Falling to pieces

With the back of his fingers, Ruìsāng tenderly stroked his mother’s cheek as he looked down on her, gently pulling the blanket over her without her even noticing. He found himself caught between blaming her for everything that ever went wrong in her life and wishing to protect the only thing he’d ever had. He loved her— that much could and should never be denied. But sometimes, one was better off without something, despite loving it.

After tidying up the living room a little—which wasn’t without struggle—he decided to, at the very least, get some groceries. It had been at least a day since he’d had anything to eat, and his mother had not been doing well. Even in this state, he noticed that she didn’t care. There was no motherly love coming from the woman who saw her own son deteriorate. She cared more about the empty bottle in her hands than she ever would about him.

Just a few groceries, and then he could lie down again. With that thought, Ruìsāng opened the front door and intended to step out, only to come to a halt when he saw a familiar face in front of his door—someone who shouldn't even know he lived here.

Ruìsāng folded his arms and tilted his head slightly as he looked at the man in front of him. “What? You’re here to tell me I’m a bad boy again?” he scoffed, though he could feel the nerves crawl up his spine. What did Míngzé know?

Míngzé was nervous, and Ruìsāng scrutinised him, carefully observing the man's body language as he stammered a bit before finally stating that he had never called him a bad boy. “Prefer I ask you why you said there’s something wrong with me?” Ruìsāng retorted, a chill seeping into his voice as he clenched his jaw. He was aware that there was something fundamentally wrong with him, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it.

When Míngzé asked whether Ruìsāng would believe it if he said he got lost, Ruìsāng raised a brow. The other continued, saying that Ruìsāng had never told him he lived here, which only added to the strangeness of the situation. How had Míngzé found his apartment?

“You never asked,” Ruìsāng shrugged, though even he had to admit that was being unfair. “It hadn’t come up yet,” he continued. “And no, though I also don’t think you’ve read the name on the door. Care to tell me how you found my apartment?”

Míngzé mentioned that it was challenging to explain, prompting Ruìsāng to narrow his eyes. “It always is,” he replied, his jaw clenched. In his experience, people were quick to talk, but when it came to facing the consequences, they often had little substance to offer. Once again, he would be the one left to deal with the fallout.

Fortunately, Míngzé opted not to fabricate a story. Instead, he seemed to sidestep the issue. While Ruìsāng wasn't entirely certain if it was better, at least it didn't provoke the same level of anger. His arms still folded over his chest, he listened to the question about his behaviour. Why did he act the way he did? Ruìsāng scoffed, waving his bandaged hand into the air, though he winced silently at the movement.

“I got into an accident. It hurt. You grabbed onto fresh wounds,” he mechanically explained. “I was in shock. I got angry. I am sorry.” The words left his mouth, seemingly believable if you didn’t care to look further.

Fair enough.

Míngzé was making absolutely no sense and annoyance grew in Ruìsāng as the man blabbered something about knowing, but then not understanding. In an attempt to diffuse the tension, Ruìsāng sighed, attempting to push away the mounting apprehension. “Listen. I’m sorry if I scared you, alright? I didn’t mean to,” he assured the other. He owed him at least that much. “But you’re making no sense now,” he added, his words deliberate, as he hoped for some clarity from the other man.

Then, a weak voice interrupted their exchange.

“A-sāng?”

Ruìsāng's eyes widened as he turned to find his mother standing behind him. Dishevelled and aged beyond her years, with her hair falling in tangled disarray around her shoulders. The lingering scent of alcohol was a permanent companion. Ruìsāng attempted to gently urge her back, but her gaze fixed on Míngzé at the doorway. “Is this… a friend? You never bring any… Come in,” she invited Míngzé, a fragile smile playing on her lips.

When Míngzé expressed his understanding, the carefully constructed facade that Ruìsāng presented momentarily crumbled. If Míngzé wasn't here to pass judgement on his reaction, to condemn the fundamentally wrong emotions boiling within him and the monstrous anger pulsating in his gut, then... Ruìsāng swallowed hard, averting his gaze as his thumb instinctively sought out one of the four dots on his chest. No. There was no reason anyone should be aware of those.

Ruìsāng's mother, who didn’t speak the common tongue well or often, unexpectedly addressed Míngzé in it. Ruìsāng couldn't fathom why she chose to do so now, conversing with a stranger on their doorstep. He inhaled deeply, uneasy with the situation. It seemed Míngzé regretted coming here, and in that, Ruìsāng found agreement.

“Mā, Míng-gē surely doesn’t have time to—”

“No! You no… are trouble. Come in,” his mother insisted, gesturing for Míngzé to enter. Ruìsāng released a sigh, disliking the unsettling feeling that accompanied his mother's uncharacteristic sweetness. This was not the woman he knew—or, at least, not the woman he'd known for as long as he could remember.

Míngzé mentioned his limited time and suggested that he might join them another day. Ruìsāng's red eyes darted between Míngzé and his mother, realising how off her offer was. The only reason Ruìsāng was heading out, despite the pain that surged through him at the thought of carrying anything, was their lack of food at home. He clenched his jaw.

“Mā, gāi mǎi càile. Míng-gē hé wǒ yào qù chāoshì.” he said to her in a hushed tone, before offering Míngzé a smile. Ruìsāng knew that Míngzé also understood Fénghuàng, though perhaps not as fluently, quickly, or with the same accent. Nonetheless, he assumed the man would grasp the essence of his words.

“Come on, let’s go,” Ruìsāng said, waving to his mother as he seized Míngzé’s hand, leading him away and releasing his grip only when the door behind them closed.

* 妈，该买菜了。明哥和我要去超市。
“Ma, it’s time to buy groceries. "Brother" Ming and I will go to the store.”

Míngzé inquired about their plans to buy groceries. Ruìsāng heard how the other came to a stop, but chose not to slow down, maintaining a leisurely pace. Rushing was a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment. Each step sent waves of pain through his body, and the looming threat of passing out lingered with every movement.

“Well, I am going to buy groceries,” Ruìsāng asserted, still uncertain about his feelings toward Míngzé. He wasn't fond of people delving into his affairs, especially when they remained vague about it.

“You’re welcome, not required, to help out,” Ruìsāng finally said. Though, while he was not ready to admit it out loud, the help would be most welcome. The simple act of lifting a bag felt akin to torture in his current state.

Ruìsāng found himself caught between feelings of disappointment and relief when Míngzé offered his help. Perhaps it wasn't a clear-cut emotion; both sentiments seemed to coexist within him. He responded with a short hum to acknowledge Míngzé's words before proceeding towards the stairs.

“Do you need help?” he inquired briskly, raising a brow. He didn’t quite understand why míngzé used a cane now, but they both had their secrets.

Regarding his mother, Ruìsāng assured Míngzé, “She isn’t,” signalling his awareness of the harsh reality. He didn't live in a delusion of his mother being a good person. “You’d do well not to come by again,” he advised straightforwardly. It seemed like the most sensible course of action for everyone involved.

Míngzé declined the offered help, prompting a nonchalant shrug from Ruìsāng. There was no insistence, no attempt to extend a helping hand as he might have done in different circumstances. The newfound distance allowed for some mental space, providing a slight reprieve from the tension constricting Ruìsāng's chest.

As Míngzé assured him it wouldn't happen again, Ruìsāng sighed in response. “You better,” he muttered, already anticipating the twisted narrative his mother might weave from this encounter. To her, Míngzé standing at their door was likely to be compared to the parade of unsavoury individuals who frequented Ruìsāng's living room, each one seemingly more worthless than the last. She didn’t care.

Reaching the stairs, Ruìsāng allowed Míngzé to take the lead, ensuring he was positioned to intervene if any missteps occurred during the descent. When Míngzé spoke again, a cold sharpness returned to Ruìsāng's voice. “What is it?” he asked, his voice sharper, colder, again.

Míngzé’s comment prompted a narrowing of Ruìsāng's eyes. “Luckily you do know better,” he stated tersely, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the assumption. Hadn’t he behaved perfectly well? If anything, he’d extended help to the other before. He let out a curt breath and shook his head, realising that maybe they didn’t get along after all.

When Míngzé dismissed the topic with a casual ‘nevermind’, Ruìsāng's patience reached its breaking point. “Fuck!” he hissed sharply, coming to an abrupt stop and fixing an annoyed and angry stare on the other. “Spit it out, Míngzé,” he hissed, perhaps for the very first time using the other’s actual name.

“What’s going on with you? You send me these cryptic messages, show up at my front door, and then dance around the subject. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he continued, his voice getting a little louder. He was done with whatever game it was Míngzé was playing.