"Here, giving this back to you. Thanks again." Đông Anh handed over the neatly folded leather jacket. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"
"So you're the buttoned-up type, huh? No wonder you only get along with your sister Ba." Dung said.
"How'd you know that?"
"Just a hunch. Your brother Hai and sister Tư always dressed to the nines, chasing the latest fashion trends. You? You look like someone snuck out of a monastery."
Reflexively, Đông Anh reached up to touch the top button of his collar. His expression tightened, like someone had just caught him in the act. Next to him, Dung sprawled comfortably across the seat, waving a lazy hand to fan himself.
"This heat is suffocating. Come on, loosen a button or two, sir."
With that, Dung unfastened the top two buttons of his own shirt, revealing sharp collarbones against pale skin. Đông Anh caught a glimpse, then quickly looked away, eyes locked on the back of the seat in front.
"No, thanks," he muttered.
Three seconds later, Dung leaned in close.
"Don't. I said no!" Đông Anh reacted like someone with battle experience, swatting away the wandering hand beside him.
"Relax! I was just helping you with your seatbelt," Dung said coolly, though the smirk in his voice gave him away.
…
Caught off guard, Đông Anh froze for a beat, just enough time for Dung to buckle him in before taking care of his own strap.
"In the future, just remind me. I can do it myself," Đông Anh said stiffly.
Dung nodded innocently, as if the message had landed. The brief awkwardness dissolved as the plane lifted off into the clouds. Dung's gaze stayed on the little boss. His voice softened as he asked:
"Your ears popping, sir?"
Đông Anh shook his head, still avoiding eye contact.
"So, now that you're back in Saigon… how long before you return to the seminary?" Dung asked.
"Probably… after I finish school," Đông Anh replied.
"What are you studying?"
"Literature. At Văn Khoa University."
"Why?"
"…Why what?" Đông Anh blinked, clearly not following.
"Why study in Saigon? You could've stayed in the seminary. They'd even have a better chance of sending you abroad."
Đông Anh hesitated, but before he could answer, Dung chimed in again:
"Or maybe… you're just using school as an excuse to come back to the big, flashy city. Tired of stiff collars and holy shirts already, sir?"
Đông Anh shook his head. "I just needed… space to think."
"Sounds like someone's starting to question his path to priesthood."
Đông Anh didn't respond. He simply held his Bible a little tighter. Seeing that, Dung didn't press further. Instead, he lightened up, speaking in an easy, chatty tone:
"Honestly... getting to study in Saigon's the best deal you could ask for. Plus, it's fun. "I know some Văn Khoa types, by day they're reading Sartre, by night they're grooving at go-go bars. That's what I call a full youth. Who knows, maybe you'll love it here so much… you won't bother going back to the mountains."
Still silent, Đông Anh sat there lost in thought. After a while, he finally spoke:
"I… I wanted to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Um… my parents. They're doing alright, right?"
"They're fine."
"…What about my brother Hai?"
"Also fine."
"…My sisters—Ba and Tư…"
"Both in great shape," Dung cut in. "Even your dog's healthy as hell."
Đông Anh gave a small nod, a tight little smile.
"So… that's all you wanted to ask me?"
Đông Anh hesitated, eyeing Dung for a long beat before finally daring to continue:
"Are you one of my father's new people?
"Nah, just someone doing a bit of business matchmaking for Mr. Liễu."
Đông Anh nodded, like that answered everything then asked:
"What do you do, exactly?"
"You really don't know anything about me?" Dung chuckled. "Then you'd better ask your dad what it is I do."
Đông Anh blinked, wide-eyed, before quickly lowering his gaze, as if trying to hide the flood of questions bubbling under the surface.
"You live in Saigon, right? With skin that pale, I'd guess your family's pretty well off."
"I'm an orphan, never met my parents. Maybe one of them was some foreigner passing through, guess that's how I got this fancy skin tone."
Dung said it so casually, like it didn't matter. But Đông Anh's expression shifted.
"Don't look at me like that," Dung said. "If your eyes get all sad, nobody's gonna wanna look at you anymore."
Đông Anh turned away, eyes facing forward again, fingers playing with the edges of his Bible.
Dung let out a breath. He was glad the boy didn't ask why he didn't like seeing those sad eyes. If he'd been asked, he honestly wouldn't know how to explain it. All he knew was… he hated looking into sorrow that deep, especially when it came from Đông Anh's eyes.
The plane had reached cruising altitude. Around them, passengers were either chatting or lost in their own little worlds. Meanwhile, Đông Anh opened his Bible and began to read.
"Weird," Dung thought, stealing glances. "Is he really Mr. Liễu's son? He doesn't seem to take after anyone in that house." The more he thought about it, the more closely he studied Đông Anh: the slender fingers, the soft curve of the lips. Long, dark lashes fluttered, then opened, then fluttered again before falling shut. Đông Anh's head started to nod.
Dung smirked quietly. He mocked himself for even debating whether he should just sit there and keep watching. Who knows, he thought, maybe the boy'll start talking in his sleep.
Đông Anh's head tilted toward the window, nearly smacking into the glass.
"Just a kid," Dung thought to himself, gently guiding Đông Anh's head to rest on his shoulder. It was a small act of kindness—one Dung figured was the least he could do, even if he hadn't officially agreed to the "babysitter" gig just yet. Fine strands of hair brushed against his cheek, and that cool, clean scent of Đà Lạt drifted faintly past his nose again.
An air hostess pushed the cart down the aisle and stopped beside them. She offered Dung a drink, but he shook his head with a small wave, eyes still on Đông Anh, careful not to disturb the boy's sleep. Noticing her subtle confusion at the tender way Dung was cradling another young man, Dung offered a quick explanation:
"Little brother. He's my little brother."
The air hostess gave a polite smile and rolled the cart away.
But the scent of Đà Lạt lingered, and Dung couldn't help stealing little whiffs of it like it was some kind of comfort. Suddenly, the Bible slipped from Đông Anh's hands. Dung caught it just in time, managing not to wake the sleeping prince. He glanced at the Bible bound in fine leather, the words "Holy Bible" stamped in gold on the cover, beneath a deeply embossed crucifix in intricate detail. Just by the look of the cover, you could tell this belonged to someone with money. Dung flipped it open casually. Tucked between the pages was a folded slip of paper. Dung'shand paused. He looked over to make sure Đông Anh was still sleeping deeply, then carefully pulled out the note and read it.
"Hong anh yêu. Giữ ấm phòng."
('No, my love. Keep the room warm.')
"Damn it," Dung cursed inwardly, feeling like he'd just caught the sly little tail of the little boss's fox disguise. He raised the note closer to his nose. The paper still carried the faint scent of cheap perfume—one Dung recognized all too well.
"Could this be some love note from a street girl?" Dung wondered, holding the paper up to the light and looked carefully.
Beneath the line written in ink, one could make out faint pressure marks—subtle indentations pressed into the page. Dung frowned, reminded of certain kinds of secret codes he'd seen before.
"Hong anh yêu. Giữ ấm phòng," he murmured, eyes fixed on the line. If he took the first letter of each word, it spelled: "Hay gap"("Let's meet," in Vietnamese pronunciation).
Dung's shoulders tensed.
He slipped the note back between the pages and closed the Bible. The boy resting on his shoulder still looked fast asleep… But now Dung wasn't so sure, maybe the kid was just pretending. And at that very moment, the scent of Đà Lạt vanished from his nose—completely.
"Should I slam his head into the window?" Dung thought, just as the cabin speakers announced the plane was preparing to land.