HUMAN | YUWIN [ ✓ ]

ONE | A NEW JOB

one look into the mirror proves that sicheng fucked up.

his hair was a bit messy and his clothes covered in dirt and dried blood, but those paled in comparison to the rest of him — his cheek was bruised, his bottom lip busted, and his knuckles bloody from repeatedly landing punch after punch on his attacker's face, his entire body feeling the aftermath. sicheng now carried a limp, the strong, metallic smell of blood overtaking his sense of smell and his mouth tasting it.

what has he done to deserve the beating he got just an hour ago before he ashamedly dragged his sorry arse back home only to feel like falling to the floor and staying there? pissing off the wrong people, that's what.

sicheng wipes a hand across his bottom lip, seeing more blood coat the back of his hand, the smell overwhelming him and making him feel ever so lightheaded. everything hurts so damn much and he needs to lay down or he swears he'll just fall apart to not feel anymore. he's so damn stupid and his stupidity always costs him.

"you're such a fucking idiot," sicheng mumbles aloud, his thoughts not even able to stay in the closed cage that was his mind, full of repeated sentences reminding him of all his mistakes. he deserves it.

sicheng gets his washcloth and wets it with the water from the sink, pressing it onto his bruise and wiping off his bloodied knuckles. he's going to break a finger one day from how hard he punches people and how many times each and every one of his fingers getting crushed when fighting people.

this whole thing of getting involved with the wrong people just made the downward spiral that his life was already going through, worse. sicheng, hard on money, looked for ways to try and have a steady life. somehow that led to him joining a gang, taking part in illegal underground fights for money... he really fucked up, didn't he? the attempted change in his life only fucked him over, beating him down repeatedly and constantly.

when his injured knuckles are wiped clean, the once clean washcloth now dark red with blood, he takes one last look in his bathroom's mirror. one last look at the consequences of his stupid mistakes before stumbling out of the room and limping his way to his bedroom, eventually just falling onto his bed, letting his eyes close as his poor, beat up body rests.

when the next day comes around, waking up sicheng when he doesn't want to open his eyes and feel more pain overtake him at the slightest movement. he checks the time displayed on the digital clock that sat upon his nightstand.

eight in the morning. perfect. he had been out for hours and hours more than his usual. to be far, sicheng fell asleep just at midnight after getting his arse beat. it makes sense that he woke up later than he was used to. when he takes a shower which soothes his soreness, brushes his teeth clean twice, and puts on clothes that weren't dirty and filthy with dried blood and dirt, he can't even bring himself to eat, not even at least force food down his throat.

sicheng's hunger just doesn't exist at the moment. the fruit in the bowl on his dining table, the food in the food cabinets and fridge just don't tempt him whatsoever. no hunger, no stomach rumbling. only pure pain his entire body felt from his head down to his feet. he shakily sat himself down on his patchy couch, letting his eyes rest as they closed.

it lets him mull over things. he can't even think about the next time he has to pay his rent, sicheng can't even think about the next time he'll earn enough money again to not nearly go broke after he does pay his rent. underground fighting, he can earn a thousand dollars that way, but no. that's another stupid decision he shouldn't dare make. going back there is just asking to meet the same guy again, who'll probably has the backup of his friends to jump him, even if sicheng beat his face to a bloody pulp.