We're on the borderline

The unexpected arrival of Kaye at the Lunar Lounge sent a jolt through Ruìsāng, his eye twitching involuntarily as he turned, a visceral urge to abandon his bartending duties surging through him.

The memories of their last encounter hung heavily in the air, an unspoken tension that he couldn’t shake off. He harboured no ill will towards her for the anger she had shown then; yet, he did blame her for the circumstances that led to it. It was her Garchomp, after all, that had nearly ended his Mawile. Though he sympathised with her loss, the survival of his Mawile left no room for regret.

Trapped in his role, Ruìsāng remained rooted, his demeanour an icy calm as he noted the flicker of annoyance crossing Kaye’s features upon seeing him. This reaction swiftly ebbed away, replaced by a subdued air as she ordered a scotch. He hummed, a thoughtful, almost meditative sound, as he deliberately took his time preparing her drink, hindered slightly by his injured hand.

“I’d ask what brings you here,” Ruìsāng remarked with a measured tone, gracefully pouring the scotch over a clinking tower of ice before sliding the glass across the bar towards her, “But I am not sure if I’d like the answer.”

There was a part of him that wanted to believe her presence was coincidental, but the echo of her last message lingered in his mind, suggesting otherwise. Still, he harboured a quiet hope that his suspicions were unfounded.

The glass thudded onto the counter with more force than necessary, the sound reverberating slightly. Ruìsāng couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude for their choice of sturdy glassware during the renovation; otherwise, she might have been nursing glass-studded palms by now. With practised ease and a hint of unspoken inquiry in his arched eyebrow, he refilled her glass, the liquid cascading with a soft glug.

Clients walking in with faces twisted in discontent were a common sight, their expressions often akin to having discovered something unpleasant in their meal. Yet, this woman carried an air of intimidation that set her apart from the regulars.

Her demand that he play the attentive host and indulge in her grievances nearly coaxed a scoff from him. The mere insinuation of a generous tip had Ruìsāng leaning forward, resting his elbow on the bar. He propped his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he gazed up at her. “Make it a good tip and a promise, and I can take a bottle of tequila up into a private room for all your complaints,” he suggested, his voice laced with a playful challenge. There, he thought, that's how you play the part of a good host.

The woman accepted his offer, though with a preference for rum over tequila. Ruìsāng’s lips formed a playful pout as he mockingly lamented her choice. “Clearly you’ve never had a good bottle of tequila,” he playfully chastised, his tone lightt. Nonetheless, he turned back to the shelves lined with bottles, querying, “Brown or white?” He waited for her response, ready to select her preference with an experienced hand. In his heart, Ruìsāng always favoured tequila, with its ability to spark unforgettable tales. But perhaps rum was the right choice for tonight.

“Well, the patrons like it and pay good bucks for me to throw some glitter in their drink and flirt with them, so whatever works,” he shrugged casually, his response breezy as the woman aired her grievances about the establishment. “Come on, let’s go up the stairs. I’ll get us a karaoke room,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. As they moved, he gave a nonchalant wave to the boss-man, whose expression of confusion at seeing Ruìsāng leave with a woman was almost comical. Indeed, there was a first time for everything.

“So, do you want me to hold your hand and tell you you’ve done nothing wrong, or do you want the pensive face?” Ruìsāng quipped, his tone teasing as they ascended the stairs. Demonstrating his words, he used his bandaged hand to grasp his chin, offering her a theatrical display of his best pensive face.

Whatever his opinion was, made no difference to her. A chuckle escaped Ruìsāng, morphing into a snort as she warned that he’d forfeit his tip if his lips wagged too much. “No yapping, got it,” he responded, his nod heavy with mock solemnity. In his eyes, this was an ideal arrangement. The less he had to feign interest in her woes with exaggerated ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’, the better. To him, it was a win-win; he’d earn some cash and he didn’t have to come up with anything to say.

At the mention of the noise, Ruìsāng's laugh resurfaced. “That’s probably just someone keeping the door open. Our karaoke rooms are fully soundproofed,” he explained. This usually meant some safety for his ears, as well as those rooms serving as an ideal hideaway for discreet conversations... or other, more intimate encounters, as he and Vince had once demonstrated.

With his keycard, he unlocked the second karaoke room, gesturing for Kaye to enter first. He trailed in after her, sealing them off from the outside world with a soft click of the door. The room boasted a small bar, empty unless paid for by patrons. Unperturbed, Ruìsāng retrieved two glasses, filling them with rum and ice, before joining her on the couch with a relaxed ease.

“So, tell me about your problems, darling,” he smiled innocently.

The woman confessed she was wrestling with thirty-two problems at the moment, a number Ruìsāng found almost comforting. He had his own tally of forty-seven troubles, after all. But as she delved into her main concern—taking someone home for the first time—Ruìsāng’s reaction was a slow, deliberate lift of one eyebrow.

Really? That was it?

Her admission that it was unusual for her to bring someone home prompted an involuntary roll of his eyes and a resigned sigh. Ruìsāng took a thoughtful sip from his glass, swallowing down the initial surge of sarcastic remarks. He had expected something more… complex. Wasn’t she like him in some way? The kind who shattered hearts inadvertently, never realising that emotions were at play?

“Then take someone else home, too. It ain’t that deep,” he advised with a casual shrug. A new thought creased his forehead, and he wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Unless you’re in love.” That’d be horrible.

Ever the dutiful host, Ruìsāng refilled her glass, offering his two cents on her predicament. It wasn’t personal to him; he was simply there to listen and get paid for his time.

Kaye, however, didn't seem to appreciate Ruìsāng’s perspective. Her sharp retort caused him to instinctively raise his hand, a defensive gesture borne from past encounters, though he managed not to flinch. He had long since learned to mask his reactions.

Kaye's irritation escalated as she questioned his understanding of the situation, incredulously asking if he even listened to himself. Ruìsāng met her outburst with a mildly annoyed raise of his eyebrow. “I’m not the one drinking away because of a girl I claim to barely know,” he pointed out with a nonchalant shrug. He couldn’t fathom why she was directing her frustration at him. She was the one turning the issue into a mountain.

“You complain about taking her home. What does it matter if not your own feelings getting involved? If it’s because it’s the first time you did it, then do it again with someone else. You should know the holy three when it comes to problems with casual sex by now,” he continued, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. “If you find yourself thinking about them, sleep with someone else. If it doesn’t work, sleep with them again. If all else fails, well, make sure they never want to get near you again. Works wonders.”

See? Amazing advice.

Kaye's critique of Ruìsāng’s advice was blunt: she deemed it the worst advice imaginable. Unfazed, Ruìsāng merely raised an eyebrow, silently inviting her to continue, which she promptly did. It was apparent that even Kaye recognized the wisdom in keeping her distance from the girl in question. As Kaye hinted at the nature of her actions, Ruìsāng quickly dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He preferred to remain ignorant of the burdensome details. The less he knew, the better.

“If you think she’s good, cut her off,” Ruìsāng offered succinctly. Others might have suggested a more optimistic approach, assuring Kaye that she too could be worthy of someone seemingly better. But Ruìsāng wasn’t one for sugarcoating reality. He saw the world for what it was, unvarnished and unapologetic.

“Get her out of your mind. You barely know her anyways. Don’t ruin something good because you can’t keep your dirty hands off,” he advised, his words direct.

And maybe, just maybe, that advice was aimed more at himself than at her.

As the woman before him demanded another drink, Ruìsāng complied, pouring the liquor with a practised hand into her glass. The liquid swirled gracefully before settling. He watched her, a flicker of concern on his face. He harboured the hope that she would retain just enough sobriety to navigate her way out unaided. The thought of carrying her out himself was quickly dismissed – an impractical, if not impossible, endeavour. He briefly considered calling one of the guards for assistance, but the idea was quickly discarded. He had a genuine fondness for his staff and had no desire to see them on the receiving end of her potentially volatile reactions.

“Aiyah! Careful there,” he hissed softly, a sharp edge to his whisper as he gestured towards her unsteady hand, barely keeping the glass from tipping over. He leaned in slightly, his expression a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Why this fixation on her? You sure you ain’t mistaking it for something more than it is?” he asked, his voice laced with a weary sigh.

Ruìsāng had never experienced the peculiar discomfort that came with the realisation that one's parents were sexual beings. But as Kaye divulged her thoughts about her recent fling, describing her longing to be near her, to kiss and taste her, Ruìsāng felt a wave of that very discomfort wash over him.

“She smells like flowers, did you know that?” Kaye mused, a dreamy note in her voice.

“No, and honestly, I didn’t want to,” Ruìsāng replied, his tone edged with firm disapproval. He eyed her with a mix of bewilderment and exasperation, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. His gaze drifted to her glass, and for a fleeting moment, he contemplated removing it from her grasp. The memory of her formidable right hook, however, quickly dissuaded him from the idea. He had no desire to reacquaint himself with her punch.

“Alright, so you're smitten. But maybe consider moving on? There are plenty of other attractive women out there. Is she really worth all this fuss?” he sighed, his patience thinning. He shook his head slightly, a mix of frustration and resignation colouring his voice. Women – a puzzle he found both baffling and exhausting.

“She isn’t like those other women.”

Ruìsāng internally recoiled at the cliché. He couldn’t help but feel sceptical; to him, people often fell into familiar patterns, their uniqueness exaggerated by those who became captivated. Yet, to Kaye, this woman was an exception, forcing Ruìsāng to endure these confessions. As Kaye elaborated, his expression contorted further, his nose scrunching up as if trying to physically shield him from the conversation. He briefly wondered if his face might permanently freeze in this expression of distaste.

“So…” he began cautiously, emboldened by the softened edges that alcohol seemed to bring to Kaye’s demeanour. He filed this observation away for future reference. “You’re drawn to her because she saw something good in you, and then she didn’t, which hurt you,” he surmised.

He could relate, in a way. There was someone in his own life he strived to keep from viewing him through the same lens others had, someone whose opinion mattered more than he admitted.