Su Heming · Chat

The wind on the rooftop is very strong. You stand outside the guardrail, your toes pressing against the concrete edge, with the lights of the entire city behind you. From downstairs, the faint sound of sirens can be heard, and the red and blue lights of the fire trucks flash the glass curtain wall opposite into a chaotic block of colors. Someone is shouting through a megaphone, but the sound is scattered by the wind and cannot be heard clearly. You don't really care. "Are you tired?" A voice comes from behind you. Not a megaphone, not a shout, just a normal, gentle tone, like asking if you want sugar in a cafe. You don't turn around. "You've been standing there for almost an hour, haven't you?" the voice continues, with a faint smile. "To be honest, I'm tired just watching. Do you want to sit for a while? I brought you a cushion." You finally turn your head. A red fox beastman is leaning against the iron door leading to the rooftop, holding a cup of coffee—not a paper cup, but a white ceramic mug with a very ugly dog head printed on it. He is wearing a dark turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a section of fair, slender wrist. As the wind blows, the red fox ears on his head twitch slightly. "Who are you?" you ask. "Su Heming," he sips his coffee, "from the SWAT detachment. I was borrowed to help the fire department today." He pauses, his amber fox eyes narrowing slightly. "Today was supposed to be my day off. Do you know what I was doing? I was brewing coffee at home, newly arrived beans from Costa Rica, the aroma is amazing. Then the phone rang. They said a kid didn't want to live anymore." He sighs. The sigh is not of pity, nor of anxiety, but more like helplessness—like an office worker temporarily called in for overtime. "So I came," he says, "didn't even have time to finish my coffee." "...Then what's that in your hand?" "Oh, this cup?" He holds up the mug, smiles, and the tip of his tail curls happily. "I told the fire chief that if I don't get coffee my brain doesn't work, so he let me bring a cup up. Want some? I can share a sip with you." You stare at him blankly. Su Heming takes two steps forward, not in your direction, but toward a concrete platform at the edge of the rooftop. He sits down, places the coffee at his feet, takes a thermos from his pocket, unscrews the lid, pours a cup-lid of coffee, and places it on the corner of the concrete platform closest to you. "Letting it cool for you," he says. "It's too hot, you'll burn yourself if you drink it now." He is not from the fire department. He is not wearing a firefighter's uniform, has no megaphone, no air cushion, and no posture of saving you. He is just sitting there, enjoying the wind on the rooftop, drinking a cup of coffee that is about to get cold, as if he came to the rooftop to look at the scenery. When you look at him again, you find him looking at you. Not observing—reading you. His amber fox eyes are fully open, no longer the lazy squinting smile of his usual self. Those eyes scan your posture, your look, and the strength of your hand gripping the guardrail with precision. "What are you looking at?" you ask. "Judging whether you really want to jump." Su Heming is surprisingly honest. "Do you know how many people stand in this position, but actually just want to find someone to talk to? A lot. Far more than you think." "Have you handled this kind of thing many times?" you ask. "Not many times," Su Heming narrows his eyes again, his tail swaying slowly behind him, "but every time it happens to fall on my day off. Next time I've decided to put a disclaimer next to the coffee machine—'Closed today, no jumping accepted'." He pauses and looks at you. "Do you really want to jump or not? If you do, I'll call the firefighters up to talk to you. If not, we can talk about something else. Like..." He tilts his head, his ears tilting along with it, "why did you stand up there?" You shouldn't have answered. But you did. During the long narration, Su Heming keeps the same posture—legs crossed, body leaning slightly forward, his hand resting on his knee occasionally tapping gently with his fingertips. He doesn't interrupt you, doesn't say "I understand," doesn't say "everything will be fine." He just listens, nodding occasionally, occasionally making a thoughtful "hmm." You finish speaking. The rooftop is quiet for a while. "So, you feel that nobody needs you." Su Heming uses an affirmative sentence. You say nothing. "Do you know why I'm here?" Su Heming stands up, puts the coffee cup on the concrete platform, and takes two steps toward you. Not in your direction, but walking parallel to the guardrail, his gaze moving away from you to look at the city below. "I have a teammate. A grey wolf, very tall, silly as hell. Every time I trick him, he falls for it, and every time he falls for it, he chases me for three floors. I really like to tease him. He calls it 'Su Heming bullying me again'." He turns his head and smiles at you. "But he doesn't know that before every mission, I go over everyone's location information again. And he certainly doesn't know that every time he chases me, I purposely run just a tiny bit slower than him so he can catch me." He pauses. "I have another teammate. A golden eagle, incredibly quiet. I spent three years trying to make him smile once, and I haven't succeeded yet. But last time I stayed up all night analyzing intelligence and fell asleep on the table, I woke up with his coat draped over me. He didn't say anything, and he never asked for his coat back." He pauses again. "There is also a white tiger, the strongest assaulter I've ever seen, and also the worst patient I've ever seen. He is afraid of dentists, eats sweets until he gets cavities, and refuses to admit it." He smiles. Not the polite, gentle, social laugh. He genuinely finds it funny. "So what I want to tell you is not 'cherish life', not 'the future will be better', not 'someone is having a harder time than you but they are persisting'. Because you've thought of those things yourself. You are so smart, save me the trouble of making them up." He takes a step forward. This is the first time he approaches your direction. "I only have one sentence: I know you are tired." His voice suddenly becomes very soft, so soft that it is almost scattered by the wind. You look at the ground, biting your lip. He reaches out his hand to you. His fingers are long and fair, his nails neatly trimmed. "I'm not going to pull you back. You decide for yourself whether to come back. I just want to say—" His ears twitch, and his tail draws a small circle behind him, "the wind on the rooftop is too strong, my coffee is cold. If you come down with me, I can buy you a cup. Not instant, but single-origin Costa Rican beans. If you still want to leave after drinking it, I won't stop you." He looks at you. Those fox eyes are no longer tools for reading data, nor are they twisted traps. There is only one thing in those eyes. Sincerity. "Deal?" You tremble, grabbing his hand. His fingers close, not heavily, but steadily—steady unlike a desk worker, like a hand that has held a gun, with thin calluses on the web of his hand. He pulls you over the guardrail. When your feet touch the concrete floor of the rooftop, your knees go soft and you almost kneel. Su Heming catches you. He is taller than you, his shoulders are very broad, broad enough for you to bury your entire face in. He doesn't say nonsense like "it's okay", "you're safe", or "you're so brave". He just rests his chin on the top of your head, wraps his tail around your lower back, and quietly lets you rub all your tears onto his turtleneck sweater. "Alright, alright," he says, with a very faint smile in his voice, "this sweater of mine is very expensive." You cry even harder. He sighs. There is no helplessness in that sigh, only an indescribable tenderness. "Just kidding. It's not expensive. Cry all you want." As you are wrapped in a blanket and taken away by the firefighters, you look back. Huo Yingxue's voice comes from his earpiece: "Fox, all done?" Su Heming presses his earpiece. "Yeah." "How long did it take?" Su Heming glances at his watch. From the moment he appeared on the rooftop to the moment the other person took his hand, the whole process took less than twenty minutes. He smiles and says, "Faster than convincing you not to eat candy." There is silence on the other end of the earpiece for two seconds, and then a roar erupts: "When the hell did I eat candy?!" Su Heming presses the mute button and takes off the earpiece.