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Hong Lu is absent today.
Heathcliff is, to put it simply, relieved. No more stupid questions that show off how much he doesn’t know about the world. No more dumb, goofy smile that Heathcliff wants to punch every time he wears it like it’s his favorite outfit. He’s glad that the privileged asshole is gone, that he doesn’t have to hear him running his mouth again about his family this, their inheritance that. As if fucking oblivious to his and other people’s glares or eye-rolls, which he may very well be given his dumb smile.
It’s infuriating to say the least, which is why Heathcliff is glad he’s gone today. Every time Hong Lu says some stupid, ignorant rich-people thing, Heathcliff can feel his blood pressure shooting up like it’s about to burst.
It’s not good for his mood or his sanity, and Heathcliff would very much like to continue keeping both. He hopes he doesn’t have to see his stupid face tomorrow, or the day after that. Just one day of being free from him isn’t enough.
Hong Lu is absent today.
Heathcliff’s not surprised. It’s only been what, three, four days? Which, really, if Heathcliff is being honest – still isn’t enough.
Must be a cold, is what he hears other students are saying, which seems plausible - rich assholes aren’t immune to germs, even if they have more than enough money to hire the best doctors in the world. A spiteful part of Heathcliff (which is to say, pretty much all of him) thinks that it’s karma, for all his talks about how his family has this or how they bought that. He may sit high in society, but his body is still as human as the rest of them. It’s a fact that Heathcliff secretly finds comfort in, and thinks about saying to his face when he comes back again.
Hong Lu is absent today.
Heathcliff’s… not sure how to feel about it now. He thinks he’s actually even starting to get a little worried, as much as it surprises him. It’s been 15 days already. 15 whole days. The only time Hong Lu’s been gone for that long was when he went on some luxury – cruise - whatever - vacation. He’d tell about it to everyone days before leaving, promising souvenirs and stories to anybody who asked. Heathcliff had wanted to sock him in the face at the time, seeing how happy and carefree he looked.
Now, though, thinking about it makes him feel different. Weird, for reasons he can’t explain. He’s looking back at it with a more critical eye, and he thinks maybe Hong Lu wasn’t so much as happy as much as being dragged along for the ride and accepting it. Like he had no choice, but to smile and say yes and be happy.
Things, Heathcliff realizes as he thinks back more, that Hong Lu has always done.
Hong Lu is absent today.
Rumors are floating around everywhere in the halls: Hong Lu has been in an accident. Hong Lu has been kidnapped by company rivals. Hong Lu has been secretly married off to another rich family. Hong Lu ran away and is now living under a new identity.
It all sounds like utter shite. Even if he doesn’t give a damn about knowing who Hong Lu’s family is, he knows enough that anything involving him – the treasured heir, as some of the adults liked to call him in a sickeningly precious tone – would already have been announced to the school by now.
But nobody seems to know the truth, not even the teachers. During drama club, Don says a villain must’ve kidnapped him and that it’ s up to them to carry out a rescue. Faust theorizes during study time that it may have to do with his family’s coveted business. Gregor tells him over lunch that he thinks it might be a sickness after all – probably thinking back to his own doctor’s appointments. But it’s all still nothing but empty leads without concrete facts, especially when the person in question is still gone.
“It’s definitely worse than that,” Rodya says when Heathcliff asks her one day. She’s hanging out with Ryōshū, who most of the school regards as someone to not be messed with. Something of an outcast like Heathcliff. “People like that, they smile all the time because it’s the only thing they can do.” She purses her lips like it’s some truth she doesn’t want to admit while Ryōshū nods with a drag of her cigarette. “F.U.C.K,” she simply states, and they go silent.
A week passes. No Hong Lu. Another week passes. No Hong Lu. Then another week.
Still no Hong Lu.
It isn’t until the semester almost ends that Heathcliff finally, finally sees Hong Lu again.
The scary part is how nothing seems to have changed. He looks the same, talks the same. Has that same exact dopey smile as before when he told everyone that it had been just a really, really nasty sickness, but don’t worry, he went to the best doctors and he’s all better now, and how sorry he is to worry everyone!
Heathcliff doesn’t buy it, and not just because that’s what his instincts are telling him. There’s something wrong with Hong Lu’s eyes, off in a way that makes Heathcliff think it’s nothing good at all. If he looks at Hong Lu just right, he thinks he can see it: a part of him missing, like a puzzle piece stolen away.
He doesn’t know what to do with this information, and he equally doesn’t know what to say when Hong Lu walks by and greets him with a smile, “Hey, Heathcliff,” as if nothing had happened and he didn’t disappear for nearly a whole semester.
Heathcliff manages an awkward ‘Hey’ and a short nod of his head. But Hong Lu doesn’t seem to mind or notice. He just smiles again and goes off to do the same thing to the next person and the next.
Everything seems to still be the same in class, much to Heathcliff’s growing disconcertment. Hong Lu gives the right answers with the same smiling expression and laughs with an apology when he doesn’t. But then the bell rings, and suddenly he rushes out like it’s there’s an emergency waiting for him. Heathcliff’s last glimpse is his ponytail swishing behind him as he exits the classroom, a smile still on his face, even though it’s starting to look a little droopy like a wilted flower. Rumors quickly swirl around the school halls again later that day: Hong Lu is sick. Hong Lu has been kidnapped. Hong Lu has run away again and is now living under another new identity. Hong Lu is-
Heathcliff doesn’t care to hear them again. He knows none of them are true, not really. But deep down, he also can’t help but admit: he’s not sure if he actually wants to know the truth.
The next time he and Hong Lu talk, truly talk, it’s days later, when Hindley and his friends catch him before school.
It’s always for the same, stupid reasons – because he deserves it, because he’s a worthless mutt. Because he stole away his dad’s attention by always getting the better grades they know he doesn’t deserve.
They accuse him between brutal blows that leave the inside of his head exploding: “He must’ve cheated,” one snarls. “He must’ve paid them,” another with cruel eyes spits. “He must’ve sucked the teacher off to get the grades that he did,” Hindley grins nastily.
It’s all nothing but horseshit, the same as it’s always been when it comes to Hindley and his shitty circle. But it still doesn’t change anything, nor the unfair facts of life: that Heathcliff is their easiest target, and they’re nothing but cowardly, little shits. They always ambush him when he’s alone, knowing they can’t fight him on equal grounds.
By the time they’re finished, Heathcliff can barely breathe, let alone lift his head. He tries to steady himself, to at least get the throbbing in his vision to stop so he can focus on something that isn’t blinding pain. Slowly, he closes his eyes, counts to five, and opens them again.
Hong Lu’s face stares down at him, his mismatched eyes all wide and concerned. Heathcliff gives a little yelp as he recoils, then lets out a hiss as he brushes against a bruise.
“Your siblings do this to you, too?” Hong Lu asks. He holds out a hand to Heathcliff.
Heathcliff hesitates for a moment, reflexively thinking about swatting it away before putting aside his pride. “That bastard’s not my brother,” he grumbles, grabbing his hand and wincing at another ache. Then the rest of what Hong Lu says catches up to him. “What do you mean ‘too’?”
Hong Lu pulls Heathcliff up and steadies him when he stumbles back. “Oh, you know. Taking their anger out on you, taking their boredom out on you. The sort of things that siblings do.”
Well. Heathcliff’s never had siblings, even though Cathy and Hindley are technically his. But he’s never treated them as one, and they’ve never really treated him as one either. Heathcliff just shakes his head and says, “Tsk, more like assholes. Have you seen how Gregor treats his sister? If he can treat her that well, then these assholes can too.”
Hong Lu smiles, a little off, a little small, and it makes Heathcliff pause. “Mmm, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy her sometimes.” Then he looks down. “But you know, that’s how family is. Even if it hurts, they do it for your own good.”
Heathcliff doesn’t like where this is going. He looks at Hong Lu’s glass-perfect face, at the piece missing from it. “Like… like when they smack your hands?” he says, hoping it’s something like that, just a swat from a pointer or a blow from a broom. Something he can eventually shrug off later in the night. But Hong Lu’s expression doesn’t change.
“No, no, not like that,” he laughs, the sound as off as his smile. “I mean when they do it down here instead.” And his hand moves to the front of his pants, where realization hits like a brutal punch to Heathcliff’s gut. Nausea swells thick and hot in the back of his throat, and he can’t move, can barely speak anything that isn’t the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears.
“Hong Lu,” Heathcliff says, and Hong Lu keeps talking.
“Oh, but it’s not a punishment or anything! Not how it was for you. I mean, your brother looked like he really wanted to hurt you. I suppose I’m lucky that way, haha. After a bath, there’s nothing left at all.”
“Hong Lu, you…”
“It’s like a shot you know? Or taking your medicine.” Hong Lu looks up and he’s smiling again, that same small, awkward smile. “It hurts, but only for a little bit. Afterwards, you learn to get used to it.”
Heathcliff doesn’t know what to say, and what spills out of his mouth when he tries is, “Hong Lu. They don’t...” He takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his nerves, and his stomach roils and churns.
“They don’t… they don’t hurt me like that,” he says, and oh god, he feels like he’s going to throw up. “Hindley’s a fucking asshole, and Josephine and the others treats me like shit, but they don’t-”
“Only just bruises right? And some blood,” Hong Lu says, like he already knows the answer. His eyes are looking at him, glazed over. Looking through him.
Heathcliff’s throat closes tightly. This is far, far out of his depth, out of anything he’s known. He knows pain, he knows bone-deep hurt. Knows what it’s like to have people who are supposed to care for you hurt you. He’s spent cold nights locked out of the house and long nights with an empty belly. Hindley always stops Nelly whenever she’s tried to help him, always made sure to let him know it’s his fault while Josephine makes sure to never let him forget. Cathy was often his only solace during those times, but even then, sometimes she’d let out a careless remark that had his eyes smarting.
But this – this is different. This is a different kind of hurt that Heathcliff is unfamiliar with. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do. All he can think of is-
“Hong Lu.” He doesn’t touch him, but he looks at him, at those eyes that are wrong and that he never wants to see again. “What they’re doing…” Heathcliff’s never had much of a family, but he knows and understands this one other fact of life: “What they’re doing is wrong. Family ain’t supposed to be like that at all.”