All day long

On his way back home from Vince's place, Ruìsāng decided to stop by the bar. He’d promised to show his face and explain to the boss-man why he’d been absent for a week now. While the man wouldn’t dare fire him, one of his most loyal employees, it was still best to show why he couldn’t come in, despite not being sick.

So, Ruìsāng spent some time with his boss-man. While he’d often be seen wearing bandages, unwrapping a few this time had shown him enough to understand why he wasn’t coming in. The man pressured him to visit a doctor, but Ruìsāng promised he’d already seen one. “Don’t worry about me, boss-man,” he smiled. Please don’t.

After hearing about how he was missed and that the current bartenders would never be able to replace him, Ruìsāng decided to check it out for himself. He settled at the bar and simply… listened.

“Who ordered something orange?”

Ruìsāng blinked. When the people got told they could each take one and have it be a surprise, he raised a brow. “Are you… seriously the new bartender?” he asked when the other was back at the bar again. Arceus, he understood why boss-man was desperate.

The guy—Ruìsāng couldn't recall his name, maybe a dishwasher?—expressed his disbelief in remembering drinks and orders. Ruìsāng, hearing this, squinted his eyes in a momentary contemplation. Why didn't he just jot down the orders on the tables in their system? He glanced at the guy but dismissed it. Not his problem if no one worked him through it. Kept him from being fired if he was gone a little longer.

Was the guy really sitting down now? Ruìsāng surveyed the surroundings, realising that the place was getting a bit chaotic. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the boss-man. Suddenly, a bizarre question erupted from the guy's mouth, and Ruìsāng blinked once, then twice.

This had to be a fucking joke.

His attention was forcibly returned to the present as a hand appeared in his face. It happened too quickly. Without thinking about it, Ruìsāng grabbed his wrist and twisted, probably pulling the boy off the bar and into his lap if he wanted to avoid pain.

“Fuck—” he hissed, releasing the grip and recoiling, holding his throbbing hand with his other hand. It seemed like a cursed week for that particular limb. “You— A cactus? Yeah, sure. Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked. What a fucking mess.

If he'd grabbed a cactus, Ruìsāng would've still shown up for work. A few puncture wounds wouldn't deter him from his job. If it had been a mere cut, some bruises, or anything slightly less severe, he'd be standing there, shaking drinks. But his hand was ripped apart, barely recognizable. If he'd had a tattoo, it would probably be erased by now. He'd chuckled about the few puncture spots he'd gotten from Lìeyàn's teeth, but he doubted they'd even still be there.

I am working.

Ruìsāng was mentally preparing to bribe the boss-man to fire this fool when he returned.

“I didn’t grab a fucking cactus you fool,” Ruìsāng said, before smacking the man on the back of the head with— FUCK. His hand. “Now get the fuck off my lap and get the fuck to work! People are waiting,” he continued. What the fuck.