a shard of light

For Ruìsāng, the saying about blood sticking to one's hands felt simplistic. In his experience, the stain of blood extended far beyond the hands. It seemed to seep into his very being, leaving invisible traces on his arms, its metallic taste lingering on his tongue. He hadn't ended that man's life, and the monster he had faced might not have even been alive in the true sense when he struck it down. Yet, the memories clung to him, vivid and unrelenting.

These weren't nightmares that haunted him in his sleep; they were stark, wakeful recollections that surged to the forefront when he was alone, or when he looked at Vince. Sometimes, he found himself wishing Vince would just run away. It would be easier, safer. But the boy stayed, and Ruìsāng grappled with why.

Today, the weight of his thoughts proved too much, driving Ruìsāng to seek solace in Viktor's company. There, he could lose himself in conversation and alcohol, avoiding the labyrinth of his own mind. Viktor's presence was a balm, especially now that Ruìsāng's mother was gone. He could finally admit, with less guilt, that Viktor had been more of a parent to him than his own mother ever was. This realisation brought an unexpected clarity about his lack of grief for her.

Upon entering the store, Ruìsāng found himself face-to-face with his witchy, almost-sister – a relationship he had neglected in recent weeks. Confronting this, he acknowledged internally that perhaps she deserved more than his avoidance. So, breaking the pattern, he met her gaze. Then, he smiled, and said, “Hi.”

For Ruìsāng, the art of becoming invisible had been a necessity, a survival skill honed during his years in foster care and honed further when evading the ever-watchful eyes of child protective services. Since awakening to his dark affinity, this ability had only amplified. He could glide through a room, his presence as unnoticed as a shadow slipping beneath the door.

But in this moment, as he stood before the girl, he allowed himself a rare deviation. A faint smile touched his lips. He braced himself for any reaction – a rebuke, perhaps, or a storm of questions. Instead, her response was unexpected and disarming. She closed the distance between them in swift strides, before enveloping him in an embrace.

Ruìsāng's breath hitched in his chest, his body rigid with surprise. “Sims,” he managed to murmur, his voice barely a whisper. As the initial shock ebbed away, he tentatively returned the embrace, his arms encircling her with a cautious gentleness. His jaw clenched tightly, a silent battle against the tears threatening to break through his stoic facade. Ruìsāng realised that perhaps, he too had been needing this.

Ruìsāng studied Simura with a contemplative gaze, noting a peculiar shift in her demeanour that piqued his curiosity. It was as if something unspoken lingered behind her reactions, puzzling him. He considered the possibility that she might have been informed by Viktor, perhaps under the impression that the recent loss had taken a significant toll on him. It was a reasonable assumption, given that Simura had never crossed paths with his mother and was likely projecting a depth of grief she assumed he'd be experiencing.

“I appreciate your concern, Sims,” he offered. “But really, I've braced myself for this for quite some time. I’m managing,” he confided, attempting to dispel her worries with a semblance of resilience. The reality, that his mother had been beyond saving, lingered unsaid.

Shifting the focus away from his own feelings, he inquired about her well-being, “How have you been?” His question, simple yet laden with genuine interest, aimed to steer their conversation towards her.

Ruìsāng observed Simura with a tilt of his head—Viktor hadn't told her, then. His brow furrowed, the puzzle gnawing at him. Words failed to find their way to his lips, yet Simura filled the silence with her vibrant recounting of recent events. Her mention of a date brushed a tender smile across his face, but he didn’t get a chance to respond to it.

“It’s—” but hesitated, realising that any words he spoke might eclipse her opportunity to share more of her own stories. Yet, the weight of it all felt suffocating.

“My mother passed away. I thought Viktor had told you,” Ruìsāng admitted, his voice carrying a twinge of confusion. “But it is alright. I am okay,” he continued, though his words tasted of deceit. Deep down, he questioned whether he could remember the last time he’d been ‘okay’.

As Simura expressed concern for his well-being, Ruìsāng offered her a smile. The ease with which people assumed his heartbreak over his mother's passing left him questioning his own emotions. Was there something inherently wrong in feeling a burden lifted with her death? The fear of being judged for his relief had always loomed larger in his mind than the grief itself.

Ruìsāng responded with a soft squeeze of her hands, a silent thank you for her understanding. His right hand was still swatted in bandages, despite the wounds healing. Releasing her hands, he exhaled deeply, pondering over her subsequent inquiry.

“She hasn’t worked in over a decade. It’ll be easier with one less mouth to feed,” he admitted. He left unspoken that this meant he worked nearly full time next to his study. “I’ll probably move into something smaller as I don’t need the space, but don’t worry. I’ll be okay,” he reassured her.

Ruìsāng's response to Sim's offer was a soft chuckle. The notion of taking refuge in her company, if only to escape the enveloping silence of his own home, held a certain appeal. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the thought of accepting her kindness, allowing himself the solace of companionship and a break from the solitude that awaited him.

However, reality quickly reasserted itself, reminding him of his current commitments. “I, uh—there’s been someone staying with me since Christmas,” he confessed. “He’ll probably be around for a bit longer, so I’m really okay,” he added, reinforcing his assurance.

The truth was, Ruìsāng couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning Vince, especially not when so much was happening. And even if he could, he… found that he didn’t want to.

“But thank you. I appreciate it,” he expressed sincerely.

Ruìsāng's expression fell at Simura's question, her curiosity piercing through his defences with unsettling accuracy. The urge to deflect, to assert the irrelevance of her inquiry, surged within him, yet the thought of vocalising such a dismissal felt jarringly… wrong. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, a gesture of resignation.

“Before your imagination runs wild, let me clarify—there's no label on this,” he prefaced, his tone brimming with caution. Their connection, undefined yet undeniably profound, was nothing they’d delved into yet. Despite the depth of his involvement, the lengths he'd gone to safeguard the boy, and the readiness with which he'd stand in harm's way again, there was no clarity. This very uncertainty, the prospect of Vince confronting the truth of Ruìsāng's nature and running, haunted him.

“He's caught in a lot right now, and— I don't know. His stay over the holidays just...extended naturally,” Ruìsāng attempted to explain, his explanation weaving through the complexities of their situation. “But it's complicated. There's a lot happening now.” Between his mother's passing mingled and the looming threat against Vince, ‘a lot’ was an understatement.

Sim's well-wishing, followed by the risk of going bald, drove Ruìsāng's hand to his hair. His face contorted into a look of genuine concern as he envisioned himself sporting Viktor's hairstyle, a mental image that sent a shudder through him.

“Please, let’s not say that. My hair is the better part of my charm,” Ruìsāng half-joked, his fingers entwined protectively in his blond locks. Beneath the humour lay a kernel of truth; the idea of losing his hair had haunted his dreams more than once.

“If— and that's a big ‘if’— what we’re building survives all of what’s happening,” he prefaced, the conditional hanging heavily between them, “then you'll definitely meet him. That's a promise,” he assured her with a smile that bore the weight of sincerity.

“I have a feeling the two of you— No... Let's save the details for when the time is right,” he trailed off, the initial smile blossoming into something more genuine, more hopeful.

“My what?” Ruìsāng couldn't hide his surprise. Even though he was pretty confident about his hairline, the comment struck a chord. He was proud of his hair, the wild blonde locks that marked a stark contrast to his parents' straight, dark hair. It was his defining feature, something that visibly set him apart from his family.

The moment Sim mentioned his smile whenever Vince came up in conversation, Ruìsāng felt a warmth spread across his cheeks. He bit his lip, trying to mask his embarrassment. It bothered him, this feeling of falling too easily for someone, especially when he had convinced himself he wasn't ready or deserving of such affection. Yet, the thought of Vince stirred a hopeful yearning within him.

“I will. If things go as planned, you'll be the first to meet him. That's a promise,” he said with a playful wink, squeezing her hand in reassurance. His voice softened, “And I've missed you. Better leave now before I spill all my secrets,” he added with a light chuckle, letting go of her hand and stepping back.