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“What is it those annoying foreigners always say…?”
“Ah, I remember—‘I’m with you.’”
“Boss, I want to be with you too,”
“Can’t I?”
—
The morning light fell onto Gat Cheung’s face, almost as if mocking him. He had struggled against it for a while, but in the end, he was no match for his bad mood. With the standard motion of a carp flipping over, he threw himself off the bed and onto the floor.
The pain surfaced clearly, and in that moment, he forgot the contents of his dream. As if it was something he had once said. As if it were not.
The clock on the wall kept racing against time. He blinked, vaguely making out a needle pointing to the right, marked with the number 4. On the bed where he had just been lying, there was a figure, something akin to a woman but with a build that looked muscular.
He wandered absentmindedly to the washroom and splashed water on his face. Without a word, he pulled two bills from his wallet, tossed them onto the table, and slipped out the door.
He had no interest in knowing whether the person on the bed was a man or a woman. Whatever had happened last night wasn’t his concern—just like how the blinding sunlight and the time on the clock stood in contradiction, yet made no difference. His throat burned with dryness. The air rolling toward him wasn’t a breeze but a scorching wave of heat. His body was burning up, and the shirt clinging to his back was completely soaked.
When he returned to Gaa Sai Tong, Gat Cheung realized he was more than half an hour late for his meeting with Sap Yi Siu who was waiting. As Sap Yi Siu’s hand pressed against his forehead, Gat Cheung’s mind remained hazy, distracted by the thought that he had forgotten to buy breakfast for his Boss.
Gat Cheung hung his head, stunned and waiting for a long moment. Something felt off. He lifted his gaze and found Sap Yi Siu frozen in place, his movements halted. Gat Cheung quickly noticed it—Sap Yi Siu’s eyes lingering at the center of his collarbone, unmoving. His expression held layers of hesitation, shock, and pain, tangled with something unspoken—uneasy, restrained, waiting for Gat Cheung to speak.
Then, in an instant, he remembered—The inhumane acts of the man who had pinned him down on the bed last night.
It was the first time Gat Cheung had ever fled in such embarrassment. Every time Sap Yi Siu’s darkened gaze surfaced in his mind, it squeezed the breath out of him, an unbearable pressure. The pain crashing over him was clearer than anything else. His heartbeat raced, too fast, too heavy—turning into the sound of something breaking, something close to sobbing.
—
There is an immense divide between those who have collapsed and those who haven’t.
To Gat Cheung, Sap Yi Siu was the only oasis in his absurd life. Of course, given his terrible way with words, he could never articulate it so clearly. At best, he could only say, “Boss is my everything,” or, “Boss is as important to me as rice and eggs are to AV,”
He couldn’t accept being too far away from Sap Yi Siu. He liked the reassurance of being close, yet instinctively feared the dangers that came with it—dangers born from the uncontrollable affection that he, perhaps, should classify as indecent.
It was subtle. He didn’t fully understand it, yet it embarrassed him—because he couldn’t read Sap Yi Siu.
He also didn’t understand his own feelings, but deep down, he knew this was far more than just admiration or affection.
—
Those on the verge of collapse always have to indulge in self-destruction—if only to justify their existence.
“What part of me makes you think I’m looking for a man?”
Gat Cheung slouched comfortably on the sofa in a random club he had wandered into, tapping his fingers against the table as he stared at the short-haired man who had approached him.
“I can tell you’re the type who needs it. Lucky for us, we’ll make a perfect match tonight,”
The short-haired man’s gaze was calm to an unsettling degree, half his face and eyes veiled beneath brown strands. He carried himself as if no one else existed, his expression unwavering, his words sharp and effortless. Clearly, he was a master at this—no hesitation, no thought needed. His intent was simple and direct.
His heart fought, but in the end, his mind lost to the emptiness. So, Gat Cheung went upstairs with him—perhaps willingly, drawn by something familiar. That same quiet, unshakable presence—the kind Sap Yi Siu had, the kind that couldn’t be hidden, even in restraint.
That night, the world seemed clear and quiet, only to darken once more.
Gat Cheung figured this was probably the perfect example of being dragged into bed against his will—the kind they always show on TV. The other party saw an opportunity and took it. And he—he was in pure pain, yet somehow, there was pleasure too.
So, he reassured himself: At least he had gotten something out of it. At least it hadn’t been completely idiotic. In the end, he couldn’t even recall what the person looked like. All that filled his mind was the face of someone else. Perfect. Very, very perfect.
It wasn’t long before he noticed the card tucked inside his wallet. He took out his lighter and flicked it sharply, watching the flames consume it entirely. Refusing to look at the golden lettering meant only one thing, his fingertips caught the flames instead, heat searing into his skin. Later, a blister formed, leaving behind a scar so faint it could be ignored.
It had been a long, long time. Something that was left far in the past, forgotten like old sentiments—no one would care anymore.
The other party was a well-known figure on the opposing side, skilled in deception and calculation. A battle against him was one-sided—there was never any chance of winning.
Even if that person came looking for him, Gat Cheung would pretend to have amnesia to not recognize him. Then, he’d punch him without hesitation.
But that person never appeared again. Not since that day.
And when he did appear again, with effortless indifference, he said, “Nice to meet you.” For two seconds, the world seemed to empty itself into silence. Whoever he was, his presence was locked away in memory, buried under layers of time—whatever name he had, it certainly didn’t carry the truth.
—
Since then, Sap Yi Siu never once mentioned what happened that day. Gat Cheung never thought of that person again. He described the feeling as rebirth after catastrophe.
Gat Cheung began to dream. In his dreams, he always repeated the same words. Starting with reckless madness, then ending in quiet despair. He thought that face was never meant for sorrow, yet in the end, there was no escape from it.
As time passed, he forced himself to accept the truth: The man he had always admired never answered him in the end. The two centimeters that had always separated them grew into an unbridgeable distance. He no longer dared to get close.
He wanted to do everything he could to make Sap Yi Siu happy, but the result was the exact opposite.
Vague answers lay scattered around him, too fragile to pick up. And then, another nightmare began to take shape within his heart.
“To think we both will die alone,”
From a reckless kid with a guitar who despised the world, utterly wrecked and warped into a thug who kills without hesitation.
“Life begins with you and should end with you,”
The monotonous silence tore him from his dream. When he got up, he cursed that spring should not bring dreams like these. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes stung dry by the light—then, gradually, everything blurred.
In the dream, he picked up the knife. His vacant eyes reflected Sap Yi Siu’s face, the tip of the blade pressing without a doubt against his left brow. Blood slipped down his handsome face, trailing slowly over his skin.
That version of himself was terrifyingly unfamiliar, yet he could not argue that it wasn’t him. That person was Gat Cheung, and that distorted soul was also Gat Cheung—freed from its bound shell, transparent, and real. A figure that replaced him within the dream, moving forward into suffocation.
Is pain proof of life, or simply the symbol of a slow death?
Gat Cheung entered a new cycle. Restlessness. Insomnia. Then more restlessness. A loop with no end in sight.
He began to lose the distinction between reality and illusion. Mad thoughts filled his mind, crashing and breaking apart—like hands that once played ballads, their melodies full of emotion. Now, those hands were shattered, destroying everything, including himself.
Riding on a motorcycle, his arms wrapped around Sap Yi Siu as he sat in front, Gat Cheung’s outstretched hand always sought to claim those warm, unwavering eyes—to make them his, to ensure they could only ever look at him. Even if all that remained was confusion, pity, or an empty gaze, stripped of everything but betrayal.
“I don’t deserve your gentleness—I only want to see your shaken expression,” He screamed, but the words rushing from his throat never formed a sound. He pressed his hand against his heart. The pain was killing him, consuming him from the inside out, right here in this familiar moment.
Gat Cheung lost himself in the night of a killing spree.
He had just snatched Sap Yi Siu’s hat from his room and ended up brawling with a street punk over it—just an excuse to fight. Or perhaps it wasn’t even a fight, because he didn’t bother speaking. He just reacted, striking back on instinct.
He sliced through bodies, cutting down many. The number meant nothing to him, so he ignored it. Turning sharply, he left without hesitation. He didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows, watching him. When he bent down to pick up the hat, red strands of hair fell over his eyes, blinding him for a moment. And when he looked up—the blade was already at his face. No way to dodge it.
The moment the blade slashed toward his left eye, the world fractured into endless shards of light. In that burst of radiance, Gat Cheung thought he might glimpse eternity—and he forgot to resist.
Then, the same face appeared before him—the same emotions, the same self that had once spoken so earnestly of staying together, of expecting each other’s deaths. For once, with a clear mind, his fingers tightening around the hat embroidered with a star, grasping it like the last piece of something lost.
Then, everything faded into silence.
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