City lights

Ruìsāng rarely indulged in smoking anymore. University had been the catalyst for quitting, in an effort to avoid judgement from classmates. His mother’s drinking habit had created enough problems; he didn't need additional scrutiny. But today had been particularly gruelling. After a relentless day of studies, he returned home to find his mother passed out once again. The situation had almost escalated to a desperate call for an ambulance, but she stirred just in time. He had done his duty, helping her, cleaning up the mess. He knew he should stay by her side, be her support, but a dark part of him yearned for escape, even if just momentarily. Maybe, in the recesses of his heart, he hoped she’d be gone when he’d return.

The rooftop, technically off-limits, was a momentary sanctuary. Ruìsāng stepped outside, the door swinging open just wide enough for his Mawile to squeeze through before it fell shut, shutting the world out. The unlit cigarette dangled between his lips.

His mind was a haze, his thoughts consumed by the burdens he carried, until his Mawile’s sudden aggression jolted him back to reality. Without warning, she lunged at an unseen creature, her jaws snapping in an attempt to seize the unseen threat. Ruìsāng's tired eyes widened with a flicker of alarm, his weariness momentarily forgotten in the face of unexpected danger.

“Lìeyàn!”

Who the hell expected someone else on the damn roof at this hour? And with a Pokémon, no less. The moment Lìeyàn spotted something dark, she lunged, instincts kicking in to protect her trainer. Quick to fight, always had been. He’d gotten her from some shady fighting arena; maybe she'd never known anything but battles.

Ruìsāng finally realising it was a Houndour, which was now snapping at his Mawile's heels, when someone screamed at him, “Get your damn Pokémon under control!”

Hold on— Did she seriously intend to jump between the Pokémon?

Ruìsāng hissed, “Shǎo fèihuà!” The Mawile immediately halted, her dark eyes fixed on the Houndour as if she was still ready to tear it apart.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he snapped at the girl who had almost gotten herself mauled by his Mawile just seconds ago.

* 少废话: “cut the crap”

Anger coursed through Ruìsāng's veins, an intrinsic part of his being, an element as familiar to him as his own reflection. It was a facet he despised yet sought refuge in; a volatile sanctuary where he could retreat. Emotions were something he struggled to navigate, but anger? Anger was his native tongue, a language he spoke fluently.

And so, fury seethed in his voice as he demanded an explanation from the woman who had recklessly hurled herself in front of a Mawile capable of crushing bone. Instead of acknowledging her own foolhardy actions, she retorted, labelling Lìeyàn a rabid Pokémon. The audacity of her words scorched his senses.

“That thing?” he echoed, the venom dripping from his words like acid. “At least I’m not the one hurling myself in front of a damn Pokémon. Do you want to die? Are you so fucking suicidal that you seek death by Mawile? You’re lucky I have her under full control, or we’d be scraping your sorry ass off the floor right now,” he ranted, his anger unbridled, his frustration palpable. Stupidity, he seethed inwardly, in the form of a woman and her utterly useless canine companion.

Full control. That's what Ruìsāng had over Lìeyàn. It hadn't always been the case, but he trusted her enough to slip his arm through the maw. She could break it, but she never did. There was a gentleness beneath her rage, a mirror of his own temperament. Yet, for both of them, an undeniable anger simmered.

Ruìsāng's eyes rolled dramatically when the other called him a wanker and accused Lìeyàn of attacking for no fucking reason. The audacity of the comment infuriated him, his temper flaring dangerously. The woman dared to approach closer, and he clenched his fist to suppress the urge to lash out.

“A wild Pokémon? No control?” he spat back, stepping forward until they were almost nose to nose. “Eat the dog, Lìeyàn,” he ordered the Mawile with a venomous hiss. Without hesitation, Lìeyàn lunged, attempting to bite the Houndour.

“Stop.” The command sliced through the air, and in an instant, Lìeyàn halted, her head tilted slightly as her eyes remained fixed on the Houndour. Ruìsāng's frustration boiled over, his voice sharp and cutting, “See? Think for a fucking moment and you’d see. You don’t throw yourself in front of a Pokémon!” he seethed, jaw clenched.

He could see it, the fear in her eyes, and he relished in it. Because maybe she’d finally fucking understand what could have happened the moment she threw herself in front of a Pokémon. Lìeyàn was well trained. He knew that. So her words were stupid, she was stupid, and he needed her to fuck off.

The Pokémon was put back into its Pokéball and Ruìsāng made the mistake of thinking he’d won already. A miscalculation. Because then she said he was dead and before he got a chance to respond, he got a fist to his face.

The punch came out of nowhere, a brutal, unexpected blow that rocked his world. His head snapped back, stars exploding in his vision as pain seared through his jaw. Shock and disbelief flooded him, mingled with the raw, throbbing ache in his face. It felt like betrayal, like the world had just sucker-punched him in return.

His vision blurred for a moment, the world spinning around him. Anger surged through him, mixing with the pain, creating a maelstrom of emotions. How dare she? How fucking dare she? “You fucking—” he hissed, venom dripping off his tongue.

He straightened, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. His bandaged fist, hardened by years of street fights, aimed for her ribs with unrelenting force. He wanted her to feel the impact, to gasp for air as the wind was knocked out of hers. Simultaneously, he aimed a swift kick at her knee, a calculated attempt to weaken her stance and incapacitate her further. He wanted her to crumble, to regret ever challenging him in the first place.

He’d die for this? What a joke.

and we oop

In movies, fights last a long time. There’s slow motion and every move makes sense. In real life, it isn’t quite the same. In the gritty reality of a fight, the elegant choreography of movie scenes was replaced by chaotic, rapid exchanges. One moment, they were both upright, and the next, blows were landing in a frenzied flurry.

The girl crumpled beneath the force of his blows, but the victory was short-lived. Before he knew it, pain shot through his knees, and he found himself on the ground alongside her, aching and disoriented.

Fueled by a surge of anger, Ruìsāng disregarded any notion of reasoning. His fists clenched, he unleashed another punishing blow aimed at her gut, attempting to take the lead. “Are you fucking insane?” he seethed. If the punch would hit, he’d make an effort to push her down to the ground. That’s where she belonged.

Amidst the chaos of the fight, there was a frenzy of movement and aggression, making it difficult to discern one action from another. Ruìsāng managed to land a punch, although it was partially blocked by the girl's hands. He could sense her pain, and that was all he aimed for at this point– to inflict pain, to make her regret this.

In the midst of their struggle, he felt her attempting to force him to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, he used her momentum to pull himself backward and tried to throw her sideways, positioning himself to loom over her. In the whirlwind of their fight, she aimed a punch for his nose, but the movement caused the blow to connect with his cheekbone instead. A sickening noise filled the air as he spat blood beside her, the metallic taste lingering in his mouth.

With sheer determination, Ruìsāng hoped to gain the upper hand, attempting to straddle her on either side and pressing down on her neck to keep her pinned to the ground. His rage boiled over, and he couldn't hold back the venom in his words.

“Your Pokémon is fine, you stupid whore! If I didn’t control my Mawile, do you think you’d still have your fucking limbs? How stupid are you?” he hissed, his anger lacing every word like a poison.

Ruìsāng’s mind was a battlefield, a chaotic whirlwind of adrenaline. In the depths of his consciousness, a desperate plea echoed – Down, down, down, calm down, – a futile attempt to quell the anger. He knew he needed to stop this, to halt the spiralling chaos before it consumed them before it was too late.

But another part of him, fueled by raw anger, had already taken control. His hands closed around her throat, the pressure building, uncaring of the consequences, lost in fury and survival. In his mind, victory loomed, the sweet taste of triumph tantalisingly close. She would regret challenging him. He would prove his strength. Weakness would never define him again.

She grew weaker under his grip, clawing at him to save her pathetic life. For a fleeting moment, he revelled in power.

No.

This wasn't him.

In a moment of shocking clarity, he released his grip as if her skin had burned him, nearly toppling off her in his haste to distance himself. Wide-eyed, he stared at her, his heart hammering against his ribs. Bile clawed at the back of his throat, and his fingers throbbed with the remnants of his brutal grip.

“Fuck off,” he hissed, his voice a mix of desperation and fury, urging her to leave, to vanish, to go anywhere but here.

Rage made a home in his chest, furnishing it swiftly and shutting the blinds so that no one could glimpse inside. It crawled along his spine, anchored itself in his chest, and pounded on his head with relentless force. Ever-present, but right now, an all-consuming storm.

All he wanted was to envelop himself in his arms and vanish, disappear, evaporate. He refused to be his father, rejected the anger surging within him, still raging, still screaming—let me out, let me out, let me out. He needed her gone. He needed solitude. He needed, he needed, he needed.

Thud.

His red eyes shot toward the girl, poised to defend himself—fight, fight, fight—but she wasn't moving. She wasn't moving.

Shit.

He didn’t want to get closer.

Yet, he didn't want her to die.

Frantically, he edged nearer, his nails biting into his palms, drawing blood. None of it mattered. Was she breathing? He observed—die, die, die, make it stop, let her die—but she was alive. It was fine. She’d be fine. He needed to help. He had to do something, anything, nothing. He was going to do something. He inched even closer, closer, closer, gently repositioning her for better breathing. It would suffice.

Crawling to the rooftop's edge, he let his legs dangle, fixating on the city sprawled below.

Lìeyàn loomed over the girl, watching.