."

"But you're a boy."

"Boys can have long hair, if they want to." Yut-Lung gulped. He had no idea how to handle children.

"It's pretty," said Michael.

Pretty? He remembered his mother's hand, clutching her red brush, combing and combing her hair, it swaying back and forth down her back while he watched. He thought how pretty she looked.

Yut-Lung crouched down to be on Michael's level. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Michael beamed. "Papa, can we get pizza for dinner?"

"Nope," said Jessica. "Nice try, though." She smiled at Yut-Lung. "You'll have to tell me what you use on your hair."

"Good genes," said Yut-Lung. "And a certain brand of shampoo."

She laughed.

"See? They don't hate you," Sing commented after they left.

Yut-Lung rubbed the back of his neck as they strode down the sidewalk. "They don't," he agreed. Michael even seemed to like him well enough. A kid. Liked him.

I can't be too broken, then. And Jessica had smiled at him. And complimented him. She kind of looked like a blond version of his mother, with her long hair and no-nonsense attitude.

"Oh my god, you actually agreed with me," Sing said. "It's a Christmas miracle."

Yut-Lung shoved him. Sing snorted and crouched down.

"You okay?" Yut-Lung asked.

Sing whirled around and threw a chunk of snow and ice into his face. Yut-Lung's jaw dropped. Sing was laughing. Yut-Lung's eyes narrowed.

"Uh-oh," said Sing, turning on his heel and darting down the street.

The hell with dignity. Yut-Lung chased him, bags flapping at his side. He hurled a handful of snow at him.

"You missed!" taunted Sing.

"Get back here!"

Was this what normal teenagers did? It almost felt like it might be. Yut-Lung panted as they weaved through the crowds, for once not running for their lives but to throw snow at each other. Sing accidentally hurled snow on a young woman, who shrieked. "Sorry, sorry!"

"Pathetic," called Yut-Lung. Sing raced across the street just as a truck blared its horn, forcing Yut-Lung to stumble back to the sidewalk. Dammit! He darted across, looking for Sing. He slowed.

A handful of ice pressed against his neck. Yut-Lung yelped.

"Ha! 2-0!" Sing booked it towards the condo. Yut-Lung grabbed a handful of snow, finally catching up as they reached the building. He dumped it on Sing's head, rubbing the frigid snow into Sing's hair.

"Should I ask?" Ash's voice interrupted. Hands in his pockets, he headed up the street towards them.

Yut-Lung noted how Sing's face turned sheepish. "No," he recommended.

"Okay then." Ash smirked as he let them into the building.

Shorter was already inside, and he burst into laughing when he saw Yut-Lung and Sing dropping with snow. "Have fun?"

"He has terrible aim," said Sing.

"I'm not the one who hit a random girl!" Yut-Lung countered.

"Wait, did he really?" asked Ash. Yut-Lung nodded. Ash guffawed.

Shorter slung his arm around Yut-Lung, wet and all. Yut-Lung relaxed.

That night, after Sing left and Yut-Lung took a hot shower, Yut-Lung sat combing his hair in his room. He still felt light, like he was floating. Jessica was okay with him. Michael liked him. He and Sing had a fight with snow instead of with bullets or knives. He wasn't some kind of inherently dirty person whom everyone somehow knew was broken and refused to deal with as a result.

People can like me.

Eiji didn't even think he was broken. And Shorter… it wasn't because he had to like him or tolerate him. Maybe you really do want to be with me, because… because you really do like me.

He'd never really thought like that before. Even when Shorter was there when he had nightmares, even when he slept in Shorter's room without him trying anything, even when Shorter kissed him, constantly checking his eyes to see if he was okay, he still thought of himself as something to be tolerated, like Wang-Lung always said he was.

Screw you, Wang-Lung. Yut-Lung got to his feet. He set the brush down with a clack, tossing his hair over his shoulder. He knocked on Shorter's door.

Shorter flung it open. "Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?"

Yut-Lung shook his head. He slipped inside and hesitated.

"What happened?"

"Only good things," said Yut-Lung. He met Shorter's eyes, unshielded by his sunglasses. They were the color of ginger tea. "You like me."

"Um, yes? I'm dating you." Shorter cocked his head. "I mean—did I do something wrong, to make you think that I—"

"No," Yut-Lung broke in, heart pounding. "You didn't." He reached up, wrapping his arms around Shorter, and pressed his lips against his.

This was the first time he initiated. He asked Shorter to kiss him often, but he never started it. He worried what Shorter might think of him. But—but—I trust you.

Shorter's mouth opened instantly, kissing Yut-Lung back. Yut-Lung pushed him back against the wall, clutching his shoulders. Shorter's fingers roved through Yut-Lung's hair, damp from his shower, careful at first not to tangle it, and then he just gripped it. Their teeth clacked. Shorter snorted. His lips trailed down Yut-Lung's neck, latching on. Yut-Lung sucked in his breath. His fingers dug into Shorter's sides.

"Sorry," Shorter managed, pulling back.

"Don't be," Yut-Lung said. He pressed his forehead against Shorter's. "What if we tried and—saw how far we could go? I mean, if you wanted to. I could stop it at any point, or you could, but we don't have to."

"What brought this on? Not that I'm complaining," Shorter added, rubbing his forehead. His other hand traced Yut-Lung's jaw.

"I talked with Eiji."

Shorter looked as if Yut-Lung had just handed him a math problem.

"And I realized I really—don't think you'd hurt me," Yut-Lung said. "And I trust you. I really trust you. I want to—I think I can do what I want, now. If you want, of course."

"Um, not that I don't want to," said Shorter. "But..." He pulled back. "You realize that this isn't how you have to show affection, right? I know you like me." He bopped Yut-Lung on the head. "You're cute and obvious with your feelings. And I trust you, and you don't owe me for liking you, or for being with you. I believe you like me, and you don't have to do anything physical to prove that you do. Believe it or not, despite me clearly being a very virile and attractive man, I will not die from a lack of sex."

Yut-Lung's nose wrinkled. "You don't want me?" He felt like that wasn't the case, though. He knew it wasn't.

"That's not it," said Shorter. He pressed his forehead against Yut-Lung's.

You want all of me. And that means you don't want me to be used, or to use my body to prove anything like I always have.

"You would never hurt me," Yut-Lung said. "Trust me, too. Tonight, or another night. It doesn't have to be now. Whenever you're ready." He squeezed Shorter's shoulder. Thank you.

Shorter hesitated. He lowered his lips to Yut-Lung's again. "You really can stop it whenever you want."

Yut-Lung nodded. Shorter's lips delved down again. When his shirt came off, Shorter kissed him down his sternum, ran his palms and fingers over his stomach and sides, felt the space between his ribs and the softness of his skin like he was something to be treasured. And it wasn't just his body, a tool, like it had been for Yut-Lung before. Shorter's eyes kept checking with him, checking what was okay and what was not. He held him close. He called him by his name. He knew him.

"I don't want to stop," Yut-Lung managed when Shorter paused. "I'm nervous, but—I don't want to stop." I trust you. And I don't have to prove anything, and I know it, but—I really want to try.

Shorter hesitated, and then he pulled back. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," Yut-Lung said, looking up at him.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, and Shorter kissed him again.

You trust me, too. Yut-Lung relaxed. He pulled him closer. There were memories, of course, knocking around inside his skull.

I want to forget.

I'll never completely forget.

But you're still here.

Sweat dampened Shorter's purple mohawk, and he kept murmuring Yut-Lung's name like it was something precious. No masks, not the frozen face or the fake smile Yut-Lung had used in the past, no fake dignity to mask a horrific violation, but awkwardness and shifting and repeated assurances, and through it all he kept his eyes on Shorter's face.

And then Yut-Lung almost snickered.

"What?" Shorter mumbled, lifting his head up, resting his chin on Yut-Lung's chest.

"Your face just looked really funny," Yut-Lung said.

Shorter's eyes narrowed, but he was laughing too. "You're beautiful," said Shorter, pressing his face into Yut-Lung's neck. "I can't believe you like me."

For the first time, beauty felt like a gift to him, and not a curse, and it felt like something tangible and permanent, not a whimsical temporality. You, too, Yut-Lung thought. You're beautiful. Even if your face looked like a twisted handkerchief.

Yut-Lung rolled over, leaning against Shorter as they both caught their breath.

"You're smiling," Shorter said, thumb on his cheek.

"Yeah," Yut-Lung eked out. He snorted. "I guess I am." He closed his eyes.

He felt a hand in his hair again, a chaste kiss on the top of his scalp. The whisper came soft. "I love you."

Yut-Lung's eyes flew open. He checked. It really was what he'd said?

Well, now he was crying. "Me too," he said. "I mean, I love you, too."