the world is crazy (and so does our love)

Hangeng wasn’t supposed to see him in the first place. He was tasked to assassinate the Emperor before the 10^th morning arrived. Everything was according to his plan—everyone in the palace was relaxed and un-expecting just like they should when a war passed in a silent death. One step closer to the Emperor’s chamber, he felt something tugged inside him; he closed his eyes in reflex, feeling the world tilted a little. And when he opened them, it was not the Emperor he saw.

It was a man was cloaked in tight fabric, pressed to kiss his white skin, his hair was a sea of blood, and his face seemed to have been stolen from a god. He was beautiful, Hangeng deemed as his eyes feasted on the way the stranger’s eyelashes’ flutter against his lower lids, his plump lips mouthing silently as he read from a thin silver box he was holding.

He diverted his gaze and observed that the chamber was different—thick red ropes hang on gold stands, drawing pathways and excluding places like the Emperor’s bed, the tables and other furniture and ornaments.

Lost in confusion, Hangeng didn’t hear anything until he glanced back to the stranger standing near the Emperor’s bed. He was frowning when he asked Hangeng in a language he didn’t understand.

Did China have another language he hasn’t learned yet? Hangeng tried to repeat some words he could in his mind but they didn’t register. The man sighed and muttered to himself, before saying, “Nǐ shì shuí?” (Who are you?)

The stranger had a funny way of speaking but at least Hangeng understood him finally. The stranger frowned harder when he didn’t reply. He looked at his box again, his fingers tapping in quick succession. “Zhànshì… Zhànshì? (Soldier) ” he read. He must have noticed it from his attire—the black shirt and the loose trousers which hid his knives well. He tugged at the fabric placed over his lower face and smiled.

“Duì,”(Yes) Hangeng replied. The stranger nodded, smiling at him timidly before walking out the room.

Hangeng strode towards a large gold plaque, reading the ancient scribes in hurry for information. It said what the public must know about Emperor Shùnzhì and the structure of his chamber. A white paper was placed next to it.

Qǐng tiánxiě zhè fèn biǎogé.

(Please fill out this form.)

7 yuè 10 hào 2014 nián

(July 10, 2014)

He was still in China. But it was 368 years later.

-

Hangeng was still a prison of his thoughts when he felt someone entered the room. It was the same stranger, who looked at him with angry eyes. He pointed at his attire, and Hangeng glanced at it as if expecting something was wrong with them.

“Assassin!” The stranger hissed, still pointing at him. Hangeng laughed a little before nodding. But before the latter could scream murder, Hangeng reached his wrist and pulled him until they were behind a small curtain on a corner of the chamber. He pushed him gently against the wall, his hand upon his mouth and the other touching the wall, entrapping the latter in the process. The stranger’s eyes widened with fear.

“Who are you?” he whispered against his right ear. He towered against the latter easily, and Hangeng could smell a hint of sweat and perfume.

“X- Xīchè. Jīn Xīchè,” he heard him say breathlessly.

“I’m HanGeng,” he replied, in exchange of the favor he would demand. “I won’t kill you,” he said, uttering the words slowly in hope that the stranger understood. But by the way he shivered against him, Hangeng knew his threatening was recognized. “But you have to help me.”

-

Hangeng learned that Jīn Xīchè was actually Korean, and Kim Heechul was his Korean name. Hangeng taught himself how to say it the very day Heechul told him, replaying the words over his tongue until it embraced every syllable. He also learned that Heechul writes books and was staying in China indefinitely. Apparently, he was just touring at the castle for research the day they met.

Hangeng found himself living in one of the rooms of a tall house (it was called a building, he discovered later) with Heechul who still believed that Hangeng would carry out his threat the moment he would say no to whatever Geng requested—be it plausible or just plain unreasonable (he saw this every time Heechul frown or would stare at him as if he was stupid, like when Hangeng asked what he was wearing or why did Heechul cut his hair—or every guy he saw.) Maybe it was because Hangeng still carried a knife in his pocket (really, the pants with pockets was a great invention, but Heechul insisted on wearing the tightest ones so Hangeng was left double thinking as he stared at his jean-encased legs. They looked so nice that Hangeng wanted to rip his pants, the great invention, with his knife.

Sometimes, Hangeng could feel Heechul’s eyes on him, stealing glances. When he returned his gaze, Heechul just stifled a groan before stomping out of the room. And Hangeng was left asking himself if he had done something wrong.

Hangeng hasn’t met anyone like Heechul in his time. He was a beautiful man (god, you had to be blind not to see that) but he was loud and he laughed obnoxiously, the grace and finesse of a gentleman were apparent to Heechul only when he’s making fun of Hangeng, acting like the crown princess Hangeng knew. But he was also honest, brutally so, but Hangeng thought of honesty as something a real person must have. Heechul but he’s also patient with Hangeng’s kindergarten questions.

Hangeng declared Heechul as a brilliant person, in all honesty.

(Brilliant and fantastic like the milky white skin Heechul paraded every time he got out of shower. Not that Hangeng’s staring.)

-

“How come you chose to wear that famous assassin attire when I met you? It’s better to, you know, blend in. At least, you won’t be recognized immediately,” Heechul said, his voice resigned not expecting him to answer, knowing that Hangeng could not understood Korean. Heechul’s Chinese was non-existent so Hangeng asked Heechul for Chinese tutorial books for Hangul the very next day and started learning the language.

“But then, you won’t have recognized me,” Hangeng replied in Korean, slow and a little unsure but the surprise that dawned on Heechul’s face made him smile in relief. “Heechulmmph—”

Hangeng wasn’t too sure if in this time, it was perfectly normal to jump someone and kiss like the way Heechul was kissing him—fast and so, so passionate. Anyway, he wasn’t complaining.

“Oh my god, you’re a nerd,” Heechul said when they broke away, still panting. “Don’t talk like that you, I can’t, your accent oh my god,” and he was kissing him again, Hangeng had trouble of keeping them from falling on the floor.

-

“How long will I have to help you before I persuade you not to kill me?” Heechul said, his face residing next to Hangeng’s sweaty neck. His fingers were wandering dangerously close to Hangeng’s crotch. Hangeng swatted them, cackling, as Heechul pouted. They were only covered by Heechul’s white sheet and were on Heechul’s now twin-sized bed.

“Until I say so.”

“But that’s unfair,” Heechul said, rolling until he was lying above Hangeng. “How would I know you’re not a lunatic and I’m not the crazier one to believe you?”

“I’m not a lunatic, Heechul,” Hangeng replied. “But if I am, then yes, you’re the crazier one.”

“Oh my god, I hate you so much.”

“I don’t understand that sentence,” Hangeng deadpanned before Heechul sat upright and grinded against his hips, smirking when Hangeng shamelessly moaned.

-

“Are you sure you’re not living off me? I’m this close to being seriously poor and I know I need to help you but can you, I don’t know, give money for rent or something?”

“Money?” Hangeng asked, thinking critically. For two weeks he have learned the ways of money and of course, Heechul might be broke because he’s the one who was paying for everything he asked for, including new clothes (Heechul had this weird habit of putting him in wife beaters and leather pants), books, food and of course, the haircut. Hangeng almost had a heart attack when he realized that Heechul paid to color his hair.

(“But you’re hot as a blonde.” Heechul said. Hangeng was pretty sure that statement made him like his new hair. The first time Heechul saw him in leather pants AND blonde hair, Hangeng had experienced the greatest marathon ever.)

The next day, he gave 12,000 Chinese Yuan to Heechul who drooled at the sight of packs of bills. “What is this Hankyung why do you have this much money oh my god you didn’t kill some rich guy did you oh my god.”

“No, Heechul. I sold something of mine.”

“Oh, okay,” Heechul said, accepting his reason quite quickly, his hands busy trying to encase all the money to a small pouch. “Don’t do anything tomorrow,” he said as if expecting Hangeng to do something in a world he still hasn’t fully comprehended. “We’re going shopping!”

“Wait, did you sell your knife?”

-

When Hangeng came clean to Heechul, the latter only stared at him for a full minute before saying, “Wow, everything about you became so unbelievably clear.”

That and “Well then, hello, Mr. Assassin of Year 1646, I’m Kim Heechul, Korea’s number one handsome guy of 2014,” as if time travelling from the Qing dynasty was perfectly normal and was happening all the time. Hangeng was scared of Heechul sometimes.

-

At the third week, Hangeng was sick of the food Heechul always bought for them.

“I should cook dinner,” He said, after learning how to use the kitchen utensils Heechul never have used before.

“Yeah right,” Heechul replied before going out to meet his editor. When he arrived, Hangeng had prepared two plates of warm Beijing fried rice for dinner.

“I should marry you,” Heechul said, after finishing his plate. Hangeng beamed. “But then again, I don’t think I like that smug face of yours, dork.”

“Oh, Heechul, I know you like me.”

Heechul huffed, a tinge of pink showered his cheeks and Hangeng couldn’t help himself. He pulled Heechul’s chin with a finger upwards, meeting his face and said “I like you too,” before kissing him full in the mouth. He could never get tired of kissing Heechul.

“You know, it was my birthday the day I met you,” Heechul said breathlessly, after a moment or two. “And I actually wished for a hot Chinese man not a hot Chinese assassin but that’s okay because it doesn’t change the fact that you’re hot and you’re my birthday present.”

“Okay can you stop talking now because I, your hot Chinese birthday present, am trying to kiss you,” Hangeng said, his hands still cupping Heechul’s jaw.

“Oh, okay,” Heechul just replied almost automatically before reaching for Hangeng’s neck.

-

“Are you going back?” Heechul asked, his voice small and a bit broken. “To your time?”

Like every other moment Hangeng witnessed Heechul being so small, so unbelievable fragile, all he wanted was to wipe away the disguised fear and see him smile and be carefree again. And so he tried. “No, Heechul, I won’t.” He said, Heechul’s jaw. “There’s no you. And I love you too much to leave you.” He smiled when Heechul kissed him tenderly, whispering Me too’s between breaths.

So Geng did not go even though he discovered a way back.

He didn’t choose to.