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It’s a random day in June, and Cheng Xiaoshi buys Lu Guang flowers.
They’re orange roses, six of them in a ring around a bit of baby’s breath, a piece of leather fern tucked in the back like an afterthought. He comes back from whatever errands he’d been running and sets the bouquet on the counter where Lu Guang is working. They’re wrapped in clear plastic, a rubber band holding them together, their cut stems still wet, and Lu Guang has no idea what he’s meant to do with them.
He looks up at Cheng Xiaoshi. Cheng Xiaoshi and his crooked smile and his messy hair and these strange orange roses. He’s looking at Lu Guang expectantly. The roses drip on the counter.
“What is this?” Lu Guang asks, eyeing the flowers. He can’t come up with an explanation. Maybe someone gave them to Cheng Xiaoshi and he feels the need to show them off. Maybe he bought them for someone and he’s looking for approval. Lu Guang doesn’t know.
“For you,” Cheng Xiaoshi says simply. He’s wringing his hands. Lu Guang hasn’t known him to do that often.
“For me,” he repeats. Cheng Xiaoshi nods, so he gingerly picks them up. Orange roses. A bit of baby’s breath. The scent that wafts up from them is sweet and floral. Lu Guang resists the urge to sniff them.
“Yeah,” Cheng Xiaoshi says.
Lu Guang looks at the flowers again. Cheng Xiaoshi’s expectant expression. Plastic crinkles under his fingers. “Why?” he wonders.
“Just…” Cheng Xiaoshi purses his lips. “Because. I felt like it.”
Slow, careful, Lu Guang nods. Maybe someone gave Cheng Xiaoshi these flowers and he didn’t want them, but if Cheng Xiaoshi had a story like that, he would tell it. So he bought these on purpose. Bought them with the intention of giving them to Lu Guang. That’s why he looks expectant. That’s why he seems nervous. Lu Guang rubs his fingertip over the edge of a clipped thorn. “I’ll put these in water.”
“Right,” Cheng Xiaoshi says.
They don’t own a vase, but there’s a tall jar in one of their cabinets that Lu Guang will use as a substitute. Cheng Xiaoshi follows him into the other room and watches as he fills it with water. Just watches. He doesn’t speak. Lu Guang doesn’t either. It’s kind of strange. Lu Guang is overly conscious of it, of the fact that Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t seem to have anything to say right now. He always has something to say. Lu Guang isn’t sure what makes this different.
He finds a pair of scissors. Delicately, he cuts the plastic wrapping open and lays it out to catch the mess the flowers will inevitably make. Cheng Xiaoshi watches this too. Lu Guang wonders if he’s going to have to speak first. It’s just that he doesn’t have anything to say. They’re not usually awkward like this. Lu Guang still doesn’t know where the flowers came from.
He’s nervous as he cuts the first stem. Lu Guang isn’t artistic in this way. He does photography, and every once and a while he’ll draw out a sketch or two. He’s never handled flowers before. No one’s ever gifted them to him. Not until today. Not until Cheng Xiaoshi. Six orange roses in a ring around a bit of baby’s breath. Easy enough. Cheng Xiaoshi is still watching him.
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang says. There’s a soft hum in response. Still no words. Cheng Xiaoshi is leaning against the wall with this odd, contented, catlike expression. His gaze is lazy. His hair is still a mess. Lu Guang feels uncomfortably warm, so he rolls up his sleeves. He clears his throat. “Go make sure there aren’t customers.”
△
They are two people who know each other inside and out. Cheng Xiaoshi is Lu Guang’s first real friend. Lu Guang is the second person who stayed for Cheng Xiaoshi. They spent high school playing basketball and college figuring the rest out. They opened the photo studio. They room together. They take turns with the groceries and chores and they take care of each other when they’re sick. Lu Guang has spent hours listening to Cheng Xiaoshi’s internal thoughts during dives. Cheng Xiaoshi has been Lu Guang, has controlled his body and felt every tiny emotion that Lu Guang avoids talking about.
They live in each other’s pockets. It’s only natural that they know each other as well as they do. And yet, these days Cheng Xiaoshi confuses Lu Guang like no other.
It starts with the flowers. Six orange roses. Lu Guang put them on his desk in their shared room. He once caught Cheng Xiaoshi smiling at them. It’s been four days. They’re starting to wilt.
Next, Cheng Xiaoshi cooks for him. This isn’t inherently significant; Cheng Xiaoshi cooks somewhat regularly. He’s better at it than Lu Guang anyway. He makes noodles often.
What’s significant is that today he makes dumplings by hand, folding them with surprisingly careful fingers. Lu Guang watches. Cheng Xiaoshi won’t let him help. Regardless, they come out neat and tidy. They smell good. Warm and savory. When they’re ready, he waits for Lu Guang to serve himself first. That expectant look is back, the one from before. The one from the flowers.
“Is there a special occasion?” Lu Guang asks. A random day in June. Cheng Xiaoshi’s birthday is in April. Lu Guang’s is in October. He can’t think of anything else that might be significant. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi just felt like making dumplings.
“No,” he says, smiling. He gestures at Lu Guang to eat. “Tell me if they’re good. I’ve never made dumplings before.”
The folds are too neat for that to be true. Cheng Xiaoshi has either made dumplings before this, or he practiced. Lu Guang can’t think of a reason why he would lie.
△
The roses die, as roses do. They run out of leftover dumplings. Cheng Xiaoshi gifts Lu Guang a camera.
He says he thrifted it. This much, Lu Guang believes. The model isn’t in production anymore. It would be hard to find it otherwise. What he doesn’t believe is how much Cheng Xiaoshi says he paid for it, but he doesn’t investigate further. It isn’t his business how Cheng Xiaoshi decides to spend his money, even if he wonders what would possess him to splurge on something like this. On something for Lu Guang. This, he doesn’t comment on either. He takes the camera with careful hands and offers his thanks. Cheng Xiaoshi, as he is wont to do these days, smiles at him. It’s just a bit too soft. A bit too warm. They live in each other’s pockets, but they are not like this.
When Cheng Xiaoshi turns his head, light from the window draws a line on his cheek. He is disheveled as always. He isn’t looking, now. There’s some magic in that. Lu Guang wouldn’t bother with taking a picture otherwise. Cheng Xiaoshi would pose if he was looking, if he knew. He would look into the camera. Maybe he would see Lu Guang through it.
As it stands, he won’t know about this one. As it stands, it won’t mean much. Lu Guang would like to test the camera out anyway.
The shutter goes off. When Cheng Xiaoshi asks, Lu Guang tells him he’d taken a picture of the plant in the corner.
△
Trouble sleeping isn’t anything new to either of them. Cheng Xiaoshi gets nightmares. Sometimes Lu Guang just lays in bed for endless hours and just can’t fall asleep. Sometimes when this happens, he’ll go out into the sun room and sit. He’ll make himself tea or read a book or just think. Today he does the former. The lights stay off. He sits by the window and watches the thin sliver of moon outside.
It’s a random day in June. The flowers are dead. The dumplings are gone. Lu Guang has taken a grand total of three pictures with his new camera. The moon leaves an imprint in his vision. Lu Guang thinks about Cheng Xiaoshi.
The orange roses, the dumplings, the camera. Cheng Xiaoshi is an affectionate person, but not like this. He doesn’t give gestures like these for no reason at all. That’s the part Lu Guang doesn’t understand. He’s not used to not understanding Cheng Xiaoshi. It’s a strange feeling.
There’s an ache behind his temples. His eyelids feel like sandpaper. Lu Guang wishes he could sleep.
A cloud drifts to cover the moon. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut like scratching an itch. When he opens them, the sun room is the same as always. Lu Guang thinks about the scars on his abdomen and blood on his hands and a body between his arms, and the moon comes back into view. He thinks about orange roses and dumplings and cameras and he wonders if the reason why he’s afraid is because of the impermanence of those things. Flowers wilt. Dumplings go bad or get eaten. Cameras break. People die.
They live in each other’s pockets. Lu Guang is afraid they are living on borrowed time. He can’t be sure, though. Maybe this timeline is the safe one. The one where he doesn’t have to keep worrying and wondering. He tries not to think about this. He is always thinking about this. He is always blocking it out. Right now it’s late enough to be early . Lu Guang is tired. He wishes he could sleep. He wishes he could stop thinking.
The floor creaks softly. It scares him at first, instincts left over from before, but it’s just Cheng Xiaoshi. It’s always just Cheng Xiaoshi these days. Qiao Ling, now and then in the daylight, but here it’s just them. Just Cheng Xiaoshi. He’s a blur of shadows and moonlight and plaid pajama pants, and Lu Guang wants to take a picture, to remember him standing upright like this, breathing like this, alive like this.
How much longer, he wonders, and he’s so tired. Flowers wilt. It’s been months. Maybe he gets to keep this. Maybe he’s allowed to live in a world where Cheng Xiaoshi buys him roses and makes him dumplings and gifts him cameras. But he can’t help but think, how long can I keep this? How long will he stay? What if, what if, what if. Nothing is permanent. Lu Guang knows this. He always has. It’s never bothered him so much before.
“What are you doing awake?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks, and his voice is all low and scratchy from sleep. He sits. Lu Guang has watched him die. Over and over, he’s held him through it.
“Thinking,” Lu Guang answers. That’s enough. Cheng Xiaoshi makes a soft noise of understanding. He never turned the lights on, so the eye contact they make is somewhat uncertain. “Did I wake you when I got up?”
“No,” Cheng Xiaoshi says. His sentence breaks with a yawn. As he exhales, he melts back into the cushions. Cheng Xiaoshi is always softer when he’s tired. Most people are. “I couldn’t hear you breathing.”
This is said like it stands for itself. Lu Guang might get it. He latches onto all of Cheng Xiaoshi’s sounds of life too. “Oh,” he says, and he’s so tired.
A head tips onto his shoulder. Body heat. Unruly hair. It catches the moonlight, just a bit.
“What are you thinking about?”
Lu Guang wishes he had his camera. There’s something about the way the word looks right now, small and dim and quiet. He’d like to immortalize it. It’s too dark for the camera to pick up much of anything anyway.
“Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi prompts. He’s still tired, still soft, but he’s still Cheng Xiaoshi. He grinds his head into Lu Guang’s shoulder. “Lu Guaaang.”
“Cheng Xiaoshi—” Lu Guang halfheartedly tries to shove him off. He’s too tired to find the strength. Cheng Xiaoshi is warm anyway. Maybe he doesn’t want to. So he softens. He quiets. Cheng Xiaoshi does too. They look at each other, and something hangs in the air.
“Tell me,” Cheng Xiaoshi murmurs, still pressed to his side, still half asleep. He’s warm, so warm. Lu Guang just shakes his head.
△
Cheng Xiaoshi holds his hand one day when Qiao Ling sends them out for a boba run. He does it under the guise of leading Lu Guang through a small crowd of people. It isn’t big enough for them to lose each other, not by a long shot. Cheng Xiaoshi takes his wrist, pulls him along, and then his hand slips a bit lower until their fingers tangle.
His hand is soft. Lu Guang wonders if the simplest explanation for something can really be the correct one. Cheng Xiaoshi has never held his hand before. It isn’t like arms around shoulders or knees brushing under the table or legs tossed into laps. Lu Guang was not about to get lost. Cheng Xiaoshi’s grip doesn’t disappear once they get around the group of people.
His hand is soft. Lu Guang is unsure why this matters. He watches Cheng Xiaoshi’s profile, but his expression is the same as always. He smiles, pleased and crooked, and Lu Guang looks at their hands.
His is paler, he notices. Smaller by a bit too. Lu Guang does not feel small on a daily basis. He doesn’t now, but he feels… There is something to be felt in the way Cheng Xiaoshi’s hand is a bit bigger than his. He doesn’t know what. He still isn’t sure if the simplest explanation is the right one.
Maybe this means nothing. Maybe he’s thinking about something that doesn’t need to be thought about. He does that a lot. He always has. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi just wanted to hold his hand.
△
Cheng Xiaoshi gets nightmares more often than not. He dreams about his parents or Emma or any other traumatic dive from their mile long list. When this happens, he cries in his sleep. He tosses and turns and mumbles things. Sometimes, Lu Guang will wake him up. They’ll sit together in silence or they’ll get up to make tea or late night noodles. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they don’t. Most of the time, they don’t need to.
Lu Guang doesn’t dream often, but he still gets nightmares too every now and then. They don’t vary much. He relives being stabbed over and over, or he watches Cheng Xiaoshi die. Tonight is the latter. He dreams of blood on his hands and a limp body in his arms and a pained, unfocused smile. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t toss or turn or say anything in his sleep. He just dreams, and then he wakes to a familiar ceiling and familiar shadows and the comfort of his own bed, and he lets out a shaky exhale.
Sweat sticks to his back. The panic stays a little longer. When he closes his eyes, he can still see it. He takes a breath, another, and then he listens. Nothing. The world is too quiet. The fear keeps him still. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. Cheng Xiaoshi is asleep. Lu Guang’s body feels weak enough to shake if he tries to stand.
The bed below him creaks. A moment passes. Lu Guang hardly breathes. He can still feel the blood on his hands.
“Lu Guang?” Soft and rough, the rasp of sleep.
He counts to ten. He exhales, squeezes his eyes shut. He does not answer. It’s enough. The sound of Cheng Xiaoshi’s voice rights the wrongs in his head.
A little longer. The bed creaks again as Cheng Xiaoshi gets up. He climbs the first two rungs of the ladder up to Lu Guang’s bunk and stops, looking at him in the dark. Their eyes are adjusted. Lu Guang watches him back, watches him quirk one eyebrow just a bit.
“I was right,” he says, “you’re awake.”
Lu Guang doesn’t have the strength for words. His heart beats in his chest, still scared, still frantic. Blood on his hands. Cheng Xiaoshi’s hurt smile. He nods. Cheng Xiaoshi gestures at him to scoot over, so he does. Just a bit. Just enough. The mattress dips beside him. Cheng Xiaoshi lays down so they’re shoulder to shoulder, barely touching. He’s warm. Lu Guang knows him cold.
Death is an unchangeable node. Cheng Xiaoshi is alive. Lu Guang still isn’t sure if they’re running on borrowed time or not. Maybe this will fade like roses and left over dumplings and cameras that break. Maybe he’ll get to keep this. It’s the not knowing that scares him the most.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks. He doesn’t ask, usually. Lu Guang doesn’t either. They don’t do that. The comfort they offer each other is silent and knowing. This is… so many things have been different lately. Warm fingers slide beneath his wrist, brushing his palm. Kind of holding, kind of not.
“Yes,” Lu Guang says. His hand twitches.
“Okay.” Cheng Xiaoshi laces their fingers properly, loose in case Lu Guang wants to pull away. He doesn’t. He squeezes weakly. Cheng Xiaoshi squeezes firmly back. Their hands rest on the blanket between them. “Want to tell me about it?”
This is a secret Lu Guang will carry with him to the grave. Cheng Xiaoshi is the last person he would ever tell. “Not particularly,” he says. And yet—this warm hand in his own, this shoulder pressed to his, this familiar breathing, familiar voice, familiar smile—it already makes him feel better.
“Okay,” Cheng Xiaoshi repeats. He doesn’t push. Lu Guang wants to press an ear to his heart, wants to listen to it beat, to feel that living warmth in his skin and hold him here where it’s safe. He wants to make him laugh. He wants to take back all of the bad dives that give him nightmares. He wants to go back and tell him, over and over, that he isn’t leaving. He’s not sure if he’s ever said that aloud. Not even once. It sticks in his throat. Cheng Xiaoshi has never asked him to if he’ll go, but sometimes it feels like he’s waiting.
They’re two people that live in each other’s pockets. Cheng Xiaoshi is afraid of being left. Lu Guang is afraid of losing.
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang says.
Quiet, soft, “A-Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi says back. He pulls their hands to his chest, setting his free one on top.
“I would miss you,” Lu Guang says, “if you left.” It isn’t what he meant to say. He can’t find the words.
Cheng Xiaoshi squeezes his hand again, warm and tight. “I’m not going anywhere, though.”
There’s a lump in his throat. Lu Guang swallows. “Okay,” he tries. “Me neither.”
△
June fades into July. This time, Cheng Xiaoshi buys Lu Guang chocolate.
It’s dark chocolate because Lu Guang has never had much of a sweet tooth, not in the way Cheng Xiaoshi does. Seventy-two percent cacao, imported from Switzerland. It’s the expensive kind. Lu Guang feels the same way about this as he did about the flowers: he wonders.
Cheng Xiaoshi smiles at him. Expectant, as always. He does these things and he looks with attentive eyes for Lu Guang’s reaction. His hair is a bit neater today than usual. Just a bit. He leans over the counter and Lu Guang can smell something like mint on him.
“Where did this come from?” he asks. Cheng Xiaoshi only smiles wider. He points at the label.
“Switzerland,” he says. When Lu Guang only stares, he adds, “it’s for you.”
“I see,” Lu Guang says. He accepts the chocolate. The wrapper is cool paper and foil. Maybe someone gave it to Cheng Xiaoshi but it isn’t sweet enough for his tastes. Maybe it was on sale. Maybe he just wanted to get something for Lu Guang.
The simplest answer. Cheng Xiaoshi has been doing things like this a lot lately. Lu Guang studies him long enough to make his smile falter.
“Is something wrong?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks.
Lu Guang shakes his head. “No,” he says. You keep doing these things. He wonders, wonders, wonders. “Thank you.”
△
Cheng Xiaoshi can be careful and meticulous when given the chance. Maybe he doesn’t look like it, but Lu Guang has never doubted this. The studio is technically Cheng Xiaoshi’s anyway. Sometimes it’s when he’s in the darkroom, or cooking, playing basketball, tidying up, helping customers. Today, he’s cleaning his camera.
He’s disassembled it into its pieces, each one laid out on a cloth as he works with a couple of soft brushes and a blower to clean the parts. His tongue pokes between his teeth as he works, and he doesn’t say a thing, barely even breathing in his focus.
There’s a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t even notice Lu Guang standing there. There’s something about it. Cheng Xiaoshi has so many sides. Most people do. Lu Guang sits and he watches.
The lighting isn’t the best. It’s almost dark outside, so they have all the lights on, but they’re tinged a bit yellow. Cheng Xiaoshi looks best in natural light, cast in white or gold or blue. It doesn’t matter. Lu Guang’s camera sits on the table. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi cleaned it too.
Lu Guang reaches for it. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t notice. Quietly, he takes a picture.
△
They’re no strangers to touch. Cheng Xiaoshi is tactile and always has been. He uses Lu Guang’s shoulders as an arm rest, his lap as a foot rest, his arm as a head rest. He’s all about casual, friendly touch. Lu Guang isn’t, for the most part, but he doesn’t mind. With Cheng Xiaoshi, he doesn’t mind.
Eight days into July, Cheng Xiaoshi hugs him on his way out on some errands. He says goodbye as usual. He asks if he should get takeout on his way back. He warns Lu Guang not to go into the darkroom. And then he comes close and wraps his arms around Lu Guang’s shoulders like there’s nothing unusual about it.
He’s warm, stupidly warm. He always is. Always has been. He smells minty and woody and familiar. He’s soft and solid and just a little bit taller, enough that Lu Guang could hide against his shoulder or kiss is neck or do something, and it’s… something.
Careful, Lu Guang hugs back. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. The tickle of Cheng Xiaoshi’s hair against his cheek. His arm around his back. His palm splayed flat. His breath, just a bit. This is… something.
“See you,” Cheng Xiaoshi says. It rumbles between them. Lu Guang can feel each word as much as he can hear it. They’re no strangers to touch. This is…
“See you,” Lu Guang says back. Two more seconds. Entirely too long. He steps back, and there is that slightly expectant, slightly pleased smile. Lu Guang feels tested. He thinks of roses and dumplings and cameras and chocolate. He thinks of held hands and laying in bad and this. Something. He feels tested. He thinks he finally gets it. His face is warm.
“Bye, then,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, smiling wider.
Lu Guang frowns. “You’re acting like you won’t come back,” he says. For good measure, “Idiot.”
“Nah,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, “I’ll be back.” A wink. Finger guns, God knows why. “Don’t worry.”
△
He comes back with a white paper shopping bag that he sets on the counter and pushes in Lu Guang’s direction. Inside is a cream colored button up. On the nicer side, but not too expensive. Exactly Lu Guang’s size. Lu Guang accepts it. Cheng Xiaoshi won’t stop smiling. It’s something. Lu Guang will admit: this is something.
△
It rains hard the next day. They don’t open the photo studio. Cheng Xiaoshi cracks one of the windows a little so they can listen to it. Lu Guang watches water spill off the roof. A humid, rain-scented breeze slips in. He thinks of growing up. He thinks of summer. He almost misses being a kid. Before he found out about his powers. Before Cheng Xiaoshi found out about his. Before that first dive. Maybe just before they opened this photo studio. Before they made a mess of everything. Before he let Cheng Xiaoshi die.
Cheng Xiaoshi is cooking noodles on their portable stove. Lu Guang watches his back. The width of his shoulders. The hair curling around his nape. The way he hums something to himself. Sometimes Lu Guang still grieves him. Strange, when he’s right here, when he’s alive and breathing and laughing. Borrowed time. Stolen chances. He wonders if the Cheng Xiaoshi in this timeline is really the same one from before. Do the other timelines disappear once Lu Guang leaves them? Is there world after world without Cheng Xiaoshi in it?
He shouldn’t wonder these things. Not when they don’t matter. Not when he’s here and Cheng Xiaoshi is alive and safe at least for now. Maybe it’s the rain. Rain always makes Lu Guang nostalgic.
He rubs his tired eyes. Cheng Xiaoshi keeps humming. Lu Guang thinks about roses and dumplings and cameras and chocolates and button up shirts and something. He slips off the couch. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t seem to notice him go, doesn’t notice him come back. He stirs the noodles and hums. His hair is a mess. He’s still in his pajamas. Lu Guang is probably in love with him.
He’s been tired all day. He didn’t sleep well last night. Maybe it’s that, maybe it’s the lighting or the angle or the fact that Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t even looking. The picture he takes probably isn’t any good. It doesn’t matter. He won’t see it anyway.
△
“I like your shirt.”
Cheng Xiaoshi is out. Lu Guang is wearing the shirt he gifted in place of the one he usually prefers. Cream instead of white. The fabric is a little softer. Qiao Ling waits for a response.
“Thank you,” Lu Guang says. He wonders if she knows where he got it. He wonders if she knows. Maybe. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi talks about it. Maybe she’s just noticed. Lu Guang wouldn’t be surprised. She knows them about as well as they know themselves.
She smiles slightly. “Cheng Xiaoshi gave it to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Lu Guang tells her. A pause. He feels somewhat like he needs to explain himself. “The other one is in the wash.”
“Right,” she says.
“Right,” he agrees.
△
Another day passes. Another night. Lu Guang can’t sleep.
He makes himself tea. Chamomile, half a spoonful of honey stirred in. It’s too hot to drink, so he holds it in his hands as he sits in the sun room to watch the moon. The heat stings his palms, but they get used to it. He leans back, sighs, and brings it close to his face so he can breathe it in. Four breaths. The night is clear, no clouds in sight. The moon looks split evenly in half.
His eyes are tired, so he shuts them, rolls them beneath sandpaper lids. There are eye drops somewhere. Cheng Xiaoshi bought them. Lu Guang always forgets about them. When he remembers, he can never muster up the energy to get them. He’d have to dig around anyway, and then he would wake Cheng Xiaoshi up.
It’s likely that he’ll wake up anyway. He often does. Maybe he has some kind of sixth sense for whenever Lu Guang leaves the room. Maybe he’s having the same trouble sleeping too. Maybe he just wakes up too easily. Lu Guang isn’t entirely certain he won’t show up in a few more minutes. There’s hot water left in the kettle, just in case he wants it.
For now, it’s just Lu Guang and the dark. He isn’t thinking about much tonight. Usually that’s what keeps him up. Tonight there’s just restlessness. He doesn’t know where it came from or how to make it go away. He’ll drink his tea, he’ll do some stretches, and then he’ll try to go back to sleep. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. He’s used to that by now. He’s no stranger to dark circles, to exhaustion that sits bone deep. He’ll live with it if he must.
As expected, the floor creaks under light footsteps. Cheng Xiaoshi comes out in shorts and tall socks and a t-shirt that’s too big for him, hiding a yawn behind one hand and rubbing his eye with the other. A sixth sense. Some kind of intuition. Codependency. Sometimes Lu Guang thinks they’re too much to each other. He’d tear the world apart if it meant keeping Cheng Xiaoshi alive. He already did. He’d do it again. He realizes that this is a bad thing, he just can’t bring himself to care.
“There’s water in the kettle,” he offers, wincing at the rough sound of his own voice. Cheng Xiaoshi nods and drifts away like some soft shadow of a ghost. When he comes back, it’s with a lion printed mug from Qiao Ling, the tag from a bag of tea hanging over the side. He sets it on the table and sits at Lu Guang’s side. Close, too close. Their sides touch. He smells like mint and cold sweat and he leans his head on Lu Guang’s shoulder without a word.
They breathe in silence. Cheng Xiaoshi might fall asleep again, at least for a moment. He’s so warm and Lu Guang is so… He can’t think of the word. He leans his cheek against Cheng Xiaoshi’s messy hair and feels tempted to do any number of things he knows he shouldn’t but Cheng Xiaoshi would absolutely allow him to.
He wonders if it’s even important. If should and shouldn’t even apply to someone like him anymore. If reasons even matter.
Lu Guang is a bad person. He knows this. He’s tired of it. He’s tired of trying to be better. Maybe he’s okay to be as he is.
Carefully, he sets his tea on the table. Cheng Xiaoshi stirs, lifting his head and then putting it back down when Lu Guang settles. “Can’t sleep?” he asks. Lu Guang nods. Cheng Xiaoshi’s hair brushes his cheek.
“What about you?” he wonders.
“You weren’t there.”
There’s something to be said about that. You weren’t there as a reason for why Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t sleeping. So many things to be said about that. Lu Guang isn’t a fool.
Is this okay? he asks himself. He’s been asking that question for so long now. He hasn’t been able to come up with an answer. Is this okay? He doesn’t know. Cheng Xiaoshi has never done anything to suggest that it isn’t, but a dozen messed up timelines have made him too afraid of messing this one up too.
But this is a Cheng Xiaoshi that might love him. Lu Guang has destroyed worlds for him. He’d sooner destroy himself too before letting him think he isn’t loved back.
Cheng Xiaoshi reaches for his tea and blows on it, still leaning against Lu Guang. Mint and cold sweat. Lu Guang is so tired. Nothing is stopping him but himself. He puts his arm around Cheng Xiaoshi and doesn’t say a thing.
Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him. He’s too close, even in the dark. Lu Guang accepts, but he does not reciprocate. This is… something. He’s too warm. In some ways, afraid. Cheng Xiaoshi exhales through his nose. He smiles, just slightly. It’s a different smile than the one Lu Guang sees every day. It’s smaller, quieter. He settles back against Lu Guang’s side and takes a sip of his tea, a little bit smug, almost. He’s painfully easy to please.
“You know,” he says, still smiling, mug held close to his mouth, “I didn’t think you had the guts.”
Lu Guang says nothing. Warmth in his face, at his side. The feeling in his chest is not a bad one, though he is somewhat unused to it. He clears his throat as quietly as he can. Softly, Cheng Xiaoshi laughs.
△
This time the gift is a book. It’s on the slimmer side, the cover in shades of brown and gold, and the summary looks right up Lu Guang’s alley. Cheng Xiaoshi says he saw it in passing and thought Lu Guang might like it. By the looks of his expression, that expectant one from always, he picked it deliberately.
Lu Guang has known for a while. All of this has been on purpose. Deliberate action.
Cheng Xiaoshi follows him to their room to find the book a spot on Lu Guang’s shelf. His camera is there too. After he puts the book away, he picks it up. Takes the lens cap off. Turns it on. Cheng Xiaoshi watches, but he doesn’t pose, doesn’t realize his picture is about to be taken.
Lu Guang takes it, and as the shutter goes off he watches Cheng Xiaoshi’s expression morph into a protest that he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t think Lu Guang was taking a picture of him. But it’s better that way. There was this look in his eye. Lu Guang has only recently started to recognize it.
“I’m out of film,” Lu Guang says, ignoring Cheng Xiaoshi’s outburst. He simply turns the camera off and puts the lens cap back on, and then he holds it out. “Develop this for me.”
Cheng Xiaoshi goes quiet. His eyebrows furrow. When he takes the camera, their fingers brush.
△
Most of the pictures in the camera are of Cheng Xiaoshi, taken when he isn’t paying attention. Lu Guang is aware of this. This, like Cheng Xiaoshi’s gifts and cooking and attention, is Lu Guang’s deliberate action.
Cheng Xiaoshi is in the darkroom for a while. When he comes out, a stack of photos in his hands, he looks somewhere between troubled and thoughtful.
“Lu Guang,” he says. Lu Guang looks at him, closing the book he’d been reading as he waited. Cheng Xiaoshi holds out the pictures. On the top of the stack is the first one Lu Guang had taken. Cheng Xiaoshi in the sun room, caught by the light. He’s smiling a little, unaware the picture was being taken.
Lu Guang accepts the stack. Their hands brush. Deliberate action. He flips through the images, each one with the same subject as the last. There is a softness to them. Some are good, some less so, but there’s something to be said in the way these pictures capture Cheng Xiaoshi. In the way Lu Guang sees him. He pauses on one where he managed to catch Cheng Xiaoshi mid laugh, and then he looks back up. Cheng Xiaoshi, in the flesh, looks back.
“They’re all of me,” he says. Confused, maybe. Trying to make it sound casual. Hopeful and unsure in shades.
Lu Guang flips through a couple more photos until he finds one of a stray cat. He flips it to show it to Cheng Xiaoshi. “Not all of them.”
“You…” Cheng Xiaoshi makes a face and drops onto the couch next to him. “Who’s the childish one now?” he asks, snatching the stack. “When did you even take these?”
“When you’re not looking,” Lu Guang tells him. “It’s not that hard.”
“Okay, but—” Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him. Softens in steps. Sighs through his nose. “Why?”
That’s the big question. Why. Deliberate action. Orange roses and dumplings and cameras and chocolate, button up shirts and books and warmth. Understanding. Comfort. No one has ever really known Lu Guang. Not like this. He’s not sure if he’s ever known anyone else either.
He finds himself with a lump in his throat. He shrugs, silent. Can’t find the words. This is so much harder than just being and knowing Cheng Xiaoshi will understand.
Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t whine or push into his space or bother. He just sits. He’s surprisingly patient when it comes to this. He can be, when he wants to be. He can be so many things. He leans back, leaving the photos in his lap. It’s all the evidence he needs. The way Lu Guang looks at him through the lens is telling, more than telling, but still, he waits. “I think it’s your turn,” he says, knocking his ankle into Lu Guang’s. “You were so brave earlier.”
“Cheng Xiaoshi…”
“Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi says. A smile pulls at his mouth, and he says it again, playing with the syllables. “Lu Guang, A-Guang, Guang Guang—”
“Stop that,” Lu Guang hisses. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. He bumps their ankles again, then hooks them together.
“Lu Guang,” he repeats, a little more serious. “I’ve been trying pretty hard for a while now.”
“I know,” Lu Guang says. He has to look away, busying himself with checking the time on his watch. He’s wearing the shirt Cheng Xiaoshi gave him. Cream sleeves instead of white. Silence sits between them for a moment, and his ears feel warm.
“I like it on you.”
“What?”
“The shirt,” Cheng Xiaoshi elaborates. “It looks nice.”
“Oh.”
Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. Lu Guang studies him and he knows. He always has. He’s just. So afraid. Of losing this. Of messing things up. This Cheng Xiaoshi is alive, this Cheng Xiaoshi loves him. What if he dies again and Lu Guang can’t fix it? What if he decides to leave?
Codependency. They are two people that live in each other’s pockets. Lu Guang is so afraid of that. Lu Guang is so afraid of losing that. But he’s also so tired of being afraid. He’s not a good person. He doesn’t deserve this, but he wants it. That’s enough. It should be. He hopes it is.
Cheng Xiaoshi is half smiling. This is another moment Lu Guang wants captured in time. He doesn’t know where his camera is. It would be too late by the time he finds it. Already, the smile softens and softens until it turns into something a little bit sad.
“Am I reading this wrong?” Cheng Xiaoshi wonders. He’s the brave one of the two of them. He’s always been so much braver.
“No,” Lu Guang promises.
Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, more air than sound. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I figured.”
Lu Guang can’t think of a thing to say to that. He just stares, and then Cheng Xiaoshi is scooting closer, knee bumping his thigh, the pictures spilling onto the floor, a collage of his likeness, and he grabs Lu Guang’s face in his hands so that they can look at each other.
“Is it hard?” he asks. Lu Guang is stunned speechless. “Won’t you just tell me you like me?”
“Cheng Xiaoshi.” He sounds caught. Punched in the gut. Breathless. Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t smiling now. He’s just looking, looking, and Lu Guang never knew he could look like that.
“Yeah,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, so close Lu Guang can feel it. “That’s me.”
Their foreheads knock together. “...Idiot,” Lu Guang whispers.
“That’s me,” Cheng Xiaoshi repeats, starting to smile.
I’d turn the world upside down for you, Lu Guang thinks. I would. I have.
“Come on,” Cheng Xiaoshi prompts. He thumbs over Lu Guang’s cheek. “I believe in you.”
“You bought me flowers,” Lu Guang says.
“I did do that,” Cheng Xiaoshi agrees. “And a camera, and a book, and chocolate, and that nice shirt you’re wearing.” He drops one hand to pull at Lu Guang’s cream colored collar, and then his palm flattens there, cupping Lu Guang’s neck. “I’m also the subject of all of those weird stalker photos you took of me.”
Lu Guang frowns at him. “They’re not stalker photos,” he defends, “they’re—”
“I know,” Cheng Xiaoshi interrupts him, pinching Lu Guang’s cheek. He presses a little closer, their noses brushing, his eyes closing as he shakes his head and smiles. “Lu Guang, I swear—”
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang tries.
“—If you don’t just say it already, then I’ll—”
Lu Guang tangles a hand in Cheng Xiaoshi’s hair and kisses the corner of his mouth. He quiets then, cutting off with some kind of u-uh? sound, but he’s so close and so… So… Something. There really aren’t words.
Lu Guang takes a breath. Everything is quiet. This timeline is right. He tells himself that over and over. This is right. This is okay. He’s allowed this. He so hopes he’s allowed this.
“I like you,” he says. Simple. Like that. There’s more that he could say. So much more, but he thinks this is enough.
“Ah.” Cheng Xiaoshi shifts a little, his other hand dropping to Lu Guang’s neck too, pulling back so he can see better. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His palms are warm. He’s close enough that Lu Guang can feel his body heat. It’s something. The sharp corner of one of the pictures pokes his leg. Cheng Xiaoshi keeps looking at him, a little bit pink. He blushes nicely. Lu Guang just turns bright red.
“Idiot,” Lu Guang says, far too softly. “You’re supposed to say it back.”
Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. “And I’ll do it better too,” he says. “Lu Guang, I’m in love with you.”
“Yeah,” Lu Guang says, “I figured.”
“Oh, shut up.” Cheng Xiaoshi punches him in the shoulder, leaning in. “Shut the hell… Oh.” Lu Guang holds Cheng Xiaoshi’s gaze. They’re close. They have been for a while now. One of Lu Guang’s hands rests on Cheng Xiaoshi’s waist. Cheng Xiaoshi kisses him.
He does this like he does most things, with all of himself. Lu Guang knows him inside and out. It’s not too much of a stretch to know him like this too. He tastes a bit like coffee. His hair is soft between Lu Guang’s fingers. He smells like mint and wood. This kiss is the first of theirs in any timeline. It feels right. Lu Guang lets it feel right.
When Cheng Xiaoshi pulls back, he’s laughing again. He’s so bright. Lu Guang wishes he had his camera.