Chapter Text
Xiao’s first, and, personally, very important thought of the day was that maybe spearmint chapstick had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. The wind tore at his clothes, threatening to knock him straight from his feet, and every gust had the audacity to dishevel his not-so-carefully-placed hairstyle. His lips, meant to be soothed by the burn of menthol, instead ached in protest at the subsequent chill. Spearmint just loathed any kind of cold and Xiao hated that, on top of a very serious war with the only thing capable of soothing his cracked lips, his day reared open reluctance at allowing him peace.
He was behind schedule and quite literally running late—for the very first day of your new job. Something that was not and never would be a good idea . Though he doubted anyone ever thought it to be.
The chances of Xiao making a good first impression were rapidly declining and he owed it all to unfortunate circumstance. His alarm had not played that morning, nor had his hot water worked, and his automatic coffee pot lacked freshly brewed tea upon wakefulness. Hailing a cab had quickly become a whole new issue. Every single one appeared to be full that day, or out of service, and the brief time he managed to flag down a driver had resulted in a flat tire via discarded nail. The universe appeared to be trying everything it could think of to deter him from a prompt arrival, resulting in a rather grumpy Xiao currently walking tea-less down the street.
Plus his lips burned—a shit ton.
Xiao did not allow that to stop him though. There was nothing any cosmic power lingering above could do to prevent him from attending such an important job. It was his third time being hired by this particular company. He was understandably excited, given his status as a film student still attending classes at the local university. Most people were forced to wait years before ever being offered even a single job, let alone three by a top company often possessing rights to some of the country’s biggest film productions. The first two had been rather interesting and the cast had all been fairly kind to him; he’d enjoyed his time on set.
But this drama? It was leagues beyond the first two, far across a vast ocean Xiao had not expected to cross until ten or so years into his career, and even that was being generous. This drama contained some of Liyue’s most renowned faces, an absolutely star-studded cast of beautiful faces and amazing talent—and Xiao was one of the lucky cameramen hired to work on set.
Such a high class drama, especially when he wasn’t even out of university yet, would be an excellent addition to his resume. The likelihood of him being rehired in the future, maybe even contacted by agencies of similar status, was high. It might even land him a permanent job once he was completely thrust out into the world.
Yet the universe just had to have it out for him that day.
Although he lacked heavy equipment of his own, his feet felt as if they were being held down by lead weights. Each step was a chore and Xiao glanced up and down the familiar streets in a slight panic. The studio was realistically only a five minute drive away. He could make it in time if he powered through his empty stomach and ran for dear life; emphasis on the run part.
After a quick search to confirm directions, Xiao’s hands tightened around the straps of his backpack. He hurried off down the street, feet sliding through scattered leaves and lithe body weaving between the crowds of people going about their days. Xiao threw a sorry or two over his shoulder when he could manage it, too worried about being late to care who was glancing at their phone or watch mid-walk.
“First day on the job and you’re going to be a sweaty mess,” he mumbled under his breath, dodging around an elderly woman walking her dog. That was fine, however; he was meant to be behind the camera anyway, not in front.
Xiao nearly cheered as the studio came into view, relief flooding throughout his breathless frame. Stuttering to a halt, he clapped a hand against cool stone and frantically checked his phone—three minutes to spare. His stiff shoulders melted into relief as a mighty sigh escaped his exhausted lungs. Spending only a moment to collect himself, he finally stepped inside the impressive building.
The color scheme reminded him of an old childhood movie. It had a whimsical feel, the floor clearly tiled but giving off the illusion of expensive marble. Gold trim offered a sleek yet regal design, spatters of royal blue in upholstery and curtains offering just enough of a mitigation so one was not overwhelmed by a perceivement of negative space. Seated at a rather massive desk near the center of the room was a receptionist, her brown hair pulled into a bun while she typed away at some important email.
She visibly brightened upon sight of him. “Oh, hello!”
Xiao offered a weak wave, hoping she didn’t comment on his rather messy appearance. “Good morning. Checking in? I should be under Xiao.”
“Ah, the new cameraman. Quite an exciting set you get to work on.” He watched silently as she cast her attention back upon the computer, quickly typing something. “Not many people get to work with people like Zhongli.”
The world felt like it tilted. His heart began to hammer in his ribcage, breath threading from his lungs. He stared at the receptionist in thinly disguised surprise. “Wait … like, the Zhongli? Midnight Kiss and Azure Dreams Zhongli?”
She hid her laugh behind a petite hand, the other one pushing a security card across the counter towards him. It had a picture of him in the corner, dark hair lacking both thickness and the subtle sea-green highlights he had recently acquired; it was an older photo from his initial portfolio. “Yes, that Zhongli,” she replied, digging around in an open drawer. “I’m certain his name was included in a copy of the script.” She dropped a lanyard onto the counter as well. “No matter! Follow this hall straight down and then take the first right. Today’s location will be the third door on the left; you can’t miss it. Good luck on your first day, Xiao!”
Xiao managed to squeak out a soft thank you, taking the security card and lanyard in separate hands. He turned to make his way down the hall, eyes wide and steps robotic. Suddenly everything felt so overwhelming, crashing into him with tempestuous weight. Was this what the universe was attempting to protect him from?
Zhongli … He was, first and foremost, a soloist idol who had debuted nearly four years prior. His acting career had begun only recently, within the last two years, but he had achieved overnight success. One drama had opened the doorway to more offers than he knew what to do with and Xiao knew he was quite busy with constant schedules, film shoots, and album promotions.
Xiao … would be lying if he said he wasn’t a fan. He had followed Zhongli rather closely since his debut, always enamored with him behind the safety of a screen. Zhongli was enigmatic and handsome, blessed with a sultry voice that shined in both singing and acting.
How could anyone not like him?
Swallowing his nerves, Xiao had a mental debate with himself. He would be alright. He was only there to film a few indoor scenes anyway. Within two weeks, they’d be moving to an outdoor location, somewhere across town he couldn’t feasibly juggle between classes, and he’d be able to breathe without the overwhelming realization that Zhongli was closer to him than he had ever been in his entire life. Now he just had to survive being in the presence of Zhongli as soon as he entered the studio.
Easier said ( thought? ) than done.
Xiao chased away his thoughts as he rounded the first corner. A large STAGE THREE was printed in red letters upon its smooth white surface. He worried at his lip, ignoring the taste of mint exploding along his door, and turned the handle. The room beyond was rather dim, broken up only by several crew members buzzing around the set for final preparations. There was no one to greet him, which struck him as strange for a first day shoot, but Xiao chalked it up to business.
His nerves melted away; he had made it, even if he was two minutes late arriving at his scheduled location.
Not a single soul paid attention to him as he hurried to tend to his own duties. (Perhaps the universe had freed him from its icy claws.) Xiao shuffled awkwardly over to the spreadsheet carefully pinned upon a corkboard labeled ‘news,’ seeking out his name for indication of his assigned location that day. One, two, three … ah, section six, by the dressing rooms. Where the actors would walk out from … and he’d be required to greet them respectfully.
The break the universe handed him was so quickly snatched away, and he waved a metaphorical fist at the sky for the duality of it all.
“I can do this. I’ll be fine,” he sighed, giving his own chest a weak reassuring pat. He hurried over to what comprised the breakroom, just a tiny room tucked into the back corner. The back wall was lined with lockers, keys dangling from their locks in preparation for their next temporary owner. Xiao deposited his phone and jacket within one of them before clipping the lanyard onto his security card. He slung it over his neck, pausing to admire the cleanly cut edge, before he let it drop against his chest. The frazzled cameraman then quickly smoothed his hair, inhaling in an attempt to ground himself.
Xiao then slid the locker shut and confined his things inside. His advance to his station was akin to a ghost, not a single soul paying him any mind as he wove between the tangled mass of cords and equipment. He frowned as he arrived, displeasure clear in his features. Whoever had last laid claim to his camera for the day had precariously left their equipment scattered about the floor. Xiao glanced at the clock on the opposite wall; thirty minutes before shooting began. Thus, the young man dropped into a crouch and began a losing battle with the cables at his feet. Several minutes later and Xiao admitted defeat, running a hand down his face; he’d just have to be careful when he was forced to step back and forth.
Straightening back out, Xiao caught sight of what he assumed was the director. He was standing amidst a cluster of other important looking crew members, their hushed voices indicating panic. Although his interest was thoroughly piqued, Xiao physically forced himself to turn away; it wasn’t really any of his business unless they made an announcement. Something about one of the male leads? Was something wrong with Zhongli or his co-star?
Shaking his head, Xiao cast his focus back upon his camera and willed himself to take interest in it. Which wasn’t hard given his love for the expensive pieces of equipment. It was a newer model but still one he was familiar with. The metal frame holding it up was cool to the touch, its weight evident with just a glance. Honestly, it was a little intimidating; it probably cost more than his tuition for an entire year. Maybe that was an exaggeration but Xiao knew he would do everything he could to avoid harming it. His hands moved on their own, shifting deftly as they quickly acclimated to a practiced routine. Fingers glided along the camera’s smooth edges as he worked, framing several shots and making sure it was filming properly. Only when he was satisfied with its performance did he deem it complete, satisfied noise expelling from his throat.
He ran a hand through his hair as he observed the rest of the set. Still no one had come to greet him and he was getting a bit anxious, itching for information he knew he wasn’t high enough on the totem pole to be privy to. There were no directions and the director had barely spared a glance around the set. Something had to be going on.
Spotting the lead cameraman across the way, Xiao gathered the courage to go introduce himself and maybe gather some information on why it was taking so long. He moved to head over and immediately felt his foot catch on something, gasping sharply. The cords. Xiao had completely forgotten about them, so engrossed in his startup routine that they had faded to nothing but a background memory.
The universe just really felt like fucking with him that day.
Xiao stumbled but wasn’t able to recover. For all his battling against strong winds that morning, his balance still failed him when he needed it most, body tumbling forward with the promise of bruised palms.
Only he didn’t hit the floor.
Instead, arms wrapped around his waist and tugged him against a firm chest. He heard a soft laugh in the wake of his blunder. “Careful now, we don’t need our actors getting hurt before the shooting even begins.”
Embarrassment staining his cheeks, Xiao tipped his head back to view whoever had been nice enough to break his fall—and subsequently felt his heart drop straight from his body. He was even more handsome in person, his eyes gentle and a subtle smile pasted onto glossy lips. Red makeup stained the edges of his eyes, a single earring dangling from his left ear, and Xiao found himself unable to look away. His heart fluttered its way back into his chest, his own eyes as wide as the dinner plate he’d eaten off the previous night.
Zhongli, soloist idol and actor extraordinaire, had saved him from eating shit, with his arms, which were currently still firmly wrapped around his waist.
God, Xiao felt like he was going to faint.
“U-um,” he stuttered, regaining his footing; his brain went on autopilot. “I’m not an actor; just a cameraman.”
A brow rose in the wake of his admission and Xiao could only marvel at the contemplative shadow that passed amidst his features. “Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t be behind the camera. What a waste.” Zhongli’s arms freed from his waist, instead carefully sliding up his back and sending a shiver down Xiao’s spine. He took hold of his shoulders and made sure he could confidently stand on his own before they finally withdrew, dropping limply at his sides.
Xiao blushed beneath his praise, averting his gaze despite knowing how rude that must’ve been. Getting compliments was one thing. He was used to flirting and advances from fellow classmates, but to receive one from Zhongli? Was he even worthy of such praise?
“Thank you. For, um, catching me,” he murmured. “A-and the compliment.” His face felt like it may be on fire.
Zhongli laughed for a second time and Xiao quickly decided it was his favorite sound in the whole world, raindrops on pavement be damned. He dared glance back up, admiring the way Zhongli’s smile reached the light twinkling in golden eyes. “I can tell you are aware of my identity. I am not as intimidating in person, I promise.”
Xiao disagreed. He felt like he was going to explode. Or melt. Maybe both at once. Was that even possible? “Yeah, um … I’m a fan. A big one.”
“Ah, I see,” he chuckled, leaning forward; Xiao watched him silently as his eyes narrowed. “Xiao, yes? That suits you. Find me once we’re done and I’ll sign something for you.” Then he had the audacity to wink. Wink!
If Xiao’s eyes grew any wider they damn near might’ve popped out of his skull.
“Watch your feet too,” Zhongli teased. “Those cables will sneak up on you.”
He was not given a chance to answer. Which Xiao wasn’t all that upset over, because he really didn’t think he could’ve come up with a response. Not without stumbling over his words and perhaps making even more of a fool out of himself.
The beautiful man pivoted on his heel and bid farewell with a friendly wave. He left Xiao there to process his emotions, wandering over to the director with an air of confidence. That made sense, however; Zhongli had years of professional experience to call upon. There was no reason for him to ever lack confidence in his position.
Xiao’s turn back to his camera was robotic. He stared at the camera’s unfeeling surface, searching for some sign that what had just happened was reality. His original goal had been completely tossed out a metaphorical window and part of him didn’t think he’d have the courage to walk over anyway. Courage was the chosen excuse of course, simply because Xiao didn’t think he could handle being so close to Zhongli a second time in like two minutes. He hadn’t even planned on interacting with him at all.
“What do you mean he quit?” A voice suddenly echoed throughout the studio. Xiao turned around in search of the source, finding it in the director waving his script in utter disbelief. Beside him was the receptionist from before, clutching a clipboard in one of her hands and trying her best to calm the wide-eyed man down.
“His manager said he was involved in an accident this morning and won’t be able to perform for at least two months,” she quickly explained. “He needs time to recover.”
The director ran a hand down his face, clearly trying to remain composed; but even from across the room he could see the stress visible in his shaking form. “We have no one to fill in, especially on such short notice. So much money has gone into this production as well,” he borderline wailed. “We’ll be ruined!”
“I have an idea.”
The receptionist, the director, and Xiao, even though he wasn’t supposed to be listening in the first place—kinda difficult when the conversation was essentially being shouted—all hesitated.
The voice belonged to Zhongli, who was standing off to the side. “We have someone who fits Lin perfectly and he’s already here.” Zhongli lifted a hand and pointed towards him, and suddenly three pairs of eyes were burning in his direction.
Xiao’s expression eroded into puzzlement. He threw a glance over his shoulder in an attempt to see who Zhongli was pointing at, wondering if another actor had come to investigate the commotion. There was no one behind him, however, and the realization began to slowly dawn upon them. It felt like his head moved in slow motion as he regarded the crowd of people occupying the opposite side of the studio. His legs turned to jelly and it required all of Xiao’s strength not to sink to his knees.
Oh no. No no no.
There was no way Zhongli —again, famous soloist and talented actor—was suggesting Xiao , the poor college student looking like an absolute disaster on legs, to star in a drama with him. And that didn’t even cover the fact that he had no experience, no talent, and no—
“Hmm, now that you’ve mentioned it, he does fit the part,” the director’s voice cut into his thoughts. The man crossed the space between them and literally loomed over him, stroking his own chin as he scrutinized Xiao in his entirety. He, meanwhile, felt his heart rattling inside his ribcage; he really wished he could ignore the excited gleam in Zhongli’s eyes. “Ah, I remember you; you’re Xiao, right? We worked together on Whisper Me a Lie about two months ago.”
Frozen in place, Xiao could only dutifully nod. Now he was certain that some higher power was toying with him, laughing at the fifty shades of downright nonsense they’d hurled at him. “Y-yeah, um, that’s me, and I know what you’re thinking,” he replied quietly. “But I’ve literally never acted in my entire life.” Xiao gestured weakly towards the camera at his side. “I’m a cameraman, not an actor.”
Zhongli strolled over, joining the director at his side. “He’s perfect, Soonchun. Maybe even more so than our previous cast. Everyone will love him.”
Xiao shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t even know the lines. I’ve never even entertained the idea of acting.”
Soonchun stroked his chin for a second time, humming in agreeance with Xiao’s statement. “That is a problem. You’ve never seen the actor’s copy.”
“Never!” Xiao hastily agreed, hoping that would be enough to save him.
Such a flimsy barrier was not enough to stop Zhongli, however. The actor crossed his arms and the aura of confidence around his body grew blinding. “How long would it take to locate another actor for Lin?”
The receptionist lifted her phone, quickly crunching some numbers while Xiao watched in uneasy silence. “Hmm … maybe a week? Assuming we open casting call as early as tomorrow.”
Soonchun shook his head. “That won’t do. We don’t have the budget to push filming back by a week.”
“Then what about this,” Zhongli continued, and every pair of eyes remained captivated. “I can instruct him personally. I’m certain it won’t be too hard; Xiao looks like the type to pick up things fast.”
He wasn’t, but Zhongli looked so utterly devoted, so stupidly confident, in his words that Xiao nearly believed it himself; how could he disagree when that star-studded smile was focused solely on him?
“Hmm …” cut in Soonchun’s voice. “You may be a simple cameraman, but if Zhongli himself can recognize potential within you … then perhaps you do have the workings of an actor.” He glanced at the clock as a mighty sigh escaped him. “Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t push such a last minute thing upon you. Since Zhongli here has insisted, however, what do you say? The pay would be exceptional for such a prolific drama,” Soonchan said, proudly nodding.
All of Xiao’s inhibitions melted. He regarded both Soonchun and Zhongli with an unreadable expression, eyes flicking between both of their faces—they knew exactly how to capture his interest. He was, unfortunately, a starving college student struggling to pay rent and quite literally surviving on whatever discount meals the local supermarket hadn’t sold that day. Higher pay would be enough to save him from an ever growing pit of debt and Xiao was not above grasping onto any lifeline the universe felt like bestowing upon him.
His decision totally, one hundred percent, had nothing to do with how utterly excited Zhongli looked. Nope, not at all; not even a little bit.
A lie.
“I …” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “I guess I can give it a try ...?" He sounded so unsure, so unsteady, that he was certain the pure lack of confidence would be enough to make Soonchun second guess his push for involvement; he was awarded no such favor. What kind of hell had he just agreed to?
The synchronization of Soonchun and Zhongli clapping their hands together was honestly a bit terrifying.
“Wonderful!” The director exclaimed. “We don’t even need to postpone filming for the day either.” Upon sight of his confusion, he continued, “Your character is completely silent the first episode.”
The receptionist, who had been so calming a mere twenty minutes earlier, now pulled something from the clipboard she was still holding. It was thrust in his direction, white paper pristine and held together neatly by three metal clasps—the script. “This now belongs to you,” she explained. “Bring it home with you, and don’t forget it when you come in tomorrow.”
Xiao accepted it with trembling fingers, groaning internally. Life was about to get harder. Much, much harder.
“Don’t look so grim!” Soonchun chuckled. “You’ll get the hang of it. Now, please excuse us for a moment.” He turned to the receptionist and he watched as they walked away, likely to discuss how everything would proceed from that point. They would need to hire a new cameraman for station six, change the promotional material, remake all sorts of differe—
“Xiao, are you alright?” Zhongli asked.
Xiao stiffened at the sound of his voice, clutching the script tightly to his chest. His heart dropped upon the cool tiles for a second time. It rolled and rolled, probably all the way home. His toes felt like they were going numb and Xiao realized he had forgotten to breathe in the brilliance that was Zhongli.
“I’m … fine,” he replied carefully, uncertain of his own voice.
Zhongli chuckled softly. “Well then, looks like I’ll be your teacher and your practice partner.”
Oh god.
“You’ll have to arrive a little earlier than usual now, I’m afraid,” the actor continued. “We can practice in the mornings before filming, and we’ll make sure you know your lines by each scene break. How does that sound?”
No, it did not sound good, but it wasn’t like Xiao was in a position to argue.
“That’s … alright. How early are we talking …?”
“5:30. That’ll give us enough time for some practice runs.”
Xiao’s jaw dropped. “5:30? Are you sure your goal isn’t to kill me?”
Zhongli laughed, light and amused, and Xiao’s mouth snapped shut as heat flushed into his cheeks. “Of course not. We just need to get you prepared.”
How was he going to juggle classes and a film shoot all at once? He needed a miracle for sure.
“Instead of an autograph, I’ll give you my number instead. You’ll need it,” he teased, punctuating his words with a wink.
Oh how Xiao wished he’d slept in even longer that day; no wonder the fates sought to prevent his attendance.
“Our valiant director is explaining the situation now, so you’ll likely get pulled off for makeup. Just go wait by that door and they’ll come get you,” the actor explained, pointing to a door rimmed with yellow lights. He walked off before Xiao could reply, leaving him to stew in a mess of feelings.
It took all the strength he had left not to collapse in the wake of his departure. Just what the hell had he gotten into? He felt like he was going to be sick, anxiety twisting in his stomach.
Xiao raised the script and glanced at the glossy blue cover. Locked Heart. An interesting title. He read lower, eyes scanning over the director’s name and the main actors. A different name rested where his would eventually be and the realization of that spurred him into action, Xiao crossing the room to the door Zhongli had pointed out. He read lower as he did so, finally reaching the drama’s synopsis.
His palm connected painfully with the wall as he read.
Ren is a loud, charismatic college student with a big secret; he’s in love with the newest transfer student. Lin is a quiet soul who reads too much, and he doesn’t understand why the campus’ most sought-after guy is suddenly paying him attention.
It was a gay drama. A very, very gay drama, and Xiao wished to crumble into dust and disappear. There was nothing wrong with the genre, given his own sexuality as an out and proud gay man, but acting it out with a stranger? A stranger who happened to be the Zhongli?
Yeah, he was doomed.
Remembering to breathe, Xiao inhaled sharply. His vision swam as he grew lightheaded and everything that had just happened in the last ten minutes truly sunk in, replaying in his mind with crystal clarity.
Xiao was going to make his debut as an actor, in a gay drama, where Zhongli played the character meant to be in love with him. Zhongli, who was going to teach him how to act. Zhongli, who was going to memorize lines with him in the mornings. Zhongli, who was going to give him his fucking number.
He sank to the floor, clutching his head in trembling hands as someone expressed concern over his well being.
Xiao.exe had crashed.
Somewhere, somehow, a heavenly deity was on the ground howling with laughter—if only he knew how much more fate had in store for him.