Chapter Text
“C’mon, Lu Guang! It can’t be that bad,” he sang, pressing his chin into his friend’s shoulder. And the pictures weren’t that bad. The same plastered-on smiles that they saw every day, the same awkward posture in dozens of photos.
“I can’t tell what’s wrong from the photos,” was the simple reply as he shifted to the next one in the pile.
“Yeah, that’s why I go in there, myself. Remember?” He dug his chin in deeper, always amused with how obligingly Lu Guang put up with him. He got shoved off a second later, chuckling.
“You might not find anything.”
“But it’s worth a try,” he argued back.
“Cheng Xiaoshi…”
He shuffled closer, laying his cheek on Lu Guang’s shoulder instead of his chin. He didn’t get shoved off this time. “I want to help.”
Lu Guang sighed, flipping through the photos again. “It’s probably something mental. We can’t actually help.”
Cheng Xiaoshi frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s acting weird, but there’s nothing in these photos that tell me why. If I had to guess, I’d say depression.”
“Wouldn’t I be able to tell? I could still help somehow.”
The pictures were set on the table as Lu Guang turned away, moving on to something else. “Not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Who’s to say you’d be able to tell?”
“I mean, I’m not depressed.”
“Mmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pouted. He wasn’t depressed. He’d be able to tell the difference in this guy’s emotions, surely.
“Even if you can feel his emotions, you won’t know what they’re from.”
“Lu Guang.” He paused for long enough that his friend turned to look at him, raising an unamused eyebrow. “I want to try. Please.”
The photos were picked back up, shifted to one where the client’s friend’s smile seemed a little too wide.
“Thank you,” He grinned, picking it up.
“The rules—”
“I know.”
Another sigh. “Let’s go to the couch, then.”
He squinted, light almost searingly bright as he lowered his phone. How they’d managed to get a picture without their eyes closed, he had no idea.
Where to next, Lu Guang prompted when he turned to see the girl— their client— looking at him expectantly.
“Where to next?” He parroted, and she beamed.
She skipped ahead of him. “I have to go, remember?”
“You’re right,” he grinned back, taking a step and— woah, he was light-headed. He kept smiling. How was this guy still standing?
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course!” He waved as she turned her back to him, still chipper.
Anything? Lu Guang asked as he turned, himself.
“Not sure yet,” he murmured back, “He might be sick.”
Physically?
“Yeah. He’s…” Cheng Xiaoshi paused. Empty. He was empty. He swallowed. “Nauseous.”
Anything else?
He was so light, too. Cheng Xiaoshi found his head reeling with every step, body feeling oddly detached. It felt— “Not yet.”
Good.
Turn right at the next road.
“Roger that.”
He followed Lu Guang’s instructions to an apartment building. The cool air felt nice when he entered. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, either. He hoped the next thing on the list was a nap.
“What now?”
Some shuffling on the other side. He has a bunch of workout equipment in his bedroom.
“Is this his apartment?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked as he pulled out a key and jiggled it in the lock.
Yeah. Once he’s inside, he works out for a while.
“A while? How long is a while?” Was that even possible, in this state? He’d workout out on an empty stomach before, but never… Never this extreme. Did he tell that to Lu Guang? Did he want to tell that to Lu Guang?
…A few hours. You said he felt sick?
“Not anymore,” Cheng Xiaoshi lied. “It must’ve been the heat.” His head was reeling. Did he want this for himself? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted, but been too afraid to push far enough? Why not live it through while he was someone else? There were no consequences. He already felt so good, so light.
Just do whatever. It shouldn’t matter what exercises.
“Anything I want?”
I’ll tell you when to stop.
“Cheng Xiaoshi, come out.”
He hummed back, not quite listening. Not quite there. There was something pleasant in the groggy weightlessness. Detached in a way he could hardly ever get to, himself.
“Cheng Xiaoshi.”
“Lu Guang,” he retorted, still sitting and reveling in the feeling.
“Come back.”
“We haven’t figured out what’s wrong yet.”
He was right, because Lu Guang didn’t respond. Left him to the strange feeling that was almost like a dull hum underneath his skin, in his brain.
“Leave the photo,” Lu Guang tried again after some time. Why? He couldn’t understand.
“I’m not going to ruin anything,” he muttered. Did Lu Guang really have that little faith in him?
“Cheng Xiaoshi, please.”
“I like it here.” He did. And he wasn’t hurting anyone.
It sounded like Lu Guang was struggling to stay calm. Did something happen at the shop that he wasn’t aware of? “You—”
“Is the shop okay? Are you okay?”
“...No, I’m not. Come back, please.”
“Please is the magic word!”
“Are you coming, or not?” Lu Guang snapped, patience already fraying for whatever reason. Usually, he was the calm, mature one. Cheng Xiaoshi frowned.
“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, bringing his shaking hands together in the most disorienting clap he’d probably ever done in his life.
Lu Guang stared right at him as he landed back in the present, eyes dark and… worried?
“Where’s the fire?” He joked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sit down.”
“What’s going on?” He tried again, glancing around. It seemed like the same old photo studio.
“It’s dinner time.”
“...Oh.” But he didn’t want dinner. Not after that. Not after knowing what it felt like to be so free, so weightless. It felt… Disorienting, the way the world was no longer tilted and watery. “I’m not hungry.” Wait. “Was that the only reason you called me back?”
“No.” But he wasn’t forthcoming with any type of answer. Cheng Xiaoshi’s head ached.
“Why, then?”
“I figured it out.”
“...Figured what out?” Maybe his brain was still moving at half speed from his trip to the past.
Another tense moment of silence. “The problem. With our client.”
Right. Cheng Xiaoshi nodded. “What was it?”
“Dinner first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care,” Lu Guang snapped. They both froze. “Let’s just…” He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ll make you dinner. Please.”
He nodded. Whatever mental breakdown Lu Guang was having, he didn’t want to make it worse. Dinner… Wouldn’t kill him. Everything was happening too fast, too disconnected to make sense. He’d just been in someone else’s body. He’d been feeling good, floaty, accomplished. He’d been dripping sweat, blinking his eyes open after he’d… Had he passed out? Had their client passed out?
Lu Guang handed him a cup of ramen. It didn’t seem appetizing, but the all-too-perceptive eyes watching him had him raising his bowl to his mouth to eat.
Nobody could blame him for wanting to stay there when it felt like how he’d always imagined it. Maybe he should have said something, but it wasn’t like he was actually in danger.
That didn’t explain the guilt.
They ate in silence.
Lu Guang never told him what happened with their client.
He never asked.
Lu Guang caught him diving into the client’s photos again.
He didn’t say a word, just watched silently as Cheng Xiaoshi stumbled back to reality, dizzied, hungry, and offered him another cup of ramen.
The pictures were gone the next day.
There were plenty of other options on the internet.
It started out innocent.
He just… He wanted to feel that way again. The lightness, the fragility, the euphoria.
It didn’t mean anything, really. He could dive into the photos and he could feel. It wasn’t his body, wasn’t his hurt. Even if he wanted it to be. He was lucky that way. He could find that feeling whenever he wanted, didn’t have to see the worry in eyes that he knew.
It wasn’t supposed to go further than that. Wasn’t supposed to creep into the edges of everything else, until his own body started to feel bulky and awkward and gross. Until the photos, the dives, weren’t enough, though there were pictures all over the internet, photos and photos of gangly, gorgeous skin concealing bones like wrapping paper. Until the feeling of someone else’s bones didn’t scratch the itch to feel his own.
It was still innocent, he told himself. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He was just… Living. The best he knew how. A missed meal or two, a few mouthfuls left on his plate or scraped in the trash, a few more push-ups, and an extra couple of steps wherever he went. Innocent, insignificant, but adding up. Up and up and up, until the numbers came down. Until he could trace the contours underneath his own skin.
It was nothing and it didn’t matter. Lu Guang never stared at him with those eyes again, even when the indents between his ribcage began to feel like they were made to cradle his fingers. Even when his clothes felt baggier and baggier, the skin beneath his eyes caving and purpled.
He knew he had never slept well. He knew that he had eaten more than he probably should, before. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, really. He knew he hadn’t done enough.
When you’re so consumed, you start to see it everywhere. In other people, in the simplest and most innocuous tasks. Reflected in their actions and their eyes like a mirror, goading you.
Qiao Ling didn’t eat very much. Sure, she was smaller and she was a girl, but that didn’t mean anything at all, not to him. She didn’t eat, and neither would he. He wasn’t abnormal, he was just— He just was.
He watched, when they got together. Matched his portion sizes to hers, took smaller bites, reveled in the way that it didn’t feel like pushing himself at all. It was easy. Easier to observe than to drag his eyes away from the slenderness of her arms and wrists. Easier than choking down the comparisons that were filling enough that he really didn’t need food.
It wasn’t just Qiao Ling, either. It was customers, strangers he passed on the streets, the cashier at the store. Anyone and everyone. And it wasn’t always good. Wasn’t always motivating. But it always, always made him sick.
He almost missed the way he’d been able to see people before; as people, not bodies to weigh on equal arm scales. But could he really say that he did, if he continued to look? If his eyes continued to catch and hold like the skin at the base of his fingernails?
He didn’t think so.
And he didn’t want to stop.
The headache never went away. Sometimes, he’d wonder what it took to be classified as a migraine. But it couldn’t be. It wasn’t unbearable. It was only constant, an accompanying gnawing on his brain to match the gnawing in his stomach.
He played it off well, just like everything else. Every blurry-eyed squint in the morning was from the sun, every pressure to his temples was to alleviate the stress of the job. Bruises were hidden by his clothing, which was baggy for fashion, Qiao Ling.
Not that she could say anything, anyway.
He grinned as he stepped behind the counter, feeling the ache spread and dance between his eyes. He jostled Lu Guang, laying his head on his shoulder. A small reprieve. An even smaller comfort.
Lately, he felt distant. They spent as much time as they normally did together, but it was somehow… Less. He was less present, less capable of engaging in the already mind-melting conversations that Lu Guang liked to have. He had never understood, so it wasn’t like it was anything different. He told his friend as much. He never disagreed.
He would smile through the pain in his temples, aching for something he couldn’t have yet. Yet, he told himself. Not yet. Because he wasn’t there yet.
“We should play Mojang tonight,” he suggested. Lu Guang just sighed.
“Invite Qiao Ling, then.”
“You have to play with us!”
A raised eyebrow, which irked him more than it should. “I never said I wouldn’t.”
He knew it was irrational, fueled by the pressure welling up behind his forehead, but he couldn’t help it. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”
The photo shop seemed too empty, too suffocating. “...I think you need to go cool off.”
Cheng Xiaoshi huffed. He didn’t, he didn’t need to. But he spun on his heel, anyway, leaving the room.
It was as good an excuse as any to skip lunch, and he wouldn’t complain.
His insides were a pit of emptiness that even the ocean couldn’t fill. The pain that he’d begun to wash away— first with a drop, then a trickle, now an endless downpour of salt in his wounds— was only made worse by his efforts.
A coping mechanism, he told himself. He was coping. And coping meant getting better, becoming happy. Getting rid of the horrors of emotions that plagued him, even if that meant shoving them deeper into the soil of his psyche where their roots would grow and spread and hurt all the same, no matter if he acknowledged them or not.
He was coping, and this was happiness. The salty sting of his efforts was something to enjoy. The migraine and constant haze a trophy to be proud of.
He could drown in this feeling.
He knew he would.
The rising tides of consequence would bury him, but that pit would still be bottomless, empty.
He would drown.
And it would be nothing but euphoria.
Lu Guang was scrutinizing him, eerily still. “When was the last time you ate?”
He swallowed. Not a long enough time ago that he’d be justified in eating now. “I don’t know. It gets a little confusing when you’re traveling through time.”
Lu Guang’s gaze was beginning to be a little more than unnerving. “I’m calling Qiao Ling.”
“What, why?”
His phone was already in his hand, fingers already tapping at the screen. Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t know why, but he didn’t like it. Didn’t like any of this. He lunged, ignoring the vertigo and blurry vision, tackling Lu Guang to the couch.
Lu Guang, in turn, flipped them, towering over Cheng Xiaoshi as stars danced between their faces. “I shouldn’t be able to do that.”
As if that explained anything. Cheng Xiaoshi sucked in shallow breaths and pushed back against his chest.
“You work out.” Like that made this situation any different, any clearer.
He wanted to shoot back a ‘so?’, muster all the offense he possibly could into his voice.
Lu Guang beat him to it. “Why are you so light?”
And now he couldn’t breathe, could hardly see through the panic that— what? Light? He wasn’t— He wasn’t light. Not enough. Not light enough. And not enough for anyone to notice. Not enough to have, to have… To feel like the photographs. With his vision swimming through the pools of sleeplessness under his eyes, bones aching in that empty, all-too-gratifying way, head and stomach so effortlessly weightless.
“Qiao Ling,” Lu Guang was saying into his phone, and Cheng Xiaoshi was lunging again, going as far as the constellations bursting into his vision and as far as Lu Guang’s single arm would let him.
He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t understand what exactly was happening as he was pinned to the couch, terror sending him spiraling as Lu Guang watched him, face betraying nothing but worry, fear.
“I won’t,” he started, but he didn’t know what he was promising. Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what would stop this, calm the anguish in his friend’s eyes or the tremor in his voice. “I’m okay,” he settled on, relaxing like it was nothing, like his body wasn’t screaming at him to run, “really, Lu Guang. There’s nothing wrong. I just— I’m not hungry right now.”
Lu Guang shook his head, pocketing his phone and returning his hand to Cheng Xiaoshi’s forehead. “You’re sick.”
“Do I have a fever?” He grinned, hating the way he knew he was shaking under the touch.
“Not that kind of sick.”
“Are you calling me mental, Lu Guang?” The smile felt sharp, like it would slice open his gums if he let it stretch any further.
The hand moved down to his neck. Taking his pulse? “You need to eat something.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’ll answer if you will.”
“Fine.”
“How long have you been starving yourself?”
He blinked. Again. And again and again, vision getting blurrier and blurrier. “What are you talking about?” He laughed, hands clenched far too tightly around Lu Guang’s wrist where he was pinned. “I’m not starving, I’m fine.”
“Chen—”
“Do I look like skin and bones to you?” He could feel the tremors in his hands even as he tightened his grip, willing them away. “I’m not starving, Lu Guang.”
“If I take your shirt off, what will I see?”
“Are you a pervert?”
“Cheng Xiaoshi, answer the question.”
“I already did. Now it’s your turn to answer mine,” he growled through the tears that he knew were spilling but he didn’t know how to stop. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Lu Guang’s other hand had left his neck, and it took him a moment to realize that the hem of his shirt was being lifted, pushed up toward his chest. “You aren’t eating.”
“I am—”
“You’re killing yourself.” And Lu Guang’s voice was so broken as his fingers gently pressed against Cheng Xiaoshi’s rib cage, even as his own hands shoved and prodded at the fingers so he would just let go.
“I’m not,” he whispered, hating the hurt that he saw in his friend’s eyes.
“How long has this gone on?” He shook his head again, pulling the shirt back down. “You didn’t even realize.” And Cheng Xiaoshi couldn’t hold back a sob under the pressure of Lu Guang’s worry. “The client was dying, Cheng Xiaoshi, and you didn’t even realize.”
“It wasn’t— It wasn’t obvious,” he choked out, clenching his eyes shut.
“You didn’t say a word. You exercised until you collapsed and you didn’t…” He trailed off, the door greeter speaking to them from the other room.
“Cheng Xiaoshi..?” Qiao Ling asked. If he had to guess, she was lingering in the doorway. Scared. Of him?
He didn’t answer, and none of them prodded. His chest heaved with painful sobs, lungs filling and pressing too tightly against his uncomfortable skin.
“...I’ll order something in,” she spoke, and Lu Guang shifted above him. Nodding, maybe.
“I’m not hungry,” he begged through the hand he’d pressed to his mouth. The arm pressing him to the couch moved away, the weight of Lu Guang resting on his legs lifting.
He sat up off the couch. They’d left him alone, and he could hear them whispering at the front of the store.
It wasn’t like he was actually starving himself. He was nowhere near the level it took to be starving.
“I’m not starving myself, Lu Guang,” he stepped through the doorway, desperate to defend himself. He’d eat dinner. He’d let them watch him eat, but he knew he’d never feel as good as he had in someone else’s body running on empty. He wasn’t that bad. He could be a lot worse. Lu Guang would understand.
Both Qiao Ling and Lu Guang turned to him, Qiao Ling’s eyes shining. “Cheng Xiaoshi, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, still settling back into his own skin that felt far too heavy on his bones. “I don’t know what Lu Guang’s freaking out about.”
Lu Guang just stared, eyes boring into him.
He continued when he realized no one else would, “Did you say you were ordering dinner?” He swallowed through the nausea at the thought. “Can we get noodles?”
A few seconds, and Qiao Ling was nodding, smiling softly, carefully. He smiled back.
They ordered noodles.
He ate everything they fed him.
He felt sick.
He would have to be more careful. It was hard, with Lu Guang’s eyes always there. He hated it, hated the staring, hated him. For ruining everything. For pretending to care, even when he didn’t need to because Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t need it.
He was fine.
He would eat at meal times. Scrape his plate clean, raise an eyebrow in a show of petulance.
Lu Guang would watch, still wary, but he didn’t say anything. No more comments about his weight, nothing about his food.
He was fine.
He would just exercise it all off, anyway. Fight back the urge to cough everything up into a toilet, because that wasn’t fine, and that wasn’t him.
He was fine.
Cheng Xiaoshi was fine.
“We need to have a talk.”
“Why.” Lu Guang didn’t deserve his attitude. He knew Lu Guang didn’t deserve his attitude. That didn’t make the furious little voice inside him go away. Didn’t make him want to sit here any more than he hadn’t before.
“About your eating.”
“My eating is fine.” He retorted, knowing that was the wrong answer if he wanted this to end well. Praying that Lu Guang didn’t question him. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would.
The lights in the living room hurt his head, no matter how dull they actually were. He didn’t want to be here, and Lu Guang wasn’t answering. He was staring, as he’d been doing for weeks now, like he was seeing right through Cheng Xiaoshi. Wasn’t seeing him at all.
This was the new him, and if Lu Guang didn’t like it, he could find someone else to be his best friend.
“You look really thin, Cheng Xiaoshi,” he finally informed him.
Good, he was supposed to. He felt the grin split his face before he could think to stop it. “Thanks.”
“Mm.” But Lu Guang didn’t smile.
“Was that everything, then?”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Why do you care?” His response was quicker and more biting than it should be. Defensive in all the wrong ways.
Another charged moment of silence, then a huffed “answer the question.”
“I’m getting tired of you demanding things of me.”
“Like what? What have I demanded of you, Cheng Xiaoshi?”
That he eat. But that wasn’t something he could say. That he keep up appearances, have these little, stupid conversations, look into his eyes that were no longer filled with mirth and friendship but doubt, crippling doubt that he couldn’t— “I don’t need to tell you.”
“Why won’t you? What’s wrong with me knowing?”
“Knowing? Knowing what?”
Cheng Xiaoshi’s head hurt. His head always hurt. It was too much, took too much to concentrate. “Your weight.” His weight, he wanted to laugh. Why was Lu Guang so caught up in his weight?
“Why, so you can compare us?”
“Cheng Xiaoshi, you aren’t making any sense.”
“Neither are you. This is way out of left field, Lu Guang.”
“No, it’s not, and you know it isn’t.”
“Whatever.” He stood. The familiar blackness seeped into the corners of his vision until he could no longer see Lu Guang’s face. He smiled, convincing himself that he wasn’t swaying. “I’m done here.”
He didn’t know the expression Lu Guang was making, or if he was even still seated on the couch. Everything felt underwater, everything looked like he’d kept his eyes closed. “Sit back down,” he heard distantly. He ignored it, taking step after step towards where he knew the stairs would be.
He never wanted another conversation like this again. With all the time he spent thinking over similar scenarios, he never once accounted for the bitterness that would rise up in his throat like the bile he was always choking back down. The happy little moments where he was noticed, his efforts appreciated, quietly held and coddled and told it would be okay.
The expectation was glaringly half-witted. Nobody would ever tell him this was okay. Nobody wanted the happiness for him that he wanted for himself. They wanted lies, they wanted to know his weight and his eating habits and probably the why. They didn’t want to hold or comfort. Just to be considered a hero. For what? Ruining all he’d built himself up to be?
Why had he wanted that? Why had he ever wanted that? People were distractions. Relationships brought him further from his goal.
He staggered up the stairs, vision slowly returning. Lu Guang was behind him, ever the diligent friend, ever the hero. He sneered to himself, hating the way it felt on his face and in his stomach, clenching pitifully and horrifyingly empty.
He slammed the door in his face. He didn’t want a hero. There was nothing to be saved from. He didn’t want to be saved.