Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nice floated down onto a random rooftop, eyes hollow, fogged mind as he stepped slowly to the ledge. The advertisement the company had him filmed on flashed behind him, glitching whatever lies he had acted based on script. He didn't remember, nor did he want to. All he wanted was for everything to go quiet. To fall into silence. To throw away the emptiness that clawed at his insides, climbing up his throat, devouring him whole bit by bit. The same emptiness was once something more, filled with passion, determination, happiness at being a hero. 

A puppet. Treeman's perfect marionette; strings made attached to his body, pulling his limbs however they want. The strings were invisible but cut deep, his voice muted and emotions suppressed, never allowing the hero the slightest mistake. All for a flawless performance. For the people, they'd say. For money and reputation, they didn't say, hiding their greed behind flowerly words. 

Was that all?

They took everything— his will, his freedom, his ties, his life until he was stripped of his own soul, reduced to a lifeless shell. No human could stand living such dull life. No one ever saw him as human again. Nice looked down the edge, no second thoughts in his mind, stepping off and feeling the wind welcoming him as he fell and fell.

Everything fell away. Even his thoughts.

A moment of weightlessness. The city spun above him. The air rushed past.

Then—

“Don’t you dare!”

A hand snatched his ankle mid-fall, yanking him violently backwards to the roof. His body jerked, twisted and was suddenly thrown upward to the air straight into someone's arms. Strong arms caught him with practiced ease, wrapping around his waist and bringing him into a warm embrace. A tight grip against solid chest held him like he was fragile. Something precious. As if afraid he would try to jump down again. Not that Nice hadn't considered, but the strength in this saviour's grasped around him rivaled even the 15th hero himself.

They crashed onto the rooftop, the impact jarring, but safe.

The man didn’t let go.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”

Nice barely registered the rapid heartbeat thumping wildly behind him. His own heart surged, vexed and bewildered. He stumbled once the arms released him caught only by his ingrained balance saving him from falling down on his butt. He stood, perfection reinstated, a blank expression was all he could managed when his inner self screamed from frustration.

Dont kill himself? Or dont kill Nice, the image?

Ha! Nice inwardly clenched his fists.

He had been so close... so close to being free! So close to embracing death! To throw this excruciating pain of being utterly faultless gnawing on his life ever since he signed the hero contract. Nice's lips parted, sighing quietly. If he could, he'd yell in protest at fate's hatred towards him, stomped his foot with all the pent up energy he could muster and jumped back off into the afterlife. But he was alive, very much alive, and still the bearer of the name Nice.

A nudge on his shoulder snapped him out of his suicidal thoughts. Nice turned back to see the one who needlessly saved him. A man with short, dark brown hair, a white streak that starts at his forehead and goes back towards the crown of his head. He wore a close-fitting, long-sleeved top. The main body of the shirt was black, while the sleeves and a panel extending from the high stand up collar down to the chest were white.

A hero cosplay? Nice questioned in his head. Considering he saved Nice, maybe the title hero did fit the stranger more than him.Someone as dazzling as the man would be popular if he were a hero. The kind of man people would believe in.

But it was the eyes that caught him. Deep brown. Warm. Full of something fierce—something real. They gazed at Nice with hurt, so pure and affectionate, crinkling up when the both fell into a staring contest. Affection? The wind softly caressed their hair, chalk white cape fluttering along, graceful as ever. Nice had to blink a few times to confirm he wasn't in a dream. There it was again, the burning fire lighting up the man's eyes.

He looked at Nice like… like he saw him.

 “Are you out of your mind?!”

His voice was rough, more from fear than anger. “What the hell were you thinking?! You—You really were gonna do it?"

"You can’t just decide to throw everything away!"

Nice said nothing, his eyes dull as the skyline behind him. For a second, he thought the man to be a saviour, someone who wanted his place standing as the people's hero. Not that he bothered if someone wanted to replace him. He didn't care anymore. Damn it all.

Dark brown eyes never left blue ones as the stranger lightly treaded towards Nice. Hands reached out, grabbing broad shoulders and turned them around, so the man was facing the edge instead. 

“You’re perfect. You’re admired. Rich. Respected.” His voice was low, tense. “People think you have everything.”

Nevermind. Perhaps this saviour was more of a hater, venting their jealousy and repressed anger towards him in spite. They were common in any fanbase even the heroes. Not that he cared. He had more pressing matters, no time for this. Before Miss J found him, he needed to die. 

"I don't--" Nice was cut off with a sudden pull by his shoulders.

"You could snap your fingers and everything could be done for you." The man’s words continued, words that should have been filled with malice. Should have because. his expression didn't instead his brows furrowed, a little angry with a hint of sorrow. Nice didn't understand. "You own a damn apartment all for yourself, have the chefs serve you meals ordinary people couldn't afford even with their monthly wage on the line. You dont have to bother with everyday necessities to live. It's a life anyone would kill for"

Nice wanted to be annoyed, pull away and shove him away. The man’s fingers curled into his shoulders.

“But even with all that, you’re still a person. You still bleed. You still break. You still—”

He paused, his breath catching. “You still deserve to be seen.”

And yet... the stranger's actions contradicted. Palms cupped the hero's face, thumbs rubbed the corner of deep ocean-like eyes, massaging so softly. The emotions in those brown eyes were as clear as day, dejected, care and maybe... from the point of view of a depressed person like Nice–affection.

“I don’t know how many people ever told you this,” the man said softly, “but it’s okay to be tired.”

Nice blinked. His chest fluttered from words he never thought could be directed at him. Something, a force was pushing at the roots, an unforeseen force digging deeper in, bringing the soil underneath the lack of space it needed.

"You're also an ordinary person. You have your own struggles, just like everyone else. You are human. You can be angry, cry or happy because being human is to have emotions, to make mistakes." The roots wriggled, the soil took its first breath. "No one can take the real you"

The words were a contraindiction to the credence of his persona. A belief his superiors had created in the name of his career. Nice stared at him, unsure what to say. The words felt wrong. Or right. He couldn’t tell. But strangely, he felt overwhelmed, bursting with emotion.

Nice placed a palm to his chest, feeling the heavy empty hole there dissipated. Why were the words of someone he didn't even know affected him so much? Words he wanted to hear, a person to see through his performance, accepting his selfish desires of being human.

Human 

"If the people believes the hero version of you, then I'll believe that human part no matter what."

Perfectionism buried him. The gazes filled with hope were once reckoned. Expectations twisted around his ribs, tighter with each smile he was forced to wear. They rooted inside him, fueling his desire to be more instead, it concealed him. The roots grew thicker, heavy individual strands representing the expectations of each person, mixing hope and belief, the perception people had on him. The sheer weight pressed down on the soil, eroding his true self, the soil over time from the constant tension. 

“I don’t know you,” the man went on. “But I can see it. You’re suffocating. You’ve been carrying too much for too long. And no one’s let you fall apart, not even once.”

His voice cracked.

“So I will. I’ll be the one who sees you.”

Tears welt up in Nice's eyes. He hadn’t cried in years. Couldn’t. Even so, there was pressure in his throat, chest light from a load thrown off, stimulating the tears behind his eys. Like something inside had been unsealed. Why was this person so good to him? How did he know what to say? In the thousand roots to cover him, why did it felt as if this person was tending to the parched soil, loosening the tight grip they had on him so he could finally breathe? The situation was so confusing, sudden and emotional, he drank every single emotion.

The stranger had their own tears on the edges of their eyes. Sniffles could be heard from both fully grown crying men. The image of the scene made Nice cringe, a little silly mostly from way too much snot stuck in his nose. He had a hard time breathing to not mess his face. The stranger looked just as snot-covered. Both of them wheezing through their mouths like they'd never learned to cry properly.

Was he crying for the sake of someone else? Was this empathy? He wanted to think it was like that, but the sadness, the pain and understanding he saw swirling in brownish orbs wasnt simply empathy. No... the pain in those eyes wasn’t just borrowed. It was shared. 

"You're so... random," Nice blurted out.

"Who in their right mind gives a speech to someone committing suicide". He settled his hands over the ones on his cheeks, feeling their warmth. This random ass man, spouting nonsense right to his face—his heart. "You're even crying for a stranger"

The man retaliated, pulling Nice's cheeks as if he was a kid. "Not so Nice now, huh?"

They both bursted into laughter at the horrible pun. Laughter. Nice was laughing. Not the one he usually used, sounding polite in meetings. This one filled his heart with joy, a laugh so loud that reverberated through his body, overlapping with the stranger's own booming chortle. He peeked through his eyelashes to see the one in front of him when the hands on his face withdrew.

Oh. Oh.

The brown haired stranger wiped the tears spilling down his chin, smiling so bright like the first rays of the sun rising back up from the horizon. He could see the light sparkling in brown eyes, crinkling with happiness and relief. They glowed as blue ones laid upon them, never tearing away until only fondness was displayed.

They were beautiful. As beautiful as the orange sky behind the man's back.

.........

Lin Ling sighed, back pressed to the wall as he slid down to rest. He was proud of himself for being calm at handling Nice's suicide attempt, well not much calm when he had panickly grabbed onto Nice. Damn, he couldn't keep his emotions together and cried too! What would Nice think of him now?

In truth, Lin Ling knew why reacted the way he did. For months, he wore the hero's face, behaved as he did, living the days as full time Nice. Those months shaped Lin Ling, left a mark in his life. He couldn't imagine what years of being all perfect would be like. Seeing Nice alive and breathing, smiling at him made him realised he saved Nice.

Nice was alive.

"Ah... Im so glad. He's alive. He's..."

The memory of the 15th hero's smile, fresh in Lin Ling's mind, stored away to forever remain a happy moment. And he helped made it happen. He couldn't do anything for the Nice in his world so at least, by saving him, he wouldn't feel the guilt of replacing Nice.

They were interrupted when the door to the roof was flung open. He didn't hesitate. One moment he was planted on the gritty rooftop, the next a blur of motion against the skyline. Before Miss J could see him, Lin Ling had jumped from the roof, earning alarmed shouts from Nice. The jump was a powerful thrust, translating into a rapid flight towards his target. He balanced himself in the air, his legs propelled him to the next building's window which was thankfully opened at the time.

Perhaps he overdid it. He thought it would be a bad idea to get involve right now, not when he had other things to do. Though jumping off the roof like a suicidal idiot wasn't the best idea, he did managed to escape. A dramatic escape right in front of Nice of all people. For now, he'll keep a low profile for a few weeks until things die down and find a way to survive-- housing, food, maybe a hot bath sounded nice. Nice.

He’ll forget me soon enough. Just a stranger on a rooftop.

Chapter Text

It had been a week.

Under the guise of training new fighting moves inspired by the graceful art of ballet, Nice was being watched 24/7. Cameras installed in every room, sharp objects were nowhere to be found replaced by plastic made utensils and bodyguards who checked up on him hourly. They had him moved out of the city to one of Treeman’s safe houses, not permanently but as a short vacation after his suicidal attempt. The heavy surveillance did however bothered him.

At least, for once, Nice could breathe without faking a smile to his fans, the people, the public. No events to attend, no ads to shoot, no more of the disgusting acting like lovers with Moon or even put up with her in their apartment. He didn't have to worry about anything triggering his OCD here. They even stop sending him scripts for the next stage fights. 

The placed he rested in now was peaceful.

Quiet. Lonely.

He sat on the couch, picking up a thick file from the coffee table. He was alone here, except for the bodyguards, but not even them spoke to him. 

Nice flipped the file open. His eyes roamed every single photo, analysing their faces and focusing on the recorded information. Hero Registry, the label gleamed under the lamp. Pages turned, once then twice, thrice when blonde haired heroes appeared—until the file reached the final page. Still no signs of brown hair streaked with white.

As lonely as Nice was the whole week under lockdown, he was actually busy looking for any piece of information on his saviour. He couldn’t directly search for him, for now and had to rely on Miss J for any news from her investigation. Though he couldn’t sit still and calm his mind when he knew, the strange man who saw him at his lowest. No mask, no performance, no cameras.

A crazy man who jumped off the roof–right after a heartfelt speech about not throwing himself away.

What a hypocrite.

The panic Nice felt when his saviour lunged of the edge, how he fell right in front of Nice’s eyes so suddenly and vanished. Nice was never one to fear easily, unless it involves his best friend or himself, but the horror that crashed through his chest was so great, he flew like a madman all around the area in search of brown hair and black white combined jacket.

“What if he’s dead?” Nice had asked Miss J in a whisper once. “Then I’d be the last person he ever saw.”

“You really want to find him, huh?” Miss J had whispered back. Not boss-like. Just tired. “You talk about him like he’s the only real person left.”

Nice couldn't stop thinking about him.

The worse part, Nice was desperate. He described to Miss J in detail his saviour's face, clothes, voice even to the point of drawing him, using his emotional depression to his advantage to get his hands on the hero registry. Not just any registry list, but a full written data.

And still, no trace of that damn saviour.

“What kind of hero saves someone then vanishes?” Nice muttered to the ceiling. “What kind of man does that?”

Nice’s fingers curled around the file. Maybe if he jumped off another roof, the guy would come back. Stupid thought. But he couldn’t stop thinking it.

He should try after his lockdown period.

...

Lin Ling had a hard time evading the disguised investigators. Even after almost two weeks, Miss J still hadn’t given up. Though that wasn't his main problem, they still were a huge risk to look out for.

The moment Lin Ling ran away he realised he had nothing on him. No wallet, id, not even money. He scanned himself, his reflection on the glass window displayed his hero outfit, the last hairstyle he had on, and the visible white streak of his hair.

Clearly, he was still the present Lin Ling, The Commoner, evidence from his natural use of power back when he escaped. When he arrived on the roof, Lin Ling was sure he time travelled back into the past. Shouldn't he be wearing a white t-shirt holding a box of his things after getting fired? Wasn't that how time travelling works?

The next logical thing he could think of was to run to his apartment. 

He sneaked inside, grateful he had his powers to do so discreetly. The window creaked, Lin Ling entered and left it open. The inside of his supposed home was different.

The dining table wasn't a mess.

The walls weren't white instead, floral wallpapers decorated the living room.

A couple was asleep in the bedroom.

He was a stranger in the very place he once belonged to.

The next day, he went to his old workplace, the company he once spent all of his time for. It took him quite a while, avoiding private detectives on the lookout with a disguise.

Unfortunately, they never even heard of him.

No Lin Ling. No head of marketing. Nothing.

Was he a ghost here? A smudge the world refused to acknowledge? Lin Ling gripped the edge of a table, trying not to panic. “Not time travel. Not a dream. Then what..." he muttered.

Lin Ling wanted to cry.

If this wasn’t time travel... then where the hell was he?

...

A kidnapping happened.

A white van, painted with strokes of blue on the sides screeched to a stop. Two thugs scurried out, shoving the lady on the side walk inside. One of them cursed and kicked someone inside, most probably another victim they kidnapped.

Too bad for them, Lin Ling witnessed the incident. He was up on a tree, crying his heart out. Those thugs had to ruin his moment.

The night was filled with screams from the kidnappers.

They had abducted women, young and old to be sold. Lin Ling took them out at their base, silencing them for eternity, knives up their throat. He helped free the captives, wearing a hat and a robe which he stole from the thugs.

"Would Nice have thanked me?"

Lin Ling parted his lips, inhaling the cool night air. He didn't know why he thought of Nice as the captives thanked him, hugging him while they cried in relief. A small number of them showed their gratitude by giving him money too. Of course, he rejected them. Much to Lin Ling’s benefit, one of the long held captives became his supporter.

"Please I insist," Lin Ling smiled, sitting in his new home.

"I'm only paying you back. It's the least I could do". His suppoter, now sponsor waves their hand. The person he saved, a woman in her 40s held great influence in the city. She aided him in creating a false ID, provided him money and housing generously. 

He had only planned to stay for a night after she offered to pay him back the next day. Without him knowing, she had ran a background check on him to which she obtained no records of him. No doubt she thought of him the same as the unregistered hero X, wanting to sponsor him.

Lin Ling hesitated, but in the end, he had no choice. How else was he supposed to survive here?

It could be luck was on his side this time.

So now the least he could do was offer himself to be a staff in one of the shows she was sponsoring. He'd feel guilty otherwise, receiving so much just from him killing a few(an organisation) of thugs.

"If you say so," his sponsor sighed, caving in to Lin Ling’s persistence.

His sponsor fetched her phone, updating the list of staff members under volunteers.

"I'll send you the details later". She showed him the poster on her phone.

"You'll surely love it, it's a show featuring Nice and Moon on True Love Recipe"

To Lin Ling’s dismay luck was never on his side.

He stared at the poster, eyes widening. A beat of stunned silence passed.

"You’ve got to be kidding me.”

...

The event hall buzzed with light chatter. Staffs rushed to their respective places, carrying boxes of equipment or refreshment for those that work behind the camera. Some gossiped on the current trends surrounding heroes, engrossed in the topic of the main characters for the show, Nice and Moon's love story. What did they expect, when the relationship was only build on lies? 

Lights flashed towards the centre, a pink long couch situated for the couple. Although the set was halfway done, the director called the whole team back to begin rehearsal. Everything needed to be perfect for the scheduled live.

Nice stood near the edge of the stage, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to look calm. Trying to smile. He’d done it a thousand times, but tonight, it didn’t fit right on his face. 

Moon was busy posing for press photos again, draping herself against his side like she belonged there. The crew laughed. He ought to show(act) care from his side next. Someone called his name.

Nice didn’t answer.

He just stared at the untouched snack table behind Moon, snacks he dislike—until someone pressed something into his hand.

"Here"

A drink. Cold to the touch, a fresh out of the fridge bottle. Nice glanced to the staff, a guy with rectangular glasses. Glasses that covered his face, dark hair hiding his eyes, a cap which made him more unnoticeable.

"You looked like you needed it,” the voice said—too kind, too soft. Too much.

The staff trotted away, leaving nice to dig holes through the drink. Soft clink of a familiar bottle he hadn’t seen in months. Not just any drink. His favorite drink. A rare one. The kind no one else should know about.

Was it a coincidence?

He stared at the drink for a second too long. The drink fizzled once he pop the lid off. The same taste. The same memories surfaced with every sip. The brand barely stocked in most stores. A favorite he never mentioned, not even in interviews.

A laugh escaped him—sharp, bitter. He hadn’t told a soul about this drink. Not even Moon. Not even Wreck. It was a drink only Miss J knew, ordered in bulk before any of his battle dance practices.

His throat went dry.

No one should’ve known this.

No one but—

Nice looked around for the staff, legs strode to the back of the stage except, they called him back. Rehearsal's about to start, he thought.

He was forced to let his thoughts go. Just for a moment.

..

Nice ended up asking Miss J for the list of staff. The feeling of missing something scratched at the back of his head since rehearsal. It creeped into his heart, a small blooming hope.

He scanned the staff again at lunch. His gaze landed on a guy adjusting his hair. He remembered the guy was a last minute volunteer insisted by one of their top sponsors for the show.

Lin Ling.

An ordinary guy who came to volunteer at a top hero's show. But something was telling Nice otherwise. The air around him, the way he avoided Nice's gaze as he glanced around.

And something in his posture—

It itched in his memory.

From that rooftop. From that night.

He started watching him. Quietly. Casually. Every day. 

...

Nice had dreamed one night. A long pleasant dream, back on the rooftop; the moment brown eyes fell on him, the fire in them ignited. Still soft with a smile as they laughed while he wiped Nice’s tears. The warm comforting hand on his cheek exactly the same as that day.

When he woke up, Nice almost threw his head on the sink. Why would he dream someone he just met? Someone who he thought off for two weeks, feeling hopeless as the search bear no result.

The staff at the event must have triggered the dream. Lin Ling.

For days, Nice had been secretly keeping an eye on the guy. Was this stalking? It wasn't. He was only doing it for his curiosity and safety. And for an opportunity for the guy to let his guard down. Any time now.

Gosh he couldn't wait longer. He was running out of time.

The staff broke off from his colleagues to one of the empty rooms, looking around as if to make sure no one saw him. But one did. Nice followed him at a distance, hiding his presence. He spotted the guy fanning himself, pulled off his hat.

Then the wig came off.

A streak of white, the highlight of brown hair caught his eye. Not on paper which he drew. Not in a dream. Real. Breathing. Here. His lungs forgot how to work. Nice’s breath hitched. His intuition was right after all.

He slammed the door open.

“You.”

The staff, Lin Ling froze. His hands shook, the hat and wig fell with a thud. They stared at each other for a minute.

“You're not supposed to be here.” 

Nice's heart sped up. He finally caught him! His saviour, right in front of him now with no where else to go. He wanted so badly to come close, to talk to this Lin Ling he had been crazily searching for, turning the city upside down with how even his staged fights are being done everywhere.

Just so he could find his saviour.

“You’re going to tell me who you are". He demanded, taking a step forward.

"Uh, Im... a staff for logistics, Lin Ling," Lin Ling muttered, as if he was practicing the line.

"Is that a fake name? Why are you here?" “Don’t lie to me. I know those eyes. They’re the same ones I saw right before I jumped.”

"It's my real name! I—" Shouts could be heard, calling for Nice. The live show was going to start in fifteen minutes.

“You don’t have time,” Lin Ling replied, calm(trying to) but cornered. His eyes peered behind the door. “They’re calling you.”

Nice cursed, hesitating—then grabbed the lock from outside. He could finally see Lin Ling, if that was really his name. He wasn't going to have anyone ruin it.

“You owe me anwers. Don't dissappear again."

He slammed the door and twisted the lock shut. 

What he didn't know was the room had no cameras, and Lin Ling knew what would happen.

...

The host was changed, Enlighter 249th hero, he introduced himself. The first question caught him by surprise. Moon gave a look, her expression never betrayed the smile she portrayed.

It happened right as the cameras focused on the couple.

A blast shook the stage. Screams erupted. Enlighter was forcefully smacked against the wall. It crumbled behind him, some bricks collapsed at the impact.

The villain emerged from the smoke—tall, sneering, and all too familiar. Nice recognized the logo on his shoulder. The same company that made his ads. The same rooftop where he met Lin Ling.

He launched into the fight—halfway through punching the villain's gut, his mind thought.

The room.

The man.

The room was beside backstage, where enlighter's back hit the wall. He flew off, dodging debris, racing through the wrecked pillars—

The room was empty.

On the ground lay a crushed pair of glasses. He picked them up slowly. Bent. Broken. Abandoned. Just like Nice, left by the man who wore them.

Nice punched the villain harder, ignoring the bankruptcy whatnot he was spouting.

"No—no, no, no—”

He gritted his teeth, flying everywhere possible because he lost Lin Ling. Just. When. He. Found. Him. He searched the roof. The streets. Anywhere.

The same horror spread in his chest. Just like before. Where was he? Where...!? How could Nice be so careless when he was supposed to be perfect at everything! Just when he found him!

Was this despair? Lin Ling made him feel so many emotions in the short span he knew him.

"So close... I just wanted to talk—"

He had him. This time, he had him—and still lost him.

"Just when I found him..."

Nice landed on the rooftop, wind stinging his eyes.

There was no brown hair.

No jacket.

Just a shadow where Lin Ling used to be.

Chapter Text

No one remembers the ones behind him. The ones who bled first. The ones who watched him rise and learned to rot quietly.

He stood on the stage of glory, drenched in praise—and behind him, in the shadows, we watched.

The acrid smell hit first, a sharp, biting tang that made eyes water. Then came the smoke, a thick, grey blanket snaking through open doorways. The small heroes, armed only with their courage and quick thinking, were doing their best to navigate the fear and confusion. 

Panic, sharp and sudden, erupted.

The smoke continued to pour out, turning the afternoon sunshine into a hazy twilight. Children clung to their parents, their small faces streaked with tears, coughing while their parents, guardians, hugged them close in their arms.

It was supposed to be their mission.

A small staged fight. Just to boost trust value. Everything according to plan.

Then instigators took advantage. A containment breach. Small explosions giving rise to fire. Hostages cowered in fear in the hands of impatient masked individuals. Too many moving pieces, too little support. Hesitation led to death.

They tried. God, they tried. Called in favors. Held the line. One of them got crushed under rubble pulling a civilian to safety. Another nearly collapsed from exhaustion, but didn’t let go of the collapsing scaffold. They fought until their powers frayed and their limbs trembled. Their wrist glowed, numbers increasing.

Newfound strength gathered, their muscles brimming with renewed energy.

And still—it wasn’t enough.

The terror, chaos and fear were too overwhelming. The people were consumed.

Then he arrived.

Not late. Not early. Just… perfect.

The Commoner dropped from the sky like a storybook hero, eyes calm, hair tousled, movements clean and effortless. One flick of his wrist and the last explosion fizzled out. The hostages were unharmed. The infiltrators? Unconcious before they could even register the battle, tied and chained against one another behind the Commoner.

And he smiled.

“Thanks for holding the line. Couldn’t have done it without you all.”

He meant it.

That was the worst part.

They should be relieved. The situation was resolved without much sacrificed. They were! He was a hero almost everyone looked up to in this day and age, a new era. Even now, The Commoner was helping them stand up, tending to their injuries as the press arrived. 

At first, they smiled. Cameras panning, smart phones recording the mess around, turning 360 degree to capture it all, racing against one another who posted the fastest. Clicking and clicking. Pride tugged at their tired faces, smiling confidently as they braced for the camera, the microphones, the crowd to circle and capture them. To be seen. To be remembered.

But then came the flashbulbs. The shouting.

“Lin Ling! Lin Ling, over here!”

“Can we get a quote?!”

“How does it feel to save the day again?”

“You’re trending — you’re ranked fourth today!”

"Commoner the people loves you!"

One by one, the smiles faded. Cameras didn’t pan left or right, only one direction, straight forward to only one person. No one asked about the bleeding support hero. No one remembered who secured the perimeter or who saved the first two hostages before The Commoner arrived.

Just him.

All him.

Someone clapped politely behind the crowd, holding himself back from screaming harder, louder into a painful screech. Another coughed blood into a glove, miserably wiping it, glancing at the crowded center and walked away. Different heroes but their hearts bled just the same.

They didn’t blame him.

Not really.

He was kind. Humble. He always thanked them.

But no matter what they did… it was always Lin Ling who got remembered. The one people scrambled to get an interview, the one who raises their trust value in a short amount of time, the one people cheered so loudly for a speck of his attention. He was the diamond in the rough, the symbol of hope itself, radiating like the sun high above the clouds.

Someone whispered, “Maybe if he never came, they would’ve seen us.”

Another replied, “Or maybe they never wanted to.”

The bitterness didn’t bloom all at once.

It crept in.

Resentment wrapped in admiration. Love soured by invisibility.

Humans naturally craved for the sun. They scamper towards warmth, the light to see through what they cannot, the hope of making the impossible possible. In truth, even the sun casts shadows.

And somewhere inside that silence, something began to grow. Not a person, not a thought—a feeling.

A name not yet spoken.

A fear given form.

The fear of being forgotten.

He was doomed. Just kill him already.

A king sized bed prepared by his generous sponsor went disregarded by Lin Ling. Instead, he sprawled on the floor, knocking his knuckles on the tiles in a gentler form of punching less he destroys the room. He pressed his cheek to the floor, feeling the cold seeped into his skin, clearing his mind. He needed to get his shit together.

Earlier that day Lin Ling hurried in between shop alleys, sneaking away from two treeman's bodyguards lurking about the area. In the last few days, the security in the city became tighter than ever. He couldn’t even enjoy his dumplings by the streets without having being interrogated out of nowhere.

They were looking for him. His disguise almost failed him in more than one occasion. Miss J must have added more people to the search and he couldn't even visit his sponsor for the time being because they suspected her of colluding with him. Not that it wasn't true. Nice might had a hand in this considering he pinpointed Lin Ling’s staff disguise last time. So Lin Ling, wanting to go about peacefully, dressed up as a lady.

When idiot comes up with a plan, it often leads to disaster. Yes, he was an idiot because the plan backfired.

The bodyguards were mentally insane. The two of them chased Lin Ling down not for the reason he thought of. His disguise was too convincing. So convincing, in fact, that they tried to flirt with him instead of interrogating him. What the hell?

He hid away, playing a coin between his fingers from boredom, bouncing it on his palm until it rolled away towards a vending machine.

With a huff, Lin Ling followed the coin, bending down to pick it up only to realise a sticky note plastered on the glass of the vending machine. 

Protect Nice. He's a target -X

Was he seeing things? How would X even know him when everyone didn't? Lin Ling cussed, gripping his fists and realising the coin in his grip was still warm. Unclenching his fingers, the coin revealed on his palm was not his. It had a big X symbol on both sides. That could mean one thing.

"No. No again," Lin Ling groaned, snatching the note and tucking it inside his pocket.

Hero X knew him.

According to this (wherever he was) timeline, even if he existed here, The Commoner wouldn't be born yet. Did X travel here too? Why wouldn't he meet Lin Ling then? They were pretty close back home. Perhaps the one who sent him here was the number one hero himself. Lin Ling eyed the coin on his palm, contemplating his next action. 

"Why Nice? Don't tell me he's going to jump again. Hell no." The situation wasn't as simple as he thought. Did he trigger a butterfly effect by saving Nice? Too many questions with limited answers. 

He cussed at the vending machine. Now this was embarrassing. He didn't want anything to do with Nice anymore. Nice was alive, a bit mentally unstable but alive. Lin Ling's sole goal right now was to find a way back after impulsively saving him. This world, wherever he was, had forgotten him, he didn't fit here.

Besides, Nice would heal fine without him. He had to believe that. Had to. The chaos about finding him was probably about signing the NDA. Yes, they wouldn't want a witness to Nice’s almost death walking away free holding a big secret that could tear down Nice’s reputation.

Lin Ling wanted to convince himself that that was the reason. Though, his brain betrayed him, flashing memories of Nice’s eyes, afraid, tired and desperate, conflicting with his perfect image. Deep ocean like eyes told Lin Ling to wait, to stay like a child needing guidance. And Lin Ling, having stole his face, his identity once felt guilty leaving him.

Or maybe it was Lin Ling’s imagination.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Lin Ling got up from the floor, swiping a number on his contact list. His sponsor, Yun Weili. He'll ask a few more favours, more like identities to go undercover and look after Nice from afar.

For Nice's protection.

That's all.

He told himself he’d leave after. Just a short mission. Just enough to keep Nice safe.

And then he’d disappear again.

Right?

He dismissed the building guilt swirling in his gut.

...

Nice stood at the center in a luxurious bathroom vanity with elegant marble countertops. Large softboxes were strategically placed, softening and spreading the light, creating a glowing, even complexion on his face. His outfit gleamed, every gesture precise, his image the embodiment of polished perfection—flawless, immaculate, untouchable. 

Cut! Reset in ten!

Off to the side, near the catering tent, Lin Ling adjusted the brim of his cap and checked his reflection in the furbished coffee machine. His disguise was seamless—hair tucked away, bland polo shirt, a work badge that read equipment tech #47. Compared to the screen star in front of him, Lin Ling looked like nothing at all.

His eyes lingered on Nice.

Nice, with the kind of beauty that made the air feel still. The lighting didn’t flatter him—it chased him, desperate to keep up. Every camera wanted him. Every hand reached out to fix his collar, his cuff, his hair.

Lin Ling’s eyes lowered to the tablet in his hand, displaying a list of crew duties, a map of the exit routes and digital copy of the security log. Yun Weili had granted him more than an undercover. From being a set runner to an assistant, a security guard to an intern, Lin Ling felt like an accomplished actor. For a month he had been by Nice’s side, not too close to be seen not far enough to look away.

Right now he was watching for threats.

But mostly… he was watching him.

"You’re staring." His sponsor's voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Am not."

"You’re emotionally compromised."

"I’ve always been emotionally compromised." Lin Ling flatly replied, flicking his gaze towards a couch in the corner where Yun Weili sipped her drink like she owned the world. She snorted, lips barely moving and went silent again.

Time passed and the set reset again at different angles, different lightings. Lin Ling stayed at his corner, now leaning on a light stand, pretending to check equipment status from a clipboard he borrowed. The job was a hundred times easy today, being on standby or making his way through by impersonating other equipment techs nearby. The corner he was practically glued at turned out to have a great view of Nice too. 

Nice walked back to his mark and stopped. Lin Ling saw the way his left hand twitched when something was out of place. A habit Lin Ling experienced himself for almost a year. Then he saw it.

Nice adjusted the microphone clip on his collar.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Back to the exact same spot.

Again.

And again.

Lin Ling’s breath caught in his throat.

He knew this. The urge. The compulsion. The deep, gnawing need to fixfixfix what no one else noticed was even wrong. The weight that settles when the world feels like it’s tilting off balance unless you reset it just right. No one else noticed, staffs bustling to one place or another, even if they did, they ignored him all together. 

But Lin Ling did. Of course he did. 

Nice forced himself to stop and smile when the camera assistant returned. But his fingers were curled so tightly, they shook. 

"You're not okay." Lin Ling whispered without meaning to.

He took a step forward instinctively.

Stopped himself.

At break, Nice moved to a bench, sandwich unwrapped neatly, studied it before tossing it into the trash. He sat upright, feet facing front while eating. Alone. No one came close to where he was, watching from afar like a statue in a gallery, admired but never held.

Weili slid into the seat next to him, uninvited but not unwelcome. Holding two iced coffees, she nudged one toward him.

"You’re doing that thing again."

"What thing?" Lin Ling took a cup from her.

"Brooding from ten feet away like a tragic side character." He huffed out a breath. Almost a laugh.

Across the lot, Nice wiped his hands then proceeded to memorise his lines. Someone stepped in to fix his hair. He accepted the attention with a blank sort of politeness.

He looked... lonely.

Is this how I looked? All that time?

"He’s off today."

"Mhmm." Weili followed Lin Ling’s gaze. "He’s been like that since the last fight. News says it was just stress. You know better."

Lin Ling nodded. "I told you, I’m just here to keep him alive."

"Oh yeah. Of course. Strictly business. Definitely no pining involved."

"Don't start."

"You look stiff. Like you’re one smile away from crumbling." Her hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle reminder. They sit in silence for a beat, sipping their coffees that slowly lost it's heat.

“I used to think Hero X saved me just once,” Weili murmured. “But maybe he saved me again. When he sent you.”

"Might not have been X. He did send me the note but just–". Lin Ling finally turned turned to her, adjusting his grip on the cup. “He trusted you,” she interrupted. “And I do too. Even if you’re a man with no records, no past, and no name. I trust what I see.”

"Think of it like this, you're a hero. Don't heroes need trust?" Weili patted his back. She didn’t mention why his wrist was devoid of blue numbers. Something Lin Ling was curious too. It faded the moment he got tossed here, his powers on the other hand, remained the same. "Either way, I can clearly see you care for him. And he seems to need you too."

She paused for a second, "Desperate might I add."

She got up, dusting off her blazer, smiling faintly to him. "You’re good at running, Lin Ling. Just don’t forget you’re allowed to stop too." She walked off.

Lin Ling stayed. Coffee gone cold in hand, taking a glimpse at Nice now currently blinking like he'd just remember how to breathe.

A thousand words crowded his throat.

...

Nice should have expected it since he went radio silent on his best friend.

The moment Wreck made his entrance, he lunged towards Nice, shouting and demanding an explanation from him. He averted his gaze the whole time Wreck grabbed him, even as they moved away from the crowd, Nice held his tongue. 

He didn’t flinch when Wreck grabbed him.

Didn’t raise his eyes.

The deal he made with Miss J rang in his skull like a curse. Cut him off. No slip-ups. Keep the truth buried. Wreck’s grip was bruising, but he stayed silent. Because this was the price of being saved—

Pretend like nothing happened.

Even if it destroyed the last friendship he had left.

Wreck would be devastated.

Moon jumped out another portal between them, interfering Wreck’s barrage of questions. Their roles were reversed. In the usual scripts, the hero keeps the villain's hands off the heroine as the villain fought back in a heated battle until the hero claims victory. The scripts were recycled over and over again, and they sticked to it for five years. Five long years since Wreck’s dream shattered.

“Wreck, stop—” Moon deflected with grace as a cloud of debris erupted almost blinding her. Nice shot forward, every move calculated as he punched Wreck’s side. 

“No!” The ground surged upward in sharp, spiraling pillars. They targetted Moon, hindering her movements. “This is between me and Nice. Stay out of it Moon!"

Nice swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue. Wreck was incapable of thinking the consequences with this much off script. “Listen to me—”

“I listened, damn it! I waited—I waited for you to call, to say anything!” He lunged, pulled himself up the pillar like a man clawing out of quicksand. His hand fisted Nice’s collar, shaking him.

“Weeks. Months. And then—and then you just vanish. You try to die and you don’t even tell me?” His voice cracked on the last word like something inside him had snapped.

His words struck Nice with a sickening jolt. 

“You think I didn’t know?”

He was screaming now, but his voice trembled. “You think I didn’t feel it? That something was wrong? You almost—”

He choked. “You almost jumped, and you didn’t even look for me. You didn’t even give me the chance to stop you.”

They shot upward, Wreck’s sword drived into the ground, forming a large platform toward the rigging high above. He ripped off his helmet, eyes ablaze with anger. "You won't tell me anything and then you just cut me off!? You bastard!"

Moon screamed, shoving him aside, loosing his grip on Nice as another portal appeared above. "Wreck?! That’s not in the—!"

"You shut up. This isn’t a joke anymore!"

The platform split, both Moon and Wreck landed on the precarious side. In his arms, grasping Moon's shoulders tightly, now a hostage. For real. Things were turning out worse. He needed to act. Move. Speak. Save her. But he couldn’t move an inch.

The weight of everyone’s belief wrapped around him like shackles. He was the hero. That’s what they told him. But standing there, exposed like this, he didn’t feel like anything but a hollow shape in a costume.

And now the one person who knew the real him,

Was falling apart, because he shut him out.

People's belief forced him to stand up. He didn't want to.

Save Moon. Defeat Wreck. He felt it fused with his muscles, drowning his will. Did he even have a will? When he let them; the company the people to dictate his life. To let the person he cared see this deformed side of him. 

"You knew," Wreck's voice fell, hushed. Moon flinched at the vulnerability behind it. "A fake girlfriend knows better than his best friend." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, biting her lower lip in shame.

“Is that it? I’m just... just useless now, huh?”

His knees nearly gave out. He looked like he couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from anymore.

“Say it, Nice. Say it. Are you throwing me away like they did?”

His voice was small. It sounded like the boy he used to be. Hurt painted his face, despair wormed it's way into his heart. In his eyes, the world mirrored his name, wrecked and ruined.

A shadow skulked behind the crowd, lips carved upward eerily. No one realised the dark tint in Wreck’s eyes.

...

Clipboard forgotten. Eyes narrowed. Something twisted in the air. Lin Ling’s foresight from last night flashed through his head. He stood by Wreck’s corpse, no blood like Moon's, instead lifeless eyes dulled and wide stared at him. The sight sent chills down his spine. 

"What’s happening up there?" 

"Put me down, you idiot!" Moon cursed, pushing him away to grab her gun. Wreck rolled to his side, shaking and crying. But he didn’t hear her. She scanned for Nice who was standing like a broken mannequin feets away. "Snap out of it, Nice!" 

And then—Wreck’s eyes glowed.

Too bright. Wrong.

The platform shattered. 

Civillains were scattered, running here and there to escape the falling platforms. He could hear Wreck’s scream in agony, clutching his head as if he were in pain. Something wasn't right. Was he manipulated? 

"Wreck’s off-script. This isn’t a meltdown. Someone’s messing with his head." Lin Ling warned through the earpiece. He called for back up, Weili's own forces. "Evacuate the civillains!"

The three up in the air plummeted down. Moon teleported to Nice, hanging by his neck and slapped right across his face. "Snap it or we'll die!" Nice groaned, fingers fisting before he instantly dove for Wreck mid-fall, grabbing him by the arm. 

But Wreck screamed—not in pain, in grief.

He lashed out with full force, sending the two heroes crashing against falling rocks. His powers glitched around as he plunged down.

Nice twisted his arms, carrying Moon who coughed blood onto her outfit. Wreck’s strength had increased, the fear and chaos created brought immense fear to the escaping people below. They were going to hit the ground in a short amount of time, not just them, multiple rocks accelerated down. The people wouldn't be left unharmed.

"Moon," Nice descended, flying at full speed with a cursing Moon. "Open a portal in ten." The corner of his eyes caught sight of a flailing Wreck, crying and mumbling to himself. He looked pitiful, hurt like he was reliving his worse painful days.

Nice did that to him. His actions, no one else.

Shaking his head, Nice left Moon near Wreck before speeding towards the ground. 

"Nice! You asshole! When I get you I pro–" He needn't hear her anyway.

Multiple portals materialised one after the other, transporting huge rocks through. Nice knew she'd understand his plan. Regardless of their hate towards each other, they make a perfect team as partners. Moon went through the last portal. "You owe me this time," she clicked her tongue, showing the menace in her expression.

From behind the rubble, a figure emerged. Laughing low. A silhouette in shifting light. The figure strolled leisurely, hands clapping in amusement. A man. Long dark hair in an oversized robe. By the fourth clap, Wreck charged forward, face unrecognisable. Dark shadows wrapped all over his face except for his left eye, unfocused.

He snarled, trembling while attacking Nice constantly.

“You left me!”

His scream echoed with grief more than rage.

"Wreck–"

“You kept going without me! You became their golden boy and I—”

His fists slammed into the earth, causing it to spiral upward.

“I stayed, Nice! I watched you rise! I let them turn me into a villain so you could be their damn hero!”

A loud bang reverberated. Moon rushed to aid him. "I was happy to be your friend. I gave up being a hero– for you. I was there for your whole life!"

He snarled, voice raw. “And you couldn’t even text me back?!”

“Mom left. Dad pretended I never existed. I thought you...” He faltered.

“You were the one thing I had left.”

He looked up, eyes wet. “And now even you’re leaving?”

His powers glitched again. The ground splintered in pulses. The earth folded around him—rising, coiling, spiraling up like jagged teeth.  

"You’re so far ahead now. I hate it. I hate that I can't catch you. I hate that I still care about you."

Nice froze. Hands trembling. Moon shouted a warning, but he was too stunned to flee. He didn't mean to make Wreck feel that way. 

BAM

A slow, rhythmic clap.

One. Two. Three. Four. 

It sliced through the chaos like silk over steel. From the haze, a silhouette strolled forward, cloaked in shifting light, like shadows refused to touch him.

His lips curled in amusement. But his eyes? Hollow.

“Touching,” he said.

“Truly. The tragedy writes itself.” A scraping voice tickled his ear. He crawled back up, coughing the blood in his throat. The one above him wasn't Wreck. The man standing over him felt like a nightmare.

“You made him your nemesis to keep him near. Crafted an enemy from love and called it noble.” He circled Nice like a lion bored with its prey.

It wasn't true.

“And Moon? A fake romance to feed your reputation. Such clever little lies. Worn like perfume, so no one smells the rot.”

Not true.

He leaned in, whispering.

“But you reek, Nice.”

“You never saved them. Not once.” He tilted his head. “You patched holes with platitudes. Painted over cracks with smiles. And called it heroism.”

“Though rot always returns, doesn’t it?”

Nottruenottruenottrue

Wreck kneeled beside the man, chained with tears flowing down like he was broken. "Please... Wreck–"

Another coughed, his vision blurred.

"Wreck broke because of you." He ran a gentle hand through Wreck’s hair—like a mockery of care.

Nice wanted to deny. 

"And Moon? She’ll leave too just like everyone else"

"You rot everything you touch, Nice. It’s only a matter of time before she realises you’re just a grave with good hair.”

Moon would never...

His chest caved inward. Like every word said jammed another nail through his ribs. The perfection he wore like armor… Had become a weapon that hurt everyone else. The longer he lived, the more people bled because of him.

He didn’t even know who the hero was supposed to be anymore. Cold chains wound up his ankle. The same chains came from that man encircling Wreck, dark and cruel. 

Cold. Heavy. 

They wrapped around his ankle, up his spine, over his thoughts. They dragged him deeper into hopelessness. He didn’t fight them. Not because he wanted to give up.

But because part of him already had.

Moon stepped forward, livid. "Don’t talk to him like that!"

"Still pretending, princess? He’ll ruin you too." Laughter echoed in Nice's ears. He heard Moon struggling "Pull yourself together! Look at me. Nice, I'm here!"

"Shit" —until something thudded and she went silent.

The words didn't reach him. He didn't deserve any of it.

"No one will save you, Nice. Because everyone you let close ends up broken." The chains snaked around Nice’s arms.

Those that stayed with him in the end suffered.

He couldn’t change anything. A coward who tried to escape through death. A pathetic puppet dragging others into his mess. His shoulders curled inwards as the chains reached his waist.

Thwack.

The rock hit the man clean across the temple with a sharp crack. "Who the hell...?"

A blur cut through the dust.

Fast. Controlled. Unshakable.

A figure in a mask dropped between them like a blade of judgment. He didn’t speak at first. He acted.

His hand gripped the chains. Those writhing symbols of despair and with a single, steady pull, ripped them away like paper ribbon.

Lin Ling straightened.

“Pick on someone your own size.”

Mnemonic reeled back. “You... You weren’t supposed to—”

"It's funny you kept talking about fate" Lin Ling tilted his head. His voice was ice over flame.

"I don't believe in fate."

Warmth

That was what he noticed first.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist. Not restraining. Holding. A hand rested between his shoulder blades, grounding the way a lighthouse stays through the storm. A chest he could collapse into, a heartbeat steady enough for two. Nice’s knees nearly buckled. He looked up, gasping through blurry vision. He didn’t need to see the face to know.

"Nice."

The person he had been chasing.

The one who saved him.

You still deserve to be seen.

"You’re not alone."

“...You.” For the first time in so long, he felt something other than fear.

A single beam of sunlight pierced the chaos. It hit his hair, white streak catching the light, casting a faint golden halo around him. Just for a moment, time stilled.

Nice saw the same man from that rooftop. And this time… he saw hope.

The man seemed shocked at Lin Ling’s unexpected presence. "How long before they stop trusting you again? How long before you fall apart like last time?" He hissed. "Everyone leaves you, Nice. Even your best friend can’t stand you anymore."

Nice flinched like the words hit bone.

Throwing me away.

They echoed, bouncing in the hollow places he thought he’d buried.

Of course Wreck felt that. Of course he thought Nice had left him behind. He wanted to say no. Wanted to scream it.

But his voice had long since drowned in guilt.

Lin Ling turned to him. He placed a hand on Nice’s shoulder gently. Like he knew the weight of it.

"Shut up"

“No one will save him?” His voice dropped to something resolute. "Then I will."

"I'll be his hero."

...

The chains slithered back onto Wreck, looser than before, though still there. He sobbed, forced to get up. His face, engulfed in dark shadows was as sinister as the man who controlled him. 

"He needs you, Nice." Lin Ling helped Nice to sit up. Nice hesitated, meeting Lin Ling’s eyes. They burned the same firey determination he remembered. 

Wreck hated him. After all he had done.

"I broke him. I cut him off." He looked towards Wreck, inching closer to where they were. "People suffer because of me."

"Wreck would want to see you."

I’ll be the one who sees you.

"People make mistakes. Every human does. Even you don't get special treatment in that."

You're also an ordinary person.

Lin Ling nudged his side. "He’s not broken. Not beyond repair. As long as we're alive, you can change the story." He proped Nice against a pile of rocks, away from the villain's gaze. "Don’t worry. I'll buy you some time."

Lin Ling ran into action and Nice was left alone with his thoughts. Moon was a few feet away, unconcious but seemingly unharmed. He chose to stare at her, the villain's words echoing in his head. 

Those that stayed with him in the end suffered.

It wasn't true. Now that he had a clear mind he realised those words were manipulated to sound true.

He's not broken. 

Wreck would want to see you.

People make mistakes.

You're a human. You can be angry, cry or happy because being human is to have emotions, to make mistakes. No one can take the real you.

Nice lifted himself up, a quiet resolve settled in his chest. He picked Moon up, carrying her to where he rested. At least it offered a bit more comfort than laying on the ground.

When he treaded in Lin Ling's direction, Wreck had already been subdued, concious but weak. To his left, Lin Ling went off towards the villain. He really was grateful for him.

"I’m sorry," he muttered, kneeling beside Wreck.

"I was– still am ashamed. I didn’t want... you to see me in that state." Nice clenched his hands. He was afraid to look up. "I thought if I died, you could be free. I hate seeing your dream crushed"

He finally raised his head, looking straight at Wreck with sincerity. "You were always by my side, even when I didn’t deserve it."

"Let me earn it back. Please."

And Wreck whimpered, eyes clear. The shadows on his face receded, reflecting the same sad eyes. "Bastard. Now I hate crying." He collapsed into unconsciousness, Nice caught him in time with a smile.

They can never rewind or erase their mistakes. But they can move forward—never fully healed, perhaps, but bearing scars that remind them of the journey.

...

"You can't save everyone, Commoner"

Mnemonic. The villain revealed his name. He slipped through the shadows the moment Lin Ling arrived. He had laughed hard and loud, eyes wavering at the one facing across him then bolted away. He vanished into the debris. Lin Ling rose to go after him but Nice grabbed him first.

"Don't dissappear again." Nice thrusted himself up. His body swung from side to side, hands tugging. "Please, please," he begged.

Lin Ling supported him, being extra careful not to touch any wounds. "Hey, hey... It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Nice still hadn’t loosened his grip. He slumped into Lin Ling, nose buried in the area between his neck and shoulder. He breathed in his saviours natural body scent. 

"U–Uh... You're hurt. You should go to the hospital."

"You’re trying to run away again," Nice deadpanned. Lin Ling went silent.

Nice peeked through his hair, tilting his head back to see the mask under brownish hair. "What’s the point in wearing this? Your hair stands out."

Lin Ling brushed the white streaked strands aside. "I wear disguises outside anyway. Got away multiple times."

"I've been searching for you."

"I know."

"Why did you leave me?"

Lin Ling evaded Nice’s gaze. "You didn’t need me. I'm just a stranger you met."

Nice slid his hand to Lin Ling’s cheek, over the mask. His fingers traced the edge of the mask. "You’re more than a stranger to me. I wouldn't be chasing after you otherwise."

"Sure it's not to sign the NDA?" 

Nice snorted. He grasped the other's chin and turned Lin Ling to face him. "Are you playing dumb? Should I spell it to you?"

"I need you. Don't leave me."

Desperation. The feelings running amok in Nice's eyes could only be described as such. He wished, he so wished for his saviour to stay. The person who saved him the second time. The one he willingly attached himself to.

Lin Ling pulled Nice's hand away. "I'm sorry. Not yet."

Nice predicted his answer. He sighed, fingers curled with Lin Ling’s own. "When? Two months? A year?"

"The next time we meet," Lin Ling breathed out. "I'll give you my answer." Nice's eyes bored into his own. Unsatisfied. "Too general. Should I jump off again?"

"Don't you freaking dare!" Lin Ling panickly gripped his shoulders. He shook Nice like he was insane. Maybe Nice already was. His saviour did have a knack bringing chaotic thoughts into his head.

Nice lifted his arms to surrender. He chuckled seeing Lin Ling’s eyes grew large. "I don't want to wait long. I'm only a human. You said so. I'm Impatient."

Lin Ling huffed, glaring holes into Nice’s smiley expression. He wiped a faint trace of blood on the hero's cheek then caressed the wounded area. "Not more than two months... I think."

"I promise to meet you instead if I'm late."

"It's a promise."

They both parted ways before the police could arrive. Nice stared at Lin Ling’s back as he disappeared into the settling smoke. The place where his warmth lingered still buzzed on Nice’s skin, like a touch he didn’t want to forget. 

Chapter Text

Healthcare professionals dressed in pristine white coats and myriads of colourful scrubs bustled around with purpose, attending to their duties. Those stationed in emergency rooms, fast-paced and intense, rolled the stretchers out the moment the ambulance arrived. Patients of various ages roamed about, families visiting inpatients, wheelchair pushed out to the exit, outpatients waiting in line. There was never a dull day in the hospital.

Except, the last few days had been anything but normal. The internet erupted; pictures, discussions, obscured videos zoomed in to the maximum, the hottest hashtaged topics skyrocketed from how much they were used. Patients gossiped in the hallways, scrolling through their phones eagerly for bits of leaked videos, news or articles, whichever they got their hands on. The few clues they had sparked endless theories spiralling the internet into chaos.

"Mom, why is Wreck crying? He’s a villain. Villains are bad." A video showed Wreck wailing, dark protrusions squirming on his face. "He’s sad hun." The mother tapped the girl's chest precisely over her heart. "Sometimes our hearts get confused."

"They’re friends! I freaking knew it. Ah, I'm crying." Nice on screen held an unconscious Wreck. A hand shot out as the masked man nearby slipped away. "I'm so glad someone's there for him. Nice is... he can't do everything alone."

"I was there. You gotta believe me. Huge rocks fell from the sky! I almost didn't make it out."
"Oh yeah, pighead. Saw you running out of the arcade that day."
"Bro's craving for attention."
"You little shit..."

So dramatic over losing a friend. The comment received both dislikes and likes.
Shut it, dude. Just scroll if you don't like it.

"I don't like his vibe. Scary." Another video when Mnemonic's indifference shifted, a daunting smile carved on his lips. "Does he have something against Nice?"

Different people and their diverse thinking gathered together on the internet, uploading reaction videos and theory threads on socials. The news caused an uproar, especially among the fans.

"But who's this guy?"
"Omgomgomg Nice is hugging him!? Are you seeing this!?"
"Ughhh I wanna hear the conversation. Why is it so blurryy."

Unbeknownst to the gossiping patients, the ones involved were recuperating in the very same hospital as them, sleeping and recovering emotionally and physically. Though assigned in separate rooms, a few days of rest were enough for the couple duo that they gathered in Wreck’s private ward often. He was Nice's friend, so logically Nice would have reasons for visiting him. Moon? She chilled on the couch, chatting with them, or getting ignored again by Nice.

Nice sat beside Wreck’s hospital bed. They talked—Nice explaining why he didn't want Wreck to know, why he jumped and the deal he made to keep Wreck out of it. Wreck punched his arm, cursing at him for being an idiot, that he waited for Nice to open up, that he would be there for him even if Nice changed. Violent tears gushed down his cheeks and then, he apologised. "I pretended to be ignorant when I clearly knew you were off. The OCD and stuff. You pretended, but I–"

"I still... didn't have the courage to confront you directly. I'm sorry."

Things weren't the same like the old days, carefree teenagers free from responsibilities, both young and hopeful for their future. There were times they yearned for the past, something they have lost. A part of themselves sacrificed in order to achieve their goals. Even when they changed, years of entering hero industry shaped them differently, flawed in communicating, closed off to certain things—the care was never fake. Amidst the unspoken weight of their shared past and the reality of who they had become, their friendship remained.

You're human. Being human is to make mistakes.

Nice, the hero was never seen as human. It escalated to the point he scratched the label off his unconscious mind. Having someone remind him, to ground him back to earth and see the person under the mask of perfection brought him comfort. He held onto the words Lin Ling said, reverberating at the back of his mind every time Nice thought of him.

"So..." Moon nudged his side.

"Are you gatekeeping your saviour? He's our saviour too."

Moon laid on the couch, fiddling with her phone. She got up to shove a blurry nonetheless a recognisable figure in a picture, cradling Nice in arms he remembered, pulled him tightly against a chest.

"He saved me at the rooftop back then."

Moon narrowed her eyes, mouth ajar, looking unbelievably at him. "Anything else? You said that already. He saved you this time, too."

Wreck grabbed her phone, scrolling through the comments. "Doesn’t seem to be just a saviour. You chased after him." He whistled at one video edit. "Ship Moon x Nice sinking? Your fans are going hella crazy."

"Like every edit you see. I'm supporting. And give me your phone, you're supporting too, Wreck." Moon fished Wreck's phone out under the pillow. She asked for the password which Wreck surrendered to her with a sigh.

"Since when are you two close?" Nice gestured to Moon who cut Wreck off while typing fiercely.

"Since Wreck doesn't ignore me like a certain someone. Now shut up and spill the tea."

Nice grimaced at her sweaty fingers leaving marks on the screen. "He told me he'd stay the next time we meet." Before Moon demands for his phone, he added. "Or he'll come find me before it's too long."

Unfortunately, that caught Moon's attention more. She stopped typing a comment mid way, flicking her head to turn and gaped at him. "You made him promise? To be tied to you?"

"He promised me. And I said stay. You're not hearing it right."

This time, Wreck waved a hand in front of him incredulously. "You’re not hearing yourself right. Im on Moon with this. That's basically trying to say hey, let's get married." Even Wreck, his best friend betrayed him. Maybe the both of them were trying to get him.

"Don't look at me like that. Listen, why did you ask him to stay?"

"Because he saved me. I want to thank him properly."

"Right. So just thank him, reward him and that's it. Why'd he need to stay? You barely know him, met about what, three times or less. You're like... attached."

Nice froze. The corner of his eyes caught the picture of Lin Ling and him on Moon's phone, standing side by side, a hand on Nice’s cheek. He already told Lin Ling why, the same question why he chased Lin Ling.

I need you.

Nice hadn't thought of it much. But now with Wreck and Moon both staring holes at him, he wondered why he said stay, why he needed Lin Ling when Nice himself hadn't changed much. The saviour title on Lin Ling conjured by him didn't help instead, it made the reason for needing Lin Ling more plausible. "Because... because I need him." He paused, tasting the words on his tongue. "He saved me again. My mental health is getting better, and he said he... that he sees the real me."

Moon rolled her eyes dramatically. Was that even necessary? They didn't get along well, most of the time she annoyed him, sometimes, he was glad she was there. "So you desperately looked for him, went mad when he got away and clung to him when he wanted to leave?"

Moon was probably referring to the time he held Lin Ling’s hand after the villain dissappeared. That must've been caught on camera too. What a pain. Nice internally imagined crashing the cameras.

"Hold on, Moon. He's buffering—give him a sec." Wreck sat up on the bed with a groan. "Okay, simple question for you to ponder. What do you mean by stay? Live with you? Be by your side?"

Nice’s fingers twitched at the unsymmetrical blanket draped over Wreck, slipping off to the right side and leaving the left shorter. He got up, tidying the blankets, the pillows, even as far as shooing Moon to correct the plant beside her.

"Nice," he heard Wreck's call.

"Don't avoid my question."

Nice breathed in, held his breath before exhaling slowly. "Maybe live with me or whatever, I don't care. I don't know. I have no idea why or how." He glimpsed at Lin Ling’s picture, the phone's screen dimmed. "As long as he's here."

Silence engulfed the room, the air suddenly thick with unspoken words. Moon inched closer to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, glancing at Wreck who nodded. They were walking on eggshells with Nice, realising his tone had been slightly sharp.

“If it were just about thanking him… you wouldn’t have gone that far just to see him again. You’re not the type to chase unless it’s something you really… really don’t want to lose.”

Her voice was softer, intended not to startle him with the weight of emotions behind the words. He didn't want to lose Lin Ling. Not ever, not again. Moon's words pierced his thoughts more than he wanted to admit. A rare occurrence.

"I'll think about it," Nice tucked the ends of the blanket between the mattress and the metallic structure. "Get well soon. I'm going back to my ward."

As soon as he closed the door, the two people inside could finally breathe again. "Congrats getting a new roommate."

"I should wish the guy luck if he's handling Nice," Wreck added.

Moon snatched her phone back from him, slipping his own phone onto his palm. "Goodluck to me if he's emotionally constipated as well."

She pulled out an article from Miss J's chat, unsurprised to see Nice’srank had gone up. Treeman must've been pleased. The message below the article had her scoffed. Miss J wanted her to keep an eye on Nice? He wasn’t stable, depressed mostly but not suicidal anymore all thanks to that saviour of his. She'd just pass the duty to the soon to be new tenant. "I guess Nice will bring him home one day."

“I’m just saying… if someone said that to me, I’d assume they were asking me to move in and adopt cats.”

"Exactly! You should've seen how insane he was the whole month that guy ditched him."

Wreck motioned to the chair, "I missed a lot, huh?" Moon's hair swayed as she slumped down, spilling every moment of her frustrations.

...

The sky, holding onto the vestiges of twilight in the west deepened into a velvety black canvas. The city lights began to illuminate every building, strings of light cascaded down the towering skyscrapers. People filled the streets, the facades of buildings as backdrops to their photo, visiting various shops along the road.

Lin Ling’s frame bathed in their glow, leaning on the railing of the balcony. He swirled a box of pineapple juice between his fingers, squeezing it as he emptied the box. The wind whispered by his ear, his imagination playing games on his mind.

I need you.

Please stay.

Those words accompanied alongside the memory of forlorn eyes staring back into his. What happened to watching from afar? To only being here for Nice's safety until X makes his entrance, tells Lin Ling he did a good job and then he'll go back home. But no, he had to make that promise.

Stupid, reckless Lin Ling.

I need you. Please stay.

They echoed in his eardrums, haunting his sleep ever since that day. What would Nice need him for? He had Wreck, his close friend who cried and died in a world only he knew. Had Moon who may complain and hate Nice, but she wouldn't turn a blind eye towards a tormented soul. She was suffering too.

Moon. Lin Ling used to cry, crashed out at Moon's death, her body turned cold in his arms as copious amounts of blood pooled beneath him. He had hated E Soul with all of his being, climbed the ranks to prove a point, fought E Soul with bare hands—messy, full of instinct, blood lusted for E Soul's own head. He never did get it. He cried again and again, missing Moon, missing the comfort of Nice’s cape that cradled his body.

Those days were behind him, a past he journeyed and accepted, moulded him into the person he was. Lin Ling came to terms with Moon's death, grieved for her for a year then moved on. It hadn't been easy, not when the image of E Soul killing the only person who cared for him, who he loved. But E Soul was a victim too. Yan Cheng, under the mask. Lin Ling could at least tolerate Yan Cheng, not E Soul.

Everyone was in the end, human.

He thought seeing Moon alive would opened old wounds, it did, to a certain degree. Not as much as Nice did. He didn't understand why. Nice was a stranger to Lin Ling. Ah, wait. No, Nice left a mark on him. White strands on his hair, Nice’s identity who showed him the depths of the hero industry and after years getting to know the other heroes, befriending them, Lin Ling finally reached a conclusion to the suicide attempt.

He took time to be accustomed with his own identity after earning his own hero title, had to chase away the lingering thoughts of Nice every time he looked into the mirror. And perhaps, it instilled guilt within him, Lin Ling realised one day because—Lin Ling’s ads shaped him.

Not as a main caused, but the contribution? A lot.

He felt wrong, stealing the life Nice worked so hard to build, guilty at one point when he learned Nice’s image was thanks to him. Still, Nice was a stranger. Shocked by his death, curious about him, Lin Ling's transition from an average civilian to a replaced hero gave him no liberty to fully process what he saw. So he brushed it off. And he used to hate Nice too.

Maybe Lin Ling was actually emotionally repressed.

He shed tears the first time he met Nice again, saved from making history repeat itself, saw Nice smile and laugh, how insanely different to Lin Ling’s own image of him. Seeing him triggered that bit of guilt. And the more he learned, saw with his own eyes how Nice conducted himself in public vs the one he buried, concealed from society, Lin Ling couldn't help but softened. Maybe... maybe he was starting to care.

His thought process was interrupted with the door sliding opened. Weili stepped out, a cardigan in her hands that she wrapped around his cold body. He hadn’t noticed the coldness, too deep swimming around in his mind.

"Brooding again?"

Lin Ling kept quiet. His gaze followed the blinding streets, to the customers munching down on their cakes, oblivious to the turmoil in his heart. "I said something stupid today," he started. "I don't know why I did."

Ambiguous, he told himself. Weili wouldn't understand him much, he never intended to nor did he know why he started. She took the carton box he held, switching it with a bottle of water. "I'm assuming it's the part where you spoke with Nice."

"You saw the clip."

"I did," she glanced at him, making sure he heard her right. "That's not simply just for protection. He clearly mean something to you."

Lin Ling shook his head. "He was a stranger."

"And?"

"He asked me to stay. Said he needed me. And I... I messed up by promising him I would." He buried his face into his arms against the railing, letting out a groan. Seriously, why did he do it? He was too swept up in the moment and with Nice gazing up at him, hand tightened around his arm, begging him not to leave...

"I don't quite know your situation. To an outsider like me, I see you're trying to deny your feelings." Weili kept her body towards her front, a gesture Lin Ling appreciated from seeing his expressions. "Feelings can grow. Like how the industry develops, your feelings for him could to."

"That sounds misleading. I don't have that kind of thing for him."

"I never said it in the first place. I was being general. Unless, you want it to be?" Weili cocked her head, smirking.

Lin Ling scoffed, looking away as heat prickled his cheeks. "I'm not that shallow," he muttered. Weili hummed, too satisfied with his reaction to push further.

The shops below began to close, workers storing the tables inside, bright lights that attracted customers turned off, leaving the soft hue of the streetlamps. Lin Ling’s dilemma wasn't immediately solved that night, and undoubtedly it would take weeks just to comprehend his emotions, his mind didn't spiral anymore. They settled, clearing his thoughts and giving him the space to wonder about them in a positive light.

Please stay. I need you.

"I said I'd stay." They were words spoken gently to Nice, even if he didn't know why.

"...I think I meant it."

A staff stepped out of the bakery, flipping the open sign hanging on the door. She waved goodbye to her last customer carrying a cake box.

"If he hurts you, I'll throw cake in his face."

Lin Ling chuckled, grateful for Weili's humour. "He can easily avoid that."

...

Bodyguards in black suits closed the door the moment Nice stepped into the car. Miss J nodded to driver, glancing towards the rear mirror to see Nice well dressed in his hero costume. A clipboard with stacks of papers in hand, flipping the pages and reviewing his lines, which he already did for the tenth time before the press conference.

Nice’s phone buzzed with the familiar ding, an email from one of the private investigators he sent out. He couldn’t possibly hire only one when he had no clue where Lin Ling lived. The email contained a few photos attached under the caption Sightings of Potential Mystery Hero Heading to the Conference, the time and a short video of the suspect.

Nice regularly received these emails, using the information to help him negotiate staged fights with Miss J, hoping to draw Lin Ling’s attention or get a glimpse of him. Although Miss J saw his efforts as reckless, because Nice isn't supposed to be, he was certain at least one of his fights caught Lin Ling’s eyes, keeping the image of Nice on his mind.

The photo this time showed a woman wearing cream coloured slacks paired with a dark tucked in shirt who made Nice lifted an eyebrow in surprise. For the first time, he received a woman as a lookalike then the usual men in jackets. Could Lin Ling have... dressed as a woman?

Nice shook his head. Lin Ling once disguised as a volunteer in True Love Recipe but Nice hadn’t recognised him there. He saved the photo anyway, planning to print and put it with the rest of his Lin Ling suspect photos. The file was thick, filled with clues from months of trying to find him in every nook and cranny of the city to outside the district. After he made the promise to stay, that didn't stop Nice whatsoever. Knowing Lin Ling, the risk of him running away again was high.

Stay

Wreck and Moon's poking left him thinking what it meant. What Nice meant.

"You have some time before the conference. I trust you'll use it wisely." Miss J warned, half glaring through the mirror.

"Relax. I know how important this is." Nice didn’t look up from the email. He clicked the photo open again, zoomed in on the blurry cream trousers and black shirt. The quality was awful. Still, his finger lingered on the screen.

Miss J snapped her fingers, the sharp sound slicing through the car's hush. A bodyguard handed over a tablet. “This is the final list of attendees and verified bystanders. Matched against known identities. Your mystery hero isn’t there. So don’t pull your disappearing act again.”

She must've been so pissed the last few times he ran away right before meetings or shoots. Any new update on Lin Ling was his first priority, yes, but he always made it back in the nick of time. He took the tablet, barely glanced at the screen. “Mm. How disappointing.”

“You're not looking,” she said flatly.

He tapped the screen at random, still not reading. “Because I know what it says. You triple-checked every iris, every coat button in the crowd. He’s not stupid enough to walk into a spotlight.”

His phone buzzed again. A new message from another investigator slid across the screen. Miss J caught the change in his eye. "Nice. Stop obsessing over him."

He didn’t reply right away, only flicked through the attached clips. His silence was unnerving. "You have a career we’ve spent five years building from scratch,” she pressed, her tone tightening. “You’re at the peak. You’re almost top ten. So stop chasing a ghost and focus on what actually matters.”

"I'm obsessed?" Nice asked in a light hearted tone. His gaze, however, was anything than friendly.

"Miss Juan, between the two of us, who really obsesses?" Nice's eyes bore into her own, hollow and disconcerting. A meticulously crafted smile, so flawlessly executed it became unsettling. The bodyguards surrounding them became tense. "You obsess over this image."

The longer one looked, the more the perfection felt like a carefully constructed artifice, a facade concealing something unknown. “About keeping the public satisfied. Keeping me flawless. You built a cage with glass walls and wonder why I keep scratching.”

"Nice," she hissed.

“If you don’t want me to fall apart,” He tilted his head, adjusted the folds of his sleeve with crisp, mechanical elegance. “Then give me access to the cameras.”

Miss J opened her mouth to argue, to scold, she wasn’t sure. But something in the way he said it chilled her. It was neither desperation nor obsession.

Control

Everything he did was about control—over his image, his words, the narrative. But Lin Ling… Lin Ling was the only variable he couldn’t predict, couldn’t own. And that terrified her.

"Don't screw this up."

...

Lin Ling stood in the middle, long bangs shadowing his eyebrows. The curls framing his cheekbones hid the shape of his face, black shirt tucked neatly into long slacks highlighted his waist. The outfit leaned towards androgynous. No one looked at him twice. Good. The last time he went undercover as a woman attracted unwanted attention.

Overhead, rows of lights cast a glow over the Hero Association's insignia. Cameras stationed in every corner, reporters filling the front row, whispering with speculation. People were pushing each other for a better view, phones out drowning the security's voices who attempted to control them.

The crowd responded like clockwork the moment the main character stepped in, shutters clicked, lights flashed following his every move. Nice exuded confidence as he walked towards the podium, calm and composed like the symbol of perfection he carried. He looked radiant under the lights, beautiful no matter what he does, standing in front a mass of hungry reporters while he scanned them.

Lin Ling angled his head slightly, letting his bangs catch the glare, casting a soft veil over his expression. Part of him wanted to leave but the other part said otherwise. It ached too much to ignore. He felt a little self-concious from Nice’s gaze, probably searching for him till this day.

Idiot, Lin Ling thought, his fingers twitching inside his pocket. He hadn’t seen him this close since… the promise. You look fine after that day.

"Thank you for attending on such short notice," Nice began. His voice, smooth and clear reverberated with a blinding smile. "I understand there's been confusion after the recent battle downtown. My team and I are here to clarify the situation and answer your questions."

The formalities continued. Miss J sat nearby, nodding at all the right moments, occasionally interjecting about ongoing investigations and a mysterious third-party intervention. The screens behind Nice flashed to footage, blurry images of Lin Ling supporting him. Not enough to show their expressions. Just enough to stir a commotion.

“Who is this person?” one reporter asked.

“Is he affiliated with the Hero Association?”

“Was that an unsanctioned ally? Or another vigilante?”

Nice gave non-answers, each one polished to perfection. “We’re still identifying the individual in question,” he stated. “They appeared unexpectedly, but we’re grateful for the assistance.”

A sharp question cut through the air, “Your nemesis, revealed to be your friend Wreck was seen crying. Public opinion is split—some say this was a personal matter, not a heroic one. What do you say to that?”

For a heartbeat, Lin Ling caught the pause. He knew Miss J prepared answer scripts for possible questions, the what if scenarios. He knew Nice had memorised them, practiced day after day facing a mirror still, hearing them directly was different. Nice’s expression didn’t shift, but his hands gripped the edges of the podium tighter.

“I say,” he replied, “that even heroes are allowed to feel. And I’ll always protect the people I care about.”

The crowd stirred. Journalists leaned forward wildly enthusiastic for more, throwing questions, shouting them aloud and shoving their way closer to the centre. The situation left a bad taste to Lin Ling, seeing Nice unwavering, smile never once faltered in the heat of people's aching need to tear him.

One of them shouted, “Is this person someone you care about?”

Another chimed in, “Why did you chase after him in the viral clip?”

Then came a never ending flood.

“Why did you say please stay on camera?”

“Was that a personal plea? A romantic one?”

“Do you know this person privately?”

“Are you in a relationship? What's Moon to you then?”

Like wolves hunting down their prey, wearing sheep's skin as they stalk for vulnerabilities. They pounced as opportunity presented itself, taking their time to enjoy the blood they bathed themselves in. The security held their arms up when a few seemed to lunged forward. Miss J's mouth opened, but Nice spoke before she could interrupt.

“I chased him,” he said simply, voice echoing across the hall, “because I didn’t want to lose him again.” There was a beat of silence before gasps and mumurs among those holding their cameras, staggering back at the unexpected answer.

“I don’t care how that’s interpreted,” he added. “I just want him to be safe. That’s all.”

Lin Ling blinked, shook his head then blinked again. He hadn’t expected that. Not from the golden, carefully groomed Nice. Not with Miss J fuming behind him. It wasn't the usual calculated Nice he knew, always predicting the greatest outcome for every decision he made, always one step ahead. It wasn't a strategy because... it felt like Nice meant it for him.

Lin Ling's chest tightened. He had to look away. Did he hear that right? His heart dropped. What was Nice thinking saying something like that in the middle of a conference!? He was supposed to be the composed one, but Nice was saying these things out loud, to the whole world. Lin Ling’s breath hitched. Why are they so fixated on me???

"Hero Nice."

A hero stood near the backstage twitched in an odd manner. He strolled leisurely under the lights, grabbing one of the spare microphones. “Hero Nice, many believe you’ve changed significantly in the past months. Would you say your mental health affects your decision-making on the field?”

Miss J glared to security. No one, except them should have access to backstage, more so being able to slip past security. Nice’s fingers paused over the podium. He tilted his head, offering a smile. “I’m not a robot. If anything, emotions allow me to connect better with the civilians I protect.”

Another question flew in from a side angle. A low ranked hero, badge crooked on his chest laughed, “But you faked being fine, didn’t you? What about the suicide attempt the Association tried to bury?”

The air sucked out of the room. The deafening silence felt like seconds before disaster. Confused noises from reporters slowly rang. "How does he know that!? We buried—" Miss J's panicked whispers were faint, though Lin Ling’s ears caught them. His eyes snapped toward the man, ominous looking tendrils wrapped beneath the hero's collar.

Nice’s smile twitched. His voice remained cool, but quieter. “I had help. And I survived. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Help from who, exactly?”

“I believe I’ve already answered—”

“Why did you need help at all, if you’re the best?” A reporter's sudden query broke the tension. The tone was flat, almost toneless, in a way the words were being read off a distant screen the reporter himself wasn't fully focused on. Their dilated pupils and blank expression painted a picture of an absent mind, only present in body. The symptoms were familiar.

He's here, Lin Ling's pulse spiked. He looked around, zeroing in on the reporter then to the two heroes near the stage.

The masses were too busy to realise shadows curling up the three individual's spines. “He’s not the best. He pretends to be,” the second hero stepped forward from his seat like a puppet unstrung. A horrifying screeched left their lips, ripping through the air. It escalated into a high pitched whine so strong, it struck the circuits and wires of available electronic devices.

"M–my ears!"

"What's happening...!?"

Nice's knuckles turned white on the podium, ears bleeding. He dashed to the hero, striking him right in the stomach. "I won't entertain—"

“Why do you lie?” a third interrupted, the reporter's pupils grew until they devoured the whites in his eyes. The flickering lights barely made out the dark protrusions around his legs. “To your fans? To the world? To yourself?”

The atmosphere sank as no one made a move, as if the unsettling feeling had everyone on a chokehold. "Sorry, I need to go." Lin Ling forced his way through, squeezing between people. He grabbed the reporter's shoulders, watched the way shadows bleed up from the edges of his jaw.

“That’s enough,” Miss J snapped, mic cutting in sharp that left a loud ringing throughout the hall. “These questions are not vetted—”

"That's right."

The room's temperature dipped as a figure with dark hair stepped out from a corner, a mystifying aura enshrouded the entire hall. A thin body, cloaked in long robes as dark as the night sky revealed tendrils that slither like snakes. He released them into the crowd, eliciting deep laughter from the petrified audience running amok.

Mnemonic! Lin Ling punched the shadows, struggling to break free from the overwhelming people who blocked his way. The doors were shut, locked. Bodyguards slammed their bodies however, they only wasted their strength. It was futile.

"No. Not now. Not here." His feet moved before his thoughts could catch up. But there were too many people.

“I always admired you, you know,” Mnemonic said, hands clasped as he approached the podium, eyes never leaving Nice. “You fooled even yourself. Brilliant work.”

Nice stood his ground, but Lin Ling could see it, the smallest tremor in his fingers. His jaw clenched, brows furrowing with unease. "Nice! Don't listen! Nice!!!" Ling desperately tried to get close, avoiding hurting the civilians. Nice looked so small, alone under the flashing lights.

“Security,” Miss J barked. “Now.”

The security guards were only ordinary people. They hurried forward, weapons ready, swinging towards the perpetrator, but the two heroes who actively acted against Nice were now blocking them. She looked to the low rank heroes who were helping the civilians. Half of them weren't moving, frozen like statues stuck in time. The shadows consumed their hearts.

Lin Ling knew that look. He saw it when Wreck broke down under Mnemonic’s grasp. Saw it in Nice’s eyes before the rooftop.

“They won’t come,” Mnemonic hummed, as if the chaos acted as his background noise. “You see, truth is very persuasive when your mind is already cracked open.”

His steps left small cracks on the wooden stage. “Let’s talk, shall we? About how many versions of you exist. About the one you hate the most.”

Nice didn’t speak, sprinting ahead with his fists. He seemed composed but Lin Ling saw it, a flicker of concealed fear. The exact moment his guard cracked. That was Mnemonic’s power. He didn't need chains this time, only the right sentence.

...

The world tilted.

Not literally, but it felt like the floor had shifted beneath his feet, like gravity was warping inward around Mnemonic’s voice. His mouth was dry. The words at the back of his throat wouldn’t form. The glare of the lights above the podium blurred at the edges.

“You hated yourself before they did,” Mnemonic murmured, each syllable a drip of poison. “Even when they cheered your name, you doubted. That’s why I live in you. You made me.”

Nice dodged an attack towards his left, twisting his torso to deliver a punch. The heroes—minds controlled, those that cried while shooting their fortes, mad heroes who trembled with crazed laughter, those full of anger swinging their bodies to injure him. They were all against him.

“Nice,” Mnemonic tilted his head. “I’m not here to fight you." He brushed his chin in deep thinking. "It's better to avoid damaging your face. Your fans would be devastated."

He was lying.

He was always lying.

"You're trying to provoke me," Nice inhaled, his heartbeat was steady. Yes, just like that. If he kept his calm then the voices wouldn't get to him.

Mnemonic’s fingers snapped, a torrent of red liquid splashed the floor. The hero responsible kneeled down, conjuring the copious amounts of liquid into sharp needles to pierce him. "You're just a performance. A very pretty one, yes, but a performance. Deep down, you’re tired. And what are you when the mask breaks?”

Nice gritted his teeth. He was stronger than this.

"You’re weak."

He wasn't going to make the same mistake.

"You already did." The screams from below felt louder than ever. The fear strengthened Mnemonic, his shadows held the civilians below captive. They crept up the stage, mindless zombies with non stop chanting like broken records.

"You failed."

"We hate you."

"One mistake is all it takes."

Was this really happening?

"You only spout lies," Nice escaped the swarm of mind controlled heroes and civilians. They didn’t relent, a few heroes jumped up high and snatched his legs. He was brought down by an unexpected attack to his head.

"It's slowly breaking, Nice. Your mask. You are nothing without it."

All Nice could see was red as he blocked the oncoming attacks. It coated his palms, seeping into the creases of his knuckles that left a darker, crimson shade. Droplets clung to the fingertips, threatening to fall, faint red smears extended up his wrists. They were not his blood.

"Do you see? It's your fault. One mistake is all it takes."

No.

But Nice couldn’t push the fog away. It was like Mnemonic’s words were threading through the walls of his mind, brushing over scars he hadn’t noticed were still open.

He almost let go. Just one second longer before something cut through the fog. A voice, sharp as memory. "Humans... all make mistakes..."

Lin Ling, he whispered. A plea.

"You're not even human," Mnemonic leaned down, reaching his hands out to a restrained Nice. They were too many. If he aggressively moved, normal civilians could get hurt instead.

But nothing came.

Mnemonic was sent flying, hitting the wall with a groan. The hands holding him, the blows raining down like missiles vanished. Nice blinked, just once and saw light. It wasn't the wobbling overhead lights shining down the smashed podium, but a silhouette standing by his side.

"Lin Ling...?"

"Hey," Lin Ling’s long hair framed his face, strands were as smooth as silk tickled Nice’s fingers. "You held your ground. Guess my words did a thing or two."

"You came," Nice grabbed his arm, pulling them closer. "I'm here." He was really there. It wasn't one of Nice’s illusions. Lin Ling frowned at the crack in Nice's voice.

Nice took in Lin Ling’s form, the outfit along with his hair. "You’re a woman?" Lin Ling really did impersonate the opposite gender. Huh. So the intel was right all along?

Lin Ling elbowed his side. "It's obviously a disguise! Did you hit your head or what?"

"Actually I did," Nice couldn't help but chuckled at the thought how cute the other looked. The constant ache in his chest, heavy and suffocating faded in an instant, replaced by a sense of ease. Lin Ling's presence, the undeniable warmth it carried was a mystery he never could understand. Like the first glimmers of sunlight in a raging storm, he craved for it to stay.

The fallen heroes were back on their feet. They began attacking the ones protecting the civilians, going on full instinct without the manipulator's command. In one fluid motion, Lin Ling grabbed one of the low-tier heroes who lunged without warning—pinning their arm, twisting it behind them, and slamming them onto the floor before they could fully speak.

"Mind control," Lin Ling called out, firm. "Low-grade psychic seizure. They’re not aware of what they’re saying." His voice was clear. He removed the wig as the cameras tried to catch up, catching light across cheekbones, cutting through the blur.

Nice swooped in, catching a fist, mid punch behind Lin Ling. They spat hateful comments, cruel and unfiltered, even when Nice left them beaten up, half concious and crying. The look in their eyes reflected nothing but loathing.

"Don’t listen to that," Lin Ling cut in quickly, placing a palm on the back of a man's neck and pressing pressure points to knock him out safely. "Those thoughts aren’t yours."

"I know," Nice hit another who tried to charge forward, hands transformed into metal. The ground shook as the man fell backward, creating a huge crater in the middle of the hall.

"I used to think words didn’t matter," Lin Ling said between motions, dragging another down to the floor, disarming a rogue taser.

"But I saw how they shaped you."

He threw a punch, deliberately missing the body, hitting the shoulder to send the attacker off-balance. Someone shouted from afar, a gun pointed to Lin Ling, blasting greenish goo.

"How you worked so hard to be everything they wanted."

Lin Ling slid to the side as the trajectory followed him, sticking to other attackers and immobilising them. Nice thrusted a knee to the chest, incapacitating the shooter who coughed hard from lack of air, reeling. White shoes crushed the gun. Amidst the sprawled forms, he met Lin Ling’s gaze, the same crystal clear flare stared back into his own.

A hero.

"You held on even when no one helped you. You kept trying. You didn’t stop."

“And even now,” Lin Ling finished, “you’re standing.”

Nice’s hero. His anchor.

"Every time, you always say the right things." Nice exhaled softly. To have this person by his side would be a blessing. Maybe, this was what stay meant. Even if it wasn't, he will think about it again after he gets Lin Ling.

"You haven't forgotten, right? Our promise."

"Oh... uh... yeah, I remember."

In a couple of strides, Nice stood closer, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You sure? Should I say it again?" A hand reached out, brushing the few strands of loose hair. Lin Ling’s hair was just as soft even without the wig.

Laughter rang through the hall, deep and elated accompanied by slow, eerie footsteps. They were interrupted as Mnemonic finally walked down the stage, cackling like a man discovering a long-lost treasure. Lin Ling instinctively moved in front of Nice. "I don't like that laugh."

"I can’t believe it," Mnemonic breathed, hand covering his mouth. "You’re really here." His eyes shimmered, reverence twisted into something unholy. He continued to prattle, the shadows returning underneath him as he did. "I thought… that last time was a hallucination. But no. You're here. You're real."

"He’s insane," Lin Ling muttered, holding Nice’s arm to keep him close. "You know me. You're the one who fought me before escaping through that portal."

A tentacle wormed its way to a camera, dropping it on Mnemonic’s palm. "Ah, you recognise me. I'm very honoured."

"Do you know what it’s like?" he whispered. "To be born from everyone forgetting you existed? But not you. Never you." His grin widened, porcelain white and wrong. "You were unforgettable. The one they clung to while we rotted in the dark."

"What are you talking about," Lin Ling frowned. "You’re delusional."

Mnemonic didn’t flinch. "Oh, I am. I’m absolutely insane. Because you existed, and I didn't. Because they chose you." He let out a shivering breath, rotated the lens and placing the camera over his eye. "But I got my wish, didn’t I? I found a world without you. A better one. Peaceful. Perfect."

His voice wavered, just slightly. “Then why,”
The shutter clicked, he glanced at the picture on the screen. "—why does everything fall apart the moment you come back?"

Without warning, Lin Ling lunged forward, striking clean across Mnemonic’s face.

The hit landed. But Mnemonic only staggered a step. He didn’t defend. He didn’t blink.

"I missed that," Mnemonic murmured, licking a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Your punch. It’s… lighter now, isn’t it?" His pupils dilated, drunk on nostalgia. "Ah… that’s right. You’re not at your full strength here."

Nice tried to move, but Lin Ling raised a hand to stop him. He kept his eyes locked on Mnemonic. "You’re bluffing."

"Maybe," Mnemonic cooed. "Or maybe not. Hard to say. I’m not whole either, you know. I lost pieces of myself crossing over. You took them with you." His eyes darkened, the fleeting change in him replaced. “You always did take everything.”

He lifted his hand, dramatically as if waiting for the crowd to hold their breath. "But don’t worry. I’ll make a new purpose." He turned his gaze to Nice, almost gentle. "And you’ve given me such lovely material."

"I won't let you...!"

Mnemonic pressed the shutter, intense flash blinded both Lin Ling and Nice. By the time they came back to their senses, the shadows, the villain who owned them had retreated. The sudden turn of events left the air buzzed faintly with static, broken electronics littered the ground.

"Nice!" Miss J slipped out of her hiding place. A few bodyguards helped her crossed the the hall, her broken tablet clutched to her chest. The chaos was settling, journalists picked up fallen cameras, unsure if the event was a nightmare or a breakthrough. A few who were unconcious blinked awake, they groaned, muscles aching while their heads throbbed with excruciating pain.

Nice didn’t know when his legs moved, like a man possessed, he ignored Miss J's calls. He just knew that if he didn’t say something now, Lin Ling would disappear again.

Lin Ling wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his sleeve, scanning the wreckage as he tried to slip away through the crowd. He didn’t want this attention, not in a world that wasn't his. The corner of his eyes caught Nice’s figure. He grabbed Lin Ling’s wrist in an instant.

"I promised I’d stay," Lin Ling said carefully. "I came, didn’t I?"

Without a word, Lin Ling lifted his hand, palm open. Nice, confused but instinctively compliant, gave him his hand. Lin Ling scoffed faintly, tugging Nice’s sleeve with a flick. "Not that. Your phone."

"Oh." Nice fumbled, cheeks warming, pulling out his device with scratched casing. "Why do you need this? It's broken."

"Uh, I forgot. Mm wait a minute," Lin Ling rummaged his pockets, sighing then looked around. He spotted the nearest reporter staring straight at them, dumbfounded. "Hey, do you have a pen? And paper too."

The reporter's pupils shook, quickly nodded, scrambling the left and right sides of her jacket. She teared a piece of paper from her memopad, holding it out with a ballpoint pen. Lin Ling thanked her.

He scribbled on the paper. "Here. My current address and phone number. That’s my guardian's number, I'll update mine once I get a new phone."

Nice looked up, heart thudding.

"Now we’re even," Lin Ling said simply, already stepping back. "You have my number and location. If you need to find me, you can."

"That was never the promise."

"You didn’t clarify back then."

Nice’s grip remained constant, neither loose nor tight. "I meant what I said," he continued, each word scraping out like it cost him. "Back then. Stay. I didn’t know what it meant at the time. But I do now."

"You told me to stay," Lin Ling reminded, looking down at their wrists. "Not stalk you onstage."

Nice smirked, it didn’t reach his eyes. "So dramatic. You saved me again. I should be the one stalking you."

"Then stalk me from a distance. Let go, Nice—"

"No," he said. Flatly.

"Come with me."

"I don't need—"

"I want to take you home," Nice's hand slid up Lin Ling’s arm. He couldn’t take it anymore. The mere thought of Lin Ling walking away made his heart bleed. "You don’t need anything. But let me want you."

Lin Ling blinked, thrown for just a second. Internally, his heart raced a thousand miles per hour, mind screaming because what the hell did that meant??? “You’re injured,” Lin Ling deflected. “Your hand—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. I saw you stagger.”

Nice’s jaw flexed. “Then patch me up. At my place.”

"I don't need you to say anything back. Just ket me make sure you're okay." Lin Ling’s voice was stuck in his throat, Nice’s hands grasped his elbows, drawing their bodies close, and rested his head on Lin Ling's shoulder.

"Please." His voice cracked at the edge, still controlled but unraveling just a thread. "Don’t go."

"You're making this so difficult," Lin Ling didn’t push him away. And that was the hardest part. Why couldn't he? The whispers behind him grew, no doubt the crowd had started watching. Eyes glimmering with different meanings, thrilled to witness such an emotional scene in 4k. No one dared interrupt. Everyone felt the tension. The bodyguards hovering nearby made a move.

“Don’t,” Nice said without looking back. “Get the car ready.”

The head bodyguard flinched. “Sir,”

Nice's hands raised, unclasping his cape, taking his time while staring at Lin Ling. He draped it on top of Lin Ling's head, pulling it slightly to cover the face.

“Get. The. Car.”

The vehicle pulled up like it’d been summoned from a portal. A futuristic white car with blacked-out windows stopped near the entrance. The door opened.

Lin Ling sighed. He reached up, slowly. Nice’s breath hitched, eyelashes lowering for a moment to close his eyes but Lin Ling wasn’t cupping his cheek. Rather, the same piece of paper was held up, leaving him stunned.

Lin Ling tried to walk away.

"I've had enough of that."

With a snap of his hand and a ripple of light, Nice pulled Lin Ling back by the wrist, and half-guided, half-dragged him toward the car. His complaints went disregarded, by the bodyguards, by the horde of people circling the hall's door, gaping and pinching their arms.

The crowd went feral.

Chapter Text

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Red is auspicious, symbolising good fortune, authority and life, the colour of his favourite restaurant. Fourteen years of business but the walls always looked like they were painted yesterday. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He slid his card to the cashier who wore the same lucky colour. The collar, a darker shade than the shirt, a match with the tie and logo printed cap. They held the card out after confirming the payment. He reached for it and pulled. They didn’t let go.

Every pull weakened him, body sagging further until he propped an arm on the counter. Another pull, and he groaned when his face slammed down next, tingling as if burning on low heat. Pieces of him were falling. He wanted to gather them, press them back into his skin before they slipped away. Panting, he inched closer to a pile, saw how they bloomed beautifully into a bouquet of spider lilies, smelling of old iron left rusted. Useless. The cashier suddenly let go.

The wind rushed to meet him, body falling then floating in uncertainty, surrounded by black smoke whispering like lost souls. Help me. I hate you. Spare me. I hate you. Please please please. I hate you. It carried the fearful cries of people he didn't know, terrified women clinging hard to their partner, pulling the arm in a death grip. Pulled and pulled and pulled.

Tick.

The arm tore off. Then the other arm. Then a leg, limb by limb, like ripping paper into two. Blood spurted, a violent gush of red filled his vision, like the walls, the uniforms of the workers and a wet explosive sound that splatter to the ground. They scraped his ears, leaving the image to haunt his mind even when he closed his eyes. He screamed for it to stop, struggled to break free, to shut his ears and cry for help only to fail to control his own fall.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick.

Tick.

The clock barely hung on the wall, glass broken—shards embedded, obstructing the hands' movement, minute hand forever stuck at ten. On the red wall. As if mocking him. The clock ticked away in a torn down restaurant—splintered door, walls collapsed to rubbles, dust clinging in every crack. Tainted reddish tiles under the setting sun.

Outside, the asphalt ran slick with a crimson tide. It reflected the tranquil sky dipped in vibrant vermillion. Fresh bright scarlet bubbled, splashes painted the streetlamps and benches. Small pieces of skin, of organs exploded, drowned in blood dripping from scattered bodies contorted in their final agony. Rivulets seeped under rubble, coated the once dried up blotches in tar-like clumps, a grotesque artwork.

I hate you.

He stepped forward. His feet made a squelching sound as the cloying scent of iron felt stronger in the air. He saw others rushed ahead, how he joined them, led them at the front. Despair pooled deep inside his stomach, stirring the more bodies entered his sight, bile threatened his throat. He forcefully swallowed. Dead. They were all dead.

Blood everywhere. A sea of it.

No amount of rain can wash this away.

Raw animalistic wails echoed near the crumbled pavement, punctuated by sharp strangled screams. He stumbled back, fist shoved inside his own mouth. Others couldn't take it, they retched at the gruesome sight. People teared each others skin, their bones and muscles exposed in a frenzy. Tears trickled down bulging eyes, head thrown against the floor crushing their skull.

I hate you. 

Black aura oozed from trembling bodies, writhing through the lamps, moving down the uneven ground. A man stood in jet black, arms spread out as his chest opened—tissues pulled apart, flesh ripping with the horrifying creaks of his ribcage splitting in the middle. 

The man was absorbing the aura. Fear. The fear that carried muffled cries, dread and suffocating from the deepest parts of humanity's heart. The man relished in them, snickered the moment he spotted the group, stretched his arm towards him. 

I hate you the most, Commoner.

Shadows engulfed the man, the rotten hand healed anew. Hideous. He thought, the hand that killed many. It grew larger towards him, thick blood curling around his ankles. Run! Run run run run run run.

Every nerve screamed for him to move. He needed to! To run and call for someone. Anyone. He braced for blood beneath his feet, but leather cushioned him instead.

Thump thump thump

Ling Ling gasped awake, breathing heavily as he first registered the clear sound of his heart. Loud and fast, it thudded, drowning the howling cries, the vivid squelching and ticking clocks ringing in his ears. The muted hum of an engine steadied the air. The faint scent of leather and perfume reminded him it was all a piece of memory woven into a dream.

The nightmare still clung to him when his eyes snapped open. Lin Ling’s chest heaved, his hand pressed tight against the fabric of his shirt as if he could claw the echoes out of his heart. 

He breathed.

Warmth enveloped his body, saw how sweat trickled down passed the collar bone beneath his shirt. A soft white fabric settled around his shoulders. The familiar weight brought a sense of ease. Pale hands held the hem together so it wouldn't slipped off.

“…You’re awake,” Nice’s voice came quietly from the side, low and weighted, as though he’d been holding his breath for hours. The fog clouding Lin Ling’s mind receded, making him noticed the way Nice’s eyes were darker—dilated.

Nice had leaned his upper body to him, so close that Lin Ling could see the tense clenching of his jaw, breath fanning the side of Lin Ling’s cheek. Too close. Lin Ling’s own breathing came out slower.

"Sorry, I fell asleep."

He had seen Nice’s up close. Was more familiar with it than any other heroes from hours spent editing and observing for hero ads and campaigns. Staring at mirror reflections, touching the smooth skin of his cheeks, hearing the other's voice in his ears instead of his own when he wore the dead man's face. He was used to it, he thought so. An indescribable feeling surfaced seeing the very person alive, so close to him.

Miss J's sharp tone cut through the air. “Do you even realize what you’ve done out there?” she snapped from the front seat, her hands tight on her tablet. “Charging in like that—blurting that in front of everyone. Do you have any sense of how reckless you sounded?”

Her voice was sharp, but it wasn’t the cries he had just dreamt of. Still, his fingers twitched like he expected blood to stain them. Words landed with more force than she probably intended. Lin Ling felt the heat of Nice’s stare shift from him to the woman in front. 

“It wasn’t reckless,” Nice said, clipped. Dipping down, he opened the mini fridge and took out a water bottle. “It was the truth.”

Miss J’s grip tightened further, jaw flexing. “The truth? Do you want tomorrow’s headlines screaming about your breakdown? People are going to question the image we build! What are you without it!" She gestured to the AC, face red in anger. The driver clumsily lowered the temperature, afraid he'd incur her wrath. "Do you still want to be a hero at all?"

“Heroes don’t get to be selfish. Do you want to be one, or just play dress up in the title?”

That's not fair. Lin Ling wanted to interject. He expected the consequences, knew what Nice did could jeopardised his career, but Nice never asked to be the symbol of perfection. Just like how Lin Ling never asked to be Nice. 

"I don't think—" Nice raised an arm. Lin Ling halted, his upper body inclining forward. Don't worry, Nice mouthed, shaking his head as if to keep Lin Ling out of it. Even when he did that, Lin Ling saw fear creeping into his eyes. They were gone the second he blinked.

Miss J ended a call, letting out a violent exhale. "You’re not just some rookie, Nice. Every move you make paints a target on your back. And dragging him—” her eyes flicked at the mirror, catching Lin Ling’s reflection. Lin Ling shrank back under her gaze “—into the middle of your theatrics? What were you thinking?”

Lin Ling felt the accusation like a blade. She was ruthless when she wanted to. He opened his mouth to deflect, to say something but Miss J wasn't done.

She barked orders at three different people all the while typing furiously and continue scolding a very unbothered Nice. The press wouldn't stop, videos from the conference exploded across every platform even when her team suppressed them. The fans were rabid. It wouldn't be long until the whole story came out.

Nice nudged Lin Ling’s hand with the bottle. He looked calmed for someone getting reprimanded. "You should drink." His gaze dropped to the draped fabric, his cape, seeing the exposed neck and the soaked shirt beneath it. Lin Ling pulled the it tighter. If Nice was disgusted, too bad. He was tired—and the cape was his now. To hell with it. He gave it to me first.

"Nice!" The bottle safely made it into Lin Ling’s hand. A pen was thrown the second Miss J turned to Nice. He caught it easily. "You’re not listening."

"And you," she eyed him like a sharp blade threathening to slice through his neck. He didn't have the chance to uncap the bottle. "Don't distract him." Lin Ling's left eye twitched. He literally just woke up!

Miss J slumped in her seat, brows creasing into a frustrated frown. "The company can't keep covering for you like this, Nice. Don't think you're free to do whatever you want."

The car left the bustling city, taking a road with fewer vehicles. The whole time Miss J rambled, Nice was unusually quiet and now that she stopped, his chilling gaze met hers through the rear mirror. “I was thinking he saved my life. Again.” His tone cracked with something raw, an anger that sounded too much like desperation. “If I’m not allowed to say that, then what the hell am I allowed to say?”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Miss J exhaled, pressing her lips thin, unwilling to fire back immediately.

Lin Ling shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the lingering tremor of his nightmare mixing with the tension in the car. His instinct screamed to dissolve it, to fold back into invisibility but Nice’s gaze slid back to him, softening, as if silently anchoring him there.

That look was worse than the nightmare.

"You," Miss J called out after several minutes of remaining silent. Her index hovered over her phone for a long while as if she was contemplating on a final decision. "What’s your name?"

Has Nice never told her his name? 

"It's Lin Ling."

She passed her tablet to Nice, not looking at either of them. Nice strolled down the screen, looking more delighted than his previous outburst. He didn't show it, Lin Ling just knew. Because when Nice handed it to him, Lin Ling wished he had ran faster before getting dragged into the car.

"Nice has been going mad because of you." 

How was that his fault? Was she blaming him for running away? "What...?" She didn't need to turn and look at who she was talking to. They all knew. Instead, she tapped on the phone. "You'll be staying with him in one of our safehouses. Until the chaos dies down."

If Lin Ling could come up with a solid reason not to— "This is too sudden. I can't agree without informing anyone." Half glaring to Nice who had a subtle smile, "I was dragged here!"

"The company has decided for Nice. And I've contacted Miss Weili on your whereabouts." 

Oh. Weili gave her the green light. 

"Don't think of running away."

Nice’s smile widened, tilting his head innocently while Lin Ling held himself back from kicking the door. As if hearing his thoughts, Nice tugged the seat belt, buckling it for Lin Ling. He adjusted the white fabric around the other, caging Lin Ling in.

"Take responsibility, Lin Ling. You're involved now too."

No one batted an eye in their direction. Not Miss J. Not the bodyguards. It's not a bad idea. Except it was. Staying with Nice who was originally from this world. He can keep an eye on Nice this way. To protect him from Mnemonic. That was all it was. Because X told him to.

The memory of bloodied streets flashed into his mind. Mnemonic was capable of it—tortured the mind to harness fear, slaughtered innocents and heroes alike wihout lifting a finger. He wants Nice, the thought sickened him. But why?

Nice tugged the cape, revealing Lin Ling’s grip on the ends. Gently, he pried them, pale and cold hands touching Lin Ling’s sweaty and warm ones. "Are you okay? We can stop the car if you want."

"You are not stopping anything!"

Concern flickered through calm blue eyes, drowning Miss J's roaring voice in a mesmerising sea. They studied his face, reflecting his hair swaying softly to the blasting AC down to his chin in a slow motion. The hand on his wrist lifted to smoothened his eyebrows. "Are you still mad at me for dragging you?"

"No no. I'm... thinking about something."

He didn't look at Nice. Didn't notice how Nice’s lips parted slightly, wavering wver so slightly. "If you're not mad anymore, then don't ignore me." 

Nice grabbed the bottle between Lin Ling’s thighs, uncapping it and offered to him again. Lin Ling took it. "I won't." The transparent liquid reminded him of thick red trailing down a battered body.

Never again.

...

The door slammed shut behind them. Rain pattered against the windows, softer now, distant. The cobblestone lane was the first to welcome them, the cracks in between slowly overflowed like the flooding want the car left him with.

The safehouse was situated in the furthest corner of the earth, away from prying eyes, standing alone in the midst of greenery and enclosed high wall structures guarded at every perimeter. The inside smelled faintly of antiseptic, clean and undisturbed, dim lighting lit by the open door. They stepped inside.

Nice didn’t look at him as he hung the keys. He didn’t need to. The sound of Lin Ling’s wet shoes sticking to the floor behind him was enough. He hated how that made his chest ache.

Lin Ling was here. Breathing in the same air. Soaking the room in a silence more unbearable than the storm outside. The kind that clung to the walls, echoing the unresolved weight they’d brought in with them. He closed the door, watched the other's back dissappeared to roam about around the house.

Lin Ling was really here. It almost felt like a dream.

Hot water doused over him, clearing the haze floating in his mind. No matter how long he stared, minimised blinking, he couldn’t believe it. How long had he waited, searched the whole city for Lin Ling? To meet again, talk and see the other. Wanting to learn more, his presence, his words that always calmed Nice down.

He should have said something else in the car. Anything. A thank you for saving him again, an apology for dragging Lin Ling like the selfish man he was. But his throat betrayed him. He stayed under the shower longer than necessary, hoping the heat would wash off the strong sense of need in his chest. 

By the time he stepped out, the sun had already set. He checked the food stored behind kitchen cabinets, deciding he would whipped something up before Lin Ling started scavenging for food.

They could talked over dinner, no one else was here for Lin Ling to hide or run away. And if Lin Ling was still mad, Nice could bring up the promise again. "No, he'll distance himself," Nice frowned while he carried a package of raw chicken out the freezer to defrost. Or he could show a bit of vulnerability. Like the first time they met. Then he'll bring up Mnemonic.

Nice wasn’t dense.

Lin Ling was protecting Nice from Mnemonic. Always there just as his mind spiralled into depression. Encouraged him with words no one ever said to him, cupped his cheeks to grab his attention, caressed the wounded area. Callused hands warm against his skin, comforting. Nice wanted those hands on him again. Wanted Lin Ling’s presence to be a constant in his life. The unbearable need rose again. No matter how hard he tried to suppress, it only grew.

The door to the bathroom clicked. Lin Ling’s footsteps headed towards the kitchen. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm cooking dinner," Nice set a pan on the stove, internally praising himself that it didn't leave a dent. "Do you want anything specific?" Nice turned when Lin Ling didn’t answer. The other stood near the couch, holding a first aid kit and motioned for Nice to come closer. Nice’s legs moved first before he realised.

The smell of fresh shampoo greeted him. The same ones he used. It made Lin Ling’s wet hair shined under the lights, bangs sticking against his forehead. "Take off your shirt."

"My injuries will heal by itself," Nice slipped it off anyway. What wouldn't he do when it was Lin Ling who asked. The shirt was placed to his side, folded neatly. "I can feel my trust value sky increasing."

Lin Ling set the antiseptic solution aside and applied it on a sterile cotton swab. "From the stunt you did, it'd be weird if it didn't."

There was a pause when Lin Ling kneeled down. Hands hanging midair and eyes scanning the bruised and wounded body sitting on the couch. Nice didnt know what he was thinking, he never did with Lin Ling. Naturally he feared the unknown. Because if he was oblivious to Lin Ling’s thoughts, then he couldn't predict what to offer for Lin Ling to stay.

Lin Ling pressed the dampened swab on a cut wound. It stung, but Nice was used to enduring. He didn't even make a sound. "Even if they heal, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Lin Ling’s eyes narrowed in focus. Gently, he dabbed the wound, putting enough pressure for the solution to stick. "If you won't treat it next time, just come to me."

"Next time," Nice murmured. He watched the way Lin Ling prepared another swab, eyes lingering in concern at his worse wounds. Next time, he wants to see that expression again. For him. For Nice. Next time. Next time. Next time. A surge of energy pulsed through him. Nice almost voiced his thoughts aloud.

"So you like going around and telling people to strip." Nice hid his excitement behind a chuckle. Lin Ling dropped the swab, lifting his head and looking like Nice said something unbelievable.

"That's not what I meant! I said that to you."

"Oh, you like seeing me strip off?"

"You’re insufferable." Ling Ling groaned, sighing at Nice’s nonsense.

"I'm embracing who I am. You told me I can." Nice reached for the kit, but Lin Ling beat him to it. He pulled out another swab, throwing the previous one that fell. "I'm not saying you can't."  

"You threw it away," Nice scrutinised the swab discarded in a mess of used ones. 

"I can't treat you with that one."

As if realising what Nice meant, Lin Ling hesitated. "It's not common knowledge but not that uncommon. And heroes have their drawbacks from the trust system. So deducing yours isn't that hard."

Anyone working with Nice would noticed. The ones working specifically for Treeman do. The demand for perfection. The higher his rank rose, the more it consumed him, shaping him to be the sparkling polished hero to the point he subconsciously showed it. "You even know what I like to drink. The one back then, in True Love Recipe."

Lin Ling’s movements stuttered to a stop. "You never know. I might be your biggest fan."

"I don't drink that in public. It's out of season too. Miss J even ordered them on someone else's name." For a second, Nice saw a conflicted look, a twitch on the hand hanging mid air. It vanished the moment Lin Ling pulled back.

Lin Ling rummaged through the kit, moving away from Nice like a child caught red handed. "It's complicated," his voice grew quieter, hiding behind bangs as if he was closing himself to slip away. Nice hated it, hated how his chest dreaded the idea, air trapped in his lungs that burned at every breath he inhaled. 

They grew silent as Lin Ling bandaged the wounds.

Lin Ling didn’t say anything as he packed the first aid kit, fingers methodical, movements brisk. He moved to stand before a firm hand closed around his wrist. He looked down. Nice hadn’t even lifted his head, just sat there, thumb resting gently against Lin Ling’s pulse.

"Lin Ling," Nice guided it to his body, a minor wound Lin Ling was sure he put the gauze and bandaged. A low whisper almost like he didn’t expect it to be heard. "You missed a spot."

The bandages were neat and he checked before, Lin Ling was confident in his skills. There was no missed spot. But Nice’s grip lingered, sliding down to touch his palm. Maybe it was the rain, cold seeping through the windows, the warmth between two hands felt more comforting than the heat generated by the electric heater.

Lin Ling didn’t pull away.

...

Lin Ling finished wrapping the bandage around Nice’s arm and taped the end down with practiced hands. He inspected it again in case he missed another spot for the third time. No matter how many times he did, Nice always pointed out a frayed gauze then another loose one. Lin Ling had to unwrap the old one, carefully examined a new roll and wrapped the wound again.

It irritated Lin Ling to a certain degree.

“…Done,” he muttered, eyes lowered.

Nice’s gaze remained longer than necessary, unmoving. He gave a hum, lifting his head to thank Lin Ling who brushed invisible dust from his pants. 

"Dinner?"

"I'll cook. You're still injured."

Nice pushed himself up, slipping on his shirt and headed towards the kitchen. "Let me help," he folded his sleeves up to his forearm. "I'll do the simple stuffs."

They argued back and forth, Nice insisting he could help. In the end, Lin Ling had Nice prepare the sauce for the chicken, a less strenuous work. The pan sizzled as Lin Ling stir fried the chicken. He set it aside once the surface turned opaque, instructed Nice to prepare the plates while he saute the cut bok choy stems and chopped leaves. 

They sat down at the table, the sound of chopsticks clinking filled the awkward silence. 

“This tastes better than I thought.”

Lin Ling raised an eyebrow. Was that suppose to be a compliment? "You thought I can't cook?"

"Not that," Nice ate the chicken, savouring the taste on his tongue. The corners of his lips curved upwards. The thought of Lin Ling cooking for him made him smile. Anything related to Lin Ling had that effect on him these past few months. "It's been a long time since I had homecook meals."

From what he remembered, Moon and Lin Ling back in his world would take turns in the kitchen. It was Moon who nagged him about his turn to cook, and acting as Nice did make his cooking a bit different. Less oil, more veggies. This world shouldn't be any different. "Don't you live with Moon?"

"Moon's not my girlfriend. I think you know that by now." Nice stabbed the chicken, not in a murderous way, though he did exerted more pressure to look like one. "We used to cook but lately I've been a bit occupied."

"A certain someone keeps slipping away. Want to know the details?"

Lin Ling didn’t want to. He had a faint inkling Nice was glaring at him behind that calm smile so he faked a laugh, pushed the bowl with chicken closer to Nice’s hand. "You should eat more. Eat more protein to recover."

Lin Ling stared at his own bowl. He didn’t want to look up. Not now when he clearly felt the weight of Nice's gaze. Is he saying it's because of me? Just why!? What's wrong with him!? 

Their conversation shifted, small talks into their favourite food, hobbies and what they could do to spend time to tomorrow's breakfast. The atmosphere lightened somewhat, both willing to fall naturally into easy conversation. By the time they realised it, they were cleaning when Nice brought up, "There's only one bed."

Lin Ling responded instantly, almost defensively. "You can have it."

Nice shook his head. "I dragged you here. I’ll take the couch."

"I’m used to the floor."

"You shouldn’t be."

Lin Ling huffed softly. He had gone through much miserable situations, sleeping in his office for most nights or running on three hours of sleep in some, if that could count as proper sleep. Not that Nice should know. "Don’t be dramatic. I’ve slept on worse."

There was a small pause before Nice smirked. "Rock-paper-scissors?"

Lin Ling threatened with the crumpled tissue in his hand. Dirty, an effective weapon. "…Coward," Nice muttered, scowling in disgust.

"…You’re annoying," Lin Ling replied, eyes flicking away. But he didn’t insist again. Eventually, Lin Ling dropped onto the couch, back to Nice with a spare blanket he stole from the bedroom.

...

Lin Ling flipped the switch, the bathroom lights flicked on, revealing a white marbled floor. A large mirror extended into a rectangular shape, its edges decorated in floral carvings. He rummaged through the cupboards beside the mirror finding two toothbrushes in plastic cases, one clearly opened.

He pulled one out, relief the person in charge of the safehouse at least had the common sense to store more than one toothbrush.

"Don’t use mine," Nice’s voice echoed behind him. He nearly choked on his own spit, snapping his head to see Nice leaning against the doorframe, acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world

Lin Ling rolled his eyes. "I wasn’t planning to."

"Use the mint toothpaste though," Nice stepped inside, pulling his toothbrush from the case then pointed to the paste on the counter. "The other one’s expired."

Lin Ling uncapped it, suspicious. The colour was a sickly green, the smell bombarded his nostrils. "How minty are we talking?"

Nice’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Refreshing."

Lin Ling squeezed a fair amount, brushing in circles. At first, the mint felt relatively cool. He almost believed Nice when a stronger cooling sensation hit his tongue. He froze, eyes wide and physically recoiled

"Wh—! This is industrial strength?!"

Nice grinned, putting on a perfect amount of toothpaste with the exact wavy shape seen in ads. “That’s the clean feeling.”

Lin Ling’s cursing went muffled behind the foam. He quickly brushed his teeth, spitting into the sink as soon as he was done though he shivered at the cold water of the sink. 

"Maybe I should’ve let you use mine. A shame we're not in the tower," Nice idly read the toothpaste label. "It’s stronger."

"You’re a monster."

Nice shrugged in amusement. Lin Ling only realised Nice was also currently brushing his teeth. He elegantly cleaned his mouth. "You have no taste."

"Didn't you just brush your teeth? You never brush twice."

"You know that too?" Nice blinked a few times. "You’re really a fan..." Lin Ling could have sworn a flicker of something, fast and unnamed in his eyes. He kept his mouth shut afterwards.

He walked out of the bathroom, elbows bumping against Nice who followed him like a shadow, blocking the door. The mirror showed them standing ridiculously close, Nice ducking his head, nose a few inches away from Lin Ling, closer than they had ever been.

"You have toothpaste…" he reached with his thumb, wiping the corner of Lin Ling’s mouth. Long eyelashes fluttered, beautiful in a way that pulled Lin Ling in like magnets. "…There."

Lin Ling was glad his breath didn't stink. From this close, he smelled Nice’s own minty breath, the soap they used, the same shampoo. He couldn’t say the same for his cheeks, pink blooming into soft red. “…It’s your fault.” 

Then he shut the bathroom light off in Nice’s face, convincing and denying how he tripped on a rug embarrassingly so. Nice laughed—the first real laugh of the night. It reverberated through the hallways, unrestrained with a tinged of delight. And Lin Ling—mouth still burning, enveloped in the blanket from head to toe found himself smiling too.

...

The bathroom door clicked open, and steam curled out into the quiet morning. Nice stepped out, hair damp, towel slung perfectly around his shoulders. A white collared shirt clung too neatly to his skin as if even water didn't dare to mess it up. 

Lin Ling sat at the counter, half-awake, stabbing at a piece of toast with the concentration of a dying man. His bedhead stood in rebellious tufts, and he squinted at Nice like the hero had personally offended him by existing.

"Don't tell me there's another interview."

"There isn't."

"Then why the getup?" Lin Ling eyed the gem pinned neatly where usually tie knots sat. It brought out the blue of Nice’s eyes peering into Lin Ling’s own. Nice looked like he was already on the cover of some glossy magazine at seven in the morning.

Nice was the first to break eye contact. "A perfect hero always needs to be ready.

"We're not suppose to go anywhere." Lin Ling checked the time on his phone then tapped his chat messages with Miss J. There was nothing that told him anything about their day. "I don't think anyone's coming too."

"It's just us. You and me."

"I know," Nice turned to kitchen cabinets. He fiddled with a jar of teabags, taking one out and placing it in a mug. His fingers traced the rim, dusting the very clean mug in circles. The sudden change stirred the air, not unpleasant but long enough for Lin Ling to notice.

"Nice?" He called. Lin Ling had to lean and lower his head to peek at Nice’s face. 

Nice grabbed his mug and walked to another countertop. "You like looking at my handsome face?" Hot water poured into the mug, a swirl of amber unfurled slowly infusing the water with a refreshing flavour. Lin Ling choked at his unexpected teasing. 

"I'm just curious why you're dressed up. Really!" 

Lin Ling sighed, continued to spread more butter and jam onto his toast before realising he put an unhealthy amount on a single toast. "I just want to look good without anyone telling me to," Nice finally answered. "Though I never considered myself anything except good looking."

"Show off," Lin Ling muttered, intentionally saying it louder.

"I heard that."

"I was aiming for that."

Nice’s lips curled into a smile before it dissolved into laughter. The same laugh from last night, but quieter. Lin Ling never saw this side of him, not in the videos he edited or even the stories that described it as polite. His smile was wider, genuine, an arm holding the counter bracing his body. Like an infection, it made Lin Ling broke into a chuckle.

"You look handsome," Lin Ling’s stomach flipped. He pretended to cough, ignoring the starry eyes directed at him. Awkwardly, he pushed the clashing yellows and reds off his toast, keeping his eyes lowered when arms perched in front of him. 

"I was waiting for you to say that." Nice’s face came into view, grinning like a happy dog. He looked younger like this, strands of hair fluttering like Lin Ling’s own racing heart.

Nice was really handsome, Lin Ling had to admit. 

A phone buzzed.

Lin Ling was the first to pull away. Nice’s smile fell as he picked up his phone. If Lin Ling saw a crack, he acted like he didn’t. Surprisingly, the name of the person Nice least expected to call him appeared.  

“About damn time!” Moon's voice snapped sharp through the receiver. “Do you have any idea how many times I called?!”

He winced from how loud Moon shouted, his eardrums wouldn't last if she continued nor was his patience. "Are you trying to make me deaf? Tone down a bit."

"How do you expect me to!? You were trending all night. And now my reputation is trending with you! Haven't you seen the news!? Wait—ugh of course not. You're too busy fawning over Mr. Saviour."

Nice glanced to Lin Ling who had been counting the plates stacked on the dish rack. "I haven't seen it yet," he swiped to his homepage and opened his sosials.

BREAKING: NICE TAKES MYSTERY HERO HOME AFTER CONFERENCE MELTDOWN

"I woke up to fifty missed calls from PR and a migraine from scrolling. Sponsors think we broke up, fans think you ran off with a secret lover, and I think you’re an idiot. So. Which is it?” Moon's voice pitched high, then dipped low with suspicion. “Don't tell me you actually kidnapped him? Don’t play dumb—Wreck’s been spamming me since last night.”

Lin Ling visibly flinched then immediately fetched his phone. Nice’s own screen displayed the insane amount of tags he was getting in every edit and post, and still updating in real time. A video got leaked which should be impossible after the loud screeched that broke down their electronics. "What..." Lin Ling’s eyes was close to popping out of their sockets. His head flicked to Nice, their eyes met.

In Lin Ling’s hands, the video of Nice embracing a surprised Lin Ling played. It ended when Nice dragged him out of the hall.

"T–that happened?" Lin Ling’s bewildered voice travelled through the phone.

"That's him...? You literally kidnapped him...? Nice!! You're insane! Where are you? I'll get Wreck so sta—"

Nice blinked awake at that. He pulled the phone from his ear, thumbing through his notifications. Sure enough, Wreck’s name filled the screen, message after message stacking into an unread wall.

Wreck: BRO I KNEW IT

Wreck: Answer me damn it

*missed call*

Wreck: PICK UP

*missed call*

*missed call*

*missed call*

Wreck: NICE. PICK UP

Wreck: PICK UP

*missed call*

*missed call*

*missed call*

*missed call*

*missed call*

Wreck: NICE NICE NICE ANSWER ME

Wreck: DON'T IGNORE ME YOU SUICIDAL DUMBASS

 *15 missed calls*

Nice’s screen overlapped with notifications. He didn't need to see them to know the chaos because from here, he could already see a slacked jawed Lin Ling scrolling

Hero Nice Drops Emotional Bombshell in Live: ‘Let Me Want You’ – Fans in Shambles

Not a Confession? Nice and Mystery Hero Leave Netizens Spiraling After Charged Exchange

Softcore Emotional Collapse of the Century: Nice Looks Like He’s Begging, He’s SERVING.

PR Nightmare or PR Masterpiece? Treeman Silent on Nice x Mystery Hero Moment

NiceMoon Dead? New Ship Rising? Shipping Wars Ignite After Viral Clip

@HeroTeaSpill: DID YOU SEE the way Nice looked at him?? Cameras didn’t capture everything but that line??? I'M COMBUSTING

@TrustValueTracker: Nice’s trust value skyrocketed 12% after this clip. WHO IS THIS MAN AND WHERE CAN I GET ONE??

@MoonbeamStan: Moon’s PR team watching their paycheck go up in flames rn 💀

@niceogfan: THEY SAID IT WASN’T A CONFESSION BUT MY HEART HEARD WEDDING VOWS.

@Nice'sWife: Let me want you. HUH HUHHHHHH

@herofangirl: That’s not a hero, that’s a man down BAD on main.

@user123: Not me thinking yhis conference would be boring... suddenly I'm watching a live fanfic unfold???

@emotionalhazard: Wreck prolly broke his phone rn after watching this. Moon's gonna throw hands.

They did more than create chaos. They dragged the two heroes into a spotlight neither of them can escape.