Work Text:
A warm rain, a deserted park path, the dim flickering of streetlights. Quiet, calm music played softly in his headphones—there was nowhere he needed to rush to. No one was waiting for him at home anyway, so he could take his time, stepping steadily through the puddles in his black combat boots.
Xiao stopped in the middle of the path, lifting his gaze to the green-yellow lace of leaves. So few remained on the branches. Most already lay at his feet, faded and soaked. *How fleeting everything is*, he thought. Not long ago, the world had been bright, saturated with color, yet now it was slowly losing its hue, fading as if mirroring his state of mind. At least he still saw the world in color—even if not as dazzling as before.
Things used to be better.
Colors seemed brighter, life—simpler. There was no need to force himself out of bed every morning to drag himself to class, then to work. He didn’t have to think about endless mundane details. His only worries boiled down to good grades and trying to hide his late-night computer sessions from his parents.
Now, sleep was a rare visitor. Insomnia clung to him, and even medication failed to bring deep, healing rest. At best, he managed an hour or two of shut-eye to the drone of a lecture in his headphones or an audiobook. Sometimes, he’d simply pass out from exhaustion in the most unexpected places.
Raindrops drummed against his windbreaker hood as Xiao stood still, staring upward as if trying to glimpse something now beyond his reach. But nothing happened—only water trickled slowly down the fabric.
He felt like smoking.
Pulling a crumpled pack from his pocket, he found just one battered cigarette inside. Well, progress. This pack had lasted two months—nothing like the old days when he’d burn through a pack a day. Slowly but surely, he was kicking the habit.
Lighting up, Xiao finally moved on. At least tomorrow was his day off, and he didn’t have to go to work. Though lectures at the university hadn’t been canceled—so he’d still have to drag himself out for half the day.
The apartment greeted him with silence. Flicking on the kettle, Xiao headed to his room to change into something soft and cozy. Once changed, his gaze fell on the desk—mountains of documents, papers, reference books.
Am I even doing any of this right?
The thought slipped in unexpectedly. He liked his job—studying criminal cases, piecing facts together. Yet somehow, he didn’t feel like he belonged. All those certificates, awards, the title of the youngest assistant investigator in Li Yue’s history—they meant nothing to him. Just dust-gathering trinkets.
Every achievement, every word of praise—like actions on autopilot. Without joy. Without meaning.
He stood in the middle of the room, holding a mug of cooling tea, and understood only one thing:
I don’t know what I want.
Or maybe he’d just forgotten.