red • STRINGS

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This is a private role-play between .purinsu and jingRAWR.

There's an ancient Chinese legend that speaks of an unbreakable bond between two individuals — a bond that no length of distance or gaps of time can destroy.

• MAIN Huang Cheng-Lei (22) / Tang Jian-Yu (22)
  
  SIDE: Wu Jin-Hai (18) / Liao Long-Wei (21)

• This is Boys' Love.
  

The story takes place five years after Cheng-Lei's unintentional and awkward confession.



Note: This play is serving the purpose of practice as much as it is meant to play out a brief scenario.

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"I have always liked you!" He cried out angrily, words leaving his mouth without much registry. "I have always loved you!"

His body shook from anger as he said the words, but the curve of his eyes and the pull of his lips said he was more fearful than mad, more desperate than upset, and more lost than betrayed. "I love you," he whispered, head bowing in shame to the admission. And as he stood there, eyes refusing to meet with his friend, he looked small and helpless — like a puppy left in the rain.

For years he had kept the secret close to his heart, buried it deep within his being so that Jian-Yu could never discover it - could never learn of his abnormal or unsightly desires. But as he stood there, feelings bared to the world, he wanted - with a desperate kind of hope - that, against all odds, his friend - his best friend - would answer his declaration with a hug and a kiss, with sweet nothings, and with mutual returns. He wanted, with an insane desire, for Jian-Yu to smile at him, brush the hair from his eyes, and whisper, "I've always watched you too." He wanted it more than the sun, more than the moon, and more than the world.

He wanted it more than his very life.

But as he stood there, hands balled into fists and lips drawn into a tight line, he already knew the sad, inevitable truth: his friend wasn't gay. His friend wouldn't answer his feelings with anything more than disgust.

But Jian-Yu wouldn't even give him that.

Without any words, he left the classroom - steps hurried and quick. It sounded as if he was running. He wouldn't be coming back and Cheng-Lei knew that. He knew it with such finality that it hurt. Fourteen years of friendship, fourteen years of love, of hate, and of memories - gone.

He bit his lip, chewing it in defeat. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't sink to the ground, hug his knees, and weep over the loss like some school-girl. He wouldn't give Jian-Yu that satisfaction, wouldn't give him that kind of power. So he stood there, eyes closed and regretted.

He regretted everything.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Birds chirped in the background as the sun rose to fill the skies, coloring it bright blue and brushing away all the darkness of night.

But Huang Cheng-Lei, exhausted from a night's partying, was in no mood to greet the morning with smiles and welcomes. Rather, he found the shrills of the birds to be nerve-grating, the sudden brightness blinding, and the loss of darkness an unhappy event. Grumbling, the redhead rolled over in bed, pulling the sheets over his head. "Five more minutes," he thought, brain still hazy from sleep. "Five more—"

And then a rush of memories assaulted his tired brain, jolting it into alert. "Shit! Cafe, fuck my life!" Yelling, the twenty-two-year-old jumped out of bed and, in a whirlwind, got ready. He can't afford to be late to this. He can't afford to be late — period.

With his jacket half on, toast dangling from his mouth, and hair still a wild mess, Cheng-Lei was out the door, racing down the rickety metal stairs. He knew there was a reason why he didn't want to go drinking last night.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER

By the time he made it to the cafe, his hair was beyond help and his clothes a frightfully wrinkled mess; mysterious stains made themselves comfortable on his sleeves and hints of a tear hid in his jeans. Quickly locking his bike, the redhead strolled in — surprised and relieved to find the place still empty and dark.

And here he thought he was—

"You're late."

Fuck.

Turning on his heels, Cheng-Lei summoned the brightest smile he could muster, which, despite its effort, was a pitiful excuse for a smile. "Sorry, boss. Had a bit of an accident on the way over and—"

"Save it," she interrupted, adjusting her glasses as she got up from her seat. As expected, she looked polished and perfect — something that Cheng-Lei has never managed to do. Everything from her hair was flawless — not a thing out of place. "Go get changed and set up, today we have a new worker."

"New worker?" He echoed, wrinkling his nose at the idea of training someone. They already had seven employees: one chef, one patissier, one patissier-in-training, and four waiters. They really didn't need another person. "Don't we have a little overcrowding issue here?"

Laughing, the bespectacled woman only shook her head, freshly manicured nails digging themselves into his shoulder. "Oh, Cheng-Lei, this one is special."

And there was something distinctly scary about her expression. "You had better treat him well." With that, she left, presumably to hunt down the rest of her unruly employees.

Sighing, the redhead made his way to the backroom. As long as she was still willing to pay him, any executive decision wasn't his problem.

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"Do you love me?" She whispered, voice heavy with passion.

Milky white arms reached towards him, hanging themselves from his neck as she pulled his face close — so close that she could feel his breath, hot and excited, on her skin. "Jian-Yu, do you love me?"

Painted red lips parted into a shy, child-like smile as glassy brown eyes waited for an answer — scared, but eager to hear his confession. Of course he loved her. They've been together for years now — a relationship that has lasted well beyond his typical trysts. Even if the reporters set Jian in a flame of scandal and hate, she knew how much he loved her. "Tell me you love me."

And Jian-Yu, the apple of her world, grinned, revealing pearly-polished teeth. "Mei, I love you."

THE NEXT DAY

"Where were you last night?" Wen-Min, thirty-four and worried, asked, tone harsh and unforgiving. And when Jian-Yu stayed silent, Min's tone turned accusatory — suspicious. "You were with Xiao-Mei, weren't you?"

Jian-Yu, still wearing his coat and sunglasses, expertly ignored the man. He had been down this road before, heard the lecture more times than necessary, and, right now, he wasn't in the mood for argument. It was early — the sun was barely up — and Jian only wanted a warm meal. "Min, I'm hungry."

"Were you with Mei?" Again, sharper. Ever since then, Wen-Min became stricter with his charge, constantly hounding him about his day, about his happenings. It was as if he had gone from being his manager to being his babysitter. "Tang Jian-Yu, answer me — now."

"Fine," the brunette snapped, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I was with Mei last night, shit. I needed a body."

"That girl is bad news," Min hissed, rounding on the younger and shorter male. "If you're just looking to get off, go find someone else."

"That's too troublesome," the twenty-two-year-old muttered as he rummaged through the cabinets, looking for food that wasn't there. "Mei doesn't ask for anything."

"Just don't go to her again," Min repeated, insistent. "Also, we're leaving now."

"What?"

"Your job. The one you agreed to."

"Huh?"

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

"This is the place?" Jian glanced up at the sign, arching a brow in question. To be honest, the cafe looked a little run-down. "I'm supposed to work in this hole?"

Wen-Min nodded, coughing a little as they circled the block for the fourth time.

"You have to be shitting me," Jian said at last, frowning as he stared at his reflection. For such a venue, he was, clearly, overdressed. Everything from his Chanel aviators to his pointed leather shoes screamed: overdressed. "You guys couldn't find a better place?" Even if this was just a temporary arrangement, it was still a little too much.

"I can't work here."

"Too bad," Min countered, tone clearly indicating his indifference, as he pulled the car to a stop — its presence already attracting far too much attention. Even though there were more cars on the streets now, seeing fancy, foreign sports car were still unusual. "This isn't a vacation."

"I know that," the brunette muttered, bitter, but got out of the car anyway. This was only for a few months and then he would never have to come here again, never have to set foot in such a disgusting little hell-hole. "Still, why did it have to be this cafe?"

"President's niece owns it."

"I see."

INSIDE THE CAFE

A tiny bell chimed overhead as the door opened. The inside of the cafe was neat, if a bit bare and empty. The walls were simply decorated and floor looked recently polished. At least the inside of the building looked clean.

Clearing his throat, the brunette looked around the space — it was still dark and the owner, a young woman in her late twenties, was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was left to stand awkwardly at the door, body itching from discomfort. This was sure not the welcome he had been expecting.

"Ah, you must be Tang Jian-Yu!"

Startled — shocked and all variants — Jian jumped, heart racing even after he found the speaker. She had been at his side, smile wide and eyes sharply assessing him. "You're perfect. Anyway, I'm the owner, you can call me 'Madam' and your mentor for the time being is in the back room getting changed."

Jian nodded and with a camera-shy smile, made his way towards the back room. So this was really happening.

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With quick, familiar motions, Cheng-Lei dressed himself. Even though he hated this job (the customers were almost always a pain in the ass), he, secretly, liked the clothes. The materials were quality, hand-sewn pieces — things that Cheng-Lei could never, personally, afford.

Smiling at his reflection, the redhead pointed two finger-guns at himself and mimed firing shots — even going as far as blowing off the "smoke." Clothes really did make the man.

Grinning, he closed his locker and made his way towards the door, steeling his mind in preparation for the long day ahead. Even though the cafe wasn't the busiest, hippest shop in town, it had its fair share of loyal, dedicated customers. Plus, today there was that rookie to train...

"Oh!" He stopped as the door swung open, revealing a smartly dressed young man, who looked to be in his early twenties. He was a good head taller than Cheng-Lei, slender, and, for lack of better words, pretty. "So, this is the 'special' guy, eh?" Mentally, whistling in mild appreciation, Cheng-Lei straightened up and cleared his throat, working up a polite smile.

Even if he didn't like training beginners, it didn't mean he couldn't make exceptions. And for someone this good-looking, Cheng-Lei would be daft to not.

"Hey, there, new guy!" Placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder, Cheng-Lei drew the taller male into a loose hug, stealing the chance to smell the other man's cologne — fresh, crisp, and expensive. Yeah, that went with his look. "So, I'm Cheng-Lei, I'll be showing you around the place, teaching you the basics, and you know, everything.

"So, over here, this is your locker — er, Tang Jian-Yu..." His voice trailed at the name and suddenly things felt awkward, stiff, and uncomfortable. His arm dropped from the other man's shoulder as his eyes narrowed at the name. "Tang Jian-Yu."

There was no way this was that Tang Jian-Yu.

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The walk to the back room had been a brief one — twenty-four and a half strides.

"Please do not be a weirdo," Jian pleaded silently, eyes closed as he turned the knob. To his surprise, the back room was neat and well-lit. The florescent lights reached all corners of the room and boxes (with labels such as: Gothic Lolita, Victorian, etc) were organized to the side, stacked evenly against the wall. There was even a high window on the far end — its glass sealed shut by some sort of tape.

"Oh!" Jian resisted the urge to jump at the exclamation. Instead, very slowly, he turned to greet his so-called "mentor." Based on his appearance, the kid probably wasn't much older than him. He also looked like the type to switch jobs every few months.

"Hello, I'm—"

But Jian never got a chance to finish (he didn't even really get a chance to start). The other worker — Cheng-Lei, or whatever — had swung an arm over his shoulder and started talking a mile a minute. And Jian was certain that this redhead could go on all day if he hadn't been stopped by something.

"Tang Jian-Yu."

He repeated the name, voice quieter now, and body completely still. It was like he had seen a ghost or something. Or maybe—

Jian rolled his eyes at the sudden realization. Of course, that had to be the reason. Taking a deep breath, Jian worked his "press-smile" and said, "Haha, yeah, I'm Tang Jian-Yu. It's really nice to meet you. I hope while I work here, you'll help teach me everything." He took off his shades and set them on the shelf, hanging his scarf on the hook. "Sorry if this is a shock, but I'm taking a break from acting for a little bit."

As a famous celebrity, Jian was accustomed to star-struck, idol-chasing fans. He had even perfected his method with dealing with them: Given them a little of what they want and then withdraw. Over the years, he had gotten pretty good at it too.

Taking off his coat — Min had insisted he wear one, despite the summer-esque season — Jian folded it neatly into a square, setting that right underneath his glasses. "So, I'm guessing this is what I'll be changing into?" He asked, gesturing towards the suit hanging in the locker.

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And there it was — the face he could never escape. It smiled down from billboards, flashed by on television, and sat poised in magazines. It was the face he had, over the past five years, come to hate with every fiber in his body.

"Sorry if this is a shock, but I'm taking a break from acting for a little bit."

He wasn't sorry — this much, Cheng-Lei could tell. Even though it had been years since they last saw each other, Cheng-Lei could still read him like an open book. Sure, his techniques have refined — it's subtler now — but the lack of genuine sincerity was obvious. He was smiling too much, his body was too relaxed, and his eyes looked dead, save for the light reflecting off the irises.

"So, I'm guessing this is what I'll be changing into?"

Tightening his lips into a frown, Cheng-Lei shrugged, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Yeah, put it on. I'll show you around when you're done."

Friendliness evaporated completely from his tone and, without waiting for Jian to make any more comments or questions, Cheng-Lei left, letting the door slam shut behind him.

"I can't do this," he bit his lower lip, frustrated that the last person he had ever wanted to see had suddenly shown up. "Why did he have to come back now?"



"This is the floor," he began, voice gruff and eyes refusing to meet with the brunette's. "Over there is the kitchen — it's off-limits to us during work-time. Don't bother going in there."

He was listing places, instructions, and names at bullet-pace — firing them out without caring whether or not Jian caught it all. It wasn't like he was actually going to work here. He was probably here for some stupid publicity stunt. "Anyway, that's it. You'll be working on cleaning up at first."

Picking up a dirty dish rag, Cheng-Lei tossed it at Jian. "You'll clean with that. Don't make trouble for the rest of us."

And as Cheng-Lei was about to make himself a cup of hot coffee, the bell chimed and in came Jin-Hai walked in, brilliant blond hair reflecting off the sunlight outside. "Yo."

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Jealousy?

Jian watched as the other man left the room — cringing when the door clashed loudly into its clasp. "Well, that was strange."

Shrugging, the brunette slipped out of the rest of his clothes and, as quickly as he could, change.

The black vest hugged his waist a little too tightly and the dress shirt hung a little long — making the cuffs fall into his fingers. But despite these mistakes, the clothes highlighted his features — showing off his slender waist, elegant legs, and flawlessly, smooth skin.

It felt like a photo shoot and, at the reminder or what this was not, Jian grimaced. "Three months," he promised, quietly closing the locker door as he exited through the same door he had entered in. "Three months."


_


Huang-something-or-another fired away with instructions, pointing and giving explanations at a-mile-a-minute. He didn't pause to take a breath and he didn't stop for questions, which, Jian assumed, was something the other man was trying to avoid.

"What is his problem?"

The brunette shot the redhead a confused glare — upset that this stranger was treating him like a third-rate-nobody (didn't he realize that he was the Tang Jian-Yu?) and frustrated that he he couldn't do anything to change things. If this continued, Jian wasn't sure he could make it past the day, much less three months.

So busy mentally shooting daggers at the redhead, Jian almost missed the rag flying his way. Fumbling for a bit, Jian stared at the ragged cloth, nose wrinkling in response to the putrid odor.

"You'll clean with that. Don't make trouble for the rest of us."

It sounded like he was smiling — laughing, maybe. And Jian, who has never cleaned a thing in his life (much less with something so disgusting), wasn't going to just sit around, all docile-like. Opening his mouth to protest (to play the I'm-a-famous-actor card), the bell chimed from behind and someone — another employee? — strolled him, all smiles and refreshing-aura.

"Yo," Cheng-something greeted from the bar, nodding towards the blond with a kind of friendliness that he hadn't shown Tang since his first words.