Work Text:
Lu Guang sighed into my ear. His fingers brushed soft strokes across my eyelids and lashes. I froze, savoring the weight of his gaze at the back of my neck. It felt like he might bite me. He pressed a little harder, like he wanted to hold me, and I exhaled, trembling. He hummed quietly, like an unspoken apology. My skin prickled. It itched. I would offer it. If he reached out his hands, expectant, I’d go.
I lifted the pen and ran my fingertips along the edge of the lined paper. It was slightly yellowed, tinged orange—like an autumn that was already fading. The ink had pooled in the corners of certain letters, revealing my hesitation. But no. I wasn’t a hesitant person. If I had to be labeled, impulsive would fit like a glove. Still, when I write, my thoughts spin like a tornado and fall messily in blue ink across the page.
My foot tapped against the floor. My fingers too, restless. I placed the paper on the glass desk and reread it. Again. And again. Lu Guang was a fascinating character. One who had, without question, charmed the audience. But he wasn’t enough. His pale hair came to me while painting a misty landscape. His gray eyes—dull, flat—because I didn’t want him to beg for love in order to be loved. His smile… as rare as absence itself. I shouldn’t have to explain it. That’s exactly what he conveys: uncertainty.
The deadline winked at me from the corner of the page, once folded. I didn’t want to see it. My museum ticket was curling in the dark—I didn’t have time. My boss was surely yelling by now. Lu Guang had become a beloved weight. One I hated. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t congratulate. But he loves. How is that even possible? How do you fall for someone who doesn’t exist?
My roommate leaned over my shoulder. Shamelessly read what I’d written. He patted me with that stupid grin of his. I know he doesn’t like Lu Guang either—like me—but for completely different reasons. Says he looks like his ex. The day he told me, I sighed in disappointment.
“Girls are gonna lose their minds,” he joked, making finger guns like he was about to shoot me. If only he’d write instead of me.
“The mangaka’s gonna fall short. In this chapter, Lu Guang is like…”
“Like an idiot?”
“No, not quite.”
“Ah,” he said, shrugging, “like a cold, hot guy. King vibes.”
I glanced sideways at him, held in a sigh as I reached for my pen again. He chuckled at my shoulder.
“Right? He’s hot as hell, Cheng Xiaoshi.”
I waved him off, frowning.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me work.”
He left with amusement in his eyes. I went back to the page. I don’t know how long I stared at those lines. I was waiting—for it to happen. Lu Guang, I mean. For his voice to sound. For him to stop hiding. He’d always been a coward. I heard, distantly, my roommate shutting the door behind him.
And after that sound… I heard it.
“Cheng Xiaoshi.”
I looked up, as if I could see him. His voice was low, rough, like he was right beside me. On the bed, maybe. At the window. One leg in, one out. That blank stare. I could already picture him. My fingers shook.
“You took too long. I lost the day,” I murmured, lowering my head. My bangs brushed into my eyes. The pen hovered above the paper, as if eager to spill every thought like pocket change. But like my balance, my thoughts were empty.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Correction: you wanted to test my patience.”
He exhaled softly, shifting. I heard something. Did he close the window? I wasn’t sure where he was now.
“Who am I with? Where am I?” He asked, like always.
I swallowed, rereading the last few sentences I’d written that day. I could feel his hand on my shoulder, like he was leaning in. It reminded me of the morning, the ghost of my roommate’s touch.
“You’re in that girl’s house,” I said, not looking up. “Waiting for tea. Chapter sixteen. You’re thinking of someone.”
“Of you?”
“I’m not in the story.”
“Then it’s poorly written.”
I sighed, and he laughed. I wondered what his smile looked like. But no image came. After a pause, I finally started writing. The lines flowed under my fingers, like my nails were painting. My eyes followed every letter.
I liked writing. I liked it a lot.
“Lu Guang,” I said.
“I’m here.”
I didn’t stop writing. By now, the words didn’t even register. Once they hit the page, they vanished.
“Tell me. Who are you thinking about?” I said.
“There are too many thoughts.”
“No, there’s a face. I just can’t see it.” I stopped writing.
He grumbled. It was odd. Lu Guang never does that.
“Just look in the mirror. You’ll get it,” he said. “When was the last time you left that chair?”
“The deadline’s tomorrow, Lu Guang. Not the time for beauty and romance.”
“Your boss loves you. He’d forgive anything if you just dropped my name. And you know it.”
I closed my eyes, sinking into the scene. Lu Guang was narrating. Waiting. Impatient. It was a monologue about universe theory. Redundant. The saga had already made everything clear. But there were always new readers jumping in halfway. The worst kind. But they were readers. They meant sales. They were necessary. I told myself that.
“Don’t play the saint. You used to be one of those readers, Cheng Xiaoshi.”
“Shut up, I can’t focus. What were the protagonist’s powers…?”
“The pink-haired one healed.”
“No, not her. Lu Guang, focus.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was beside me.
“I can’t focus with that pretty face of yours,” he said. I tried to push him. My hand found nothing.
“She wants you to follow her, idiot.” I clutched my head, rereading the scene. She waited in the kitchen, holding two cups. She was in love with him.
The deadline is tomorrow.
“I don’t want you to pair me with Xiao Li. We have no chemistry. You only wrote us together because…”
I clenched my fist. My throat burned. The paper didn’t feel like mine, but it held a piece of every reader who ever touched my work. I couldn’t drop it now. I couldn’t let them down. I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let myself down.
I cut him off.
“It’s what the audience wants.”
“And what about what I want?”
“You don’t exist, Lu Guang. You don’t have a mind. You don’t have a heart. You’re nothing.”
The window opened again. I was suffocating. No birds sang outside. The day wasn’t bright. I jumped when I felt something brush my leg. Just a touch. Like something had fallen.
Bored eyes met mine. No—they weren’t bored. They were sharp, hawk-like. But I had created them, long ago, wondering how monochrome a person could be. I guess I failed. They lit up with color.
I wanted to touch him. I reached out, aiming for his cheek, watching his face.
There was nothing.
“Please. Goddamn it. I’m losing my mind.”
“Can you say something that makes sense? Readers won’t follow like this.”
I bit my lip. My head pounded like a metronome.
“They want a steamy scene. So does the boss. It’s supposed to be in this chapter. Everyone’s waiting.”
I’m not writing that.
“Why are you writing me thinking about someone new, Cheng Xiaoshi? Don’t you have too many characters already?”
I don’t want to write you with anyone else.
“They’ll turn on you.”
I just want you. You grew with me. I want to go back to the first day I wrote you. The first time I imagined your eyes.
“They won’t love me anymore.” He said. His voice was weak.
“Then let them not love you. Fuck them.”
Silence. Then he smiled. I could see it perfectly. The tingling left my body. My hands felt lighter. The paper didn’t matter anymore. Lu Guang was smiling. At me. Like I belonged in his story. Like he was mine—not theirs.
Like I had the right to claim him. To keep him from the sun. To steal him back from everyone.
Autumn is coming.
“Thank you, Cheng Xiaoshi.”
But the summer when I first wrote you still hasn’t ended. Time doesn’t matter. On these pages, every letter is written in a single second. They all share the same second.
I’m still in the same second I wrote the first letter of your name. Back when no one knew me. When no one loved you.
“Will you stay with me?”
I don’t know why I was crying. The paper was soaked. His voice was so gentle, so painfully soft, it only made me cry harder.
“Wasn’t I always with you?”