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Cheng Xiaoshi does not take photos.
It isn’t for fear of others who may share his powers and infiltrate his life, as Lu Guang originally guessed. (Although that probably would be sensible.) No, the rule is because Cheng Xiaoshi knows himself; he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of reliving his days, righting his wrongs; fixing his mistakes.
Living in the past is dangerous for a person like him, who can return to it at will. He doesn’t want to get stuck there, not knowing the difference between yesterday and tomorrow.
He did it once already when he first learned about his powers. He’d been too inexperienced and naive to do anything useful with it either; he’d burned through the only two photos he had, just to spend some time with his parents. Only later did he realise that he should have saved them, that he could have tried to change things. Now he has no childhood memories left to return to. Then again, maybe that’s for the best.
So, he does not take photos. Not ever — except once.
One afternoon, Cheng Xiaoshi wandered into the living room and saw Lu Guang asleep on the sofa. His cheek was pillowed on the back of his hand, his mouth slightly open, his face calm and relaxed. He looked young in a way Cheng Xiaoshi hadn’t expected to ever see him — after all, Lu Guang was young, there shouldn’t be any way for him to look younger still. And yet here he was.
Looking at him, Cheng Xiaoshi felt his chest swell with a kind of warmth he could barely bring himself to acknowledge. It wasn’t the first time he felt it, but it was certainly the most intense.
It was a terrifying feeling. One he feared he might just lose control of. At the same time, he wished he could bottle it up to feel again later. To indulge in, just once more.
Before he could change his mind, he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo.
Clap!
Tears well up in Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes as he slowly lowers the phone and lays his eyes on the peacefully sleeping Lu Guang.
He planned this moment for days, figured out everything he wanted to say, and when, and how. He knew he’d only have one shot, so he must do it perfectly. There won’t be another chance.
Now that he’s here, though, he finds himself unable to speak. Knows that if he tried, all that would pass through his lips is a sob.
Lu Guang stirs, eyebrows furrowing and head turning slightly as he blinks into wakefulness. It isn’t what Cheng Xiaoshi remembers, having quickly left the room after taking the photo originally.
It doesn’t matter. He’s already resolved to change the past.
“Cheng Xiaoshi?” Lu Guang asks, visibly suppressing a yawn. His eyes narrow as he takes him in, sees the wetness on his cheeks. Quickly becoming alert, he pushes himself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“Lu Guang…”
And there it is. The inevitable sob crashes through the last scraps of composure Cheng Xiaoshi was trying so desperately to hold on to, and he falls apart.
They don’t hug, not really. They never have. (And if this doesn’t go to plan, they never will.) But Cheng Xiaoshi does collapse into Lu Guang’s arms like a man on the verge of drowning and Lu Guang catches him effortlessly, folding around him with an ease as though their bodies were made to slot together just like this.
Lu Guang doesn’t ask any questions. He just holds him; a steady, quiet presence, his arms warm where they are wrapped around Cheng Xiaoshi’s heaving shoulders.
Finally, when Cheng Xiaoshi’s head is pounding and his tears have run dry, he quiets down and reluctantly peels away from Lu Guang’s comforting embrace. He rubs his cheeks dry against the inside of his sleeve. Really, he’s stalling for time; trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent that Lu Guang might be able to make sense of.
“Why are you here?” Lu Guang asks before Cheng Xiaoshi can think of what to say. “We’re not supposed to do this.”
Cheng Xiaoshi freezes, eyes wide as he stares up at Lu Guang.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Lu Guang knows about his powers, but more than that, Lu Guang knows him. As many times as Cheng Xiaoshi has cried, has screamed, has raged and ranted and broken down — he’s never been like this. Never been so openly vulnerable without any provocation.
It’s only natural that Lu Guang would figure out what’s going on.
“Lu Guang, the future…” Cheng Xiaoshi says, grasping Lu Guang’s wrist and squeezing it tightly. “We have to change it.”
The concerned expression on Lu Guang’s face falls away, replaced by a stony mask that Cheng Xiaoshi knows all too well — after all, he sees it every time his friend recites their rules, every time he insists they can’t be anything but passive observers. And Cheng Xiaoshi knows that, even agrees with it, after everything that happened.
Except for this.
Cheng Xiaoshi can’t let this happen again. He must break the rules. Because how is he supposed to give a damn about not changing the future when the future ahead of him is not worth living?
“You entered a photo by yourself,” Lu Guang accuses coldly. He tries to pull out of his grip, but Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t let go, hanging on to his wrist with a white-knuckled grip.
“I had no choice!”
Lu Guang stills. His eyes flit over Cheng Xiaoshi’s face, clearly searching for something, though Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t know what. After a long beat of silence, Lu Guang quietly asks, “Am I dead?”
The question lands like a punch to Cheng Xiaoshi’s gut. “No!” he exclaims hastily, shaking his head. “No, but…” He swallows thickly. The truth feels like a leaden ball stuck in his throat, and it doesn’t want to budge. “You’re hurt. Really hurt.”
Lu Guang inhales sharply and his expression flares with a heavy kind of emotion Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t used to seeing from him — while Lu Guang does have the occasional outburst, he isn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and the things that elicit this kind of reaction from him are few and far between.
Finally, after a silence that seems to last a lifetime, Lu Guang squeezes his eyes shut.
“Cheng Xiaoshi, you idiot,” he grits out. “You shouldn’t have come here. We can’t change anything. We can’t change the past.”
Cheng Xiaoshi stubbornly shakes his head again and grabs Lu Guang by the shoulder. He squeezes tightly, revelling in the solid warmth beneath his palm. (Gods, does it feel good to be able to touch Lu Guang like this again, to see his friend healthy and whole, conscious, and breathing all by himself without tubes sticking from his nose.)
“Lu Guang… maybe we can’t change the past, but for you, it’s still the future! So… please. Please. Let me tell you what to do this time. Let me save you.”
He fully expects Lu Guang to refuse — has already prepared half a dozen arguments to convince him — but Lu Guang doesn’t say anything. Instead, he carefully lays his hand on top of Cheng Xiaoshi’s on his shoulder and twines their fingers together.
“Cheng Xiaoshi… I know you must be hurting, but you can’t let yourself make rash decisions. Whatever happens, happens. No matter how we try to change it, it will only make matters worse.”
“You don’t understand,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, blinking back tears. Crying won’t convince Lu Guang of anything other than the fact that he’s emotional. If Cheng Xiaoshi wants to convince him, he has to speak his language: facts and logic.
“Someone’s after me — someone bad — he’s got powers like mine, and he used them to hurt you. The police don’t know what to do and I can’t stop him alone. I need you, Lu Guang. Without you there… he’s gonna kill me.”
Lu Guang sighs quietly, his shoulders slumping slightly as previously invisible tension slides off him. “Only for you, Cheng Xiaoshi, would I consider something so foolish as trying to change the future,” he says. “Fine, tell me your plan. I know you must have one.”
Cheng Xiaoshi tells him everything — about Emma, about Xu Shanshan, about Liu Min and his “friend” — it’s more than anyone should ever know about their own future, but Lu Guang has always seemed too informed for his own good and he’s never cracked under the weight of his knowledge before, so Cheng Xiaoshi trusts him to protect the parts of their lives that need to stay intact.
Only when he’s done laying out his plan does Cheng Xiaoshi notice that they’ve been sitting on the living room floor the entire time, clutching each other like a lifeline. They’re both kneeling, now, their hands folded together on their knees. Lu Guang’s fingers feel cool against Cheng Xiaoshi’s sweaty palms and it’s probably rude — probably strange — to keep holding on like this, but Cheng Xiaoshi can’t bring himself to let go. Not when the touch makes him feel more alive than anything else has in the five days since he found Lu Guang bleeding out on their sofa.
(And maybe that’s a thought he should examine, but he’s not ready to do so, because in his own time Lu Guang is still ghostly pale and unconscious, and Cheng Xiaoshi might just fall apart completely if he encounters any more tragedy than he’s already been dealt.)
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang says, and Cheng Xiaoshi tears his eyes away from their intertwined fingers to meet Lu Guang’s serious look. “I will try my best to save myself, but it will be difficult to change my fate without also changing what you experienced thus far.”
“Must we keep it the same?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks, a pained expression on his face. “Can’t we do something different, just this once?”
Lu Guang shakes his head. “I won’t risk it. But I have a plan — if I can fake the injury Qiao Ling gave me in a way that will fool Liu Min’s friend, and set something up with a doctor ahead of time… All I need to do is mimic what you described. If I succeed, I should be back home and healthy by the time you return.”
A desperate flicker of hope sparks in Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest, but it’s quickly overshadowed by doubt. “What if you don’t succeed?” he asks. “What if I go back and you’re not there?
He hates questioning Lu Guang. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust his ability or his intellect. It’s the fact that whatever Lu Guang tried has technically already happened, which means that Lu Guang is either an amazing actor, or he failed and is now on the brink of death.
Cheng Xiaoshi won’t know until he returns, and it’s terrifying.
What if the words he says here are the last Lu Guang will ever hear? What if he never gets a chance to look him in the eyes again? Or to talk to him? He doesn’t have any other photos. If this plan doesn’t work, there won’t be a second chance. The thought alone makes his throat close up with anxiety.
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” — Lu Guang cups his face in his hand, tilting his chin up with a firm press of his thumb; their eyes meet, Lu Guang’s sharp and knowledgeable, Cheng Xiaoshi’s damp with unshed tears — “have faith.”
Quietly, not trusting his voice, Cheng Xiaoshi gives him a little nod in response. He does have faith in Lu Guang. Their friendship wouldn’t have blossomed into what it is if he didn’t — their business wouldn’t exist at all — but that faith doesn’t take away the fear of the unknown. After all, Lu Guang isn’t the only one he needs to have faith in, he also needs to have faith that the person who possessed Qiao Ling won’t catch onto their plan and hurt Lu Guang regardless.
“Be careful,” Cheng Xiaoshi implores, squeezing Lu Guang’s wrist. “Don’t make me return to an uncertain future.”
“The future is always uncertain,” Lu Guang says.
“Not for you.”
For the first time, the corners of Lu Guang’s lips curl into a smile. He strokes the line of Cheng Xiaoshi’s jaw with his thumb. His eyes follow the movement, but at the same time it’s as if he’s looking at something very far away.
“Perhaps,” Lu Guang concedes. He drops his hand into his lap and says, “Now go; you’ve derailed the past enough. Let me worry about our future.”
Cheng Xiaoshi nods and finally, reluctantly, lets go of Lu Guang’s wrist. He raises his hands in front of his chest and looks into Lu Guang’s eyes and tells himself that it won’t be the last time; that Lu Guang will be right there when he returns to the future.
“Lu Guang, I—” Cheng Xiaoshi starts, before he can stop himself.
Lu Guang rests his fingers against his lips, silencing him. “Save it for the future,” he says. “I’ll be waiting.”
Cheng Xiaoshi closes his eyes.
Clap!