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Xia Fei had practically memorized every crack in the ceiling of his Bridon apartment.
There was one just above the light that split like a lightning bolt into thin and uneven branches, pointing in directions that made no sense.
He used to trace it with his eyes while getting ready. It was a part of his morning routine, mentally running through equations, reminding himself of deadlines, and rehearsing small talk for when he had a photoshoot.
But now, he just stared at it. From his bed.
The room smelled stale. Not dirty exactly, just. . . untouched. Like air that hadn’t been disturbed in days.
The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a dull gray light that made it impossible to tell what time it was without checking his phone. Rain tapped against the window in soft, persistent clicks.
Getting out of bed felt pointless. Exhausting. He hadn’t been in class for days, and even worse? Hadn’t had a photoshoot scheduled as the company was frantic ever since Vein. . .
. . .
Ever since. . . everything changed.
His phone buzzed again from the mattress beside him.
He didn’t look.
What’s the point? He already knew who it wasn’t.
Vein used to text him in the mornings. Not even about work, just stupid things like complaints about the weather and “you up?” messages that were sent five minutes after Xia Fei had already left his apartment.
The emptiness was loud. Hollow. Yet, it felt like he was still waiting to wake up from this nightmare.
Maybe. . . wake up, wearing Vein’s jacket. Seeing him walk out of the bathroom. Anything. His scent, his face, his voice.
But. That’ll never happen.
Xia Fei rolled onto his side, curling in on himself, the blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. His chest ached in that familiar way. Not sharp enough to cry but not dull enough to ignore. Just constant.
He hadn’t bothered leaving his apartment since the funeral.
The first day, he’d told himself he just needed time to grieve.
The second day, he couldn’t bring himself to open the door.
By the third, the thought of just stepping outside. Into the world without Vein. Not seeing his car parked outside, waiting to pick him up. It just made his hands shake.
So? He stayed put. Let the days blur. Let the messages pile up. Let the world go on without him. Because what’s the point anymore?
His phone buzzed again.
He peeked at it. It was an email notification, flagged as. . . important?
For a moment, he just stared at the sender line, his heart sinking before his brain could catch up.
“Bridon Modeling Agency — Administration.”
His fingers felt numb as he opened it.
The words were clean. Polite. Corporate.
Hello Felix,
We regret to inform you that due to the agency’s current financial circumstances, your contract has been terminated.
Thank you for your time with Bridon Modeling Agency.
That was it.
Xia Fei read it again. And again.
He waited for something to hit him.
Panic, anger, disbelief? But nothing came. Instead, a hollow drop in his stomach, like the floor had vanished beneath him and he was still waiting to land. He couldn’t feel anything.
“So. That’s it.”
The agency was gone. His modeling career is gone. The last thing tying him to the life he’d built in Bridon. The last sliver that tied him to Vein. . . was gone.
A shaky laugh slipped out of him, thin and wrong. His chest tightened as reality settled in piece by piece.
Rent’s due in less than a week.
No backup savings. No safety net.
Vein had promised they’d figure things out. That the agency was his home. That Xia Fei didn’t have to worry so much.
“I’ve got you, don’t worry about the money,” he’d said once, leaning in too close, voice low, almost fond.
Xia Fei squeezed his eyes shut. Now that he’s not around anymore, everything has been collapsing in slow motion.
He pressed the heel of his hand into his chest, breathing shallowly.
His mother couldn’t know. The thought came sharp and immediate.
She was already struggling back home, juggling bills, pretending everything was manageable whenever they spoke over the phone.
Xia Fei had worked so hard to keep her from worrying, trying to prove that moving abroad hadn’t been a mistake.
He couldn’t call her now. Couldn’t tell her he’d failed.
“What do I do now?. . .”
Suddenly, His phone rang.
The sound made him flinch. He stared at the screen, heart racing.
It was Cheng Xiaoshi.
Of course it was.
The one person who cared to check up on him. Xia Fei hadn’t replied to him in ages.
For a moment, Xia Fei considered letting it ring. He knew Cheng Xiaoshi would never accept an “I’m fine” at face value. Maybe he’d just let it go to voicemail. Pretend he was just asleep.
Yet the ringing continued, and eventually went dark.
A couple of seconds of silence went by until his phone lit up again. Same person, same photo.
Xia Fei swallowed to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he answered.
Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t miss a beat, “Hey Xia Fei! Haven’t heard from you in ages, what’s up, man!?”
Xia Fei practically felt Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile over the phone. But, he couldn’t match the same energy. “Hey, yeah. Sorry about that,” he said, already hating how small his voice sounded.
There was a pause on the other end.
Cheng Xiaoshi said gently. “What’s wrong?”
Someone cracked in Xia Fei, but he held it together.
“I just got fired,” He tried to chuckle. But as the silence remained, it just dissolved into a sob.
Words tumbling out of him, Voice heavy, “The agency’s bankrupt. They sent me an email, I don’t have a job anymore.” He felt a tear run down his face.
Then another.
Then another.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Hey,” Cheng Xiaoshi said quickly. “Hey, slow down. I’m here.”
Xia Fei’s breathing hitched. His vision blurred. “I can’t stay here,” he whispered. “It’s suffocating, and I can’t afford it. Everything reminds me of him and I—” His voice broke.
“I feel like I’m drowning.”
There was no judgment in Cheng Xiaoshi’s silence. Just presence. “I’m really sorry,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “About all of it.”
“I don’t know where to go. . .”
Another pause. Broken sobs filled the silence.
Then,
“Come stay with us.”
Xia Fei froze. “. . .What?”
“Come to Guidu. ” Cheng Xiaoshi said, he was serious. “Stay at the studio. With me and Lu Guang. Just until you can get back on your feet.”
“I’d be a burden,” Xia Fei said immediately. “I—”
“Remember what I said when we left Bridon?” Cheng Xiaoshi cut in.
A pause.
“I meant it. ‘If you ever need help, just reach out. We’ve got your back.’” Cheng Xiaoshi reminded him. “You’re my friend. You don’t have to earn your place here.”
The words lodged painfully in Xia Fei’s chest.
Friend.
Someone choosing him, even like this.
“. . .Thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
“You don’t have to,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “Just get here safe, okay?”
When the call ended, Xia Fei laid there for a long time, phone still pressed to his ear, tears soaking into the pillow.
✧˖°───⌞ 🎞️⋆｡˚₊⌝── °˖✧
Cheng Xiaoshi stared at his phone long after the call ended. The screen had gone dark; all he could see was his own face looking back at him.
Brows drawn tight, jaw clenched, mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a frown. He let out a slow breath through his nose and scrubbed a hand down his face.
He never heard Xia Fei sound like that.
He was mostly composed, happy, outgoing, and always matched Cheng Xiaoshi’s energy. Even during that one time they talked in the bar, and Xia Fei was drunk, ranting about how much he hated Bridon; he wasn’t this upset.
No. That wasn’t stress on the phone.
That was someone in crisis.
Cheng Xiaoshi shoved his phone into his pocket and turned around.
Lu Guang was halfway down the stairs, staring back at him, having clearly paused mid-descent. His posture was still, precise; the look on his face told Cheng Xiaoshi that he heard everything.
“Xia Fei’s gonna stay in the studio for a bit. He’s coming here,” Cheng Xiaoshi said immediately.
Lu Guang blinked once, eyebrows tensing slightly. “No.”
Cheng Xiaoshi exhaled, “Lu Guang, he just lost everything.”
“I know,” Lu Guang replied calmly. Too calmly. “But that still doesn’t make this a good idea.”
“He’s alone in another country!” Cheng Xiaoshi pressed. “He can’t pay rent. He’s grieving.” A hint of anger in his voice. “What do you want him to do, just fall apart quietly somewhere else!?”
Lu Guang’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t about convenience,” he said. “This is about—”
“About you!?” Cheng Xiaoshi snapped.
Silence.
“. . .”
Cheng Xiaoshi exhaled slowly, letting his body relax. Softer now, he continued. “Look. I know this is complicated, and I know you don’t like unexpected changes. But this is Xia Fei. Our friend.”
Lu Guang didn’t answer.
Cheng Xiaoshi stepped closer, voice dropping. “I want to be there for him. Like how you were, for me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Lu Guang’s gaze slid away, fixed on some random wall in the photo studio, like he was seeing something else entirely.
Finally, he said, “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Cheng Xiaoshi admitted. “As long as he needs.”
Another pause.
Then, quieter, “He can take the couch.”
Relief hit Cheng Xiaoshi so hard it almost knocked the breath out of him.
“Thank you,” he said, genuine and immediate. “I promise I’ll handle everything. You won’t have to—”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Lu Guang interrupted.
Cheng Xiaoshi hesitated.
Lu Guang turned away, ascending the stairs again. “Just tell him the rules. And tell him not to apologize for existing.”
Cheng Xiaoshi smiled faintly. He knew what that meant.
✧˖°───⌞ 🎞️⋆｡˚₊⌝── °˖✧
China felt overwhelming the moment Xia Fei stepped off the plane.
He missed home, but returning. . . under these circumstances. . . it felt guilty.
The air was warmer than Bridon’s cold, damp gray weather. It was loud and busy with the sound of movement, voices layered over one another. Airport announcements that echoed overhead in a language he hadn’t heard spoken in months.
He stood still for a second, fingers curled tight around the handle of his suitcase, grounding himself.
“Taxi for Xia Fei?”
The taxi ride blurred past the windows. Neon signs, narrow streets, a city alive in a way Bridon hadn’t been ever since the tragedy. Xia Fei watched it all like a ghost, half-present, heart still lagging somewhere behind him.
“Is this the place?” The driver questioned.
“Yes, thank you.” Xia Fei whispered, sliding out of the car and grabbing his luggage from the back.
The second he shut the trunk, the studio door slid open with a familiar chime.
“Xia Fei!”
Cheng Xiaoshi was there instantly, grinning like nothing had changed, like Xia Fei hadn’t just packed his entire life and carried it across continents in one battered suitcase.
Before he could react, Cheng Xiaoshi pulled him into a hug.
It was warm. Solid. Real.
Xia Fei froze, then sagged into it. His surroundings were unfamiliar, but this. This person. welcoming him with open arms.
It felt like he could breathe.
His grip tightened on Cheng Xiaoshi’s back.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Cheng Xiaoshi said softly, close to his ear.
“So am I,” Xia Fei replied, giving a very jet-lagged smile.
Lu Guang hovered a few steps back, at the studio's door frame. His expression was unreadable as always. His eyes flicked briefly to Xia Fei’s face.
“Welcome.” He said, turning around.
The space felt different than his Bridon apartment. Bigger, messier, but lived-in. There were framed photos on the walls, and the atmosphere was quite lively. Mostly because of Cheng Xiaoshi’s chatter as he showed Xia Fei around, filling the silence so Xia Fei didn’t have to.
“This is me and Lu Guang’s room! We don’t really have another bed, and the attic upstairs is REALLY dusty and jampacked. So. . . ” Cheng Xiaoshi said, chuckling. “The couch is pretty sweet! If you’re comfortable, you can sleep there.”
Xia Fei simply nodded.
That night, they ate takeout and chatted about Guidu. Xia Fei smiled when he was supposed to, laughed at the right moments, and let himself feel normal for just a little while.
But when the lights dimmed, and the men got ready for bed—
“Goodnight, Xia Fei!”
“Goodnight, Cheng Xiaoshi.”
—The quiet came rushing back. . .
The couch was indeed comfortable, but comfort wasn’t the problem. No matter how much Xia Fei tossed and turned, sleep wouldn’t come to him, as his mind was still settling in.
The ceiling here was different. No lightning-shaped crack. No familiar landmarks. Xia Fei stared at it anyway, eyes heavy, chest tight.
Vein’s voice crept in. “You look tired,” he’d used to say, brushing Xia Fei’s hair back with gentle fingers. “You work too hard.”
Xia Fei squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force sleep onto his mind.
The memories came anyway.
The late-night drives, shared coffee runs, hands lingering too long, feelings carefully folded away because neither of them wanted to name what couldn’t be returned.
Unrequited. Unspoken. Unfinished.
His breath hitched.
Tears slipped down the bridge of his nose, soaking into the borrowed pillow. He covered his mouth, but the sound still escaped. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I miss you so much.” Raw, broken, and unstoppable.
Footsteps creaked softly.
“Xia Fei?”
Cheng Xiaoshi stood at the bottom of the stairs, half-asleep.
Xia Fei calmed his emotions down and tried to speak. “I–I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” Somewhere along the way, his voice cracked.
Cheng Xiaoshi crossed the room without hesitation and knelt beside him, pulling him into his arms like he’d done it a hundred times before. “Don’t apologize for existing.”
Xia Fei clutched at his shirt, sobbing openly now. “I feel like such a failure.”
“You didn’t fail at anything.” Cheng Xiaoshi rubbed his back.
“I did!” He choked. “I just wish. . . everyone could go back to normal. Before everything changed, before he died.”
The realization landed somewhere unfamiliar. Xia Fei finally accepted it. Vein was dead, and he’d never see him again.
Never hear his laugh, never see his smile, never feel his presence around.
“I know,” Cheng Xiaoshi murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back. “Let it all out. You don’t have to be okay right now.”
Xia Fei cried until the ache dulled. Until exhaustion replaced grief.
Cheng Xiaoshi stayed the whole time.
Somewhere up above, at the top of the stairs, Lu Guang was watching.
Hearing everything.
Xia Fei’s sobs, his grief. . . and Cheng Xiaoshi’s comforting.
“You can pass this. Start a new life, we’ve got you.”
Lu Guang thought that diving back in time and erasing Vein from the equation would save himself from the pain. The pain of losing Cheng Xiaoshi.
He wasn’t aware that with such action. . . the pain would just transfer to Xia Fei.
“I’m sorry.”
And thanks to that. An aching pit of guilt appeared in his chest.
And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it—
It lingered. . .