Chapter Text
Hua Cheng woke to a searing brightness that pierced through the veil of sleep, a white-hot light that felt like needles driving into his skull.
He groaned softly, his head pounding with a dull, persistent ache, the kind that usually followed a night of too much drink. But there had been no alcohol, no revelry the night before, only the quiet comfort of Xie Lian’s presence beside him, their shared breaths mingling in the dark.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the blur that filled his vision. It was as though a fog had settled over his eyes, dulling the edges of the world, turning sharp lines into indistinct smears of light and shadow.
He blinked, slowly, deliberately, willing the haze to clear, to restore the clarity he was used to. But the fog persisted, clinging to the edges of his sight, and with it came the first tendrils of unease.
Xie Lian was nestled against him, his face buried in the crook of Hua Cheng’s neck, his breath warm and rhythmic against his skin. The sound of Xie Lian’s gentle snoring was a balm, a reminder of the reality they shared, the life they were building together—a life that, for Hua Cheng, still felt like something fragile, something that could slip away at any moment. He had always feared waking to find it all a dream, an illusion crafted by his longing heart, and this fear flickered now, ignited by the sudden strangeness of his vision.
No, Hua Cheng thought, his heart quickening as he turned his head slowly, as if afraid that too swift a movement might shatter the delicate reality around him. He buried his face in Xie Lian’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender, grounding himself in that small, comforting detail. The scent was a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of panic, reminding him that this was real—Xie Lian was real.
With a feather-light kiss pressed to Xie Lian’s hairline, Hua Cheng pulled back just enough to take in the room around them. But the familiar surroundings only heightened his unease. The scattered clothes on the floor, the soft folds of the curtains swaying gently with the morning breeze—all of it was blurred, indistinct. The outlines wavered and shifted, like a reflection on disturbed water, and no amount of blinking seemed to bring the world into focus.
His chest tightened with a sudden rush of anxiety, his pulse hammering in his ears. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, hoping— praying —that it was only sleep clinging to his vision, a trick of the morning light. But when he opened his eyes again, the haze remained, stubborn and unyielding.
Xie Lian shifted beside him, his arm tightening slightly around Hua Cheng’s waist, a small, unconscious gesture that sent a wave of guilt crashing over him. Hua Cheng forced himself to relax, to breathe deeply and evenly, unwilling to disturb Xie Lian’s peaceful slumber with his own rising panic.
It’s nothing, he told himself, swallowing the fear that lodged in his throat like a stone. It’s nothing. It will pass.
But the gnawing doubt persisted, and as Hua Cheng closed his eyes again, he found himself wishing he could simply stay in this moment, cocooned in the warmth of Xie Lian’s embrace, away from the creeping dread that gnawed at the edges of his mind.
When he finally rose, careful not to wake Xie Lian, the world around him seemed to tilt precariously. The black and white spots that danced before his eyes were relentless, like tiny stars exploding in his vision.
He tried to ignore them as he made his way to the kitchen, focusing instead on the familiar tasks of their morning routine—scrambling eggs, brewing coffee, setting the table. But even these small comforts felt alien, his hands moving through the motions while his mind churned with unspoken fears.
Reaching for the coffee mug, his fingers grasped at empty air, missing the handle by a fraction. The misstep sent a jolt of alarm through him, sharper than the lingering headache, more real than the fog clouding his sight.
He hesitated, hand hovering in mid-air, before correcting the mistake and grabbing the mug. It’s nothing, he repeated to himself, more insistently this time. Just a bad morning. I need some water.
But the sip of water did nothing to dispel the unease. When Hua Cheng looked up, he was met with a vision that made his heart stutter—a second Xie Lian, flickering just at the edge of his sight, as though the world had doubled in on itself.
He blinked rapidly, but the phantom remained, a ghostly afterimage that refused to dissipate. The room spun around him, and for a moment, Hua Cheng feared he might collapse.
Xie Lian appeared in the doorway, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He smiled, that soft, endearing smile that always made Hua Cheng’s heart swell with an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness. But today, it also brought a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly took his breath away. How could he, standing there with this secret weighing on his heart, pretend that everything was fine?
“Morning, San Lang,” Xie Lian murmured, his voice like a soothing balm against the turmoil brewing within Hua Cheng. He approached the table, blissfully unaware of the storm raging behind Hua Cheng’s carefully maintained facade.
Hua Cheng tried to respond in kind, but the words caught in his throat, lodged there by the sight of Xie Lian’s unkempt hair, his soft, sleepy gaze.
The room was spinning, the light too bright, the air too thick. It took everything in Hua Cheng’s power to maintain his composure, to keep the tremor out of his hands as he returned Xie Lian’s smile with one of his own—strained, but sincere.
As they sat down to breakfast, Hua Cheng noticed that he had been too heavy-handed with the paprika, the eggs now a fiery red that should have made Xie Lian wince. But Xie Lian, ever the gentle soul, said nothing, only reached for his glass of milk with a quiet, grateful smile, downing it in a few gulps to temper the heat.
Hua Cheng watched him in silence, the bright specks of light still dancing at the edges of his vision, turning the scene into something surreal, almost dreamlike.
Xie Lian, so full of grace and warmth, seemed to blur and sharpen in turns, like a mirage on the horizon, beautiful and just out of reach. The sight filled Hua Cheng with an indescribable mix of emotions—love, fear, regret—all tangled together in a knot that tightened with every passing second.
As Xie Lian reached across the table to touch his hand, concern flickering in those gentle eyes, Hua Cheng’s heart twisted painfully. He could see the question forming on Xie Lian’s lips, the worry beginning to cloud his expression. And Hua Cheng—he knew he could not let this continue. Not without endangering the happiness they had fought so hard to attain.
But the words of confession, of explanation, refused to come. Instead, he squeezed Xie Lian’s hand, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and whispered, “I’m fine, Gege. Still just a little tired.”
Xie Lian didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go, for now. Hua Cheng’s heart ached with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary, that soon, Xie Lian would see through the facade, would realize the truth that Hua Cheng was so desperately trying to hide.
And as they sat there, the morning light filtering through the windows, Hua Cheng could not shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm—the last few moments of peace before everything he cherished was thrown into chaos.
But for now, he would hold on to this moment, to Xie Lian’s warmth and the soft murmur of his voice, and pretend, just for a little while longer, that everything was as it should be.
Hua Cheng’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the smooth leather grounding him in the fading remnants of night. The world outside the car was a muted blur, light bleeding into shadow as the dawn slowly claimed the city.
Next to him, Xie Lian sat with a quiet, almost imperceptible tension that Hua Cheng could feel more than see. The way Xie Lian’s fingers twitched against his thigh, the way his gaze lingered just a heartbeat too long on Hua Cheng’s face—it was all there, in the silence between them.
Hua Cheng knew he wasn’t as invisible as he wished to be. He knew that Xie Lian had noticed the missed stop signs, the uncertain turns. Every mistake felt like a tiny fracture in the facade Hua Cheng was so desperately trying to maintain, and each one drove another spike of fear into his chest. He swallowed the dread, pushing it down deep where Xie Lian couldn’t reach, and forced a smile that felt like a fragile thing on his lips.
“I don’t want you to be late,” he murmured, his voice soft, barely brushing the edge of the truth.
Xie Lian turned to him, his expression gentle, suffused with the kind of love that Hua Cheng still couldn’t fully comprehend, an unwavering kindness that both soothed and terrified him more often than not.
His hand reaches out, resting lightly on Hua Cheng’s arm, and Hua Cheng can feel the warmth of his touch seep through his skin, grounding him for a moment in something real, something that feels like home. A comfort that Hua Cheng wanted to lose himself in, to drown in until the fear was nothing but a distant memory.
But he couldn’t let himself linger there, not when the world was already slipping out of focus, not when the light was becoming too bright, too indistinct.
They weren’t late. Xie Lian’s innate need for punctuality had them out of the house earlier than necessary, the clock on the dashboard a silent testament to the time they still had. But Hua Cheng couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let himself breathe too deeply, couldn’t risk the chance that the dread would catch up with him. He pressed his foot to the pedal, eyes on the road ahead, even as the world around him began to dissolve into smudges of light and shadow.
It was reckless. Stupid. The only thing that could make them late now was an accident.
The lie hung between them, heavy and unspoken, and Hua Cheng could feel it pressing down on him, threatening to crush the fragile peace they had so carefully built. But Xie Lian doesn’t push. He simply nods, his faith in Hua Cheng unshaken, and it only makes Hua Cheng hate himself more.
When they finally arrive at the university, Hua Cheng pulls the car to a stop with a slight jerk, the abruptness a physical manifestation of the anxiety twisting in Hua Cheng’s gut. His hands trembled as he let go of the steering wheel, the effort of keeping everything inside beginning to wear him down. But he couldn’t afford to break, not now, not when Xie Lian needed him to be steady, to be the Hua Cheng he deserved.
He forces himself to breathe, to steady the frantic pounding of his heart, as he steps out and walks around to the passenger side.
He opens the door for Xie Lian, offering him a smile that feels brittle, ready to shatter any moment. Xie Lian steps out, his eyes searching Hua Cheng’s face with a tenderness that made something in Hua Cheng crack, just a little.
Xie Lian looks at him, his gaze filled with tenderness and a quiet, earnest concern he tries so hard to hide a quiet, one that Hua Cheng didn’t deserve.
“Please drive safely to the studio,” he says, his voice carrying a softness that makes Hua Cheng’s resolve waver. “Text me when you get to work, okay? I’ll be worrying about you until I know you’re safe.”
Hua Cheng nods, leaning in to press a kiss to Xie Lian’s forehead, his lips lingering there as if he could somehow draw strength from the contact.
“I’ll have dinner ready by the time Shi Qingxuan brings you home,” he promises, the words slipping from him before he can think better of them. The thought of standing in the kitchen, of trying to focus on something as simple as cooking, seems impossible right now.
He watches as Xie Lian walks away, his form growing smaller and smaller until he’s nothing more than a blur of white in the distance. Hua Cheng’s chest tightens, a sharp, painful twist, as he turns back to the car and slides into the driver’s seat.
The drive to the tattoo parlour feels like a descent into some quiet, relentless madness. The red lights stretch into halos, merging into the edges of his vision, until they’re indistinguishable from the rest of the world. Hua Cheng’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles white, as he forces himself to keep going, to follow the familiar route even as his sight fails him.
He should be at the parlour by now, should be preparing for the day, but the thought of facing He Xuan—of standing in the presence of someone who would see right through him—was unbearable. He Xuan was a figure of implacable calm, a man who gave nothing away, who held everyone at arm’s length. Though, Hua Cheng knew that beneath that icy facade lay a sharp intellect, a mind that dissected and understood far more than it ever let on. He knew those piercing eyes that missed nothing.
He Xuan would notice every faltering step, every strained smile. He wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t offer words of comfort or concern—those were not his way—but his silence would be heavy, loaded with the knowledge that something was off.
And perhaps worse than that would be the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in He Xuan’s demeanor, the slight softening of his gaze, the barely-there hesitation in his movements—small signs that He Xuan cared, even if he would never admit it. A tacit reminder that something was wrong, that Hua Cheng was falling apart.
Hua Cheng wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t face the quiet judgment, the unspoken concern. He needed time to think, to figure out what to do before everything came crashing down around him.
Making a split-second decision, Hua Cheng changes lanes, steering the car toward the route to his ophthalmologist’s office. The roads are quiet, the world outside his windows a blend of light and shadow, but all Hua Cheng can feel is the cold dread creeping up his spine, tightening its hold with every passing moment.
It’s not supposed to be like this, he thinks, the words a dull echo in the void that has taken root in his chest. Not now, not when everything was so close to perfect.
Not anymore. The world outside seemed to shout this truth with every indistinct shape that twisted and writhed before his eyes. This slow, agonizing descent into darkness was not merely a sip but the entire chalice of poison he had been unwillingly compelled to swallow.
Each blurred outline, each fading color was a cruel reminder of the clarity he was losing, a relentless testament to the irreversible unraveling of a reality that had once been so vivid, so vibrant.