Work Text:
When Dan Heng returns home from work, there’s a row of moving boxes cluttering the corridor to his home.
He’d noticed a truck parked outside the building first thing in the morning, but it didn’t occur to him that it would be one of the apartments on his floor. It’s an old complex along the outskirts of Xianzhou city, forgotten even by the owner of the building, who has stopped responding to the numerous email complaints he should’ve gotten in the past few months. The plumbing isn’t great, and a pipe or two is sure to spew water every time it rains too hard. There’s always a group of teenagers that litter despite several warnings against it. Worst of all, there’s a flock of demonic pigeons that keep stealing people’s snacks when they try to eat in the void deck.
The owner had tried to stop these from happening at some point, but when their words fell on deaf ears, he couldn’t be bothered anymore. People have been moving out ever since.
The house right next to Dan Heng’s has been untouched for the year that the previous tenant left for another city. He received news of the place being sold a couple months ago, and while carpenters frequented in and out of the place, his new neighbour never showed face. He wasn’t particularly close to any of his former neighbours, which makes the loss pretty ignorable, until it dawns on him how much more quiet the neighbourhood is without everyone else.
The old couple from the home below him moved a couple months ago to raise their grandkids, and the family who’d always brought him souvenirs for him during their travels moved somewhere closer to their workplaces. He misses their presence, but it’s nothing he can’t live without.
Still, the silence that settles over the block is hard to miss. No one plays tennis in the court in front of his house like they used to. There aren’t any kids howling at the top of their lungs during holidays, or leaf blowers whirring on weekends, or footsteps thumping against the gravel pavement at seven in the morning. It’s quiet—just how Dan Heng is supposed to like it. Even then, there’s something about it that doesn’t feel right.
So, when for the first time in years, he sees moving boxes that suggest someone’s moving in instead of out, he’s taken by surprise. Though, beyond that, he wonders how he’ll wade through the cardboard ocean.
Dan Heng, hoping he won’t kick anything fragile, tries to scoot around the boxes with nimble footing. It’s easier said than done. His heart plummets to his stomach when he nudges one of them with his foot and hears the porcelain clink within. It does a somersault when he knocks into something and realises it’s just furniture. He looks around helplessly for any sight of his new neighbour, hoping they’d be kind enough to spare enough space for walking as they move things into their apartment.
As he passes, Dan Heng peeks into the unfurnished home. He notices a couple silhouettes walking around the place, probably movers doing their best to make sure people like him don’t have to come home to all of IKEA in his corridor. He’s tired anyways, so he makes a mental note to say his greetings later on.
───────
Dan Heng has a relatively decent evening until he gets the news that there’s an article he needs to get done before he gets to work the next morning.
He can’t even be surprised when he gets the urgent text from his boss, shoving another assignment his way because he’s one of the three employees in the entire office of hundreds that can be trusted with something like this. This wouldn’t be a problem, really, if it didn’t mean that he had to deal with work during after hours that are supposed to be reserved for relaxation. He’d learned within the first week of his first job that work-life balance is a hoax that has no point striving for.
There’s always something going on—someone putting a towel and sunglasses over their face on live television so they won’t get caught for skipping work, someone’s pet bird going missing for six months then coming back speaking fluent Spanish, someone clambering onto the rooftop of a pub to protest about the economic inflation.
Journalism is arguably the worst job for someone like Dan Heng. He likes schedules and predictability, but with so much going on in the world at once, he can’t expect either of those things from his career. He used to be surprised about some of the things he had to write about, but a couple years into the job, even the most bizarre things don’t faze him anymore.
He’s busy drafting his article about a geese barfight (yes, a gaggle of geese fought in a bar) when he hears his doorbell ring. Dan Heng flinches, looking up from his desk. The last time he heard the sound must have been a few weeks ago, when the karang guni stopped by during his usual Sunday rounds and told him that he’d be moving away too. He steps away from his desk for a well-needed break; probably for the best before he loses his mind doing research about something that should’ve been quite ordinary and objective.
He opens the door. Oh, an unfamiliar face.
Dan Heng loosens his grip around the knob. “Hello?”
Oh. The man in front of him is devastatingly attractive.
His new neighbour, or so he assumes, is at least a whole head taller than himself. Coupled with an uncanny sense of familiarity, he has an aura that pulls the oxygen out of Dan Heng’s lungs. He carries himself like he has the world wrapped around his finger, even though he’s wearing just a singlet and ripped jeans. He makes it look like an incredibly devastating combination for something so simple. As he runs his hand through his hair, Dan Heng notices the scars between his fingers and how they curve around his wrist. He has the kind of body that looks straight out of a magazine, but Dan Heng stops at his eyes. Fire ignites.
“Hey,” greets his new neighbour. He seems to pause for a moment when he sees Dan Heng, having to swallow his words before he can continue. It’s almost embarrassing being looked at the way that his neighbour is looking at him—lips pursed, heart in his throat, like he’s admiring a painting. Eventually, he lifts his arms to show the package in his arms. “Are you Dan Heng?”
Dan Heng needs to stop looking at his face. It’s hard to, when he can’t make anything of the situation apart from the fact that his heart definitely should not be racing this hard. His neighbour draws his eyebrows together in confusion when he doesn’t receive a response. He knocks his hand against the open door. Dan Heng clears his throat in embarrassment. “Yeah,” he fumbles out. “How did you know my name?”
“Trial and error,” his neighbour explains with a shrug. “One of your packages got delivered to my door, but I couldn’t figure out who it belonged to, so I just went along all the houses and asked for you. At least the lady down the corridor was kind enough to direct me to you instead of frowning.”
Dan Heng slowly takes the package into his arms, cocking his head to read the label. From the weight, he discerns it’s the set of novels he’s been waiting on for a while. He’d bought them a while ago and he was about to lose hope of ever getting them, but he figures it must have gotten lost with the rest of his neighbour’s things. He musters a cordial smile. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he replies.
He pauses after that. Neither of them move even though they’re supposed to, like they both have the shared thought to say something but have no idea whether they should. The cicadas’ chirping is loud amidst the dewy grass, but not more than their silence. The wind tickles his lungs as he tries to speak. Dan Heng fidgets with the package, staring at the label in an attempt to gather his thoughts.
Should I ask for his name?
It shouldn’t be this hard to start a conversation.
“So, your name—”
“How’s life—”
Dan Heng falls quiet, pressing his lips together. He watches as his neighbour does the same, the corners of his cheeks dusted a shade of light pink as he quickly retracts his words. They stare at each other again, trying to read each other’s unmoving expressions for any hint as to what to say next. His neighbour stifles a laugh behind his hand, glancing at Dan Heng for a reaction. A chuckle slips out of his lips. “I’m Blade,” he introduces, finally, and they get somewhere. “I just moved here.”
Dan Heng is tempted to point out how obvious it is, but he decides to hold his tongue. He looks down at the hand extended in greeting, contemplating whether to reciprocate. He doesn’t necessarily like touch, and much less with strangers. Hesitant, he replies, “Dan Heng,” and takes Blade’s hand in his own.
When Blade closes his hand around his palm and shakes it firmly, Dan Heng’s heart flutters. To his dismay, it doesn’t feel very much like nerves.
───────
Their conversation is brief.
At some point, Dan Heng asks the obvious question, what is someone like you doing here?
Blade answers, I didn’t want to be around the city anymore.
That’s probably as much as Dan Heng expected to get out of him in a single conversation. It doesn’t make sense why anybody would give up life in the hustle-bustle of Xianzhou city to move into an old apartment that’s more neglected than anything. But everyone has their reasons, just like how he hasn’t left this place even though he’s long overdue for a change. Dan Heng is normally perceptive when it comes to people, but there’s an air of mystery surrounding his new neighbour that makes people want to pick him apart like a puzzle.
Blade, from the looks of it, doesn’t seem like the kind of person to give everything up without reason. Impulsive, maybe, but methodical. Dan Heng knows nothing about him but can’t help but let his curiosities flare. There’s just too much to ask in the little time they have. They exchange a few pleasantries before Blade has to return to his packing, and by the end of it, Dan Heng can feel the glaring red on his face.
He tries to focus on the article for the rest of his evening.
Somehow, all his thoughts end with the name, ‘Blade’.
───────
A day later, there’s another knock on his front door.
Dan Heng is worn to the bone after having to work extra hours to compensate for the sub-par article he churned out in the midst of his distraction, but the second he hears it, he pushes himself back onto his feet and scampers to the door. Blade, unfortunately, isn’t very forgettable. He has the kind of face that feels familiar when it shouldn’t be, and Dan Heng doesn’t know whether he can’t stop thinking about him because he’s curious or something else entirely.
Forgetting how dishevelled he looks in his loosened collar and semi-unbuttoned shirt, Dan Heng opens the door out of instinct. He tries to stifle his smile, as though he wasn’t already hoping for this to happen. “Yes?”
Blade stands on the other side of the door, an awkward grin stretched across his face. “Hey,” he greets, lifting a hand to wave. “I hope you weren’t up to anything important—it’s just that the, uh, washing machine in my kitchen is acting up and I’m not sure if that’s a thing around here. There aren’t any mechanics that are going to come over at this hour, and I don’t want to wake up smelling like detergent, if possible.”
Dan Heng doesn’t know a single thing about fixing machines. “I can’t promise I can provide any expert advice, but I could take a look at it for you,” he says. Well, it’s about time he learns.
“Seriously? I owe you one,” Blade gasps, straightening his back in surprise like he didn’t think it would work. It’s almost endearing how his face lights up over something so simple. He steps aside to make room for Dan Heng, pushing the empty boxes in the corridor out of the way. “I’m sorry about the mess, by the way. I’m trying to get through all of it by the weekend.”
Dan Heng contemplates his next words carefully, but ends up acting on impulse. “I could always help you out, if you need an extra hand. I’m only free on weekends, but, uh…”
Blade cuts in before he can finish his sentence. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Dan Heng has to tilt his head away to hide his inconspicuous smile. He remains silent as he’s led into the apartment that appears more decorated than it did when he’d walked past it for the first time. From up close, he notices how most of the place has already been designed, down to the off-white embossed wallpaper, abstract shelves in alternating colours of the same palette, and mismatched curtains. There are post-modernist paintings hung in a calculated arrangement on the wall, and beside them, a collection of framed photographs.
Blade’s place is nothing like Dan Heng’s own home with spruce bookshelves and calligraphic tapestries. They’d make an interesting pair.
As Blade leads him into the kitchen, Dan Heng can’t help but notice how many of the photographs on his wall are of himself. Each of them look like the kinds he would’ve seen on the cover of a magazine before. Among them, there are a few casual pictures of Blade and people he assumes are his friends. He doesn’t entertain his thoughts for too long and eventually returns to the idea of how exactly he’s going to fix a washing machine.
“This thing won’t start up,” Blade complains, pointing at the washing machine pressed against his kitchen wall. He folds his arms, then looks back at Dan Heng with a hopeful expression. Beside the machine, there’s an entire box of worn clothes in desperate need of washing. Considering these are the ones he didn’t even pack into suitcases, he’s probably going to be relying on this machine a lot.
“Alright,” Dan Heng inspects, eyeing the machine. “Is it new?”
“No,” Blade replies. “I didn’t change anything in the kitchen. The old owner told me it was working fine.”
Dan Heng crouches in front of the machine, scanning it for any obvious issues. The casing seems to be fine, with no hairline cracks or blemishes that might suggest it’s faulty. He hopes his intuition will make it look like he knows what he’s doing. In his peripheral vision, he notices Blade staring at him intently—not in the kind of way you would while making sure no one’s tampering with your things, but out of genuine interest. His heart stutters. Is he supposed to be feeling like this while he’s supposed to be doing something useful?
“If you want a place where everything isn’t falling apart, you might want to consider moving again,” Dan Heng says light-heartedly to break the silence. Blade shifts behind him, moving to lean against a counter. He presses his palms against the marbled surface, looking away in thought.
“Nah, I like this,” he hums, looking out the open window. The sunset is just in view of his window, giving him a mesmerising show of the sun’s slow descent. Its reflection hangs in his eyes like burning fire, and lying beneath all of it, there’s a hint of longing. “It could be worse.”
Dan Heng raises an eyebrow, still tinkering with the settings to figure out what’s wrong. “Is the city so bad?”
The rumbling kettle tings. “When you’re a model, most places are bad once someone recognises you,” Blade lets out a low chuckle, turning his waist to lift it. Dan Heng snaps to look at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. His hands halt over the same button he’s been pressing for the past five minutes, words caught in his throat. Blade, unfazed, pours his warm water into a black mug reading, ‘Best dad ever’. “Tea?” he offers.
“You’re a model?” Dan Heng repeats. He can’t even think about the tea anymore. He has to stare at Blade’s face for another moment before it hits him, all at once, that he does know Blade. He’s famous, if not beyond it. His reputation precedes him. Blade is the face of several luxury brands, albeit under a different name, and the face of the country’s beauty scene. Dan Heng has written numerous articles about him, and even interviewed him once some time ago. It’s no wonder he’s familiar. “You’re Yingxing.”
Blade looks down at him, a smile growing on his face. “Don’t tell me you know about me too.”
“I’m a journalist,” Dan Heng explains. “Unfortunately, I know about everyone.”
Blade’s lips part in surprise. He stares in bewilderment, probably at a loss for words. No one really expects one of the most popular models in the country to become their neighbour, but here they are anyways. “What a hill to die on,” he says, letting out a breathy laugh. He pulls his tea bag out of his water and tosses it into a makeshift trash can made out of a plastic bag. “Who do you work for?”
“Astral Express,” he answers, standing up before his knees grow sore from crouching.
Blade turns his head away to think, lifting his warm tea to his lips. After a moment of contemplation, he looks back at Dan Heng and snaps his fingers. “Mm, I did an interview with you guys a couple months ago after my shoot for Kafka’s fall collection. I remember you—the handsome interviewer who tried to protect me from a mob of fans when they started crowding around me outside the building,” he recalls.
Dan Heng, admittedly, forgot that even happened. “Right,” he says, brushing his clothes. As Blade’s words echo through the silence, his mind halts over one in particular. Handsome? He short-circuits on the spot. He blinks, and his face starts to colour.
“I owe you two favours now,” Blade adds. “I’m glad I found you again. If it weren’t for you, I could’ve had a much worse day than I already was back then.”
“It’s fine. I couldn’t walk away after seeing all of that happen in front of my eyes,” Dan Heng musters, a small smile curling onto his lips. Just as he looks back at the machine, he happens to notice the cord to the washing machine lying on the ground. Curious, he picks it up, only to notice that it wasn’t connected to the socket at all. He turns to Blade, lifting the disconnected wire. “...Blade.”
Blade tightens his hand around the handle of his mug. “Oh.”
Dan Heng’s lips break into an affectionate smile. Even models have their moments, it would seem. He pushes the mouth of the wire into the socket and, as expected, the machine comes alive with a beep. “At least it’s not broken,” is all he can say, not knowing how he should feel about the fact that he wasted a whole fifteen minutes fixing something that didn’t even need fixing.
“I… had no idea,” Blade gapes, putting his mug down. He takes a step forward to Dan Heng, placing a hand against his forearm out of what should be instinct but Dan Heng can’t really discern anything with the way his heart is drumming in his chest. “I didn’t mean to take up your time over something stupid like this. You have to let me make it up to you. Is there anything I can do for you? I’d offer dinner but, as you can tell, my house looks like trash right now and—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dan Heng reassures. “I’m happy to help.”
Blade gulps. He falls silent again, having that same eyes-widened look of surprise that he had when he saw Dan Heng for the first time. His eyes fall to his hand which is still wrapped around Dan Heng’s forearm, holding him in place. He releases his grip hastily, taking a step back. “Thanks,” he says, softer than usual. Who would’ve thought that the model everyone fears for his brooding demeanour could be so gentle?
Dan Heng’s skin is still warm where Blade touched him. “Yeah,” he replies bashfully, trying not to focus on how his stomach twists itself into knots in his presence. “No problem.”
───────
The morning after, Dan Heng finds Blade standing outside right as he’s about to leave for work. His heart jumps, surprised by the sudden presence. “Good morning,” he says, closing the door behind him as he takes a step outside. He makes a failed attempt at hiding his embarrassment as he stands in front of his neighbour, admittedly charmed by how he looks in the early-morning sunlight.
Blade’s skin glistens under the crystalline sunlight—maybe perfection comes with his job. There’s a towel loosely wrapped around his shoulder, keeping his shirt from being drenched by his damp hair. “Morning,” he says, and this time, he doesn’t prolong their silence. “Here.”
Dan Heng looks down at the box of homemade cookies being pushed against his chest.
“My friends came over the other day. We baked too many things, and there’s no way I can finish any of this when I have a show coming up,” he explains, though there’s really no need for him to. “So, uh, I was hoping you’d take these off my hands. The sugar will give you more energy for work.”
Dan Heng isn’t really a fan of sweet things.
“Thank you,” he says even then, accepting the box into his hands. If even for a moment, he watches relief washes over Blade’s face before being quickly disguised by a triumphant grin. Dan Heng thumbs the lid of the box, contemplating his next words carefully. He decides to be honest. “I’ll cherish these.”
───────
If Dan Heng didn’t know any better, he would think that Blade looks for reasons to show up at his door.
Blade shows up at his door another afternoon for another trivial reason. “Hey,” he waves, smiling the same earnest way he does when he sees Dan Heng. It’s the kind that gives him shivers because of how earnest it is. He finds fragments of that sincerity within him when he reciprocates. Sometimes, he wonders what he did to deserve this kindness, when he hasn’t been a particularly extraordinary neighbour lately. Honestly, he doesn’t mind it—and probably would mind it even less if it didn’t make his stomach somersault every time he saw it.
“Good morning,” Dan Heng replies, well-aware of the smile that has been tugging at the corner of his lips before he even opened the door. He has learned to expect his routine presence every morning. “Is there something you wanted to ask about?”
Blade plays with the seams of his shirt. “I heard there’s a food court nearby that has really good stuff,” Blade starts. An invitation rests snugly between his lines, but Dan Heng, despite knowing, does nothing more than raise an eyebrow expectantly. Eventually, Blade has to take a deep breath and continue, “I was wondering if you wanted to show me the way there and, if you’re up for it, have breakfast with me? I’m not a picky eater, so anything goes.”
There we go; the army of butterflies drumming their wings. The corners of Dan Heng’s eyes crinkle with amusement as Blade looks at him nervously, anticipating his response. He glances at his watch. By right, an hour isn’t enough for him to have breakfast with Blade and get to work.
“I don’t mind,” he replies, even then. The office won’t fall apart if he comes in an hour late. “The best Kopi-O in the country is over there.”
───────
On most days, it doesn’t really feel like Blade is the person the media makes him out to be.
For someone of his calibre, he’s more humble than Dan Heng would have expected. Even though it’s obvious in the branded clothes he wears, and some of the exorbitant things he has in his house, he never lets it show through his actions. They run into each other every morning when Dan Heng is on his way to work and Blade is out for his morning jog. Soon, when they step outside, it becomes a habit to look down the hallway, at each other’s houses, where the other will be looking back with a cordial smile.
Some evenings, Dan Heng runs into him on his way back home. Blade would be out running errands when he sees his neighbour trudging home from the MRT, and he would forget everything else to walk him home. Other times, Dan Heng would hear a knock on his door and Blade would be on the other side with a flower he picked on his way back home, waiting to ask him about his day.
Blade makes good conversation. There’s so much in his life that’s worth talking about, and Dan Heng likes to listen. In a week, they must have had some of the most strange conversations Dan Heng has had in his entire life, and that’s a high standard to meet as a journalist. It’s fun.
In a matter of time, the sunsets are much brighter than they used to be.
───────
Dan Heng wakes up one morning to chatter out of his door.
He’d fallen asleep on the couch after pulling an all-nighter over yet another ridiculous article—a sewer in another neighbourhood had been blocked for weeks before district police realised it was because a plush had been lodged into its opening—so he’s quick to jolt awake when he hears a mixture of voices outside his door. It subsides by the time he pushes himself off his couch, but he decides to open it anyways.
Outside, Blade is standing with his hands hovering mid-action, reaching towards the door, as though trying to rip something off it. Dan Heng, rubbing his bleary eyes, then turns to the people standing behind him—a woman, dahlia-magenta hair, and a charming smile that radiates confidence much more than Blade’s does, and an even younger woman, wearing nothing more than a graphic tee and ripped shorts, engrossed with the game on her phone. She lifts her head to scrutinise Dan Heng, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
“Good morning?” he greets, trying to pat down the loose strands in his hair. He looks at Blade for answers.
Blade straightens his back, instantly retracting his hands. “Morning,” he greets, mustering a strained smile. His gaze lingers on the door.
Just as Dan Heng is about to follow his gaze, Blade rips the paper on the doorway and crumples it, tucking it in his back pocket where it won’t ever be found again. Dan Heng furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Before he can really think too much about how he feels, the woman shoves Blade aside to take a look at him. “Hi, darling! It’s a pleasure to finally see you,” she greets brightly, leaning forward to study Dan Heng’s face. He recognises her as one of the people he saw in Blade’s photos. “Bladie has been telling us so much about you—I had to see your pretty face myself.”
“Too much, in fact,” the younger one supplies. “He just won’t stop talking.”
Blade snaps his head towards his friends, a look of utter betrayal on his face. His face flushes redder than ever before as he tries to salvage the situation. He pushes them aside. “Don’t listen to Kafka,” he pleads, hiding his face behind his palm. “She’s just playing with you.”
“Oh, am I now?”
“Please go on a date with him so he stops babbling about it with us,” Silver Wolf says while Blade tries to clasp his hands over Kafka’s mouth. “You would be saving lives.” Blade lets out a horrified sound when he hears that, immediately burying his face in his hands when he realises it’s too late.
Dan Heng’s mouth falls agape. “A date?” he has to reiterate. “As in, romantically?”
“No!” Blade is quick to protest, his face as red as the potted cherry tomatoes that recently bore fruit along the corridor. Even though he denies it, he struggles to meet Dan Heng’s eyes. Kafka leans forward, mouthing, ‘he means yes’ before Dan Heng misunderstands. His hands relax by his sides as he watches Blade get increasingly more flustered by the moment, his own face turning red. His eyes soften with untold fondness. “I’m so sorry that they woke you up so early on a Saturday morning for something like this. I know this is too sudden, and we barely know each other, so you don’t have listen to anything they say—”
“Blade,” Dan Heng answers calmly. Twin butterflies brush their delicate wings against the hanging plants along the corridor as they flutter past. “I was going to say yes.”
Blade trips over unsaid words. “What?”
“As in,” Dan Heng repeats. “I wouldn’t mind going on a date with you.”
Blade’s mouth falls agape. “Okay,” he says breathlessly. He looks at the potted plants by Dan Heng’s doorstep, the paper lanterns down the hallway that have been up since Lunar New Year a couple months ago, the bird that hops down the corridor before flying away—all in search of something to say. He reads Dan Heng’s expression, loving and all, and he thinks his knees might give way. “It’s a date… then.”
“Consider it one of your favours,” Dan Heng laughs, itching to hold his hand. “I’m free at seven. See you then?”
While Blade turns into mush in front of his neighbour, Kafka and Silver Wolf exchange knowing glances and fist-bump in silent celebration.