Chapter Text
Sing remembers all of his dreams.
They all feel soft, like his dreams are inside the clouds in the sky. Everything happens in the background, except he’s also part of the background. Everything feels gentler, and he can’t hear any sounds but he knows there are words being said.
He can feel things. He can feel things like skin, feel things like colors and silk. He can feel things like hair across his shoulders, hair flowing down his skin from above. He can feel Yut Lung.
He can feel Yut Lung’s arms wrapping around him like warmth on a cold winter’s night, he can feel Yut Lung’s skin on his like velvet, smooth and flowing, like it could slip away at any moment and he wouldn’t even realise until it was gone.
He can feel his breath on the nape of his neck, they’re so hot, except they aren’t, because he can’t really feel them at all. He’s in a dream, after all, although he isn’t always aware of that until after he wakes up, cold and disappointed, the sheets around him too thin and the air around him not quite warm enough.
Sometimes, if he tries to remember for long enough, he can feel the echoes of Yut Lung’s lips on his, on his cheeks, on his neck. They’re smoldering softly, like burn marks slowly fading away, a fire imprinted in his memory he hasn’t quite let go of.
He isn’t aware of his surroundings, when he dreams, it all feels sort of fuzzy, like static on a television screen, moving, blurry, indistinct. He doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks, because it helps him to forget about everything else and focus on the fading touches and sliding satin, fleeting visions of glowing skin and sculpted features, lines cut into his features like knives in flesh. They’re distinct, they mark him as beautiful and unearthly.
He is, yes, he’s both of those things, beautiful and unearthly, but they call him that for his pale skin and delicate features, and they forget that there is something underneath all that, something that twists and swirls inside of him, golden, syrupy like honey, coated in bitterness and caustic words so that the gold is never visible.
They call him beautiful, and they call him unearthly, and that is exactly how he appears when Sing dreams of him, but he can see honey-covered insides dripping in double-edged words he uses as a shield. He can see inside Yut Lung, he can see cracks in clear golden glaze, he can see where it sticks to the words and twists them so they become something not quite sweet but not quite sour, either.
He can see all of Yut Lung, and even though sometimes he has dreams he wishes he could forget, he’s glad he can hold his dreams of Lee Yut Lung and lock them away with a key he’d lost somewhere in his heart some time ago. He’s glad he can hold them, if only for a little while, before he sees him again.
Sometimes seeing Yut Lung makes him wonder if they’re telling the truth when they say that dreams really do come true.