Kingdom For A Heart

There was bound to be a day where Ruìsāng would get into a car crash, all because of captivating golden eyes and a smile that haunted him — one he didn’t deserve.



His reaction was visceral when Vince’s call came. Leaving the Golden Eye and Kaye without a backward glance, Ruìsāng’s decision was swift. Kaye had already consumed too much of his time. If Vince needed him, then that was where he would be. The thought of Vince in distress ignited a fierce protectiveness in him, a burning resolve to confront any threat head-on.

Bursting through the back door of the Golden Eye, Ruìsāng’s voice was edged with urgency, demanding to know the extent of Vince’s injuries. His mind raced, formulating a plan to counter the brewing storm of his rage, a storm that threatened to unleash its fury on whoever dared to lay a finger on the boy. Vince’s revelation — a knife at his throat — clenched Ruìsāng’s anger tight around him like a vice, his fist balling, a muttered oath escaping his lips vowing retribution.

Yet, amidst the swirling tempest of his emotions, Ruìsāng’s primary concern was Vince’s wellbeing. His questions, though tinged with a barely contained fury, sought to assess the urgency of Vince’s situation. Vince’s hesitant answers did little to quell the rising panic in Ruìsāng, until he learned the crucial detail — the wound was bleeding but treatable. A flicker of relief, but still, Ruìsāng’s distrust of doctors echoed in his decision to handle it himself.

In his car, keys trembling in his grip, Ruìsāng’s drive was a blur of speed and heightened awareness. His thoughts raced, split between the road and Vince’s trembling voice on the phone, a symphony of distress that tore at his heartstrings. The sound of Vince’s sobs unleashed a primal urge in Ruìsāng — a violent desire to annihilate those responsible, countered by an unfamiliar, overwhelming impulse to envelop Vince in his protection.

A promise extracted from Vince, ensuring the assailants weren’t in sight, barely restrained Ruìsāng from calling in favours for immediate retribution. The revelation that Vince recognized his attackers fueled a familiar rage, forcing Ruìsāng to slam on the brakes to avoid a crash. Internally cursing, he struggled to maintain a semblance of calm for Vince’s sake.



Finally arriving, Ruìsāng’s movements were a mix of hesitation and urgency as he stepped up to the boy, falling to his knees in front of him. “Vince?” he called out — his voice nearly cracking. His eyes, red with anger and concern, fixed on the blood, the hand pressed to Vince’s neck.

He would kill them.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
At those words, Ruìsāng felt a profound ache in his heart, a yearning to envelop Vince in his arms and shield him from the world. He wanted to be Vince's bastion, to vow that no harm would ever touch him again. Yet, he hesitated, uncertain if his embrace would be a comfort or a further burden in this moment. Instead, Ruìsāng sat with his hands clenched in his lap, his expression etched with concern and frustration as Vince poured out his feelings.

Vince's admission of feeling weak and powerless tightened Ruìsāng's jaw, his nails biting into his palms in a physical manifestation of his rising protective instinct. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ruìsāng gently reached out, his hand resting reassuringly on the arm Vince hid behind.

“Don’t apologise,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of command and comfort. Ruìsāng wanted Vince to understand that apologies were unnecessary, especially for being himself. “You don’t have to be. This won’t happen again,” he vowed with unwavering conviction. If Vince felt weak, Ruìsāng would be his strength. He might have doubted his own adequacy in many things, but in this, he was resolute.

“No need to outrun him. I’m here. You can stay with me, okay?” Ruìsāng’s offer was tender yet firm, hoping to coax Vince’s arm down so he could better assess his condition. His priority was to get Vince home, to safety, but he knew Vince needed a moment to unravel, to be vulnerable. And Ruìsāng was prepared to be there, ready to gather the broken pieces and help Vince rebuild.

Even amidst the turmoil, as Ruìsāng sought to ease Vince's panic, Vince was concerned about him. Shaking his head gently, Ruìsāng lifted his hand to carefully examine Vince’s neck. His heart clenched with worry, then released in a sigh of relief upon realising the bleeding wasn’t severe.

“They won’t get away with this,” Ruìsāng murmured, his voice a low growl, as he signalled his Mawile to approach. The Pokémon, sensing the gravity of the situation, emerged with a keen gaze. Ruìsāng unwrapped a section of his bandage, offering it to the Mawile. Since his own wounds had healed and the bandages were mainly to conceal the extent of his scars from prying eyes, the fabric was cleaner than any other makeshift option he might have found.

“We’ll take care of this at home,” he assured Vince with a voice that was calm yet carried an undercurrent of suppressed fury. He pressed the bandage gently against the wound, his touch delicate yet firm. With his other hand, he tenderly wiped a tear from Vince’s cheek, his eyes softening.

“Your father can get in line. If he wants to touch you, he’ll have to go through me,” he declared with a protective firmness. Ruìsāng’s mind flashed back to the first incident, how he had hoped never to see Vince in such a state again. And yet, here they were, facing a situation far more grave. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Ruìsāng had long pondered the lengths to which he would go for those he cherished. For Alastor, he knew without hesitation that he would cross the darkest lines; he would kill, he would lay down his own life in a sacrificial act of protection. Such dire circumstances, fortunately, remained untested with Alastor, existing only as haunting 'what ifs' that lurked in the shadowed corners of Ruìsāng's mind.

Now, however, the idea of blood staining his hands felt like a second skin, gloves tailor-made for his soul's darkest desires. The way Vince gazed up at him ignited an urge to rise, to unleash a wrath so fearsome that not even the echoes of his enemies’ legacies would remain. Yet, there he sat, anchored by the fear trembling in Vince's voice — a voice that shattered Ruìsāng's resolve and sewed a vow deep within his heart. A vow that such terror would never touch Vince again.

“I don’t care. Let them come,” Ruìsāng whispered, his voice a soft caress in the tense air. He remained steadfast, feeling the hesitant pressure of Vince's hand against his chest. He wasn't pushed away — not yet. But he understood the impulse, the instinct to protect that resonated so deeply within himself. Yet, he had chosen not to act on it. For once, he had stepped beyond the fear, letting Vince's warmth seep into his very core, encircling his heart with an inescapable, tender vice.

Letting go now would be stupid.

Leaning forward, Ruìsāng's chest pressed gently against Vince's hand, a silent affirmation of his presence. “You see, it’s too late for that, Vince. You’re worth the risk,” he murmured with a gentle smile. In a world that demanded so much of them, where every choice was a battle, Vince had been his respite.

Slowly, he lifted his hand, gently placing it over Vince’s on his chest. “I have pushed away many, but not you. Not this time. I won’t let you either,” he continued, his expression one of quiet resolve.

In that moment, as he listened to Vince’s words, happiness now seemingly slipping away, Ruìsāng's smile took on a watery, heartfelt quality. He absorbed every word, the boy’s admission of fleeting joy and the end of it. Shaking his head with a quiet resolve, Ruìsāng silently vowed not to let Vince’s newfound peace be shattered. He understood that mere promises were not enough; words often fell short. What he needed to offer was action – tangible demonstrations of fun, safety, and a semblance of love, as close as Ruìsāng was capable of giving.

When Vince spoke of protecting him, of not letting harm come his way, Ruìsāng’s expression softened further. He appreciated the sentiment, the fierceness in Vince's vow. Yet, he made his own silent pledge – not only to make those who threatened them regret their actions but also to envelop Vince in a world where he could genuinely feel happiness, a sense of security.

Gently, Ruìsāng stood, carefully coaxing Vince to his feet, his hand ready to offer support, to bear some of Vince's weight if needed. “Let’s go home,” he stated simply, a profound meaning imbued in the word 'home'. Perhaps it would be best, he mused, if Vince stayed with him for a while. In that single word, 'home', lay an unspoken promise of refuge where Vince might rediscover the joy that had been so cruelly threatened.

As they made their way back to Ruìsāng’s apartment, he was mindful to adjust his pace to match Vince's comfort. His hand rested on Vince's lower back, a simple gesture meant to offer both comfort and stability. It served as a silent communication, allowing Ruìsāng to sense any change in Vince's movement, ready to provide support or catch him if necessary.

When Vince broke the silence with his questions, Ruìsāng turned his head slightly, his eyebrows arching in mild surprise. At the first query, he responded with a concise and affirmative, “Always.”

The second question seemed to soften Ruìsāng’s demeanour further, his gaze becoming gentle as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” he said. The possessive part of his mind whispered — his, his, his to protect — yet he recognized the practicality of Vince learning to defend himself.

After a brief pause, he added, “Like, you and me or with your Pokémon?” The question came naturally, as Ruìsāng was open to either option.

Ruìsāng's heart ached as he watched Vince, the lively spark that usually lit up his demeanour now dimmed to a mere flicker. Vince had often been shy, but now, his glances away as if avoiding something, made Ruìsāng's jaw tighten with a mix of concern and helplessness. He longed to do more, to somehow lift Vince out of this shadowed state, but for the moment, his presence and support were all he could offer.

The subject turned to helping Vince build confidence through physical and Pokémon training. While Ruìsāng believed in the idea, the reality of their sessions was far from what he had envisioned. Ruìsāng let out a soft sigh, his heart heavy. He gently nudged Vince closer, trying to bridge the gap between them, hoping to catch his gaze.

“Yes. Of course, I will help,” Ruìsāng affirmed, his voice soft yet resolute. He was determined to carve out time for this, anything to restore a sense of safety and strength in Vince.

“We’ll make it work, alright?” he reassured. Ruìsāng understood Vince's aversion to battling; it wasn't about confrontation but about finding a path to empowerment. His own style in battles was defensive, a methodical wearing down of the opponent, providing an opening for attack. For Vince, this could be a strategy that could work. Ruìsāng was committed to preserving Vince's gentle nature, refusing to let it be extinguished by the cruelty of others.

Vince's words of gratitude were met with a dismissive shake of Ruìsāng's head. “Between you and me there’s no need for thanks,” he asserted firmly. His tone conveyed a deep-seated sense of loyalty. It was the same unwavering commitment that had once driven him to undertake the perilous journey to Shadowfell for Alastor.

The moment Vince abruptly stopped, Ruìsāng halted in tandem, a crease forming on his brow in concern. He watched, puzzled, as Vince reached behind his ear, and then Ruìsāng's eyes widened in shock. Gently, but with a sense of urgency, he placed his thumb on Vince’s cheek, tilting his face for a clearer view.

There it was, the character 見 — ‘Jiàn’, meaning ‘to see’ in Fènghuáng — cruelly etched into the skin behind Vince's ear. A wave of anger surged through Ruìsāng, so potent that even his Mawile reacted, growling lowly and snapping her jaws in the air, mirroring her owner's emotional turmoil.

For a few heartbeats, Ruìsāng was silent, his gaze fixated on the mark as he struggled to control his breathing. The impulse to hunt down those responsible was overwhelming, yet he knew he couldn't leave Vince's side—not now. His priority had to be Vince's well-being, not vengeance.

But deep within, a vow formed, a deadly promise unknowingly slipping from his lips in his native tongue, barely audible: “Wǒ yào shāle zhèxiē húndàn.” His voice was tight with resolve.

Taking another deep breath to steady himself, Ruìsāng's touch softened, his thumb gently caressing Vince's jaw. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, his voice a mixture of sorrow and apology. He was at a loss for words, the promise to himself ringing clear: he would ensure this never happened again. In his mind, he decided he would call upon Kaye to fulfil her owed favour.

* 我要杀了这些混蛋 “I’m gonna kill these fuckers”

As Vince inquired about the severity, Ruìsāng’s brow creased in contemplation. In the broader scheme, it might be considered inconsequential – merely a mark, one that could potentially be obscured by a tattoo or fade into an almost invisible scar.

However, the significance of the mark went beyond its physical appearance. The fact that someone had dared to not only touch Vince but to leave a lasting imprint on him ignited a fierce, possessive anger within Ruìsāng. It was an emotion that roiled darkly in the depths of his being, a visceral response he struggled to keep in check as he sought to be support for Vince.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them,” he muttered, his words low and more to himself than to Vince. His resolve was ironclad; he would not let this violation stand unchallenged. Initially, he had contemplated asking Kaye to take care of those responsible, but now, a more personal retribution seemed fitting. He vowed to himself that he would ensure those men lived in perpetual fear, constantly looking over their shoulders.

“It’s… a mark. ‘Jiàn’, or ‘see’ in my language,” he explained, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. “I assume it holds the same meaning in yours.” He paused, searching for the right words. What could he possibly say to mitigate the damage, to express the regret and protectiveness swirling within him? “I’m sorry,” he finally repeated, the words feeling inadequate. “You shouldn’t have had to go through this.”

Resolutely, he added, “Stay with me until this is solved.” The decision was clear in his mind. He would figure out the logistics later, once his mother returned. But for now, the thought of Vince leaving, especially after such an ordeal, was unbearable. Ruìsāng needed him close, safe, within the sanctuary he could provide.

When Vince expressed his concern, Ruìsāng responded with a comforting smile. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice infused with a quiet strength. He didn't dismiss the risks involved, but he had no intentions of acting rashly or without careful thought. He knew the stakes were high, and his role was crucial. He was prepared to fight, to strategize, and to win, because failure was not an option he could afford to consider.

The mention of the 'Crimson Blade' by Vince caught Ruìsāng's attention. “That’s their group?” he queried, filing the name away in his mind. It was a piece of the puzzle he hadn't known, a lead he would pursue when the time was right. For now, it was information to be stored, a target for his future plans of retribution.

Ruìsāng's expression softened as Vince apologised, voicing his fears of being a burden. “Vince,” Ruìsāng sighed, his tone laced with genuine care and a hint of exasperation at the thought. “You’ll never be a burden to me. You carry one, let me help you carry it. I want to,” he reassured him earnestly. His words were not those of a man who helped out of obligation, he wasn’t that kind of person.