Cooperation

Haoran Míng never got a job. He left his parents' home, not because he wanted to, but because staying there felt worse than struggling on his own. Now, he lived in a small apartment, if it could even be called that.

The walls were cracked, covered in water stains and mold creeping in the corners. The floor was scratched up, the air smelled musty, and there was no real window, just a small, dirty one that barely let in any light. Outside, all he could hear were loud cars speeding by, honking at all hours.

His fridge was barely working, buzzing weakly in the corner, and his clothes were scattered across the floor. Some were clean, most weren't. He had saved whatever money he could just to afford this place, but even then, it felt like it was falling apart around him.

"Your financial struggles are not lost on me," the spirit said.

Haoran scoffed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the pile of clothes near the broken fridge.

"I can help you, if you wish."

Haoran rolled his eyes. "How? By suffocating? Doing things against the law? No thanks."

The spirit chuckled, its voice drifting through his mind like

Haoran ran a hand through his messy black hair, letting out a sigh. He leaned back against his creaky bed frame. His body was lean, not too muscular but not weak either. At 6'2, he was tall, but his frame was thin. He wasn't built from working out, his strength came from running, moving, surviving. His skin had a few faint scars and bruises that never seemed to fade, signs of a rough life. No matter how much he rested, he always felt tired.

"Obviously, you know I'm broke as hell. My place is a dump."

The spirit's voice changed. It was no longer amused.

"Why are you living like this? You have a body with great potential. Why do you let yourself waste away in this filth?"

Haoran frowned. Body? He knew he wasn't big, but he wasn't small either. He was tall—that was the only thing people ever pointed out about him.

"I left my parents. Now I'm unemployed, and my college degree isn't helping either."

The spirit hummed. "Unemployment and money struggles—I know them well."

Then, after a short pause, it asked,

"But why did you leave your parents? From what I've seen in your memories, they cared for you."

Haoran jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

"You don't know me. Stop asking. I don't want them controlling me."

The spirit didn't speak again, but Haoran could still feel it there, watching, waiting.

"I understand the desire for freedom," the spirit said, its voice calm but firm. "But it seems you've traded the chains of parental guidance for the chains of poverty."

Haoran sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. He didn't respond right away. He hated to admit it, but the spirit wasn't wrong. He had left home to be free, but what kind of freedom was this? Living in a cramped, moldy apartment, scraping by with no job, no real future?

The spirit continued. "Your current living situation is not sustainable. You need a steady source of income."

Haoran knew that already. Every time he opened his fridge and found barely anything inside, every time the landlord reminded him about rent, every time he had to ignore messages from people who had their lives together, he knew.

The air in the room grew heavier, almost charged with something unseen. The spirit's presence shifted inside him, moving like smoke, restless and unsettled. Haoran could feel it pressing against his chest, not in a painful way, but as if it was adjusting, trying to settle into his being.

"If we are to continue this… partnership," the spirit said, its tone measured, "we must be discreet. I can aid you in many ways, but I need your cooperation."

Haoran let out a tired chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Partnership, huh?"

He leaned back, his body sinking into the old, thin mattress. The ceiling above was stained and cracked, a sad reminder of the life he had chosen. The spirit's words echoed in his mind, but right now, he didn't have the energy to think about it.

"I know," he mumbled, barely keeping his eyes open.

The weight of exhaustion took over, pulling him under.

The last thing he felt before sleep claimed him was the spirit, settling deeper into him, patient. Waiting.