Realistic or Modern 𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 ;; bad ending and robbie

[miyabi]

.V1LLAINISM._ ​

 

[miyabi]

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donghai.

rooftop cafe

chu and her dad

.V1LLAINISM._

There is one thing Donghai has particularly been curious of: the wealthy, those of higher status, whose earnings far surpass those of lower classes; those whose money speaks for most of their doings, worrying about whether or not something can be afforded is far beyond the minds of those whose status offer near immunity. He is, however, not the most fond of them—from their arrogant attitudes and often uptight demeanors, to the fact that they can afford to do so much but, in fact, do not, his expectations of the rich and their humanity is low. But much like any other person, he works for those people—to try and live as fruitfully as he can despite being underpaid (to him, even the wealthy are stingy, often unwilling to pay higher wages); and he cannot help but accept the positions outreached to him.

Money is a powerful thing, a thought that he regrets to accept, but it is the truth and nothing less.

To be fair, Macau is not a cheap place to live, but within the crevices, its odd turns and bustling streets, it is home. A son to immigrants who woefully chased their dreams only to be disappointed that they are unable to give their son the life they wished for him, Donghai was determined to fall into the category of success. Instead, the man found himself in the jaws of crime; sucked into the void of the Triads—Donghai did not expect to come out alive, but he did. And for that, he is ever grateful.

But the past often finds itself lurking in the dark and has you looking over your shoulder; Donghai’s case was especially prevalent. Macau and its streets are a constant reminder of a selfish man whose urges spoke for him rather than his mind.

There was the impulse: to simply work off his debts, stay under the radar, but that was seldom possible. Over his shoulder looms the possibility of death, suffocating every waking moment of his life — though, he never did quite feel alive. When you leave the triads, you never really leave; it is always there, lying in wait, awaiting to wrap its strong hands around your neck.

Some days he is lifeless, others he is in constant paranoia — a man haunted by his past as his past hunts him.

***​

Clouds veiled over the city, but they did nothing to dampen the sound of the busy streets; instead of the birds chirping, horns honked, footsteps pattered against wet cement, and incessant conversation from phone to phone. The city was not a quiet one, in fact, it was like it never slept: vendors kept the night alive, as did the lights from buildings that towered high like the heavens. There was one thing though, always in the shadows, presenting itself in the darkest of nights with an iron grip: the darkness wasn’t the most dangerous thing there — the triads sniffed out money like hungry dogs and they were unafraid of spilling blood while they were at it.

Steam from his coffee burned into the cold air, leaving a gloss over his skin; and while he shivered, he sipped, taking in what he could as he simultaneously burned the roof of his mouth. It was indulgent, the deep flavors of darkly brewed coffee mixed with a hint of vanilla and hazelnut — he was never a man opting for sweetness, but this was his exception. And for once, it seemed like his day could be enjoyed — overlooking the city on a terrace with the cool wind blowing, dressed warmly in wool and cotton, and a cigarette placed between two fingers.

His strides were quick, obvious that he had somewhere to get to and there was no intention of making unnecessary stops.

In the corner of his eye was a conversation, one loud and not easily ignored; something about business, a name thrown out that he can never forget, and then a sudden bang. A few utensils, plates, a singular vase falling onto the ground along with a wooden table that clanked along with the rest of its bronze filigree. He tried to ignore it, really, he did; Donghai was never one to interfere with affairs that weren’t his.

It was funny how life, despite granting you peace for only a moment, throws another whirlwind in your direction.

There was a bullet hole in his coffee cup, he was lucky enough to not have a bullet in him — but it was a sight to see. He wasn’t afraid, only taken aback, brows higher than the heavens as his expression slid onto his cheeks; his mouth was slightly agape, eyes widened, but he remained silent. With no second thought, he ran past the group, only to feel a man dragging along with him. Maybe it was a twist of fate or the fact that that man was so scared that he’d grabbed onto the closest thing to him. Either way, Donghai did not run alone.

The two men looked at each other, then back, then to the coffee cup still gripped in his hands — coffee pouring onto his flesh, but he paid no mind as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. There was a mutual scream shared between the two, but their legs moved in unison, weaving between other people, streetcars, and just about any obstacle put in their way. If no one had known any better, the two looked like brothers — a forced solidarity between the two and their shared fear of harboring a bullet.

He was no fool, capable of wielding a weapon, but to do so meant revisiting the past he desperately tried to escape. “Sir, now. I know you don’t know me, but I think we’re far past the trust stage, don’t you think?” Donghai paused, pressing their backs against exposed brick. The man looked back at him, nodding frantically as Donghai darted around, looking for a means of escape — or at least, hiding. And like a gift from heaven itself, there it was, shining under a dull lamp — a chute that led to god knows where, but at least it was away from danger.

“Hey, where are we go—” the man’s words were cut off by a shove and Donghai quickly followed behind; the two rushed down the chute like no tomorrow, holding their breaths or trying to, screaming in between as lint caught onto their clothing with a fair chance of inhalation.

***​

It is not often that Donghai will protect the life of another person; at least, he will not protect the life of someone who was not part of his brotherhood. Even after leaving, he was determined to do one thing: protect himself above all else. A form of self-preservation that kept him alive, but in a spark of fate, he found himself protecting the life of a man he did not even know. At least, it wasn’t intended to go that way.

In fact, Donghai had no intention of protecting someone else — a purely accidental encounter that led to a position that paid far more than his current job. Goodbye floor mopping, hello Body Guarding. It was a funny thing, how fate worked against his favor and yet, it had all come together. A liveable income, a roof over his head, Donghai was doing better than he’d initially been doing. And that he was grateful for.

“Donghai, my friend! There you are!” A man rose from the hall, clad in a pristine suit, hair slicked back and mustache perfectly shaped; it was the one he’d pushed down the chute and shared a coffee with — funnily enough, Donghai had refused the offer countless times before finally accepting. He thought this a favor for a friend, someone he’d experienced trouble with in the most odd situation. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. Remember when I said you’d be a Bodyguard? I forgot to mention — not just mine,” he paused for a moment, waving his hand over to a young woman he’d seen only a few times; it wasn’t a face he could forget, not because he sought a particular attraction, but because–well–she had her father’s face. “My ChuChu! This is Donghai.”

He raised a brow, straightening his back to make himself a bit more presentable despite his attire, “Chu? Nice to meet you.” Formal, that’s what he was, uncomfortable with the fact that he’d have to act familiar with a woman he’d never spoken to before.

♡coded by uxie♡