"I Know You So Well" (Butterfly Sword, m)

[angora48]

Because I'm still floating on air after Marvel's Shang-Chi trailer dropped yesterday, particularly due to my excitement over the fact that one of my favorite actors, Tony Leung Chiu-wai, is finally doing his first Hollywood movie, I decided to finally finish up this fic I'd started a while back. Butterfly Sword is an old wuxia movie starring Tony Leung Chiu-wai and Michelle Yeoh (who's also going to be in Shang-Chi!) back when they were both incredibly young and impossibly lovely. I'll admit that it's not the greatest movie around and they've both been in much better, but there's still something about it, and the two of them in it, that I love. Sing and Ko are martial arts who've been friends since childhood. Ko is in love with Sing, who's fallen for Butterfly, who isn't part of the martial-arts world. Even if you're not familiar with the film, I hope you enjoy this oneshot and the dynamic between them!

"I Know You So Well"

 

Ko moved about the home quietly, stoking the fire and tidying up the clothes and dishes that had been left lying about – one of the additional assets of being a martial artist was the ability to walk silently so as not to wake the “brother” sleeping in your bed.

Not that Sing was her brother, not really.  That was just what they’d called it as children:  her, Sing, Yip Cheung, and Ho Ching.  And then, it had been useful, banding together to combat their hunger and stay safe on the street.  Whenever they’d robbed a sleeping swordsman of his purse so they could buy rice and fill their bellies, Ko had been grateful to have her “brothers” and “sister” at her back.

But with every year that passed, Ko was more convinced that she didn’t want Sing to be her brother… and more convinced that that was all he considered himself to her.  And now, with him in love with that silly girl Butterfly, Ko’s dreams seemed further away than ever.

Still, it wasn’t all bad.  Sometimes when they talked, Ko could be overwhelmed by how badly she wanted him to look at her in a way she knew he never would, but on days like today, when they fought side by side, she was carried on the simple pleasure of having him beside her.  Butterfly wasn’t part of the martial arts world – she didn’t even know the true nature of the “business” trips Sing was always taking – and when Ko and Sing fought together, not even thoughts of Butterfly could intrude on Ko’s happiness.

Sing was lucky he had a sister who wasn’t really a sister looking after him.  He was a skilled martial artist, but even the best (or, shall we say, second best) needed the occasional hand in dispatching a swordsman or two, and Ko was always more than happy to step in – to finish off the foes he couldn’t take care of himself and, if need be, to patch him up afterwards.

And then, there was tonight.  They’d been fighting members of a rival sect on a bridge – outnumbered as usual, but that was no great challenge for them.  Ko had been flying through the air, skewering three assassins at once, when she caught the flutter of Sing’s robes out of the corner of her eye.  She’d turned her head (still not missing any of her targets, naturally,) and sure enough, there was Sing tumbling over the side of the bridge into the churning river below.

Ko had waited, just long enough to see that he wasn’t going to emerge on his own, and then she’d sprung into action.  “Yip!” she’d called, and there was Yip Cheung – her other not-really-a-brother, but one whose brotherliness she didn’t mind – at her side in an instant.  She’d no more than glanced down at the river, and he’d immediately taken her meaning.  They’d leapt down together, alighting neatly on the bank.

Sing had been unconscious when they’d pulled him out.  He must have hit his head when he slipped beneath the water – no blood, but he’d have a sizable lump before long.  His wrist, too, had been swollen and tender.  Ko supposed it was possible he’d hit that as well when he fell, but it looked more to her like it had received some unwelcome attention from one of the assassins.

Yip Cheung had helped her bring him back to her home, then had hovered about while Ko had eased Sing out of his wet clothes, wrapped him in a fresh robe, bandaged his wrist, and tucked him into her bed.  She’d intimated – gently at first, less so later on – that there was no more need for Yip Cheung to linger, but he hadn’t picked up on the hint until she’d started yawning dramatically, making as though she was going to fall dead asleep any moment.

That had been a few hours ago.  Since then, Ko had been listening to Sing mumble, stirring in and out of a hazy sleep, while she prepared something to eat, checked periodically on the bump on his head, and restlessly tended to this and that around the house.

Now, there was a louder rustling by the bed.  Sing groaned a little, stretching as he opened his eyes and stared perplexedly at his bandaged hand.  “Sprained, not broken,” Ko told him; she’d moved quietly to the fire and was kneeling over a pot, ladling soup and noodles into a bowl.  “And you’ve caught a chill.”

“What?” Sing mumbled groggily, then let out a loud “Haaahhhhh-ihhhhh-tchiiuuhhhhh!”, his long black hair tumbling over his face as the sneeze made his head snap forward.

Ko indulged a small smile.  “See?” she said, handing him the bowl and a pair of chopsticks.  “You’ve been sniffling for the last hour.”

“Mmm,” was Sing’s eloquent reply.  He clumsily worked himself up to a sitting position, trying not to spill his soup while avoiding putting any weight on his injured wrist.  “What happedd?”

“You tell me,” Ko countered.  “One minute, you were doing fine, the next, you were falling in the river.”

“Oh,” Sing said.  He was sitting up now, and Ko arranged the bedding so he had a pillow at his back.  “It was the big one, all id black.  He tried to throw be off, but I found purchase add was trying to pull byself back up-”

“And he stomped on your wrist,” Ko finished, easily seeing where this was leading.

“Mbb hbb,” Sing agreed, his mouth full of noodles.  He grimaced as he looked again at the bandage around his wrist.  Swallowing, he added, “That’s why I lost by grip.”

“In other words, you were paying attention to getting back on the bridge, so you weren’t watching for danger,” Ko noted.

“I was already id danger,” Sing pointed out, gesturing emphatically with his chopsticks.  The soup sloshed a little in the bowl, and he held out his injured hand to steady it, wincing as he did so.  He noticed Ko noticing, and hastily picked up the bowl with his good hand.  “Getting by footing back was the most ibportadt thing.”  He slurped at his broth.

“In our line of work, you can have several most important things at once,” Ko reminded him, “and they all need tending to, at once.”

“I doh,” Sing replied, griping a bit.  He set the bowl back on his lap and rubbed his nose with his finger, angling the chopsticks so they wouldn’t poke him in the face while he did so.

“You can’t always depend on me to come to your aid,” Ko told him.  “I might not be there the next time.”

“I doh,” Sing repeated, surly.  “Dod’t deedle be whed I’be dot well.”  He’d gone very stuffed up now, and he sniffed hard, coughing a little into the back of his good hand.

“You complain, but you’d miss it if you didn’t have me scolding you when you’re being careless,” Ko retorted, but there was a lightness in her voice as she said it.  “You wouldn’t miss it for long, though, because you’d be dead within a month.”

“Sister Ko:  always dohs how to cheer be up,” Sing said ironically.  “Hahhhhh-SHOOOHHHH-ahhh!”  The sneeze was abrupt, almost perfunctory, like he was getting it of the way.  He’d done no more than poke listlessly at his food for the last minute, and Ko took it from him, setting the bowl on a table beside the bed.

“I’ll get your tea,” she said, softer now.

While Ko busied herself again at the fire, she could hear Sing dropping back down onto the bed.  “What ab I going to tell Butterfly whed I come hobe with a sprained wrist add a chill?” he wondered aloud.  “I dod’t like lying to her.”

No, but he did it all the same – Butterfly would shake their house down with her shouting if she knew Sing fought assassins for hire.  “That’s simple,” Ko said, returning to the bed with a cup of tea.  Sing propped himself up on his elbow to drink it.  “Tell her the truth:  you fell in the river.  Just don’t tell her why.”

Sing gave a heavy sigh.  “Right,” he said, low, blowing on his tea.  He sniffled again.

“Of course, you could stay here until you’ve recovered,” Ko suggested, careful to keep her tone casual, offhand.  “A few days’ rest, and you won’t need to tell Butterfly anything.”

“Doh,” Sing answered, and Ko tried to convince herself that the immediacy with which he said it didn’t wound her.  Having finished his tea, he rolled onto his back again, resting the empty cup on his stomach.  “I’ve bed away too long as it is.”  Sniffling, “It’s bed dearly a week since I’ve seed her.”

Ko took the cup and turned away so he wouldn’t see her face when he talked about Butterfly.  She allowed herself three seconds to compose herself, brief enough that he wouldn’t notice her silence.  “Stay for tonight at least,” she finally said, turning back to him.  “It’s already dark out, and you don’t feel well.”  Gently, she brushed his hair off his forehead.  “Go in the morning, after you’ve rested.”

Sing sighed again, rubbing his nose.  “Just because you’re right dow doesn’t bead you’re always right, you doh,” he pointed out.

“That’s some people’s opinion,” Ko replied fondly, giving him a light tap on one of his cheeks.

“Id the borning,” Sing agreed, so quietly it was almost to himself.  “As sood as the sud’s u- up… hihhhh-tchiii-UHHHHH!”  He lifted the sheet over his face to cover his sneeze.

“First thing,” Ko concurred. 

*           *           *

“Huhhhhh… ahhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” Sing sneezed, with a slight moan as he sniffled wetly into the pillow. “Hihhhhh-SHOOOOO-ehhhhh!”

Ko indulged a private smile as she tended to a pair of pots by the fire. While Sing slept in her bed, she’d spent the night curled up on the floor, listening to his rustling and sniffling and the coughing that had grown steadily worse over the course of the night.

He coughed now, hard from his chest, and sniffled again. Ko’s eyes flitted easily between the fire and the bed, and when she saw Sing drowsily push his tangled hair out of his eyes, with another moan as he absentmindedly used his injured hand, she stooped before her pots and quickly filled a bowl with rice and poured tea into a cup.

“Good morning,” she said, her tone cavalier, as she set the bowl and the cup beside him. “I expect you’re eager to set off, so just a quick breakfast before you go.”

“I-” Sing began but soon broke off as his breaths lengthened in response to another obvious tickle in his nose. “Ahhhhh… ehhhhh… ihhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH!” He clapped his good hand over his mouth, and Ko reached out to steady the cup so the tea wouldn’t spill.

Sing groaned again. “I feel terrible,” he groused, sinking down into the pillow. “I- I dod’t thidk I cad… hihhhhhhh-CHUHHHHHH! Mbb….” He sniffled into the back of his good hand.

“Oh, what a shame,” Ko murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed as she arranged his disordered sheets. She brushed a cool hand against Sing’s brow. “I dare say you’re a little feverish. Perhaps you’d better stay here after all.”

“Mbb hbb,” Sing agreed thickly. He gave a long wet sniffle. “Do you have a hah- haaadkerchi- ie…” He turned his head from her, sneezing a strong “huhhhhhh-CHIIOOOOO!” into the pillow.

“Of course,” Ko told him. In fact, she’d already taken out several fresh handkerchiefs during the night and stacked them neatly beside the bed. She reached for one now and handed it to him. He nodded to her hazily, then buried his nose in the handkerchief.

As Sing blew his nose, gingerly in an attempt to jostle his sprained wrist as little as possible, Ko indulged a private smile – as usual, she knew Sing far better than he knew himself. She’d known that he’d be feeling worse by the morning, and that her invitation for him to stay and rest would be much more compelling when he had a sore throat and his nose was dripping.

Sing gave his nose a final wipe and stifled a rattly cough into the handkerchief. Tsking fondly, Ko helped him to lift his head. She picked up the cup beside him, blowing on it lightly before bringing it to his lips. “Not to worry,” Ko assured him. “We’ll have you well again in no time.”

It was how to ought to be.  Ko doubted Butterfly could even muster up a decent bowl of soup.  Oh, Sing would claim she could, because that’s what he always did, but Ko knew better.  It would tasteless and too watery, and probably close to lukewarm.

No, he was better off here. For as long as Ko had known him, she had been the one to look after Sing when he was sick.  She knew what he needed, what ailed him, and how to read his moods. She liked taking care of him, liked the plaintive look in his tired eyes when she tended to him, liked how thoughts of Butterfly melted away when it was just the two of them.

Sing wasn’t hers, and Ko was practical enough to admit he likely never would be. But on days like this, when he was sniffling and shivering in her bed and she was massaging his aching temple, for just a little while, it could feel like she was his.