Charles had gone to a bar once, in New York, in complete disguise that no one that tried could know that it was him even if they were to be really close and hear his voice. That night was the second time he won the election and there were hoardes and hoardes of people wanting to congratulate him, wanting him to make a speech, wanting to suck up on his ass, lick his shoes, everything like that. He was sick of it. He gave one speech, he answered five questions, he showed up for the camera two or three times before he was gone, with the excuse that he was going to celebrate at a sentimental, personal place and would not like to be interrupted, because the morrow was going to be hell. His personal assistants all made way for him, all gave him the room to breathe and sneak out from the White House he had originally refused to leave.
And then he was out, wearing makeup so thick he looked like another person altogether and out he went to where he supposed was the emptiest bar in the city. It was such a shame that it wasn't as empty as he had expected. There had been several people there celebrating as well, some of which were politicians and some Charles recognized as activists.
He should really ask Raven to redo his research about empty bars and private hidden places in New York. This was such a disappointment.
If he wasn't so confident in his disguise, he would've left then and there. And he would have, really, he swore to himself that the risk was simply not worth having a few shots of whiskey in an unfamiliar place, devoid of familiarity and responsibilities were nonexistent. His makeup was great, his outfit made him look larger and rounder than his original built, he wore a hat and he had mastered the ability to change his voice to several other ones a few years back. He woudn't have been caught, not even if someone tried to figure out if it was him, but Charles was so awfully tired off facing risks. He came out there tonight to have a taste of freedom he had sacrificed the moment he put his name up for election. He came to be at peace. He came to relax. He couldn't.
Not with these shits loitering about.
And he was really about to leave when he saw black locks cascading down a lithe back, leaning precariously on the countertop, framing the shape of the velvet coat . Anyone could have simple saw the person and think a girl had had too much to drink. An easy target. A chance. And there really were men moving to surround her, a packet of powder in one of their hands at a ready to be poured into the person's drink. Wine, he noticed. Red wine.
The person had their head laying on the counter, motionless except for the long slender fingers lazily drawing figures on the wooden surface. Her drink was a little behind her, left out in the open for anyone to spike.
Charles could've left. The girl had it coming, being so openly drunk and leaving her drink unattended. She didn't look too young from how she was dressed, and certainly this shouldn't have been her first few times there. Her recklessness would be her fault and if she manages to get enough evidence, then that would be even better for her, catching criminals in a bar during a drunken spree.
Maybe he should help though, because the girl might have been grieving to become drunk in such a way, and would be in no state of mind or body to defend herself against so many of the men. Maybe he should mind his own business, because he already had the country's whole problems served in a platter for dinner, he wasn't going to solve each and every one of them like some kind of civil servant. But he could also help, because that was simply what a man should do, shouldn't even hesitate to do, because they were simply men, and that was practically their job. To lead, to protect, to provide. That was their nature. Supposed to be their nature.
It's not even a good thing to do. It was what's supposed to be done.
So he sighed, reluctant, as he made his way over to the group.
Not even three steps were taken before one of the men fell to ground, clutching what seemed to a broken wrist, from how distorted it looked. Then another yelp as another one of them startled back, this time pressing hard on his beer belly with a look of horror and anger. Some of the men yelled at the woman, who still hadn't been bothered enough to look at them properly. Apparently the finger that was previously drawing nothings onto the countertop had been lifted and used brutally, yet elegantly, to hurt those men.
Charles' wild guess was that she was indeed multiple leagues above all of those men combined.
So he wasn't exactly surprised, to speak of, to see that the men slowly came to realize that fact soon enough and went on their way. A woman who could break their wrists without moving that much muscle was probably the daughter of some WWE champion, or a martial artist. Either way, they were smart about choosing to stay away. Charles would too, if the woman hadn't turned to face him, so very slowly.
A pair of black eyes blinked at him, wistful and hazy.
Charles didn't need to see past the makeup to figure out who was currently slumped to the chair before him. Shao Long had his hair loose, a pin or two probably tucked somewhere to secure parts of his locks, otherwise Charles doubted his hair would still be so neat. The red dress he wore was ankle length, modest and simple, a large black leather jacket draped over his shoulders and simple jewels adorned on his body. In no way was anything he wore attracting attention to him, there was nothing that screamed money or great beauty. But his presence there, as in so many other places, was enough to make people stop for a moment and simply stare. It was something about his simple presence that demanded attention everywhere he went, without even needing to speak a word.
That was probably what charisma looked like.
Shao Long didn't smile at him. It wasn't such an uncommon thing, considering their sometimes-silent bickers and straightforward insults whenever they were alone. But he had never looked at Charles like this. Like he was on the verge of another mental breakdown, but stubbornly refused to do so. Like he was inches away from stepping off a cliff, and yet had never taken that one step. Like he wanted to drown in the sea, but stayed by the shore.
Then, Shao Long turned back to his slumped position, completely ignoring everything around him. The wine glass, half full, was left at the side, seemingly forgotten. The man continued to draw figures on the wooden surface, and the bartender came over, took the glass, and swept away.
Charles took it as it had been quite a while since Shao Long was there, uselessly existing, saying nothing, and not touching his drink more than what he'd already consumed. The bartender must've known him too, because when he came back, he was ready to make a call for someone to pick him up. Charles had heard something along the lines of "President Xi," and "....already past midnight."
And then Shao Long waved for the bartender, turning slightly towards him when the man paused his call. The Chinese said something to him, too slurred and quiet for Charles to fully comprehend, and when he was done, the bartender nodded. The call was ended, and Shao Long was left alone once more.
After what felt like forever, Shao Long stood up, legs firm and steady, as if Charles didn't know for a fact that he was inebriated, as if his red-tinted cheeks meant nothing, as if the hazy eyes weren't any form of indication of his drunkenness. "Hey..." He whispered, softly enough that there wasn't much of his masculine voice was audible, replaced instead with a more melodious tone, higher in pitch and definitely more feminine. "Funny seeing you here."
"....Do I know you?" Charles felt the corner of his lips tugging upwards.
"Tch." Shao Long shook his head playfully, one hand in the pocket of his jacket. "How offensive. Do you know how great my makeup is tonight?"
Maybe? He probably does. Scratch that, he does know. Shao Long's makeup was the definition of perfection. But he couldn't see how any of that could relate to them 'possibly' knowing each other, when both of them were wearing heavy disguise, mimicking another person's voice and overall not being where they were supposed to be. Because Charles was supposed to be in the White House, and Shao Long was supposed to be all the way over in the United Kingdom for a project the man had bragged obnoxiously about a month ago.
"I suppose it is an artistry." Charles smirked. He was under no obligation of playing along with the man.
"That's hilarious. You're hilarious. Haha. You're so dumb." Shao Long scoffed, and then he groaned. Before Charles could say another word, the Chinese had reached for his collar, and to his stiff surprise, began dusting off the invisible dirt on his shirt. "Congratulations on the election, Mr President."
Ah, truly, if there was one person he could not fool in this world.....
"I see President Xi is interested in being a drag queen these days."
"You're so dumb. I swear to God. Dummy. I'm not a drag queen. What a dummy."
"And it also appears that President Xi is drunk."
"I'm not. I don't do drunk." Shao Long sidestepped him with the grace of someone who had never touched a drop of alcohol in their life, and made his way out of the bar. Charles followed him close behind, watching from the periphery of his vision as several guards, ones he assumed had been assigned to follow him, alongside ones he assumed were for Shao Long, moved with them. He saw them tense and delve deeper into their hiding, not at all expecting either of their bosses to exit a public bar with a....partner.
But Shao Long didn't stop, even as he reached the road, and Charles had to bodily yank the man back lest he was hit by a truck. The honk that sounded deafened his ears, but all Charles could hear was the light giggle Shao Long let out, close enough to his ears that he could feel the warmth of his breath.
"You're a menace." Charles opted to say, "You're a useless, dangerous drunk. Of all the things your PA lets you do, it had to be drinking. Your addiction to wine is nonsensical, as is your face. Why are you here. Alone."
"Shut up, my PA loves me. He lets me do anything I want." Shao Long had a fond smile on his face, which turned into a scowl as immediately as it formed. "Unlike a certain blond I know. Do you know? He said my red Revuelto is ugly. I'll tell you what's ugly. You, Mr President. You're very ugly."
Charles had never been called ugly before. Least of all by a man. By rights, he should be offended, especially because he was quite literally nominated as the most attractive president in the history of USA, aside from being the obvious youngest and by far had the most accomplishments by the young age of 27. Needless to say, he was one of the most successful and influential figures in the world of his generation, considering how fucked up everything else was. But no, he couldn't find it in himself to be hurt, much less annoyed, because facts was that he knew Shao Long was lying. Beauty being subjective bedamned, his beauty is factual. It wasn't something even Shao Long could convince anyone otherwise.
So with a snort, "I'm asking you again. Where is your PA?" There was that bitter feeling whenever the man Shao Long called his PA came into the picture. Sean Luo was a quiet man, efficient, ruthless, unsmiling and everything opposite of Shao Long himself (except for the efficient part of course). He was unnerving and very unpleasant to be around but he was good at his job. Really good. So Charles couldn't fault him for a lot of things other than how he always had the air of arrogance around him.
It was different from Shao Long's arrogance. With Shao Long, it feels like he's announcing to the world, 'Nobody can drag me down', but with his dearest PA, it's 'You all are ants beneath my foot.'
"Sean? He's right there." Shao Long pointed to the sky with a grin. "I mean, he said he'd be there somewhere. But I don't know, I think he left me."
"...."
"Mr. President, I think....I think he left me...."
Charles opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, any form of insult, because he had never seen Shao Long drunk, despite knowing he was a wine addict, and the experience coudn't be said to be pleasant at all. But it turned out he didn't know what to say, so he closed his mouth, and opened it again, and repeated the process.
"Mr. President, are you going to leave me too?" Shao Long turned to him, bottom lips wobbling, tears threatening to fall. It was one thing to look at a crying Shao Long. It was another to look at him crying when he was currently dressed up as a girl in the middle of the streets where the passing people could easily accuse him of breaking a lady's heart, and while his identity was perfectly hidden, Charles' consciousness and experience would send his alarms blaring loud.
"You little shit." Charles hissed. "Who the hell thought it was a good idea to let you drink this much? Give me your phone, I'm calling your dearest PA." Immediately, he reached out for the man's (in the clothing of women) purse and fished for something, anything inside. When his hand came out with a lipstick and nothing else bigger than the said object, his brows raised up to his hairline. What the fuck. Did Shao Long finally lose his sanity?
Charles's gaze fell back to the bar, eyes narrowing at the number of people coming in and out. It wasn't a famous bar. There weren't that many people, but it wasn't anywhere near empty. If Shao Long left the thing inside, then anyone could've grabbed it.
"Wait here."
"Nooooooo, don't leave me too!" The little gremlin clutched onto his arm, refusing to let go even when Charles yanked and yanked and yanked, until it looked like he was the jerk who broke up with his lady in the middle of the streets, to the lady's ire and anguish, and honestly, if it weren't for the dirty gazes directed his way, Charles would have no qualms shoving the man in front of a speeding truck, that would save him some sanity at least. But no, because Shao Long was dressed as a woman now, and so he was supposed to be delicate (no one would expect this dainty little thing to know several martial arts, because he does). One would think a proper lover would need a lot of tact, and he certainly didn't look like it at the moment.
So with a pained sigh, Charles roped an arm around his waist and bodily dragged him back into the bar.
Before his steps could total up to three, a figure appeared before him, stopping him in his track. Charles didn't need to see pass the mask and cap to know that it was the one person he wished had been a tad bit more responsible that night. Sean Luo wasn't that large a man. He was taller than Shao Long (A feat not very hard to achieve) but relatively shorter than Charles, but the way he carried himself made it look like he was looming over anyone, intimidating and so very cold. He didn't say anything, even when Charles cocked a brow in question, his grip on Shao Long's waist tightening as the man slowly slumped into unconsciousness.
He didn't say anything, but his eyes said something, alright. Just the way his eyebrows twitched, and how he stared into Charles's eyes with the ferocity of someone who had been personally offended by him.
And Charles was so tired of making enemies when he was supposed to be relaxing. If Sean wanted a fight, he would rather stab himself than indulge in his violence bout of childishness. So with a grunt, Charles picked Shao Long up by under his arms and shoved the unconscious body towards the other man.
There. He's your problem now.
"A word of advice, Mr. Luo." Charles sneered when the man carefully picked Shao Long by the back of his knees and heaved him up to his chest. "Maybe don't let your boss run around drunk if he's gonna get himself killed on the streets."
"I didn't leave." A quite statement, but firm nonetheless. Charles didn't doubt it was the truth. The man had probably watched from the sidelines, waiting for a single mistake, for a single threat that came his boss' way to jump out of his hiding place and to his boss' rescue. What a devoted guard dog. Even letting his master have fun alone.
Seeing the pair walk away (well, only one was walking since the other didn't have his legs on the ground) left a bitter feeling squirming in Charles' heart. He couldn't help the twitches on the corner of his lips, or the furrowing of his brows, or even the clenching of his fists. Which was ridiculous, really. He was the President of the United States. He was the President of the United States twice over, and he had done so before reaching the age of 30, a feat that taught him much more than control his temper (to the extent of some people assuming he had none), appearing calm, actually being calm, and responding professionally to awkward situations. He could handle being treated like nothing in the middle of the street by an enemy (an enemy who wasn't even into politics).
But then Shao Long was drunk and Sean had taken him away just like that. Now what was he supposed to do with his night? His life? What was there to do, standing outside a bar, with no mood to drink anymore, alone and without anyone he could contact? He could call Alex and rant, but honestly the other didn't deserve to hear about his extremely vague and nonsensical problems when Momosu Academy was entering its busiest time of the year. He could call Leon, but Leon wasn't just a King, he was an engineer, he was a researcher, he was a teacher, and the only time when he was free was when he actually initiated a conversation. Otherwise, he wouldn't have the time. He could call Ciel, but then again, Ciel was facing a family dispute when one of her sister's husband apparently did something that made half the country upset. He could call Felix if he didn't know that the young king had enough responsibilities in his tiny hands that the guy would've been doing nothing else other than sleeping right now, as he should.
And then, he could call Albert. But Albert hadn't spoken to him for some time, and Charles didn't want their first conversation to be about him complaining about some random asshole.
Ah, this was something he had prepared for, wasn't it? It wasn't like he didn't know that being a leader was the loneliest occupation in the whole wide world, he did know. And he was prepared himself mentally for that. Only back then, he hadn't exactly been alone and had no idea just how painful it was, just that he thought he could do amazingly well without people he could turn to. He had been doing so for the past two decades just fine.
But it never really mattered how much he practiced being lonely, the day would end and he would still be alone. And the worst part of it was simply not knowing when it will all end.
A chuckle resounded behind him.
The surprise that Charles felt wasn't because he recognized the voice. It was because he recognized the voice, and was horrified that the owner didn't bother concealing their identity.
Anubis had been coronated as King sometime around a decade ago, much earlier than any of Charles's friends. After that, they hadn't heard much from him, living their lives peacefully without some random psycopath looking to ruin their lives. It was a moment of relief for all of them. But after his country had stabilized and Egypt had grown horrifyingly fast in terms of economics and government systems, the man started harrassing them once again. Nowhere near as often as his younger days, or as serious. Sometimes he'd pop up and drop a chandelier in the middle of a celebration, or he would just poke you in the rib that would leave your whole arm numb for a couple of hours during a ceremony. Something not entirely harmless but mainly just irritating.
When Charles turned, he fully expected nothing at all, because the first mistake one could make regarding the Egyptian was assuming anything prior to actually knowing something. That was the trick to not have a heart attack whenever this fucker decided to pull something out of his sleeves. Like a snake. Or a gun.
For now, Anubis looked relatively harmless. There was no animal crouching on his shoulder, and the sky was free of crows as far as he was concerned. There weren't many areas on his clothes to hide a bazooka, or enough pockets to conceal a cleaver, so Charles deemed himself safe enough. Maybe. Possibly.
But if he had a grenade though-
A/N: I can and I will give Charles the full name of Charles Alexander Collins
"President Collins appears to be in somber mood tonight. One ought to think that winning the election warrants a personal celebration of the sorts." And there he goes with his wolf like smile and snakey eyes, entering people's personal space and being exceptionally rude in doing so. Gold medal to Anubis for being the world's most influential creep.
"Anubis." He greeted neutrally because the day Charles acknowledges the guy as a king in his heart is the day the world ends, and that is not today. Today, he was gonna be petty. "I see you're doing well."
He paused in thought, before adding, "I see kingship has done wonders to your....brother issues."
And he wasn't even referring to his dead brother, God forbid. But after the coronation, Anubis had taken some time to distance himself from all of the royal families, Gion included, and that meant having a few years to themselves (also Gion included) without having to worry about being stalked on. Of course, Charles was under no illusion that the Egyptian had completely detached himself from his previous past time, but yeah, Anubis did go silent. And when he came back, from what Charles had learned, he hadn't pursued Gion at all. Not even seeing him face to face. In fact, Anubis seemed to be avoiding him.
Charles took the news like he took coffee for breakfast. With full delight, satisfaction and relief.
Anubis did not respond to the partial insult, partial praise, and instead loomed over with his admittedly shorter figure, staring slightly up at him with a knowing smirk and saying absolutely nothing. It made Charles want to shove another person into the next incoming truck. He wouldn't be the first person he wanted to do it to, and not even the second, honestly. But he kept his hand to his sides and stood his ground. Flinching or moving aside would only satisfy the bitch. If they were fighting with confidence and intimidation tonight, then it would be high time Anubis gave up.
And as soon as Anubis realized this too, he took a step back, looking somewhat satisfied, for God knows what reason.
"You're right about me fixing that....brother issues of mine. You could say that someone gave me a new focus and I accepted. And dare I say, I'm quite commited to this one, actually."
Was he talking about the throne? His father?
It did sound like a possibility. Not the father part though. His research told him that the previous king had died long before Anubis took the throne, and that the during the gap years, a reagent was responsible for the country affairs until Anubis was of age and proper education. With how wildly Anubis travelled though, Charles doubted that the man had a proper education history despite how smart he was. It would take some convincing to let the reagent and the government to accept him as king.
With how he spoke of this person, it did sound like Anubis didn't have an interest for the throne back then either.
Sounds like a person convinced Anubis to convince his country for his....competency. Probably the reagent himself, or a distant relative. Or just some random person who gave him the wisdom he needed.
"I suppose it had something to do with your country." Because the only thing Charles believed Anubis was truly comitted to these recent years had been to improve generally everything about Egypt until it was currently on par with some of the world's most developed countries. Egypt was currently standing with the first ranking on the world's precious stones mining and highest percentage of foreign undergraduates in one or two famed universities. Whatever Anubis did, it was enough to leave the world with good impression on his people, a feat that not just any ruler can achieve. Most of his friends already inheritted successful countries, the tops of the world. And then there was Anubis gaining speed.
"A part of it, yes." Anubis shrugged. "That's not what I came here for tonight though. Tonight, I come to talk to you about the other part of my focus. You can say that it has a lot to do with you."
Charles sized the man up and down, wondering if his guess so far had been wrong. He had been right about guessing the focus to be about Egypt, and now Anubis was talking about his involvement. Him, who had almost never done any diplomatic relations with Egypt since his election due to the silence of the other party, and him, who had never once tried to investigate what Anubis was up to during the time he took over the throne. If there was anything that could connect Anubis and Shao Long aside from Anubis' currently nonexistent infatuation towards Gion, their roles as the leaders of countries, was.....
"You're talking about Shao Long." It wasn't even a question.
Because in what other way were they connected? Anubis and Shao Long had been involved, though Charles didn't know to say if it was in a good or bad way, for quite some time before Charles first saw Anubis. Anubis had talked Shao Long into harrassing Charles and his friends, had helped him get into Momosu, had been the other person on the opposite side of the chess board before Charles knew the game had even started. And the one medium between them had been Shao Long. The weapon for their hate towards each other was Shao Long. That one pawn in the middle of the chess board, was Shao Long.
Up until they graduated highschool that is.
"Ahh, I knew I could rely on you to guess it right." Anubis drawled as he walked past Charles and along the street. Charles moved to follow.
A spike off anxiety shot through his veins.
"Was Shao Long the one who gave you the focus?" He raised a brow. Because if so, then that would be hilarious and also realistic. Partially because Shao Long was a little shit with little to no deep conversation skills, and partially because he actually could change people's minds. He had done so in several admireable situations.
"Oh no, it wasn't him." Anubis had to stop at that, and then shuddered. "Could you even imagine that? Him? Changing my mind?"
The thing about Shao Long was that he couldn't just change people's minds, he could do it under the partially true pretense of being the victim of manipulation. Charles had lived more than a decade of thinking he was the one holding the puppet strings until one day, he realized to his own horror that by holding the strings, he was subjecting himself to be the monster he feared to become-
But. Anubis wasn't convinced by Shao Long. It was someone else. It had to be someone else.
"Then who?"
"Why, his father of course!"
A/N: Planned, but also unplanned. And way longer than normal.
I think I should put a mature rating for this fic, honestly, because I think their adult life realistically couldn't have been as pure as the real comic, and that included alcohol addiction, murder, arson, etc. I know What Was Worth A Heart and What It Means To Be King have some of these elements, but Charles and Shao Long being adults opens up more possibilities.
Are y'all okay with reading some adult issues stuff? No smut of course.
10/12/2023