The holding cell is cold.

The desk he's in is uncomfortable, the wooden seat digging into his skin as his sit bones ache for a break.

How much longer does he have to wait here? How much longer will he be stuck wondering if Lu Guang and Qiao Ling are alright?

Every time he's tried to ask, he's gotten the same thing— a tight-lipped look, a vague "just wait", a sorry expression in his direction that lingers a bit more than it should.

Do they know something he doesn't? Or are they looking at him that way because his concern feels fake?

It doesn't matter.

He just wants out.

Cheng Xiaoshi shifts in his seat, pulling against the cuffs at his wrists. The metal bites into his skin, grounding and cold, a welcome feeling considering it distracts him from the unnatural silence.

. . . Among other things.

He can still see it— the way Lu Guang was slumped over the couch, blood dripping down the side of it and forming a grotesque puddle on the floor. The deep red colour of what was supposed to be pumping through his body, the sharp scent of iron tainting the air.

The look in Qiao Ling's eyes— crazed, elated, not her. The way she lunged at him with the same knife she'd cut Lu Guang down with, her movements too jagged to be her own. The bastard that was controlling her, the fool who dared to screw them over, grinning like this was all he'd ever wanted.

It made Cheng Xiaoshi sick.

Whoever this guy was—

Cheng Xiaoshi would find him and make him pay.

An officer unlocks the cell, holding a plastic bag of what he presumes is dinner. He places it down on the table, stating simply: "I brought you takeout. Leave the trash when you're done, I'll clean up later."

Cheng Xiaoshi nods slowly, eyes dropping to the container. "Thank you."

He watches as the officer opens the box and pushes it towards him, placing chopsticks beside it. He's halfway across the cell when Cheng Xiaoshi decides to try his luck again.

"Um— excuse me. Do you know if Lu Guang's okay?"

The officer's shoulders tense. He stops at the door.

"I'm just curious," Cheng Xiaoshi adds hastily, knee starting to bounce anxiously. "I mean, no one's told me anything and I— . . . I guess I'm worried. Is he in surgery? How bad is it? Was it . . . deep?"

There are a few seconds of taut silence. Concerning, to say the least.

And then, the officer spares him a look. ". . . Sorry."

Sorry? What the heck does that—

"He didn't make it through."

. . .

. . .

. . .

There's a pause after that. A long, silent pause, where not a single other sound registers to Cheng Xiaoshi except for the words echoing in his head.

He didn't make it through.

Lu Guang. Didn't. Make it through.

Something stutters in his chest, a dreadfully hollow feeling sinking into his bones.

Which is weird because Cheng Xiaoshi is more confused than anything. This can't be. It shouldn't be!

Lu Guang isn't . . . he couldn't possibly have—

Lu Guang is the meticulous one. The smart one. The one who plans, and chastises, and— and the one who doesn't do reckless things for his own sake. He doesn't just die. That's not what Lu Guang does.

But then, the image flashes in Cheng Xiaoshi's mind again, too clear to be a nightmare.

A horrifying amount of blood soaking through fabric, spreading more and more and more— so much that it'd be a miracle if it didn't come out of something vital.

Cheng Xiaoshi inhales sharply, shaky hands reaching for the chopsticks.

Because even if he can't comprehend it right now, he still has to eat.

Hunger burns deep in his stomach; something real he can anchor onto amidst the confusion of it all. He stabs the chopsticks into the food.

As he takes the first bite of the takeout, his mind drifts.

"You boiled the noodles for too long," comes the unimpressed sigh, "now it's just a sad, lumpy broth."

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart skips.

"Did you get in trouble again? Come sit down, talk to me."

A grunt. "The wind messed it up. This isn't gonna work."

Cheng Xiaoshi's hands tremble more noticeably.

"Hey, can you help me with this?"

"You idiot— don't put the camera there! It'll break for sure."

Cheng Xiaoshi's throat tightens as he swallows another bite.

And now, it hurts.

There's a sudden pressure in his chest, a sharp pang that feels like something's caving in on itself inside of him.

"Cheng Xiaoshi?"

"Cheng Xiaoshi!"

"Cheng Xiaoshi."

It hurts.

It hurts.

Cheng Xiaoshi's tears fall one by one onto the table, breath hitching, chest heaving erratically like he's forgotten how to breathe. The pain in his chest blooms and spreads, an ache that hurts more than any physical beating could.

"I'm counting on you, okay?"

He sobs uncontrollably, leaning over the desk, unable to force another bite down. His fingers tighten into his hair, tears now falling into the container of takeout.

This is it.

This is the end.

There would be no more quiet corrections from across the room. No more irritated sighs when he messed something up. No more shared space, no more company, no more solace in the soft discernment that he wasn't alone anymore.

No more Lu Guang.

The thought fully lands this time, and it completely destroys him.

A broken sound tears out of Cheng Xiaoshi's throat, raw and unrestrained, his shoulders shaking violently as he curls in on himself. The handcuffs rattle harshly against the desk as he bends forward, forehead nearly hitting the surface, breath coming in jagged, uneven bursts.

His fingers tangle tighter into his hair, pulling, like the pain will wake him up from this, snap him out of whatever nightmare this is.

He can still hear him, feel him— his very presence etched into the fibre of Cheng Xiaoshi's being. Lu Guang has made a mark in his life that no one else has ever come close to— someone he can call a true best friend.

Someone he could share his most private thoughts with without the fear of being judged for it. Someone who saw him for him, not just the pretty, cheerful parts but the ugly ones too. The ones Cheng Xiaoshi was afraid to let anyone else see, that he locked away in some part of him he figured no one would find.

Lu Guang did.

Lu Guang did, and helped ease his sorrows.

Because if one person understood, it was enough for Cheng Xiaoshi to sit back and think, "At least someone knows the real me."

But now—

"Please! Please don't—" His voice collapses entirely, dissolving into a broken cry.

Please don't leave me.

This isn't how it was supposed to go. They were just supposed to help people, to make them feel better about their pasts, to be a last resort for inner peace.

They were never supposed to get dragged into the world of cold-hearted murderers and corrupted people, no more than the simple life they lived at the studio.

Cheng Xiaoshi should've just stayed out of it. He should've told Lu Guang no to the job that got them into this mess— he should've stopped while he had the chance.

Because tonight, they should've been in the studio.

Lu Guang would've sat on the couch like always, book in hand, pretending like he was bothered by the way Cheng Xiaoshi kept interrupting him to ask stupid questions.

And Cheng Xiaoshi would complain, and argue, and laugh, and tease—

and he would answer him.

Alive him. Not the version of him in Cheng Xiaoshi's memories.

There's no one left in the police station to hear his cries. Not one person to tell him that it's fine, that maybe if he goes to sleep and wakes up tomorrow morning, everything'll be back to normal.

Because it's not fine. And it doesn't matter how many nights he sleeps after this.

Lu Guang will never come back.

Cheng Xiaoshi is slumped against the desk the next time the door to his cell screeches open. His voice is raw, and his throat is scratchy, a result of hours upon hours of crying.

His cheek is pressed to the cold surface, eyes unfocused as they stare at nothing.

"Hey, wake up." The officer says to him. "Look, because we've got two major situations going on right now, we're going to have to keep you in confinement for a little longer. You aren't being convicted of anything, but since you're a suspect, we're going to have to watch over you."

Frankly, Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't even hear him.

His mind had been lost somewhere between six hours ago and three hours ago, from the initial incident to being told his best friend is no longer among the living.

"We have a room ready for you, and there's a bed. You should get some rest while you can."

Rest. It echoes strangely in his head.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't move, nor does he respond. Even if he tried, nothing he'd say would end up making sense.

The officer shifts awkwardly, glancing back toward the hallway before stepping closer. "Come on," he says, a little softer this time. "You can't stay here."

A pause.

Then, the cold metal at Cheng Xiaoshi's wrists loosens.

His hands drop limply onto the table, free from the handcuffs. The restraints are gone, but Cheng Xiaoshi still feels like he's being anchored to the ground, unable to find the motivation to lift his head.

". . . Kid." The cop says hesitantly, like he has no idea what to do with him now. "Can you stand?"

Cheng Xiaoshi still doesn't answer. His eyes remain fixed on the same spot, distant.

The officer exhales quietly, seemingly making a decision. "Alright."

A hand rests against Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulder, the first thing he's felt other than the desk and the cuffs. He sways slightly with the motion, his body looser than one would expect it to be.

"Up." There's an arm around his back, and a gentle pull to help him, and that's all Cheng Xiaoshi needs to stand.

His body moves unsteadily, no heavier than the weight in his mind, though. The officer walks him out of the cell and into a separate hallway in the station, probably where the holding rooms are.

Cheng Xiaoshi walks only because he's being guided forward, not because he has a reason to. He'd prefer to just sleep on the hard, concrete floor.

He should've . . . been there. To protect Lu Guang.

He should've predicted it. There's no way someone as crazy as Emma's killer would be stopped just because he had been caught by law enforcement.

How could he be so stupid?

Stupid enough not to realize that pulling one over on that murderer would result in a less-than-desirable outcome.

They come to a stop somewhere in the station where the lighting doesn't hurt as badly, where the air feels less thick and smells less of stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

"Here," the officer says, letting Cheng Xiaoshi into the room. "You can lie down."

Lie down. Bed. Rest.

Sleep.

The words themselves float around him, meaningless. But again, his body is tired. Just like how he was hungry, he's unable to fight his innate needs when it comes down to it.

So he moves.

He crosses the room slowly, each step just slightly delayed, almost like he's lagging. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"I'll come back to check on you later." The officer says quietly. "Don't hesitate to call if you need something."

That's it. He turns around and leaves, allowing the door to click shut behind him.

The silence is . . . heavier here. Heavy enough to press his thoughts into momentary absence.

Cheng Xiaoshi lowers himself onto the bed without thinking, turning onto his side and curling slightly in on himself.

His eyes stay open, though, staring at nothing in particular.

Time passes heedlessly, stretching and folding in on itself until it stops feeling like time at all. Seconds don't feel like they're ticking; minutes barely move.

There's just a long, uninterrupted blur where nothing changes and nothing can change.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't sleep.

He doesn't even try.

His eyes burn, dry and unfocused, but he keeps them open anyway. Because closing them means he'll probably see memories he doesn't want to— memories that remind him of what he's been taking for granted all this time.

The last thing he needs is to be left alone in the dark with his thoughts.

A little while passes before a dull, persistent soreness blooms along his side— slow at first, then more persistent. It spreads down the length of his leg where it presses into the mattress, a silent plea to shift his weight off of it.

He does, just enough.

His fingers twitch against the thin blanket beneath him.

He watches them move, eyes trailing down from the very tips of his nails to the jut of his wrist, staring like the hand doesn't even belong to him.

A thought drifts in quietly.

You should sleep.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks once, slowly.

But he doesn't want to. He can't, anyway. (He believes, as his eyelids grow heavier by the second.)

Lu Guang would tell you to rest.

That gets him to pause. The sinking feeling in his chest deepens, allowing something wet and aching to seep through. His vision blurs.

How the hell else are you supposed to react to this? He just wants it to stop. All of it.

He turns his head, pressing his face into the pillow to stop from crying once more. The fabric smells strangely like stale chips and something bitter, and he probably shouldn't be facedeep into it, but he truthfully doesn't care anymore.

"You're no good when you're exhausted. Go take a nap and then I'll let you help."

His fingers curl into the blanket, grip tightening as the pillow catches his tears.

This time, he cries silently. There are no choked sobs, no suffocated gasps, no hitch of his shoulders.

What else is he meant to do? There's no fixing this, no going back.

. . .

—!

No . . . going back?

Going back.

The realization dawns on him, and the pressure in his upper chest eases just barely. His eyes widen as it clicks.

Going back. It means time travel, making sure none of this ever happened in the first place—

Diving.

If he can just get his hands on a photograph, maybe he can stop the spiralling of events before they even branch off. A photo that goes back two days— preferably even further, so he can get in the way of this node ever existing.

His pulse picks up, something frantic starting to thread through the numbness. Cheng Xiaoshi pushes himself up on his elbows, his thoughts zoning in on one truth after hours of stillness.

If he manages to dive back even a couple of minutes before Qiao Ling is possessed, then he can rewrite all of this.

He can get in the way, intercept— he can fight off Emma's murderer before he ever gets close. He can make this right.

He can make sure Lu Guang is alive. Breathing, annoying, but here nonetheless. He'd trade anything in the world for that.

"I can fix it," he whispers shakily, growing steadier with each breath. "I can— I just need a photo—"

Something recent.

He needs—

"Don't change the past."

Cheng Xiaoshi's breath stalls.

His thoughts, as fast as they were piecing things together, halt mid-motion. They've been forced still, as if they slammed into a brick wall.

Slowly— very slowly— he lifts his head.

. . . No one's there.

Well, obviously. Of course, no one's there. But the voice was so clear, he swore someone else was in here, saying it directly to him.

"Don't change the past. Don't interfere with what's already happened. No matter what, you follow my instructions."

Lu Guang's voice seems to be haunting him.

Cheng Xiaoshi's hands begin to tremble again, but not from grief this time. His jaw tightens, brows creasing as something else begins to arise deep in his chest.

Don't change the past?

What does that even mean now? Lu Guang is—

He drops his head into his hands, teeth gritted.

Lu Guang is dead. Those rules would've made sense if he were still alive, still here, still able to give him instruction. Now they're just empty words— a vow he can't uphold anymore.

". . . So what? I'm just supposed to sit here?" he mutters to himself, fury beginning to replace the sorrow. "Do nothing?"

Lu Guang should know him better than this. When has Cheng Xiaoshi ever sat still when he was allowed to act? When he was able to jump in on instinct because he knew he'd be able to make a difference—

This isn't fair.

He can't expect Cheng Xiaoshi to follow those rules when he's not here to tell him.

"I can fix it—" he insists, weaker this time, "—fix us. Nothing more will change besides this one little thing. Just let me try."

His voice breaks on the last word.

Cheng Xiaoshi squeezes his eyes shut, thoughts spiralling again. They clash loudly in his head, a whirlwind of:

Respect Lu Guang's rules. Don't dive. Don't change the past.

Dive. Go back. Change the past. Save him.

Because what is Cheng Xiaoshi's life without him?

He could fix this in less than ten minutes. Dive into the body of an officer and rush over to the studio before it happens. Stop things from spiralling out of control.

But doubt starts to slip in.

What if . . . what if he can't? What if he goes back and makes it worse instead?

What if he's too late, or if he's unable to stop it, or if he awakens some kind of cosmic entity watching over the timeline?

How will he answer to that?

His unfortunate reality is this: he won't. As desperate as he is for a solution, he won't be able to bring himself to trample over Lu Guang's rules— even if it is to save him in the end.

He's stuck in a stalemate and the only way for him to get out of it,

is to admit defeat.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't realize he'd fallen asleep until his eyes open the following afternoon.

His face feels stiff, eyelids heavy, and a dull headache throbs behind his temples. He's got his legs over the edge of the bed and is rubbing at his eyes when an officer comes by the room.

The same one from last night.

"Slept in late, huh? Mornin'," he greets as he opens the door. "I'm sure you'd like to freshen up and take care of your business, but I think I ought to let you know first."

Cheng Xiaoshi keeps his gaze low to the ground.

"We got a call at the station from Captain Xiao a little while ago. You're not being held as a suspect anymore, and you're free to leave whenever you'd like. Just let me know beforehand, and we can get a few things signed before you're good to go."

He nods once, hoping his silence doesn't read as impolite. He can't bring himself to formulate words, nor does he have the energy to put on a face right now.

Not to mention that talking right after waking up seriously irks him.

He hopes the officer can understand that.

The door stays open for a moment longer before there's a shuffling of feet against the polished concrete, and it shuts with a temperate click.

Cheng Xiaoshi sits there for maybe another minute. Staring off into space, unsure if he should leave or bide his time until he's kicked out. The latter seems like a better idea.

He really doesn't want to go back to the studio now. Not all by himself, where the stain probably still exists, bleeding into the leather of the couch. Where the small puddle of blood has ended up making its mark in the floorboards.

The studio is probably closed off right now anyway, swarming with officers, taped up to be picked apart. Even if he left, he'd have to stay at Qiao Ling's.

And the thought of that, of seeing her after what happened—

A shiver crawls up his spine.

He decides against leaving just yet.

He likes that it isn't completely silent here— it keeps his thoughts at bay. The movement further in the station, the loud voices of officers about to leave for patrol, the footsteps that pass by but never into the hallway his room is in. They all make for a good distraction.

Cheng Xiaoshi pushes himself to his feet, pausing briefly as the room tilts— taking him off balance for a moment. It's enough of a reminder that he hasn't really caught up to himself yet.

A lot has happened since last night.

He steadies, then makes his way to the small sink in the corner.

He doesn't look in the mirror. He knows better; there's nothing there he wants to see. So he keeps his eyes low to the faucet as he turns it on, letting the water run cold over his hands before bringing it up to his face.

He rinses out his mouth once, twice, and scrubs the dried tears out of his skin.

It takes all of five minutes to do that. A peaceful five minutes that actually alleviates a bit of the weight pulling on his heart.

And by the time he's done— water dripping down his nose, chin, lashes— one final thought settles in. It's easier to swallow than it had been yesterday, or maybe he's just detached himself from it all for the time being.

Lu Guang is dead.

It's almost . . . distant. Outside of himself. Almost like he's playing a character in a video game instead, watching the bad ending play out after accidentally picking the wrong option.

He's only ever felt this way one other time. And it was ages ago.

People have a word for this feeling. He's heard it countless times before— never to apply it to himself because . . . well.

There was never any reason to.

Derealization.

The sense that nothing around him is real. That he's just . . . floating around in a body that doesn't belong to him, that doesn't feel like it belongs to him, that if he reaches out, his hand might pass through everything like he's been forgotten by the world itself.

Back then, he was only eight.

Eight-year-olds never know anything in depth the way he knows them now.

That's why maybe . . . maybe it was easier to get over the feeling. He doesn't think it'll be so easy this time around.

Cheng Xiaoshi turns off the faucet and rests his hands on the edge of the sink.

. . . Is it worth sacrificing all he knows for a sliver of hope? If he decides to dive back into a photo, if he alters the events of last night, will he have to pay some kind of price?

And, perhaps the greatest question—

Who would suffer in place of Lu Guang?

Cheng Xiaoshi has heard of the principle of trade-offs. That every action comes at the price of a trade-off of another, and that one decision you make leads to giving up something else.

In this case, someone else would have to pay dearly for what he's about to do.

The price of bringing Lu Guang back would be to let someone else suffer instead, their fate rewritten at the expense of whatever balance keeps the world from falling apart entirely. One soul for another.

And that's cruel. Selfish, even.

Lu Guang would look at him, disappointed, and say:

"You can't decide whether someone gets to live or die. That isn't your choice."

Maybe he'd be angry. Maybe he'd never forgive him for intervening.

Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers tighten against the sink. His eyes darken.

. . . Too bad.

Life isn't fair, is it? It's a bitch of a concept, evil and ruthless, but he's willing to do anything to tip the scale of luck in his favour.

Cheng Xiaoshi can't live in a world without Lu Guang.

That is a fact.

So he'll do it; he'll alter fate if it means getting Lu Guang back.

But that presents one more dilemma, one that Cheng Xiaoshi finds a little concerning.

What if the one who ends up paying the price is him?

What if, after saving Lu Guang, he's the one fate decides to settle the score with?

He imagines it briefly— changing the outcome of last night, dragging Lu Guang back from the edge of life and death only to end up caught in the crossfire himself before he can apologize for what he's done.

Cheng Xiaoshi knows Lu Guang. He's good with things like following orders and being strict when it comes to righteousness.

He trusts that Lu Guang would follow his own rules, even if Cheng Xiaoshi disappeared right in front of him. So if this is the end for him—

He exhales slowly.

"I'll fix it." He mutters to himself, more a silent promise than anything.

He will fix it.

There are no exceptions.

His plan is simple.

. . . Okay, it probably isn't, and it means he'll likely end up messing up horribly.

Step one on his mental checklist is to get out of here. He'll sign those few papers, catch a police car back to the studio, and hope he's allowed past the reporters without them hounding him for details.

Step two is to get his hands on a photograph. Any photograph. And whaddya know— he lives in a freakin' photo studio, so he's bound to find a photo somewhere that dates back to a day or two before the incident.

Step three, and probably the easiest step, is to dive before anyone can stop him.

Why is it the easiest?

Haha! Because there isn't anyone to stop him! He'll be in that photograph before he can second-guess himself— because he's the only person who might be able to talk himself out of it when it comes down to it.

He's not taking any chances.

He will do this.

He won't stop if his hands start shaking the second he gets a photo in front of him, he won't hesitate because he thinks there's another way, and he won't spare another moment's thought.

The world would be better with Lu Guang in it.

This isn't a matter of personal opinion. He's sure tons of people would agree with him. (You must. You understand what kind of person Lu Guang is.)

"I'm gonna have you sign this witness report." The cop says, sliding a stack of papers across the desk toward him, along with a pen. "There are a few more papers in that stack— just answer the parts you know. Skip the rest, I'll take a look myself later."

Cheng Xiaoshi nods. "Sounds good."

The cop watches him for a moment, then leans back in his chair. It's strange. He's glad Cheng Xiaoshi has collected himself enough to speak . . .

But something about his demeanour has changed.

He's . . . loose. Relaxed. Strangely calm despite the fact that he watched someone get murdered right in front of him less than twenty-four hours ago.

He shrugs it off as a different method of coping. He's seen tons of cases like this—people who stay silent, people who won't speak unless they're with someone they know, people who break down the second they're in a police station because they've been through things no one ever wants to go through.

Cheng Xiaoshi's filling out the box asking for his birthday when the cop clears his throat.

"Oh, and . . ."

He hesitates.

It's a hesitation long enough for Cheng Xiaoshi to notice, and he stops writing. Slowly, he looks up.

The officer is avoiding his gaze.

. . .

Why?

"Captain Xiao . . . wanted me to let you know," he says carefully, "that your friend's family hadn't been contacted yet."

Cheng Xiaoshi stills. Family . . . ?

"They're having trouble reaching them. Apparently, there's some issue with the emergency contact information on file, so the hospital's waiting until they can sort everything out before—"

He keeps talking.

But Cheng Xiaoshi stops listening after he hears the word hospital.

No, in fact, he sorta figured something was up after hearing 'family'. Lu Guang doesn't have anyone listed as his emergency contact. Cheng Xiaoshi would know— he made a huge deal about it and made sure Lu Guang put his name there the next time he had a doctor's appointment.

If there were news, the call would come to Cheng Xiaoshi.

. . . His family.

And the hospital? Hospital? Really?

Not— not the morgue? Or the funeral home? Or literally anywhere that isn't the one place Lu Guang could still be—

Cheng Xiaoshi's breath stutters.

". . . wait." It slips out before he can stop it, something cold crawling up his spine.

The officer blinks. "Hm?"

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him, his thoughts suddenly feeling like a haze of thick fog. ". . . The hospital?"

"Yeah," the officer says slowly, brows knitting. "He's still there pending—"

Still there.

He's still there.

A strange feeling twists sharply in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. It isn't hope, because that would surely hurt too much to bear. This is something uglier, frantic and restless.

This isn't adding up.

If Lu Guang passed away during surgery . . . why is he still in a hospital room? Why was he even given a room if he had been pronounced dead on the table?

Why hasn't anyone—

Why—

His pulse starts climbing, blood rushing in his ears like waves crashing against the shore.

The officer frowns slightly. "You alright?"

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't answer.

His breathing has gone shallow— his fingers tightening unconsciously around the pen.

". . . I need to see him."

The officer blinks. "Huh?"

"I need to see him." Cheng Xiaoshi repeats immediately, standing so abruptly that the chair scrapes harshly against the floor.

His voice is shaking out of fear.

This can't be. It couldn't be. He can't possibly have overlooked the fact that he was lied to.

"Look, we can't just—"

"If he's alive, I want to see him!" Cheng Xiaoshi says, albeit a little too loudly. His outburst captures the attention of other officers in the station. "Y-You don't understand— I need to see him—"

His eyes swirl with hysteria. "If I'm wrong about this— and I go back— it'll be pointless. Please, you— you have to understand. Let me see him. Let me go to him."

Every officer in earshot is staring now. Staring at him and how unreasonably weird he's being.

He doesn't care.

His chest is rising too fast, his breaths are too short and uneven, his pulse is hammering violently beneath his skin as his thoughts spiral into something he can't fully process yet.

This goes beyond speculation. This matters.

If Lu Guang is alive, if he's been alive this whole damn time, then everything Cheng Xiaoshi has been preparing himself to do—

Everything he's willing to sacrifice—

The officer sitting before him watches him like he's a ticking bomb. Slowly, uncomfortably, something clicks into place in his head.

There's something wrong with this boy.

Something that doesn't just fit into plain insanity. No. This is something rawer, something deeper, something more dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with violence.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't look irrational. He's desperate, and frantic, and manic— and the only thing he wants is something the officer can't give him.

"Hey," he says, tone gentle. "Just breathe for a second, alright? Sit down."

Cheng Xiaoshi shakes his head, restless. "No. No, I am breathing— I just need to see him. Please."

The please comes out small this time. Painfully sincere, a matter of life and death.

The officer sighs. "You're going to have to relax, or we'll have to put you back in confinement—"

"You can't!" He shouts. That leaves him a demand.

The kindness in the officer's tone evaporates a bit. Something firm settles over his expression.

"Listen here, kid. You're asking to be detained. We aren't being kept up to speed with the captain because we've got another case to handle alongside what happened to you last night— so you're gonna sit your ass back down and fill out the form."

Cheng Xiaoshi steps back from the desk. ". . . No."

"Cheng Xiaoshi—"

"No! I'll—" he inhales sharply, eyes wild. "I'll run away. I'll get to him before you can stop me. You won't stop me!"

The officer stands up, seething now out of worry. "Don't be an idiot!"

"I'll be an idiot if it gets me to him!" Cheng Xiaoshi retorts. He looks like he's going to bolt— one foot sideways, weight shifting to his back leg.

"If you run, you won't even make it halfway to the door."

"Yeah?" He laughs angrily. "I used to run for the track team; I'll be out that door before you can even hobble your way out from behind that desk."

"Quiet down now." The officer orders. "We won't hesitate to use force."

"Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone who gives a damn. I want to see him. I want to see Lu Guang!"

"You have three seconds."

The whole station around him feels like it's closing in. Cheng Xiaoshi's chest heaves violently, heart pounding so hard that it hurts.

Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to move. To run. Before they get him, before they stop him, before he's forced to spend another night in this place.

He needs to make sure.

He needs to see Lu Guang.

"One," the officer begins to count.

Cheng Xiaoshi shifts back another step, muscles tensing, ready.

Around both of them, several cops are already moving subtly into position. They aren't aggressive yet, simply careful, watching Cheng Xiaoshi like he's a wild animal.

"Two."

"I'm not staying here," Cheng Xiaoshi snaps, voice cracking. "You lied to me!"

"We told you what we were informed of!"

"You said he died!"

A horrible silence follows after that sentence. Mostly because it's true— he had been told by another cop that Lu Guang hadn't made it.

If they didn't know Lu Guang's status, why the hell would that officer take it upon himself to lie to Cheng Xiaoshi's face?

What kind of idiot does that?

For a brief moment, rage cuts cleanly through the panic racing in him. It's hot, irate, and almost refreshing after the constant grief he's been drowning in since last night.

He wants to hit something. Someone.

The someone who told him, without any hesitation, without even bothering to verify, that the very reason Cheng Xiaoshi can stand on his own two feet today had succumbed to an injury like that.

". . . You don't get it," he seethes, trembling fingers curling. "You're keeping me away from him."

Cheng Xiaoshi squares his shoulders and shifts his footing once more.

The officer tenses immediately in realization, his hand dropping to the taser on his belt. "Watch it—"

And just as Cheng Xiaoshi's about to rush past him—

The station doors swing open.

"Hey, guys!" a familiar voice calls, bright and completely oblivious to the escalation of events. "Hope everything's good. On Captain Xiao's orders, I'm here to pick up someone named . . ."

The man stops in the archway.

Every head in the station turns toward him, including Cheng Xiaoshi's. His eyes widen in recognition.

Chen Bin.

He blinks— looking between the officers standing at attention, Cheng Xiaoshi in the middle of it all, and the distinctly tense atmosphere hanging over everything.

". . . Cheng Xiaoshi," he then finishes.

There's a beat of silence.

His brows furrow. "What's going on?"

An officer points at Cheng Xiaoshi. "He's trying to run!"

Cheng Xiaoshi whirls on him, frustration bubbling under his skin. "I'm trying to get to the hospital!"

"Well, you must be some kind of diviner," Chen Bin says, thumbing over his shoulder. "Captain Xiao wants you there. Your friend is with him, too."

Cheng Xiaoshi stills, the fight draining out of him so fast it nearly makes him dizzy. ". . . Qiao Ling?"

He dips his head, a gentle smile softening his expression. "She's a little shaken up. It would help if you were there with her, don't you think?"

Cheng Xiaoshi can only swallow around the lump in his throat, relief flooding his body so suddenly that his knees might just give out.

Because yes, dear god, he's never been so thankful in his life. For the world, for fate, for Heaven's blessed angel Chen Bin— that he's able to leave.

He can't bring himself to ask about Lu Guang.

There's something grim in Chen Bin's expression amidst the sensitivity, the kind of sadness you find when someone's seen death up close.

He doesn't want to ask and crush the very small bit of hope that lingers within his chest. He won't ask until he walks into that hospital room, looks with his own two eyes, and is absolutely sure of the truth.

The city passes by in the blur.

Buildings, other cars, people. All unaware of how Cheng Xiaoshi's entire world has been repeatedly shattered and rebuilt over the course of 24 hours.

He's being generous by rounding up. It's still only seven p.m.

But at least he's not stuck in the station anymore— he probably would've gone insane under that awful lighting. Whoever decided commercial lighting belonged in police stations deserved to be locked in a room illuminated by cold white bulbs. For several days.

Neither of them has spoken since getting in the car. Chen Bin drives silently, most likely occupied with whatever policeman-y stuff he's usually used to. Cheng Xiaoshi stares out the window, leaning against the door, eyes dull and anxious.

He hopes.

Although it's stupid, he still hopes.

"So, hey," Chen Bin says, breaking the quiet. "Are you filled in about everything?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart sinks. The question remains persistent behind his teeth, and his thoughts are all but— ask him. Ask if Lu Guang is okay. Ask if he made it through the surgery. Ask if he's alive and breathing and blinking and—

Ask.

He bites it back, jaw tightening.

Chen Bin spares him a glance. He smiles a bit. "Things have been pretty hectic, you know? Work is usually slow, but everything just picked up out of nowhere."

He's probably referring to the murders.

Cheng Xiaoshi hums, noncommittal, because that's as good a response he can muster right now.

Silence barely gets to settle over them again before the ringing of a cellphone fills the car.

Chen Bin sucks a breath in through his teeth, fumbling for his phone. "Mind getting that for me?"

Cheng Xiaoshi turns, his gaze falling to the phone in Chen Bin's hand. He reaches out tentatively, then picks up and holds the phone between them.

"Hey, it's me. Will you be coming home tonight? Our daughter's missing you."

His wife?

"Sorry, not tonight," Chen Bin chuckles nervously. "I'm still on a case right now. It might take me a little longer than expected."

She sighs on the other end. "You've been working incessantly. I hope you're resting."

"Pshh. Rest is my middle name," he teases, smile widening. "What about you? Are you resting?"

Cheng Xiaoshi . . . feels like he shouldn't be listening in. He averts his gaze, a little awkward.

"I am, I've been taking it easy all day. Listen, Captain Qian's here to see you. What do you want me to say?"

Chen Bin's eyebrows raise. "Captain Qian . . . ? Really? That's weird."

"Tell me about it."

He sighs deeply, his hold on the steering wheel shifting as he takes the exit. "Well, please tell him I won't be able to make it. I'm on the way to the hospital to convene with Captain Xiao, and I have a feeling I'll be there the whole night."

"It's alright, I'll let him know. Drive safe, okay?"

"Of course. Love you."

"Love you too."

The call drops.

Cheng Xiaoshi brings the phone closer as Chen Bin's wallpaper lights up before him.

It's a selfie.

Chen Bin stands on one side, grinning at the camera, and the pretty lady leaning into his shoulder with soft brown hair and gorgeous eyes must be his wife. She looks kind— warm eyes, an easygoing smile, the kind of happiness that can be contagious clear on her face.

". . . I didn't know you had a kid," Cheng Xiaoshi murmurs, voice gravelly out of disuse, staring at the screen.

Chen Bin smiles instantly, almost bashful. "Well . . . I sort of do. She's on the way."

"Oh."

The sun continues to set outside, the sky turning into a deeper shade of orangish-pink. They pass beneath a bridge, which blocks out the light for a few seconds. The glow from the phone reflects in Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes.

Wallpaper.

. . . A photograph.

Something jolts in his chest.

Could this . . . be the opportunity he's been looking for? There's a photograph within his reach, literally in the palm of his hand. His fingers tighten around the phone.

"When did you take this? It . . . looks recent."

Chen Bin glances over. "Oh, that's from when we got married. I proposed to her that day. Crazy how it's already been two years since then, and we haven't even had our ceremony yet!"

Two years.

That's more than enough time for him to go back and fix everything. To warn his past self (and Lu Guang) of what'll come to pass. To stop Liu Min. To save Lu Guang.

One dive is all it'd take, and he could set things straight.

He looks down at his hands. They tremble with anticipation.

He's got the photo right here. This is his chance.

If he isn't sure he'll be happy with what awaits him at the hospital, he doesn't have to go. Certainly not when he's afraid of what he'll find there.

How would he manage to get his hands on Chen Bin's phone again if Lu Guang were . . .

Ahem.

. . . If Lu Guang were—

His heart throbs, breath stuttering.

If Chen Bin takes him up to the floor Lu Guang is on and leads him into a room where all that's left is a body that has long since given up, it'll be too late.

His fingers curl, fear surging through his veins.

He . . . he could do it now. Before reality settles permanently into place, before things are set in stone.

But there's something holding him back.

You could call it fear. He doesn't know what'll happen if he goes back.

He doesn't think he wants to find out, either.

However, the greater risk is continuing on in a world where both he and Qiao Ling live with the guilt. How would he be able to face her? How would he be able to tell her that he had an opportunity to make sure none of this happened—

Only to give it up?

Cheng Xiaoshi's breathing grows shallow.

Do it.

Do it.

Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it now.

No one can stop him. No one would even know. If he clapped and went back, what could anyone do to bring him back?

Right, nothing.

His thumb shifts slightly against the edge of the phone, and the screen seems to glow brighter.

And just as he locks eyes with Chen Bin in the photo—

he's struck instantly by the emotion in it.

The warm spring sun beamed down at them, the courtyard smelling of grass, flowers, and the rubber from the playground behind them.

Chen Bin laughed, pulling her close, angling his phone up to the light.

"Commemorative photo! I did it! I proposed to the love of my life!" He practically announced, capturing the attention of a few passersby.

She smacked him playfully, caught between her own fits of laughter. "Stop it— you're so loud!"

"Damn right, I am!" He leaned into her, nuzzling her hair. "You have no idea how happy I am right now."

"No, I don't think you have any idea how happy I am right now." Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, a light flush on her cheeks. ". . . Promise you'll always be here for me."

Chen Bin's eyes twinkled. He lowered his arm, briefly sliding his phone back into his pocket to free his hand. And before she could figure out what was going on, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"What are you—?!" A started laugh escaped her as her feet lifted from the ground. "Chen Bin! Put me down!"

He spun once, twice, mischief and utter adoration in his eyes as he watched her squeal about getting dizzy. She lowered her head, eyes squeezed shut, fingers gripping his arms tightly.

It only made him happier.

"I swear it." He said at last, slowing to a stop. "I swear I'll be everything you want me to be. In this life and the next, and even the one after that."

She smiled so brightly, and rested her forehead against his.

"You already are."

The memory that clings to the photo can't be overwritten. It can't be traded for someone else's happiness.

And suddenly, Cheng Xiaoshi understands.

This is their moment.

The moment she said yes, the moment Chen Bin realized he was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved— a beginning for them that held greater weight than anything else.

The picture shakes. Or maybe it's his hand.

. . . Damn it.

Damn it.

Of course this had to be the photograph he could get his hands on.

If Cheng Xiaoshi dives, he'll be taking away the very light of someone else's life. He'll be taking away the sentiment in this moment, the thing that makes Chen Bin and his wife who they are together.

He expected this. He knew he would hesitate.

He just didn't know it would be because of something like this.

Cheng Xiaoshi's greatest weakness has always been his empathy.

How other people matter, how their lives matter, how their happiness matters more than anything Cheng Xiaoshi could hold a candle to. He can't be selfish. Not ever.

It's why he's so good at running a photography shop.

People are open books through the photos they take. He's met so many others in different points of their lives, be it at age eighty, twenty-six, fifty, or sixteen. The photos they bring to him all mean something to them— even if it's of a random tree they saw on vacation.

The worst part of it all is that he can understand them. He can chat things up with them because he understands.

It's the reason he helps strangers. The reason he keeps getting hurt.

And the reason he can't do this.

Not like this.

Not by stealing the happiest day of someone else's life and turning it into a doorway for his own grief. That's not how this works.

Slowly, painfully, his fingers loosen.

"Don't change the past."

God fucking damn it.

"Here's your phone." The quiver in his voice barely masks itself.

"Ah, thanks." Chen Bin says. He then leans back a bit and reaches into the backseat. "I have something for you, too. Probably should've given it to you earlier, but I only just remembered."

Cheng Xiaoshi lifts his muted gaze. A brown bag is gently set into his lap, and he grabs it instinctively. He peers inside, curious.

". . . Clothes?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't want you to see Lu Guang looking like that." Chen Bin says in a gentle tone.

. . . Does he know? That Cheng Xiaoshi's been worried sick all this time?

Does he know how Cheng Xiaoshi's currently split down the middle, half-grieving, half-hoping, and somehow neither all at the same time? Does he know how Cheng Xiaoshi feels like he's been walking through dense fog ever since last night?

Does he know . . .

Does he know that Cheng Xiaoshi is one wrong word away from completely breaking down?

Staring into the bag helps a little. It keeps the burning in his eyes at bay while he has something to focus on.

That's when his eyes catch on the bloodstain on his sleeve.

. . . Yeah, okay. Maybe he should change.

The outfit Chen Bin got him fits strangely well.

Like . . . suspiciously well.

It's a shame it's brand new, though. Cheng Xiaoshi has a feeling it'll be sporting his tears, snot, and whatever dignity he has left by the time he's out of here— certainly no better than the blood that has stained his other jacket.

He stands before the door to Lu Guang's hospital room.

. . . Intimidated and scared.

Chen Bin stands beside him, leaning against the wall. "Are you ready?"

No. Not even close.

Cheng Xiaoshi lowers his head because if he opens his mouth right now, there's a very real chance he'll crack and start crying before he even steps inside.

He settles for a nod.

"Captain Xiao and your friend— Qiao Ling— are inside already. They'll give you the rundown of how we'll proceed."

He nods again.

His heart is thumping so hard it hurts, almost like it's trying to beat right out of his ribs. Dread builds in the pit of his stomach, and fear creeps up his throat.

This is it.

There'll be no more wondering, no more hoping, and no more avoiding what's inevitable once the door opens. The answer he's waiting for is right on the other side, waiting for him in the same way.

Chen Bin exhales through his nose, then reaches for the handle. The door begins to slide open.

Inch by inch— the light from inside the room pours out into the dark hallway, and Cheng Xiaoshi's faced with his reality. His blood turns ice cold as the gap widens.

I can't do this.

The thought slams into him like a wrecking ball.

He— he needs to go. He wants to leave.

He wants to run.

He doesn't want this. He can't do this. He doesn't want to face the truth, even if it's necessary to be able to move on.

Cheng Xiaoshi, despite his fight-or-flight instincts flaring, doesn't move a centimetre. Not even his feet slide backward.

He's stuck.

At last, the door is completely open. Qiao Ling sees him first, sitting near the opposite corner of the room with Captain Xiao, and she seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

But he doesn't see them.

His eyes are locked solely on the bed.

For a moment, he can't process anything at all. Sure . . . there's white hair, and a body, and a face, and someone who looks exactly like Lu Guang, and feels exactly like Lu Guang, and occupies the exact shape Lu Guang occupies in the world—

But . . . he doesn't seem to want to believe it.

This can't be Lu Guang.

This person is paler, more worn out, attached to an IV and a heart monitor that . . . that Cheng Xiaoshi can't hear. The ringing in his ears is drowning out everything else.

He takes a tentative step forward. Then another.

His legs don't feel like they belong to him as he drives himself forward.

Captain Xiao says something, Qiao Ling stands up to meet him— neither of them register. The room narrows to the figure on the bed.

Cheng Xiaoshi is still basically in the doorway when he sees it.

His breath catches.
His lungs burn.
His heartbeat becomes unbearable— too fast, too loud, too much.
His eyes refuse to look away.
His weight sways.

Because looking back at him,

are two tired, soft, familiar, painfully lovely grey eyes.

Everything around him falls silent.

This is . . . this is . . . real? Is he dreaming right now? This won't be snatched away from him . . . will it?

The realization doesn't hit him all at once, naturally. He's still trying to figure out how to move his feet from their sudden strike.

The sight before him unravels slowly, the way frozen hands thaw under warm water.

Alive.

The rise and fall of his chest.

Alive.

The tilt of his head.

Alive.

The way his fingers curl weakly against the blanket.

Alive.

Lu Guang blinks once.

Cheng Xiaoshi can't breathe.

A broken sound escapes him— halfway between a laugh and a sob— and his vision blurs instantly. He mourned him.

God, he'd mourned him.

He'd sat in a cell and cried until his throat ran dry, he'd imagined the way the funeral would go, and he'd imagined life afterwards. The empty studio, how he'd wake up every morning for the rest of his life and find the bunk above him empty, how he'd throw out the second pair of chopsticks, bowls, plates, slippers, pillows, clothes—

Oh god.

Oh god.

He'd already buried him.

And now, Lu Guang is . . . Lu Guang is here.

The corners of those familiar grey eyes soften, just slightly. And in a voice roughened by exhaustion, Lu Guang says:

"Cheng Xiaoshi."

That does it.

The last fragile thread holding him together snaps.

Cheng Xiaoshi's face crumples, and hot tears begin streaming down his face. Lu Guang sees it immediately, and despite the IV in his arm, and the heart monitor, and the still-fresh stitches in his torso, he tries to sit up.

"Be careful, your wound—!" Captain Xiao starts, but Qiao Ling shushes him. She gestures for him to follow her out. To give them space.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't notice them shuffling out behind him— he's too preoccupied.

He nearly smacks his head on the railing of the bed as he crashes down onto his knees beside it. He's lucky as his forehead bumps into Lu Guang's knee instead, due only to his own attempt at trying to get to Cheng Xiaoshi.

Lu Guang, who's alive.

His breath hitches hard, shoulders caving in, chest heaving like breathing has always been a voluntary thing. He sobs hard into his hands, leaning further into Lu Guang's knee as relief replaces the dread pouring out of him.

Lu Guang's own breath trembles, and he reaches forward and tries to pull Cheng Xiaoshi up.

"Hey—" his voice cracks, "hey, I'm right here. Cheng Xiaoshi, look."

Cheng Xiaoshi shakes his head. He still hasn't processed it fully— looking at him would just make things worse.

His cries are broken and helpless, completely beyond his control. This is a soul-deep type of relief, stitches into a wound so sensitive that even the slightest touch will break him.

Lu Guang's cold fingers slide over Cheng Xiaoshi's own. "Cheng Xiaoshi, please. I can't go any further than this. Please stand up."

How funny is that, huh?

Lu Guang, the one with a literal stab wound in his stomach, is comforting him. Trying to reach him. Doing his absolute best to keep it together himself.

Cheng Xiaoshi slides his hands down a bit— just so he can see. His vision is blurry, room swimming as the lights smear together.

It doesn't matter.

He peers up at Lu Guang through those same tear-filled eyes.

From this angle, the light above halos his white hair, casting an almost dreamlike shadow over Cheng Xiaoshi. He looks almost like—

An angel.

Their eyes remain locked for what feels like eternity, silently speaking, understanding, responding.

Cheng Xiaoshi's brows knit together as another bout of heavy relief washes over him. This is real. He's not dreaming.

Lu Guang is real.

No more than a few seconds pass in the real world before he grabs the handle on the side of the bed and hauls himself up.

And he doesn't even fully straighten his knees before he crashes into Lu Guang. This time, his sobs aren't as loud— but his heart hurts more. Almost like an afterthought to the soul-crushing way he just cried.

He grabs onto him like he's drowning— arms wrapping tight, fingers white-knuckling fabric, burying his face into Lu Guang's shoulder like he's trying to ground himself in the contact.

Lu Guang tenses, his wound protesting as the movement pulls on his stitches. He grits his teeth against the pain, but refuses to withdraw from Cheng Xiaoshi's grip.

He can ignore a bit of sharp, searing pain if it means Cheng Xiaoshi will stop shaking like this.

Lu Guang breathes out slowly, closing his eyes against the broad shoulder pressing into him. He lifts a hand and rests it gently against Cheng Xiaoshi's back.

He pats. And with a heart so full of relief that he's alright, he falls limp into Cheng Xiaoshi's embrace.

Cheng Xiaoshi hiccups, his tears soaking into Lu Guang's hospital gown. His hands refuse to loosen, despite how he knows he's probably suffocating him.

Gradually, the ache in his chest starts to ease. It's like his body is finally remembering that panic isn't the only thing he can feel— which is great.

Amidst his headache-causing sobs, feeling in his other senses start to come back as well. He can hear the steady beeping of the heart monitor, can smell the medicinal, clinical scent off of Lu Guang, can feel how warm his body is.

And beneath that warmth, he can feel it.

A heartbeat against his own, beating in sync— faint but there.

He sniffles miserably, face burning hot. At this point, he won't be surprised if he comes down with a fever. He's pretty sure he cried enough to dehydrate the average adult.

His eyes sting, his throat hurts, his head pulses in time with his heart— he's the epitome of a bad day.

But for the first time in hours, it feels survivable. He doesn't need to pretend that this didn't destroy him from the inside, no room for pride or dignity. He's laid completely bare here, his emotions stripped to their most spartan form.

He missed Lu Guang.

Maybe it was hasty of him to box away his memories of him due to a miscommunication— but with Emma, and the serial murders, Liu Min, and the cops, he's had too much to deal with and no escape from it all.

This'd simply been the straw that broke the camel's back.

He'd missed Lu Guang— the very certainty of him. Living in limbo, unsure of Lu Guang's state, had been absolute hell. How would Cheng Xiaoshi even begin to process a life without him?

Luckily, he won't ever have to.

His fingers tighten slightly.

". . . You suck." The accusation comes out muffled against Lu Guang's shoulder.

A long pause follows.

Then, "You don't say."

Cheng Xiaoshi inhales shakily. The attempt at trying to collect himself fails; the breath collapses into another sniffle. "You weren't supposed to get stabbed."

"I noticed."

". . . You almost died."

There's a beat. Lu Guang stops patting his back, the brief silence almost pensive. ". . . Also noticed."

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrow twitches. "Stop agreeing with me."

"Then stop being correct."

Despite it all, Cheng Xiaoshi feels a wet laugh bubble up in his chest. He pulls away reluctantly, though not too far. His hands remain planted on Lu Guang's shoulders, as if the thought of letting go is just a little too much for now.

He scans his face— taking note of the dark circles under his eyes, the exhausted worry in his expression, the tightness around his mouth that only ever appears when he wants to say more but can't find the words.

His hair is mussed, sticking up in places he usually tames before Cheng Xiaoshi can take a picture and keep it as blackmail.

He looks awful.

Cheng Xiaoshi has never been happier to see someone so messy.

He swallows, throat prickling. ". . . Are you real?"

Lu Guang tilts his head slightly, eyes boring into him. Cheng Xiaoshi stares back, equally intense.

It's a stupid question, but he'd be beyond bitter if this were a dream. He needs to hear it from Lu Guang.

Something soft flickers across his face— and it's as if he understands exactly why Cheng Xiaoshi's asking.

Lu Guang lifts the hand that had previously been comforting him, reaches up—

And flicks Cheng Xiaoshi squarely in the forehead.

"Ow!" He jerks back, clutching his head. Bewildered and still teary-eyed, he meets Lu Guang's gaze. "What was that for?!"

"Did that feel real?" Lu Guang hums. The ghost of a smile touches his face, only slightly turning up the corners of his mouth.

The response is so familiarly sarcastic, so perfectly Lu Guang that Cheng Xiaoshi almost bursts into tears again.

He blinks back the heat building behind his eyes again, simply because he doesn't think he'll be able to shed any more tears. This time, he smiles. He laughs.

A genuine, strangled, charming little laugh that makes the air feel ten times lighter.

"I really hate you." He looks off to the side, embarrassed.

Lu Guang's gaze softens. "No you don't."

Cheng Xiaoshi, unable to deny it, just shakes his head.

Living contentedly in the fact that the hospital room is so much warmer than he thought it would be, he finally lets the weight he'd been carrying slip from his shoulders.

He glances at Lu Guang one more time, just to confirm.

Then his smile mellows out as something in his chest begins to melt.