Title: a bad town for such a pretty face
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: R (for violence)
Length: 1550 words
Notes: OFC, Zhu Jiu. Set during episode 14. Thanks to trobadora and mergatrude for being sounding boards, and to mergatrude for beta (and title help, without which I'd still be browsing Gin Wigmore lyrics)! Title from Gin Wigmore. Also for the FFW Bingo prompt Metal. I don't have an appropriate icon for this.
Summary: When they’re playing chess, sometimes he gets so frustrated that a black cloud seems to gather around his fist, and Zhou Rui feels a quiver low in her belly and can’t tell if it’s fear or want.


Zhou Rui is late for work. She flicks the kickstand of her scooter down and tumbles up the four stained concrete steps to the restaurant kitchen, still wearing her helmet. “Sorry, sorry! My cousin was out on my scooter, and she only just brought it back.”

It’s a little white lie. Qiao Xin had been out, but she’d returned an hour ago. The real reason Zhou Rui is late is because band practice ran long, because Jun-ge overloaded the amp again and blew the fuse, and then Xiao-Lu’s hair got tangled in her guitar strings. In the end, Zhou Rui had to cut her free with her nail scissors, and Xiao-Lu had cried.

“You’re just in time!” Gao Hui, the other part-timer, shoves a delivery into Zhou Rui’s hands before she’s made it all the way inside. “Here’s an order for your Creepy Hair Twin.”

Zhou Rui’s hands close automatically around the bundle of food, and her heart starts a drum solo in her throat, but she wrinkles her nose so Gao Hui won’t notice. “Don’t call him that!”

“What then? Angry Warehouse Jerk?”

“Better.” Zhou Rui can’t argue that he’s not a jerk. He’s the worst tipper out of all their regular customers, and he never says thank you. But secretly she thinks of him as Hot Magic Guy, and she’s been working on him. He’s come to tolerate her presence, either because she gives him her leftover hair dye every few weeks or because one night ages ago, when orders were slow, she dug an old chess board out of the warehouse debris and taught him how to play (he’d seemed so bored when she arrived, pacing the dusty concrete floors, almost growling to himself). Or maybe it’s that he knows if he’s too awful, Lao’s Noodle House will cut off his supply of roast beef and deep fried tofu.

Even so, when they’re playing chess, sometimes he gets so frustrated that a black cloud seems to gather around his fist, and Zhou Rui feels a quiver low in her belly and can’t tell if it’s fear or want.

They’ve only played chess half a dozen times, since she taught him, and the last three times she let him win so she could enjoy his triumph, even if it wasn’t really aimed at her. But he’s not stupid. He’s getting better and faster, and he’s ruthless. Maybe they’ll have a quick game tonight – though if there’s anyone else there, any of those scary friends of his, he just slaps money on the table and ignores her. She peers down at the fragrant bundle. “Is it a single order?”

“Yeah. And you’d better hurry. You know how charming he can be when he’s hungry.”

“He’s not that bad,” muttered Zhou Rui, but she reaches past Gao Hui to grab some extra dumplings and hurries out to her scooter. It’s okay if everyone else hates him. She kind of likes being the only one who sees through his sulky façade.

The sun has set by the time she gets to the warehouse; the empty buildings are black geometric shapes against the pale sky. She parks right at the door, leaves her helmet dangling from the handlebar and uses her phone flashlight to make her way inside. “Delivery!”

There’s no answer, so she goes through the inner doorway to where Hot Magic Guy usually hangs out.

He’s there. He’s hunched over his right arm, grunting under his breath. For a second, she thinks he’s masturbating. Her mouth goes dry, and her stomach flips in confusion. Then she blinks and sees his arm is leaking black smoke that makes the air seem to fold and twist. His left hand is cupped over it, holding a churning ball of shadow and silver energy. Aside from her phone and the dying daylight through the high windows, it’s the only light in the room, but it’s enough that she can see the scowl of concentration on his face, the sweat on his forehead.

She drops the food, two realisations racing through her mind in quick succession: first, that he really is magic! (And what would that feel like? Would his hands scorch her skin or light her up?) Second, he’s hurt. She runs forward. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Leave the food, and go.” He doesn’t look up.

Up close it looks serious, maybe infected. She can’t just leave him. She unlocks her phone and dials 120. “Is that the ambulance service? Uh, someone’s hurt—”

Hot Magic Guy looks up then, glaring. He lunges for her, staggers sideways, but still manages to grab the phone out of her hand and throw it at the wall. It shatters and falls to the dirty concrete floor in pieces. “If you tell anyone where I am, I’ll kill you!”

Zhou Rui stumbles back. “I don’t even know your name!”

“Stupid little human, you don’t need to know anything about me.” He means it. He’s not just angry – there’s murder in his eyes. “Fuck off before I—”

“Hey!” She glares at him. It’s one thing for him to be a jerk to everyone else, but they’re supposed to be friends. She’s supposed to be special.

“Get out!”

“You haven’t paid for the food!”

“Get out of here!” He’s like a wild animal, lashing out because he’s in pain. If she’s brave enough, she’s sure she can tame him.

She takes another step back, bumps into a wall and just stays there, holding steady. The last of the light has drained from the sky, and it’s so dark she can barely make out his features, but she feels his gaze on her face. He’s seeing her, maybe for the first time.

“Let me help,” she says, softly.

He moves closer. He’s so tall, she only reaches his shoulder, even with her boots on, and she can feel the strange fizz from his injured arm, cold and hot and unnatural. He smells of dirt and B.O.

“Who are you?” She can’t keep the words from slipping out.

It’s a mistake. He grabs her by the throat, looms even closer. “None of your damned business, human!”

His eyes are burning in the dark, and all the confidence drains from Zhou Rui’s body, leaving her shivering and terrified. She claws at his wrist, tries to tear his hand away, but it tightens in a bruising grip, and his ring digs into the underside of her jaw.

“I’ll go,” she wheezes. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, and she doesn’t know if it’s heartbreak or suffocation. “Let me—” She kicks out but misses. His wrist is like steel. What is he? Is he a monster?

“I’m not your little lost puppy,” he snarls, and a sob catches in her throat. “Fuck off, you weak, pathetic human.” But he still doesn’t let her go.

It’s so dark – is her vision blurring? She doesn’t want to die here. She’s not going to die here! She can’t! She has a paper due Wednesday, and Qiao Xin promised to buy her new drumsticks, but the hand around her throat is fizzing, and it’s not sexy or exciting. It burns.

“Please,” she gasps.

He’s smiling now, a sneer in the dark. He likes hurting her. He’s glad of the excuse. “Too late.”

She’s going to die: no more deliveries, no more scooter rides with the wind buffeting her body and the world whipping past, no more joking around in the Noodle House kitchen. No more university classes or homework, no more Mum and Dad and Qiao Xin. No more band practice. Who will take her place? Who will snip Xiao-Lu’s hair free when it gets tangled in her guitar strings? Who…?

The hair. Zhou Rui remembers something important. She’s dizzy, her head pounding, but if she can—

She kicks out again, using the movement to shove her hand behind her, fingertips digging into the back pocket of her jeans. Her knuckles scrape painfully against the rough wall, but yes, yes, there they are, the warm metallic double loop.

There’s no time to plan. She draws them out and strikes: plunges the sharp point of her nail scissors into the smoky dark wound on his arm. The black swirl burns her fingers, but he howls and flinches back, his grip slackening just enough that she can throw her weight down and struggle free.

She scrambles away, half-running, half-crawling through the dark, tears streaming down her face. “Fuck you,” she tries to scream, but the words scrape her throat, come out hoarse and weak.

She sucks in more air, makes it to the doorway.

He’s nursing his arm. He doesn’t follow. He doesn’t care about her at all.

She kicks the delivery order aside, spitefully sending the food splattering across the floor.

The scissors are still clenched in her fist, but she barely feels them.

“Bitch,” he hisses.

“You’re the bitch,” she spits, not daring to slow down or look back. She trips over a wooden crate and tears the knee of her jeans, but fear keeps her moving, gets her back on her feet, and finally she reaches the door. She can see the scooter, almost within arm’s reach.

She’s not going to die, not tonight. “Hey, asshole!” She coughs, swallows and steadies herself against the doorframe. “Buy your own fucking hair dye.”



END