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Chapter Text

- T-minus 107 days -

Sneakers screeching against polished floors is the kind of sound that would bring someone to a near eargasm.

Or— no, scratch that.

It's the kind of sound that would bring someone like Cheng Xiaoshi to a near eargasm. That's better.

To someone whose world revolves around an orange and black striped ball and ten-foot-tall hoops, the sound of shoes being used for their intended purpose is like music to the ears.

Fast breaks, quick turns, the final thud of the ball against wood— that is his music. And right now, Cheng Xiaoshi is composing a damn masterpiece.

"Left, Cheng Xiaoshi!" Someone yells.

He ignores it. Why would he go left when there's an opening wide enough down the middle? He slips past the defenders like water through fingers, heart pounding, nape slick with sweat. The hoop was dead ahead, and he didn't hesitate.

Cheng Xiaoshi jumped. His wrist flicked in perfect form, sending the ball soaring from the 3-point line. Breaths were caught. Cheers strangled in throats.

It was as if the ball moved in slow motion, but he could see it. Its fate was as unmistakable to him as the stars on a clear night.

The ball hit the rim . . . then it tipped into the hoop.

The gym erupted in clamour, loud, excited, and just as into the game as the players.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins, haphazardly wiping the sweat off his forehead. His execution was clean. Effortless. Sexy, if you asked him.

And plenty of people asked. Usually after games. Usually with their numbers.

He ate up the roar of the crowd, revelling in the excitement. Sweat clings to his skin, hair a damp mess above the bandana wrapped around his forehead. God, he loved it. The rush, the rhythm, the stupid adrenaline buzz that made him feel like he could do anything in the world.

Like scoring the winning point. Acing his midterm. Maybe even figuring out how taxes worked. His concerns were definitely more . . . domestic, if you could call them that.

He's drinking in the pride that the cheers of the standpeople bring— until the loud, offended screech of a whistle aimed at him cuts across the court. He wipes the lower half of his face with his jersey, eyes finding the coach.

"Number 5! Bench, now."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. "What? But that was a clean three!"

"Sure it was. Put the effort you're putting here into your grades." Coach narrows his eyes.

He gapes. What is the geezer talking about? "Wait, what—"

"You're failing stats." He snaps. "If you don't bring your grade up by the midterm, I'm going to have to bench—"

"YOU'RE GOING TO BENCH ME?!"

His eyebrow twitches. "I'll have no choice."

"You can't do that to me!" Cheng Xiaoshi cries in disbelief. It might as well be the end of the world for him. Apocalypse-style. He'll turn into a basketball-yearning zombie, brainlessly muttering pick and roll under his breath and dribbling air.

"Try me." Coach's eyes glint. "I've got plenty of players who'd love your spot."

He swallows. Of course, statistics had to rear its ugly head and bite him in the ass (hard, too). His heart is now racing for another reason, and the gym fades to a dull hum as he slinks down on the bench.

Dragging a towel over his face, he sighs deeply. Maybe in defeat. Yeah, he's been defeated— by stats of all things.

"Looks like you finally met your match," one of his teammates snorts, handing him a water bottle.

"Yeah," Cheng Xiaoshi mutters, pressing the cold, wet plastic to his neck. "Goes by the name of Intro to Statistical Analysis and probably wears glasses."

He earns a laugh. "The big nerdy kind, too. Good luck, stats is a bitch no one wants to deal with."

He seconds that. And thirds it. No one even likes that stupid excuse of a course, so why should he have to put in so much effort for a class he's never going to need? For God's sake, his only future is working at a photography studio! (courtesy of Qiao Ling's dad)

Despite how much he wants to go pro, there's nothing he can do to avoid what's been planned for him since he owes her father a huge debt. He'd be making a hell of a lot of bank if he could.

Instead, he's destined to work behind the counter of some dainty little photography shop, cleaning camera lenses and handing old people their developed pictures. He was going to be miserable.

His misery can only start so early. Now he's gotta deal with statistics until the semester ends— maintaining a decent grade for four months so he can stay on the team. Who even made up such a bullshit rule, anyway?

His eyes drift to the ceiling, and the scoreboard glares red at him in his peripheral vision, taunting him as if it knows he's stupid. He isn't— not technically. He's just . . . not good at things that don't involve a court, a ball, or instinct.

Still. He isn't ready to kiss the season goodbye. If that means he needs to be tutored, so be it. He'll suffer through a few awkward hours of brain torture with someone he doesn't even know, no biggie.

What's the worst that could happen?

True to the coach's word, Cheng Xiaoshi opens up his inbox after the practice game to find an email from his academic advisor. He's officially on probation. No basketball until he can get his stats grade above the 60-percent mark.

He's in his dorm, occupying his space on the bottom bunk as he scrolls through the list of recommended tutors like it's a dating app. Except, instead of getting laid, he's trying not to get benched.

> > Available Tutors < <

Chen Shuang

Year: Junior

Availability: Every evening. Consult to schedule.

Average Rating: 4/10

Top Comment: He wouldn't stop calling me "slime" and made fun of my dead grandma. I literally wish I was kidding.

He squints. ". . . What the hell?"

That's not even the worst one. Apparently, most of the tutors are just jackasses with a superiority complex. The rest are weirdos.

Sun Meilin

Year: Sophomore

Availability: 7-11 p.m. only

Average Rating: 3/10

Top Comment: She spent 45 minutes explaining how numerology could help me "manifest" an A and charged me for extra crystals. I'm still failing.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at the screen, amused. "So, witchcraft. That's where we're at now."

He scrolls up on the touchpad, fingers pressing into it like he's punishing the laptop for his misfortune. There's a guy whose profile pic is just a blurry close-up of his cat's face. His application says, "Contact my assistant for bookings," but it doesn't list a name. It also says he only teaches through interpretive dance.

"Are these tutors or aliens summoned from the depths of a cursed uni forum?" He mutters.

No way his grade depends on these lunatics.

Just as he's about to give up and accept the bench-warming, financially illiterate future that awaits him, he sees it. A genuine-looking application.

Lu Guang

Year: Junior

Availability: Weekdays, 6-8 p.m. sharp.

Average Rating: 10/10

Top Comment: Knows what he's talking about. Will emotionally destroy you if you don't pay attention, but like . . . in a motivational way?

This catches Cheng Xiaoshi's attention. He clicks on the load more comments button.

weixxn00: He's scary smart! I actually passed thanks to this guy. Be prepared to feel like a dumbass if you sign up for his sessions, but at least you'll be a better dumbass by the end of it.

pengpeng1!: He's hot in a terrifying way. But mostly terrifying. He'll end the session if you try to hit on him, so maybe don't do it when you're only fifteen minutes in ;-;

He raises his eyebrows. Clicks on the profile.

The photo is clear, high-resolution, and oddly intense. It feels like the sharp-eyed guy in the center of the picture can sense your stupidity through the screen. His expression is completely neutral, borderline annoyed, but it screams I'll destroy your GPA and rebuild it from ashes.

Not to mention, he's incredibly easy on the eyes.

Cheng Xiaoshi whistles low. "Damn. Hello, Academic Daddy."

He books a session before he can talk himself out of it. This guy might just be his ticket to staying in the game.

He hopes, at least.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 106 days -

It's about 6:07 p.m. when Cheng Xiaoshi barges into the quasi-empty library, half-open bag slung over his shoulder and two drinks gripped in his hands. His eyes scan over the various heads of hair until his gaze stops at a prominent white.

He walks up to the boy occupying the table, laptop open and screen split between a worksheet and a tutoring plan.

"Lu Guang?" He says, rather loudly for a library. "Tutoring guy, right?"

Lu Guang looks up. The sharp silver eyes under soft, snow-white bangs lock onto Cheng Xiaoshi, observing, judging. There the basketball nerd stands in all his golden retriever glory: hoodie half-zipped, earbuds still in, holding two dripping boba cups.

His hair is damp from a post-practice shower, but somehow still a mess.

"I brought you one too." He says brightly, holding out the drink in his left hand like it's a peace offering instead of a bribe for being late. "You looked like a brown sugar kinda guy."

Lu Guang blinks. Then, he deadpans. "I'm lactose intolerant."

A beat of silence.

Cheng Xiaoshi's thoughts come to a halt. Hard. Like a full emergency brake. Lactose intolerant? What kind of villainous hindrance is that?

". . . Oh." He places it down carefully, like even placing it down in the tutor's radius will somehow result in a casualty. "So . . . bad start?"

Lu Guang's face is unreadable. "Sit down."

He does.

Things seem to be moving a lot quicker than he expected. Though, in truth, he should've expected it after the conversation he and Lu Guang had earlier in the afternoon.

He's barely out of the econ lecture room when a message request pops up on his phone. Curious, he taps it open, only to find a cold, professional greeting from the tutor himself.

> @lu.guang: Hi, this is Lu Guang. You signed up for a tutoring session later today. What do you need help with?

Oh, right. He'd almost forgotten.

Cheng Xiaoshi types back.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: heeey tutor boy

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: u teach intro to statistical analysis

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: ?

The response comes fast. Something his left-on-delivered-for-a-stupid-amount-of-time brain can't comprehend.

> @lu.guang: Yes.

Perfect.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: then we'll get along great 😛😛

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: stats is the only thing rn but if u wanna help out a fellow desperate classmate ...

 

@lu.guang is typing...

> @lu.guang: Let's focus on statistics first.

Welp, he tried. Honestly, nothing but stats matters to him right now, so he wouldn't be disappointed if he had to work for the rest on his own.

Grinning to himself, he ends the conversation with,

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: whatever u say gorgeous

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: c u later :)

See you later, indeed.

Lu Guang slides over a packet like he's passing a sentence. "This is the last exam you failed. We're going to walk through every question and pinpoint exactly how you managed to butcher it."

Cheng Xiaoshi squints, leaning forward. "Okay, but hear me out. What if some wrong answers are like . . . spiritually correct?"

Lu Guang looks at him. Just looks. His eyebrow twitches slightly.

Cheng Xiaoshi physically feels his soul leave his body for a moment. Okay. He can't break this guy's exterior like this . . .

". . . Right. No. We're learning. I'm learning." He holds his hands up in surrender. "Ready to learn, teach."

Lu Guang exhales through his nose. Shaking his head, he lowers his gaze to the first question.

"Let's begin."

- - ⏱︎ - -

In the span of an hour, fifty-seven minutes, and twenty-seven seconds, Cheng Xiaoshi learns three things about Lu Guang.

One, Lu Guang is dangerously smart. Like, "my brain is overheating just listening to you talk about data variance" smart. He's not showy about it. He doesn't brag, nor does he gloat.

But the numbers roll off his tongue like he's been doing regression analysis since he was a freaking toddler. He speaks it like it's his first language. Half the time, Cheng Xiaoshi has to fight the urge to nod like he understands to avoid looking dumb.

(He fails.)

Two, Lu Guang has no patience for bullshit. Not in the snappy sarcasm way, but he simply doesn't entertain it. When Cheng Xiaoshi tries to joke about p-values being fake, Lu Guang doesn't even blink. He simply circles the mistake and asks him to try again.

It's kind of annoying. (Kind of hot?)

And three, Lu Guang thinks "pacing yourself" is a myth invented by weak-willed underachievers. At 7:18, Cheng Xiaoshi's left eye is twitching. His handwriting is sloping downwards like a ski ramp.

"Okay," he says, voice thin. "This feels illegal."

Lu Guang doesn't look up from his laptop screen. "You're holding the pencil wrong."

"What— how does that matter?!"

"It's slowing you down."

"I . . ." Cheng Xiaoshi narrows his eyes, like he's trying to summon patience from the void. Or the other people around them. "Have you ever relaxed in your entire life?"

"I'm relaxed now."

"You're literally shaking."

Lu Guang finally snaps his gaze up. He deadpans. "Then write faster."

Case in point.

At 7:57, three minutes before he's released from this number jail, warden Lu Guang presses him to move on to the next question. Cheng Xiaoshi, too fried to argue, just flips the page.

". . . I swear I've seen these formulas before. Like in a dream. Or a nightmare."

Lu Guang doesn't glance up. "You labelled the x-axis 'vibes'."

"Yeah, 'cuz it was a trend, right?"

His pen taps against the table. Controlled. Still judging. "No. It was a scatterplot of population growth over twenty years."

Cheng Xiaoshi groans, slapping both hands on his face. "God, just throw me out of a window. Mercy kill me."

"I don't believe in mercy."

He peeks through his fingers. "Do you believe in breaks?"

"No."

"Love?"

Lu Guang's eyes connect with his. Somehow, that determined gaze makes Cheng Xiaoshi sit up straighter. Maybe it's the lighting. Maybe it's the glasses. Maybe it's the scrutiny.

Whatever it may be, it shuts him right up.

"Statistical analysis," Lu Guang says calmly, "is the only relationship you need to be in right now."

"Ah," Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. "She's cold. Downright sadistic."

"She'll ruin your life if you ignore her." He answers.

And he might be right about it, too. Cheng Xiaoshi resigns.

Throughout this entire session, he's managed to get one question right. Only one. But knowing he actually put in the effort and got it right makes him feel like he's on top of the world.

"That's all for today." Lu Guang says, checking his watch. He begins packing up.

Cheng Xiaoshi watches him over the lid of his now-empty boba. He's awfully precise about everything he does, huh?

"So . . . you free tomorrow?" He asks casually, biting on his straw.

Lu Guang pauses. He raises a brow. "To tutor?"

Cheng Xiaoshi shrugs. "Sure. Or to judge me in public again. Whatever you think is more fun."

He watches as Lu Guang pushes up his glasses, weighing his options. Then, zipping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he says,

"I'll be free at six. Bring a calculator that works. And no dairy."

Cheng Xiaoshi watches him walk away, stunned.

Did . . . did he just make a joke? Lu Guang, the uptight tutor, made a joke? He stares down at the rejected boba on the table.

So then . . . making all those stupid remarks and bringing something to bribe him with did work.

Cheng Xiaoshi can't help the elated grin that spreads over his face. Because this might actually work.

This might actually be fun.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Lu Guang isn't immune to the gossip that travels in the halls of his university. Often, he hears by mouth of some girls in his lectures, other times from guys who can't keep their voices below 70 decibels.

The latest gossip he's heard is of the guy referred to as the "golden boy" on the basketball team. Apparently, he's a tall junior— a dark-haired, dark-eyed catch who's garnering the attention of most girls in their grade.

Lu Guang ignored it at first. What good would knowing that do, anyway? It's not like he got along with anyone on the more . . . social side of the school.

Except, when he received a tutoring request from said golden boy, he couldn't ignore it any further. He'd been lying in bed, right at the cusp of sleep, when the painful notification chimed in his ear.

As if that hadn't foreshadowed the pain he was in for.

Because that same golden boy showed up seven minutes late to their first session, boba in hand, as if something like that would appease Lu Guang's anger. He couldn't even drink it.

He then proceeded to stare blank at Lu Guang's face when he attempted to explain where he went wrong and why his answer was incorrect, igniting an irritation so deep within the tutor that he dubbed it the anger from hell. Capital A-F-H.

Honestly, how could a guy as dull as him be called anything close to Golden Boy? Not unless everyone around him was blind. And stupid.

Lu Guang can't say he's fond of people like Cheng Xiaoshi. They're incessantly loud and do stupid things to get attention because committing to actual schoolwork is like sentencing them to watch paint dry.

It's not arrogance. He just doesn't tolerate idiots.

But he has to admit— when Cheng Xiaoshi first barged into the library, chest heaving, hair sticking up, and evident of having jogged there to make it, Lu Guang's irritation dissipated for a brief moment. He couldn't explain it, but the basketball prodigy almost looked like a normal person to him.

And then, he had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.

Honestly, he's never put this much effort into hating on someone before. He supposes it's the Cheng Xiaoshi effect.

Now, he'd be lying if he said he was a complete stranger. Lu Guang's been to a couple of basketball games out of pure boredom, only to see Cheng Xiaoshi score point after point, after point after point.

He's good at basketball. (A shame he's not as bright when it comes to data analysis)

Sure, everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. Cheng Xiaoshi's a perfect example. Though, his ratio appears to be off. Tragic, really.

Okay, he should probably stop. (He won't)

There was this . . . odd charm to him. Because, unlike the other jocks Lu Guang has tutored before, Cheng Xiaoshi really seemed to want to learn. He was focused (as best he could, anyway), and he listened when Lu Guang instructed, even if it looked like he had no clue what he was saying.

He had to admire the effort. Not many athletes would subject themselves to Lu Guang's monotonous lecture tone.

He smacks down his pen, stopping Cheng Xiaoshi from writing any further.

"That's wrong. Do it again."

He takes it back. He doesn't admire the effort at all.

"Ugghhh, cut me some slack, please." Cheng Xiaoshi whines.

"Not a chance." The corner of his lips twitches. "Come on, start over."

Today, Cheng Xiaoshi showed up five minutes late. This time, with a second plastic cup that isn't boba. He held a stats notebook that looked suspiciously untouched in his other hand, and the widest of grins spread over that stupid face of his when they made eye contact.

"Lu Guang!" He announced, as if his presence in the library hadn't been loud enough. "I come bearing gifts . . . and unresolved math trauma."

Lu Guang merely sighed. "You're late again."

"Look, I brought you a fruit juice this time. No milk tea." He said, holding it up proudly. "It's Pineapple-Cherry Burst."

The tutor eyed the cup. Then shifted his gaze to Cheng Xiaoshi. "What do you want."

Cheng Xiaoshi gasped in mock-offence. "I want to learn, Lu. I want to better myself. I want to pass stats so I can dunk in peace."

". . . You want me to give you the answers." Lu Guang said slowly.

"That too."

He pulled out the paper from their last session and slapped it on the table. "Sit."

Cheng Xiaoshi dropped into the chair with dramatic flair. "You sound like my coach."

"Someone has to." He rolled his eyes.

They dove into question 26 from there. Or, rather . . . Lu Guang dove. Cheng Xiaoshi bellyflopped.

"You're forgetting to carry the variable." Lu Guang says for the third time. "Again."

Cheng Xiaoshi frowns. He stares at the tutor.

Lu Guang blinks. Raises his eyebrows. "What."

". . . I'm lost." He confesses.

From there, Lu Guang has to remember that he's teaching someone who has no prior knowledge of this. Even if Cheng Xiaoshi's been in the course as long as he has, the guy's basically been preoccupied with basketball.

He can't get mad . . . even if his anger’s valid.

He sighs. Resets. "Okay. No problem. Let's start from the beginning, then."

Cheng Xiaoshi dips his head. He hands over his pencil, allowing Lu Guang to go in and start writing things out.

All while he does this, his gaze never leaves the tutor once. Even when Lu Guang is obviously pointing at stuff to get him to see the correlation, he can't seem to pry his eyes away.

Because damn is this guy hot when he's so focused.

". . . from here, you carry the x and . . ." The tone of his voice. The draw of his brow. The way his silver eyes flit from one end of the problem to the next and the movement of his mouth as he speaks . . . Cheng Xiaoshi finds himself intrigued by it all.

There's all but a single thought in his mind on repeat.

. . . And it's that Lu Guang is probably the biggest nerd he's ever met.

He snorts when it registers, causing Lu Guang to stop his teaching. He turns to look at Cheng Xiaoshi, who quickly averts his own gaze.

Oh no. He's been caught.

". . . Are the questions telling you jokes, Cheng Xiaoshi?" He asks, exasperated.

Cheng Xiaoshi shifts the hand that's propping his chin up to cover his mouth, biting against a smile. "No."

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. "Then what was that sound?"

He shrugs, all faux-innocence. "Just . . . laughing at myself. Y'know. Internalized clownery."

Lu Guang stares a moment longer, trying to read him. The guy looks way too amused for someone who admitted he was lost. And maybe it's the way he's chewing on his lower lip or the twitch at the corner of his mouth— but Lu Guang gets the sinking feeling that Cheng Xiaoshi isn't taking this seriously. Again.

He exhales. "Focus."

"I am focused," Cheng Xiaoshi insists. "Laser focused. You're the equation, I'm the coefficient. Let's find x together, babe."

Lu Guang looks up sharply. "Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" He feigns innocence. Tilts his head slightly and blinks rapidly to seal the deal. "You must've misheard me."

Lu Guang closes his eyes. Inhales. Counts to five.

He could be doing something so much more productive than this.

"Okay, let's go back." He mutters. "Carry the x, substitute the value of y, and simplify the equation."

Cheng Xiaoshi leans over to look. "Mhm."

"You're not listening."

"No, I am. I just like when you get all serious."

Lu Guang's pen stills. "What?"

"Hm?" Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes are wide and so obviously fake-confused— Lu Guang's tempted to throw his notebook at him. "I said I like when you explain stuff. You're passionate about it."

"Stats isn't a passion."

"Could've fooled me." He rests his cheek against his palm, watching Lu Guang like he's the subject of analysis now. "Your eyes go sharp. Your voice gets all steady. It's kinda intense."

Lu Guang lowers his pen slowly. "Cheng Xiaoshi."

"Yes, teach?"

He narrows his eyes. "You're flirting with me."

Cheng Xiaoshi gives a scandalized gasp. "Me? Flirt? With you? No. Never. I'm a good boy."

"That's not even remotely true."

He grins. "Okay, fine. But you have to hear me out—"

"No, I'm tired of doing that," Lu Guang holds up a hand. "And I'm going to stop you before you say something stupid."

"Stupid?" Cheng Xiaoshi hums, leaning in rather boldly. Lu Guang's expression flattens.

What's with this guy?

He narrows his eyes slightly, pointing to the paper. "If you're not done with fifteen questions by the time 7:00 rolls around, I'm going to pack my things and leave."

This seems to snap Cheng Xiaoshi out of his pomposity and he pulls back with an exaggerated sigh. "You're quite the ice princess, nerd boy."

"Focus." Lu Guang feels like a broken record.

He drops his eyes to the paper like a scolded child, picking up his pencil. Every so often, he beats the eraser end against the worksheet, as if it personally offended him.

Lu Guang passes glances from the corner of his eye.

A minute passes. Then two. He waits to see how long Cheng Xiaoshi can keep quiet before making another ridiculous comment, merely out of pure curiosity.

By minute three, the silence is borderline impressive.

By minute four, Cheng Xiaoshi lets out another dramatic sigh, rattling Lu Guang's nerves.

"I don't get question 32." He mumbles, stabbing at it with the pencil.

Lu Guang looks over. "That's because you skipped 28 through 31."

"Yeah. They were stupid."

"They're sequential." Lu Guang says blankly. "That means they build on each other. So unless you have a secret math revelation in your head that us mere mortals can't comprehend, do the previous ones first."

Cheng Xiaoshi slumps back against his chair, defeated. "Why are you so mean to me?"

"Because you're insufferable." Lu Guang replies immediately. He flips his own notebook closed. "And I'm allergic to stupidity."

"Well, then, good thing I'm not actually stupid."

"That's debatable."

"Wanna test me on something I am good at?"

Lu Guang doesn't respond. He merely turns to look at him slowly. Cheng Xiaoshi wiggles his eyebrows.

He turns back, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Whatever being is above, please grant me patience."

Enough patience to survive this wreck of a man.

Exhibit A: Cheng Xiaoshi has deviated from his earlier teasing and has now made a helicopter out of his pencil and a ruler. He makes these atrocious whirring sounds in imitation of the wings, waving his creation around.

Lu Guang shouldn't find it funny. He doesn't find it funny. Cheng Xiaoshi's antics should be aggravating, nothing more. He's already made his opinion on people like this idiot clear, how much he can't stand the haughtiness that radiates off of college athletes who think being sweaty all the time is a flex.

But that doesn't mean he can ignore the heat curling in the pit of his stomach, one that isn't exclusively frustration. Certainly, he doesn't find this entertaining.

He looks sideways at Cheng Xiaoshi.

"Whooooosh."

Yeah, he begs to differ.

He tucks his expression behind his hand, closing his eyes in exhaustion. Or maybe defeat.

Just one more hour, he tells himself. He can survive one more hour of Cheng Xiaoshi.

Probably.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 102 days -

Practice runs late.

Coach makes them do suicides for the last ten minutes because someone decided to showboat during a drill (not him, for once).

Now Cheng Xiaoshi is drenched in sweat, nursing a sore shoulder, and absolutely ready to drop dead on the gross locker room floor. His legs are three steps away from giving out under him.

"Shower's free, Cheng Xiaoshi!" His teammate calls. Letting out a sigh, he pushes off the bench.

"Yeah, yeah. Coming."

It's officially been five days since he started tutoring with the ice-cold bastard, Lu Guang. Thursday evening, precisely.

Things have been slow and ruthless so far, and he still hasn't broken through the iron wall Lu Guang's got surrounding him. How is Cheng Xiaoshi supposed to focus when he knows he's being stared at like he's a bug while attempting to put his knowledge to use?

It's like putting a weight on top of a piece of paper and trying to pull it out from underneath without ripping it or moving the weight.

. . . That analogy doesn't even make sense. Testament to how stats is starting to eat away at his brain.

Because Lu Guang doesn't tutor over weekends, Cheng Xiaoshi gets somewhat of a break from his mean glare. But it's Monday now, and six p.m. is rapidly approaching.

He almost doesn't want to reach out, just to be spared an extra day.

As the warm water slides over his shoulders, down the column between his shoulder blades, and soaks into his sweaty hair, he stares at the ground in thought.

He should let Lu Guang know he doesn't plan on meeting today.

. . . Come on, you've gotta understand! Spending two hours with a guy like that is like begging to be degraded.

And Lu Guang doesn't even need to open his mouth to show that he's beyond disappointed in everything you do.

With a heavy exhale, Cheng Xiaoshi pushes back his slick hair, reaching for the shampoo. Yeah, okay. He'll lock in tomorrow.

Just for today, he'll kick back and turn in early for the night.

> @lu.guang: I won't be tutoring you today.

Well. Maybe he won't have to painstakingly turn down Lu Guang after all. He's already been rejected like some fangirl.

Lu Guang: 1.
Cheng Xiaoshi: 0.
Dignity: pending.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at the text.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: replace ur fav already? 🙁😔💔
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: u sure know how to break a man's heart 😣😣

Seen.

Cheng Xiaoshi smirks to himself, predicting what kind of response he's about to receive. Getting on Lu Guang's nerves seems to be a newly discovered pastime.

@lu.guang is typing...

It disappears. Reappears again.

> @lu.guang: Idiot.

Yeah, he figured that would be the reply. Sliding his phone into his pocket with a satisfied huff, Cheng Xiaoshi begins his long walk towards the dormitory.

It just so happens that the dorm building is all the way on the other side of the campus— how great for him.

Even with aching limbs and sore muscles, he's still expected to walk the entire way back so he can get sleep that doesn't even qualify as 'decent'.

There are many things he'd like to complain about. 99 of them would be about statistics alone. (What can he say? He's a certified hater, too.)

The wind outside is brisk, causing his damp hair to flutter against his forehead as he trudges down the concrete. His shirt clings to his back uncomfortably, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. Not when every step he takes feels like a betrayal from his own legs.

He's been playing basketball since he was in middle school, but he didn't officially join a team until his freshman year of college. Something about commitment.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to get into it like that, because joining the team meant it wouldn't be a sport for fun anymore. He'd be obligated to show, expected to play on days he could be sleeping in.

It took a nudge (which basically was a hard shove) from his sweetest, most kind-hearted, non-aggressive childhood friend to actually show for tryouts. So, technically, the credit goes to her for pushing him into it.

Now he's here, building quite the name for himself as the Golden Boy of the Hui Jie Academy basketball team (hold your applause). He honestly doesn't get what it means since nothing's "golden" about him, but he's not complaining.

There are maybe three things Cheng Xiaoshi would willingly die for in this world. Instant ramen, buzzer-beaters, and his childhood friend, Qiao Ling.

(But she doesn't know that.)

She's been there for him since his parents' disappearance— a time when he was at his lowest. Back when he was still tender about it, he'd spout hurt, angry insults at whoever dared to insinuate that his parents left him.

They would never do that.

From an early age, Qiao Ling had been quite perceptive, so she saw through the angry façade that served as Cheng Xiaoshi's shield almost immediately.

The boy was lonely. Scared and hurt. And he needed someone back then more than anything.

They spent years together after that, adopting what most would call a sibling-esque relationship. (Something that only became clear in junior high when some guy in their math class started shipping them to make fun of Qiao Ling.)

(They both thought it was weird.)

(Qiao Ling socked the kid across the face.)

(Problem solved.)

She had always been more fight than flight— sharp where he was messy, grounded where he was reckless.

If she had a superpower, it'd definitely be her sixth sense when it came to Cheng Xiaoshi's spiralling, followed by the uncanny ability to drag him back down to Earth by the scruff of his hoodie.

They didn't need labels. She was his constant, and that was enough.

So yeah, he might joke about her holding a metaphorical gun to his head, but if it hadn't been for Qiao Ling insisting, he would've probably spent freshman year playing pick-up games and skipping classes like it was a part-time job.

Now, walking back to his dorm like a sore, half-dead corpse, Cheng Xiaoshi finds himself smiling a little.

Qiao Ling would definitely get along with Lu Guang.

His thoughts halt. Wait.

Why's he even thinking of Lu Guang in the first place?

As if the world has miraculously got the answer for him, Cheng Xiaoshi spots a familiar silhouette in the corner of his eye.

White hair. Black, full-sleeved shirt tucked into white pants. Standing near the bike racks like he belongs on a missing poster for introverts.

Cheng Xiaoshi turns his head and squints. ". . . Lu Guang?!"

Yes, it is. Lu Guang turns slightly, his patented Resting Judgement™ face clear from a distance like this.

"Hey," Cheng Xiaoshi calls, jogging a couple steps despite his legs screaming in protest. "What are you doing out here? This is like . . . the opposite of your natural habitat."

Lu Guang gives him a look. "Advisor meeting."

He blinks. ". . . You have an advisor?"

"Yes. Like most students do."

"Okay, wow. Attitude."

Lu Guang exhales through his nose and Cheng Xiaoshi has a hinting suspicion that this whole exchange is testing his will to live. Coming to a conclusion like that, well . . . someone as annoying as Cheng Xiaoshi would grin in delight.

"Do you need help finding the office?" He asks, already turning to the admin building. "It's a whole maze in there. My friend got lost once and had to be rescued by campus security."

"Was that 'friend' you?"

". . . No comment."

Lu Guang huffs something that could technically qualify as a laugh— but barely— and allows Cheng Xiaoshi to walk with him.

They head past the doors and into the subtly fragrant lobby. The receptionist isn't behind the desk, but with how confidently Lu Guang strides to the back and into the next corridor, Cheng Xiaoshi assumes he doesn't need to check in.

They move in a loose rhythm, feet echoing down polished tile halls.

"Hey, so. What's the meeting with your advisor for?" Cheng Xiaoshi says after a minute. "Academic stuff? Emotional support? Existential dread?"

". . . Internship paperwork." Lu Guang eyes him sideways.

"Laaaame."

"You asked."

Cheng Xiaoshi snorts, lightly nudging Lu Guang with his elbow. "Never took you as the type to leave your safe space. Be honest, are you being threatened by aliens?"

"Yes, I agreed to a treaty. Tutor one idiot to save the planet." Comes the exasperated reply.

He laughs. "You and your corny jokes. A+ for effort."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes.

The advisor's office is tucked at the end of the hallway, and the closer you get, the more you smell the printer toner and disappointment. When they get there, Lu Guang gives Cheng Xiaoshi a short nod of dismissal.

"Thanks," he says.

Cheng Xiaoshi smiles. "Try not to have too much fun. See you tomorrow."

Lu Guang pauses in the doorway. For half a second, something akin to amusement flashes in his eyes.

"Yeah."

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 101 days -

Cheng Xiaoshi's late again.

Lu Guang isn't even fazed. He's become too used to the idiot barging into the library, holding some sort of sacrifice to appease him.

Even if he is late today by only three minutes, Lu Guang believes that's enough time to have one question done.

Cheng Xiaoshi, on the other hand, counts his three-minute tardiness as personal growth. He jogged up the library steps instead of dragging his feet, thugging out the phantom pain in his legs from yesterday's suicide drills.

If that isn't dedication, he doesn't know what else is.

When he spots Lu Guang already seated in their usual spot, textbook open and pen in hand, he skids to a stop like he's approaching a crime scene.

"How do you always get here first?" He asks, dropping his backpack on the seat beside him. "Do you teleport?"

"I respect punctuality," Lu Guang replies without looking up, "unlike some people."

"Come on, that was barely considered tardy. I was fighting for my life on the sidewalk!"

His eyes finally lift from the textbook, unamused. "Your definition of punctual is as bad as your grasp on conditional probability."

"Ouch. You didn't have to come for my entire academic career like that." Cheng Xiaoshi sighs dramatically. "One of these days, I'm gonna show up early and shock you into being nice to me."

"You'll have to show up early consistently if you want that to happen."

He pauses. Gives the former a lopsided smile. ". . . So you admit there is a way."

Lu Guang doesn't answer, sliding over the textbook to a page titled Probability and Statistics: Set Theory. He taps the top row with his pen. "Start here. We'll go over the ones you get wrong."

Which, judging by how many red marks make up the other page, is . . . most of them.

Cheng Xiaoshi groans, leaning over the book. "Why is stats like this? Who decided math should have letters and tiny numbers and all this logic crap?!"

"You might learn if you talked less." Lu Guang suggests.

He pulls himself up, palms to either side of his jaw. His expression falls flat. "You say that like talking isn't three-quarters of my personality."

"It is. Unfortunately."

Cheng Xiaoshi narrows his eyes. "See, that kinda attitude is why you don't have friends."

It slips out— half-joking, half-bitter from being insulted in the span of only five minutes.

He expects a scoff. Maybe another dry remark or a passive "shut up". What he doesn't expect, is the silence that follows. Lu Guang just stares, expression unreadable.

Then, finally,

"I don't need them."

Cheng Xiaoshi freezes. He . . . what.

He hadn't meant to touch a nerve. Not really. But with how Lu Guang is so put-together like nothing's bothering him . . . he's starting to think otherwise.

He sits up straighter. "You don't need friends?"

Lu Guang shrugs a shoulder. "They're distracting."

"Distracting." He repeats. The latter blinks, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes. Why are you echoing me?"

Cheng Xiaoshi leans in. "You're telling me you've never had a friend before?"

"I'm telling you I don't see a point."

"Not even one? What about in high school? Junior high? Come on, there has to have been someone who stuck with you longer than a group project."

Lu Guang looks at him. "Why are you so fixated on this?"

"I dunno," Cheng Xiaoshi says, feigning innocence. "It just makes me sad to imagine little Lu Guang eating lunch by himself, sitting in a corner with his Pokémon pencil case."

"I didn't have a Pokémon pencil case."

"Wow. Not even a Pikachu one? Tragic childhood."

Lu Guang levels him with a look sharp enough to cut the air. "Do you plan on solving any of these problems today, or is this your roundabout way of procrastinating again?"

Cheng Xiaoshi ignores the jab, leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms behind his head, closing his eyes briefly in thought.

"Well, in any case," he says with a finality that strikes Lu Guang as odd. Never has Cheng Xiaoshi used a tone like this before. "I've decided to help you."

". . . With?"

"Making friends. Duh."

Lu Guang gapes. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"It's already in motion."

"No it's not."

"Lu Guang." Cheng Xiaoshi says firmly, reaching out his hand. "Let me help you. I know some good people. You won't ever be lonely."

Lu Guang swats his hand away. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm not lonely."

"You just said you have no friends."

"Being alone and feeling lonely are two different things. I like to be alone, but I'm definitely not lonely."

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrows knit. ". . . Uh-huh. Sounds like you're tryna make yourself feel better."

Lu Guang glares at him. "Are you going to start or should I leave before you waste any more of my time?"

Just as he's about to respond, his phone buzzes. Cheng Xiaoshi glances down at the screen.

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): where r u im bored

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): also can u pls remind ur friend im not his therapist again

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes light up.

"Perfect. I know just the person to kick off your friendship arc."

Lu Guang frowns, suspicious. "Friendship arc?"

"You'll see." He smiles, all wide and dog-like. "She's my best friend, has super high standards. You guys'll hit it off!"

"I didn't agree to this."

"You don't have to." He chirps, already typing away. "I'm the director here. You're just the hot lead with a tragic backstory."

Lu Guang groans, slapping a hand to his face. Cheng Xiaoshi only beams.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Qiao Ling is early.

She's sitting on the edge of a low stone planter near the library steps, tapping away at her phone like she's sending a very composed, very cutting email to someone who deserves it. (Probably is.)

Cheng Xiaoshi waves as he approaches, Lu Guang trailing behind like a shadow. It's been a long tutoring session, one filled with even more jabs at intellect and half-hearted flirtations. Lu Guang just wants to go home.

"Qiao Ling!" Cheng Xiaoshi calls, grinning wide. "Look who I brought!"

She rises from her spot, sliding her phone into the pocket of her skirt. Her eyes light up. "Hey, you."

Her eyes then shift to the person behind Cheng Xiaoshi. Her smile wanes just a bit.

"This is Lu Guang. The tutor." He nudges Lu Guang forward, beaming. "Also the one who's been attempting to salvage my academic future."

Lu Guang narrows his eyes at Cheng Xiaoshi, fixing his face before turning to Qiao Ling. "Nice to meet you."

She takes him with a slow, quiet glance. He's . . . certainly not what she expected. His expression is flat, almost unimpressed. He doesn't shrink beneath attention, but he doesn't seem to court it either.

He looks like he's regretting tagging along the second their eyes meet, like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Qiao Ling slides her gaze back to Cheng Xiaoshi, who's still grinning to himself like he's brought home a new puppy. He bumps Lu Guang's shoulder gently, and Lu Guang just sighs . . . like he's already used to it.

He doesn't push Cheng Xiaoshi away, nor does he fake a grin and nudge him back. Just stares off to the side at a tree, like if he stares hard enough, he'll take its place.

Something about that makes her pause.

"Lu Guang," she says eventually. "Nice to meet you, too."

He purses his lips briefly, dipping his head. He doesn't seem to be the talkative type. Qiao Ling realizes that he's simply like this: quiet, contained, watching the world from a step or two back.

And yet, Cheng Xiaoshi, the most in-crowd person she knows, is standing there (albeit a little too close) to this . . . hermit. She lets out an amused huff of air.

These two, her smile turns almost knowing in a second, are in their own world.

Qiao Ling doesn't interrupt right away. She watches.

Cheng Xiaoshi is as animated as always— words spilling out of him like he's an overflowing glass. He's teasing Lu Guang, roughly along the lines of "you didn't have to look so personally offended when I asked if Z-score was a drug."

She doesn't get the reference. Lu Guang clearly does. He closes his eyes like he's remembering a moment he's actively attempted to repress.

"You make me question the value of literacy." He mutters.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. "Admit it, you missed me."

"I literally saw you yesterday. Against my will."

"A lot can happen in a day," he singsongs, slinging an arm over Lu Guang's shoulders and pulling him close, "and absence makes the heart grow fonder, my friend."

Lu Guang, recovering from the sudden attack, looks at the tree for help. Visibly done with the conversation.

Qiao Ling exhales quietly.

It's strange. She isn't getting the same vibes from Lu Guang that she gets from Cheng Xiaoshi's other friends. Often, the basketball dork attracts people who are only half-invested in him— drawn in by his popularity, his warmth, but unwilling to return anything real.

Friends who laugh a little too loudly at his jokes, but never ask how he's actually doing. Classmates who hang around him for the recognition, the popularity, and the way he lights up a room with his presence.

But this guy.

He's not trying to charm anyone. Not trying to appeal to her or be overly friendly. Not trying to match Cheng Xiaoshi's energy or compete for attention. If anything, he looks like he'd prefer if no one paid attention to him.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't seem to mind that at all, continuing to gravitate toward him— playful, persistent, and for once, not trying so hard to entertain.

Qiao Ling watches them for a moment longer. Then, allowing her shoulders to fall in ease, relents.

"You two really are close." She says, placing a hand on her hip.

Cheng Xiaoshi turns to her, stars in his eyes. "You think? Really?!"

Lu Guang also turns to her, expression a mix of dread, exhaustion, and disbelief. "There's no way you think that."

She smiles. "I don't think, I know. Did he warn you he comes with a full-time narrator voice and zero boundaries?"

"That would've been nice to know before I accepted his tutoring request. I've forgotten the sound of silence." He replies. Cheng Xiaoshi gasps dramatically. Qiao Ling laughs.

Oh, he's invested. She likes that a lot.

"So, how are you surviving his TED talks on life and lunch menus?"

Lu Guang exhales. "I've learned to tune out every third sentence. He's averaging 3,000 words a day. Out loud." He casts a passive glance at Cheng Xiaoshi, who looks slightly offended. "I'm considering earplugs."

"They'd bounce off from the force of my charisma." Cheng Xiaoshi boasts, undeterred.

Qiao Ling hums thoughtfully, arms folded over her chest. "You know, he usually wears people out."

"I've noticed."

"And you still plan to stick around?" She raises a brow. "You don't seem to mind him."

Lu Guang pauses, visibly thinking. Then, he spares Cheng Xiaoshi a sideways glance. "It's a form of exposure therapy."

She laughs again. Then, after a beat, "You might be immune."

He blinks. "To what?"

"Whatever spell he puts people under," Qiao Ling nods towards Cheng Xiaoshi, who is now crouched to the ground, watching a caterpillar. Lu Guang stares at him.

"Usually, they burn out in a week. You just look . . . mildly inconvenienced." Her eyes sparkle.

Lu Guang averts his gaze. ". . . I call it long-term resignation."

"Sure," she says. "That's what it looks like."

"So," Cheng Xiaoshi calls, tilting his head back. Both of their gazes go to him. "Final thoughts, Qiao Ling?"

Qiao Ling simply smiles. Lu Guang, curious, looks at her. She dips her head.

"I approve."

Cheng Xiaoshi glances over his shoulder, smirking. "Yeah?"

"Approve . . . of what?" Lu Guang asks skeptically. She chuckles, covering her mouth. Cheng Xiaoshi stands, placing a hand on the tutor's shoulder.

"Congrats, you've made two friends!" He announces proudly. "I'll print you up a certificate and bring it tomorrow."

Lu Guang blinks. Swats him away. Before he can respond, Cheng Xiaoshi stretches exaggeratedly, turning to Qiao Ling.

"Anyway, let's get going. I've got a hankering for the campus café cheesecake. Wanna join, teach?"

Hankering . . . ? He holds up a hand. "No."

"You're missing out on peak cheesecake," he replies. "But suit yourself."

Qiao Ling waves him off. "It was nice to meet you! Let's hang out soon, okay?"

Lu Guang gives her a polite nod. Watches both of them leave.

Two friends. His mind echoes.

Letting out a sigh, he turns on his heel and heads for the doors to the library—

With the faintest of smiles on his face.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 100 days -

"How could this happen?!" The obnoxious wails of a certain basketball dork occupy the silence of the library, evoking the ears and eyes of fellow students.

Lu Guang, caught somewhere between amusement and plain disappointment, stares at the quiz paper in his hand. It's an oeuvre of pen marks all over, X's and question marks, stern comments and minuses.

"Wow." He muses. "Not even someone with the lowest GPA would score this bad."

Cheng Xiaoshi, sobbing dramatically while slumped over the table, cries louder. "I tried! I really did!"

Lu Guang turns the page over, gaze falling to a poorly drawn, muscular stick figure labelled "me after I ace this".

"Sure," he says dryly, "and how many of these did you actually solve without guessing?"

Cheng Xiaoshi lifts his head slightly. ". . . I didn't guess. I chose whichever one looked like it was glowing."

Someone nearby shushes them loudly. Lu Guang glares, then leans forward and taps the paper. "That trick is statistically illiterate. How many more failed quizzes is it going to take for you to understand?"

He thunks his head back down, shoulders trembling. ". . . I can't believe I'm being gaslit by math and you."

Lu Guang sighs. Tutoring this idiot would forever be a stain on his perfect record. He needs to do something fast.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"No," he wails, "No more extra work. Please. I'm just a poor little fellow trying not to be benched for the rest of my college career."

"You're a six-foot-tall varsity athlete." Lu Guang bites. "There's nothing little about you."

Cheng Xiaoshi would revel in the compliment, considering he's not six feet yet, but his despair overrides any pride he feels and he just hides further into his elbow. "That doesn't mean I don't have feelings. Delicate, artistic feelings."

Lu Guang scoffs. He lifts his head, eyebrows drawn, eyes weary, and frowning. "You can't just pile more work on me— I'll crack like a crème brûlée under a spoon!"

The tutor takes a deliberate sip of his coffee, unimpressed. "Then I'll be gentle. Five more pages, open book."

The colour drains from Cheng Xiaoshi's face, dark eyes wide in horror. "Five pages . . . five pages?"

"You flunked." Lu Guang says, holding up the quiz paper for proof. "This is literally academic arson."

"Yeah, and the five pages you're putting me through is academic manslaughter!"

He sighs. "Look, if you actually want to pass the midterm and not get benched, you need to stop hoping multiple choice will save your life. It won't, but I will. If you listen."

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him. Then gasps. "Oh my god. Is this your way of saying you care? About me?"

"It's my way of saying I refuse to let your incompetence reflect on my tutoring record." Lu Guang replies flatly.

"So you ca-aare," he sings. He seems to have recovered quickly from the wailing mess he'd been moments earlier. "Hey, how about this, then— we do a reward system. Like, I get a question right and . . . and you answer me a personal question!"

The tutor arches an eyebrow. "That's not a reward, that's a threat."

"C'mon, you've got to have some secrets. You don't even post anywhere on social media! It's like being tutored by a cryptid."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. He has a feeling Cheng Xiaoshi won't let this go until he gives in. He can surmise as much based on the look on the idiot's face.

He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Fine. Normal questions only, nothing weird. And you still owe me the five pages."

Cheng Xiaoshi clasps his hands together. "Great! Now watch, I'm about to turn into the Einstein of conditional probability."

He opens the workbook, immediately examining the inside.

Lu Guang, after a beat, presses his lips together and reaches over, flipping it silently. It's upside down.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at the book, now in the correct orientation, then looks up. He chuckles nervously. "I was . . . testing you. Making sure you were watching."

"Get to work."

"Right."

- - ⏱︎ - -

Five water breaks, one emergency walk around the library, and two emotional breakdowns later, Cheng Xiaoshi finally narrows his five-page homework down to the last page.

He's filtering through his brain, inky hair clasped in his fingers in frustration as he tries to force his memory of standard deviation to surface. It doesn't work.

With a huff, he scribbles out what he's written down already. "What even is a standard deviation?" He groans. "It sounds like something you'd get written up for in a Catholic school."

Someone at a nearby table snickers. Lu Guang sighs deeply.

"It measures how spread out the values are from the mean," he replies, sliding the workbook towards him. He circles the data set. "Here, I'll show you. Even though you should know this."

"I do know! I just— my brain's shy, okay?" Cheng Xiaoshi defends, tapping his head with his pen. ". . . He's got performance anxiety."

Lu Guang, taken aback by the final remark, falters in his writing. His gaze flits up to Cheng Xiaoshi, who continues tapping his head, eyes glinting mischievously.

The corner of the tutor's mouth twitches. He looks back down before he accidentally lets a smile crack. "You're so insufferable."

Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulders droop. "Can we end the session here?"

"No. You haven't finished the questions on this page yet."

He frowns, leaning on his arm. "But it's 8:02."

Lu Guang pauses briefly, checking his watch. It is not 8:02. He spares Cheng Xiaoshi a glance.

"Worth a shot."

"Here, do it now." He pushes the book back towards the latter. "I simplified what you're meant to do. Then, solve the next question without any help."

Dejected, Cheng Xiaoshi picks up his pen again and begins working the question out.

Lu Guang leans back in his seat, taking a small sip from his coffee cup. If Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't get it, even after simplifying something as straightforward as standard deviation, Lu Guang might just have to resign.

He'll give up being a tutor. He'll literally retire. At the prime age of twenty, he'd have worked an unpaid job, the stress of three extra decades evident on his face.

And it'd all be Cheng Xiaoshi's fault.

After circling his answer, said idiot cautiously slides the book forward. "Final answer. Please tell me it's right."

Lu Guang glances over it. Past the chicken scratch and the frustrated doodles. He scans it once. Then again.

". . . It's correct."

Silence.

". . . IT'S CORRECT?!"

Half the people in the library turn their heads.

"Shh!"

"I did it? I did it!" Cheng Xiaoshi exclaims, raising his hands like he's won the lottery. "Tell me your favourite colour. No— your biggest fear. No— your coffee order!"

Lu Guang stares at him, mildly amused, mostly annoyed. "An americano."

Cheng Xiaoshi beams as bright as the sun. "I knew it. Bitter and hot, just like you."

"I'm assigning you ten more pages as homework." He says immediately.

The former gasps, scandalized. "You can't punish me for being right!"

"Can't I? It's called a natural consequence."

"Unbelievable." Cheng Xiaoshi slumps back in his chair. "I finally pull a win, and you respond with violence."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. "You wanted a reward, you got one. You don't get to trash-talk the prize."

"I can if it's a sad little coffee order," he says, clicking his pen. "You give off pumpkin spice energy at the very least."

Lu Guang lightly jabs him in the arm. "Yeah, and you give off failing student energy."

"Touché."

There's a brief silence. Cheng Xiaoshi props his chin in his hand, staring hard and openly at Lu Guang.

"So," his voice lilts, "if I get another one right, am I allowed another answer?"

Lu Guang doesn't look up, totalling up his score. "Depends on the question."

"Okay, okay," He sits up straight, gears clearly turning. "What's your dream job?"

A pause. "I don't think that's—"

"Wrong!" Cheng Xiaoshi interjects. Lu Guang blinks, briefly making eye contact. "Your answer should've been tutor to a hot basketball player with a heart of gold and the GPA of a spoon."

He lets out a long, suffering sigh.

Of course. At the end of the day, Cheng Xiaoshi was still Cheng Xiaoshi. Stupid, cocky, and beyond irritating.

"We still have twenty minutes. Get started on those fifteen pages."

"Wha— fifteen?!"

Lu Guang brings his coffee cup to his lips, concealing a pleased smile.

Somehow, the coffee seems to taste better when there's an idiot snivelling in misery in the background.

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 99 days -

Cheng Xiaoshi hasn't shown up to his digital photography class since the start of the semester.

The professor uploads all assignments to the student portal, and most are things he can easily fake— a sunset here, a cropped flower there. Easy to grab off the internet.

(But he doesn't, because although Cheng Xiaoshi is many things, he is not a freeloader.)

Digital photography is one— maybe the only— class out of the six he's signed up for that he actually takes seriously.

He likes taking pictures.

Maybe it's because he's accepted he'll be working in a photo studio in the near future, but he genuinely finds joy in adjusting lighting, adding filters, and above all— snapping the photographs themselves.

There's another kind of delight in finding the perfect subject, something that'll make for a great keepsake.

That's the extent of the midterm for the class, at least.

Yesterday evening, after promptly returning to his dorm post-practice, he opened his portal to find a message from his professor. It read as such:

"Good Evening Students,

Hope your weekend was more eventful than mine. Those photographs better be stashed in your camera roll! For tomorrow's lecture, we will discuss the requirements of the midterm for this class. Please strive to make it to class in a timely manner so you may receive instruction and do well on the exam.

For any questions or concerns, feel free to shoot me an email and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

See you tomorrow,

LQ."

When Cheng Xiaoshi initially saw the message, he sighed deeply. He really didn't want to go. The lecture hall is smaller than most— with maybe fifteen students total in the class— and, as if that weren't bad enough, the AC is always cranked to arctic levels.

He has no idea why he's the only one who seems to be freezing his fingers and toes off.

Still, if he wants to make an easy A, he's gonna have to show up.

So, that morning, Cheng Xiaoshi wakes up at 9 a.m. sharp, ready to trek to the small, isolated, below-10-degree lecture building. This time, he's prepared: four layers, no mercy.

Sure, the walk there would be agonizing in the October heat, but it's better than getting hypothermia from spending two hours in that damn icebox.

"Cheng Xiaoshi!"

He perks up, glancing over his shoulder. Recognizing the girl heading towards him, he stops and waits for her to catch up.

"Ohh, it's you." He sneers. She presses her palms to her knees, stabilizing her breath. "What, get ditched by Qiao Ling?"

She glances up, dark purple eyes fierce. Cheng Xiaoshi's smirk widens.

The brunette is a good friend of Qiao Ling's, and by default, an acquaintance of his. Long hair tied back in a high ponytail, clad in a stylish teal jacket and wide jeans, is Xu Shanshan.

She straightens, folding her arms over her chest. "Please. You'd be the first she'd ditch between us."

He jams his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, sizing her up. "You sound confident. Wanna bet on it?"

Xu Shanshan sticks her tongue out. "I don't make stupid bets. But, if you're dying to lose money, that's fine by me."

Cheng Xiaoshi rolls his eyes. Their dynamic is a lot more . . . fiery, if you could call it that. She doesn't miss an opportunity to jab at him, and he doesn't hold back on his own either.

Just 'cause she's a girl doesn't mean he's gotta tone down his natural edge. His words, friendly or not, are rated E for everyone.

"Don't tell me . . . are you actually coming to class?" She gasps, astonished.

They start at a leisurely pace. Cheng Xiaoshi smiles, proud.

"Figured I should bless you all with my presence once more before the semester ends."

"No one even knows you're in that class." She snorts.

His smile falters, and he glances at her sideways. She clamps down on her lip, suppressing a laugh.

"It's also because of the email she sent out yesterday," he adds. "Won't know what to do for the midterm if I don't get the rubric."

Xu Shanshan hums. "Riiight. Glad you decided to get your lazy butt up. I wouldn't've brought it for you, by the way."

Cheng Xiaoshi nudges her with his shoulder, gently pushing her off the sidewalk. "I know. I wouldn't even trust you to get me water if I was shrivelled up in the Sahara."

She pushes him back, biting a smile. "Okay, drama queen. The feeling's mutual."

He grins. Conversations with Xu Shanshan are never dull. She's a firework. Loud, bright, and way hard to ignore. And man, is she a drinker.

He's about to bring up her latest party stunt when she beats him to a topic change.

"Hey, what's with the getup?" She's staring at his hoodie now, lowering her gaze to see two other shirts peeking out from underneath. "You going to visit Santa, or . . . ?"

He might as well be.

Instead of answering, he eyes her clothes. "Bold of you to wear crop anything in that classroom. Pretty sure I froze my soul over last time I was in there."

Xu Shanshan shakes her head. "You're just weak. Survival of the fittest and all that, y'know?"

"I'm layered like a wedding cake. I'm prepared." He sniffs. "You, on the other hand, are gonna be an icicle by the time lecture ends."

"Ah, well," she flips her ponytail, "beauty is pain."

"Sure. I hear ya."

They reach the building, and the familiar hum of the overworked AC already leaks through the glass doors.

". . . So." Xu Shanshan mumbles, slowly grabbing at her sleeves. "Here we are."

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs dramatically, holding the door open. "After you, victim number one."

"How far from a gentleman you are," she remarks, stepping in. He follows after her, cold air immediately smacking him in the face.

If only he were allowed a balaclava or something. He'd basically be set to survive the entire class.

"Have you started putting your portfolio together?" She asks as they walk into the lecture hall. There's quite a bit of chatter among those already in their seats, the faint murmur of voices bouncing off the walls.

Cheng Xiaoshi scans the room. "Yeah. I just need to take a few more . . ."

Xu Shanshan smirks, keeping her back turned to him. "Guess I win. Mine's ready to be submitted!"

When she doesn't get an immediate reply, she curiously looks over her shoulder. "Cheng Xiaoshi?"

But Cheng Xiaoshi isn't listening.

Because his gaze has locked— crashed— right into someone else's.

Sitting three rows down, seemingly caught in the middle of passing conversation with a classmate—

is Lu Guang.

Wide-eyed, stiff, and staring directly at him.

Both of them freeze. The already suffocatingly cold air turns subzero in a matter of seconds.

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart vaults. It's taking so much out of him to keep his expression under control.

And, as if with comedic finality, he mutters an astonished,

"Shit."

Chapter Text

"— remember, lighting isn't just about brightness. It's about shaping your subject, creating emotion, and guiding the viewer's eye . . ."

What's he doing here? How is he here? How did I not notice we were in the same class?!

Cheng Xiaoshi's mind is nothing but a whirlwind of the same three questions, like a scratched record. He stares blankly at the slideshow projected at the front of the class— some photo of a dimly lit alleyway with dramatic shadows— but all he sees is Lu Guang, exactly three rows ahead, slightly to the right.

Lu Guang, who hasn't turned around once since they made eye contact.

Lu Guang, whose presence is sending his brain into a tailspin.

"Don't forget, your lighting study is due in two weeks. Five photos, natural and artificial sources, with notes on your setup and . . ."

He's not even listening. His pen is poised uselessly over his notebook, where he's written the word Light and underlined it four times without noticing.

He's not embarrassed . . . there's nothing to be embarrassed about at all. It's not like anything happened— it's just Lu Guang.

But, seeing him anywhere other than their place in the library is like seeing a unicorn in the wild. Mythical.

And, finding him in one of Cheng Xiaoshi's lectures is so shocking it's funny. Above all, he's excited. (Even if he has no idea why)

"What's going on with you?" Xu Shanshan hums, snapping him out of his daze. He turns to find her staring at him, eyes glinting.

"What?" He repeats, looking away before she gets a peek into his soul for the answer. "Nothing."

She stares, watching him underline the only word on his page for a fifth time. Yeah, not buying that.

". . . Uh-huh. And I'm sure that goo-goo ga-ga look is also nothing."

"Psssh, what? You're seeing things." He harrumphs, forcing his gaze to remain on the slideshow. "I don't do goo-goo ga-ga looks."

"I didn't think so either . . . until I witnessed whatever just happened back there." She smirks, eyes shifting to the back of a head of snow-white hair. "Lu Guang, huh?"

Cheng Xiaoshi stiffens. Xu Shanshan grins.

"He doesn't say a lot. Very reclusive. He's totally got that hot-older-teacher vibe to him."

If only she knew.

He forces a cough and leans forward casually. "I guess. If you're into emotionally unavailable guys with judgmental eyes."

She gasps. "Oh my god. You talk like you know him."

. . . Oops. Maybe he should've kept that to himself.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs, scratching at the back of his neck. "He's . . . my tutor."

Xu Shanshan snaps her gaze back to Lu Guang, mouth agape. Cheng Xiaoshi brings a finger to his own lips, signalling for her to stay quiet before she lets out one of her loud, high-pitched screams.

"You're being tutored— by that guy?!" She whisper-yells. "And you didn't think to tell me?!"

"Because I knew this would happen," he squints, gesturing vaguely at her scandalized face.

"You secretly spend time with a hottie like that, in private sessions and thought 'yeah, no one needs to know about this'?"

"It's not like that."

"But it is! You— you're blushing!"

Cheng Xiaoshi exhales deeply, slapping a hand over his face. ". . . I'm gonna drop this class."

"Be real," she says, smug, "You'd never leave."

He gives her a pointed look. She raises her eyebrows.

"I knew something was up. You've never acted like such a schoolgirl before."

"Schoolgirl?"

She rests her chin against her palm. "No one freezes like that when they see a friend."

"I was just surprised!"

"Sure. So the constant zoning out, doodling, and deflecting is also because you're 'surprised', yeah?"

Cheng Xiaoshi looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. (Something that doesn't help his case). Xu Shanshan leans in.

"Okay, spill. What's he like? Is he the kind to talk you through it?"

"Shanshan."

"Hmm? You've got me curious." She says breezily. "Butttt if you don't want to answer . . . I can always just ask him—"

"He's a fine tutor." He answers immediately. No way in hell was he letting Xu Shanshan talk to Lu Guang— certainly not when she had a tendency to . . . exaggerate.

"Fine, indeed." She hums.

Cheng Xiaoshi finally starts writing stuff down. He'll do anything to get himself out of this humiliating pit.

Xu Shanshan seems to go quiet— maybe because the professor has begun giving instructions. Maybe because she's taking pity on him. (Definitely not.)

It's not that her teasing is getting to him, not really. It's just that he hasn't even begun to swallow the fact that Lu Guang's been in his class all this time— and he never knew until so late into the semester.

Nothing's ever caught him so off guard. He doesn't even know where to begin.

"I hope you're getting a feel for your midterm."

On a more pressing note—

The professor turns the presentation off, leaving them in a dimly lit room. "Remember, it's okay if your subject isn't conventionally beautiful. What matters is your personal connection to it— and how you use editing and lighting to bring that forward."

Cheng Xiaoshi has no idea what the subject for his midterm should be about.

He figured a photo of the Hero Photo Studio or a decent candid of Qiao Ling would suffice . . . but now he's not so sure.

It's not that he doesn't like those ideas (and it's not like the professor's gonna interrogate him about it), but something just feels . . . incomplete. Like there's something else out there, waiting to be captured.

He finds himself staring at the back of Lu Guang's head again.

. . . Did he know I was in this class?

There's no way he recovered faster than Cheng Xiaoshi. He just looked slightly appalled at his appearance, and it only lasted for that one moment.

Lu Guang shifts in his seat. Cheng Xiaoshi snaps his eyes away.

Yeah, he needs to stop. Knowing Xu Shanshan, she's probably—

He looks at her sideways instead, only to find her staring back already. That stupid, knowing grin is on her face and Cheng Xiaoshi can't help but regret everything he's done in the past thirty minutes.

"Shut up."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were going to."

She sighs. "I can't believe this. Wait till I tell Ling."

"She already knows." He says, staring ahead.

Xu Shanshan gasps, pulling on his sleeve. "She knows but I don't? Am I the last one to find out?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Maybe."

"The betrayal," she slumps forward on the table like he stabbed her in the back. "I thought we were best friends."

"We are." He says, colouring the corner of his notebook.

"Clearly not." She huffs. "Because best friends don't keep tutoring-based crushes a secret."

Cheng Xiaoshi jerks upright. "It's not a crush!"

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. He sighs, inadvertently glancing towards Lu Guang again.

. . . At least he's got more than statistics to talk about now.

The professor begins the second half of the lecture, pulling up another presentation titled Filters. A new slide appears on the screen: a split image of a sunset, one side vibrant and saturated, the other muted and cooler in tone.

Cheng Xiaoshi genuinely focuses for five seconds. He leans forward, scribbling down a bullet point. Colour temperature shifts mood. Okay. Easy.

His gaze remains glued to the presentation— but then, Lu Guang leans back in his seat and all of a sudden, the projector is projecting nothing but static.

Cheng Xiaoshi twirls his pen between his fingers, eyes flitting to the back of that snowy head like a moth to a flame. It's stupid— he knows it is— but he can't seem to look away.

He wants to talk to him.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks when his phone buzzes, the vibration startling him out of his thoughts.

Fumbling through his pockets, he pulls it out and reads the banner.

> @lu.guang: Stop staring.

Cheng Xiaoshi straightens. An abrupt chill from the AC slips past the four layers he's got on, caressing down the column of his spine.

Eyes flitting back to Lu Guang, grin tugging on his lips, he opens up the chat and types back:

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: make me

He watches Lu Guang's shoulders shift— barely— but just enough that he knows the message was read. The few seconds of silence afterward stretch for a little too long. He braces himself for a scolding.

His phone buzzes again.

> @lu.guang: Try paying attention for once.

Cheng Xiaoshi muffles a snort behind his knuckles, pretending to cough. Xu Shanshan eyes him suspiciously, but doesn't comment.

His thumb hovers over the keyboard, eyes glinting smugly as he sends his next text.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: can't help it if ur more interesting than colour grading 😏

This time, no witty reply follows.

He waits. Still nothing.

The professor clicks to the next slide. "Colour grading isn't just aesthetic. It sets mood. It alters perception. It can completely change the emotional tone of a shot simply by . . ."

It's honestly a fascinating topic. It truly is.

But Lu Guang shifts again, resting his cheek in his hand, eyes fixed straight ahead, and unbothered, and Cheng Xiaoshi finds himself mentally photoshopping a warm filter over the sight. Just to see what it would look like.

. . . God, he needs to get a grip.

He slides his phone back into his pocket.

Okay. No more excuses.

He's got to focus because his midterm depends on it. He can totally survive one more hour in this lecture, even if he's constantly aware of Lu Guang in his peripheral vision.

. . . Hopefully.

- - ⏱︎ - -

It's 6:01 p.m. and Cheng Xiaoshi is doing all that he can to physically restrain himself from running into the library like he actually wants to be there.

(Because he doesn't. Not for the statistics, anyway.)

But, when he finds himself right in front of the large doors, he can't help but forget any and all restraint. He breathes a single, shaky inhale. Then, giving in to the excitement churning in his gut, he walks inside and makes a beeline straight for their corner.

He doesn't even stop to spot the familiar mop of white hair first. Lu Guang, as always, is already in his seat.

Glasses perched on his nose. Notes stacked neatly, as tall as a tower. Fingers hovering over his laptop keyboard.

All so Lu Guang.

Cheng Xiaoshi slaps his notebook down across from him, but doesn't immediately take his seat. He can't stop grinning.

And Lu Guang, who's so obviously avoiding his eyes, pretends like he isn't even there.

. . . Until the silence gets too heavy, and having a pair of eyes piercing through the side of his face gets irritating.

"I told you to stop staring at me." He mumbles.

Cheng Xiaoshi's grin widens. "You didn't tell me we shared a lecture."

Lu Guang spares him a sideways glance. "You say that like I knew already. Which I didn't."

He exhales, looking back at his screen. Then adds, "Had I known, I probably would've dropped while I still could."

"Ouch." Cheng Xiaoshi clutches his chest. "The Ice Princess levelled up to Ice Queen."

He finally drops into his seat, leaning forward. "Hey. You seem like the type to do your homework stupidly early. What are you doing your midterm on for digital photography?"

Lu Guang blinks. Then lifts his gaze and narrows his eyes.

Cheng Xiaoshi puts his hands up defensively. "Woah, hold on. Before you glare me to ashes, I'm not looking to copy. I am my own man, after all."

"You asked me for the answer key last session because you gave up."

"Okay, but stats is different!" He exclaims.

"And photography isn't?" Lu Guang deadpans.

"No!" Cheng Xiaoshi leans back, gesturing with both hands like it's obvious. "Photography is art. It's emotion. Not numbers and depression."

His eyebrow twitches. "It's also technique. Theory. Practice."

"Okay, professor." Cheng Xiaoshi snorts, but there's no heat to it— just a sly grin tugging at his mouth. "Come on, spill. What's your concept?"

Lu Guang pauses. Long enough that Cheng Xiaoshi almost thinks he's not going to answer. But then, with a small sigh:

"Stillness."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. ". . . Huh?"

"My midterm." He taps away on his keyboard. "I haven't found a proper subject yet, but I plan to make it about the stillness in motion."

Turning his laptop slowly, he lets Cheng Xiaoshi in on the working title of a file folder: silence between frames.

It shuts him right up.

For a second.

Because, without another thought, Cheng Xiaoshi blurts: "Damn. That's kinda hot."

Lu Guang starts to turn the laptop back around. He shoots the former a pointed look. "I'm leaving."

Cheng Xiaoshi stiffens. "No! I'm sorry, I— I meant it in a totally academic, not-hitting-on-you kinda way!"

Lu Guang sighs. Far too done already. ". . . Open up your notes. We'll pick up from where we left off last time."

He does as told, knowing that Lu Guang will make good on his word. He's not the type to be swayed by sentiment, after all.

Flipping to the page with the most recent notes, Cheng Xiaoshi's mood deteriorates the moment he sees the last couple lines of chicken scratch.

What the hell does that even say?

He clears his throat and looks up. ". . . So. You must get hit on a lot if nothing I say trips you up."

Lu Guang keeps his gaze on his screen. "That's your takeaway?"

Cheng Xiaoshi smirks. "Just an observation. You're like, completely immune. I could tease you all day and you'd still be like, 'turn to page twenty-three'."

Lu Guang squints in disbelief. "I don't talk like that."

"You do!" He points. "You're like . . . Elsa, if she never let it go."

He stares, dumbfounded at the comparison. Cheng Xiaoshi, registering his own genius, laughs.

And laughs . . . and laughs.

And then, he wheezes, clutching his stomach like he delivered the stand-up punch line of the year. "You'd be like, 'the cold never bothered me, but Cheng Xiaoshi's handwriting did'!"

Lu Guang's expression flattens. ". . . I'm seriously reconsidering helping you."

"Too late," he gasps, wiping his eyes. Mirth dances in those dark irises. "You're legally obligated, by fate and that study plan of yours."

Lu Guang doesn't dignify that with a response. He just lowers his gaze to the screen, eyebrow twitching, and mutters, "Turn to page twenty-three."

Cheng Xiaoshi howls.

- - ⏱︎ - -

The gym is loud. Full of way too much activity.

Sneakers screech against polished wood, whistles pierce the air, and the crowd of PE students buzzes with scattered cheers and idle conversation.

Basketball season often sidelines students who have physical education during certain class periods, substituting online work as make-up for the class.

But that's not important.

Lu Guang sits near the edge of the bleachers, far from the cluster of students pressed close to the court. His laptop rests balanced on his knees, the screen casting a faint glow over his notes.

He's not really sure why he agreed to come.

No, wait— scratch that. He never agreed. He was peer pressured.

Cheng Xiaoshi had leaned across the table yesterday after having the time of his life, laughing his ass off at Lu Guang during their last tutoring session.

He had grinned that crooked, insufferably confident grin and said, "Come on, teach. It'll be fun."

And, after refusing so many times over, one can only withstand Cheng Xiaoshi's obnoxious behaviour for so long.

In all honesty, Lu Guang couldn't have made it even if he wanted to simply watch to pass the time.

He had to study. He has to study.

But here he is, minding his own business. Still somehow focused on his work instead of the loud clamour that bounces off the tall walls.

"Here! Han Chao!"

Like that.

His eyebrow twitches.

It's fine, he tells himself. He'll just . . . make note of one really good play and when Cheng Xiaoshi asks later on, he'll quote it.

That should be enough to appease him, right—?

He freezes his train of thought.

. . . Because wait. Since when does he care enough to do that?

Lu Guang, appalled at his own thought process, shakes it away and returns to studying.

Yeah, no. He's not going to do that.

He flips to the next page, taking in his notes all over again. In the middle of reading through, he realizes he's made a mistake and rewrites it— for future reference.

He almost made a detrimental error. He huffs at his own blunder.

As he's sitting here, trying to get his work done, tuning everything else out, the tension on the court grows as the timer comes to a close end.

Thirty seconds left.

Thirty seconds to make the final, winning shot.

The pressure weighs heavy on the player who has the ball. He skillfully dodges his blockers, tries to aim for the shot— realizes he's too far and dials it back.

Lu Guang turns the page again.

"Hey, I'm open!"

Another error? He reaches for his pen.

"Chen!"

Lu Guang is in the middle of crossing out the spelling mistake, when suddenly—

"WATCH—!"

The warning shout barely registers.

Then, the world erupts into pain.

Something cracks.

His glasses shatter— vision blurring instantly. Though, it's more from the impact than the missing lenses.

His head jerks back and he nearly drops his laptop. The gym goes silent. A stunned hush ripples over the crowd as the basketball bounces away with a hollow thunk-thunk-thunk, echoing too loudly in the suddenly quiet space.

Lu Guang sits frozen. Blinking. Processing.

He pulls the mangled glasses off his face, expression unchanged— except for the water welling in his eyes from the sheer force of the hit.

His face pulses hot. A headache begins to crown his forehead.

"Are you okay?!" A voice calls out.

He turns toward it automatically, halfway through a terse, "Yeah," when—

Blood gushes down his upper lip.

Horrified gasps erupt from the crowd. He hears them clearly.

And somewhere on the court, still frozen mid-motion— Cheng Xiaoshi looks like he's just witnessed the assassination of a pope.

Chapter Text

The blood comes fast.

It drips past Lu Guang's chin, blooming crimson on his shirt collar. It's not something he can discreetly wipe away— not when it's already on its way to taint the rest of his shirt.

He tilts his head back instinctively, one hand clumsily reaching into his bag for tissues, napkins, anything. A few people scramble to help, others stare.

And then—

"Lu Guang?!"

That familiar voice, now strangled with panic.

Cheng Xiaoshi.

Lu Guang doesn't move. The sting of secondhand embarrassment burns hotter than the pain in his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the bench like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

He hears frantic footsteps pounding against hardwood.

Then, the horrified, "Oh my god— Lu Guang— shit— are you—?!"

Lu Guang doesn't look at him.

Mostly because he can't. He can barely see.

"You just— when did you even—?!" Cheng Xiaoshi stammers, holding out a wad of tissues from who knows where. "Here, here— fuck, I didn't even mean to shoot it— Chen said to pass and I—"

Lu Guang takes the tissues in silence, wiping as much as he can and pressing them against his nose.

Cheng Xiaoshi rakes a hand through his hair, anxious. Worried. "Do you need ice? Shit— I'm so sorry— should I get the nurse? Oh my god, I broke you."

"You didn't break me." Lu Guang says flatly, prying his eyes open. His voice is slightly nasally now. "Just . . . my face."

There's scattered laughter from the stands— nervous, unsure. The crowd doesn't know whether to laugh or keep holding their breath.

Cheng Xiaoshi, riddled with guilt, looks down at him sombrely.

Lu Guang is still sitting, hand covered in red, crumpled tissues dotting his lap like little white flags of defeat. The sight is like a second basketball to the face.

He shifts the tissue on his face. Sighs deeply. "Do you have anything clean? My glasses are . . . ruined."

Cheng Xiaoshi immediately yanks the bottom hem of his jersey up and offers it like a peace treaty. "Here. Shirt. Use me."

"I'm not using your sweat rag to clean my face."

"It's clean! Well, mostly— but clean!"

Lu Guang just looks at him. He wilts.

"Okay, okay. Um," he turns, looking around as if a clean towel will just descend from the heavens. "Does my hoodie work?"

He gets an even flatter look. Lu Guang wipes around his nose, completely ignoring the question. Cheng Xiaoshi clamps down on his lip.

After a moment's silence, he huffs.

"I'm taking you to the nurse." He says decisively.

"You're in the middle of a game." Lu Guang replies, deadpan.

"I almost ended your life, I think that takes priority!"

Lu Guang exhales. "It's a nosebleed."

"Yeah, well, it's my fault," Cheng Xiaoshi mutters, crouching down. "Let me fix it."

And for once, Lu Guang doesn't argue.

Because the truth is, he's a little dizzy. His nose is actively bleeding through the five tissues he's got pressed to it. His glasses are beyond repair. And Cheng Xiaoshi, loud and frantic and entirely too close, is the only steady thing in the room.

Cheng Xiaoshi grabs his bag, puts his things back in, and helps him to his feet. The team stares, slack-jawed and unmoving, and Coach mutters something about a time-out.

But it doesn't matter, because Cheng Xiaoshi is already halfway down the court with Lu Guang's arm over his shoulder, leading him out of the gym with a firm hand around his side.

The doors swing shut behind them.

And just like that, the game forgets all about them.

The nurse has a surprisingly steady hand for someone who didn't bat an eye when she saw all the blood.

She ushers Lu Guang onto the cot and starts wiping his face with sterile gauze.

"Do I need to ask what happened?" She questions, sparing Cheng Xiaoshi a glance. Her gaze drops to his jersey.

His shoulders droop. ". . . It was an accident."

She sighs. Mutters something about "young men and projectiles" like she's seen this exact scenario a hundred times.

Cheng Xiaoshi lingers by the wall uselessly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He moves constantly like he can't decide between sitting down and digging his own grave.

"You can wait outside," the nurse says all too kindly.

"I'd rather not." He blurts. "I mean— what if he passes out? Or like. Has internal bleeding? Or what if his nose just falls off?"

Lu Guang groans behind the gauze. The nurse gives him a questioning look.

"He's not dying." Her tone is thoroughly unimpressed. She steps away to grab some ice.

Cheng Xiaoshi moves in a little, fingers wrapping around the metal frame of the cot. His face comes into view— worry, guilt, and gloom mixed into a pitiful picture. It doesn't suit him at all.

Lu Guang sighs, weary gaze boring into him. "Can you stop looking at me like I'm on my deathbed."

"I almost took your face off." Cheng Xiaoshi whispers. "I blinded you. You could've lost a cornea!"

"I didn't."

"You don't know that."

The nurse comes back, zip-locked ice in hand. Lu Guang looks at her. "Do I still have my corneas?"

"They're fine," she replies passively.

Cheng Xiaoshi leans over, head in his hands. "Oh, thank god."

Lu Guang blinks slowly. ". . . I swear you're more injured than I am."

"I might be," he mutters into his palms. "Spiritually. Emotionally."

The nurse finishes taping the bridge of Lu Guang's nose, gently presses around the area to check for swelling, and steps back.

"There you go. Remove the tape after twenty-four hours. Use ice if it starts to hurt, and painkillers would be a good investment."

He nods. "Can I leave?"

She eyes him for a moment. "You'll get dizzy. You should have someone walk you home."

"I'm not dizzy."

"I'll walk him!" Cheng Xiaoshi volunteers.

Lu Guang shoots him a flat look. "You've done enough."

"At least I won't accidentally hit you in the face this time."

"That's exactly what someone who's going to hit me in the face again would say."

The nurse raises a brow. ". . . I'll take that as a yes. Out you go."

Lu Guang turns to Cheng Xiaoshi— who's beaming all too widely compared to how he looked earlier. He sighs, heavy and exhausted.

". . . Fine."

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 97 days -

Cheng Xiaoshi awakens that fine Saturday morning like a man who committed a crime and dreamt about it all night.

Because he did. And he did.

He flops over and groans into his pillow.

It's barely noon, sun pouring through the window to show off how good of a day it is. Too bad he plans on spending it sulking.

His phone buzzes beside him.

It's presumably Qiao Ling, wondering why he dipped out of the post-game dinner yesterday. His team won, by the way, (without him!) and decided on meeting at this fancy pub to celebrate.

He spent maybe twenty minutes before excusing himself and locking himself up in his dorm. He didn't even get to try the appetizers.

How could he appetize (?)— knowing he'd almost killed Lu Guang?

Cheng Xiaoshi ignores the notification, staring at the wall beside him. The silence stretches, dramatic and undeserved. His pillow muffles the small, miserable sound he makes.

He tries to tell himself he's already been forgiven. He shouldn't dwell on something he's been forgiven for.

And yet . . . he's dwelling.

He pictures it again. For the millionth time. The ball midair, the shout of warning, the sharp crack of impact— right on Lu Guang's face. Glasses obliterated. The waterfall of blood that proceeded to stain his neat, iron-pressed shirt and his cold, lithe fingers.

. . . Not that Cheng Xiaoshi knows that they're cold or anything.

He buries his face in the pillow, groaning again.

This sucks. He hates feeling so despicable.

His phone buzzes again. And again.

He finally gives in and glances over, picking up the phone and reading the notification banner. It's not Qiao Ling.

> @lu.guang: You awake?
> @lu.guang: I'm not dead.

A third message appears two seconds later:

> @lu.guang: Don't sulk.

Cheng Xiaoshi flings the blanket off of himself with dramatic flair and sits up like he's been willed by God.

He stares at the texts. Then squints at them. Then falls back down, pillow dipping from the weight of his head. He slaps his free hand over his face.

"Holy hell," he mutters, "he felt the aura of my shame."

Wasn't that the truth.

But the fact that Lu Guang even texted him at all . . . that's a miracle. It's something. And it means Lu Guang hasn't blocked him and reported him to the university for attempted murder.

That means Cheng Xiaoshi still has a chance to—

Wait.

He shoots upright again. He does still have a chance.

"A redemption arc." He whispers to himself like it's a revelation. "Yes. Yes."

He practically trips out of the bottom bunk and begins pacing, hands in his unruly hair. "It has to be good. It has to be meaningful! I have to show that I care—"

That he didn't mean to turn Lu Guang's face into a Jackson Pollock painting.

He rips his phone off the bed and fires off a message. Or like, three.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: r u home today
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: im coming over

And then, for extra measure:

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: dont ask, just let me in

He doesn't wait for a reply.

Because Operation: Make it Up to Lu Guang has officially begun.

First things first, Cheng Xiaoshi gets dressed, eats breakfast, and then heads out like a man on a mission.

Pulling on the first hoodie he finds— light blue, slightly crumpled, and possibly what he had hanging in the locker room when the crime took place (but that's honestly pretty poetic when you think about it) — he bolts out of his dorm.

Step one of this operation was the one thing no one could refuse.

Snacks.

There are a number of cafés, clothing shops, and mini grocery stores for student convenience on campus, which are relatively cheap too. Campus security is kind of strict, so instead of having to explain why you were out on a late grocery run, you can just stop by the corner store and then walk back to the dormitory.

Cheng Xiaoshi makes a beeline to the campus convenience store and proceeds to grab everything he thinks Lu Guang might like.

. . . Which limits his options by quite a lot. Given Lu Guang's usual personality, figuring out what he likes is basically a stats problem in and of itself.

Letting out a determined huff, he grabs a shopping basket and navigates to the tea aisle.

He settles on the following:

• One box of unsweetened green tea.
• A bag of plain potato chips. (because flavour would be too fun, probably.)
• A modest pack of chocolate Pocky.
• And (on impulse) a cute little Cinnamoroll keychain.

“ . . . Looks just like him,” he mutters to himself as he drops it into the basket, like that's justification enough.

He then trudges up to the checkout aisle, satisfied with his haul. This should be enough, right?

. . . Right?

He checks out with a sense of holy purpose, thanks the cashier, and begins his walk down the long pathway towards the campus gate.

Lu Guang, oddly enough, doesn't live on campus. He has his own apartment— something Cheng Xiaoshi only learned after walking him yesterday.

"You don't dorm?!" He exclaims.

Lu Guang spares him a glance, gaze dropping to Cheng Xiaoshi's hold on his bag. "No."

"Dude— dorming's a college experience! You only have next year to give it a try before you're done for life!"

He hums. Closes his eyes. ". . . There's no need for that. I live right outside the gates, so it basically counts, doesn't it?"

Cheng Xiaoshi nudges him. "No, it doesn't."

He rolls his eyes. "I prefer having my own space."

"Just get yourself a roommate as nerdy as you." Cheng Xiaoshi grins, poking him in the arm. "You'll both be too engrossed in studying to care about one another."

Lu Guang brushes him off, expression flat. "I seriously hope security stops you for looking suspicious."

He laughs, loud and melodious.

True to his words, Lu Guang did live extremely close by. There were apartments right outside the gates, and as far as Cheng Xiaoshi knows, Lu Guang isn't the only student who lives in the complex.

He steps into the building, shuffles his way into the elevator, and presses the button to the second floor.

He hadn't gotten the chance to peek inside Lu Guang's apartment yesterday, what with how initially guilty he felt. He shut himself out after handing Lu Guang his bag.

He inhales deeply, raising his fist to knock. Three times. Quick and rhythmic.

There's empty silence on the other end.

. . . Did he maybe have errands to run? But no, Cheng Xiaoshi texted him beforehand— he totally called dibs today!

As he raises his hand to knock again, the door creaks open.

Lu Guang stands there in sweatpants and a slightly oversized long-sleeve shirt, hair damp at the ends like he's only just gotten out of the shower.

His expression is unreadable, somewhere between confused and "I was five seconds from a nap".

The tape from yesterday is still on the bridge of his nose, no glasses. He looks different without them. Less serious. Kinda pretty.

. . . Er— wait. No.

Cheng Xiaoshi straightens. "Hi. Hello. I brought offerings."

Lu Guang blinks. Then, his gaze drifts down to the small plastic bag that's being held out like a peace treaty. His brow furrows.

"Why is it vibrating."

Cheng Xiaoshi startles. "Oh— no! It's just my phone, um . . . hold on,"

Awkwardly juggling the bag and fishing his phone from his hoodie pocket, he puts it on silent without checking who the notification is from. He chuckles nervously.

"Sorry. It's probably Qiao Ling."

Lu Guang opens the door a little more, just enough to let him in. "You're not going to answer her?"

Cheng Xiaoshi follows him inside.

"She's been on my case since I skipped dinner yesterday." He scoffs. "I think it'll be okay if I dodge her a little bit longer."

The apartment is neat. Like, suspiciously neat. Sparse too, minimalist-like, but not in a pretentious way. A few books are stacked by the window, there's a plant in the corner that looks like it's surviving purely out of obligation, and a neatly folded blanket sits on the edge of the grey couch.

Cheng Xiaoshi takes his shoes off at the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a housewarming gift. (Better late than never, he supposes)

"I, uh," he clears his throat, holding it up again, "got you stuff. I didn't know what you'd like, so I just kinda grabbed everything that screamed 'nerd' at me."

Lu Guang raises his eyebrows and takes the bag, peeking inside. Slowly reaching in, he pulls out the keychain and looks up with the driest stare imaginable.

"Sanrio screams nerd to you?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's ears go pink. "I panicked, okay?"

Lu Guang's lips curve slightly. He hums, something noncommittal but not quite dismissive, and sets the keychain back in the bag. He walks to the kitchen without another word, placing the bag on the counter.

Cheng Xiaoshi trails after him, hovering.

"Oh, you're not allergic to anything, right?" he asks suddenly, realizing he should've checked before buying the snacks.

"No."

He sighs. "Good. That totally would've wrecked the vibe."

Lu Guang gives him a glance over his shoulder. "What vibe?"

"Y'know, the 'I'm-not-out-for-your-blood' vibe." He offers a smile. "That is what it's coming across as, right?"

"What, you mean the unsweetened tea and plain chips you brought me?" Lu Guang questions, returning to the living room and plopping down on the couch. "Is that how you usually settle debts?"

"No," Cheng Xiaoshi says, following him out and half-sitting on the armrest, "but I'm trying to match the energy of someone who brings five extra pencils to class."

Lu Guang exhales a slow laugh.

"You're odd."

"And you haven't kicked me out."

Silence settles between them for a moment. Cheng Xiaoshi leans back against the armrest and studies Lu Guang— snow-white hair clinging to his forehead, the soft fall of his shirt sleeves over slender wrists, the faint bruising on the bridge of his nose beneath the medical tape.

He looks . . . soft, like this. Human.

Not some unflappable academic force of nature, not the know-it-all tutor with an aura as cold as ice. Certainly not the boy who walks around with his defences as high as prison walls.

Just Lu Guang. Real, and slightly dishevelled.

"I really am sorry, you know," Cheng Xiaoshi says, quieter now. "About yesterday."

Lu Guang doesn't look at him. He never seems to really look, does he? "I know you are."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know." He turns his head at last. Their eyes meet. "I saw your face when it happened. You looked like you were about to sob and turn yourself in to the police."

Cheng Xiaoshi huffs, relieved and mortified at the same time. "I was this close."

Another beat of silence.

Lu Guang shifts slightly, the corner of his mouth tilting. "You still owe me, though."

He lights up. "Name your price."

"Hm." Lu Guang contemplates. He leans back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, with a devastating calm, he says:

"Be my servant for the day."

And perhaps in hindsight, Cheng Xiaoshi shouldn't have been so eager to make it up to him after all.

Chapter Text

Cheng Xiaoshi has never done an ounce of physical labour in his life.

He doesn't usually dabble in the art of cleaning— rather, he finds some solace in the kitchen. Qiao Ling made sure he wasn't entirely useless.

He can cook some pretty mean pasta, creamy and all. He even indulges in baking sweets from time to time. (Call him Master Baker Cheng Xiaoshi!)

. . . But housework isn't just baking and cooking pasta.

He squints at the electric kettle. "You know, I might burn down your apartment trying to figure out which setting is 'brew', right?"

Lu Guang, seated primly on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, doesn't glance up from the book in his lap. "You only have to press a button."

"What if I press it wrong?"

"There's one button."

Cheng Xiaoshi groans and reaches for the box of unsweetened tea.

"This is oppression." He tears open a packet. "This is what oppression looks like."

"You offered to be my servant." Lu Guang reminds him.

"I offered to make it up to you," he corrects. "I didn't realize you'd take that as permission to reenact Cinderella but backwards."

He flips the page. "Complaining already?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's expression flattens. He gets the kettle going and looks for the mug cabinet. Or wherever Lu Guang keeps his mugs.

"No." He mutters. "Just letting off steam. Y'know. Like this kettle. Who I relate deeply to right now."

Lu Guang doesn't reply, but when he glances back, Cheng Xiaoshi catches the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.

A small victory, maybe.

He places a white mug on the counter, then drops the teabag inside. "You want this brewed to like . . . what? Forty-five degrees and infused with resentment?"

"Just don't burn it," Lu Guang answers flatly.

Just don't burn it, he says. Cheng Xiaoshi sighs.

The kettle clicks. He grabs it and pours the hot water into the cup, muttering something about "tragic ends" and "indentured servitude".

He carries the mug out a few minutes later, presenting it with a flourish. "Your tea, Highness. Unsweetened, because sweet things are for people who experience joy."

Lu Guang lifts an unimpressed brow but takes it anyway. Blowing gently, he takes a sip. Cheng Xiaoshi stares, waiting for the verdict.

Lu Guang pulls back to look into the mug, face a blank canvas of muted, unexpressive emotion. (How's anyone supposed to read that?)

Then, there's a quiet,

"This is actually good."

Pride sparks in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. He smirks, watching Lu Guang take another sip.

Then, after a moment, his silver eyes lift. ". . . What are you standing around for?"

He blinks. "Wha—"

"Clean the windows." He directs. "They require your attention."

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes. ". . . You're kidding."

He tilts his head slightly, almost innocently. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him. Then, with the solemnity of a man who's made one too many poor life choices, he turns back towards the kitchen for paper towels.

"The glass cleaner is in the cabinet under the sink." Lu Guang calls, taking another sip of the tea.

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrow twitches. He crouches by the sink and grabs the glass cleaner, mumbling to himself,

"Next he'll ask me to repaint the walls. Maybe install a chandelier. Polish the freakin' air molecules."

He's having too much fun with this. Cheng Xiaoshi's beginning to regret feeling bad. He should've just dropped off the gift and run.

It would've spared him from this.

"Don't leave streaks."

He glares at the window. Whatever. He can deal with a few chores, no biggie.

He sprays the cleaner (albeit a bit too aggressively) and begins cleaning. The window isn't even that dirty. A little smudge in the corner, maybe. Barely even qualifies as a sin against cleanliness.

(Except it might to Ice Queen Lu Guang.)

The paper towel squeaks against the glass as Cheng Xiaoshi wipes harshly, like he's been sentenced to do this for the rest of his life.

Behind him, Lu Guang turns another page in his book, the sound infuriatingly serene.

"You could at least pretend to feel bad about this," He gripes.

"I could," Lu Guang hums. "But I don't."

Cheng Xiaoshi glances back at him, scandalized. "You're enjoying this!"

He hides behind the mug. "Only a bit."

"That's so messed up."

"Mm."

"You're a sadist."

"You broke my nose."

Cheng Xiaoshi opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. What is he supposed to say to up that? He looks down at the cleaner in his hand, then back at Lu Guang, who's staring at him perfectly calmly. (Slightly smug.)

"Fine." He bites. "And while you're at it, why don't you tell me to cook you dinner? Vacuum the entire apartment? I'll even give you a massage if you ask!"

Lu Guang looks up from his book. His eyes glint. "Are you offering?"

Cheng Xiaoshi huffs. "Hell no!"

He actually snorts. Shakes his head. Finds where he left off. "Get back to cleaning."

"You're evil. A tyrant in slippers."

"Yeah, yeah."

He moves onto the balcony doors, which shine spotless in the sunlight. Does he even need to wipe these down?

He has a feeling Lu Guang's monitoring what he's cleaning . . . so there's no way he's just gonna be able to skip these.

He sighs deeply.

As the paper towel squeaks embarrassingly with every motion, Cheng Xiaoshi continues to scrub at the glass with the grace of someone who's never cleaned a surface in his life.

He's sure he's doing this wrong. Like, 99% sure.

All the while Lu Guang reclines on the couch behind him like some Roman emperor, sipping tea while the world suffers below his feet.

"You're missing the top corners." He hears.

Cheng Xiaoshi narrows his eyes at him through the glass. "Do I look seven feet tall to you?"

Lu Guang raises an eyebrow. "Jump."

"You jump."

"You're my servant."

Damn this.

After a few more minutes of this suffering, Cheng Xiaoshi steps back with a satisfied huff. He admires his handiwork, then turns.

"Done."

"Are you?" Lu Guang questions.

"I think I deserve a break?" He declares, biting a smile.

"You did two chores and you're already backing out?" He says, unimpressed. "I didn't take you for a work thief."

"I'm pacing myself so I don't get overwhelmed!"

"You're stalling."

Cheng Xiaoshi leans against the window he just cleaned. "What do you want from me? Blood? Tears? My Netflix password?"

Lu Guang regards him as apathetically as ever. Except maybe . . . there's a small new glint in his eyes that isn't noticeable right away, but it makes all the difference.

He puts his book down and rests his chin against his palm. The undivided scrutiny sends heat down Cheng Xiaoshi's spine.

"I'll make you do one more thing." He says finally. "Deal?"

Yeah, but knowing Lu Guang, it's probably the most heinous, soul-crushing, Evil-Queen-esque thing imaginable— like reorganizing the spice cabinet by pH level or ironing socks.

(Yes, because ironing socks is a punishment even more damning than Hell.)

Cheng Xiaoshi eyes him suspiciously. ". . . Define 'thing'."

Lu Guang shrugs a shoulder. "Something light. Won't take long."

"I'm scared to know what your definition of light is."

"Are you saying no?" He tilts his head.

"No!" Cheng Xiaoshi scowls. "Just . . . mentally preparing myself."

There's a pause. Lu Guang's hand slides from his chin to the couch arm beside him, fingers tapping thoughtfully.

He exhales softly. "I want you to fold the laundry."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. "That's it?"

"For now."

"Wait— no evil twist? No hidden horror? Just laundry?"

Lu Guang picks his book back up. "Unless you'd rather clean the washroom."

"Laundry is good!" he blurts, already halfway down the hall.

"Basket's in my room near the door." Lu Guang calls after him.

True to his word, the basket is waiting for Cheng Xiaoshi as soon as he walks in. Of course, it's already been sorted by colour. Lu Guang's definitely the kind of guy who alphabetizes his socks and iron presses his existential dread.

Cheng Xiaoshi drags the basket back to the living room with a grunt and sits on the floor cross-legged, cracking his knuckles like he's about to go into battle.

Lu Guang glances over the rim of his book. "Try not to wrinkle anything."

"No need to worry, my dude," Cheng Xiaoshi grabs a t-shirt. "Folding laundry's my thing. This is a battlefield of pride, and I will emerge with my ego intact!"

He hums, clearly entertaining the statement, then flips the page.

Cheng Xiaoshi begins with gusto, folding with theatrical precision. He presses down the edges of each fold and, when the shirt's in a perfect square, lifts it up to show.

"Behold, a perfect fold. Symmetry, elegance. Something Michelangelo dreams he could do."

Lu Guang doesn't look. "It's inside out."

He deflates. Looks at the shirt.

"That's . . . just how the design is."

"The tag is literally facing out."

He groans and peels the shirt apart. "Whatever. You can't rush greatness."

Lu Guang's shoulders fall as he exhales. Cheng Xiaoshi keeps folding, a little more carefully this time. Shirt after shirt. Then pants. Then— socks.

He stares at the small, unassuming pile.

"You want these rolled? Folded? Married and sent on a honeymoon?"

"Matched. Folded. Tidy."

"Right," he mutters, grabbing two socks and frowning deeply at the slight difference in hue. "Did you seriously buy two shades of gray that are .0003% different?"

"They go with different outfits."

Cheng Xiaoshi smacks the socks together. "You need help."

Lu Guang glances over. "You're the one who volunteered. I'm putting you to good use."

"Yeah, well," he folds another pair into itself, "next time I feel bad, I'm just sending flowers. You're not getting any more unpaid labour out of me."

He smirks behind the rim of his book. "I'll only take them if they come folded."

Cheng Xiaoshi turns, throwing a white sock at him. Lu Guang dodges it with the reflexes of someone who definitely saw it coming.

"Missed."

"I didn't miss." He grumbles. "I was aiming for your dignity."

"Uh-huh." Lu Guang closes the book. "You think I had any left after letting you in my apartment?"

Cheng Xiaoshi grins despite himself.

Laundry's dumb. So is cleaning windows and brewing tea. But this?

Maybe this isn't so bad.

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 94 days -

It's Tuesday morning, and Cheng Xiaoshi, ever the scholarly, Literature-dedicated student, finds himself so effortlessly focused on the packet before him.

"Hey." He gets a karate chop to the head. "This is not the class to be sleeping in, idiot."

. . . Okay. He was effortlessly focused. Until he looked at his arms, which started to look like silk pillows, and just had to test out their quality by resting his head on them.

He sits up, rubbing the back of his head. Qiao Ling takes the seat beside him, placing her bag down on her other side.

Cheng Xiaoshi yawns, redirecting his attention from the comfortable rest that his arms provide to the girl who ripped heavenly slumber from him.

Spoiler, he's not happy about it.

"Don't give me that look. Professor Han's gonna make a pitiful example out of you." She scolds.

He grumbles. "I wasn't sleeping, I was strategically resting my eyes."

"Strategically?" She raises a brow.

"Yeah. You wouldn't get the nuance." He stretches, spine popping. "This is a high-level technique. Preserving mental energy for poetic analysis."

Qiao Ling snorts. "The only thing you're preserving is your GPA's slow descent into hell."

Cheng Xiaoshi scowls. Before he can shoot back with something clever (petty), Professor Han sweeps into the room with his usual, barely concealed disdain for everyone under 25.

The room shifts. Papers shuffle. The fat packet on the desk in front of him glows ominously in the white light.

Qiao Ling straightens her posture like a good little overachiever. Cheng Xiaoshi slumps lower.

Surprisingly enough, lit isn't as irritating as his other core classes. Cheng Xiaoshi can somewhat focus, and his grades aren't too bad.

And Qiao Ling makes lecture bearable . . . when she isn't being a total bookworm.

Professor Han starts droning about the upcoming midterm. Words like 'annotated bibliography' and 'class curve' are thrown around like they don't physically wound the soul.

Cheng Xiaoshi tunes out halfway in— until Qiao Ling elbows him.

"Oi."

"I'm listening!" He mutters, opting to divert his attention from the well-deserved nap to the demonic packet. He flips through it passively.

His eyes hang on to the guidelines for the presentation due next week. Visuals, content, points . . . and points, and points.

Seems this presentation is worth thirty percent of the class grade. He should probably take it seriously. But, there are other things he should probably do and he hasn't gotten to them yet. So, maybe—

He searches for a specific date. There isn't one listed.

"Hey," he whispers out of the side of his mouth, "when's this thing due?"

Qiao Ling looks at what he's pointing at. "Wednesday next week. Midnight."

His soul leaves his body.

She rolls her eyes. "You'll be fine. Besides, you get to talk about love poems and show everyone how sensitive you are."

"I'm not sensitive." He squints.

"You cried over that one sad dog commercial for twenty minutes."

Cheng Xiaoshi settles, heat rising to his cheeks. He looks away, defeated. "It . . . was really moving."

Qiao Ling just looks at him, a fond smile creeping up on her face. She pokes him in the side.

"Relax. You won't die from a little soul cleansing."

"I might as well, and subjecting myself to love poems is not how I plan to go out."

Qiao Ling sighs.

Professor Han clears his throat dramatically at the front of the room, and both of them snap their eyes forward like guilty kids caught doing something they're not supposed to.

Cheng Xiaoshi straightens his packet. Qiao Ling's overachiever face returns. The rest of the class drones on.

By the time lecture ends, Cheng Xiaoshi's brain feels halfway boiled. He shoves his stuff into his bag while Qiao Ling slips her notes into her colour-coded folder.

They walk out together into the breezy midmorning sun.

"Hey— I forgot to ask," Qiao Ling gasps. "Did you hear about the party Luó Xing is hosting?"

He blinks. "Oh. A couple guys on the team were talking about it after practice yesterday."

Now that he recalls . . .

He steps out of the locker room shower, towel wrapped around his waist and wreathed in steam.

"Yo, Zhu, did'ya hear?"

He steps past the other guys getting dressed, coming to a stop in front of his locker to grab his clothes. It squeals loudly when he opens it.

"What?"

"That one kid— the son of the district superintendent— he's hosting a huge party with alcohol and shit at some hotel this weekend."

Cheng Xiaoshi rubs the stray water drops out of his hair.

Party, huh?

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, man! He's given his invite to a couple juniors already. All the seniors have one!"

"Think we'll get one?"

A snort. "Yeah, right. Y'think he'd want extras hanging around and tainting the booze?"

"That's a jerk move."

He pulls his shirt over his head. Hangs his towel to dry. Grabs his backpack and the plastic bag containing his sweaty jersey, bandana, and shorts. Makes his way towards the door.

The two guys who were speaking come to an abrupt stop when they see him pass.

"Xiaoshi!"

"See you tomorrow, man."

He offers them a friendly smile. Slightly raises a hand.

"Yeah. See you."

He scratches at the back of his neck. "How do you know about it?"

Qiao Ling smiles. It widens a bit more. Then, she pulls out her phone and makes three noticeable taps on it.

She holds it up for him to see.

Cheng Xiaoshi squints, scanning the screen. And then, he straightens, aghast.

"Invited?! You?!" He exclaims.

She grins proudly. "Guess I got the invite before you."

"You don't even—!" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. "No, I forbid it. You can't go."

Qiao Ling pulls back, folding her arms over her chest. "Nice try. You're not my dad."

"Uncle Qiao's using me as his vessel to deliver the message." He says, eyes squeezed shut and fingers to his temples like he's receiving revelation. "Ling, daughter, I said no."

Qiao Ling laughs, shoving him. "Stop it. My dad doesn't sound like that."

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "He kinda does."

She shakes her head. "You're so stupid. The invites are still going around, it's only Tuesday. I'm sure you'll get one."

"Getting an invitation isn't my issue." He says. "But you can't go unless I'm going. Or Shanshan. Or even Lu Guang."

(How hilarious would it be if Lu Guang got an invitation but he didn't?)

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know." She narrows her eyes playfully.

"I know that," they start walking again, "but there's going to be alcohol!"

"You're a way heavier drinker than me!"

"It'll go on too late." He re-reasons. "You shouldn't be out at odd hours."

"I'll only be there for two hours, max."

Cheng Xiaoshi frowns at her. Qiao Ling raises her eyebrows.

"Anything else?"

He averts his gaze. Messes with his ponytail. Pouts.

Qiao Ling's eyes widen.

"There'll be . . . guys." His tone drops a considerable amount. It appears as though this was his initial reason.

She covers her mouth with her fingers, suppressing a boisterous laugh. "There'll be guys? What are you, my maiden aunt?"

"I'm just saying—"

"You go to parties with girls all the time, idiot. Don't start with that hypocrisy!"

"Yeah, but I don't have weird intentions!" He argues. "I don't trust other guys to be the same."

She throws her head back with a laugh, then loops her arm in his and tugs him forward. "You are such a pain."

"Hey—"

Her eyes sparkle. She gives him one of her million-dollar smiles. "Fine then. I won't go unless you, or Shanshan, or Lu Guang are going."

Cheng Xiaoshi's expression turns suspicious. ". . . Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you?" She bats her eyelashes.

"Yes," he says flatly. "Constantly. Without remorse."

She grins. "Well, I mean it this time. Cross my heart, and stuff."

And stuff. Cheng Xiaoshi exhales, somewhat mollified for the time being.

"Hey, you should ask Lu Guang if he's free. Y'know, to tag along."

He blinks, almost stopping in his tracks. "Hah, you think the guy who makes a hobby out of studying would willingly go to a party?"

Qiao Ling smirks. "He would if someone asked him."

Cheng Xiaoshi rolls his eyes. "Yeah, totally. Call me if you manage to drag him out of his study cave."

She nudges him. "Don't be like that. Imagine he goes and gets swarmed by other department nerds, forgetting all about you. He's quite the knockout."

Well . . . he can't disagree there. Even being in Lu Guang's presence, feeling his razor-sharp gaze on you sends these delicious chills down your spine.

(And Cheng Xiaoshi has the experience to talk.)

"Some advice," she says, letting go of him and stepping ahead with a smirk. "If you want dibs on Lu Guang, you should probably make a move."

Yes, if he wants dibs—

. . . Wait.

"Dibs?!" He flushes. "I'm not—"

But Qiao Ling's already waving as she turns the corner, grinning like a Cheshire cat. That girl and her stupid assumptions—

Cheng Xiaoshi grits. "You're the worst!"

- - ⏱︎ - -

Qiao Ling, in fact, is the worst.

This thought only solidifies to fact when roughly six minutes into the tutoring session, her scheming little 5'3 form plops into the seat beside Cheng Xiaoshi, clutching her iced coffee like it's her evil sceptre of meddling.

Lu Guang looks at her. ". . . Are you here to study too?"

"No, no," she takes a sip of her coffee. "Don't mind me. I'm here for moral support."

His curious gaze shifts to Cheng Xiaoshi, who currently has a hand over his eyes.

Curse him. Of course he's doomed to end up in such awkward situations. He'll be farming negative aura for the rest of his life, so long as he's associated with this demon woman.

"Here," Lu Guang recovers with a quiet exhale, handing him a worksheet. "I figured we'd move on to compound inequalities."

"Ugh." Cheng Xiaoshi groans, letting his head thunk against the table. "Please, just let me fail. It'll be so much easier."

"Not a chance. Come on, start at number one." He says.

Qiao Ling watches, occasionally sipping from her cup. Cheng Xiaoshi starts scribbling on the page, and Lu Guang redirects his attention to his notes.

For a while, she enjoys watching both of them work. But it doesn't take long for that entertainment to dissipate.

Honestly, where was all the tension she craved for? The hopeless romantic energy that was supposed to be tainting the air?

She clears her throat, leaning over with her chin in her hand. Clearly she'll have to make the move.

"So," she says sweetly, "did you ask him yet?"

Cheng Xiaoshi jerks up straight. Lu Guang blinks. Qiao Ling's smile widens.

"Ask me what?" He says.

"Lu Guang, she's distracting me. Kick her out." Cheng Xiaoshi scowls.

"Distracting? Whatever do you mean by that?"

He looks at Lu Guang, quite pointedly. "She's here to harass me."

"That's slander." She pulls back to take another sip from her coffee. Then, she turns to Lu Guang with that casual tone laced with evil.

"You hear about a party? Dim lighting, expensive snacks, all-you-can-drink, and a generous gathering of potential . . . beaus."

Cheng Xiaoshi chokes. Lu Guang frowns, confused.

"You're . . . inviting me out to a party?"

"I never said that!"

"Technically, you did," Qiao Ling muses. "Just . . . not verbally. Totally with your vibe, though."

"My vibe is trying to pass stats!"

"You can do both." She gestures at Lu Guang. "Besides, a little social interaction would do him wonders."

"Excuse me—"

"No." Cheng Xiaoshi says firmly. "First of all, you need an invitation to get in. I don't have one, and as far as we know, Lu Guang doesn't either."

"It doesn't hurt to find out!" Qiao Ling retorts. "And you still have the rest of this week to get it. Might as well ask him now while he isn't pre-booked."

". . . Who's pre-booked—?"

"I already said no." He huffs. "I don't plan on changing my mind."

"Oh? Even after remembering how you broke his face the other day?" She smirks, a shadow over her eyes. "What happened to feeling bad about it?"

"Um . . . hello—"

"I made up for it over the weekend!" Cheng Xiaoshi replies. "Two hours of manual labour might not sound like much to you, but it was absolute hell for me. I never wanna see glass cleaner again!"

She narrows her eyes. "I didn't force you to help me cook for days on end just for you to complain about glass cleaner. You bring me shame."

"If we could maybe get back to—"

"Just go away." He waves his hand. "I'm trying to—"

There's a loud clearing of the throat behind them. Cheng Xiaoshi shuts up. Qiao Ling stiffens.

The librarian— one very intimidating lady— stands with her arms crossed behind the study booth they're in.

She stares them down like they committed a crime even worse than child endangerment. And then, she points towards the door.

"M-Mrs. Tian—" Cheng Xiaoshi begins.

"Out." She narrows her eyes.

And out they surely go.

Qiao Ling sets two cups of tea down on the table, taking a seat with a heavy sigh.

"Sorry. It's my fault we got kicked out." She mopes.

Cheng Xiaoshi snatches up his cup, muttering a, "Damn right it's your fault," before taking a sip.

Lu Guang exhales. He takes the cup meant for him, letting his grasp around the hot drink linger. (He clings to it like it's his sanity.)

"Don't worry about it. At least you're owning up to your mistake." He glances sideways at Cheng Xiaoshi, who instantly feels the icy gaze on him. He turns sharply, eyes narrowed.

"Don't even start with me!" He cries. "My life was on the freakin' line back there!"

Lu Guang elbows him— hard. Cheng Xiaoshi quiets instantly, trembling fingers travelling to soothe the pain that surges through his ribs.

He clears his throat. "No need to fret over it."

Qiao Ling's shoulders droop more.

His expression softens just a bit. "What’s this about a party?"

And just like a pop-up birthday card, Qiao Ling perks up. No guilt in sight.

"Oh, right!" She chirps. "It's just a casual little get-together, hosted by the district superintendent's spoiled son. Invites have been going around since yesterday, and I figured as long as we—" she points between her and Cheng Xiaoshi— "were going, we could drag you along so you would have fun there too."

Lu Guang blinks. He removes a hand from the cup.

"Invite . . . like this one?"

He pulls out his phone, swipes a few times, then holds it out for her to see. Cheng Xiaoshi, still nursing his ribs, leans in to look.

Both their jaws drop.

A sharp, in-unison, "WHAT?!" emits from their table, stealing the attention of a few nearby students.

Lu Guang blinks, baffled. "What?"

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes. Qiao Ling gasps, elated.

"You got one? Why didn't you say anything?!"

Lu Guang blinks again. "I didn't think it was relevant." (He thought it was spam at first and almost trashed it.)

"Not relevant?!" Cheng Xiaoshi whirls on him. "This whole time I've been bullied, coerced— emotionally manipulated into asking you to come— and you were just sitting on a golden ticket like it was junk mail?!"

"I only checked my messages an hour ago."

"That's not the point!"

Qiao Ling's eyes gleam. "That's so amazing. Gosh, I might've underestimated how far your looks would take you."

Lu Guang opens his mouth to question that, but Cheng Xiaoshi barrels over him.

"Bro. You literally live by stranger danger. How the hell did you get an invite before me?!"

"Open your eyes, idiot. He's gorgeous."

At this, Lu Guang averts his gaze. He hides behind his cup, and the faint blush at the tip of his ears goes mercifully unnoticed.

"It makes sense Luó Xing got to him first." Qiao Ling hums. "Have you seen our resident nerd?"

"Looks or not, shouldn't clout come first?" Cheng Xiaoshi harrumphs, though his tone seems to have levelled out. He's talking just for the fun of it now.

"Don't be bitter." She gestures passively, expression smug. "I told you, just be patient."

Lu Guang exhales. ". . . I'm assuming I'm not allowed to back out?"

Qiao Ling grins. "No way."

Cheng Xiaoshi's lips curve upward. "You're coming along, pretty boy."

He doesn't like the looks he's getting.

And somehow, he knows somewhere deep in his bones— this weekend's going to be a disaster waiting to happen.

Chapter Text

The rest of that week goes by in a breeze.

Cheng Xiaoshi, much to his relief, gets his party invitation by Wednesday evening— during his tutoring session.

Lu Guang proceeded to punish him by giving him five more pages as homework. (Yippee! said no one ever.)

Thursday, Cheng Xiaoshi snoozes through his lit lecture and somewhat stays awake for digital photography. Lu Guang is the only thing keeping him awake, because he's scared he'll be subjected to more torture if he's caught sleeping. Xu Shanshan only sighs like she's watching a drama play out.

Friday, Qiao Ling creates a group chat with the three of them in it. Lu Guang's phone hasn't been this active in months.

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): wear black. it's sexy.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: is it?

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): not on u.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: 🤨

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): 🥰🥰🥰

Lu Guang picks up the conversation twenty minutes later, running a hand through his damp hair.

> @lu.guang: Is there actually a dress code, or are you just harassing him again?

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): yes.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: Photo.

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): STOP. WHEN DID YOU TAKE THAT???

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: insult me again

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i have more of these 😊

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): ur evil. i hope ur shirt shrinks in the wash.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: jokes on u i dont do laundry

> @lu.guang: Gross.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: 😘😜😇

Saturday creeps up faster than any of them expect. Cheng Xiaoshi wakes up at noon, has an existential crisis over his wardrobe, and then immediately regrets not doing laundry sooner.

Lu Guang, on the other hand, spends exactly five minutes picking out an outfit before sitting back down to read.

Qiao Ling . . . is keeping her day's events a secret.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs deeply, settling on a slightly wrinkled, oversized black-and-white checkered shirt. He can iron it out, no prob. He'll pair it with high-waisted black trousers, cinched at the waist, flared at the legs.

And his shoes . . . they don't really matter. He'll just grab something black.

Done. He's basically ready.

8 p.m. rolls around quicker than expected. The sky outside has already sunk into a deep navy, stars buried somewhere behind the city's light pollution. The wind stirs lightly outside, rattling the window frame.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands in front of the mirror for the fifth time in ten minutes, messing with his hair because it won't set the way he wants it to.

He's two seconds away from a meltdown when his phone buzzes.

> @qiaoqiao(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): downstairs. dont make us wait, stupid.

He grabs his coat and bolts.

It's a chilly night. That crisp, late October air is refreshing, the smell of grass and a late-night bonfire linger in the wind.

Qiao Ling's car remains idle nearest the sidewalk, headlights glowing, music pulsing faintly through closed windows.

He can see the faint glow of her phone through the glass. She appears to be texting someone. He yanks open the door and climbs in— head snapping up when amidst the scent of her perfume, there's the addition of cool cologne.

Lu Guang is sitting in the passenger seat, peering at him through the vanity mirror. He's dressed from head to toe in black, legs crossed, hair slightly styled.

Right out of a magazine.

Cheng Xiaoshi slumps back against the seat with a groan. "Unreal. You're unreal. Is that merino?"

The ghost of a smile flickers across his face. He lowers his gaze. ". . . Maybe."

Before Cheng Xiaoshi can say anything else, the back door on Qiao Ling's side swings open.

"Sorry I'm late," comes a familiar voice, cool and even. Xu Shanshan slides in, dressed in a sleek navy-blue jumpsuit and layered with a bolero cardigan. "Had to finish an essay before I let myself go for the night."

Her gaze shifts to Cheng Xiaoshi first. She smirks.

"What's this? You actually put yourself together?"

He narrows his eyes. "I'm always put-together. Where else do you think my charm comes from?"

Xu Shanshan snorts, buckling her seatbelt. "Delusion, clearly."

Qiao Ling laughs. "Ain't that the truth."

Cheng Xiaoshi folds his arms over his chest. "Jealousy is an ugly look on you all."

Both girls giggle. Qiao Ling flicks the indicator, checking her rearview mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. They all settle into their seats.

Xu Shanshan's attention goes to the person in the passenger seat. And, upon recognition, she gasps.

She grabs Cheng Xiaoshi's arm.

"Ow." He hisses. "Your nails—"

She pulls him in, eyes wide. "What's TBC doing here? In the car? With you?!" She whispers.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. ". . . TBC?"

"Tutor-Based Crush!"

He makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. He stares at her, amused. "You're kidding."

Xu Shanshan grips his arm tighter. "Did you not see him right there? Man's got the nonchalant, cool-headed model vibe radiating everywhere and you just . . . don't notice? He looks like he grades in red pen for the aesthetic!"

"I don't grade in red pen." Lu Guang says flatly, staring out the window.

"You deny that but not the model part?" Qiao Ling questions, smug.

Xu Shanshan gasps again. Her nails dig deeper and Cheng Xiaoshi swears she's going to rip the flesh off his arm.

"He heard me. He's real!"

"I also have functioning ears."

She recoils. "Oh my god, he speaks like a drama lead. Ling, did you hear that delivery?"

"I did." Qiao Ling hums.

Cheng Xiaoshi rubs at his arm, which now probably bears crescent-shaped marks even through his shirt. "I hear a lawsuit pending. Please keep your demon claws away from me."

She ignores him entirely. "This is so unfair. You said we were picking Cheng Xiaoshi up, not walking into a fanfiction trope."

Qiao Ling grins, coming to a stop at a red light. "Surprise. We've got front-row tickets."

". . . Guess I can't be upset about that."

"What are you two even talking about?" Lu Guang mumbles.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. "Forget them. We're probably being insulted in Womanese or something."

"You might be."

Qiao Ling snorts. Xu Shanshan cackles.

"Hey. I don't appreciate being the butt of every joke." He bites a smile, gripping the side of Lu Guang's seat. "Wanna say that to my face?"

Lu Guang doesn't turn. His gaze meets Cheng Xiaoshi's very briefly in the mirror.

"Don't think I will."

"He won't . . . yet." Qiao Ling supplies.

Cheng Xiaoshi tips his head back, leaning against the seat. ". . . I think I liked it better when I was the hot one in the room."

And then, three voices reply in sync— "You never were."

The car bursts into laughter, the kind that warms up the space naturally. Even Lu Guang's expression softens, faintly amused.

Qiao Ling hits the gas. The car lurches forward. And the city lights spin around them as they barrel into the night.

Seems they might already be in over their heads.

- - ⏱︎ - -

The hotel glows like a beacon against the city skyline— sleek glass exterior, gold-lit windows, and a revolving door that takes in partygoers like a conveyor belt. A few attendees remain outside, meeting up with friends.

Qiao Ling pulls into the valet line. "Alright, guys, this is it. We're making this our night!" She throws the car into park, popping her gum. "This event's got sponsors, so try to dial it back a bit."

"Sponsors?" Cheng Xiaoshi echoes, reaching for the door handle. "What kind of posh college party is this?"

"The kind that doesn't get shut down by campus security," Xu Shanshan replies coolly, stepping out onto the marble-tiled drop-off. She looks at Cheng Xiaoshi, eyes glinting. "You ought to behave."

Inside, the hotel lobby is all polished floors and high ceilings. The party's being held in the private bar on the top floor, lavish and indulgent. A massive chandelier glitters above them, casting warm light on a line of well-dressed twenty-somethings mingling and taking pictures.

Qiao Ling flashes their digital invite at a bored-looking staff member, who waves them toward the elevator.

Cheng Xiaoshi fidgets with his sleeve, catching a glimpse of Lu Guang's reflection in the gold-trimmed elevator doors. He's quiet. Sharp. (And gravely missing the safety of his home)

Cheng Xiaoshi takes a half-step to the side, draping an arm over his shoulder. Lu Guang blinks.

"Relax. You look like you're going off to war."

"I basically am."

He smirks. Leans in. "Aw. Can't handle something as simple as social interaction?"

Lu Guang gives him a side-eye, unimpressed. "I can. I just don't enjoy it."

"Right, so that expression isn't a cry for help?" Cheng Xiaoshi grins.

Lu Guang exhales, pushing his face away. He looks at Qiao Ling. "When will we meet up again?"

She hums. "How about in three hours? Getting back on campus shouldn't be too hard if we make it by midnight."

The elevator dings. The doors begin to slide open.

"Midnight it is!" Xu Shanshan exclaims, looping her arm in Qiao Ling's.

"Hey," she laughs, "Wait— let's go find Huiqing!"

"Drinks first. Huiqing'll survive a bit longer without us." She replies, dragging her along.

The boys remain. Cheng Xiaoshi turns to Lu Guang, who looks like he's mentally calculating the best way to get out of this predicament.

His shoulders fall slightly and he smiles. "We'll ease you in. One drink. One conversation. If you hate it, we'll sit in a corner and spend the rest of these three hours like gremlins."

Lu Guang stares at him. Then, with a slow exhale, mumbles a coy, ". . . One drink."

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Attaboy."

They follow the girls deeper into the bar, swallowed up by the crowd and the low, golden pulse of the night.

The lounge they step into is washed in amber lighting and pop music, the buzz of conversation and occasional cheers involving drinking games thick in the air. The space is sprawling— velvet couches along walls, cocktail tables dressed with flickering candles for ambiance, and a bar glowing beneath backlit bottles of top-shelf liquor.

It's a rooftop bar. The room then splits into the balcony area, open and breezy amidst all the clamour. People are everywhere. Some are drinking, some are dancing, and others are just trying to spot someone they know.

It's quite lively. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't think he's ever been so in his element.

"Is it always this loud?" Lu Guang asks over the noise.

He turns halfway, eyes glimmering. "Always!"

He glances around, taking it all in. The low thrum of the bass through the floor, flashing glassware, the press of strangers laughing too loud.

Cheng Xiaoshi nudges him with an elbow. "Okay, okay, don't implode. What do you want to start with?"

"I want to leave."

"Don't be a buzzkill! You said one drink— we basically shook on it!"

He drags Lu Guang toward the bar with practiced ease, dodging a couple making out like no one else exists. The bartender— mid-thirties, sleeve tattoos, already tired of everyone's nonsense— raises an eyebrow at them.

Cheng Xiaoshi flashes him a grin. "Hi. I'll get something fruity. And, uh . . ." He turns to Lu Guang expectantly.

Lu Guang surveys the options, squinting at the menu like it's written in a foreign language. In the end, he drops his weary gaze and mutters, "Something simple for me."

The bartender snorts. "Haven't heard that one before."

By the time they get their drinks— an orange-pink concoction for Cheng Xiaoshi and a clean, no-nonsense whiskey for Lu Guang— any sign of Qiao Ling and Xu Shanshan is gone. They've most likely woven deeper into the crowd of excited guests.

Cheng Xiaoshi holds up his glass. "Cheers to your first drink in captivity."

Lu Guang raises his glass, only barely. The former tips his to the side, allowing a clink to sound out briefly before losing to the music.

They drink.

A beat.

Cheng Xiaoshi spins to rest his back against the bar, scanning the crowd. "Okay, let's make this fun. First person to spot someone crying wins."

Lu Guang looks at him, expression flat. "Why would I want to win that?"

"Because it means you're paying attention instead of disassociating."

He doesn't reply. But Cheng Xiaoshi catches the twitch of a smile just before he sips again, and it honestly makes his night.

Past the groups of friends and the handsy couples, the dancers and the drinkers, there's a group playing what looks like truth or drink near a velvet-roped VIP section. The energy there is chaotic— cheers erupting every few seconds, someone slamming a shot glass down with flair, another ducking their head in embarrassment.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows down another sip, nudging Lu Guang. "Look there. See the circle of people? That's where the real fun is."

Lu Guang follows his line of sight, tilting his head slightly. ". . . You want to join that?"

"No." He says immediately. "I want to watch it. Like a civilized voyeur."

The former gives him a look. "You couldn't have found a better word to describe what you're doing?"

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "It is pleasurable, in a way."

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. "You're so weird."

He laughs, gulping down another prolonged sip. As one more cheer echoes from the circle, most likely because someone picked truth, Lu Guang suddenly speaks up.

"I win."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. "You . . . what?"

He points somewhere into the crowd. "Guy in the white button-up. He's sobbing his eyes out in front of a girl who looks like his girlfriend."

First person to spot someone crying wins.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You were actually looking?"

Lu Guang's eyes shift to him, that same sharpness to his gaze. He narrows them very slightly, amused.

"I wanted to win."

Cheng Xiaoshi dips his head in acceptance. "And that you did."

Content, he glances away and scans the room. Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes remain on him, hoping to catch a change in expression. Maybe a slip in that stoic mask he keeps up.

He wonders what runs through his mind. How does he think? What does he think about?

It might sound stupid but . . . he wants to know about the silliest of Lu Guang's thoughts. What does he think about pineapple on pizza? Does he put his right shoe on first or his left? Has he ever laughed so hard he cried, and will Cheng Xiaoshi ever be a witness to that?

He doesn't know where the questions come from, but he's suddenly very aware of how little he knows about his tutor.

His friend.

. . . But why does that disappoint him so much?

Lu Guang turns slightly, maybe sensing the stare. It's that look again. Cheng Xiaoshi involuntarily swallows.

"So," he fiddles with his drink, sultry eyes levelled. Focused. Dead-set on him. "Where's my prize?"

Cheng Xiaoshi snaps his gaze away. Why does he snap his gaze away?

Heat crawls up the back of his neck and his smile twitches. It's just the alcohol. "Um . . . okay, winner. What do you want?"

Lu Guang doesn't say anything at first, seemingly contemplating. He absently strokes the rim of his glass, stares at the bar counter, relaxes his shoulders as he breathes out deeply— like he's letting the silence stretch just to watch Cheng Xiaoshi fidget.

And then, he looks back at him. "The truth."

Cheng Xiaoshi raises his eyebrows, retaining some of his bravado. "Oh? Like, the soul-bearing kind of truth? 'Here are my childhood traumas' truth?"

"Getting defensive already?" Lu Guang tilts his head.

He snorts, facing forward. "You're gonna have to be more specific. I'm about as slow as a snail."

Lu Guang hums, eyes flicking down to his drink. Then, he leans against the counter, palm to his chin. "I have a question. Answer me honestly."

Something coils in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest— tight and wary, like a wire being pulled taut. He pretends not to be bothered. "Okay."

"Why'd you walk me to the advisor's office that day?"

He pauses. Because he hadn't been expecting a question like that. Seriously, how is he supposed to answer off the top of his head?

"I mean," he scratches at the back of his neck, suddenly hyperaware of how hot it is, and how his hair is starting to itch where it coils around his nape, "I guess I . . . wanted an excuse."

"For what?"

"To talk to you more," he says sheepishly. He gets quieter. "You kinda kept brushing me off before that, and I thought . . . y'know. It would help. Building rapport, and all that."

Oh, he sounds stupid. Lu Guang's gonna laugh at him for sure.

But Lu Guang doesn't laugh. He doesn't so much as breathe out in a mocking way.

Instead, he leans in slightly, gaze remaining steady. Cheng Xiaoshi straightens, against his better judgement, to avoid the brush of their sleeves.

His reply comes quiet, but loud enough to be heard over the pulsing music. "And now?"

Cheng Xiaoshi looks away. His lips twitch. "Now I think I'm in over my head."

There's a silence. The music swells in the background. Someone nearby yells victoriously, and the chatter amongst the crowd seems to reach a louder interval. But neither of them moves.

Then Lu Guang says softly— too softly, like it's a secret only the two of them get to hear—

"You're not the only one."

. . .

Did . . . he hear that right?

No, he . . . he couldn't have. Pfft. This is Lu Guang, Cheng Xiaoshi reminds himself, turning to look at him. He must be imagining—

His breath catches in his throat.

Those eyes are on him again. Closer than before. Close enough for Cheng Xiaoshi to see the tiny specks of blue in them.

He's drunk. I'm drunk.

The tips of his ears turn red. Cheng Xiaoshi immediately brings his glass to his lips, taking the last sip of the drink. His heart is racing in his chest.

Because no. This couldn't possibly be— Lu Guang couldn't be . . . into him?

That look isn't a look you give to friends. It isn't a look you give to the stupid guy you tutor, either. So why is he doing that?!

Why does he look so pretty. It's hurting Cheng Xiaoshi's head.

He clears his throat. His voice cracks. "Maybe we should— uh. You want, um, another drink?"

Lu Guang's gaze doesn't falter. It doesn't ease up. Cheng Xiaoshi's gonna suffocate.

"What's with the awkwardness?" He says.

You. His mind echoes. You're the awkwardness!

Cheng Xiaoshi clears his throat again. "What awkwardness? I'm just hydrating."

". . . Sure."

"Hydration is very important for . . . long-term health." He shoots back weakly, already half-turning to flag down the bartender. He feels ridiculous. Cowardly.

But if he stares any longer, he'll do something really stupid, like lean in. He can't help it, he always gets pressured by the vibe in the air. And the one Lu Guang's created is the worst kind of pressure, because there's only so much Cheng Xiaoshi can do to deflect.

"One more fruity thing . . . whatever's got the most ice." He mumbles.

The bartender nods and starts pouring.

Cheng Xiaoshi glances sideways.

Lu Guang has turned now, eyes trained on the crowd. His lips are parted slightly, as if he's going to say something but is still contemplating the words, and his posture has relaxed a bit more.

Leaning comfortably against the bar as if he didn't just turn Cheng Xiaoshi's brain into soup.

He should ideally say something. Anything.

Before he can make a stupid comment about the air vents, or maybe even how low the ceiling is, a voice yells from behind—

"There you are!"

Qiao Ling materializes beside them like a lightning strike of chaos. Her dress glimmers in the lights, turning her into a sparkly little glitter bomb.

"We're starting another round of truth or drink. Come join us! Xu Shanshan just told everyone she believes in ghosts 'cuz she made out with one in high school. You have to see this."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks at her, dazed. "Ghosts?"

"High school," she repeats, like that's the real scandal. "Hurry!"

She grabs him by the wrist and tugs. He stumbles, but turns back quickly to Lu Guang. "You in?"

Lu Guang stares at him for a moment, unreadable. Then, slowly, he pushes off the counter and follows.

Cheng Xiaoshi isn't sure what that look meant. He isn't sure what any of it meant.

But his pulse is still racing, and Lu Guang is still close enough to touch, and that vibe hasn't completely disappeared.

Which leaves him with just one burning question.

. . . What is he supposed to do?

Chapter Text

Lu Guang doesn't know how long he's been outside. Definitely long enough for the night air to bite at the tips of his ears, though.

Long enough to regret not drinking a little more.

After joining Xu Shanshan and Qiao Ling for a few rounds of truth or drink, things started to get busy. As in, hectic. The kind of busy that becomes grating fast.

The commotion was beginning to get to Lu Guang's head, so he opted to pull away from it while Cheng Xiaoshi downed his seventh shot of the game. (Talk about indulgent.)

It's cool tonight. The kind of cold that bites at skin but feels so good. He's wide awake right now, like the drink and two shots earlier barely touched him.

Truth is, Lu Guang's never been the type to get drunk. Like, at all. A few good beers get him woozy enough to stumble over his own feet, but nothing too drastic.

Getting fully drunk might just be a faraway dream.

Besides, he has a feeling Qiao Ling plans to let loose tonight, and someone has to stay sober. He's fine with it. He never had any plans to drink, anyway.

The fresh air helps get his mind off of things. Or maybe it's the momentary silence. Inside, the party rages on, reaching a level of chaos hard to follow— voices everywhere, bass rattling, Cheng Xiaoshi grinning like an idiot with sparkles in his eyes.

It was all too much. He just needed a few minutes.

Those "few minutes" turned out to be fifteen, at least. Because when he slipped back in, past a girl loudly arguing with someone on speakerphone, he found no sign of the basketball dork.

Where could he have gone? It's not like Cheng Xiaoshi is the type to go off on his own or anything . . .

(He is.)

Lu Guang scans the game circle first. Qiao Ling (slightly drunk) is there, speaking on horror movies with Xu Shanshan, but the idiot in question is nowhere in sight.

He exhales. Okay. No big deal.

He squeezes past people to get to the bar. His feet get stepped on four times, and yet, there's no Cheng Xiaoshi. He's not asking for another fruity thing. He's not there.

Lu Guang, closing his eyes briefly, turns around and decides to search the hallway inside. Amongst the other, unfamiliar faces, he doesn't spot the head of inky black hair. Maybe he should check this room?

It's a dimly lit lounge. A couple of upperclassmen sit playing cards, blowing smoke in the air. It smells of weed and cigarettes and alcohol, and Lu Guang physically has to hold in his cough. He weaves through the room, looking in the small cubicles for privacy.

He peers around one and— oh god. Nope. Not there. That was someone's bare ass, and he definitely made eye contact.

"Sorry." He mutters quickly, backing out. He didn't know who it was. He didn't want to know. And the first thing he planned on doing when he got home was bleaching that corner of his memory.

And then, if things couldn't get any more irksome—

"Ah, you came."

Lu Guang turns to find himself face-to-face with a guy wearing sunglasses, reeking of weed, and dyed frosted tips. The spoiled brat, Luó Xing. He stands with all the swagger of a 1980s high school bully, sporting a smug grin and styled hair.

"So glad you made it," his voice curls like smoke. He's . . . high? Or drunk? "Figured the hot recluse in our grade wasn't just a rumour."

Ugh.

Lu Guang sighs. "I'm— looking for someone."

"I volunteer to be found," Luó Xing replies smoothly.

. . . Cheng Xiaoshi sure is rubbing off on people.

"I have to go," he tries to step past. Luó Xing moves to block him with a flirtatious grin.

"You won't have a drink with me?"

"No." His voice comes out sharper than intended, but he's honestly just tired of this environment. He wants to go home, and Cheng Xiaoshi is currently playing hide-and-seek with him. Saying he's peeved might be an understatement.

Luó Xing raises his hands in surrender, watching Lu Guang pass.

Rihanna once said, 'we found love in a hopeless place'.

Lu Guang can't even seem to find Cheng Xiaoshi in this hopeless place. As the familiar beat of the song vibrates through the walls, he slips out the back exit. The cold air is a refreshing smack to the face, against all the heat and smell.

Expression unlocked: Grumpy.

This scavenger hunt just brought him back to the beginning. He'd be better off waiting the party out in the cold—

But then, his eyes snag on the familiar structure of a backside.

There, in the same spot Lu Guang had been standing twenty minutes ago, is Cheng Xiaoshi. Arms folded over the railing, staring out into the cityscape, and deep in thought.

Lu Guang stops. His first thought is a relieved: thank god. He wouldn't've hesitated to leave had he gotten tired of this place. (Which he basically is)

Cheng Xiaoshi is quiet. His shirt is rumpled, hair wind-tousled, face soft in the lights from below. And he's beyond drunk. Because he sways a little as he leans forward, muttering something Lu Guang doesn't hear. Then, he laughs at himself— soft, breathless.

Lu Guang steps forward. "There you are."

Cheng Xiaoshi turns his head slowly. His eyes light up.

"Lu Guang!" he beams. A hiccup breaks up his sentence. "I lost you."

"No," Lu Guang says, coming to a stop beside him, "you lost me."

He just grins, slumping against the railing like he's found the meaning of life. His eyes bore into the side of Lu Guang's face. "Well . . . hic . . . I found you again, right?"

He reaches out clumsily and pokes Lu Guang in the arm. "Tag. You're it."

Lu Guang tilts his head. "Tag?"

"Shh," Cheng Xiaoshi whispers, one finger to his own lips. His eyes close slowly. "Don't ruin the moment."

He turns back to the skyline, sighing dramatically like some drunk poet. "It's so pretty. The lights. They look like . . . glitter. Or stars. Or— . . . what are those glowing bugs?"

He hums. "Mmm . . . fire. Fire— fireflies?"

Lu Guang holds back a smile. "Yes. Fireflies."

"Yeah," Cheng Xiaoshi says dreamily. "Like fireflies carried the stars closer on their teeny little backs."

This one gets a real smile out of Lu Guang.

"You're drunk."

"Maaybe," he hiccups, closing his eyes again. "But I'm not . . . not wasted. Just . . . relaxed."

He begins to slide against the railing, and Lu Guang tugs on his belt, pulling him back. He exhales, lips curved into a soft smile.

"Come on. Let's go home."

Cheng Xiaoshi looks back at him, face flushed. He blinks slowly. Then he turns, wrapping his fingers around Lu Guang's wrist.

". . . You're warm."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. "You're freezing."

"Should warm me up then," Cheng Xiaoshi says, letting his head fall against Lu Guang's shoulder for exactly three seconds before he laughs. ". . . Kidding. Just— hic— kidding!"

The initial contact makes the latter straighten, but when he realizes there's nothing more to it than that, Lu Guang untenses. He can smell the remainder of the cologne that sticks to Cheng Xiaoshi's clothes, tainted slightly by the scent of all the alcohol he must've drunk in the time Lu Guang spent outside.

But . . . he still smells like Cheng Xiaoshi.

He breathes out through his nose. "Cheng Xiaoshi."

". . . Hmm?"

"We should go. It's ten minutes to midnight."

He doesn't get a response. Lu Guang's expression flattens.

"Don't fall asleep on me."

A faint snore.

Lu Guang blinks. This idiot . . .

"Hey. That wasn't an invitation." He nudges him.

Cheng Xiaoshi stirs. "Mmm . . . 'm awake."

"Good. Get off, we need to find Qiao Ling and Xu Shanshan. I have a feeling I'll be driving."

He pulls back, sparing Lu Guang a drunken stare. ". . . You speak nonsense, pretty man."

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. "You're so going to pay when you're sober. Twenty pages for homework ought to be enough."

Cheng Xiaoshi only giggles.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Lu Guang finds Xu Shanshan near the table they had been playing truth or drink at, holding a plastic cup. Qiao Ling joins them a few minutes later, with a single serving of pudding in the cutest packaging.

"Sorry," Qiao Ling says, wobbling slightly. She hands him the keys. "I think . . . I might've overdone it."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. I don't mind driving everyone."

Xu Shanshan places her cup down and stretches. "Ooo-kay. I'm ready to leave."

Lu Guang pockets the keys, adjusting his hold on Cheng Xiaoshi. He's too warm. And very much breathing down Lu Guang's neck.

"Let's go." He says.

Qiao Ling and Xu Shanshan trail behind them, chatting in low, loopy voices about pudding and someone's horrible ex.

By the time they reach the elevator, Cheng Xiaoshi is basically pressing all of his weight on Lu Guang. And a guy who plays basketball like his life depends on it isn't flimsy in the slightest.

Lu Guang is a stumble away from falling over.

The elevator ride down is quiet. A testament to how exhausting tonight had been. Xu Shanshan scrolls on her phone. Qiao Ling leans against the wall with a sigh, still spooning her pudding.

Outside, the air is crisp again. The lot is quieter now— fewer people, muffled music faint behind them.

Lu Guang unlocks the car. The girls take their respective seats in the back, and he guides Cheng Xiaoshi into the passenger seat. He mutters something under his breath, half-snore, half-giggle, and refuses to let Lu Guang go.

"Can you sit." He says, exasperated.

Cheng Xiaoshi flops back against him, almost sending them both sprawling onto the pavement. "No! I don't wanna . . . we should— hic— afterparty."

"No one is throwing an afterparty for a drunkard. Now sit."

He huffs. "You're such a buzzkill . . ."

Dropping into the car like every one of his limbs has gone numb, Cheng Xiaoshi settles with a heavy exhale. He turns his head, heavy-lidded eyes boring into Lu Guang. ". . . Why so cold?"

Lu Guang doesn't say anything to that. Closing his eyes momentarily, he leans over to buckle him in— fingers brushing against the strap, then the shirt, then a very tipsy Cheng Xiaoshi, who immediately slouches sideways with a lazy grin.

"You smell nice."

"Stop breathing me in."

His shoulders shake with a laugh. ". . . Mm."

Lu Guang straightens, shuts the door, and rounds to the driver's side. The inside of the car is warm, dreamy. Soft murmurs from the backseat, the rustle of clothes. Cheng Xiaoshi hums under his breath.

The road is smooth. Lights zip past in rhythmic flashes, the slight crack in the windows allows fresh air inside. The LED stars Qiao Ling has on the roof of her car twinkle, pulsing slowly.

After a few minutes, Qiao Ling's light snoring fills the back seat. Xu Shanshan wraps her fingers around the side of Lu Guang's seat.

"Hey." She says quietly. "You need our dorm building number, right?"

"Yeah." His eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. "Just let me know when I pull onto campus."

"Sure."

Truth be told, Lu Guang has never been to an actual party before. But he had fun tonight. As exhausting as it was, there were still plenty of moments he felt like he was truly in the moment.

A rare enough thing.

Sure, he fits the nerd stereotype a little too well. And yeah, it's stupid to assume that just because he prioritizes school over things like friendship and social connections, he's deserving of the title.

(Who even came up with that?)

Perhaps just a fraction of it is true.

Lu Guang hates being labelled like that. Hates being given a big fat title, right over his head like a neon sign that makes everyone flock to him because he can 'get you good grades for free'. It means no one thinks of him as a person. No one cares about what he thinks.

A nerd is all he'll ever be to everyone around him.

And . . . yet—

A boba cup enters his field of vision. He looks up to find a stupidly wide grin. Hair in all directions. Dark eyes glimmering with unbridled joy.

"I brought you one too."

He thinks that's the first time anyone ever did anything for him. Seriously, who even thinks boba is a sacrifice worth being late?

And sure, he'd been quite blunt, curt when he responded with "I'm lactose intolerant."

He figured that would shoo any unwanted favours away. It always did. When he was tired of being nice, of being used by everyone willing to dirty their hands with him, his ice-cold demeanour tended to throw anyone sucking up to him off his back.

But then, that same guy showed up the very next day with fruit juice. Fruit juice.

Lu Guang was aghast. Really, he was.

Because who gets bluntly rejected . . . only to try it again?

By the second tutoring session, Lu Guang had come to a realization. That this guy was just plain stupid. Blissfully unaware of the very obvious signs he was being glared at with. He just couldn't take a hint!

But maybe . . . just maybe— Lu Guang was stupid too. For letting him come back every single time.

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

Things have certainly changed for him these past few weeks. Had he not accepted the tutoring request . . . he might've just been sleeping right now. Free from all troubles. Schedule free except the hours he sat down to study.

But between you and me and him— he doesn't mind the excitement. The warmth of something he'd long forgotten flared in his chest.

The warmth of connection.

". . . don't! put the muffins . . . in the freezer." Cheng Xiaoshi murmurs, shifting in his seat.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Lu Guang can't help but glance over.

He's resting against the door, head propped against the window, lips slightly parted, face slack with sleep. A strand of his hair sticks out oddly. He reeks of alcohol and washed cologne, and his shirt is worn from the party.

So stupid.

Lu Guang exhales slowly and looks away.

He doesn't know when that sharp annoyance faded into something . . . softer. But it did. Somewhere between the favours and the failed flirting and the entertaining banter. And the way Cheng Xiaoshi looked at him— like he wasn't a walking grade boost.

It all just . . . chipped away at his walls. Turned them into nothing but a sturdy fence.

He doesn't know if that's something to praise or be worried about.

- - ⏱︎ - -

On his bed, Cheng Xiaoshi lay like a fallen angel. Hair tousled, face slightly flushed, shirt riding up and exposing a sliver of skin. Sinful.

Lu Guang should look away. He does.

After dropping the girls off, he drove a little further to the male dormitory building. Qiao Ling had uttered a sleepy "Yeah, take the car. You can drop it off in the morning," and left it at that.

Lu Guang couldn't object, even if he didn't feel comfortable stealing her car.

He rounds the bed and pulls Cheng Xiaoshi's shoes off for him. He'd simply walked in, mumbled something about the AC, then flopped onto the bottom bunk like a rag doll.

Face in the pillow, breathing slow. Basically dying. Maybe he'd smother himself and unshackle Lu Guang from him.

(Is what Lu Guang tries to convince himself.)

"You could at least wash up." He says.

". . . Don't wanna." Comes the muffled reply.

Lu Guang sighs, placing the shoes neatly out of the way and taking a seat on the very edge of the bed. It creaks with his weight.

His gaze falls to the sleeping beauty beside him. He leans forward, elbow to his knee, resting his chin against his palm.

He really can't get a read on this guy. Cheng Xiaoshi is a complex case. He goes out of his way to do things that he doesn't have to. Treats everyone the same. Is as bright as the sun and radiates nothing but pure chaotic energy.

He's not selfish. He doesn't have ulterior motives. He's simply like that.

Lu Guang absently reaches out, fingers hovering over a strand of his dark hair. He doesn't touch it. Just . . . lets his hand stay there for a moment.

Then, he murmurs a barely audible, "What did you drink so heavy for?"

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't answer. Doesn't stir. But he isn't sleeping either.

The hum of the AC fills the room. Peaceful. Quiet.

Lu Guang finds himself a prisoner to the atmosphere. The soft, orange-yellow light of the table lamp, the serenity in the silence. The sound of Cheng Xiaoshi's faint breathing.

He pulls his hand back before he makes contact.

He shouldn't let things become complicated.

"Honestly," he exhales, getting up to grab Cheng Xiaoshi a glass of water. "How do you let yourself go like this?"

A hand catches his wrist. Lu Guang glances over his shoulder, startled.

Those half-lidded, glazed eyes are on him now. Something heavy and unreadable weighs beneath, like a flame under a blanket. Like there's something he wants to say but can't.

Cheng Xiaoshi's grip slightly tightens. "Stay."

Lu Guang's heart . . . does something weird. It skips.

"I'm just . . . getting you water—"

"Later."

The word is soft. Pleading, almost. Cheng Xiaoshi's voice always carries that easy, boyish lilt— but this isn't that at all. This is low and uncertain. Vulnerable.

Lu Guang hesitates. Swallows. Then slowly sits back down, but the hand on his wrist doesn't move. It's warm and keeps him grounded. Too real.

"You'll wake up with a terrible hangover." He means for it to come out sharp. Scolding. He, instead, sounds like a doting housewife. In his abrupt embarrassment, he looks away and adds, "Don't blame me for your stupidity."

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him. Observing. (Memorizing.)

His gaze burns. Kinda tickles. But Lu Guang can't bring himself to meet his eyes. He's scared he'll see something he doesn't want to, a look that spells nothing but trouble. Cheng Xiaoshi has been nothing but trouble for him all this time.

. . . And a look like that would surely change everything from here on. Lu Guang knows he's not ready for that.

There's contemplative silence. Then—

". . . Is stupid all I am to you?"

The question is so quiet, so bare, that Lu Guang doesn't even process it at first. He blinks, turning to face him again.

It's still unreadable, that expression. But it isn't drunk. Not entirely. He's lucid enough to sound earnest, the kind of honest that slips through the cracks when your guard is down.

Lu Guang's lips part to answer. Nothing comes out.

Is stupid all I am to you?

It should be easy to answer. Of course not. That's not how Lu Guang's been seeing him as of late.

But it's also not that simple, is it? Because saying no out loud is already too close to a confession Lu Guang isn't ready to make.

He inhales, trying again. "You're loud. And . . . persistent. You make everything feel a little less—"

He stops himself. His fingers twitch.

What's he even saying?

"A little less what?" Cheng Xiaoshi whispers.

A little less—

Lu Guang averts his gaze, a flush rising up his neck. His voice drops a good couple decibels. ". . . Lonely."

God, he's so embarrassing. Someone just kill him now or something.

Cheng Xiaoshi's grasp on his wrist shifts. It's a feather-light touch, from the small of his wrist to his knuckles, then his palm. The touch is slow, like he's giving Lu Guang time to pull away.

Lu Guang, on the other hand, stays perfectly still. Watches the wider, fuller hand envelop his own. Fingers interlock. Palms meet.

Cheng Xiaoshi moves their hands up, bringing them to the spot beside his face on the pillow. Close enough for Lu Guang to feel the faint breeze from his nose.

He closes his eyes. "I . . . feel the same."

Lu Guang can't say anything to that. Can't breathe.

Those words are a thunderclap under a whisper. Something Lu Guang has tried not to imagine, not to hope for. And now that they're out there, hanging between them like smoke, he doesn't know what to do with them.

He doesn't know if he's allowed to have them.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

His cool-headed façade is faltering. It hasn't been as reinforced since the day Cheng Xiaoshi stumbled into the library with that stupid extra boba. With that stupid grin.

Something about him has Lu Guang feeling open. Raw. He wants to open up, to relax in his presence while rambling about fleeting things like the weather and common interests.

And that in itself is a dangerous thing.

"Do you like staring at me?" Cheng Xiaoshi's voice cuts through the silence.

Lu Guang startles, only barely. His gaze shifts, not far, still locked somewhere in the hollow where Cheng Xiaoshi's cheek meets the pillow.

"You do it a lot," he adds, slightly moving their hands closer. Lu Guang's eye twitches, ". . . thinking I don't notice."

"I don't stare." He mutters.

"Sure you don't."

"I don't."

". . . Right."

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. Cheng Xiaoshi's smirk widens.

"I might be a total idiot when math is involved . . . but reading people is something I've been doing since my parents left." He lets out a breathy laugh. A hiccup breaks it up.

And Lu Guang stills at that. The air tightens, and his fingers, against his better judgement, begin to curl ever so slightly around Cheng Xiaoshi's.

His parents.

He stares at the other side of the room with a sleep-ridden gaze and a soft smile, like he isn't afraid of his own vulnerability. Like he's made peace with it.

(Lu Guang envies that.)

"Sorry, I'm . . ." He yawns, blinking slowly, "totally wrecking the mood. But you can laugh. Everyone else does too."

". . . Everyone else what?" Lu Guang questions, tone half-disbelieving, half-angry. (But what for?)

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't answer. That's enough of a response to bring Lu Guang's blood to a low simmer under his skin.

His expression is faint. ". . . I was still a kid when they disappeared. Freakin' eight. How are you supposed to explain abandonment to an eight-year-old?"

He laughs again, but it's bitter this time. Like it hurts to let it out. Lu Guang listens. That's all he can do in a situation so tense. (Cheng Xiaoshi's quite the honest drunk, isn't he?)

He goes quiet for a moment. His smile fades. "People . . . aren't kind when rumours are involved. Not even a kid is spared from looks so judgmental."

The words hang heavy. An ache weighs in Lu Guang's chest. Not sympathy. Not pity. Fury.

It's fury at nameless adults who spat irrelevant remarks and scorn, at the world for letting tragedy strike the happiest person he knows.

(At himself, for not being able to do anything about any of it.)

"Cheng Xiaoshi—"

He squeezes Lu Guang's hand, causing him to stop mid-sentence.

"It's fine." He says, inhaling deeply.

"It's not." Lu Guang mutters. "And I won't laugh."

The soft smile graces Cheng Xiaoshi's lips again. He cracks an eye open, glimmering almost.

"Yeah. Of course you won't."

Right then, Lu Guang comes to a chilling realization.

That this whole situation— the feelings churning in the pit of his belly— is very well going to be his downfall. Because all his mind is telling him right now is to protect this light. To earnestly do whatever it takes to save this stats-failing, basketball-addicted fool.

And it's one hell of a damning realization.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 88 days -

Monday is a curse upon all humankind. If you want to subject your enemy to the worst torture imaginable, drop them into a Monday time loop.

They'll lose their mind three Mondays in. Easy as that.

Cheng Xiaoshi yawns, big and loud. He's never been fond of his statistics professor. Ever since the man gave him the 'you're a total lost cause' look after handing out their first exam grades, he's been treating Cheng Xiaoshi like he's the scum of all math.

(Yeah, apparently it's his fault if his professor can't teach for shit.)

"You think he'll give us another pop quiz today?" Xia Lan, the girl who sits in the seat behind him, taps his shoulder and asks. Cheng Xiaoshi leans back, tilts his head, and hums.

"I don't think so. What would it even be about?"

"Well, we've been covering compound inequalities for a while. I'm kinda scared."

"Hey, what're we talking about?" To the left, Han Chao (one of Cheng Xiaoshi's teammates) chimes in. Both their attention goes to him.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. "Pop quiz. Think we're getting one today?"

"God, I hope not." He laughs, dropping his bag. His gaze drops to Cheng Xiaoshi. "You of all people better clasp those hands together and start praying now."

He scoffs. "Speak for yourself. I think I've got compound inequalities down."

"Yeah, right." Another kid, one seat up, mocks. "No way you have enough time to study after missing so many lectures. Student athletes are called student athletes for a reason. They're only good for sports."

Han Chao snorts. "Sounds like someone's jealous."

"Not jealous. Just honest."

"And wrong." Cheng Xiaoshi interjects. "I have a secret weapon. I'm basically already caught up."

"Oh?"

"Secret weapon?"

Xia Lan gasps. "Wait— you mean him?"

Cheng Xiaoshi dips his head, proud. Han Chao and the kid in front look at her, curious. She smiles, leaning forward.

"Apparently, he's being tutored by the hot nerd in our year! The one with snowy hair and cloudy eyes."

"His name's Lu Guang . . ." He says, eyebrows raising slightly.

"You're kidding."

"Oh, right." Han Chao connects, tapping his fist to his palm. "The guy whose nose you broke the other day during the game."

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrow twitches. ". . . Yeah. Him."

"You guys have to see him for yourselves!" Xia Lan grins. "He looks like he’d belong on a magazine cover."

Neither of the three gets another word in. The professor steps into the room, folder in hand, and takes his spot behind the lectern.

"Take your seats, everyone." He calls at the front.

"Please no quiz. Please no quiz. Please no quiz." Xia Lan mutters under her breath.

Han Chao exhales deeply. The guy sitting in the seat in front faces forward.

Cheng Xiaoshi redirects his attention, but their conversation doesn't fully leave the forefront of his brain. He smiles to himself.

Lu Guang would be ecstatic to hear about this.

Or, at least, Cheng Xiaoshi will be while he's telling the story.

"Books away, pencils out. You have fifteen minutes to do six quiz questions. Take one and pass it down your column."

The Monday-Pop-Quiz curse is real.

Before Cheng Xiaoshi can reach forward and grab the stack of papers, he hears the defeated thunk of a head hitting the desk behind him.

And he lets out the smallest of chuckles.

- - ⏱︎ - -

The second lecture of the day is Psychology. It's a decent-sized class, with twenty or so students and one very passionate professor.

It's a pretty interesting course. When Cheng Xiaoshi isn't busy sleeping or playing Fruit Ninja, he'll tune into the conversation and find himself engrossed in everything psych has to offer.

Maybe in another life, he'd be majoring in this.

"Now, let's move on to different attachment styles," the professor says, flicking to the next slide on her presentation.

Cheng Xiaoshi doodles on the side of his notebook, half-taking notes, half-mindlessly scribbling.

He's thought about it a few times. If he didn't need to open up Uncle Qiao's shop to pay off his debt, he probably would've found interest in psychology.

It interests him enough to actually pay attention. And he likes studying people. It makes the most sense to him.

"When someone starts pulling away emotionally, they may not even realize they're doing it at first." A few sentences break through Cheng Xiaoshi's train of thought. He taps his pencil on the desk quietly.

Like that. That's pretty interesting, isn't it? Learning about human behaviours, applying knowledge to help struggling people, observing them— everything a well-trained therapist does.

He exhales and stops the tapping. How much longer does he have to be in here?

". . . Those on the receiving end, however, usually notice it right away. Our subconscious warns us when something deviates from an expected routine. We get anxious."

Cheng Xiaoshi looks down at his notes, frowning. His pencil remains poised over the margin.

His phone's pretty much been a desert since Saturday. Sunday's hangover rivalled that of the first hangover he's ever had— so much so that he spent the entire day napping. He had a few missed calls from Qiao Ling, making sure he'd made it back alright.

But . . . nothing from Lu Guang. Not a single text.

Not a "drink water" or a "you alive?". It's not that the sudden pull-away is surprising, or anything.

Lu Guang never texts first. Not unless there's a good reason.

He told himself it's probably because he's busy. Or tired. Or maybe, he doesn’t want to deal with Cheng Xiaoshi's hangover whining.

Still, the sinking feeling in his chest doesn't seem to be appeased by truthful reasoning like that. He has a hinting suspicion he might have done something he shouldn't have.

The heaviness sits somewhere between worry and guilt. Regret.

Did he say something wrong? Did he offend him in some way?

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows, redirecting his attention to the PowerPoint slides. Interpersonal Boundaries flashes forebodingly at him.

. . . Well. He'll find out exactly what it is in a few hours.

In the meantime, he'll be studying the four types of interpersonal relationships and how they affect the mind.

(So interesting.)

- - ⏱︎ - -

His last class of the day is Professional Communications. It's a breezy class, with not much work to do.

This is the one class Cheng Xiaoshi can sleep through without needing to worry about missing information, since it's all so easy.

After his final lecture, he heads for the gym to get some practice in. The team meets every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday for practice, while games are usually reserved for Thursday and Friday.

And ever the basketball fanatic, Cheng Xiaoshi always finds himself on the court when he's free.

So today, right on schedule, he heads for the gym around three in the afternoon. It's a warm day, chilly when the wind blows.

It's getting close to November, when the fall chill really starts to set in, welcoming the winter.

The gym is half-full when Cheng Xiaoshi gets there. A few guys from the team are shooting around, others lounging by the benches, cradling water bottles and stretching.

"Hey, you made it!" Han Chao calls.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Wouldn't miss practice."

He joins the others after changing out of his hoodie, weaving between half-hearted dribbling and two-on-twos.

Laughter bubbles up from one end of the court, where a couple seniors are huddled around, teasing someone.

"—I'm telling you, she's gotta be the hottest one on campus," one of them says. "The Huiqing girl from Intro to Poli Sci? Black hair, glasses, always wears that tight cardigan—"

"Dude," another pipes in, "you just like girls with glasses. No one wants your input."

A round of laughter follows.

The conversation drifts while they keep shooting baskets. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't pay much attention, but it's hard to completely tune it out when there's only ten or so people in the huge space.

Then, he hears:

"Okay, what about our year? There's gotta be one person you'd risk it all for."

"Easy. Snow, the tutor."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. Because that description is as specific as it is vague.

A snort. "You mean Lu Guang?"

A few 'ohhh's and 'dream on!'s echo out, followed by an eager 'Hear me out!'.

"He's like, top-tier unattainable." Someone says. "No way he's even into dating."

"Still, he's got dangerous eyes. One look and you're . . . frozen hard."

This gets giggles.

"Agreed. Bet he's great in bed."

Now, cackles.

Cheng Xiaoshi winces at that one. "You guys are so weird."

"You're not denying it." Han Chao teases, nudging him. He shoves him back.

"He's my tutor. No freaking way."

That earns him a few whistles and scandalous jokes. Cheng Xiaoshi shoots a far three-pointer. Gives them a look.

"It's just math. No chemistry at all."

"Bet you two get handsy with the calculators." A snicker.

He cringes, running to retrieve his ball. "You need help."

The conversation is then taken up a notch.

"Okay, okay, let's vote," one of the seniors laughs. "Who's most likely to actually score him?"

Groans are the collective response.

"Zero chance. He'd eat us alive."

"Man, I'd let him."

That sends the group over the edge again, howling. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, shaking his head like he's trying to shake the nonsense off. "You're all delusional."

He says it with a grin, rolls his ball in his hands. Aims for another shot. "He'd never go for any of us. If he's even into guys."

"Not even you?"

Cheng Xiaoshi rolls his eyes. "Not even me."

Lu Guang seems to have built up quite the image for himself. No way this is the second time he's talked about him in one day!

He might spare him from this conversation, though. No one ever wants to hear about dirty guy talk. Especially not when they think so . . . highly of you.

Cheng Xiaoshi exhales. "Come on! A five-on-five. Losers pay for drinks."

"Deal!"

- - ⏱︎ - -

It's six minutes past six o'clock.

The sky has dulled to a washed-out grey, evident of the storm that's about to hit this week. It's quiet— and oddly so, considering it's a busy Monday and there's barely anyone in the library.

A few scattered students fill the usual study cubicles, but their cubicle by the window is untouched, sunlight bleeding weakly across the table's surface.

Lu Guang's already there. Not surprising.

Sitting stiffly, elbows off the table like always. Notes out and covering the space in front of him. A mechanical pencil sits on top of one of the notebooks, with a pen parallel to it.

Cheng Xiaoshi slides into the seat across him and offers a smile. "Hey."

Lu Guang dips his head. He begins to sift through the multiple papers on the table. And Cheng Xiaoshi, half-expectantly, finds himself waiting for a sentence that hasn't come yet.

Lu Guang continues to looks through the sheets until he finds what he's looking for. He separates it from the pile and slides it in front of Cheng Xiaoshi, moving away the other papers.

"I mapped out your professor's lecture schedule. Start here."

He blinks, startling out of his daze to scan the worksheet. Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes widen as he picks it up.

"Woah. You made this?"

Clean columns, neat numbers, instructions at the top in Lu Guang's tidy handwriting. It looks just like a printout.

Lu Guang doesn't look up. "You said you were behind."

"Yeah, but—" he gapes, "this is next-level effort! I feel like I should frame it or something."

The joke sails under. Goes unnoticed by Lu Guang, who's currently writing out his own work.

Cheng Xiaoshi falters a bit.

Something . . . is off.

He's not being teased. No eyeroll. No scoff. No "you're an idiot". Just silence.

The routinely dry, "You're late again," hasn't come. Neither has the piercing stare.

Because Lu Guang hasn't looked up once since Cheng Xiaoshi sat down.

This is exactly what he was afraid of.

He swallows, fingers slightly tightening around the edge of the worksheet. The silence stretches. And it's not a comfortable one— not like the ones they've shared before, when they were both too focused to talk but still quietly aware of each other's presence.

This one is . . . hollow. Too intentional.

He watches Lu Guang's hand glide across his paper, writing out more numbers, underlining headings, flipping pages. Like he's trying to fill the space with motion.

Like keeping busy is easier than—

"Lu Guang," Cheng Xiaoshi says again, a little softer.

Lu Guang's hand stops. He doesn't look up.

Cheng Xiaoshi hates how it diminishes his confidence. He leans in a bit so he can speak without guaranteeing a voice crack.

"Are you mad at me?"

He pauses, long enough to raise suspicion. His shoulders fall slightly and he finally looks up. "No."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. It's quiet. Firm. And so very neutral. He can't tell a single thing from that tone, whether Lu Guang is just being Lu Guang, or if he's extra distant because something happened.

He leans back in his seat, forcing a humourless laugh. "Right, of course," he looks up at the ceiling, smile fading. "Cool."

But it's not cool. Not even a little.

He doesn't know what he expected. A snippy comment? A sarcastic jab at his intellect? Maybe a shove to the shoulder followed by a reluctant, "Yeah, idiot, obviously I'm mad at you."

Like Lu Guang would even do that.

But he'd prefer an out-of-character response. Anything is better than this.

Cheng Xiaoshi can't abide by silence. He hates it.

"You should do the first two problems. I'll walk you through the rest after."

". . . Sure."

He picks up his pencil. Whatever the issue is, he plans on fixing it.

The page in front of him is painfully neat. Like Lu Guang spent an hour making sure every line was perfectly spaced and symmetrical.

Cheng Xiaoshi tries to focus. He really does.

But every time he finishes writing down a string of numbers, his eyes flick up. (What is he hoping for?)

Lu Guang doesn't say anything unless it's about the material. No quips. No extra conversation. Just a quiet, efficient explanation— point A to point B, as straightforward as possible. And it's not like him at all.

Cheng Xiaoshi's leg bounces. His eyes flit around nervously. He taps his pencil obnoxiously against the table when it isn't being used for writing.

Because he can't focus.

There has always been a rhythm to their study sessions. Banter tucked into corners. Soft sighs of exasperation followed by reluctant praise. The occasional tap of a pen against Cheng Xiaoshi's head when he's spacing out.

Sure, Lu Guang is serious. Distant, even. But not to this extent.

He huffs, setting down his pencil. "Done."

Lu Guang glances at the two complete problems. Cheng Xiaoshi slides his paper forward, allowing him to check it.

"Oh, hey," he clears his throat, pushing down his nerves. He beams. "Guess what happened in my stats lecture today?"

He raises his eyebrows. Cheng Xiaoshi takes that as a 'I'm listening' and smiles wider.

"First I should congratulate you. You're famous for being the 'hot nerd with snow hair and cloudy eyes'. And I've officially become your PR rep. Let's blow your fans away together!"

Lu Guang exhales through his nose. Slides the paper forward. "Good. Keep going."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks.

. . . So that was a bust. But he's not done yet.

"It's right? Both of them?!"

He dips his head.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Yeah, yeah. I've actually got inequalities down. Y'know, I bet I aced the pop quiz we had today."

He nods again, eyes still on the page. "Good."

And it is good. It should be good enough.

But Cheng Xiaoshi deflates a little anyway. A response is what he got, yes. But it's not . . . right.

"Okay. Talk to me." He turns serious. His eyebrows knit. "What did I do?"

Lu Guang doesn't answer at first. He sets his pen down with deliberate care, eyes tracing the edge of the paper in front of him like it holds more interest than anything else in the room.

"You didn't do anything." He says quietly.

Which is the worst possible answer.

Cheng Xiaoshi's expression tightens. "Then why—"

"I think it's better if we keep our distance." Lu Guang looks up. His eyes are cold. "I'm only your tutor. There's nothing more to this than me helping you pass statistics."

He goes still.

Doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. He stares like the words didn't register all at once— like he's waiting for Lu Guang to suddenly smile and take it back.

But he doesn't.

And something somewhere in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest shatters.

". . . You're kidding." He tries to laugh. It comes out awkward, broken. Not even anything close to a laugh.

Lu Guang looks back down. That cuts deeper.

"I can't afford to misread you, Cheng Xiaoshi. I won't." He picks his pen up and begins to write once more.

There's a brief pause before he continues. "This distance is necessary. Don't make our relationship out to be something it's not."

"'Something it's not'? We're friends!" He tries, voice hoarse. "You, me, Qiao Ling, and Xu Shanshan. All of us! We—"

He cuts himself off. Lu Guang's glare is one hell of a blizzard. An icy inferno.

". . . Just stop." He mutters.

"But I— no." He doubles-down. "No, you don't get to say something like that and brush me off. You owe me an explanation!"

"I don't owe you anything."

Pin-drop silence. Lu Guang says it with a calmness that feels cruel. He looks uninterested, tired like he's already had this conversation in his mind and wants it to be over.

Cheng Xiaoshi recoils. Slightly. Like the words sting. (Because they do.)

". . . I don't—" He swallows involuntarily. "I don't understand. You're not . . . You don't just shut down like this."

Lu Guang looks away. His jaw tightens. "Who are you to say what I do or don't do?"

The words slice through the air like glass. Sharp. Cold. And final.

Cheng Xiaoshi winces. Lu Guang has never spoken to him like that— like he's another face in the crowd. Not him. Not the person who busted his ass off trying to teach him stats, who grades his papers with an amused smirk, who humours him despite how stupid he is.

Not the person who Cheng Xiaoshi sits admiring every photography lecture.

Not Lu Guang.

His voice trembles. "I'm your friend. Someone who . . . cares about you."

He doesn't get a visible reaction. Lu Guang isn't even looking at him.

Cheng Xiaoshi feels the ache swell in his throat. "If I did something to upset you, I'm sorry. But please don't shut me out. Don't pretend like none of it mattered. Don't . . . leave."

He turns away from him, grabbing his bag. Pulling off his glasses and sliding them into his pocket, Lu Guang spares Cheng Xiaoshi one last glance.

"I'll only be available to tutor you once a week. Thursdays, six to eight." He mumbles. "If you don't show up at six on the dot, I'll pack my things and leave."

"No . . . wait—"

He holds up a hand. "Enough."

"But I haven't—!"

". . . You'd try this hard for a score?" He says bitterly.

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart plummets. The pieces slam together all at once.

The gym. The guys. That awful conversation. Lu Guang heard it all. And without any context, it certainly paints him in a terrible light.

"It's my fault." He turns. ". . . I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

Cheng Xiaoshi can't say anything. He can't breathe. His hands are shaking. Heart hammering. Head spinning.

Not a single full thought forms. He's falling apart— over a misunderstanding.

Lu Guang walks off without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading into the thick, suffocating quiet of the library.

And there's nothing Cheng Xiaoshi can do to stop him. He's already too far out of reach.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 83 days -

The worst part isn't the silence.

"Hey," Han Chao slides onto the seat beside him, worried. "You alright, man?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's slumped against the bar counter, staring at the half-empty glass of liquor beside him. The entire week has gone, quick as ever.

It's Saturday night and, as promised, he's at the bar with the entirety of the basketball team. He doesn't remember who won. Doesn't care.

He's too engrossed in this liquor, wondering how many glasses he can throw back until he's hurling up over himself and passed out on the floor.

The worst part isn't the silence.

It's the lingering guilt.

He's tried all week to clear up the situation with Lu Guang. It's no use.

When he catches him after his lecture, Lu Guang walks past him like he doesn't even exist. When he tries to explain himself after digital photography, Lu Guang stays behind to conveniently ask the professor a question. When he tries to stop Lu Guang in the freaking restroom, he gets a stall door to his face.

He just won't listen.

And frankly, Cheng Xiaoshi's running out of steam.

Face burning, he pulls himself up and takes one final gulp. Han Chao stares.

"You're kinda freaking me out." He says quietly. "What's wrong?"

Cheng Xiaoshi hiccups. Spares him a passive glance.

What he's doing is destructive. He knows. He's just too disturbed to care.

". . . Nothin'," he mumbles. He signals the bartender for another one.

"Okay, no." Han Chao blocks him, shaking his head when the bartender pauses for confirmation. Cheng Xiaoshi glares weakly at him.

"W'as that for?" He slurs.

"I know you. You're not one to drink this heavy." He replies sternly. "If you aren't going to stop, I'll phone that sister of yours and she'll deal with you."

He snorts. "Qiao Ling? She won't— hic— do anything."

"You wanna test that out?" Han Chao raises his eyebrows.

Cheng Xiaoshi drops his face into his hands, breathing out deeply. Then, a muffled, "Just go away. I'm gonna drink 'til I die."

Maybe Lu Guang really meant it. Maybe he was just the tutor.

And maybe Cheng Xiaoshi was the joke at the centre of it all.

Han Chao frowns. Sighs. ". . . Please don't do anything stupid. Stay put until she comes, at least?"

Don't do anything stupid. Yeah, he's heard that a lot. Seems it's all he ever does, though.

He waits until his footsteps fade. The other guys are at another table towards the back. It's particularly empty tonight, even though it's a Saturday night.

The low hum of conversation is barely louder than the jazz playing in the background, and it's slow enough for the bartender to simply get him a glass of the same drink seven times.

What can he do? He's not even a drinker. He doesn't get why people turn to this shit in the first place. All he really wants to do is throw it all back up and go to bed or something.

But, while he's here, he'll indulge in a bit more.

He signals for another drink. The bartender brings it to him a few moments later.

Once again staring at it while slumped over the counter, he thinks to himself with whatever sobriety he has left.

He thinks about showing up at Lu Guang's apartment.

He thinks about knocking and not leaving until he gets a real answer. Until he's called pathetic to his face instead of ignored from across a hallway.

. . . But that's way too creepy. And Cheng Xiaoshi is not a creep.

In a way, he'll accept the glaring and silent treatment— so long as Lu Guang still deems him worthy enough for eye contact. He's desperate. Grasping at straws. He doesn't care if he's glared at for the rest of his life.

He just . . . doesn't want it to be over so soon.

He hates this. Hates the silence. And the guilt. And the confusing feelings welled up in his chest.

He wants to cry. Or scream. Maybe both.

His sadness has clearly been sensed in the air. Qiao Ling noticed it first. Pressured him for an answer until she realized he'd clammed up and didn't want to talk about it.

Xu Shanshan was next. She realized the moment she made another TBC (tutor-based crush) joke and he just wilted like a dead flower. She gaped at him as if he were an extraterrestrial. Like he'd been replaced by aliens out to take over and enslave humanity.

(He's trying to cope, please laugh.)

He doesn't have very many friends, so no one else really noticed. But that's fine. The attention wouldn't have done him any good, anyway.

Thursday, Lu Guang met him for their session. He was withdrawn, cold. Straight to the point and unwilling to listen to anything unrelated to stats.

He stood up when Cheng Xiaoshi tried to apologize, about ready to leave. It was only thanks to his B+ on the pop quiz that got him to stay. And the tape Cheng Xiaoshi put over his mouth to prove he wouldn't try again.

It had been a depressing session, to say the least. At least the pain of ripping the tape off later woke him up a bit.

The entire week has been a gloom-fest. Not to mention the rain showers that miraculously begin the moment he steps out. Seems even the universe is against him, like the rain is a big fat "this is all your fault" sign from fate. Or God. Or whoever is up there writing out his tragic destiny.

He stares at the rim of his glass. Doesn't drink it this time.

It's quiet now. Not around him— but in him too.

There's nothing more to this than me helping you pass statistics.

The words echo until they lose all meaning. Cheng Xiaoshi closes his eyes.

He doesn't want another drink. He doesn't want to think. He just wants this ache to shut up for five fucking minutes.

"Cheng Xiaoshi."

He looks over his shoulder, weary gaze falling to an all-too familiar face. Warm. Homey. Qiao Ling.

She doesn't look like she's going to scold him. She doesn't even look mad. Just . . . sad. For him.

"Come on."

He stares, too gone to argue. It's not like he has a choice.

And, honestly, fresh air doesn't seem like such a bad idea right now.

The windows are fully open. No music, no talk. Just the quiet night and the whoosh of air as Qiao Ling speeds down a highway.

Cheng Xiaoshi is leaning against his elbow, staring out into the distance as the wind tousles his hair.

It smells crisp, like a bonfire out in the cold night. He breathes it in deep like he's never manually inhaled before.

Qiao Ling doesn't look at him when they stop at stoplights. She only drives. Both hands on the wheel, finger tapping the beat to a song only she can hear.

They haven't spoken since she picked him up. She didn't ask questions. Didn't pry. Just handed him a bottle of water and told him to get in.

It's the kind of mutual silence he's never minded with her. The kind that doesn't press too hard.

He shifts in his seat. Rubs his eye.

". . . You didn't have to come." God, his voice is so wrecked.

Qiao Ling hums, barely heard over the wind. "I didn't. But who else is going to take care of you when you fall off the deep end?"

He snorts softly. Tries to smile. Can't quite manage it.

"Did you eat?" She asks.

He exhales. ". . . No."

"Drinking on an empty stomach? Are you asking for a killer hangover?"

"— You'll wake up with a terrible hangover."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks.

Huh. Now where has he heard that before?

He brushes it off. "It's fine. 'm not hungry anyway."

Qiao Ling takes the exit. Shakes her head. "I'm trying not to scold you. You make it very hard."

This gets a small laugh out of him. She smiles.

"I, uh . . ." The smile in his voice fades. His eyes burn and he quickly turns away. ". . . I did something dumb again."

Qiao Ling doesn't respond right away. The car comes to a slow stop at the first light. Her gaze flicks to the rearview mirror.

Then, quietly:

"I'll hear you out completely. No rush."

He bites down on his lip, a measure to keep the tears from spilling. The boulder in his throat weighs heavy, refusing to go away so he can speak without making a mess of himself.

He inhales shakily. Then, he tells her everything.

From the conversation at practice to Lu Guang's coldness, the misunderstanding to his attempts at apologizing and explaining.

All Qiao Ling does is listen. She doesn't interrupt him once. When the confession starts to deepen, she pulls into an empty parking lot and turns to him to give him her full attention.

And while a few tears still slip as he tries to hold everything in for his own sake, she acts as a trigger and just causes it all to overflow— just by reaching forward and wrapping her arms around him.

She pats his head. Strokes his hair. Hushes him softly and it all just breaks him.

He grips her shirt hard, sobbing into her shoulder like he's never cried once in his life.

"You've been carrying this with you all week," Qiao Ling says softly. "Dummy. Learn to let it out instead of bottling it up."

Cheng Xiaoshi just cries. It's ugly and raw and he feels like absolute trash, and clinging to Qiao Ling so pathetically is reminding him of a time he wishes he'd forget.

But she doesn't push him away. Like before, back then, when all she had to do was wipe his tears and coax him to sleep.

Some things never change, do they?

Eventually, the sobs taper into hiccups. His shoulders jerk as he hyperventilates. His grip loosens.

"Sorry," he murmurs into her shoulder, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry."

Even when he lets go, Qiao Ling doesn't. She continues to pat his back.

"That apology doesn't belong to me." She tells him. "Don't be sorry for feeling something real."

He sniffles. She exhales, smiling lightly.

"Face it. Your friendship with Lu Guang means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

He nods.

"Even more than you give it credit for?"

He nods again, hesitantly.

"Then, fight for it. Don't let something so genuine slip out of your fingers just because of some communication mishap." She assures. "Lu Guang won't turn you away when you finally take it seriously."

Silence. Qiao Ling waits until his breathing slows before leaning back, just enough to see his face. His eyes are red and glassy and tired. There's tear residue on his cheeks, nose, and jaw. And his face is flushed pink.

"Okay," she whispers, brushing a few hair strands away from his face, "so what'll you do now?"

He wipes at his nose, sniffling. Glancing through the windshield, he stares at the night sky like it might have the answers he's looking for.

If only it were so simple.

". . . I don't know," he finally says. "I just want to fix this."

Qiao Ling gives him a reassuring smile. "Then do that."

"But how? He won't even let me get close enough to try."

"He's only refusing to listen because overhearing you in the gym shattered his perception of you." She sighs, leaning back against the door. "You disappointed him."

His frown deepens. Her expression softens.

"I'm not scolding you. Quit frowning."

"Sounds like you are."

"I'm not."

"Now you definitely are!"

Qiao Ling reaches out, an attempt at ruffling his hair. Cheng Xiaoshi dodges, grabbing her wrists instead.

"Who's scolding? Let me go!" She laughs.

"No way. You'll mess up my hair!" He exclaims.

"It's already messed up! The wind turned it into a bird's nest."

He gasps. Leans forward and tries to lick her hand as payback for the insult. Qiao Ling recoils immediately, squealing and trying to twist out of his grasp.

"Stop— ew! You're so gross!"

"Stay still!"

"No, let go!"

They wrestle in the cramped space that the front seat is, Qiao Ling's laughter mixing with his grinning protests. It's clumsy and loud and stupid— and it's the best Cheng Xiaoshi has felt all week.

Qiao Ling eventually breaks free, dramatically wiping her hand on her jacket. "You're a germ," she huffs, but there's a glint in her eyes that says she wouldn't change a thing.

He leans back, catching his breath. Silence overtakes them again, laughter fading into the hum of the car.

Cheng Xiaoshi rubs the back of his neck, letting out a sigh. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"Actually, you owe me more than one." Qiao Ling harrumphs. "But I guess I'll let it slide this once."

He spares her a glance. ". . . Then. What should I do?"

She sits straight, reaching for the seatbelt. "What you always do. Talk."

He purses his lips. She smiles.

"I'm being serious. The best way to get your point across is by using your words. Tell him everything."

". . . Everything?"

She turns to him, nods once. "Everything."

He sits back. Thinks on it. Qiao Ling turns the heater up, adding a soft, "You aren't the only one hurting. Remember that."

Cheng Xiaoshi nods. That's a truth he's been needing to hear. Even if Lu Guang was the one who initiated the distance, the silence couldn't be any easier on him.

He inhales, coming to a decision. "I'll try again. On Monday."

She smiles. "That's the spirit."

Even if it doesn't go well, even if Lu Guang walks away again and things get worse— he'll still do it.

Because for once, the fear of losing what they had outweighs the fear of messing it up again.

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 82 days -

The light bleeding through the curtains is soft.

Cheng Xiaoshi wakes up on Qiao Ling's couch with a headache pounding behind his eyes and the taste of dried-up regret on his tongue.

The blanket draped over him is hers. Smells like citrus and something flowery. Comforting.

His mouth is dry. His eyes sting. His chest is tight like he cried himself to sleep and— knowing him— he probably did.

He sits up slowly. Rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand.

The world's still spinning a bit, but it's much quieter now. No more empty static in his chest. Just exhaustion. And maybe even a sliver of resolve.

Qiao Ling walks into the living room holding a mug. Her eyebrows raise when she sees he's awake.

"Morning. You look like death turned over."

He stares at the carpet. "Feel like it too."

She places the mug on the coffee table. "Go get washed up, then eat. Drink. I'll have aspirin for you."

He stretches, regretting it immediately when everything tilts and his vision goes blank. It takes him a moment to regain his balance, then he stumbles to the washroom.

When he sees his reflection, he almost jumps back in horror. Because he doesn't just look like death turned over. He looks like all the carnage it brings, too.

Leaning over the counter, he presses his finger under his eye, pulling his lower eyelid down so he can see the bloodshot mess.

Aside from his unruly hair, slightly puffy face, and tired eyes, he literally fits the part of damsel in distress to a T.

He quickly washes his face, tries to set his hair, and relieves himself before he leaves the washroom.

Qiao Ling is leaning against the wall, scrolling on her phone when he returns to the living room. Xu Shanshan is in the kitchen, making herself breakfast.

Cheng Xiaoshi picks up the mug, blows on it, and watches the faint swirl of steam like it'll write out his destiny.

"Will it work?" He asks quietly. "Honestly this time?"

Qiao Ling looks up. "If you're as sincere as you feel, it might."

He blinks. Might?

Her lips curve. "And if it doesn't, try again. And again. And again. Until you annoy him into realizing you mean it."

His expression flattens. "Hasn't that bug been patched yet?"

"What, constant nagging?" She laughs. "It never will. Not in your case."

Cheng Xiaoshi exhales a short laugh into the tea. The steam warms his face more than the drink.

He sips slowly. It burns a little, slightly too hot, but it tastes like honey and ginger and something gentle. Something warm. So he doesn't mind it in the slightest.

He can't deny that it still hurts. He's nervous.

A late-night talk and crying everything out doesn't fix anything. It only provides momentary relief.

Still, even the tiniest spark of hope goes a long way. It's all Cheng Xiaoshi needs. Besides . . . what more does he have to lose?

He leans back into the couch. "I don't even know what to say. Everything I've tried so far hasn't worked."

Qiao Ling hums. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"It's Lu Guang."

"Still doesn't have to be perfect."

If she's about to tell him to speak from the heart, he might actually just throw himself off the roof. Speaking from the heart is a lie. No one believes in the power of love and friendship anymore.

He puts the mug down with finality. Rakes a hand through his hair.

"Okay. I'll go."

She blinks. "Now?"

"Before I lose my nerve." He forces himself to his feet, even if his head screams in protest. ". . . Or puke. Or both."

Xu Shanshan peeks out from behind the wall, holding a steaming cup. She blinks when she sees him.

"You come back from war or something?"

Cheng Xiaoshi turns, just as Qiao Ling does. They both look at each other.

Then burst into laughter.

- - ⏱︎ - -

If there's one thing Cheng Xiaoshi specializes in, it's apology gifts.

He's done his fair share of grovelling over the years— most of it with flowers, sweets, or hand-drawn coupons for "one favour of your choice, use me however you see fit, master!". Except . . . maybe cut the master part out.

He used to joke about how much money he could save if he just learned to shut his mouth and not say something insensitive once in a while.

This time, though, nothing seems good enough.

He stands in the campus bakery for fifteen minutes, staring blankly at displays of (and not limited to) cupcakes, cakes, tarts, and macarons.

Does Lu Guang even like sweet things? The Pocky had been well-received last time. Or . . . had it?

It's not like he ever saw it again. But he also hasn't dropped by Lu Guang's place since that day either.

Ugh— this is so frustrating. He thinks he might implode.

He'd gone back to his own dorm after leaving Qiao Ling's, finding his roommate snoring and half off the bed.

Without sparing him another glance, Cheng Xiaoshi grabbed the nearest towel, pulled out the first thing in his closet, and headed to the washroom to take a shower.

The sticky grief from yesterday hadn't completely vanished, and he could still feel the ghost of dried tears on his cheeks. Don't even get him started on his hair.

He hadn't even looked himself in the mirror before hopping into the shower, testament to how atrocious his appearance was.

"Are you looking for something specific?" The lady behind the counter asks.

He eyes the tarts. "Um . . . something that says 'sorry'?"

She blinks. He blinks.

". . . We can—" she clears her throat, polite smile twitching, "add in a custom note?"

He considers this.

A custom note. Right. That totally works.

But what's he supposed to write? How's he supposed to not sound desperate but also sound desperate enough to prove he values their friendship?

The lady patiently waits as he cycles through six mental drafts, all ranging between "Sorry for being a dumbass," to "PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO ME."

Yeah. This is what the world has come to.

In the end, he scribbles something vague and pitiful on the little card they offer:

"I know I messed up. Can we talk?"

He still thinks it's lacking, but it's all he can manage. If he adds anything more, he'll sound like a poorly written drama lead. (In Xu Shanshan's words.)

He pays. Thanks her profusely. Cradles the small dairy-free box of guilt and shame, and starts his nerve-wracking journey to Lu Guang's apartment.

He knows he said he'd start on Monday. But an initial gift is necessary for what he's got planned. (He hasn't got anything planned. He's a liar.)

The sky is overcast again— grey and heavy like his mood. He doesn't know if the clouds are being poetic on purpose or if this is all just some huge joke at his expense.

The whole walk over, he rehearses what he'll say— out loud, like an idiot, quietly muttering and stumbling over words between breaths.

And the closer he gets to the complex, his heart continues to hammer in his chest like it might just beat out of his ribcage.

His fingers are freezing. He shudders and tenses his shoulders to curl more into the heat that his jacket provides.

How is Lu Guang's apartment so close but so far?

Is backing out now an option? What if he doesn't even answer the door? What if Cheng Xiaoshi shows up, waits outside— and then suddenly— the police show up and arrest him for trespassing?!

Another chill runs down his spine.

No. He won't chicken out. He can't chicken out.

He can handle a little more self-deprecating grovelling. He'll get on his knees and beg. And he'll do it in public so Lu Guang has no choice but to accept his apology.

(. . . Okay, he's not being serious. That would be a dick move.)

One moment, he's out on the sidewalk— the next, he's forcing his feet to move toward the painted door of Apartment 202.

The knot in his stomach has gone full noose. His heart is racing and his legs tremble. He comes to a stop at the welcome mat, a pale blue mat that doesn't even say 'Welcome' on it.

Because Cheng Xiaoshi is definitely not welcome.

He takes a deep breath. Licks his lips. Swallows.

And knocks.

It's ridiculous how nervous he is. Like he's about to take a final with no prep and a blindfold on.

Is this comparable to war? Is he technically going to war right now?

"It's—" his voice cracks. He dies internally.

Yeah, okay. He just stepped on a landmine and he's about to die.

He tries again. "It's me, Lu Guang. I— uh, brought you. This thing. For you. To take."

Silence. He wants to melt into the ground.

Great going, Captain Grammar. Some  actual  sentences would be nice!

(. . . Is this a fourth wall break?)

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. Smacks his head against the door in defeat.

". . . Look, I want to apologize. If you're ignoring me, that's fine. But please give me a chance to properly make it up to you."

He's met with nothing but silence.

. . . Is it possible he's not even home? Lu Guang? Out? On a Sunday?

He presses his lips together and exhales shakily through his nose. Of course Lu Guang isn't home when he gets the courage to show up right at his door.

He crouches down and places the box gently by the wall. Pulls out the little note and props it up so Lu Guang can see it.

Then, he pulls out his phone.

Dozens of his texts throughout the week sit unanswered in their chat. They've only been read.

The last string of messages flash mockingly at him.

[11:27 P.M.]
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: helo
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: mis u

[12:49 A.M.]
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: im sorry lu guang

That's it. The texts were from last night, when he was beyond wasted and trying to get his point across. The last one was what he sent on the way to Qiao Ling's dorm before he dozed off in the passenger seat.

With shaky fingers, he types:

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i dropped by your place. left the box of sweets on the ground, so dont forg|

Actually— no. He backspaces.

Over-explaining would do him no good right now. He can't yet. Not until he can see Lu Guang in person.

He sends the message. Then heads for the elevator, ready to go home.

Once he turns around, he doesn't look back.

Ding.

Lu Guang pries a sleepy eye open.

The café lights overhead are bright. They hurt more than they illuminate.

His gaze shifts to his lock screen. To the text banner.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i dropped by your place
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: see u thursday

He exhales.

And goes back to sleep.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 79 days -

Remember when he said the world was playing a cruel joke at his expense? That everything seemed to be against him because of whoever was writing out his stupidly complicated destiny?

(Who?)

Yeah. It might just explain why he's been so fucking unlucky these past two days.

Not only had he missed Lu Guang on Sunday evening, but seemingly every other attempt he's made since has been a complete bust.

Monday, he began by waiting outside Lu Guang's chemistry lecture— skipping the entire second half of his psych class to do it. Sure, he'd jumped the gun a little, but he was eager.

Especially after Lu Guang read his text Sunday night within ten minutes of him sending it. (Again, he's so not used to quick interaction over text.)

His nerves jumped as he stood off to the side, watching students filter out of the room, laughing and talking. Every time someone walked out and Cheng Xiaoshi didn't recognize them to be Lu Guang, his heart thumped a notch harder in suspense.

He waited. And watched.

And in the end, when the last of the remaining students came out, he peeked into the room nervously.

. . . Only to realize Lu Guang hadn't even shown up.

He found out later (from a classmate of his) that he'd been testing for another class and had been excused the entire time.

So much for skipping psych.

Fine. No worries.

Tuesday, he showed up early for digital photography. Hoped to get a chance to speak to him before lecture. Turns out, Lu Guang had a meeting with his advisor and didn't make it to class until the halfway mark.

Cheng Xiaoshi then waited outside the room— half-frozen in the AC cranked building, nerves shot to hell—

Only to get swept away by Xu Shanshan, who eagerly needed his help with photos for her portfolio. (Due at midnight. He had no choice.)

She dragged him away by the scruff of his collar, and for some reason, he just went along.

"Come on, come on! I wanna take them while the sun's still out. We got clouds incoming."

He sighed deeply. Case in point.

But that's okay. He didn't mind another missed attempt.

So after that, still clinging to hope, he found himself on track to the library. He still had a good chunk of the day to look for Lu Guang, and he's a pretty predictable guy. All he ever does is study.

And he usually spends his afternoons studying in the library. Surely this time, Cheng Xiaoshi would get his chance.

Armed with a semi-rehearsed explanation and a still racing heart, he entered the library and trudged towards their regular study spot.

Lu Guang was nowhere to be seen. There were literal dust bunnies on the table.

Cheng Xiaoshi loitered like a desperate creep near the back windows— hell, he even risked talking to the one guy who always hogs the outlet by the printer and breathes like he's on borrowed oxygen or something.

Smile and nod. Except, he basically wears his emotions, so his broken attempt at a polite smile must've been received as the opposite. The guy just huffed and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Cheng Xiaoshi deflated.

Still no sign of Lu Guang at all.

It's like he suddenly mastered the art of teleportation, triggered exclusively when Cheng Xiaoshi trekked around campus with even a shred of hope.

(Slight correction: not teleportation. Avoidance.)

And Cheng Xiaoshi? He's starting to feel like the guy in a one-sided love story who just won't take a hint.

(Which is messed up, because this isn't a love story. It's an apology tour. He's trying to be considerate.)

No matter what he does, where he tries to catch Lu Guang, it never works out for him because of some crazy stupid coincidence.

And Cheng Xiaoshi does not believe in coincidences. This has to be some kind of setup. A conspiracy. (If he's about to be kidnapped by aliens, he'd like to get his last words in.)

(Two words. The first starts with I'm and the second with sorry. You can figure out the rest.)

Tuesday goes by in the blink of an eye. No luck.

He spends the entire night staring at the underside of his roommate's bed, sleep nowhere in sight. He's too wired, on edge because a part of him thinks Lu Guang's going to show up out of nowhere, find him passed out, and decide he's not worth the time.

(Apparently getting proper rest means he doesn't care enough?)

Sure, Lu Guang's put up his walls of iron again, but at least he still reads his texts and spares him a glare every once in a while.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't know what he'd do if even that stopped. Clearly, he's too hooked up on this.

And maybe— just maybe— the desperation is starting to morph into irritation. 'Cuz honestly? This is a sport in and of itself.

Chasing Lu Guang around could be turned into a competition. First person to catch him wins . . . a goddamn chance to explain themselves.

Wednesday hits like a brick to the face.

He wakes to the blaring sound of his alarm . . . two hours after finally falling asleep.

Then, he proceeds to bang his ankle against the edge of the bed, clenching his jaw hard to keep from letting out the most horrifying curses ever known to mankind.

His misfortune doesn't stop there.

He nearly slips in the shower. Spills instant coffee on his jacket and burns his finger. Remembers he has a Lit project due at midnight that he hasn't even started.

And by the time he's on his way to stats— the worst part of his day, among other things— he's already ten minutes late. His hair is messy from wrangling off his jacket and pulling on another hoodie last minute, his bag is half-unzipped, and he forgot his calculator.

Oh, and how could he forget?

It's pouring.

So, as he's got a tight grip on his hood and trying not to slip, he runs across campus like a clown in search of the lecture building.

He barrels through the front doors, soaked, breathless, and borderline homicidal— only to find that the elevator is out of order and his stats class is on the fourth floor.

"Oh, fuck me." He mutters.

His eyes dart to the staircase.

His sneakers are soaked through, making this weird squeaky noise every step he takes. (Someone change his name to SpongeBob SquarePants or something.)

It's cold in the building. People crowd the hallways, loiter in the stairwell since the elevator isn't working, and chatter loudly like they're all too awake for 8 a.m.

Meanwhile, Cheng Xiaoshi's barely holding it together. He's late, tired, and annoyed beyond belief.

His legs are sore from the past few days of wandering the campus. His brain's fried from obsessing over every failed attempt to find Lu Guang.

And what makes it worse?

The fact that there's still no sign of him. Now, Cheng Xiaoshi's convinced he's being avoided. He's been playing hide-and-seek this whole time and wasn't even aware of it.

That pisses him off more.

He pushes the door to the stairwell open. Trudges towards the lecture room. Drags his feet and doesn't make eye contact with anyone.

And he might just be mentally compiling a hit list. One that starts with him and ends with God.

He doesn't care about the eyes that follow him as he goes up the side-stairs that lead to his row. All he wants is to collapse into his seat, pull out his useless notebook, and pretend to listen while spiralling into his own personal hell.

Except—

Someone's got their ass in his seat.

And that someone is the jerkass who tried to downtalk him the other day, saying whatever he said about student athletes.

Cheng Xiaoshi's eye twitches.

Knowing him for the talkative, gossip monger that he is, obviously, he isn't paying attention to the lecture. Cheng Xiaoshi happens to catch the tail end of his conversation with the girl on his left as he passes by.

". . . ran into Snow. He gave me the dirtiest look when I passed him— not even surprised he's got a stick up his ass." He scoffs. A smirk creeps up on his face. "But I bet he's a freak. Those eyes scream manwhore—"

Something in him snaps.

He stops. Turns. Stares.

And the world narrows down to the back of that idiot's head.

He doesn't seem to notice and continues to spout his bullshit, ending on a few hard slurs before everything else goes blank.

Cheng Xiaoshi jumps the desk.

. . . And his fist connects with the guy's jaw.

He doesn't feel it at all, not even the initial contact. All that registers is the snap of motion and the shocked gasps around them. The guy sinks sideways in the chair, alarmed, and Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't stop.

Every punch lands. Breaks something.

Jerkass tries to fight back, but his hands don't make it far. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't feel his knuckles split. Nor the pain in his wrists, or the scream of his muscles.

There's blood on his fists, his sleeves. Also rushing in his ears, fast, loud, and hot. The flare of anger in his chest burns, which makes him grab the jerk by the collar and slam him against the desk behind him.

"Say one more thing about him. I dare you."

"W-hat—?!"

He hears chairs scraping, someone calling his name. Someone else yells. Calls for a TA, the professor— anyone who'll step in to stop him.

But it's all muffled under the roar in his skull. The deafening outrage; frustration built up over little things that have ruined his week. This just happened to be the stick that broke the camel's back.

Keep your eyes off him. He seethes. Doesn't say. No one the likes of you deserves to even walk the same ground as him.

He gets a couple more good, hard punches in before he's dimly aware of someone grabbing him from behind. Then, another pair of arms drag him back, forcing his fists away from the bloody, slack-jawed mess of a face in front of him.

His arms are restrained, head pushed down. He clenches his jaw.

A few classmates clamour to help the other guy, yelling for the nurse or bandages. A few others snicker behind a hand, whisper about the new scandal, and soon enough, most of the department will know about the fight by late afternoon.

His shoulders heave as he comes down from the adrenaline high. The blood on his stinging knuckles is warm— his, now. But it's nothing compared to the fire raging under his skin.

Because he's not done. That jerk has everything coming, especially after what he's said.

Lu Guang might not fight for himself, but that won't stop Cheng Xiaoshi from doing it. And he won't just stop at fighting.

He'll bleed for him. Break for him. Burn everything if it means people will stop talking about him like he's not a person, too.

And maybe he's a tad motivated. The reason Lu Guang's been treating him like this is because of a misunderstanding on this exact topic. Why is it so hard for people to shut up if they have nothing good to say about someone else?

He doesn't get the motivation behind hate-driven speech. Like . . . just invest in a diary? Maybe shut the fuck up?

(Or maybe he's reading too much into it.)

He won't fight the hands holding him back, no matter how pissed off he is. It's a line he can't cross. He can't go there.

The guy is groaning on the floor, curled around his midsection, blood trickling from his nose and lip. Sharp reprimands from the professor, who's actively trying to settle the situation, keep the rest of the students quiet. Now, only a few hushed whispers echo, along with the shuffle of someone backing away.

Cheng Xiaoshi lets himself be hauled out of the room. Just keeps his head down.

. . . He'll get in a whole lot of trouble. Though he doesn't really care.

It's Qiao Ling he's scared of.

He's walked to the discipline head's office like a prisoner on death row, and the bystanders in the hallway don't make it feel much different. Their eyes are like stones being thrown at his back.

Seems no one's there to see her because as soon as he steps in, he's taken to her room.

He plops into the chair in front of the desk, cradling his bleeding knuckles. The woman behind the desk stares, gaze dark and heavy. Cheng Xiaoshi keeps his eyes averted, locked on a globe she has on the shelf behind her.

He wonders how fast the world would have to spin to rewind the last fifteen minutes.

His lips twitch.

Nah. He suppresses a smirk. He doesn't take it back in the slightest. That dickhead had it coming.

"Mind explaining, sir?"

The discipline officer is a strict woman by the name of Wu Lihua. Mention her to the principal, and even he straightens. She's a scary lady, no doubt about it. Her punishments are just as . . . uniquely harsh.

He licks his lips, wincing when it hurts. He probably split it too.

". . . I started it. And I don't regret it."

"Is that right?"

He dips his head. Her glower deepens. Seems she's not a fan of the unremorseful.

She leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers. The silence stretches between them like a taut wire.

"You know the consequences of physical assault on campus, Mr. Cheng?"

If she knows him by name, he must be on her radar. Which, in itself, is already a terrible thing.

He just nods. Can't risk a heavy sigh or a snap of attitude. He'll die if her glare gets any heavier.

"Three-day suspension minimum," she says, voice as sharp as glass. "Full investigation. Possible academic probation depending on the report."

"Fine," Cheng Xiaoshi replies, jaw tight. "File it."

"You're not interested in defending yourself at all?"

"Already did." He lifts his bruised knuckles an inch. Drops them back into his lap. "In class."

Wu Lihua stares. Her expression doesn't shift, but her eyes darken, like she's reading something more than what he's saying. Like she's done this enough times to notice when a kid is cracking at the seams.

She glances at her computer screen. "You've been showing up to your classes late. Your attendance is slipping in three classes and I've had two professors email about a drop in your engagement. And now this."

Cheng Xiaoshi says nothing.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Still nothing.

It's not like he can explain it. Sorry I accidentally humiliated the guy I—

. . . No way. He doesn't even know what to call it. What's between him and Lu Guang has always been somewhere between sunlight and static, never one more than the other. Now it just hurts.

She sighs. "You'll report to the nurse. Have those wounds tended to and wait until I call you to my office later in the week. What you've done is wrong, and an appropriate punishment will be issued."

Wrong?

This is not wrong.

Wrong is the fact that he's been ignored for days. Wrong is the fact that Cheng Xiaoshi's tried everything— every damn class, hallway, library, the fucking restroom— just for one chance to explain himself.

Wrong is sitting through half a week of missed chances, sleep deprivation, and gut-knotting guilt— only for some dick to laugh about Lu Guang like the only depth he has is his appearance?

No, what he's done is far from it. He's right. He's so painfully right in this situation that it's killing him.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands up. Doesn't even mumble a goodbye. (He'll be back anyway, what does it matter?)

He leaves with the slow drag of someone who used up all their fight minutes ago. He's simply tired now. Running on only two hours of sleep.

His eyes burn, begging for a chance to take a nap. But he can't. Not yet. Not until all of this is over.

With the break that he has, he could skip the nurse's office entirely and see if Lu Guang's in the library—

His knuckles burn, as if sensing his mind change. He looks down at them, hissing in a breath.

Okay, nevermind. The nurse's office it is.

The hallway is quieter than before, but his head's ringing. Everything in his body, from the pain to his heartbeat, seems to have been amplified.

A few people give him sideways glances and talk quietly, but no one has the gall to speak to him to his face. It doesn’t matter.

Even if this spreads, his social life will be back on track in like, a day.

He makes it to the nurse's office without thinking, fight still on his mind. He wonders when Qiao Ling'll find out. He wonders if she'll let him talk before murdering him.

He snorts. Yeah, right. Like he'd even be able to defend himself.

Cheng Xiaoshi expects the nurse to take a look at him and make some half-hearted remark again. Like she did the last time he was in here.

It smells like peroxide and something overly sweet, and he intends to plop down on a cot while she fixes him up—

But instead, he freezes in his footing the moment his eyes land on the presence in the room. His eyes widen.

Because it's not the nurse who's standing beside the cot.

It's Lu Guang.

And all he does is look at him. Exhale.

And gestures for him to sit.

Chapter Text

Lu Guang.

And he just . . . motions for him to sit down like they aren't fighting an emotional war right now!

Cheng Xiaoshi stares, unsure. The sunlight from the window casts a glow behind Lu Guang, painting his shoulders in a light that makes him look like an angel.

The clouds outside have finally cleared— bathing the entire room in gold. Not the hard, fluorescent kind the nurse's office usually spits out, but something softer.

Lu Guang is as collected as always, clad in a baggy blue zip-up and dark pants. Not a single thing out of place, making it hard to believe he walked in the rain to get here.

While on the other hand, Cheng Xiaoshi is still somewhat drenched, shoes muddied, and now, smeared in blood that mostly isn't his.

"Are you going to make me wait?" Lu Guang's voice cuts through his thoughts.

He moves. His legs do before his mind catches up, at least.

He sits down on the cot, gaze following Lu Guang as he kneels in front of the small white drawers, grabbing a kit from inside.

He wants to say something, but his mouth won't move to form his words. Nothing comes out.

Cheng Xiaoshi only stares. Because he's here.

Lu Guang is here.

Not avoiding him. Not disappearing into crowds or walking away before he can say hello. He's right in front of him, in the light, like the universe has finally stopped screwing with him and gave him this one thing back.

And Cheng Xiaoshi is done for.

All over again.

The sting in his knuckles dulls. The ringing in his ears fades. Even the aching fire in his chest— anger, guilt, the growing knot of every misstep he's made this past week— goes still.

It's just him and Lu Guang now.

"You're—" he swallows involuntarily. "You're here. Why . . . are you here?"

Lu Guang cracks open the kit. Pulls out the gauze and antiseptic, plus a few cotton balls and tape. "You answer that first. Why are you here?"

Cheng Xiaoshi purses his lips. "Long story."

Lu Guang's cold fingers brush his as he reaches to turn his palm around, and Cheng Xiaoshi swears he feels it down to his spine.

He assesses the damage first, scanning for any deeper wounds. His touch is efficient, careful. He touches around the area to check for any more bruising.

Then, he grabs the antiseptic and coats a cotton ball with it.

". . . I was at a club meeting," he says as he works. "Heard someone got in a fight and had a feeling it was you."

Cheng Xiaoshi is . . . not listening. His mind is too busy.

He stares. He shamelessly stares. No matter how hard he tries to avert his gaze, he finds it back on Lu Guang like he's a magnet.

He just can't stop looking.

The tilt of his head. The way his lashes catch the light. How his mouth moves as he speaks.

Cheng Xiaoshi winces when the cold peroxide hits raw skin.

"You could've been five minutes earlier. To show the nurse while she was still in." Lu Guang mutters.

And, still shamelessly staring, he replies with a quiet,

"Didn't think she'd be this pretty."

Lu Guang pauses.

His eyes flick up.

Flat, skeptical. Just enough to say really?

He immediately snaps out of it. "Sorry. Sorry, I wasn't . . . thinking."

He doesn't say anything to that. Even if Cheng Xiaoshi feels the 'Yeah, when do you ever?' in his bones. He still has to remember the gap between them. Nothing's been fixed yet.

But . . . how is he supposed to start? Everything he's rehearsed washed out of his memory the second he beat that guy, and now, he's got nothing to say.

"You have until I finish bandaging you up." Lu Guang says, startling him. "Speak."

Oh no. Now he's under pressure.

"I . . ." Oh gosh. What did he even practice for?

His jaw tightens. Okay, screw the stuff he tried to memorize. He's just gotta speak from the heart and hope the power of friendship or whatever will save him.

(Channelling his inner Twilight Sparkle.)

"Lu Guang." He starts. The latter raises his eyebrows. Same as before.

This is giving him déjà vu. And not the good kind.

Because there's still a part of him that believes Lu Guang won't listen. That he'll just brush everything Cheng Xiaoshi has to say off like he's not worth the waste of words.

This makes him bite the inside of his cheek.

What if what he has to say . . . isn't good enough? What if it's not up to Lu Guang's calibre of an apology? What if he stutters over his words and makes everything worse?

He inhales shakily.

He doesn't know if he can afford another mess-up.

So, instead, he really does speak from the heart.

"I'm tired, Lu Guang," his voice cracks around the edge of the name. "I've chased you around the entire school like an idiot. Trying to talk to you. Trying to say sorry."

His voice trembles. His shoulders fall.

"But if . . . if you're gonna keep acting like I don't exist— like I'm not worth your time, then tell me now so I can give up. And if you tell me to leave you alone, that you think it's better if we stop being friends, I'll do as you say. But don't expect me to sit quietly when some other idiot talks about you like you're . . . some cheap thing to dissect."

There's a pause. Lu Guang stops cleaning.

"I know I can't make you forget what happened in the gym, but I can explain. And I can make it up to you before you decide to let this friendship go."

It hurts saying it. But he can't stop now.

"That day, I should've stopped those idiots before it got to that point. Even if I thought it was pointless, gross talk and didn't plan on telling you about it, I should've at least made the effort to get them to stop talking about a friend like that.

"I was a dick for laughing. And then, when I heard some guy spouting bullshit in my lecture, I . . ." He scratches at his neck. ". . . got mad and . . . ruined his face."

. . . He sounds really stupid.

Lu Guang should just walk out on him already—

His thoughts come to a halt. Because those cold, measured eyes are on him now.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do . . . what?"

"Attack that guy."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. Looks away nervously. "'Cuz he said something about you."

"He said my name in a sentence and you jumped him?" Lu Guang questions, unimpressed.

"No! It's . . . more than that. Just some really stupid crap." He mutters. ". . . Drop it already."

The former hums. His fingers hover over the back of Cheng Xiaoshi's palm. "Drop it for what? You fought in my name. What got you worked up enough to barely miss breaking his nose?"

"Dunno." Cheng Xiaoshi harrumphs. He blinks. Turns to Lu Guang. "Wait, you saw him?"

Lu Guang's eyes narrow. "He was brought in ten minutes ago. I walked in as he was leaving."

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes. "Did he look at you?"

He doesn't answer and instead grabs the gauze, expression flat. Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward. "No, tell me. Did he look? Did you two make eye contact?"

Lu Guang sighs. "I don't know why that matters—"

"Did he?"

He shakes his head. Cheng Xiaoshi pulls back, satisfied.

Good. Had Lu Guang said yes, he would've had quite a present waiting for the idiot. And next time, he wouldn't hold back.

"Give me your other hand." He says.

Cheng Xiaoshi does, lifting the freshly bandaged one to inspect it. For being so nerdy, he's got some pretty good skills.

His other hand isn't as torn up as the first, but the skin across two knuckles is raw from the impact. It's red and pulses.

Lu Guang begins working again. His fingers are steady, and he acts with clinical precision— evident in the way he doesn't rush, and how Cheng Xiaoshi can feel his thumb brushing gently along the inside of his wrist as he shifts his grip.

And that stupid, tiny touch—

— it makes his heart hurt a bit.

Because this is what makes him the stupidest. Makes him hope again.

Lu Guang doesn't need to be here. Doesn't need to help him. And maybe this is his own way of apologizing for running away instead of facing things head-on.

But it's fine. Cheng Xiaoshi would forgive him in a heartbeat if a 'sorry' so much as slipped from his lips.

". . . There."

He stands up from his crouch in front of Cheng Xiaoshi's legs. Returns the things to the kit and puts it back in the drawer he found it in.

He pulls back to find Cheng Xiaoshi staring right at him.

". . . Problem?"

He blinks. Reanimates. "Um . . . you said . . . until you finished bandaging—"

"Yeah. So?"

He pauses. Lowers his gaze.

Did it . . . fail? Was the apology seriously not up to his standards after all?

Lu Guang takes a step towards him, and he half-expects a slap.

Harsh.

For all his stupidity. For his annoying behaviour this past week.

However, instead of that—

Lu Guang's hands cup his cheeks, tilting his head back. Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes widen as he stares at the former's face.

Gentle.

His thumbs brush the skin under his eyes softly, addressing the dark bags.

"These don't suit you."

Woah . . . what's this?

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart does a thing. It flutters.

It's not just because of the hands on his face. It's the look in Lu Guang's eyes. The softness in his expression. Where did it come from?

And why's he looking at him like that?

Cheng Xiaoshi takes hold of both of Lu Guang's wrists, pulling his hands off his face. The flush that crawls up the back of his neck itches.

"I'm . . . fine."

"You're tired."

"Yeah, well." He averts his gaze. "Worrying apparently gives you insomnia."

Lu Guang goes quiet. It's a heavy statement, conveying most (if not, all) of the exhaustion Cheng Xiaoshi's built up. He can barely think straight.

He looks like he can barely think straight.

"Lie down." Lu Guang says next.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. "You're putting me to bed?"

"You look like you're three seconds away from face-planting into my chest. I'd prefer if you passed out in the cot."

. . . Well. He's got no argument for that.

He does as told, just for the time being. (And sleep really does sound good right now.)

Kicking off his shoes, he lies back against the pillow, eyes rising to Lu Guang, who sits on the edge beside him. He's facing the window, but it's clear he intends to stay.

If he's being completely honest, the pillow beneath his head is crinkly and the cot isn't too comfortable. If he were alone, he’d maybe get ten minutes of sleep here at most. But he sighs like it’s heaven.

Because having Lu Guang here, sitting beside him, bathed in the golden glow of the sunlight, makes the crinkly pillow feel like cotton. Makes the rough sheets feel like silk.

And for the first time in a while, he can finally say he's relieved.

Lu Guang looks down when Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers tap his. He watches as three of their fingers lock.

". . . You'll stay?"

He blinks, now looking at a tired, half-lidded Cheng Xiaoshi.

That's not the first time he's said that, is it?

He exhales through his nose. Reciprocates the grip around his fingers. And says,

"Yeah."

As Cheng Xiaoshi dozes off, he swears a sense of familiarity hangs at the edge of his thoughts. Like . . . this has happened before somewhere.

If only his memory ever seemed to serve him right.

. . .

Sitting alone in the quiet, empty nurse's office is Lu Guang.

It's almost noon. He's been here for three hours (four, once noon strikes), and he hasn't moved an inch from his spot.

The only sound is the soft snoring of the person beside him, silly yet delicate. Soft in its own way.

And as he watches the slow rise and fall of a chest, the flutter of dark eyelashes, and the slide of a tear down a cheek, he can't help but find himself at a standstill.

Tentatively reaching forward, he gently scoops up the tear with his finger.

A part of him knows it's because of him, seeing as Cheng Xiaoshi's grip on his fingers tightens. How he turns slightly and curls into himself a bit.

So, he remains in place.

He owes it to Cheng Xiaoshi, more than anything else.

. . .

"You idiot!"

Oh no.

Qiao Ling is seething, glaring, arms folded over her chest and probably three seconds away from bringing Hell to Earth. Even from this distance, Cheng Xiaoshi can feel the flames of her wrath.

Following the six-hour nap he took in the nurse's office, he found that Qiao Ling had sent him her location and gave him ten minutes to show.

And Cheng Xiaoshi being Cheng Xiaoshi, he totally forgot about how she would've gotten word of the fight.

He dragged Lu Guang along out of spite (and because he refused to let him go now), which brought them straight to the campus café. Their usual hangout place.

"I have half a mind to smack you senseless right now— you beat up a guy in class?! Do you know what that means for you?!"

He hides further behind Lu Guang, trembling. Lu Guang stares, watching Qiao Ling approach.

"Why are you hiding."

"Because she's gonna kill me."

He hums. "Shouldn't have punched that guy."

"Can it. I fought him for you."

"Yeah, well. Tell that to the Queen of Hell and hope she understands." Lu Guang remarks, a weary smirk rising on his face.

Qiao Ling rounds the buffer that Lu Guang serves to be, and Cheng Xiaoshi skips out of her grasp, letting out an abrupt laugh in fear.

"Wait— wait! Listen to me—"

"Don't run from me! You cause enough trouble as it is, and now you've crossed the line between clowning around and plain recklessness."

"I get that, but— stop chasing me!" He cries. Lu Guang sighs, staring off to the side as both run around him like idiots.

"Stop running!"

"No! You'll hit me!"

"Yeah, 'cuz you deserve it! What if he wants to sue for assault?! Where are you gonna get the money for a lawyer when you owe my dad your life?!"

"He won't sue!"

"Oh, like you're so sure. Quit— running!"

Lu Guang sighs. "Guys please. We're in public."

He's ignored. They only run around him faster.

"I'm sorry!" Cheng Xiaoshi yelps, narrowly dodging a swipe at his head. "I just— he was talking about Lu Guang and I snapped!"

Qiao Ling falters. Her glare doesn't ease, but she stops and places her hands on her hips.

"You snapped?" she repeats, disbelieving. "You don't get to snap in a lecture hall. There are rules, Cheng Xiaoshi—"

"He called Lu Guang a manwhore!" He blurts. He wasn’t going to say. But now, hearing it aloud is suddenly making him angry again.

Lu Guang blinks. Qiao Ling blinks.

There's a brief silence.

"So that's why." Lu Guang muses, turning slightly to look at him. "Here I thought it was something worth almost killing someone over."

Cheng Xiaoshi glowers at him. "Don't start."

Qiao Ling exhales, relenting. "Even so. You can't just beat up every person who so much as looks at Lu Guang wrong."

Says who is right on the tip of his tongue. Except, if he were to let it slip, he'd be in for the beating of a lifetime. Only god knows how horrific Qiao Ling's methods of punishment are, and he's sure she's been waiting for something as big as this to bust out the most agonizing sentence known to man.

He shudders at the thought and instead drops his forehead against Lu Guang's shoulder in defeat.

". . . Okay. I'm sorry." He mumbles.

He's not sorry.

He'd do it again if he were given the chance.

Unbeknownst to him, Qiao Ling's curious gaze flicks from him to Lu Guang. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head, and her anger seems to be quelled for the time being.

She huffs, turning her head. "You're lucky Lu Guang's here."

That's why I brought him.

"Come on, I reserved a table for us."

As they sit, she pushes the menu in their direction. Seems she's already got her pick.

Her eyebrows raise when Cheng Xiaoshi settles right beside Lu Guang. Not even an inch of space. And honestly? The complete 180 is much more amusing than the news of Cheng Xiaoshi's fight.

"Besties again?" She asks.

Lu Guang sighs. Cheng Xiaoshi grins, grip around the former's shoulders tightening.

"He won't let go of me." He wilts.

"That's so not true," Cheng Xiaoshi retorts. "I'm just . . . keeping you at arm's length."

"In arm's length, you mean. And that's not how you use that expression."

Chin to her palm, Qiao Ling sighs. Smiles.

Yes. Things really are back on track.

"They've got a whole section for variety drinks. Take a look, maybe something'll catch your fancy." She offers.

Since Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't budge, Lu Guang grabs the menu and flips it open, scanning it. The former leans in, reading through the selection. However, none of it seems to appeal to him because he pulls away and sighs, still draped over Lu Guang.

. . . Lu Guang, whose eye twitches.

"I want pancakes," he announces. "Chocolate chip."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"There's never not a time for pancakes. You ought to know that."

Lu Guang's weary gaze goes to Qiao Ling, who just giggles. He exhales, presumably in defeat.

". . . Chocolate chip pancakes it is."

Cheng Xiaoshi perks up instantly. "Really?! With whipped cream, too?"

He spares him a glance. ". . . Fine."

"Strawberries on the side?"

"Okay, now you're pushing it."

Cheng Xiaoshi's grin widens, all the more Lu Guang's expression flattens.

Qiao Ling watches with mild amusement, as if this is all just free entertainment for her. "Get a grip. You're like a married couple ordering brunch."

Lu Guang doesn't respond to that. Cheng Xiaoshi, however, looks as though he's seriously considering it.

"Should we get a shared plate, then?" he teases. "Feed each other while staring lovingly into one another's eyes? What d'you say, hm?"

"Try it and you're wearing the syrup."

He throws his head back in laughter, the kind that's contagious and turns heads. One thing can so easily change his mood for the rest of the day, can't it?

The sharpness in Lu Guang's expression falters a bit. Qiao Ling smiles like she's never seen anything so bright.

(The Cheng Xiaoshi effect, everyone.)

The server comes by and takes their order, amused when she gets a complete explanation (hand gestures included) of how the pancakes need to be "golden, fluffy, and delivered with love."

Lu Guang hides his face. Qiao Ling laughs.

He gets an americano. She orders a chocolate croissant and an iced coffee. (Because no one, not even the cold, can rip away her iced coffee obsession.)

"Oh," Cheng Xiaoshi prompts when their drinks arrive. He turns to Lu Guang. "So now that everything's back to normal . . ."

He shifts closer, fingers gripping onto his sleeve. Lu Guang, frowning slightly, leans away.

"Will you go back to tutoring me every day?" Cheng Xiaoshi blinks innocently, tugging. "Please?"

"Yeah, not a chance." He replies passively.

"Why not?!"

Lu Guang takes a sip of his coffee. Then he leans forward and flicks Cheng Xiaoshi's forehead.

"Ow—!"

"There's been a change in my schedule." He says, tone levelled. "Anime club meetings were moved to after school instead of before, so I'll be busy there from five to eight."

"Anime club?" Cheng Xiaoshi echoes, rubbing his forehead. "Huh . . . didn't think you'd be into something like that."

When he gets a judgmental look in response, he puts his hands up placatively, chuckling nervously. "No— not like that! You just strike me as a classic lit kinda guy, y'know?"

Something flickers in Lu Guang's expression. His gaze shifts.

". . . There's no hierarchy in creativity. Art is art."

Qiao Ling hums. "Yes. I totally agree."

There's a beat. Then,

"Thank you, Qiao Ling." Lu Guang says, pleased.

"You're very welcome, Lu Guang." She replies, just as sweet.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks.

What . . . was that? His gaze flits between them, suspicious at the look on both of their faces. He narrows his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Qiao Ling feigns innocence. Lu Guang hides behind his coffee cup.

Cheng Xiaoshi's expression flattens. "Are you working together to make me feel stupid now? What's with the rainbows and sparkles around the two of you?"

Qiao Ling smirks. The corner of Lu Guang's mouth twitches.

"Jealous?" She teases, eyes glinting.

He scoffs. "Me? Jealous? Pssssh," he looks away, pouting slightly, ". . . No way."

The server brings out the pancakes next, along with Qiao Ling's croissant. They're decorated with whipped cream and strawberries after all, with a tiny toothpick flag sticking out of the cream.

Qiao Ling gasps. "That's one crazy stack!"

"Can you even finish that much?" Lu Guang asks, skeptical.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins smugly and picks up his fork and knife. "Watch me. I don't take matters like these lightly."

"What, you mean that voracious hunger of yours?" She snorts.

He digs in, and after the first, very evidently delicious bite, he's lost to the two of them. Qiao Ling sighs. Lu Guang leans an elbow on the table, head propped on his hand as he watches.

"Golden and fluffy?" He questions dryly.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows. Grins. "And delivered with just the right amount of love. Automatic five stars from me!"

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. He then reaches for the little toothpick flag from the top and brings it close to inspect what's on it.

He squints. Qiao Ling leans in to look.

"It's . . ." She tilts her head. "A bear?"

"Looks like it." He answers. "A pink bear."

She chuckles. "Cute."

Lu Guang's lips curve slightly— and then, without fanfare, he uses the toothpick to skewer one of the strawberries on Cheng Xiaoshi's plate.

Cheng Xiaoshi's head snaps up. And he watches Lu Guang eat the strawberry in horror.

 A beat. Then—

". . . You thief."

Lu Guang glances at him mid-chew.

"It's sweet," he says, suppressing the smile in reaction to Cheng Xiaoshi's expression. One that's torn between betrayal and what seems to be a challenge to a duel.

There's a second of silence. Then the fork is set against the plate with a soft clatter. Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward, narrowing the (very small) gap between them.

"Hey," he says, voice dropping conspiratorially. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around Lu Guang's wrist with surprisingly steady intent.

"What—"

"Gimme the toothpick. I wanna feed you."

Lu Guang gapes. "You what."

"Come on. Hand it over."

"No," he says immediately, recoiling like he's been threatened with public execution. "I'm not letting you feed me."

"Just let me." Cheng Xiaoshi fights back, leaning even closer. Their knees knock under the table. "We already agreed we'd share. What's one step above that?"

Lu Guang grimaces. "Okay, no. This does not have 'steps'."

"Lu Guaaaaang!" He complains.

"We're in public. Control yourself." He scolds, narrowing his eyes.

Qiao Ling, unimpressed, looks away. (Is she destined to be the ultimate third-wheel or something?) ". . . Can't you two be normal?"

"I didn't ask for this." Lu Guang retorts. "Get your brother off me."

She smirks, taking a slow sip of her coffee. ". . . Congrats. He's your problem now."

"Just once!" Cheng Xiaoshi whines, catching a hand to the face. Against Lu Guang's palm, he adds a muffled, "I'll never bother you again."

"That's such an obvious lie." Lu Guang hisses.

He claws at Lu Guang's wrist dramatically, like he's clinging to the last rope of hope. "Then let me prove it! One strawberry."

"You're crazy." He replies. Though his hand is still over Cheng Xiaoshi's face, he's no longer pushing him back. Just . . . holding. And he takes this as his opportunity to reach up with his other hand and grab hold of the toothpick.

Cheng Xiaoshi then pulls back with a gasp, eyes lit up. "Oh my god. Let's make a bet. If I get a higher grade on our next pop quiz—"

"No."

"— you have to let me feed you. In public. No takebacks."

Lu Guang levels him with a long, scathing look. "That's what you want as a reward?"

Cheng Xiaoshi beams. "No, I want world peace. But this is a close second."

Qiao Ling laughs.

Lu Guang's eyebrow twitches. ". . . Your requests are so weird. You started with my coffee order, and now you want to feed me?"

Cheng Xiaoshi stabs another strawberry with the toothpick, grinning. "I'm an easy guy."

"Clearly."

"Hey now," He leans forward, holding out the strawberry like it's a proposal ring. His eyes are wide with mock tenderness. "I don't ask for much. You know that."

Lu Guang blinks. For a split second, something flickers in his eyes— something between disbelief, disbelief squared, and even what he thinks is traitorously close to amusement.

His jaw tightens. Then, he exhales through his nose like he's aged ten years in a second. (He might as well have.)

He averts his gaze. And eventually— very begrudgingly— he opens his mouth.

Cheng Xiaoshi lights up, bright as a star. "Oh . . . wow. You actually . . ."

He inches the strawberry closer, and the nearer it gets, the hotter the embarrassment burns the back of Lu Guang's neck. After this, he'll turn into a complete recluse. He'll shut himself in his apartment. He'll never come out.

"Look at you, being all romantic—"

The moment Lu Guang bites down, he grabs Cheng Xiaoshi's wrist and deadpans, "You say another word and I'll stab the next one into your eye."

And Cheng Xiaoshi is nothing but beaming.

"Aw. You say just the sweetest things."

Chapter Text

Lu Guang rarely goes to the gym. Or . . . let him rephrase— he rarely goes to the gym unless it's to watch campus basketball games.

He normally never has business in there, but today, he's pushing a cart with binders and all kinds of papers stacked on top of one another. They're meant for the sports coordinator, sent straight from the front office.

He was instructed to leave the cart in the storage room by the gym, where the sports coordinator would take it from there.

". . . girls with glasses." A voice echoes from the open doors. Lu Guang blinks.

There are people in there right now?

He checks his watch, confirming it's way too late for an actual class to be taking place.

Then, he hears basketballs bouncing against the ground. Oddly enough, his nose suddenly stings. Okay. It makes sense for the basketball team to be practicing, then.

It explains the voices.

He comes to a stop outside the storage room, fumbling through the wad of keys the front desk lady gave him.

Laughter rings out from next door.

". . . Okay, what about our year?" He doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but completely blocking out such loud conversation is kind of hard.

"There's gotta be one person you'd risk it all for."

"Easy. Snow, the tutor."

Tutor . . . Huh. He wonders who they're talking about.

"You mean Lu Guang?"

He blinks. Wait— him?!

He now stops messing with the keys and glances towards the gym doors.

A clamour arises after his name is mentioned, something he finds odd. What are they even talking about?

"He's like, top-tier unattainable." Someone snorts. "No way he's even into dating."

. . . Oh.

"Still, he's got dangerous eyes." Another snickers. "One look and you're . . . frozen hard."

"Agreed. Bet he's great in bed."

More laughs.

Lu Guang lowers his head, face flushed. Ears, cheeks, neck blazing hot and red.

What embarrassing conversations are these randos having? And why is he even a topic?

And then, a painfully familiar voice startles Lu Guang out of his thoughts.

"You guys are so weird."

. . . Cheng Xiaoshi. Is in there. Listening to what those strangers are saying.

At this, Lu Guang's flush deepens. His fingers tremble as he looks through the keys again, eager to just get out of here before he hears something he doesn't—

"He's my tutor. No freaking way."

Whistles. Teasing laughs.

"Bet you two get handsy with the calculators." An evil remark.

"Okay, okay, let's vote— who's most likely to actually score him?"

Lu Guang's eyes widen. He zones out after that.

Score? Him ?

Is that all everyone thinks of him? Just some cold, unattainable freak they place bets on who can bed him first?

. . . Why is that even a thing? Does he not deserve the same respect as a normal person?

He casts a look of disdain at the doors.

Disgusting.

He pushes the right key in. Pulls the door open and pushes the cart inside.

And, just to appease his curiosity, he peeks out from behind the wall. The group of guys sitting on the bleachers are all wearing jerseys, but it seems they're taking a break (and wasting time talking about pointless shit.)

Four guys are up, hooping. Among them, stands Cheng Xiaoshi.

And when Lu Guang's gaze shifts to him, something sinks in his chest.

Because Cheng Xiaoshi is standing there smiling . Laughing .

Like this is just another conversation he has. Like he isn't uncomfortable at all with the situation— despite the fact that the topic is on someone he spends literal time with.

And what hurts the most is how his laugh isn't cruel. It's not cold. It's real. Warm. As if Lu Guang's humiliation is something he finds easy to join in on.

Lu Guang's eyes go cold as ice plummets to the pit of his stomach. He pulls away from the wall and begins his walk back to the office to return the keys, hands jammed in his pockets.

He's seen enough. And clearly, he misjudged who he thought he could trust.

Because in the end, all anyone ever wants to do is have their way with him.

- - ⏱︎ - -

[Tuesday, October 26th: yesterday.]

Lu Guang is sitting leisurely in the library, legs crossed, book in hand, reading like he's got all the time in the world to finish it.

. . . Is how he'd like to describe this.

He's actually hiding out in his chemistry lecture hall, all the way in the back, hidden behind the seats in front of him.

He's been avoiding Cheng Xiaoshi religiously, having taken it up like it's a sport. Because the guy won't stop trying to talk to him. He won't stop trying to explain himself.

But what's the need for an explanation? Lu Guang was right there when it happened. He's seen everything he needed to see to know Cheng Xiaoshi isn't someone he can keep around.

He was stupid, thinking a guy who is his polar opposite would actually want to stick for the right reasons.

No one ever talks to Lu Guang unless they want something from him. Preferably, him.

He's dealt with flirts and weirdos and guys and girls who can't take no for an answer, maintaining this 'cold unbothered ice prince' façade just to get people off his back.

He's not even that cold. He just doesn't know how else to say "please leave me alone" without being pestered more.

He doesn't like being rude. But it's the only way he's able to walk the halls without having someone draped over his feet, begging him for a chance. (Literal goosebumps because it's happened before.)

He just wants to live out his college days peacefully. Is that so hard to ask?

"Um?"

He jolts, looking up to find a girl in his lecture. She looks down at him, curious.

"What are you doing there?"

He looks back down at his book. ". . . Hiding."

Well . . . because he is.

Her eyebrows raise. "I see. Mind if I sit?"

He shakes his head. She smiles, but instead of dropping into the seat, she sits right beside him on the ground. Lu Guang blinks.

She presses her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Then, resting her head on her arms, she smiles at him.

"Are we hiding from the guy outside who's looking for you?" She whispers.

He hides his face in his book, mortified. Gosh, this is so embarrassing. Someone dig him a hole he can throw himself in right now.

She laughs. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Is he a friend?"

Lu Guang thinks on it. Is he a friend? He's not sure himself. Slowly lowering the book, he peers over the edge of it and stares at the ground.

Her smile wanes a bit. "Not a friend. Past lover then?"

"No." That response is sharp. Immediate.

No way Lu Guang would allow himself the luxury of a lover. Not when he's the target of some stupidly large-scale bet.

He doesn't mean to sound so defensive when he denies it, but the thought makes his chest twist. Cheng Xiaoshi's nowhere near lover status. That requires something mutual. Something real.

His fingers tighten around the book.

". . . Just someone who doesn't know when to quit," he mutters.

The girl hums. "Well, for someone who doesn't know when to quit, he's still out there pacing around."

"Please don't tell him I'm in here."

She smiles. "Wasn't planning on it."

They sit in silence for a bit.

He supposes he's being a bit too uptight. It's been two days since Cheng Xiaoshi stopped by his apartment and dropped off that box of sweets.

When Lu Guang came home, he simply took the box and placed it on his dining table, never touching it again.

It's petty. It might even be stupid. Call him a douche. Call him a heartless bastard. Call him whatever other insult that describes him for what he's doing right now, but he doesn't know how else to handle this situation.

It's hard. He's tired.

He just doesn't want to bother with friends anymore. Or social connections. Every time he tries, it ends terribly.

He's probably cursed.

"Well, I think that's good enough," the girl beside him says suddenly, reaching for the seat to help her stand up. Lu Guang watches.

She looks down at him when she realizes he's staring, offering him a smile. "Want me to stay?"

He looks away. ". . . You have class."

"That's true." She says with a sigh. "I couldn't stay even if I wanted to."

He doesn't say anything.

"Hey."

She's got this look in her eye the next time Lu Guang looks up at her. He doesn't stare long though, gaze dropping to his book again.

". . . Hear him out?" She tries, expression knowing. "You don't look too thrilled about hiding from him either."

Lu Guang's jaw sets.

He has nothing to say to that. Because he knows she's right.

She doesn't press anymore. Just offers one more small smile before turning to go. As her footsteps fade down the stairs, Lu Guang lowers the book into his lap.

Hear him out.

He exhales a slow, measured breath. His fingers trace over the edge of a page, lifting but not turning.

He's not even sure what he wants to hear.

An explanation? An apology?

. . . Neither of those would do. He doesn't need a recount of what happened. He doesn't want a half-assed apology either.

He wants something genuine. That's it. Something that says he mattered. That he still does.

Lu Guang leans to the side, eyes shifting to the lecture hall door. There's a faint shuffle of shoes outside, most likely Cheng Xiaoshi. He's still going to wait. Still hoping to catch him.

And Lu Guang?

. . . Lu Guang is just here. Hiding.

He presses a hand to his face, closing his eyes for a moment too long. He swallows the ball of dread in his throat.

Then, he grabs his book, stands up, and surveys his options. He can either wait in here until the motion-sensing lights turn off, leaving him in complete darkness, or he can leave.

But leaving through the main door means being confronted. And Lu Guang isn't ready for that yet.

So, he walks to the other side of the room and slips out of the back exit instead. Now's not the time.

He needs to think.

- - ⏱︎ - -

To a Lu Guang of the past, a Lu Guang in his freshman year of college, the concept of making friends wasn't as hard to digest as it is now.

"Hey! Over here, Lu Guang!"

He stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder. Younger. Brighter. Wearing the biggest glasses known to man.

He smiles.

Yes. To this Lu Guang, the thought of being wanted for his body doesn't exist. Not yet.

"Took you long enough." Su Yun remarks.

This group of friends consists of five people, him included. All of those who share the same Intro to Photography class. Two girls, Su Yun and Lei Jiaying, and three guys, — — and Lu Guang.

[Whose names are not relevant.]

[Perhaps it's a memory block, because Lu Guang seriously can't recall their names.]

"Sorry, I couldn't find my camera." He takes a seat on the bench beside one of the guys. "Did you wait too long?"

"Nah, Su Yun is just being a jerk," Lei Jiaying grins, pushing the other girl away. She wails in response.

"Let's get started while the lighting's good."

The five of them scatter like wind across the courtyard, cameras in hand, eyes wide with potential. They're first-years, young and inexperienced, balancing dreams and shutter clicks like they've got forever to figure things out.

Lu Guang crouches to photograph the reflection in a puddle, the upside-down duality of the clear blue sky a great subject. He snaps a few more.

It's serene. Peaceful.

Quiet, until Su Yun's voice cuts through it with a laugh, "Model boy! Pose for me!"

He looks up, startled, only to find her grinning at him from behind her camera. She snaps a photo before he can protest.

"You're wasting film," he says flatly, rising to his feet.

"It's digital, relax babe." She winks.

He looks away, a slight flush on his cheeks. Back then, he couldn't take comments like that without turning three shades redder. But they didn't feel like real threats at the time either, because he was safe in his skin.

He knew people could still see him for him. Not just for what he looks like.

They're all teasing and warmth and easy friendship. They share editing tips. Steal bites of each other's snacks between classes. Sit in dimly lit cafés and go out for karaoke and critique one another's work without cruelty.

That first semester feels like a dream now.

Because somewhere between then and now, things changed.

Lu Guang's fingers twitch around the lens of his old camera, half-forgotten in the present day. The memory blurs like a photo out of focus.

He doesn't remember when they stopped hanging out.

Maybe it was slow— the way frost creeps up windows in the winter— eventual.

Maybe the distance started the day someone joked about how he'd drop his "nerd friends" when he realized his potential. How "lucky" he is to have such good looks.

And how far he'd get if he just let people want him.

He remembers Su Yun's laughter. Nervous. Awkward. Trying to lighten up the stifled mood with talk about her weekend.

It didn't make the silence feel less heavy.

And then, he'd heard it. A mutter under one of the guy's breaths, "Well yeah. Looks like his are wasted on a guy who won't let anyone score."

Score. It's always about scoring.

That comment enabled the ones that followed. Looks. Disguised jealousy. Casual jokes that never really felt casual.

Day after day, remark after remark, Lu Guang started to feel less like himself and more like . . . his body. Like his outward appearance was all that mattered.

So, he started pulling away. Stopped showing up to group shoots. Made excuses. Faked being sick.

Until the calls stopped coming altogether.

He supposes that's when he changed. He withdrew from everything. Stopped emotionally investing. Didn't speak unless spoken to. Didn't humour stupid comments and refused to engage in pointless conversation.

Why would he?

All it ever did was enable. And he was done with it all.

Slowly, he lifts the camera and peers out of the viewfinder. It's slightly cracked, a bit blurry from the lens having a permanent smudge on it, but he can still make out the objects in the darkness of his room.

He looks around.

"Lu Guang!"

He turns, watching Su Yun pull the guys closer, Lei Jiaying standing beside her. She beams at him. "Take one of us?"

"Let go of me, weirdo."

"Oh, shut up." She says. "Come on! Then join us!"

Lu Guang lifts his camera, focusing the lens. He zooms in a bit. Takes a step closer.

And with a soft smile,

he snaps the picture.

There's a knock at his door.

Lu Guang lowers the camera, gaze instinctively going in that direction. Who's knocking— especially so late?

He puts the camera down and quietly pads across the cold floor, coming to a stop in the foyer. His fingers grip the lock.

He hesitates.

Then pushes down his uncertainty and opens the door. Who he expects to be a taller dark-haired guy that's been looking for an opportunity to talk to him turns out to be—

"Took you long enough." Qiao Ling looks up from her phone. Lu Guang blinks.

". . . Hello." How does she know where I live.

She offers him a smile, leaning in. "If you're not busy, mind joining me on a grocery run?"

Grocery . . . run?

And that's how Lu Guang finds himself staring at various brands of soy sauce, hands deep in his pockets. He squints as the fluorescent lights above begin to burn his eyes.

Qiao Ling is standing beside him with her basket on the ground, holding two different types of instant noodles like she's weighing the fate of the world.

"Hey, help me out," she says, offering both for him to see. "Would you rather die of bland flavour or sodium overdose?"

He doesn't blink. "I'm already dying."

She gives him a lopsided smile. "Morbidly pessimistic, aren't you? Sodium overdose it is!"

He watches as she drops it in the basket and picks it up, murmuring her grocery list under her breath. Lu Guang's gaze shifts from her to the basket, lingers on the basket, then back to her.

Qiao Ling turns, ready to head out of the aisle, but stops when she feels a tug on her sleeve. She looks over her shoulder to find Lu Guang holding his hand out, gaze averted.

She blinks, curious. Then she looks down at the basket. Back up at him. And beams.

"Oh— you little gentleman, you!" She laughs. His eyebrow twitches and a sheepish look crosses his face.

She taps her finger against his palm. "No need to worry, I can handle it."

Lu Guang doesn't let up. "Don't be dense. You shop, I'll carry."

She blinks again, clearly surprised. Then, with a slight huff and a gentler smile, she hands him the basket. "Fine, fine. Here you are, my gallant knight."

Lu Guang adjusts his hold and dips his head, content. This evidently is enough to satisfy him, as the awkwardness from earlier dissipates.

Qiao Ling stares for a moment, smirk widening deviously before she loops her arm around his free one.

His eyebrow raises slightly at the sudden contact. She tugs him along with purpose, eyes sparkling.

"Come on. We've got tomatoes to judge."

And they don't just stop at tomatoes. After Qiao Ling has her shiny, red, unscathed tomatoes with the scrutiny of a master jeweller, she drags Lu Guang to the other side of the store to collect snacks.

An absurd amount of snacks.

He watches in escalating horror as what starts out as a decently healthy purchase (and he's being generous by saying decently) becomes unhinged in a second.

Chips. Gummies. Three packs of the same candy. And a family-sized tub of ice cream he's certain won't fit in her freezer.

By the time she adds a tray of cookies, he mutters, "You preparing for a junk food recession?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "I'm a woman of many cravings."

"Do all of them involve high-fructose corn syrup?" He says, glancing into the basket with disappointment.

Qiao Ling gasps, offended. "Take that back! The ice cream's made with real vanilla extract."

Lu Guang stares at her.

Her serious expression melts instantly and she grins. "Okay, whatever. Most of this isn't even for me."

He exhales slowly. She doesn't need to elaborate for him to know who she's talking about. Who else do they know with the worst appetite known in existence?

His arms are starting to ache with the weight of impulsive consumerism. He doesn't think he can take much more of this.

She turns around and pokes him in the chest. "Congrats, you survived this grocery haul. Now, if you make it to the register, I'll treat you to something good."

He sighs. "No I . . . I think I'm good."

"Suit yourself." She shrugs. ". . . But I know a reaaaally good coffee place. It's open late too."

Lu Guang's eye twitches.

This girl and her childhood best friend are both going to be the death of him.

- - ⏱︎ - -

The wind is crisp tonight.

Qiao Ling shivers, hands wrapped around her cup for warmth. Lu Guang is sitting beside her, posture relaxed, steam rising from his drink.

They're seated on a bench somewhere near the science building, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp above that hums with a soft, electric buzz every time it flickers.

They sit in companionable silence for a while.

Then, Qiao Ling blows on her coffee. "You know, for a social recluse, you're pretty decent company."

Lu Guang lifts his cup to his lips. "For a menace, you're pretty tolerable."

She smirks. "Careful. I might start thinking you like me."

He doesn't respond to that right away. Just stares at the condensation gathering at the rim of his lid.

He hasn't been out with someone like this in a while. It's . . . kinda nice.

"So," he prompts while Qiao Ling is mid-sip. ". . . You wanted to talk?"

Her eyebrows raise and she swallows. ". . . That obvious, huh?"

"Not many people bother taking me on grocery runs."

She laughs, waving her hand dismissively. "Well, not everyone's as creative as me. You're a friend. I'll take you anywhere and everywhere."

Something changes in his expression.

Friend, huh?

He leans back, looking up at the sky. The stars above twinkle faintly. "Are you always a sweet-talker, or is this a measure to guarantee I'll listen?"

Qiao Ling hums, eyes glinting. "I won't tell you how to judge me. My only goal is to help fix things."

Lu Guang blinks slowly. So that's it.

"Talk. I'm listening."

Because he finally thinks he's ready.

Qiao Ling doesn't sugarcoat her words, something he's grateful for. He wants an honest opinion. He needs an unbiased answer.

She's not harsh with what she says, but she doesn't give him the benefit of the doubt as she explains what went on the day she was called to a bar to pick Cheng Xiaoshi up.

"He cried?" Lu Guang asks in disbelief.

Qiao Ling nods. "Sobbed his heart out right on my shirt."

He takes a small sip. That's . . . interesting.

"You think it's hilarious." She says frankly.

"Yeah, kinda." He doesn't even deny it.

She turns to him, and when he meets her gaze, she laughs hard. His lips curve into a smile.

"He's a stupid little thing." She says between giggles, pausing to take a deep breath. Her eyes then lift to the sky. ". . . But man, I won't lie when I say he's got the sweetest heart and the greatest intentions."

Lu Guang looks down at his cup. He thumbs the rim. ". . . You've known him long. I wouldn't chalk that as a lie."

Qiao Ling's smile turns softer. "I know he doesn't always think before he speaks. And he's super exhausting to be around. I warned you he's quite a handful, remember?"

She did warn him. Back when they first met.

"Truthfully, he's had a hard time growing up without his parents. Friends rarely stuck around because of the rumours that travelled in the neighbourhood." Her breath fogs as she exhales. "You could say . . . he's overbearing. Clingy."

Yeah. Clearly.

She continues. "Not everyone could handle it. Sure, it's not my place to speak on his behalf— and this is something you'll have to ask him about later on—"

Assuming this gap even closes up between them.

"— But if you ask me?" She lowers her chin, gaze locking with his again. Lu Guang blinks as he watches her eyes glint with something he can't quite name.

"I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

Lu Guang's heart lurches to his throat. His fingers tighten around the cup, knuckles whitening just a bit.

Did . . . did he hear that right?

His breath puffs. He gapes, unsure of . . . what is he even supposed to say to that? The words hang in the air like dense fog, weightless. Impossible to ignore.

"There's this . . . sparkle in his eyes. Like he's got the whole world in his hands the second he sees you. Your friendship means so much to him that the second things looked rough, he drank himself stupid. And then, he proceeded to cry on my shoulder like the love of his life broke up with him."

Lu Guang holds up a hand, turning his face away. "Okay. I get your point."

He can't face her. Not like this.

Not when his heart is beating a mile a minute and he's as red as the tomatoes they picked out earlier. His face burns against the cold air.

Qiao Ling chuckles quietly, somewhat aware of what she's done to him. She leans back against the bench.

"Cheng Xiaoshi . . . is sensitive. Too much for his own good. He cares about others in a way that's almost obsessive— all because he can't stand seeing someone else suffer."

Lu Guang's gaze lowers. Qiao Ling's smile wanes.

"It's charming. It makes him who he is. But it also brings him the most pain."

His over-sympathetic heart is what burdens him the most. Isn't he just the complete opposite of Lu Guang? It's honestly laughable.

"I apologize on his behalf for what happened." She says softly. "He's an idiot. He never thinks before he acts. No matter how many times I scold him for it, it's a habit he'll never break."

Lu Guang exhales through his nose, a sombre smile turning up his lips. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I will. I seriously hope he learns from this experience."

"No it's . . . not just him," he says quietly. "It's not like I've given him a chance to get his truth out either. I've been running away from him. All week. I think I'm the jerk."

Qiao Ling smiles. "He'll do more stupid things. You'll get so angry with him, it'll drive you insane. But I think in hindsight, it's what makes you love him even more."

Lu Guang goes quiet.

This is . . . not how he expected things to go. He didn't know he'd get so tangled up with someone that he'd be getting pep-talked in the cold on a Tuesday night by said someone's sister.

But this is nice.

He feels oddly at ease. And he has to say that having Qiao Ling here, it isn't uncomfortable at all. It's warm. Delicate.

The more he finds himself in this tender atmosphere, he's tempted to open up—

"Qiao Ling."

She perks up. "Hm?"

He stares at the ground in thought, words on the tip of his tongue but hesitating to be spoken.

Is it really okay for me to ask her this?

"Do you . . ." He fumbles with the button on his sleeve. "think I have . . . depth?"

Well. He wants to take the question back. Where's the undo button when he needs it?

Qiao Ling's eyebrows raise. "Depth?"

He flushes. "Nevermind."

There's a silence.

Augh— he might as well just have asked her what two plus two is. How is she even supposed to answer without knowing any context to what he's referring to?

Lu Guang bites on the inside of his cheek, embarrassed. He should have elaborated. Or no . . . he should've just kept quiet.

Things always stay normal when he keeps quiet.

"Of course you have depth." Her response comes. Lu Guang blinks.

His head snaps back. "What?"

Her eyes widen slightly. "Well . . . you're always so . . . collected. You're cold on the surface. You don't talk much. But underneath all that, you're still a person with your own feelings and experiences."

He stares. The light buzzes above them, casting a flickering glow around them. She realizes he's listening intently and relaxes a little.

"You're not Lu Guang without depth, yeah?"

"Yeah but . . . you don't think I'm good-looking?"

At this, she lets out an abrupt laugh. He forces his mouth shut when he notices it slipped before he could stop himself.

"You are. But your looks aren't everything." She says. "You have personality. You're not just a 'good-looking smart guy'."

Something pangs deep in his chest. He inhales, not enough to be considered a deep breath, but his chest still feels full nonetheless.

He's not just a good-looking smart guy.

How relieved is he to hear that?

Qiao Ling peers into her cup through the sipper hole. "You don't need to be loud to have depth, Lu Guang. You just need to let someone see it."

His tone quietens. ". . . Even if it's messy?"

She grins. "Especially if it's messy."

Lu Guang's gaze goes to her. There's no pity in her eyes. No mockery, no amusement. Just honesty. Clarity.

And that truly makes all the difference.

"I'll give him a chance," he finally rescinds, threading his fingers through his hair, ". . . But I don't know how to talk to him. And I'm pretty sure I made everything worse."

Qiao Ling exhales, relieved. "You won't have to say anything. I guarantee he'll make you listen to his three-hour rant before he lets you get a word in."

Lu Guang wilts.

"And hey," she adds, smile in her voice, "no matter how hurt he is, how mad he might be— he's just waiting for you to look at him."

He blinks. "What does that mean?"

She chuckles.

"You'll know when you see him."

. . . He can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Why does he have to be talked to in riddles?

Still—

He lets the warmth in his chest soften his expression. He smiles.

It's a rare enough occurrence to see him amused by anything— but a full smile? A once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing.

Light finally reaches his eyes. He looks ethereal in such a boring backdrop— under a broken light with cold breath curling in the air and warmth blooming quietly across his face.

"Thank you, Qiao Ling," he says, voice soft.

Qiao Ling visibly pauses.

This guy . . .

She looks away, slightly jealous. ". . . Damn. I should've called dibs when I still had the chance."

Lu Guang tilts his head. "What was that?"

"Nothing." She clears her throat. "I hope you work things out. It hurts seeing you two so . . . dysfunctional."

She's right. It's not that he likes feeling so burdened, especially over something so . . . trivial. (Is what he's trying to make himself believe.)

He exhales, perhaps in finality.

"Yeah. Same here."

- - ⏱︎ - -

The next morning, Lu Guang is at an anime club meeting, reading through upcoming events, when the door slides open in haste.

"Did you hear?!" One of the club's members announces, wide-eyed and excited.

"Hear what . . . ? Also, don't barge in here like that—" The president starts with a scowl.

"There was a fight! Some junior punched a guy's face in a few minutes ago in the math building!"

This catches Lu Guang's attention.

"Oh?"

"Yeah! Apparently he'd been saying something and the guy just snapped and socked him across the face. I heard the one who started it is on the basketball team . . . damn, I forgot his name— . . . uh— Golden Boy!"

The club president sighs. "That's awful. I hope it wasn't too bad."

Her gaze shifts to the side, where an abandoned office chair continues to move in a slow, circular motion. She blinks.

"Hey. Where'd Lu Guang go?"

He doesn't know why he bolted. This doesn't even concern him!

And yet, Lu Guang is already skipping down steps and pushing past the building door like he's got a train to catch.

He wasn't going to rush it. He would've run into Cheng Xiaoshi eventually— their schedules guaranteed it (it's only because he's actively been taking different routes all week that all run-ins ceased), but it seems things never work out the way he expects them to.

The wind whips at his hair. His legs are starting to hurt. His breaths come out in shorter huffs by the second— but it's fine so long as he makes it to the nurse's office before Cheng Xiaoshi's business in there is done.

. . . And he's sort of curious. How bad are the other guy's injuries?

He breathes in the icy air, lungs prickling.

The time to make things right has finally come.

He's ready.

From there on is history.

And when Cheng Xiaoshi falls asleep in the cot, half-holding Lu Guang's hand, Lu Guang can't do anything but stare at the face he's been avoiding all this time.

He watches the slow, steady rise of Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. The faintest furrow still lingers in his brow, like even in sleep, something aches. That's what makes the guilt in Lu Guang's heart grow with every heartbeat.

Because this is what he was so worried about? A guy who looked like he was three seconds away from unravelling?

He sensed it the moment Cheng Xiaoshi opened his mouth and started with "I'm tired." This is on him. It only got this bad because he refused to handle it properly. He takes full responsibility.

"L . . ."

He blinks. Cheng Xiaoshi stirs, turning to his side, pulling Lu Guang's hand closer.

". . . Lu Guang." He murmurs.

Lu Guang stares. Watches as a tear begins to slide down his cheek— wholly unprovoked by anything but the weight of sleep and everything that was left unsaid.

He almost forgets to breathe.

He could lie to himself. Pretend it's a dream twitch or plain exhaustion playing tricks. But he knows better than that. He knows Cheng Xiaoshi better than that.

He slowly reaches forward with his free hand, scooping the tear up before it makes it to his chin.

And, just between him and the tear glistening his finger, he makes a silent promise.

He won't run anymore. And instead of waiting for Cheng Xiaoshi to run to him, he'll meet him halfway.

He owes him that much at the very least.

Chapter Text

Later that night— because the day totally hasn't dragged on enough already— Lu Guang is getting ready for bed.

He shrugs on his nightshirt, fingers working mindlessly up the buttons. The fabric's soft against his skin. Warm.

His peace lasts all of five seconds, interrupted by the sound of three knocks in succession. He freezes mid-button. His gaze snaps to the clock above his table.

10:03 p.m.

He frowns.

Who the hell's knocking at ten?

He walks over to the door while still fumbling with the buttons, mounting irritation as his fingers slip. The knocks come again, more frantic.

He lets out a sharp breath, abandoning the last two buttons entirely to open the door. Now . . . there's a very short list of people who'd do something this inconsiderate, and it's honestly embarrassing how one name jumps to the top.

Still, he doesn't want to assume because it couldn't possibly be—

He comes face-to-face with Cheng Xiaoshi.

Nevermind. He should've assumed.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands on the other side, hair messy, hoodie crumpled, and a pillow under his arm. Lu Guang stares at him, dumbstruck.

His mind is swirling with questions. If he can't say anything, surely his expression conveys just as much.

What is up with him and Qiao Ling showing up at such weird hours? Is there a neon sign outside saying 'drop by Lu Guang's place when he's supposed to be sleeping so he doesn't focus in his lecture tomorrow!'?

Before he can get so much as a word out, Cheng Xiaoshi brushes past him into the apartment like he lives here.

"I can't sleep." He says, like that explains anything.

Lu Guang blinks, still standing with the door wide open. The cold brushes his feet.

He . . . can't sleep.

How's that Lu Guang's problem?!

He closes the door slowly. Locks it. Then he turns even slower, preparing himself for the horror show he's been thrust into.

Cheng Xiaoshi's already taken his slippers off in the foyer and made himself at home on the couch, hood pulled up, arms folded over his chest, and eyes closed.

". . . You can't be serious." He says in disbelief.

Cheng Xiaoshi cracks an eye open. Something changes in his gaze, and he looks away.

"My roommate was snoring like his life depended on it, and the guy next door was remixing anime girl moans into a beat."

Lu Guang cringes. "So you decide I'm the next best option?"

"You are the next best option."

He stares, taken aback by the response. No— wait. He's not taken aback because of the response. It's the look on Cheng Xiaoshi's face.

Why is he looking at him like that?

"There's this . . . sparkle in his eyes. Like he's got the whole world in his hands the second he sees you."

Qiao Ling's words traitorously come back to him right there.

But she's right. Because Lu Guang is now seeing it for himself in real time. It's making him nervous.

He tears his eyes away, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat crawling up his neck. This is ridiculous. It's ten o'clock at night. He should be sleeping, not having an epiphany over eye contact.

He shouldn't even be dealing with Cheng Xiaoshi in the first place.

"Fine." He mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This is the last of your free sleepover passes. You're not welcome here."

"But it's only the first time I've come for a sleepover?" Cheng Xiaoshi says.

"First and last." Lu Guang grumbles.

"Ah. Gotcha."

He mutters a string of words not-so-bright under his breath before trudging to the washroom. After all, he'd still been in the middle of his night routine before someone interrupted him.

He turns the light on and leaves the door cracked, seeing as he'll be out in no time. All he needs to do is mouthwash, moisturize, and head to bed.

He washes his face as a pre-moisturizer step, then takes the cup of mouthwash and begins swishing.

Lu Guang stands straight to wipe down his face— only to be jumpscared when he spots Cheng Xiaoshi in the mirror right behind him.

He chokes and bends over the sink, coughing out what's in his mouth and whatever he accidentally swallowed. Cheng Xiaoshi scrambles behind him.

"Oh my god— sorry dude, I didn't think I'd scare you!" He says, frantic, patting his back. "Spit it out! Don't swallow it!"

Lu Guang's eyes water as he hacks the minty taste out of his throat. What do you think I'm doing?!

They waste five minutes handling that.

When he finally straightens, eyes burning and pride in tatters, he glares over his shoulder with murder in his soul.

"You . . ." He rasps. "What made you think standing behind me was a good idea?"

Cheng Xiaoshi pulls back, hands up in surrender. His face is frozen in a tight, nervous smile. "I . . . didn't know you'd get scared—"

"Anyone would get scared if some guy appeared behind them!"

His smile twitches. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I was just . . . curious."

Lu Guang points to the door. "Couch. And don't get up again."

Cheng Xiaoshi wilts. "But—"

"I won't say it again."

With his figurative tail tucked between his legs, he drags his feet back to the couch. Lu Guang sighs, palm to his forehead.

Something about this is really rubbing him the wrong way. He would've been better off pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't voice his doubts. Not the thought that flashes like a warning in his mind.

This can't get any worse.

(Because a part of him already knows it will.)

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 78 days -

Morning in Lu Guang's apartment is often peaceful. Sunlight filters through the blinds, casts a soft glow in his room, and the silence he awakens to is a perfect start to the day.

So, when he opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Cheng Xiaoshi a few feet away, staring intently at him, his day is almost immediately ruined.

He's just hellbent on scaring the shit out of Lu Guang, isn't he?

He turns his head the other way.

"Morning, sunshine." Cheng Xiaoshi beams. Lu Guang's frown deepens.

No.

"Please let this be a dream." He mutters. Or a nightmare.

The laugh behind him is real enough. So is the feeling of that prickly gaze.

"I'm honoured you'd rather dream of me." He says, smug.

Lu Guang pulls the blanket over his head with a deep exhale. "Go away."

"No chance. You'll be late for class." Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward, arms against Lu Guang's mattress. He can feel the dip in the bed where he presses into it, eyebrow twitching.

"I have an alarm for that." He says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but you also have me." Cheng Xiaoshi taps the blanket. "I'm more persistent. Also way more charming. You should be thanking me."

Lu Guang grabs his finger from inside the blanket, ceasing his movement. He blinks, going still.

"Not charming. Annoying."

Cheng Xiaoshi smiles. "I'll take what I can get."

There's a pause— and Lu Guang fully sits up. He spares Cheng Xiaoshi an unimpressed look before trudging to the washroom. He doesn't make a show of looking back, but he can tell he's being shadowed.

The intensity of that gaze still prickles.

He closes the door before Cheng Xiaoshi somehow steps in with him. Then, he leans back against it with a sigh. Sweet relief from the scrutiny.

"Don't take too long!" Comes a muffled call.

God, how he'd love to just camp out here until that idiot leaves. (He won't. That much is pretty clear.)

He tries to move on. Whatever. He'll just . . . deftly deflect everything Cheng Xiaoshi does the rest of today. Even if he's tempted to avoid him again, he has to remember what happened as a result of that.

(Cheng Xiaoshi went insane. Punched a guy. Put himself at risk of suspension. Case in point.)

Lu Guang drags himself through his routine, brushing his teeth with the weariness of a man whose day has come to an end. (It's barely started.)

He takes a quick shower and pulls on a t-shirt he plans to cover with his jacket. As he rubs out his damp hair, he steps out and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

. . . But he stops in his tracks when he spots something in the corner of his eye.

He slowly turns his head.

Cheng Xiaoshi's sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Lu Guang's bag. Not near it.

Holding it. Like it's his job or something.

Lu Guang stares.

Cheng Xiaoshi sneezes. Then he perks up when he sees Lu Guang. "Oh hey. I packed your stuff for you."

He lingers in the doorway. Doesn't say a word. Cheng Xiaoshi continues.

"Don't worry, I didn't mess with anything. Your laptop's in here. Notebooks. And that one pen you're weirdly obsessed with. I made sure of it."

He tilts the bag forward, unzipped, showing the contents like he's proud of it. And he is proud of it, beaming.

Lu Guang's silence is loud. Dangerous.

Above all, he's a little freaked out.

"Why do you know what pen I use." He says slowly.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Because you always grade my work with it. And if you don't have it, you're in a bad mood the entire time and assign me more work."

Lu Guang gapes. His brain, uncooperative this morning, takes a full beat to process it.

". . . You've been watching what I write with?"

"I watch a lot of things."

Oh, great. He just watches a lot of things. Perfect. Just what Lu Guang needs to know when he's already unnerved by this behaviour.

He takes a step back. Cheng Xiaoshi stiffens, ready to get up.

"Stay there." Lu Guang warns before he does.

"What— why?" Cheng Xiaoshi frowns.

"Just . . . don't move. I'll be right back." He says firmly.

Guess breakfast is out of the question. He'll have to make do with instant coffee and stop by the campus café during his break or something.

And hopefully by then, Cheng Xiaoshi will go back to being . . . normal.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Lu Guang walks faster. Cheng Xiaoshi walks faster-er.

"You don't have to walk me to class." He says flatly when he's caught up to. He's too tired to run. His legs will not aid him in this fight.

"Sure I do." Cheng Xiaoshi says. "What if you get lost? Or attacked by a stray goose?"

"You can just text me if you're that worried."

"You wouldn't respond until after your lecture. I'd be consumed by my nerves."

Okay, that is true. Lu Guang doesn't check his phone until he's out of class. Hell, sometimes he forgets he's supposed to check it.

"And you," his gaze drops to the shorts Cheng Xiaoshi's wearing. The ones he showed up to his house in to crash for the night. ". . . Aren't you freezing right now?"

"Me?" He beams. Again— that stupid, overly-happy smile. "You're worried about me?"

For reference, it's 12 degrees.

Cheng Xiaoshi's teeth are chattering.

Lu Guang looks away, bothered.

"Put on some pants."

- - ⏱︎ - -

In digital photography, Lu Guang doesn't even need to look to know who's dropped into the seat beside him.

He calmly pulls out his notebook. ". . . Can I help you?"

Cheng Xiaoshi leans against the table, grinning. "Thought we could be seat buddies today."

"And Xu Shanshan?"

"Out sick."

Lu Guang passes him a sidelong glance. Cheng Xiaoshi's smile widens.

". . . Things are just miraculously working out for you and I today, aren't they?"

He shrugs. "Guess the universe wants us to be together."

Lu Guang's eyes darken. ". . . Don't distract me."

"Whatever you say, gorgeous."

Ten minutes into the lecture, Lu Guang is painfully aware of the eyes boring into him. Of course. Cheng Xiaoshi's made it very clear that he "watches".

The professor drones about contrast lighting and how to make it work. Lu Guang is simultaneously being schooled in the art of stalking, too.

"Stop staring." He grits.

Cheng Xiaoshi leans in a bit, voice pitched low and innocent. "Can't. You look nice when you're learning."

Lu Guang's gaze doesn't lift from his notebook. He continues to scribble down helpful points. "If you're not going to focus, leave."

"I am focused!" He whispers, turning the page and sliding his notebook over to let Lu Guang look. His eyes shift to the page.

It's a stick figure. Of him. With devil horns and laser eyes and mean, downturned eyebrows with an evil frown. Labelled: Professor Killjoy.

His eyebrow twitches.

". . . You're going to fail."

Cheng Xiaoshi stifles his laughter. "Then I'll cry until you tutor me."

"Then I'll cry too."

"Cute. We can cry together. Throw a pity party."

Lu Guang seethes. "Shut up."

That earns him a three-minute reprieve— from the staring, too. Three minutes of peace, lecture notes, and quiet breathing.

Then—

"Do you think fish know they're wet?"

Lu Guang almost snaps his pen in half.

- - ⏱︎ - -

It's four in the afternoon and Lu Guang is beyond exhausted.

He's never been so eager to get home— except, now, his home isn't even the safe haven it used to be. All day, every hour, he's had to deal with Cheng Xiaoshi's antics. Each and every one of them.

From hearing his abominable existential questions to being followed around to feeling those pointy eyes on him— it's all accumulated to this moment.

This moment— where Cheng Xiaoshi is actively swooning at the sight of him and touching shoulders with him and just straight staring.

It's driving Lu Guang insane.

His entire day has been a test in patience. A test he's barely passing.

And in the study lounge where they sit now, Cheng Xiaoshi's got his chair pulled so close that their arms bump every time Lu Guang moves his mouse.

Not once has Cheng Xiaoshi opened up his own laptop. Or his notes. Or even scrolled mindlessly through his phone.

He's just sitting there, chin in hand, gazing intently.

Watching Lu Guang like he's the freaking Louvre.

"What now?"

"Mmm . . ." Cheng Xiaoshi hums, leaning in. "You've got a crease in your eyebrow. Means you're stuck."

He reaches over like he's going to physically flatten out the tension with his finger and Lu Guang swats him off with a huff.

"Okay." He snaps his laptop shut and turns in his seat so he's facing Cheng Xiaoshi. "That's enough."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. "What's enough?"

"You. This. Whatever this—" he gestures vaguely, "weirdness is."

He smiles, pleased. "Weirdness?"

"Don't parrot me."

"You're weirdly specific about how weird I'm being."

Lu Guang glowers. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs.

"Lighten up," he falls back against his chair. "I'm just . . . making sure of something."

"What?"

His smile shifts. He looks away. That same avoidant look from yesterday. When he was on the couch.

Lu Guang squints. Reaches forward and grabs the back of Cheng Xiaoshi's seat. Leans in.

"You . . . you're nervous." He mutters. Cheng Xiaoshi startles, turning to him in a haste, most likely to defend himself.

"I'm not—!" His eyes widen.

Instead, he loses his train of thought when their proximity registers.

Lu Guang doesn't seem to notice.

"You are. You avoid eye contact when something's bothering you." He says like it's common sense. He continues to lean in, still trying to pinpoint the reason. "This clinginess, this obsession with being near me— what's your deal?"

Cheng Xiaoshi tries to move away, smiling nervously. "Nothing's my deal. You can stop getting closer—"

Lu Guang then grabs him by the collar. He yelps when he's yanked forward.

"Now you're deflecting. Speak."

"Lu Guang—" His voice comes out as a tremble. Feeble. And he looks horrified.

The air between them is charged with tension. Ready to shock whoever can't handle it.

"I'll ask one more time." Lu Guang says slowly, eyes searching. Cheng Xiaoshi swallows. "What's. Your. Deal."

A pause. His expression flickers. And any hint of a smile disappears.

His eyes dull. ". . . Mm."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm trying to love bomb you."

. . . Silence.

Lu Guang's eyes narrow. "Okay. Why?"

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. Lets out a stunned laugh. "Oh. So you're just completely unfazed—"

"It's you. I've learned to accept you're a weirdo." He replies, exasperated. He releases Cheng Xiaoshi's collar. "Explain yourself."

His shoulders fall in resignation. Seems his last resort didn't work either.

"Fine. You really want to know?"

Lu Guang leans against the table, chin in his palm. His eyebrows raise, waiting.

Cheng Xiaoshi exhales. Looks somewhere off to the side.

"I'm . . . trying to annoy you into—" his tone drops considerably. He smiles humourlessly. ". . . staying."

Staying.

Lu Guang doesn't respond. Just waits because Cheng Xiaoshi will elaborate.

"Funny, isn't it?" His smile drops. ". . . Kinda pathetic. But I can't help but try and force it. You're a variable I can't seem to make bend."

"Yeah, because I'm a person, not a variable."

Cheng Xiaoshi goes quiet. Lu Guang sighs.

"So your constant pleas and quiet 'stay's are to, what? Guarantee I won't disappear on you?"

His gaze shifts elsewhere. His grip on the edge of his hoodie tightens. Like a kid about to be punished for misbehaving.

Lu Guang's heart does something dangerous. Against his will. It softens.

"Cheng Xiaoshi."

He doesn't get an answer. His knuckles are white in his sleeves, and what restless energy normally radiates off of him— through pacing, a bouncing knee, or threading fingers— it's all gone still. Tight. Contained.

"I've made peace with the fact that people leave." He mutters. ". . . But you make me forget to brace for impact. And maybe it's because I screwed things up already, but I really can't . . . handle upsetting you."

He drags a frustrated hand through his hair. "So yeah . . . I've been talking too much. And hovering all day. And bothering you on purpose to convince myself that you—"

Won't leave goes unsaid. It doesn't need to be openly stated anyway. Lu Guang's started to get better at reading him.

Cheng Xiaoshi smiles again. It doesn't reach his eyes. ". . . I can't trust stillness. I don't know what to do when something doesn't try to slip out from under me."

There's silence again.

Then, he lets out a breath, self-deprecating. "Bet that makes so much sense to you."

Lu Guang raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Are you questioning my ability to be empathetic?"

". . . No?"

He lightly smacks Cheng Xiaoshi on the shoulder. His eyes glint, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"You can quit the love bombing." Lu Guang says decisively, lowering his gaze to his laptop. "I'm not going anywhere."

He blinks. ". . . Quit—?"

His gaze rises to Cheng Xiaoshi again. And Cheng Xiaoshi straightens. Because the second half of his statement finally registers.

"You mean it? Really? Honestly? No takebacks?"

"Yes."

He holds up his pinky. "Swear it!"

"What are we, six?" Lu Guang scoffs. It doesn't stop him from raising his own hand though, and he interlocks their fingers.

Their pinkies hook. Cheng Xiaoshi holds on for a second too long— like the gesture might seal more than just a promise.

Lu Guang doesn't pull away first.

And Cheng Xiaoshi looks like a star fell right into his lap. Happy. Genuinely. No more of that fake, nervous grin Lu Guang's been seeing all day.

He turns his attention back to his laptop, opening it. The screen flares to life and he starts typing again, casual as ever.

"A real smile suits you more," he says offhandedly, three lines into his paper.

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes.

". . . What was that?"

"What?"

"That. What you just said."

"What did I say?"

"You just complimented me!" He exclaims, grabbing Lu Guang's arm. "Say it again, please— one more time!"

"Get off me. I don't like repeating myself." Lu Guang says, suppressing his own smile.

It doesn't matter. Cheng Xiaoshi's already grinning like an idiot.

Seems he didn't have to worry after all. Lu Guang came into his life and, like a stubborn cat, he clearly has no intentions of ever leaving.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 74 days -
(21 days til the midterm!)

Cheng Xiaoshi is ultimately screwed for midterms. As of late, he's been very laid-back despite how things are looking for him.

He doesn't have a subject for his digital photography midterm. He's supposed to memorize three months' worth of information for psychology. He's got to write up a speech for prof com. And stats . . .

Don't even get him started on stats.

With Lu Guang's change in schedule, he needed to find a solution fast. No way he was going to make the midterm curve through one tutoring session per week!

He's already been benched. What more will the world take from him?

So, after devising a plan, he shoots Lu Guang a text on his way to the library.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: meet me in the librsry in 10
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: please
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: its important! 😣

And lo and behold, exactly ten minutes later, Lu Guang enters the library. He's got his fingers wrapped around the strap of his bag and his gaze flits over the entire library before he spots Cheng Xiaoshi waving him over.

"You called?" He says, walking up to the table. He doesn't sit down just yet.

Cheng Xiaoshi smirks, pushing forward a can of Coke. "And you came. Finally falling for me?"

Lu Guang's eyes dull. He turns around. "I'm leaving."

"Wait— nooo!" He cries, slumping over the table. "Come back. It was a joke."

He pauses mid-step. Glances over his shoulder. Then sighs and falls into the seat. He eyes the soda.

"A bribe?"

"Yes. I need a lot from you today." Cheng Xiaoshi grumbles, rubbing his head. "See, this new schedule we've got going where you only tutor me on Thursdays isn't cutting it."

Lu Guang blinks slowly.

"I need your time, Lu Guang." He admits. (Wails.)

"A lot of people need my time." He replies, unbothered. "You're out of luck."

"And the Coke?"

". . . I'm more of a Sprite guy."

"Lu Guang!" Cheng Xiaoshi whines. Lu Guang smiles.

"Fine." He leans forward, legs crossed over one another. "What's your proposal?"

He brightens. "Okay— so since meeting here is a no-go because of your club meetings, we'll have to push tutoring for later. After practice, I'm free all day . . . like, post-six."

He pauses, dragging his bag into his lap and pulling out a sheet of paper. He smacks it down on the table. Lu Guang squints at it.

"What's that?"

"A schedule."

". . . Why's it written in five different colours?"

"For emphasis, duh," Cheng Xiaoshi waves his hand dismissively. "Forget the colours, dude— look at it!"

He points to the first line of writing. "Mondays and Wednesdays we can do it at your place. Even if you only tutor me an hour, I'll still be caught up somewhat."

Lu Guang reads through what he's written, making sense of it. Then, he shakes his head. "No, this won't do."

"Seriously?"

He points to the same line. "If I tutor you on Monday and Wednesday for one hour each, it'll still amount to the two hours I tutor on Thursdays. Use your brain, stupid."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks.

"If your stats lecture is every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, why don't you just come over on those days instead?" He prompts. "I'll go over what you did in lecture so you'll have a better understanding of it."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. Again.

A pause.

He gasps, eyes sparkling. "Have you always been this angelic? I feel like I'm witnessing the birth of a miracle."

Lu Guang's expression flattens. "I'll take that as a—"

"Yes! It's a yes!" He exclaims. "One hour each?"

"That depends on you." He leans back in the seat, gaze relaxed. Testing. Gauging. "How much time will it take you to learn?"

Cheng Xiaoshi hums, smug. "If you're the one teaching, it'll take ten minutes max."

"To what, fall asleep?"

He laughs. Grins. "Oh— this is great. Now I get to see you three times a week minimum!"

Lu Guang raises a brow. "You already see me three times a week. You see me basically every day."

"Yeah, but it'll be scheduled. And for tutoring! Like a court-ordered visitation or something. This madness has structure now!"

"That's not comforting."

"I feel comforted."

He sighs, shoulders heavy. He's way too cheerful for a guy who's robbing Lu Guang of his silent evenings. But this is his job, so if sacrificing a semester's worth of peace means he'll graduate feeling proud of himself, he's willing to give it up.

Lu Guang inhales, conceding. "Then we'll start today. I'll be free after eight. Your place or mine?"

"Err . . . yours," Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. He looks at Lu Guang curiously.

"What?"

"It's just . . . you're giving me a choice?" He smiles lopsidedly. "Figured you'd be like 'come to my place 'cuz it's cleaner!'"

"Because it is," Lu Guang says as he finally picks up the can. He snaps it open. Takes a sip. Rises from his chair.

He spares Cheng Xiaoshi one last glance, eyes glinting, teasing. "Don't keep me waiting, yeah?"

And then he walks away.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares after him for a long moment.

Something's . . . different, isn't it? That interaction was a lot more positive than their normal ones. Or maybe he's overthinking it?

Lu Guang seems to be in a better mood today, which is weird because he's never in a good mood. (Not when it comes to Cheng Xiaoshi, anyway.)

"Huh." He mumbles to himself.

"Must be raining in hell right now."

- - ⏱︎ - -

So, their new tutoring schedule is set. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights go to Lu Guang, who'll review a full lecture's content with him for two hours.

It seems easy enough. At least he'll be set for stats.

As for the remainder of his classes, if Cheng Xiaoshi utilizes the two-hour study break between classes, he's sure to be caught up so his grades in other subjects won't slip.

He pats himself on the back for his genius, logical thinking. Just call him Einstein at this point.

A pen smacks down on his paper, stopping his next line of writing. "Idiot. Where are you pulling these equations from?"

Cheng Xiaoshi startles. He glances up, graced by the withering look on Lu Guang's face.

They're sitting on the carpet in the living room, a small low desk in between them. Papers are scattered about, textbooks and notes on the side for moral support. (Or to make him feel dumber.)

Cheng Xiaoshi made a quick stop at his dorm beforehand to shower and change (he wasn't about to pull up reeking of oxidized sweat and rubber and cleaning products).

And when he showed, Lu Guang had been in the middle of cooking dinner, sleeves rolled to his elbows and wearing the cutest apron he's ever seen. It took one hell of an amount of mental fortitude not to comment on it. He almost failed.

"Uh . . . Google?" He answers slowly.

"What did I say about relying on search results from forums posted ten years ago?"

Cheng Xiaoshi squints in thought. "That they're . . . community-based and relatable?"

Lu Guang looks like he's going to chuck the calculator at him. He taps the back of his pen against the paper, dead center on an equation so botched it may as well be a curse.

"This isn't even the right formula." He says, irked. "You've been using it for three problems straight."

"Well, excuse me for making a mistake."

"A dumb mistake. The answers to these questions are in your class notes."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. ". . . We took notes?"

Lu Guang genuinely looks like he's about to end the session. Before he can, Cheng Xiaoshi flails into a backpedal.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm kidding! I take notes. They're just . . . taken telepathically."

He sighs deeply and stands up, brushing his hands on his thighs. "I'm going to check on the rice. Get to work."

Cheng Xiaoshi eyes the question as Lu Guang's footsteps retreat, followed by the sound of fabric. That freakin' apron. He slumps over the desk with a groan, face pressing into his notebook.

"Get to work," he mimics in a high-pitched voice. Like he isn't already doing that.

Still— he lifts his head and leans back just enough to peek toward the kitchen.

Lu Guang's standing at the stove, methodical and elegant as ever, sleeves still rolled, apron snug around his waist, one hand eased on his hip. His profile is caught by the light— sharp, soft. Annoyingly attractive.

He's focused, but his expression is rather neutral, like even the rice doesn't dare misbehave around him.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. Loudly.

How is this the same guy who called him every synonym of stupid in the last thirty minutes?

He's leaned back against his arms as he watches. There's . . . comfort in it— seeing Lu Guang in a space that's quiet and warm and completely separate from all the usual chaos around them.

"Hey," he says suddenly, shifting his gaze to the ceiling so he isn't caught staring. "If I fail the midterm, will you still hang out with me?"

"If you fail the midterm, I'll make you retake the entire semester."

Cheng Xiaoshi smiles. "So . . . yes?"

He lets his head fall to the side again, letting his eyes drop to Lu Guang. He's peering into the steaming pot, probably making sure the rice is cooked.

". . . I don't think you're giving me a choice here." He answers.

"You're right. I'm not."

Lu Guang spares him a glance. His eyes narrow when he sees the smile on Cheng Xiaoshi's face widen.

"Stop getting distracted."

"Can't. That apron's making it hard to focus."

Silence.

Cheng Xiaoshi smacks a hand over his mouth, flushing red. Lu Guang blinks.

". . . What'd you say?"

"Noth— I said nothing!" He clamours, looking away. Curse him and his inability to shut up! He needs to be gagged in Lu Guang's presence. Seriously, nothing's stopping him from his outrageous comments, and he needs to be contained.

Lu Guang stares at him suspiciously, rice paddle in hand. He luckily brushes it off and turns back to the stove, bringing up more silence.

Cheng Xiaoshi leans over his work, one hand in his hair. His ears burn as he mutters a whole bunch of nonsense. (To keep himself "focused.") In the meantime, Lu Guang bowls the rice in two servings, pours a spoonful of stew over them, and walks over with one in each hand.

He sets one down in front of Cheng Xiaoshi and drops onto the floor across from him.

Silently. Menacingly.

Cheng Xiaoshi is 51% sure he heard what he said. 49% hoping he didn't.

Then, his hand appears on top of the paper and blocks the remainder of the questions printed on it. Cheng Xiaoshi looks up. Lu Guang's gaze is sharp.

"Don't work while you eat."

"Work, don't work," he groans, covering his face with his hands. "You're driving me crazy."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm giving you a break. But if that's too much for you, you're welcome to keep going."

Cheng Xiaoshi peeks at him through his fingers. "No, no, I'll take the break. Please. Thank you."

"First time I'm hearing manners out of you." Lu Guang hums, content.

"Is me being polite that foreign of a concept to you?" He asks flatly. Lu Guang doesn't answer that, hiding behind his bowl.

". . . Wow."

"Stop talking and eat."

Cheng Xiaoshi picks up the bowl, is mid-mock when he takes a bite, and almost drops his chopsticks in shock. His eyes drop to the rice. "You . . . you made this?!"

Lu Guang raises an unimpressed brow. "No. I summoned it using a ritual circle."

"Who . . . What are you cooking so good for?" He leans in, eyes glinting scandalously. "You tryna wife me up? 'Cuz I've gotta say— it's totally working."

He doesn't blink. Doesn't falter. Doesn't even flinch.

He merely sets his bowl down delicately, with the precision of someone about to commit premeditated murder. Then he meets Cheng Xiaoshi's gaze, deadpan.

". . . You'd make a terrible wife."

Cheng Xiaoshi gasps, offended. "Excuse me?"

"You can't do chores. You forget everything. You survive on instant noodles. You cheat on your notes with Google—"

"Okay, first of all," he interrupts, waving his chopsticks, "Google and I are in a committed relationship. And I do do chores! I did everything you asked me to that day."

"Yeah, you did everything wrong."

"You're just a neat freak! Sorry, princess, but my eyes aren't trained to spot a single speck of dust on your window, okay?"

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. "It doesn't take good eyes to know when something isn't clean."

"And yet you made me wipe your shiny, super clean windows like they were covered in blood!"

Lu Guang glowers at him.

". . . Don't talk to me." He turns away.

Cheng Xiaoshi lets out a strangled squawk. "What?! I should be the one turning away, you jerk!"

"I said don't talk to me."

"Fine! Don't talk to me either!" He harrumphs, arms crossed, glaring at the wall on his right.

After a moment, Lu Guang turns his head slightly. A smile plays at his lips— barely there, subtle, just like he always is. Amusement flickers in his eyes.

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrow twitches. ". . . You're smiling."

"No."

"Liar! You so are! Enjoying my misery, you sadist?"

Lu Guang hums, lifting his bowl again. "Dramatic. You can't throw heavy terms like that around."

"You're not my mom."

"You're eating my food."

And against that . . . Cheng Xiaoshi has nothing. He keeps his gaze on the wall, brows knit in irritation. Lu Guang snorts.

". . . You wouldn't last two days married to me."

"Yeah, right." He sneers. "I'd last forever."

"Not when you won't look at me."

Cheng Xiaoshi snaps his gaze to him. "There. I'm looking."

"Not when you won't finish your food." He smirks, pointing to the half-eaten bowl of rice.

He glares. "You're setting the bar for marriage real low if 'eating rice' is part of the vows."

Lu Guang raises an eyebrow. "What, you think married life is just flirting and no nutrition?"

"I think married life is about love and compromise," Cheng Xiaoshi huffs, dramatically taking another bite. "And this is me compromising."

His eyes brim with delight. "Wow. You eating is a compromise?"

"When it comes to you."

Lu Guang leans forward, jaw against his knuckles. He watches as Cheng Xiaoshi swallows down the remainder of the rice, still irritated. It's a funny look on him. Just as suiting as a smile.

"There, I ate." He says, smug. "Now I'd totally last more than two days."

"I still don't agree."

"Then what else do you need me to do to prove it?" He challenges.

Lu Guang's smile twitches. But there's something else in his eyes— quieter, less easy to place. His voice follows after, soft without meaning to be. Collected, like everything else he does.

". . . Win me over."

Cheng Xiaoshi falters. He blinks.

"Win . . ." He blanks. His expression twists in disbelief. "Hold on— that's an option?!"

Lu Guang shrugs, rising to his feet as he stacks their bowls. "Is it?"

"I—" Cheng Xiaoshi gasps, eyes wide in horror. "I didn't even know I was in the running!"

"You say that like there's people begging at my feet for a chance."

(There are.)

"There are!" Cheng Xiaoshi cries.

Lu Guang rolls his eyes, vanishing into the kitchen. "A pity. Maybe I'd be better off tutoring and building connections with them."

He gasps again. "You wouldn't."

". . ."

"Say you wouldn't!"

There's no immediate response. Instead, the sound of the faucet running fills the silence, water cascading over ceramic like it's the most important thing in the world right now.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at the kitchen entrance, tense. His heart races, thuds loudly in his ears.

Finally, Lu Guang calls back— as calm and unbothered as ever:

"Try it and find out."

The words slam into him with the force of a full-court pass. Because that's an initiation. Permission. He stares at nothing for a solid three seconds before letting out a groan and falling backward onto the carpet.

"You're evil!" He accuses, arms splayed out. "You can't just say that without a lick of emotion! Do you know what you're doing to me?!"

Silence.

". . . You've got two minutes before we're back to stats." Lu Guang says flatly.

Cheng Xiaoshi drags both hands down his face.

But beneath all the flailing and dramatics, his ears are warm. His chest is tight. And the worst part?

He's already thinking about how he'll win him over.

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 73 days -
(20 days til the midterm!)

"Alright, everyone! Hopefully by now, you've got your subject for the midterm finalized and have already begun taking pictures that fit the guidelines on the final rubric."

Digital Photography.

One more pain in his ass.

Cheng Xiaoshi's at his desk, blinking at the projector screen displaying the said rubric. The lights are dimmed, the slideshow glows faintly across the walls, and the professor's gesturing with too much optimism for someone assigning an independent photo study and essay due in three weeks.

Seriously. He hasn't even settled on a subject yet!

His camera's in his bag. Untouched since the last assignment.

He hasn't gotten the chance to take any pictures outside of assignments. Nothing's been worth capturing in the past . . . three or so months. Sure, he's got an eye for things that make good photographs (blame his soon-to-be job), but something just . . . isn't right.

Not a single thing is motivating him to take pictures. Everything around him is so dull. No substance at all.

"Remember," the professor says, strolling down the aisle with a faint smile, "the midterm is graded on both technical skill and emotional narrative. You need a subject that speaks to you. Something with weight. Meaning. Depth."

Meaning. Depth.

Cheng Xiaoshi slowly writes the word "despair" in the margin of his notebook.

"Bring three sample shots to class Friday for in-class critique," she adds cheerfully. "And don't forget— your subject should ideally stay consistent from start to finish. You're crafting a story."

A story. Totally.

He slumps lower in his seat, starting another header on his page and underlining it twice.

MIDTERM CONCEPTS

He taps the back of his pencil against his lips, thinking. What even is he supposed to shoot for this? If it's meant to be emotional, personal, something you can't look away from even though you should, what could possibly—

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes drift to Lu Guang.

He's sitting straight up in his seat, focused like there's not a single other thing in this world more interesting than the rubric being projected. His glasses reflect the light in blue, and Cheng Xiaoshi can't help but smile.

The strangest things seem to intrigue him, huh?

He wonders what Lu Guang's got so far. He's already seen the file on his laptop, but the last time he saw it, there was no more than a single photo in there.

Ideally, they'd be taking ten or so pictures for this thing. Cheng Xiaoshi didn't even get a peek at the picture he had taken. What's his subject? And how does it connect to him on a personal level?

Lu Guang yawns.

Cheng Xiaoshi's smile widens.

Wouldn't a picture like that be hilarious?

He lets his gaze slip toward the window on his left. Outside, the light cuts sharp across the courtyard. Long shadows. Crisp outlines.

The kind of thing Lu Guang probably loves. Hell, Lu Guang probably is that kind of lighting. All dramatic and impossible to recreate. Slap a filter on him and that'd be a masterpiece. A true work of art.

His eyes widen slightly.

. . . Wait.

He sits up.

Wait. No.

There's no way. He couldn't— where'd the thought even come from?! That would be so weird! Too obvious. Too stupid.

He smacks a hand to his forehead, conflicted. He sketches around the new header, trying to push the earlier thought out of his head. No. He needs something else. Something that isn't a someone.

"Now that that's out of the way," the professor claps her hands together, "I thought I could give you all a chance to experiment during class time! We'll be heading out to the courtyard to sample pictures. Then, I'll make you apply the lessons we've been talking about so far to give you as accurate advice as I can."

Experiment? Now?

"Please grab your cameras. We'll be heading down now."

Xu Shanshan nudges him. "If you're done daydreaming, let's get going."

Cheng Xiaoshi purses his lips, narrowing his eyes at her when she straightens with her camera in hand. She only smirks.

"Come join me and Lu Guang when you're done fantasizing."

"I'm not fantasizing!" He calls after her, watching as she joins the same guy he was not fantasizing about.

Cheng Xiaoshi leans down to grab his bag.

"I'm totally losing it." He mutters to himself.

The air outside is crisp. Not biting cold, but just enough to keep hands stuffed in sleeves between camera shots.

The kind of weather where the sun is bright but does nothing to warm you. November, in its indecisive glory.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands at the edge of the courtyard path, half-listening to the buzz of other students, half-watching his breath fog faintly when he exhales.

His camera hangs from his neck. Lens faced out like it's watching the same gloomy scene he is, and deeming it unworthy of being shot.

Makes sense, too. So far, he's only taken two blurry photos of a bench and one overexposed close-up of a trash can he thought looked "symbolic."

(Don't ask. He doesn't know what the symbolism is.)

Xu Shanshan is crouched by a bush, photographing a dandelion poking defiantly through the soil. "Do these even grow in November?"

"Not sure. Maybe it's a metaphor." Cheng Xiaoshi says, crouching beside her to take a picture of the same dandelion. It looks . . . dead.

Totally symbolic.

Lu Guang is a few paces away, quiet and in his element. He's knelt near a stone walkway, eyes trained through his own lens as he lines up a shot of something— be it the frost-tipped edges of a clover or a pool of shadow between the roots of a tree.

His expression is calm, analytical. He pulls back from the camera when he's taken his pictures, most likely checking what came of them.

Cheng Xiaoshi watches him.

Not on purpose. It just sorta happens.

Lu Guang tilts his head, moves a little closer to the tree. His hair shifts with the movement, catching soft flecks of light through the leaves above.

He squints into the viewfinder, lifts his hand to adjust something, and the quiet curve of concentration on his face—

It does something stupid to Cheng Xiaoshi's chest.

He steps back. Not far. Just enough.

He lifts his camera slowly, and the viewfinder slides into place before his eye.

The courtyard disappears. All that's left is Lu Guang.

Framed by the branches and backlight, the shadows carving his face like sculpture. His expression is soft. Real. Intent.

The shutter clicks.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't breathe. He can't. He only stands there, fingers still curled around the grip of his camera with the viewfinder pressed gently to his face.

Through it, he continues to watch. Lu Guang, who's still crouched by the tree. Lu Guang, who's none the wiser about what just happened.

And the photo Cheng Xiaoshi just took?

It's perfect.

Not because the lighting is good. Not because it's sharp. Not even because it's the first non-blurry picture he's taken.

But because—

He lowers the camera slowly. Eyes flick down to the screen.

—Because Lu Guang's caught mid-focus. His lashes are dipped. The curve of his lips is soft. The line of his neck, the slope of his shoulders, the calm in his expression— all of it caught in a split-second freeze.

It looks like something he shouldn't have seen. Something private. Gentle.

Something no one else would ever think to take a photo of.

He stares. And stares.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It isn't just any photo. It's the photo.

And for a horrifying, stomach-flipping moment, he comes to realize that this is it. This is the only subject he wants to shoot.

He can't picture anything else. Not Qiao Ling. Not the Hero Photo Studio. Not even the home he spent his childhood in. It all just circles back to him.

Deep in his chest, a slow, inevitable dread builds. The kind that settles in just before he dives headfirst into trouble.

Cheng Xiaoshi grips the camera tighter. And he inhales a final, shaky breath.

. . . Shit.

Chapter Text

Later that night, Cheng Xiaoshi is sitting cross-legged on his bed, camera in hand, laptop open.

All day, he's tried shooting other things.

The rusted fence outside his dorm. A row of bikes. Qiao Ling laughing over noodles at dinner. A cat on a railing. His old sneakers on the floor, staged next to a lamp for "atmosphere."

They're all . . . fine. Well-framed. Lit alright. Some even have decent depth.

But every time he flips back to that photo— the random one he took during digital photography— it hurts how much better it is. And it's not even something he took on purpose!

There's no contest between them all. It just makes every other picture feel like plastic, staged. Like everything else is pretending to be art while the one candid photo he took of Lu Guang is the real thing.

He stares at it again, screen light washing his face blue.

He wants to know why he's so hellbent on this one picture? Why not the others? Why does it have to be Lu Guang?

He scans Lu Guang's expression. The light hitting his cheekbone. The soft, upward curl of his hair because of the wind. It's not only photogenic. It's honest. Reality, in its purest form.

There's no filter. No added techniques, no light trick. This is just Lu Guang.

Stupid, photogenic, pretty Lu Guang.

Cheng Xiaoshi's stomach twists and he lets out a heavy sigh. He should delete it. He should delete it.

But . . . he figures if he keeps it, he'll be able to see something even more beautiful. So, instead, he creates a new folder on his computer. Labels it: Subject A. (Something boring and quiet. Tucked away so no one else will find it.)

He uploads the picture into that folder and closes it, condemning it away for the time being. He seriously needs to get a hold of himself. No more analyzing that thing. He should be getting ready for bed.

. . . He should.

But his fingers itch. And five seconds later, he double-clicks the folder open again.

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 72 days -
(19 days til the midterm!)

He starts trying to recreate that feeling.

He brings his camera to campus the next day (something he never does) and wanders around, hoping something— anything— will give him the same pull.

He shoots a tree. A street lamp. A group of friends on the lawn during their lunch break. He zooms in on a discarded, crushed soda can and tells himself it's "a statement!"

But they're all hollow. All sound, no meaning.

He edits some. Boosts saturation. Tweaks exposure. Even overlays fake grain to make it look filmic. It's no use. Still nothing.

He doesn't get the same rush, nor the flutter in his stomach. Because everything else is just there, with not a single story to it.

He's on a bench, looking through his progress for the day, when his finger accidentally brushes the scroll wheel and the screen lands back on Subject A.

Cheng Xiaoshi huffs when his heart flips. It's not fair. Not at all!

No other picture looks like this. Nothing else pulls him in like this. He's supposed to be able to create this with technique, timing, artistry. (And whatever else Lu Guang said that day about what photography is.)

Not just because one guy happened to look like that under a tree.

He groans, exhausted, slumping down on the table.

Qiao Ling hums. "What's wrong with you?"

They scheduled to meet up after class to grab a bite. Cheng Xiaoshi's exhaustion has just seemed to reach its peak.

". . . I'm pissed." He mutters.

"Well, yes. I can see that." She smiles at a waiter. "Is this a you thing or a Lu Guang thing?"

It's always a Lu Guang thing. That's all it's been these past few weeks! And it's all because he needed a stupid tutor to help him pass.

Honestly, when was the last time he ever had to deal with his emotions this out of control? It's confusing. He's confused. And tired. And so, so irritated. Because he just wants to pass so he can hoop, but now, he's caught up in things like photography and depth and his inability to see anything else as a subject.

It's always Lu Guang this and Lu Guang that. It's driving him insane!

Qiao Ling takes one look at him. Notices his inability to answer. And smiles. She smiles. "Ah. A Lu Guang thing, then."

Cheng Xiaoshi jerks up. "Wha— no! You didn't even let me answer!"

"I gave you three minutes. You said nothing for three minutes."

"I was thinking!" He sputters.

She raises her eyebrows. "You? You were thinking?"

He scowls. "Oh, shut up. I hope you choke on a croissant."

Qiao Ling leans forward in newfound interest. "You're never this moody over anything. What's going on? Do I need to play wise older sister again?"

Cheng Xiaoshi . . . droops. He falls back down onto the table, hiding his face in his elbow. Probably out of shame. Probably out of despair.

After a silence, he mutters. ". . . I think I'm sick."

She straightens. "Huh?"

"Sick." He repeats. "In the head."

Qiao Ling's smile twitches. "Okay . . . why do you think that?"

He exhales, the heat from his sleeve warming up his face. How is he supposed to explain this even? How is he supposed to explain it in a way that won't make him seem like he's overthinking it? The last thing he needs is Qiao Ling telling him that.

But he should have faith in her. She always tells him what he needs to hear.

So, he takes in a deep breath. And decides that it's worth giving her a shot.

". . . The midterm for digital photography is to take pictures of a subject to pan out a story. 'Depth' and 'meaning' professor said." He starts. Might as well tell her everything from the beginning.

"And I've been trying for like, two weeks to find something to do it on. I've taken pictures of bikes and fences and cats and the clouds— but none of it fit with me." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Then yesterday, we went out to take sample pictures to get feedback and I—"

He closes his fingers around his dark locks. ". . . I took this super random— super not intentional picture of Lu Guang." He pulls himself up, both hands in his hair now. "It was random! I didn't do it with anything in mind— why would I? I just thought he looked cool in the shade. But ever since I took that stupid picture, I haven't been able to think of anything else!

"Not a single picture I take, even with added filters and proper atmosphere, measures up to it! Can you believe it? I'm at the point where I can't shoot anything else without comparing it to him! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!"

He takes a break to breathe. Then continues.

"I'm just so confused. That picture literally haunts my dreams. And it sucks because I've tried to force myself to make something else my subject. I can't do my midterm on a person! Especially not when the point itself is to capture something that holds 'personal connection'." He air-quotes.

Qiao Ling listens, expression neutral. She watches him with all the patience of someone who's been waiting for this for weeks. And the realization hit her almost instantly.

This isn't just any meltdown.

She rests her chin in her hand, smiling.

It's a confession.

"So then tell me," he prompts, leaning forward, "—tell me that I'm sick and I need to be checked out."

She shakes her head.

"No?" He blinks. "Then what is my problem—"

"You like him."

She says it plainly. Blunt. A with the slightest hint of amusement in her tone.

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes.

What the fuck. That's not what he wanted to hear. That's not even something he thought she'd say!

He looks away, unsettled. ". . . No, I don't."

"You do."

"Shut up."

"Just admit it."

"I'm not admitting anything. It's not true."

Qiao Ling sips her drink. (When did that get here?) "It's not a crime, y'know. Having feelings? Kind of a normal human experience."

"It's Lu Guang."

"So?"

He shifts his gaze back to her, eyes wild, hair sticking out like he's been electrocuted by the realization. "He's . . . no way. He's all smart and cold and weirdly mature and I'm just— me. This doesn't even make sense! I'm not into smart guys!"

She blinks. ". . . You told me last week that you think intelligence is hot."

"I said that in reference to basketball IQ!"

She sighs. "I thought this was serious. Don't go scaring me like that again."

His eyebrows knit in disbelief. "This— this is serious! I'm being so serious right now!"

"No, you're being stupid." Qiao Ling interjects. "You're on the verge of tears because you like a guy. That's not serious. That's a result of your obliviousness."

Cheng Xiaoshi stares, agape.

She reels herself in a little. "Look, I know this is freaking you out. But you gotta open your eyes. See it for what it is 'cuz I'm not the only one who'll tell you they saw it coming."

"Saw what—"

Qiao Ling crosses her fingers. "You and Lu Guang have always been like this. You'd have to be blind not to notice how likely this was to happen."

He blinks.

. . . Then he's gotta be blind. When did this become the norm? And why did no one tell him before?! Why is he just now finding out that it's clear to other people how he feels?

Above all—

Does Lu Guang know?

Because it'd be the ultimate jerk move on Cheng Xiaoshi's part if Lu Guang figured it out before him, the guy who apparently very clearly has a thing for him.

He flops backward in his seat, arms flailing. "I'm in hell."

"That's what you have to say to this?" Qiao Ling says dryly.

He groans into his hands. "I can't— I'm not doing this, Qiao Ling! It's crazy. Insane. I don't like Lu Guang, I— I can't! How would that even work?! He's got like, ten settings, and all of them are bored or annoyed. He only tolerates me because he has to tutor me. That's it!"

"You're the only one who sees it that way."

"No, I'm not! He literally doesn't—"

But then, something comes back to him. Conversation they had at Lu Guang's place on Monday.

"You wouldn't last two days married to me."

"Yeah, right. I'd last forever."

And that seems to be the catalyst to everything else that's gone on since the day they met.

["Do you believe in breaks?"]
["No."]
["Love?"]

["Let's find x together, babe."]

["I just like when you get all serious."]

["Me? Flirt with you? No. Never. I'm a good boy."]

["Damn. That's kinda hot."]

["TBC?"]
["Tutor-Based Crush!"]

[You! You're the awkwardness!]

["I'm honoured you'd rather dream of me."]

["Guess the universe wants us to be together."]

["You look nice when you're learning."]

["I'm . . . trying to annoy you into staying."]

Cheng Xiaoshi's face grows hot. He slaps a hand to his mouth, staring at the table in horror.

This can't be. He can't have feelings for Lu Guang.

How has he managed to be so blissfully unaware of the things going on around him?! So blissfully unaware that he didn't even realize he's been crushing on the guy that tutors him?!

"Did it click now?" Qiao Ling hums.

"I'm gonna die." He gasps. "I'm gonna die of unrequited feelings right here in this chair and . . . and it'll be all your fault!"

She shrugs. "Someone had to wake you up. No big deal, I'll bury you and give your eulogy. 'He lived like an idiot and died like one too.'"

"Qiao Ling!" He wails, flushed red. "This is serious!"

"You're right. Super serious." She nods. "But when do you ever take anything seriously?"

He drops his head against the table. Qiao Ling smiles, patting his head gently.

"Relax. If anyone's gonna die from this, it'll probably be Lu Guang. From being pined after so hard."

"I'm not pining." He mutters.

"If you say you're 'admiring him through the lens', I will kick you."

He bites down on his bottom lip. Because that kinda is exactly what he was gonna say. He's hopeless. This is all so stupid.

". . . I'm supposed to see him later. What do I do?!" He cries.

"I dunno," Qiao Ling sighs, taming one of the strands in his hair that sticks right up. "Think you can be normal with him, even knowing you like him?"

"When have I ever been normal about anything?"

Very true. It's not self-deprecation. Cheng Xiaoshi genuinely is never chill about anything.

"Well, then don't be normal. Be . . . cool." She suggests.

"I don't know how to be cool!"

"Then fake it."

"With Lu Guang?"

"Yes, with Lu Guang. The same Lu Guang who's been putting up with you since day one, flirting and existential crises and all."

He shakes his head vigorously. "You don't get it— everything's different now! I know. I know."

Qiao Ling raises an eyebrow. ". . . You know what?"

Cheng Xiaoshi lifts his head slowly, face a pure panic.

"That I'm doomed."

- - ⏱︎ - -

Safe to say, he really is doomed.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands outside Lu Guang's door like he's about to walk into a battlefield. (That which he is. An emotional, psychological battlefield.)

He's been pacing in the hallway for five full minutes, holding his notebook like a shield and telling himself over and over again: Just be normal. Be chill. You've done this so many times before. This is fine.

This is not fine.

Especially not with the way that image of Lu Guang is still burned into his retinas like some divine relic. And now that he's come to his senses (forcefully woken up), he can't stop thinking about how bad this is going to go.

He knocks.

And for some reason, the door seems to open way too fast.

Lu Guang looks him down once, dressed in soft grey sweats and a black tee that fits a little too well. Hair slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it. Glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose.

And he's so casually hot that it knocks the wind out of Cheng Xiaoshi's lungs.

". . . Something wrong?" He asks.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him. (Practically drooling.) (What a freak.)

No, he's not okay. His mind is a mess. His thoughts scatter everywhere. You look like that and you opened the door like that and I'm in love with you and I'm probably gonna die.

What he says instead is:

"Nice apartment."

Lu Guang squints. "You've been here five times."

"Yeah, but it's like. Still nice."

Is it too late to call it quits?

Lu Guang steps aside to let him in. Cheng Xiaoshi walks past him and immediately regrets breathing in because he smells like clean soap and whatever subtle cologne it is that he wears every day.

He smells too nice and he looks too good and Cheng Xiaoshi really just wants to go home and cry into his pillow or something.

He drops his stuff on the coffee table and takes a seat. That's when the leg bouncing begins. His leg moves like it's a matter of national urgency, like if he stops, it'll bring about the end of the world.

Lu Guang sits across from him, pulling his laptop closer and opening their notes from last time. Seems he'd been doing his own work before Cheng Xiaoshi dropped by, so the tousled hair and weary look on his face totally make sense.

He looks so hot—

"Are you hot?" He asks.

Cheng Xiaoshi startles. Hot? Did he read his mind or something?! "Am I— huh? Hot? Who's hot? Not me. What even is that? Ahaha . . . hot. Pshhh.”

Lu Guang raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Okay. He needs to shut up.

"I cranked up the heater." He points over his shoulder. "And with you wearing that jacket, you'll cook."

Oh.

"Oh!" He chuckles nervously. The heater. He's talking about the heater. "Nah, that's okay. I'm actually really cold. Goosebumps and all, y'know."

Because he is. This situation has him freezing his ass off.

Lu Guang blinks. His gaze drops to Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers, frozen in place and definitely pale from the cold.

Then, he does something completely unexpected.

He reaches forward and brushes his own fingers against the latter's hand. Cheng Xiaoshi goes as stiff as a statue.

"You are cold." He notes. "Should I turn the heater up more?"

He touched me. He TOUCHED me! He's going to explode. But not before making a complete fool of himself.

Cheng Xiaoshi jerks back, face red, ears burning. "Y— No! It's fine— I'm fine. I warm up really fast, seriously— yeah! No, you don't . . . have to . . . turn the heater up."

Lu Guang sits back, curious. He lets out a small exhale of amusement. The smallest smirk. Which is even worse.

Because now, Cheng Xiaoshi is spiralling even harder.

He's not hearing the stats explanation when Lu Guang begins. He's just watching, staring, analyzing Lu Guang— how he leans over his laptop, how his wrist brushes the table, how his thumb taps the spacebar every few seconds, and how his lips move slightly as he rereads a formula to himself to check its accuracy.

He's seriously gonna die here. He can see it. The light at the end of the tunnel isn't far.

"Cheng Xiaoshi." Lu Guang says, deadpan.

There it is. Here to collect him and take him to the afterlife.

He snaps out of it. "Yeah?"

"You're staring."

Fuck. Not the light. It was a dupe.

"No I'm not," he lies immediately.

"You haven't written anything for five minutes."

Cheng Xiaoshi looks down at his notebook. And sure enough, the only thing he's written is a small, "Subject A: deadly." Underlined twice. In pink.

He slams it shut. "I'm just tired!"

Lu Guang stares at him.

"I'm— sleep-deprived. Did I say that already? I had to help Qiao Ling with a— um— powerpoint. She needed moral support."

He folds his arms over his chest. "Right."

"It's a totally normal friend thing. I'm normal. This is normal."

(He's trying.)

Lu Guang's lips twitch like he's fighting a smile. Cheng Xiaoshi groans and buries his face in his hands. "I hate math. Why does it have to be me?!"

Why couldn't it have been anyone else?

Why does it have to be him?

Lu Guang nudges his foot with his own. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding me."

—?!

"Avoid— I'm not—!" He startles, looking up. That's nothing but a mistake, because the look on Lu Guang's face is enough to send him reeling.

His gaze is level, thoughtful. A little curious. And soft. Way too soft.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows, averting his gaze. He can't lose his composure now. (All he's been doing this entire time is losing it.)

"I'm not . . . avoiding you," he mumbles.

There's a pause. He's scared to look and find Lu Guang staring right at him. He knows he's being studied right now.

". . . Good." Lu Guang's reply comes. It's quiet. Content.

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart hammers. He's too weak for this.  He's so not ready to unpack the meaning behind such a simple yet just as heavy response.

So naturally, he does what he always does when he's overwhelmed.

He shoves a throw pillow in Lu Guang's face.

"Let's take a break!" he yells, voice cracking. "You really look like you need it!"

Lu Guang pulls the pillow off, glasses askew. "But I'm the one tutoring you—"

He doesn't get to finish. Cheng Xiaoshi's already hopping off the couch and sprinting towards the kitchen.

"I'm getting water! Super normal— so chill!" He calls.

Lu Guang just blinks after him. What else can he say?

And while Cheng Xiaoshi's got his forehead pressed against the fridge and is watching the water from the built-in filter fill his glass, he pretends like his heart isn't beating like he's run a marathon.

He grits his teeth, flushed. This is not cool at all. No way can he handle this. This atmosphere— the vibe. It's just like it was back at the party before they went off to play truth or drink.

When Lu Guang was looking at him and leaning in close— when Cheng Xiaoshi should've realized. Maybe then he wouldn't be living out this nightmare.

He squints at the water.

Why's it so hard for me to act natural? It's a tutoring session, not a death sentence. (Though it might as well be.)

He wonders what Qiao Ling would do if she were here. Not that she'd ever find herself in a situation like this. She's too smart.

He sighs deeply. "Okay. No big deal. Just . . . drink the water and go sit down like nothing happened."

Like you didn't almost combust. He wants to add, but saying it out loud confirms it and he doesn't want that.

He's gonna go sit back down. He's gonna learn. He'll review the midterm material so he won't fail. He's not gonna stare at Lu Guang. Or his mouth. Or his hands. Or his—

"You sure you're just getting water?" Lu Guang's voice floats from the living room.

He flinches and the glass almost falls from his grasp. "Of course I am. This is some . . . really nice water."

Oh dear.

He finishes off the last gulp and wipes his mouth, filling it halfway again and bringing it out with him. Lu Guang is seated neatly on the couch once more, typing something. Most likely working on an essay.

Cheng Xiaoshi plops down across from him, glass to his lips.

Lu Guang glances up briefly. He snaps his eyes away.

His typing picks up pace. "You don't have to stress about this topic. You're doing well."

"Huh?" It echoes out of the glass.

"In stats."

"Oh." He blinks. "Yeah. That."

"You've been retaining more than you think," Lu Guang adds, gently matter-of-fact. "And your grades have been getting better. Don't give up."

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart does a full 360 spin. His ears burn.

Why does he say things like that? With that face? And that voice? Like he's just . . . stating the weather and not making Cheng Xiaoshi want to melt into the floor?

Has he always been like this? And if he has, Cheng Xiaoshi really is an idiot.

There's no way anyone with eyes would confuse a look like that.

He panics. Again.

And shoots to his feet. He can't take it anymore. "Lu Guang. I need to tell you something really important."

Lu Guang pauses mid-type and spares him a glance. "Okay?"

"I have to— I need to say it. Out loud. To you. Or I'm gonna explode. So don't interrupt . . . please?"

He pulls away from his laptop, closing it slightly, and gives him a nod. "Go ahead."

Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward and slams both hands on the coffee table between them. His pencil falls. The glass rattles.

"I like you."

Silence.

Lu Guang blinks. Steady. Not at all shaken. Which is weird because Cheng Xiaoshi's blood is turning cold and he's about to keel over.

He tilts his head a bit. "I know."

Cheng Xiaoshi reels back like he got smacked with a frying pan. "No. You don't understand."

Lu Guang's expression shifts slightly. More curiosity. ". . . Okay."

"I like you."

Another pause.

He nods. "Yes. You said that."

"No, I mean like— like I like like you. Like I've-lost-my-mind, can't-think-of-anything-or-anyone-else, I'd-let-you-step-on-my-heart-and-say-thank-you kind of like."

Lu Guang doesn't react. There's not a single change in his expression, be it shocked or disappointed or even angry. If anything, he's just mildly amused.

Is everything Cheng Xiaoshi does amusing to this guy?!

He points an accusing finger. "Why are you so calm?! I'm freaking out over here!"

Lu Guang leans back, lips slightly curved. "Because . . . I've known?"

"You what?!" He shrieks.

"I've known," he repeats, slower. "Since the party."

"WHAT?!"

Lu Guang shrugs like this isn't a life-altering, world-ending, social-life-destroying moment. "You looked at me that night like I put the stars in the sky and held my hand until you fell asleep. You even said, and I quote,”

He puts on his best Cheng Xiaoshi voice, visibly cringing at the words he’s about to repeat.

”You’re the Esmerelda to my Quasimodo.”

Cheng Xiaoshi blushes, mortified. "That wasn't a confession!"

"No, but it was deeply suspicious."

"I was drunk!"

"People are always honest when they're drunk. Or sleep-deprived. That night, you were both."

The world is definitely against him. He just loves being the universe's plaything.

He covers his face. "Someone kill me already."

Lu Guang averts his gaze, suppressing his smile. Honestly. What an idiot.

He crosses one leg over the other, pulling off his glasses. "Hmm. You don't want my answer?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's brain blue-screens. "Wha— wait, what?"

He smirks. "'I like you— Do you like me too?' is usually the entirety of a confession."

He peeks through his fingers. "You have an answer?!"

Lu Guang nods, wiping his lenses on the hem of his shirt. "Of course I do. I've had a lot of time to think about it."

Damn this guy! He's known all this time and, what? Has he just been leading Cheng Xiaoshi on?!

This stings. Hurts. There's no word to describe how fast his heart's going. There's no word to describe the feeling in the back of his throat. There's no word to describe the dread building in his stomach.

He's gonna be sick.

"You like me." He says thoughtfully. His eyes rise to Cheng Xiaoshi, whose brain melts on the spot.

He stares at him for a moment. Then his lips curve.

Like Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t already dying inside. Now he’s deathly scared, because any reaction that isn’t silence or a flat look is basically a no-good, conniving, scheming—

"Okay. Then I'll reciprocate."

. . .

. . . ?

Lu Guang’s tone is steady. Collected. Measured, like he isn't letting Cheng Xiaoshi have this moment just yet.

But that doesn't stop him from turning stiff. His heart stops. Skips. Spirals.

Because that ‘I’ll reciprocate’ is still ringing in his ears. He doesn’t even know how to react. Should he celebrate first, or cry first? No, maybe he should he just die instead.

There is just one thing about Lu Guang’s statement that isn’t relaying the same sentiment. Cheng Xiaoshi is very strongly sensing a ‘but.’

"If," (There it is.) Lu Guang continues, leaning forward, "you court me."

Cheng Xiaoshi blanks. Then points.

". . . Court. Me? You?"

"Yes."

". . . So you—" He blinks, confused. "You . . . want me to write you poems and send you letters by pigeon? What does that mean?"

Lu Guang taps the table. "It means you've made your intentions known. Now make them count."

What the. Courting?!

"But you just said you'd reciprocate—!"

"If you court me."

"You're— ha— are you being serious right now? Like, for real?" Cheng Xiaoshi sputters. "Are you actually making this a quest? A trial?!"

He shrugs a shoulder. "Think of it as a challenge. You like to compete, don't you?"

"Yeah, but not when the stakes are you! That's so unfair."

"Mm." Lu Guang glances at him. "Then quit."

"No way!"

"Then court me."

He exhales, stunned, and falls back onto the couch.

Lu Guang is clearly enjoying this. His smirk says as much. His eyes are sparkling. He shifts again, resting his chin in his palm like he's watching Cheng Xiaoshi combust purely for his own entertainment.

"Prove you want me. Let me see what that looks like coming from you."

Cheng Xiaoshi's chest rises slow and heavy, hands over his face. ". . . You just love watching me suffer."

"Only a little."

"And if I fail?” He looks up, frowning. “What if I'm the worst courter of all time?!"

"Then you'll have to try harder."

A threat. A promise. A flirtation disguised as a challenge.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs. Rakes a hand through his hair. Stares at the ground absently, knowing this is exactly what his life has led up to.

Then—

"Fine. I'll do it."

Lu Guang hums. "Do what?"

"Court you! I'll— I'll bring you gifts. I'll compliment you. I'll write you a freakin' sonnet if I have to!"

Lu Guang hides a smile behind his hand. "Looking forward to it."

"God," he mutters to himself, incredulous, "I can't believe I'm being forced to woo someone in the twenty-first century."

"Not someone," Lu Guang corrects. "Me."

And the fact that it’s Lu Guang only makes it ten times worse.

Chapter Text

The first thing he feels is pressure— right under his jaw. Warm fingers cradle his face, fit like they belong there. Then: a breath. Soft. Close. Close enough to make him hold his own.

And a voice, steady and low, threading through the haze in his head as silky as the sheets underneath him: "You want me?"

It's too vivid. Weighted. The kind of moment he might ruin by moving, so he doesn't. Not even a twitch.

Upon borrowed sheets and in a bed that isn't his own, being looked at like he's someone worth saving, the only thing Cheng Xiaoshi can do is nod.

Because yes. Yes, he wants him. In every version of every daydream, in every glance held a second too long, in every aching silence between conversations.

But in this moment— this suspended moment— it doesn't feel like a want. It feels like more.

The fingers slide downward— from his jaw to his chest, his abdomen. Lower. Cheng Xiaoshi's breath catches in his throat.

"Use your words." He coaxes. "Do you want me?"

"—Yes!" He gasps, the sound raw and desperate. Too honest to be anything but real. The touch sends shivers down his spine.

And his back arches just slightly, chasing the warmth, the promise in every whisper-soft drag of fingers. The air in the room thickens. He breathes heavily.

His lips part like he might say something more— might beg, might whisper please, might offer up anything and everything Lu Guang wants if it means this moment stays—

But then, Lu Guang leans forward. His face is close enough to blur, the curve of his lips the only prominent thing. Cheng Xiaoshi's lashes lower.

The distance closes.

And when their lips brush—

He wakes.

He sits bolt upright with a gasp that tears through the silence, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his back. His heart hammers so hard he nearly chokes on it.

With how fast he sat up, a dizzy wave knocks into him, but it doesn't hit as hard as the embarrassment that follows.

Reality slams into him like a freight train.

"Fuck." He rasps.

He scrubs both hands down his face, dragging the heels of his palms over his eyes until it hurts. His heart's still pounding. His skin's still tingling. Every nerve of his is still bracing for a touch that never actually happened.

He flops back down and groans, sound muffled in his pillow. The shame is instant. Nuclear.

Because it hasn't even been twenty-four hours since the courting decision. How the hell is he supposed to win Lu Guang over when his brain's already jumped to the finish line with a neon "PLEASE HAVE SEX WITH ME" sign flashing behind his eyes?

He flips over.

Stares at the ceiling like it holds the answers. It doesn't.

What it does hold, unfortunately, is the vision of Lu Guang— shirt slightly wrinkled, hair messy, voice low and baiting. The vision of Lu Guang's fingers tracing down his chest. The curve of his lips. The intent in those eyes.

And then, of course, his own subconscious had to cockblock him.

He covers his eyes with his hands, face burning.

He needs to get a grip. This is not normal behaviour. Lu Guang wants to be courted. Cheng Xiaoshi has to earn it.

Dreaming about getting railed is not the way to start.

There's no way he can let this spiral. He has a mission. A task. A romantic trial bestowed upon him by the very man he's incapable of thinking about without blushing down to his sternum.

And if Lu Guang wants to be wooed, then shit, he's gonna get wooed.

Properly. Like a gentleman. Like a scholar. Like someone who didn't just wake up mid-dream-panic with a half-formed "yes, please" on his lips.

Cheng Xiaoshi closes his eyes. And mutters a dreadful,

". . . I'm so screwed."

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 71 days -
(18 days til the midterm!)

Approximately one hour and six minutes after waking up from that insanely detailed dream, Cheng Xiaoshi sits up in bed, unable to go back to sleep.

It's eating away at his brain. He can't do anything about it except start his day like, two hours earlier.

So, he does what any troubled guy would do in a spot of trouble. He calls up the one person he hopes can ease him out of this.

"Qiao Ling," he says as soon as she picks up. And then, he doesn't spare her a single detail. "How do I woo a guy who's smarter than me, hotter than me, probably already knows I'd call you, and just told me to court him like it's a challenge from Cupid's Hunger Games?"

Qiao Ling just groans on the other end. "It's six in the morning, you blockhead."

"I'm in crisis."

"You're always in crisis!"

"Yeah, but now it's life-or-death!" Cheng Xiaoshi paces his room like he's got a demon on his tail. "I totally freaked yesterday and told Lu Guang I like him and then he said he already knew and that he'd only return my feelings if I courted him, which is really weird because no one even does that anymore, but apparently, he really wants to be courted and I can't take that away from him because he looked so expectant of me and then I had this crazy dream—"

"Woah, woah, woah," she cuts him off. "Slow down. You told Lu Guang what yesterday?!"

He sighs. "Why are you so slow?"

"You're ranting my ear off when I haven't even processed being alive yet!"

"Okay, okay, sorry." He leans against the wall. "I told him that I like him. But then he totally uno-reversed my confession by saying 'I know' like some old witch who can see people's thoughts."

She snorts. He continues.

"Then, he told me he'll like me back if I court him. Court. Like it's the Victorian era and I need to sing to him and duel someone with a glove and maybe even freak when he shows me his ankle."

"Okay . . . and this is a problem because?"

"Because I don't know how!" He cries. "What if I mess it up?! What if I make a move and he takes it the wrong way?! What if I do something so embarrassing that he regrets ever speaking to me?!"

Qiao Ling yawns. "Well, you are embarrassing by nature, so—"

"I will sit on you."

She laughs. "Okay, okay. First of all, I'm proud of you. You cut right to the chase instead of turning this into some terrible slow burn. Congrats."

"Thank you. But I need advice. Not praise."

"Slow your roll, I'm getting there. Second, more congratulations. Lu Guang is clearly into you."

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart skips. But he knows that already, so what's with that reaction? He smacks a hand over his face. ". . . He wants me to prove that I want him."

"Well, then, prove that you want him, dumbass."

"HOW?!" He cries, eyes wild. "Do I make him breakfast? Buy him a book? Compliment his homework? WHAT ARE THE RULES OF COURTSHIP?!"

Qiao Ling chuckles. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Shanshan owes me four hundred yuan."

"Have you been placing bets on me?!"

". . . Maybe. But that's besides the point— gosh, this is so perfect. I'll get to watch you squirm and flail and pine up close and there's no one who can take this away from me."

Cheng Xiaoshi flops onto his bed. ". . . You're enjoying this way too much."

"Damn right I am."

He groans. ". . . Do you think if I just tell him he looks handsome when he's correcting my math, he'll fall into my arms?"

"No. But do it anyway."

"You're no help," he says flatly.

Qiao Ling hums. "Sure I am. I'm helping by not letting you do something stupid without an audience."

"I am the stupid."

"At least you're self-aware."

He grips his hair. "I'm gonna make a fool of myself."

"A memorable fool," she amends. "Lu Guang likes you. That gives you enough room to be embarrassing. Just don't try to seduce him with stats."

There's a pause.

". . . But he likes stats."

"Not like that, you moron."

Another pause.

"Although. A regression analysis of how he looks when he's mad at you? I'd read it."

Cheng Xiaoshi sits up, eyes haunted. "Okay. I'll take your advice."

". . . You're going to ignore it the second you see him, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. But it's comforting to have in the back of my mind."

Qiao Ling sighs. "Alright, then. I believe in you, soldier. Be vulnerable. Do something romantic. Say everything you feel when you feel it."

Yeah, like telling Lu Guang about the wet dream he just had will totally have him swooning. Cheng Xiaoshi hangs up.

Then, he begins planning.

What should I do first?

- - ⏱︎ - -

Cheng Xiaoshi spends the rest of that morning moving like someone possessed.

He gets dressed like it's a sport. Brushes his teeth with the intensity of a man scrubbing away sin. Nearly pours coffee into his cereal instead of milk.

And every time he blinks, that stupid freaking dream resurfaces behind his eyes like a ghost. The heat that burns the back of his neck as a result also travels . . . lower.

He stares at his cereal in horror. This is awful. He's like a horny teenager all over again.

Then, he's halfway across campus before he remembers his class starts at 9. He's here an hour early.

But that would be fine. Really. He would've just spent his time in the gym or something. Except, the universe still has it out for him— because just as he rounds the corner near the language building, he sees him.

Lu Guang.

Hair loosely styled. Bag slung over his shoulder. Wearing a navy blue jacket with one hand tucked into the pocket while the other holds his phone. He exhales, breath puffing up as he hides in his scarf.

He looks so cute.

Cheng Xiaoshi stops dead in his tracks. His soul leaves his body.

Lu Guang hasn't noticed him yet, typing something out while he walks with his usual cool-headed stride, unbothered.

Meanwhile, Cheng Xiaoshi's standing like he's seen a divine omen. An angel. A war crime. Possibly all three.

He should leave. He should run.

But instead, he runs up to Lu Guang and almost takes him down with a tackle.

"Good morning to you too." He says flatly, recovering.

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Mine just got a whole lot better."

Lu Guang spares him a glance. And then— it happens. That soft little half-smile. The one that tilts his lips enough to send Cheng Xiaoshi reeling.

"Something . . . funny?" He asks, smile twitching. He hopes the tremble in his voice goes unnoticed.

Lu Guang slides his phone into his pocket, turning away. "Not at all."

But that smile doesn't disappear— not even when he starts walking again. Cheng Xiaoshi shoves his hands into his own pockets and follows, staring at the side of Lu Guang's face.

(He's not trying to on purpose. It's just been happening a lot more recently.)

"It's cold, isn't it?" Lu Guang suddenly remarks. Cheng Xiaoshi startles.

Is he talking to me? (Obviously.)

"Yeah, I . . . guess." He murmurs, eyes narrowing suspiciously. ". . . You're in a good mood today."

Lu Guang hums. "Am I?"

"I would know." He points to himself. "What gives? You sleep well and have a nice dream, or . . . ?"

"I slept fine." He answers. "Normal. Like always."

Like always, he says, while Cheng Xiaoshi's still feeling the aftereffects of his dream. It's so unfair how he's teetering on the edge of losing himself while Lu Guang's just out here looking criminally adorable and not even realizing how crazy he drives him.

So . . . normal dreams. No sinful touches. No devastatingly slow eye contact. No whispering in a tone that lives rent-free in your psyche.

Great. So normal.

"Cool. Yeah. Same here," Cheng Xiaoshi lies, hands shoved deeper into his pockets. "Just, y'know. Dreamed of . . . chairs. Sitting in them. Regular stuff."

Lu Guang glances at him sideways. "Chairs?"

"Yup."

"Not me?"

Cheng Xiaoshi trips over absolutely nothing. His gaze snaps back to Lu Guang in an instant.

"I— what?! Why would you— why would I— what kind of—" He stutters, dumbfounded. Confused, because is he . . . is Lu Guang flirting with him?

Lu Guang chuckles. Chuckles. And Cheng Xiaoshi almost dies on the spot.

"If it's a codeword that means me, then by all means," he says, smile twitching, "continue dreaming about chairs."

. . . Self-control is one hell of a test. He's barely holding on right now.

Lu Guang pauses when he feels a tug on his sleeve. He glances back, curious.

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes are wide. Like he doesn't even realize he's reached out until Lu Guang turns to face him— until the heat creeps all the way up to his ears and turns him the colour of a sunburn. His breath fogs up as he tries (and fails) to control the heaviness in his chest. And Lu Guang blinks, stunned.

His fingers twitch where they grip the fabric of Lu Guang's sleeve.

". . . Wait." He trembles. "Can I just—"

He doesn't finish. He can't finish. His brain is buffering, looping through every potential follow-up like a routine wheel, none of which feel remotely safe. Does he want permission to touch? To hold? To stay like this in the quiet, uninterrupted cold a little longer?

What does he want to do?

Why does everything come to a standstill when it comes to Lu Guang?

What about Lu Guang stops him in his tracks and makes him rear his head?

"You okay?" He asks, expression unreadable.

No. No, he's not. Not when Lu Guang's looking at him like that— like he's waiting, like he might lean closer if Cheng Xiaoshi does so much as ask. Like Cheng Xiaoshi's every stuttered breath is worth watching play out.

"Um . . ." He lets go of the sleeve, immediately regretting it. Clamping down on his bottom lip, he walks ahead, hands jammed in his pockets.

". . . Let me get you something." He mumbles.

Because that's all he can do right now. He needs time to think.

- - ⏱︎ - -

The bell above the café door jingles as they step in.

Warmth rushes to meet them. The smell of roasted beans and fresh pastries softens the sharp edges of the cold outside, and Cheng Xiaoshi exhales like he's been holding his breath for years.

He pushes his hood back, running a hand through his hair. He's fine. He's totally sweating under the three layers he's got on, but it's fine. He's laser-focused on a mission now.

Operation Win Lu Guang's Heart has officially begun!

"I'm buying." He declares, marching to the counter. Lu Guang lifts a brow but says nothing, just follows.

Cheng Xiaoshi smacks a hand on the counter, ignoring how sweaty his palms are. "One hazelnut latte— medium, please. And a small cappuccino made with almond milk."

The barista nods, tapping at the register.

Lu Guang tilts his head. "Cappuccino?"

"Yes." He fumbles for his wallet, thumbing through random bills and various cards. "It holds more . . . romantic undertones."

Lu Guang blinks.

"Not the drink," Cheng Xiaoshi clarifies, handing over his card. He smiles lightly. "The gesture."

A pause.

Then, the corner of Lu Guang's mouth curves— just slightly. "I see."

When the drinks are ready, he hands Lu Guang the cappuccino, eyes sparkling. "Your drink, m'lady. Want a rose with it too? A handwritten card? Penned by my amazing cursive skills?"

Lu Guang gives him a weird look, still smiling. ". . . Sugar. One packet."

He gasps. "Sugar? Okay, stranger— who are you and what have you done with my bitter tutor?"

He rolls his eyes, poking Cheng Xiaoshi in the side before he turns to the door. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, whirling to grab his drink and a packet of sugar before hurrying after him.

This is progress. Minor. Slight. Possibly imagined. But progress, nonetheless.

They walk shoulder to shoulder, steam rising from their cups. Cheng Xiaoshi blows on his, taking a small sip.

He then hands Lu Guang the sugar. Their fingers brush for a brief moment, and something stalls in his chest.

No. You can't be freaking out over finger contact.

He diverts his attention, watching his breath fog as he breathes out. This is . . . nice. Calm. A complete 180 from most of his mornings— hectic and unpredictable.

(Once he fell into his laundry basket when trying to pull his socks on.)

(He got stuck.)

(Another time, he showed up to his first lecture wearing two different shoes— a result of pulling an all-nighter the night before.)

(He almost died of embarrassment.)

(And there was another time—

Okay. He gets it.

The chill outside bites a little less now, though Cheng Xiaoshi's pretty sure it's not because of the coffee.

He glances sideways at Lu Guang. It's that scarf.

Still wrapped high up to his cheeks, slightly tilted from earlier. He looks unfairly good in the morning light— face slightly flushed from the cold, lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, hands wrapped around the to-go cup like he's some tragic poetic figure.

Ah— Cheng Xiaoshi really wants to photograph him like this.

He stares too long.

Lu Guang catches him.

"Something on my face?"

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Nothing but beauty, my sweet."

He blinks, stunned for a brief moment before letting out a deep sigh. He looks away, lips pursed. "You're weird."

"Mmm. Admit it, that one totally swept you off your feet." He teases.

Lu Guang hums. "Swept me off my feet? No."

"But you paused," Cheng Xiaoshi says, triumphant.

"I was processing how you sound like a poet and a clown in the same breath."

"That sounds like admiration to me."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. "Sounds like delusion."

"It gets me points though, right?!" He exclaims. "I even said it without hesitating. Proving my total adoration and appreciation and respect for you."

He stares, thinking. Cheng Xiaoshi smiles brighter.

Then, he looks straight ahead, taking a sip from his cup. ". . . Hm. Three points."

"That's it?!"

"Didn't appeal to me."

Cheng Xiaoshi groans. "Okay, fine, Mister Hard-To-Please. Guess I needa up my game."

Lu Guang's smile is hidden behind his cup.

"Mhm."

- - ⏱︎ - -

"Hey! How does this look?"

Cheng Xiaoshi snaps out of his daze, turning when Xu Shanshan tugs on his jacket. They're outside again for digital photography, to take more sample photos and get feedback.

She shows him her camera screen, of a beautifully focused family of ducks over rippling water.

He whistles. "Not bad. When'd you take it?"

She grins, proud. "Yesterday. Went to Nanhu Park and decided to get a feel."

"Nanhu Park?"

Both their heads turn when a third voice chimes in. Lu Guang peeks over Xu Shanshan's shoulder, startling her.

She stiffens. "Hi."

"Hey." He answers placidly.

She sighs, shoulders falling in relief. ". . . You scared me. Didn't think you'd be the type to sneak up on people."

"I'm not." He says, a ghost of a smile crossing his features. "Hey, that looks great."

Xu Shanshan beams. "Yeah?!"

"Yeah. If you want it to look more cinematic, you can dial down the exposure a bit and deepen the shadows."

Cheng Xiaoshi watches the interaction like he's being edged out of a conversation he helped start. And maybe it's just a passing thought, but he can't seem to shake the irritation of seeing Lu Guang and Xu Shanshan so close to each other.

"Okay, rude." He interjects, folding his arms over his chest. "I was the one she was talking to first."

Lu Guang's gaze flits to him. He shrugs. "You weren't saying anything helpful."

"Because I was admiring the ducks!"

"You were zoning out."

"Actually, I was reflecting on the majesty of waterfowl, thank you very much." He says snootily.

Xu Shanshan laughs. "You're so dumb."

"Agreed." Lu Guang adjusts his scarf, hiding the lower half of his face.

Cheng Xiaoshi's argument dies right there. That goddamn scarf.

He clears his throat. Averts his gaze. "Don't you have pictures you need to be taking?"

Lu Guang cocks an eyebrow. "Why are you so worried about the pictures I should be taking?"

"Because obviously I don't want you to fail." Cheng Xiaoshi recovers quick, eyes narrowing mischievously. "Is it wrong for me to worry when your grade is on the line?"

He hums thoughtfully, gaze sharp. "So now you care about my grades?"

"I've always cared!" Cheng Xiaoshi protests. "I'm a very supportive classmate. Probably the most supportive. Might even start a fan club."

Lu Guang eyes him. "With one member?"

"Well . . ." His smile twitches. Half the grade would be part of a Lu Guang fan club if it ever existed.

"— Anyways."

"I'm going to take more pictures— I'll see you guys in a bit." Xu Shanshan says, giving them a half-hearted wave before wandering off.

And then it's just the two of them alone again.

Lu Guang's stare burns into the side of his head. "So?"

"So." Cheng Xiaoshi repeats.

"About this fan club—"

He winces, looking at his wrist. "Oh! Gosh— look at the time!"

(He's not wearing a watch. He's never worn a watch.)

"I totally remembered there's this thing. That I need to photograph. Right now." He grins nervously. "It's on . . . limited time."

Lu Guang's eyes narrow.

Cheng Xiaoshi turns on his heel. "Okay, gotta go, bye!"

As he's speed-walking away, he blushes hard. He just embarrassed the hell out of himself and it's all his own fault.

He mutters a string of incoherent insults at himself, half-prayer, half-exorcism, and by the time he's halfway across the courtyard, he realizes he's got nowhere to go.

There's not a single 'limited time' thing in sight.

He starts fake-looking for a subject, crouching behind a tree and pointing his camera at a squirrel, muttering, "You're helping me kill my embarrassment right now. Stay still."

But then, something crunches behind him.

"You know squirrels don't count as limited-time events, right?"

He nearly jumps out of his own skin. Xu Shanshan was right. Man, he's scary when he just appears out of nowhere.

He looks over his shoulder slowly. Lu Guang's standing above him, scarf hiding everything but the absolute mischief in his eyes.

"You ran away," he says.

"I didn't run." Cheng Xiaoshi huffs. "I just . . . made a strategic retreat."

"Do you even know what that means?"

He rises to his feet. "Of course I know what it means."

"Okay. Explain it."

Cheng Xiaoshi's eye twitches. ". . . Hey. Are you trying to piss me off?"

Lu Guang tilts his head back slightly. "Answer my question first."

"I already did—"

"No, not that one." He says. "The one about the fan club."

Oh, screw this. Maybe he should've just agreed to the one-member thing and called it a day. He does not want to admit that there would be other people in that fan club.

Lu Guang steps forward. The distance between them shrinks. Then he does it again.

And then one more time, until his foot is an inch from touching Cheng Xiaoshi's foot.

"How many people would join a Lu Guang fan club?" He asks quietly.

Cheng Xiaoshi is . . . dying internally. Windows error. Blue screen. The works.

Because Lu Guang's close. Really close. Closer than he normally is. And he's looking up at him like he wants the answer. Like he wants the answer from Cheng Xiaoshi.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

He tries to laugh it off. "What— you want me to guess?"

Lu Guang says nothing. Just waits. Expectant. Quiet. Evil.

Cheng Xiaoshi wilts.

"Fine." He mutters, suddenly annoyed. "Half the grade. Maybe more. Happy?"

Lu Guang tilts his head. "You jealous?"

"Huh—?! No!"

"You sound jealous."

"Pffft, jealous of who? The imaginary people in your imaginary fan club? No way!" He clenches his jaw, biting a smile.

It slips a little. He's never been all that good at pretending anyway.

Lu Guang just keeps watching. Because in silence, Cheng Xiaoshi will always trip on his own words. It's oddly helpful.

And to Lu Guang, who doesn't feel the need to say something all the time, it's an extremely useful quirk of his.

He turns around, ready to get back to his pictures. "If you say so."

And now, Cheng Xiaoshi's being pressured to respond before Lu Guang leaves.

So, naturally—

He snaps.

He grabs Lu Guang's shoulders and closes the small distance between them again. And suddenly, the words are right there— escaping him before he can think—

"Okay, you're right." He blurts, frustrated. "I'd be jealous as hell! I'd fight everyone in the room who isn't me."

Lu Guang stares at him, eyes wide.

Cheng Xiaoshi sets his jaw.

"What's half the grade when I've beaten a guy up for you once before?"

A blink.

Weighted silence.

Lu Guang's lips part. Then he presses them shut again. A full five seconds of plain silence pass, then he tries again—

"That's . . . bad."

That's bad.

That's bad?

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. Did admitting to his jealousy short-circuit Lu Guang's brain or something?

He's about to question it— only for his train of thought to die when he sees it.

The faintest hint of pink on the tips of his ears. Gaze averted, cheeks red.

"You—" Cheng Xiaoshi gasps.

Lu Guang tugs on his scarf, hiding as much of his face as he can.

"Are you blushing?"

". . . Shut up." His voice is barely audible, muffled by the layers of cashmere covering everything from his neck to his eyes. Which— okay— only highlights the blush creeping up his face.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him, stunned. He opens his mouth in disbelief. "Oh my god."

"No."

"Oh my god."

"Stop."

"You're so red."

"I'm not."

"Lu Guang," he breathes, eyes glimmering like he's found the holy grail in human form. "You're blushing— you're blushing over something I said!"

Lu Guang glares at him. It isn't as sharp as always. "I'm cold."

"You were cold." Cheng Xiaoshi grins, bright enough to rival the sun behind the clouds. He leans in, smug. "Now you're just overheating. You like me!"

Lu Guang turns quick, hands in his pockets, escaping like Cheng Xiaoshi's just gonna let him walk away.

"Is that it?" He asks, keeping up despite how fast he's going. "Is that all I need to do? Confess I want you all to myself and you just— swoon? That's what you want out of me?"

"Be quiet."

He laughs. "Oh, gosh. I think I've cracked you wide open."

"No."

"Okay, then, while I'm at it," Cheng Xiaoshi smirks, leaning in. "Can I tell you about the dream I had last night?"

Lu Guang flinches. His eyes widen briefly before he picks up his pace even more. "Stop following me. I'm done with this conversation."

"But I'm not." He once again catches up. "How many points was that? It's gotta be like, thirty."

"One and a half." Lu Guang seethes.

"You're a liar!" Cheng Xiaoshi gasps, laughing. "A no-good, avoidant, gatekeeping liar!"

"You can't just say something like that so seriously." He narrows his eyes.

"Why? Because you'll fall head over heels for me?"

"Because you'll make me think you're ready to jump the first person who looks at me wrong."

Cheng Xiaoshi hums, considering it. Then he dips his head. "Yeah, seems like something I'd do. That a problem?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well, I am fighting for your affection."

Lu Guang groans. "Please just shut up."

He beams. And it's at that exact moment, when Lu Guang looks like he's debating whether to strangle him or let him have the win.

Somehow, he can't seem to decide.

And Cheng Xiaoshi, glad he's finally made a breakthrough, now knows exactly how to rig the point system in his favour.

- - -

Sometime near the end of lecture, as the professor calls out for them to head back inside, Cheng Xiaoshi lingers, eyes caught on something.

Eyes caught on someone.

Lu Guang is adjusting his scarf, pale fingers gripping the edge of the fabric. He's smoothing it down, hiding the lower half of his flushed face. A soft puff of his breath escapes into the air as he exhales, early morning sunlight hooked on his frame like it was just meant for him.

Subject A's second picture. That's what this is.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't waste another second.

He lifts his phone— not the camera, because that would give him away— and catches the moment before Lu Guang notices.

Yes. It's perfect.

Even though the scene is torn apart by the next gust of wind, the photo stays, heavy in Cheng Xiaoshi's hands.

Weighted, because somehow, this is all that matters to him now.

Chapter Text

- T-minus 70 days -
(17 days til the midterm!)

"Six and a half."

Cheng Xiaoshi lets his head drop to the table with a dull thunk.

Six and a half points in three whole days. He should be in the double digits by now— that is, if Lu Guang were a normal person with normally functioning feelings.

After class yesterday, he intercepted a studying Lu Guang in the library to talk his ear off for an hour.

"Do you think ducks get insecure about their quacks?"

Lu Guang just gave him a look.

Then, a little later, he dropped by his apartment with a cutely decorated bag of homemade cookies.

One batch had burned, but he still packaged them and handed them to Lu Guang, saying: "They represent how you've scorched my heart."

And after he'd been invited inside for tea, he proceeded to draw a very heartfelt comic strip of him proposing to Lu Guang on a napkin.

Lu Guang, in the comic, had heart eyes.

Lu Guang, in real life, had judgmental eyes.

Today, he glared at everyone in his stats lecture who so much as glanced his way after what happened a week ago. Seems some people are still caught up on it.

The smartass who ran his mouth that day changed his seat, and he now sits on the other side of the lecture hall. He avoids Cheng Xiaoshi like the plague.

Which is good. He wouldn’t want to be associated with someone like him anyway.

As soon as the clock struck 10, Cheng Xiaoshi was the first one out the door.

He sent Lu Guang a text.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: wya babe 😊

The response came reluctantly. One that captured Lu Guang's exasperation so accurately.

> @lu.guang: Do not come find me.

. . .

So, anyway, he found Lu Guang in the main courtyard, sitting on a bench and scrolling on his phone. Clearly his idea of "do not come find me" lacked reinforcement.

Cheng Xiaoshi knows he's been on Lu Guang's mind all day. He doesn't need to be told to know. (Cheng Xiaoshi, the ultimate self-gaslighter.)

He sat down right beside him, grinning. And Lu Guang could only sigh.

He made moves. Complimented the shade of Lu Guang's hair (powder white, by the way, not just white.) Brushed a knuckle against his cheek to compliment his skin. Leaned in close. (Was smacked away, too.)

And now they're here, 8:28 P.M, mid-tutoring session. Cheng Xiaoshi's slumped over the dining table, wallowing in pity, while Lu Guang's in the kitchen.

His complaints resume.

"Six. And a half. Lu Guang." Cheng Xiaoshi groans louder. "I've made like, twice that number of attempts in the last 48 hours to win your cold, indifferent heart."

Lu Guang hums.

"Don't 'hm' me!" He cries. "I bought you a cappuccino for sentiment, I gifted you those cookies, I spent all my free time with you— I even showed up tonight wearing my super expensive cologne!"

Something clatters against the counter.

Cheng Xiaoshi pouts.

He's not even listening. Seriously— it's been so hard to woo Lu Guang ever since he reacted the way he did yesterday.

It's like he's got his guard back up. Which actually shouldn't be because he wants Cheng Xiaoshi to woo him.

Shouldn't he be more receptive if he's testing him?

He wails against the table, arms splayed out above his head.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't think he's ever had such a hard time with romance before. Because . . . it's not like he hasn't ever dated anyone.

They've all just been flings, though. People who were conveniently there at the time. People who weren't looking for something serious.

His dating history isn't something to pride since he's never really gotten with someone he likes before. It's more like . . . he'd been friends with exes before they asked him out. And he just said yes.

Isn't dating being friends . . . but with more flirting?

Like 'I bought you a snack!' but instead it's 'I bought you a snack~ 😏'?

He's never really understood it.

Not until now, anyway, as he's being tortured by the one guy he's ever wanted to pursue in his life.

The heavy sound of a plate being placed down catches Cheng Xiaoshi's attention. He looks up to find Lu Guang already staring back at him.

"Lighten up." He pushes a plate of biscuits towards him. "You'll get it eventually."

Cheng Xiaoshi frowns, squinting. ". . . I feel like you're mocking me."

Lu Guang leans over the back of another chair, knuckles against his cheek.

Yeah, see that? That's a total 'I'm so mocking you' pose.

He sits up, shoulders slouched, still pouting. Oh well. His sadness won't keep him from indulging himself in store-bought biscuits.

He bites down on one, eyebrows raising when he sees Lu Guang take a small step closer.

What's he looking at?

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks. ". . . Something wrong—?"

He startles when a hand catches the collar of his hoodie, tugging him forward. He gapes as Lu Guang leans down, close— too close—

And breathes him in.

Cheng Xiaoshi's thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Lu Guang hums, pulling back. "Mmm."

He forgets how to breathe.

Then, as if he's still not done torturing Cheng Xiaoshi, he smirks and swipes the biscuit in his fingers, taking a bite from the exact same place Cheng Xiaoshi's lips had been seconds earlier.

"There, I noticed. Happy?"

He stares, baffled.

Lu Guang turns, still chewing. "Your break's over. Come sit."

Wait— no. Not yet. HE CAN'T GLOSS OVER SOMETHING LIKE THAT???

That was— what was that? How'd he do that? Why did he do that?

Cheng Xiaoshi's face goes up in flames, like a match to paper. He slaps a hand to his mouth, letting out a stunned little sound.

"I— you— why—" His ears are flushed red, eyes wide. "I'm—"

"Take your time." Lu Guang says passively, sitting down in front of the short desk.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands abruptly, chair screeching as he points an accusing finger. "You can't do that!"

"What?"

"That!" He sputters. "You can't just— do things like that and act like it didn't make me question my entire existence!"

Lu Guang cocks an eyebrow. Cheng Xiaoshi covers his face with his hands, groaning.

"God— it feels like I swallowed my heart."

He huffs out an amused breath. "You're the one who wanted me to notice."

"Yeah, I wanted you to notice. Not flip the lights on downstairs."

"Sounds like a you problem."

Cheng Xiaoshi's eyebrow twitches. "I'm two seconds away from making it a you problem. Don't test me."

Lu Guang scoffs, lips curved. "You won't."

He drops his hands. Eyes narrowed. "You're doubting me?"

"Of course. You're all bark." He leans back on a hand, eyes glinting. "No bite."

Cheng Xiaoshi sets his jaw.

No bite? What does that mean?

. . . Is Lu Guang trying to tell him that his efforts lack any sincerity? He might be jumping the gun here, but the way he said it so . . . easily—

Has everything Cheng Xiaoshi’s been doing these past few days been too shallow?

He walks towards the carpet.

Does every attempt at trying to get Lu Guang's favour seem like he's doing it just to win? Not because he likes him?

"Let's review conditional probability." Lu Guang starts, sifting through papers. But Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't stop at the other side of the desk.

He crouches down right beside Lu Guang.

"All . . . bark?" He repeats.

The former looks at him. Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward on his knees.

Lu Guang notices. "What—"

He closes in. "Am I really like a dog to you? Barking just to bark?"

"That's not what—"

There are hands on his shoulders next and he topples over when Cheng Xiaoshi pushes his weight forward.

He doesn't think. Doesn't calculate. He acts— driven by impulse and irritation and maybe— maybe a bit too much desire.

Lu Guang falls against the floor with a sharp breath, with a thud that's more stunned than it is hurt. His hands press into the carpet, propping himself up just barely as Cheng Xiaoshi leans over him.

Hilariously so, the latter's silver dog tag hangs in the air between them. Lu Guang's gaze lingers on it before it rises to Cheng Xiaoshi's face.

"Still think I’m no bite?" He asks, voice low.

Curiosity. Suspicion.

He has to know. Because if Lu Guang's been reading him wrong this entire time, it explains why everything feels so . . . fake.

It'll explain the rigged point system too.

Something that isn't plain shock— something dark— flickers behind Lu Guang's eyes.

Cheng Xiaoshi catches it. And his nerves flutter in anticipation.

Woah. That's a look.

"I think," he says slowly, quietly, "you're digging yourself in a hole you can't crawl out of."

Cheng Xiaoshi licks his lips. 

Shit this is totally turning him on.

"Who said I wanted out?"

Because he doesn’t. He’s well aware of that fact. He wants— and wants and wants, because out of all the 8 billion people on this planet, Lu Guang is the only one that has Cheng Xiaoshi acting like this.

Every waking breath, every whisper on his lips, every figure in the corner of his eye— he wants it all to be Lu Guang.

He's fallen hard. This is something not even fate can pull apart.

"Cheng Xiaoshi." Lu Guang warns.

"Lu Guang." Cheng Xiaoshi croons.

Lu Guang narrows his eyes. But he doesn't move. Nor does he shove him off.

Whereas every other time Cheng Xiaoshi's done something to come onto him, Lu Guang dodges him deftly.

Refuses to indulge. Doesn't feed into his flirtations unless he's the one initiating it.

And everything Lu Guang's done so far has been an indication. A signal to Cheng Xiaoshi saying 'keep trying' and 'read my intentions already'.

The silence is tense. Sharp.

And Cheng Xiaoshi thinks he finally gets it.

His lips curve. "You're not pushing me away."

Lu Guang looks off to the side for a moment, expression flat. "You're heavy."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

His heart hammers in his chest.

Fast.

The heat of Lu Guang under him, the look in his eyes, the sheer nerve of this moment— it's overwhelming. It's driving him mad.

Especially since he's already dreamt of this before.

He leans in. "So what is it?"

Lu Guang's gaze is unwavering, unreadable. Not at all different from what it always is.

And yet . . . there's something else in those eyes Cheng Xiaoshi can't quite name. Something like—

"A warning."

And before Cheng Xiaoshi can press for more— Lu Guang's legs come up around his waist and he flips their positions in one swift motion.

The tension snaps. Cheng Xiaoshi blinks, confused.

Lu Guang's the one leaning over him now, poised, controlled, and way too smug for his liking.

"I said you're all bark." He says, eyes sharp. "But I didn't say you weren't dangerous."

. . . Huh?

He lets the weight of that hang there before pulling back, patting Cheng Xiaoshi's chest.

"You still have a lesson to finish." He concludes, sitting straight behind the desk. He spares the still-lying Cheng Xiaoshi a glance, eyes sultry.

"Don't get distracted, hm?"

Too late.

Because Cheng Xiaoshi has already lost the battle he instigated.

He throws an arm over his eyes. And mutters a defeated,

"Fifty points."

- - ⏱︎ - -

- T-minus 69 days -
(16 days til the midterm!)

[Saturday, 11:47 P.M.]

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: hello
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i know ur missing me rn
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i can feel it in my bones 🦴❄️🥶

. . .

> @lu.guang: Why are you texting me this late.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: replied to "i know ur missing me rn": ^^
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: and now im 1000 times more sure because you responded in 3 minutes and 12 seconds
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: no need to worry my juliet 😏
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i can read ur thoughts like theyre my own

> @lu.guang: Shakespeare?

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: reading it for lit. its actually pretty dope

@lu.guang is typing...

> @lu.guang: Just say you don't understand what it's about.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: 😔
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: ur so mean
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: bully
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: tyrant lu guang

> @lu.guang: It's not tyranny if I expose you for the fraud that you are.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: for your infrmation! i DO know what its about. im not that stupid 😒😒

> @lu.guang: If you say so.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: whatveer
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: i was actually texting to see if ur free tmrw

> @lu.guang: questioned "i was actually texting to see if ur free tmrw"

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: there's a pre-final game at 1 in the shencheng uni gymnasium
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: wanna come?
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: actually no
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: you HAVE to come
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: please

@lu.guang is typing...

. . .

@lu.guang is typing...

> @lu.guang: You're not inviting me to break my face again, are you?

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: ?!??!!??
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: 😭😭😭
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: TAHT WAS AN ACCIDENT

> @lu.guang: How am I supposed to be sure of that?

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: by believing me when i tell u so ☹️☹️☹️ i promise i wasnt aiming for u

> @lu.guang: Right.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: stop 😕
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: seriously, ur never gna let me live it down

> @lu.guang: 😄
> @lu.guang: Maybe.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: so... can you?

. . .

. . .

. . .

@basketbae_xiaoshi is typing...

[unsent] @basketbae_xiaoshi: ☹️?

@lu.guang is typing...

> @lu.guang: I'll be busy when it starts. But I can make it by the start of the second half.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: ...
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: WAIT THATS A YES???

> @lu.guang: Yes.
> @lu.guang: Try not to break anyone's face before I get there.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: 🤭🤭🤭
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: im blushinf
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: pls marry me 💍

> @lu.guang: Pass your midterms first. I'll consider it then.

> @basketbae_xiaoshi: deal!!!
> @basketbae_xiaoshi: c u tmrw gorgeous 😉

> @lu.guang: Goodnight.

- T-minus 68 days -
(15 days til the midterm!)

Cheng Xiaoshi's up at nine the next morning, buzzing with energy. Eager to get to the gym early so he can get a few lucky hoops in before the pre-final game kicks off.

It's a tradition that Coach runs every semester before midterms. Since the final game always lands a week before finals, this match serves as the perfect warm-up— for their bodies and their pride.

Today's game is against the Shencheng University basketball team, a persistent rival that Cheng Xiaoshi's team has played against one too many times. Both teams are evenly matched, which is exactly what makes the competition so infamous.

Every time they face off, spectators know it'll be a close, brutal game— neck and neck until the last buzzer. Everyone always makes time to sit and watch, even if they only catch the ending fifteen minutes.

Cheng Xiaoshi rolls out of bed with the widest, giddiest grin ever. He's invited Lu Guang to watch. And this time, (fingers crossed) he won't happen to be right there when a pass deflects. Hopefully.

He takes forever getting ready.

Spends way too long fixing his hair. Changes his outfit three times. Flexes in the mirror just for the sake of it.

When he's finally satisfied, he pushes up the yellow bandana that keeps his bangs out of his face, throws on a jacket, and pauses momentarily to look at himself.

Yeah. He's so got this.

[12:21 P.M.]

The whole team is halfway through warmups at the away court. Cheng Xiaoshi is watching his ball arc through the air, hoping to land a clean two-pointer, when a voice startles him from behind.

"You're excited."

He whips around— doesn't even check if the ball went into the hoop. His eagerness dims for half a second when his eyes land on Han Chao instead.

His gaze shifts to the stands. Then it slides back.

And his enthusiasm returns, full force. "Of course I am! We're gonna win today for sure."

Han Chao's smile widens. "Don't disagree there. Let's kick ass."

Cheng Xiaoshi beams. Last semester's match ended in Shencheng's favour, putting their teams at a 5-4 split. If all goes well, this game will close the gap and set the stage for their victory in the finals.

To say everyone's hyped is an understatement.

The energy is obvious— his teammates are in their zones, locked in. Totally ready for whatever's about to come. And when they win, they'll celebrate with drinks and pizookie. (Don't knock it till you try it.)

"Oh, and," Han Chao thumbs over his shoulder, "Coach wants to see you. Said it's important."

A shiver crawls up his spine. The last time Coach wanted to talk to him, it was about b-wording him.

"Don't say it like that." He droops. "Seriously, I think I'm sweating cold now."

Han Chao laughs. "Hey, you've got good luck floating around you. I don't think he's gonna boot you to the bench."

"Yeah, well," Cheng Xiaoshi wheezes out a pained laugh, turning, "he's got something against me living easy."

Sure enough, Coach is standing off to the side, arms crossed and eyes sharp. Cheng Xiaoshi trudges over, expecting denunciation to the worst dungeon ever. (Dramatic horror chord: the Bench.)

He stops at a distance and stares out at the court, hands behind his back.

Coach remains silent beside him, arms still crossed, observing the players.

. . .

It's, um . . . oddly quiet.

Why isn't he saying anything?

Cheng Xiaoshi's gaze flits over every second, begrudgingly, nervously, regretfully. It feels like he's about to be scolded— though he swears he hasn't done anything.

"Your grades."

He almost dies from the scare, jerking upright like he's been electrocuted. Augh— why does he always do that?!

Coach looks at him. Cheng Xiaoshi blinks, still frowning.

"They're looking better. Didn't take you for the type of kid to listen to me . . . but you proved me wrong. Good work."

. . . Wait. Praise???

No, before that—

His frown deepens. ". . . I'm not a kid."

Coach spares him a flat look. "You're my student."

"I'm twenty."

"Still my student."

He narrows his eyes. But hey— he's not pushing the issue. This is praise. From Coach. No way he's risking it getting revoked.

"Benching you is the last thing I want to do." He says. "So I'm glad you cleaned up your act and fixed the mess that your grades used to be."

Then he smacks Cheng Xiaoshi's arm. Hard.

"Good luck. Win this, and I won't bug you about your report card ever again." He smirks.

His eyes light up. "You mean it?!"

Coach nods.

And suddenly, the ache in his arm feels like fireworks. Because now?

Now he's really ready to give this game his all.

He already planned to.

(He always does.)

- - ⏱︎ - -

[1:08 P.M.]

The game is electric.

The gym is packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, echoing with cheers and buzzers and the heavy thump of sneakers across the court.

The air practically crackles with tension as everyone's in their element, the kind that lives in real rivalries. The other team is just as charged, making quick passes and smart plays.

Commentary blares from the PA system, student volunteers switching off between play-by-play and hype-building.

"Shencheng's closing in on the lead again— but Hui Jie Academy is holding it down with tight defence! Numbers 5 and 9 are in the zone today!"

Cheng Xiaoshi barely hears it. His body's on autopilot, muscle memory taking over, instincts primed.

He doesn't think he's ever felt so cool-headed.

Sweat clings to the nape of his neck. The bandana around his head is damp, but it does well to keep his hair out of his eyes. His hands feel steady. Legs coiled like springs.

Han Chao returns his high-five after a clean assist. "You're hot today."

Cheng Xiaoshi flashes a grin, chest heaving. "I'm always hot."

The ball's in play again before Han Chao can roll his eyes.

"There's Number 5 again with the drive— ooh, and a clean crossover! Number 2 hangs back, ready to retrieve in case the shot misses!"

He's been playing hard since the tip-off. Fast, focused, sharp. Because Lu Guang said he'd be here by the second half, but there's no guarantee he won't show up a little earlier, and—

And, damn it, Cheng Xiaoshi wants him to walk into the gym and see him thriving.

Not flailing.

Not fumbling.

Not a single stray ball in sight.

Call him a showoff and he'll grin and own up to it. It's something he's proud of.

His eyes dart as he circles to the left wing, keeping pace with the play. He sees the pass coming before it's thrown— and he cuts in, catches, pivots, and takes the shot.

"And that's another successful two for Hui Jie Academy! The crowd is going wild!"

He grins at the whoop that comes from his side of the stands. Then smirks at the players whose pass he intercepted. Their scowls only deepen.

The gym roars, torn between the teams.

Yeah. He's doing great.

Awesome.

He steals a glance toward the entrance of the gym, where people are still trickling in late.

Not yet.

His nerves buzz.

Soon.

[1:17 P.M.]

Three minutes to halftime.

It's a close game, with Hui Jie Academy two points ahead. Three minutes until the first half belongs to them. All they need to do is keep the ball in play.

Everyone's on fire. Every pass, every read, every pivot feels like second nature. It's focus. The flow. No play is overthought. No shot is hesitant.

And for once, Coach hasn't yelled at them in ten minutes straight.

Everything's clicking.

He's got this— he's got this—

"Xiaoshi!" One of his teammates yells, tossing him a pass across the court.

He bolts for it— too fast, maybe— and catches it in stride. And then, while he's mid-turn—

Someone shoves him.

Not hard, but enough to throw off his balance. Enough that his foot hits the court at a weird angle.

Pop.

The sound is sickening. Wet. Internal.

And then, immediately— pain. White-hot pain flashing up his leg like lightning sparking in his knee, burning up his thigh. His ankle rolls violently, gives out underneath him, and the next thing he knows—

He catches himself on the floor. Knuckles bruising hard.

There are a couple of gasps. The clamour gets louder.

His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't even realize he's gripping his leg until someone calls his name.

"eng Xiaoshi— hey! Hey, you okay?!"

The ref's whistle cuts through the noise.

A timeout is called. Everything slows.

Cheng Xiaoshi groans, jaw clenched, trying to breathe through it. Because fuck, it hurts like an absolute—

"C'mon, get up!" Someone says. A few of his teammates crowd him.

"Move your hand, let me see—"

"Coach?!"

The lights overhead are way too bright all of a sudden.

"I— ah," he bites down on a hiss, shutting his eyes tight. "I'm fine— I just— my ankle—"

He's not fine.

He knows it. Coach knows it. Everyone watching probably knows it.

His ankle's already swelling.

- - ⏱︎ - -

He's fine! He was totally right. Even if it didn't feel like it.

Cheng Xiaoshi had been brought to the nearest walk-in clinic. The doctor ran some physical tests on him, made a note of where it hurt and where it was swelling, and ruled it to be a grade A sprain. No biggie.

(He's totally not losing his mind right now or anything.)

He's glad it's not a fracture. But it still hurts just as bad and he'll definitely be out of commission for a bit.

His sock has been cut off. His shoe has been confiscated. He's stuck in a loaner hoodie from the clinic and a pair of sweatpants, one sock on, one ankle wrapped, with a bag of ice melting slowly on his lap.

It's supposed to be pressed to his foot. He's tired of leaning over.

He falls back against the pillow with a sigh, staring up wearily at the ceiling.

Greatest wooing attempt of the century.

His teammate had gone to fill out the last of the paperwork, told him not to worry about it, and that he'd call later to check in.

And that would be great . . . if he didn't feel like such a loser.

He scowls.

"So much for 'oh come watch me play'." He mutters, mocking himself. "Ain't all that charming to walk in and find the guy who invited you cradling his ankle like a loser on the floor."

Seriously. It's just a sprain. He could've gotten back up and shrugged it off.

(No, he couldn't have.)

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs again, letting his head fall to the side. He stares at the window, frustrated.

What a stupid way to ruin a perfect game.

What's he even gonna say when Lu Guang sits through the whole game and doesn't realize he wasn't playing? It would be kinda funny though. He supposes he can laugh about it with him later.

But not now. Not when he feels like a total failure.

He knows his teammates can handle the game, but it feels . . . wrong that he's not there, giving it his all. Even though giving it his all is the reason he ended up here.

Oh well.

It's not like this can get any more embarrassing—

The door slams open.

He startles, head snapping to it—

And he freezes.

Standing there, chest heaving, face flushed, hair wind-tossed— dishevelled— is Lu Guang. His jacket's halfway off, phone clutched in his hand like he's been tracking directions on the way over.

And he's currently staring at him with the most concerned, wild-eyed look Cheng Xiaoshi's ever seen.

Something in his chest flips.

"What are you—" he begins, cutting off when Lu Guang closes the distance in four fast strides and—

He drops to his knees beside the bed, flopping over Cheng Xiaoshi's legs, exhausted. Lu Guang's forehead presses against his thigh, breath hot against the fabric.

". . . You're okay," he breathes finally.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares, blinking.

Did . . . did he run here?

A second later, his shoulders fall. He smiles. And places a hand on the back of Lu Guang's head, letting it rest in his hair.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I'm okay."

Chapter Text

Lu Guang doesn't move.

His breath is still ragged, chest rising and falling against Cheng Xiaoshi's good leg, arms crossed over his head.

It's oddly intimate.

For a moment, all Cheng Xiaoshi can do is feel him here. Solid and real and close. Warm through the fabric of the sweatpants.

The moment lasts maybe three minutes. Then—

A sly grin spreads across his face.

He slides his hand down, fingers brushing Lu Guang's nape before falling along the curve of his shoulder.

"You ran all the way here?" he asks, voice suspiciously soft.

Lu Guang exhales. Doesn't answer.

"Did you? For me?" He leans forward. "You ran for my sake?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, you did. You care for me sooo much," he sighs, smoothing down a strand of his hair. "You ran across town just to see if I was still in one piece. And now you're all flushed and breathless— overexerted because you were worried for me!"

"I said shut up."

Cheng Xiaoshi giggles.

Lu Guang lifts his head, finally, and glares at him. His hair is stuck to his forehead, soaked with sweat, jaw tight, face very pink.

His eyes glimmer, smile widening, and he tilts his head and sings, "You're blushing."

"I ran," Lu Guang hisses. "Of course I'm—"

"You sprinted to my bedside like we're in a drama. Like I was gonna flatline. That's so romantic." He chuckles, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than before. Airier. His heart's fluttering. "You do know that I'm the one who's supposed to be courting you, right?"

"I didn't know what happened," Lu Guang snaps, ignoring him. He's still kneeling on the ground, body trembling from the exertion and weariness and . . . though it's basically impossible— maybe even— fear?

His grip on the sheets tightens. "I showed up to find three people missing and the game on hold, and the people in the stands were all confused and whispering about an injury— and then I asked your coach about you, only for him to tell me that you got hurt and—"

He stops. Inhales. And covers his face with his hands.

". . . You're so stupid."

. . . Oh.

He's not joking. It's real concern in his voice. It's real fear in his eyes. It's real dread that probably drove him all the way here like he was out of his mind.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows.

The mood shifts for a second.

And his voice softens, still playful— but quieter now.

"Hey," he brushes Lu Guang's knuckles with his fingers. "I'm okay. Really. Sorry for making you worry— it's just a sprain."

Silence.

Lu Guang exhales like he's trying to rein himself in, and moves his hands up into his hair instead, forcing it all away from his forehead.

"What happened?"

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs, still watching him. He looks cool with his hair pushed back. "I was being cool and some guy got jealous and shoved me."

Lu Guang gives him a look. He suppresses the dopey smile that threatens to grace his face. (God, he's hopeless.)

"You sprained your ankle . . . being cool?"

"No, I sprained my ankle landing from being cool. There's a difference."

He doesn't laugh. It doesn't matter. Cheng Xiaoshi's brimming with joy just being looked at.

Lu Guang's gaze flits down to the wrapped ankle peeking out from under the blanket, eyes narrowing.

"You're stupid."

His smile softens. "Yeah?"

"So stupid."

"One more time?"

"Stupid."

He laughs. Lu Guang's glare seems to dwindle around the edges.

Because the sound of his laughter is light and easy. It soaks into the small, sterile clinic room like the sun through a curtain. And it doesn't look like he's dreading the injury, nor is he on the verge of tears because of it.

He seems . . . happy, for some odd reason.

And Lu Guang can't stay mad at a face like that.

"Just a sprain, huh . . ." He mutters.

Cheng Xiaoshi nods. "I can barely feel it."

Okay, maybe that's not the entire truth since his ankle still tingles— but the ice helped numb it, and so did the pain meds. He really is alright.

Lu Guang's expression flattens. "You've been flirting with me nonstop since I walked in, and you're telling me that with a straight face?"

"I mean," Cheng Xiaoshi shrugs, smirking again, "if you're gonna fall into my lap, the least I can do is appreciate the view."

He freezes.

And there it is. Cheng Xiaoshi watches the full-body pause like he just won a million bucks.

He's about to add a cheeky little "I've got a handsy nurse kink, too," when—

Lu Guang smacks him in the arm. Hard.

He laughs again, shielding himself from another smack. "Ow! You're really gonna kick me when I'm down?!"

He scowls. "You're insufferable."

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him, nothing but love seeping through his pores when he sees the reddish tint on the tips of Lu Guang's ears.

He's turned away, clearly flustered, but doesn't leave the side of the bed.

And that's all Cheng Xiaoshi needs.

Damn it, he thinks, grin slow and giddy, you're the one wooing me right now.

Lu Guang's sitting on the very edge of the bed, back to Cheng Xiaoshi as he stares at the door.

"How long do you have to stay?"

"Mmm," he squints. "The nurse said I can leave when I'm cleared. Which is like, whenever."

His gaze falls to his lap. Cheng Xiaoshi contemplates poking him in the side. It would be funny. Funny until Lu Guang turns and actually hits him.

"Why didn't you respond to my texts."

. . . Huh. Texts?

Is he hearing right? Is that—

Is that a hint of coyness in his tone? Like, the abashed, cute little anime girl kind of coyness? Like the classic tsundere "I wasn't waiting for you, b-b-baka!"? (Eugh.)

Lu Guang looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrows tense, poorly concealed worry in those silver eyes. Cheng Xiaoshi swallows.

. . . Yes. He's definitely hearing right.

"Um," his heart's pace quickens, "it's . . . dead."

Oh god.

Oh god.

He really wants to kiss him.

(He must have a thing for tsundere anime girls or something.)

Lu Guang looks back down at his lap again. "I only ran from Shencheng here. Not all the way from Hui Jie."

Cheng Xiaoshi's losing his mind— holy shit, he's going crazy—

because the only thing he can think about is his lips on Lu Guang's.

The same ones that are moving right now, words articulating— but Cheng Xiaoshi stopped listening a long time ago.

His heart's racing. His eyes are everywhere and nowhere, focused and unfocused. With that dream still living rent-free in the back of his mind, and the thought of this moment being a clear indication of something changing—

Oh— he's beyond hopeless now.

"I tried to text you but you weren't responding so I got even more worried because I thought you died." Lu Guang says, eyes narrowed. "Seriously, who doesn't charge their phone before going to a big game—"

"Lu Guang."

He blinks, looking back when he feels a tug on the back of his jacket. His gaze then shifts back up to Cheng Xiaoshi.

He's still got his bandana around his forehead. Lu Guang squints.

Is the reason he's called the Golden Boy of the basketball team because he wears this thing? It's golden enough. He's also always smiling, so maybe it's a play on words?

Lu Guang doesn't like it. The thing's ugly.

He turns his body, stealing Cheng Xiaoshi's words before he can speak. "Hold still for a second."

"But I—"

"Wait." He cuts, reaching forward.

He slides his fingers under the cloth and pulls it off, allowing Cheng Xiaoshi's bangs to fall free. They curl inwards, messy, and Lu Guang tries to fix them.

And Cheng Xiaoshi . . . is staring. At his mouth. Which is maybe a few inches away. Tempting. Inviting. Right there.

Lu Guang senses it in the air between them immediately.

His eyes narrow. "What are you doing."

What is he doing?

(Being a pervert.)

". . . Admiring."

That works too. Because technically, he is admiring. And wanting. And longing. And itching to just reach over and—

Lu Guang's eyes flick down to his. He doesn't move at first, staring like he's trying to figure Cheng Xiaoshi out.

His gaze is steady. He's silent. Unreadable.

Then, his hands fall to Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulders. And he leans in.

Like . . . leans in.

Is . . . this really happening? It's happening— right? There's no other reason for Lu Guang to be this close because the bandana has been off for god knows how long.

There's no other reason for his eyes to drop lower. No other reason for him to tilt his head the exact same way he did in the dream that's still haunting him.

Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers twitch in the fabric of Lu Guang's jacket, and his lips instinctively part. Just a few more centimetres and—

And then Lu Guang stops.

The tension snaps. Cheng Xiaoshi stares, still frozen. Then he sees the devastatingly calm smile on Lu Guang's face as he says:

"You thought I was gonna kiss you, huh?"

He gapes. "Wha—"

Lu Guang shakes his head, taps his finger once against Cheng Xiaoshi's lips, and pulls back like nothing happened.

"You're so obvious." He snorts, rising from the bed.

"But you— I thought—" Cheng Xiaoshi jolts up. "Why not?!"

"You don't deserve it." Lu Guang replies, wandering off.

He doesn't deserve it? What kind of half-assed reason is that?!

"It's not like you've done what I asked." He adds. Cheng Xiaoshi narrows his eyes.

"What, you mean the countless efforts I've made to make you say yes to my confession?" He asks in disbelief. "No, I'm pretty sure you're the one leading me on."

He looks over his shoulder, and Cheng Xiaoshi's expecting a glare where there actually is a glint. An amused glint. An entertained glint.

"And if I was?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's jaw drops. Lu Guang stifles a laugh.

"It's not like you'd stop pursuing me." He says it like it's common knowledge, sweeping a hand over the counter.

(It is. Because Cheng Xiaoshi's already in too deep to quit.)

(. . . Loser.)

He huffs.

Fine.

It takes two to play a game of chase.

"Yeah, I wouldn't," he agrees, falling back onto the pillow, arms under his head. "So now that we've established that, let's skip the formalities and get to the good part."

"Not a chance."

He smirks. If he didn't know any better, that answer is basically an indication that there is a chance.

"Come here, GuangGuang. I have a gift for you."

Lu Guang looks at him, skeptical. "I don't like how you said that."

"You'll like it. You'll love it." Cheng Xiaoshi hums, smirk widening.

He turns to his side, leans in like it's a secret worth keeping from the air, and points between the two of them.

"A huge gift. My personal favourite. It starts with me and you and ends with something called cohabitation."

And man, does he love the look on Lu Guang's face when it registers.

He doesn't answer immediately. Just stares.

He stares like he can't believe the words that just came out of Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth. Like he's trying to decide whether to laugh, get angry, or hurl the nearest piece of medical equipment at his head.

And Cheng Xiaoshi, lord help him, only grins wider.

"What?" he says innocently. "You like home-cooked meals, don't you? Cuddly afternoons. Steamy evenings, if you catch my drift—"

"You can't even walk, idiot."

"A temporary setback."

Lu Guang drags a hand down his face. "Unbelievable."

"But you're still here," Cheng Xiaoshi sings, stretching with all the lazy confidence of a cat basking in the sun. He lets his good leg hang off the edge of the bed. "It's okay, I get it. You're obsessed with me. I would be too."

"You're delusional."

"Obsessed and in denial." He corrects.

Lu Guang shoots him one last withering look before turning to the counter to divert his attention. But not before Cheng Xiaoshi catches the faintest of smiles on his face.

It's hidden, but not hidden enough.

A reward no one finds more satisfying than Cheng Xiaoshi himself.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Lu Guang helps him get in the cab once he's ready to leave.

The nurse checked him out and told him to rest as much as possible. Painkillers are a necessity, and he's not about to thug out the pain a sprain brings.

(He's already sprained the same ankle once before.)

(He was to the point of hurling himself into traffic because he couldn't have painkillers.)

They get in the taxi without a hitch, and before Cheng Xiaoshi knows it, he's dozed off against Lu Guang's shoulder.

Lu Guang straightens when his head falls against him, ready to turn and scold him for getting too close. But when he sees that stupid face— dark fluttering lashes, slightly parted mouth, sunkissed skin— he just settles with a sigh.

This guy really is going to be the death of him.

The ride to his apartment is silent. The driver doesn't say anything. Lu Guang doesn't say anything. Cheng Xiaoshi . . . snores quietly.

And when the car comes to a stop outside his building, he thanks the driver and tries to shake Cheng Xiaoshi awake.

"Hey. We're here."

Nothing.

He nudges his shoulder. "Cheng Xiaoshi."

Still nothing.

A long pause. Then he sighs deeply.

"Sorry, give me one second." He says to the driver, who only dips his head.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Lu Guang gets out of the car, rounds it to the other side, and opens the door on Cheng Xiaoshi's side.

He crouches slightly. Then mutters, "Are you seriously gonna make me carry you? Hey."

There's no response other than the faint sound of his breathing, steady and warm. Lu Guang glares at him like he can force him awake by sheer irritation alone.

He won't wake up. Does he sleep like he's dead?

With a quiet sigh of surrender, seeing as that doesn't work, he slides an arm under Cheng Xiaoshi's legs. Careful, so as not to bang his injured leg against the seat, he tries to pull him forward—

but he's one heavy guy.

Grimacing when Cheng Xiaoshi falls against him like a sack of bricks, he realizes this isn't going to be very easy.

It takes some maneuvering. One awkward shift after another until he's turned around, tugging him up onto his back with a grunt.

The unconscious idiot mumbles something into Lu Guang's shoulder— completely incoherent— and nuzzles closer.

Lu Guang's eyebrow twitches. And he grumbles. And he almost gives up.

What good does it do him to worry about this guy?

But . . . then, he hears a faint "Lu Guang" and all his complaints die in his throat.

He tightens his grip under Cheng Xiaoshi's legs and starts the slow, steady walk toward the building.

Lu Guang isn't panting by the time he makes it to the elevator— but he's also not going to admit how hard it is to carry him. (Seriously, is it muscle or fat that accounts for his body mass?)

He reaches the front door, fumbles with his keys, and kicks it open wide enough to step through. Inside, he adjusts Cheng Xiaoshi one more time and mutters under his breath, "You owe me."

Still asleep. Still weighted like a blanket.

Still pressed close enough that Lu Guang can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, smell the faint scent of his cologne, dulled now, still present.

He starts toward the bedroom.

"I swear, if you wake up and pretend you don't remember any of this later, I'm pushing you down the stairs."

- - ⏱︎ - -

Cheng Xiaoshi sleeps like he's never touched a bed in his life. Sleep like you're dead is a euphemism compared to how hard it is to actually get through to him while he's snoring away.

It's funny. Qiao Ling's always on his ass about it, but it's not like he willingly forgets how to discern the world around him.

Forget sleep masks and earplugs— give him a good pillow and he's set for the next eight hours.

He opens his eyes later that afternoon to the ache in his limbs and his mouth drier than the desert.

And not in his room.

He blinks at the unfamiliar ceiling. Then blinks again.

Is this the afterlife? Did he finally kick the bucket?

. . . No, he's sure there wouldn't be popcorn ceilings in hell. Or heaven. Or wherever he is right now. (If so, that's tacky design and so overused. Where's the pizzazz? The glitter? The Shaq ceiling poster he swears he was promised by an angel in his dream once?)

He drags his gaze down. There's a small crack in the corner near the smoke detector. A faint hum of an air purifier somewhere else in the room. Soft cotton sheets under him.

It takes all of three seconds before he rises, only to grunt and fall back against the pillows, hand clutching his side.

"What the—"

Oh, that's a cramp— oh, it hurts.

He hisses, digging his fingers into his flank. Then his gaze drops weakly to the hoodie he's got on. A hoodie that isn't his.

What is going on?

Still trying to breathe past the cramp, he slowly lifts the collar of the hoodie and tries to get a feel for scent. Maybe there's leftover cologne on here that he can recognize.

Which there is. And he definitely recognizes it.

He whips his head around, scanning the layout of the room. The bookshelf. The walls. The cursed, stupid, overly neat desk in the corner. The diffuser with that faint, woodsy scent of cedar and peppermint.

This is Lu Guang's room.

He's in Lu Guang's room. In Lu Guang's clothes. In Lu Guang's bed.

And he doesn't remember anything.

"What the hell— did I drink last night?" He asks himself in horror, throwing off the blanket in a panic.

A bad idea.

The second his legs shift, fire shoots through his left ankle.

"AH!—" he nearly doubles over, breath caught in his throat. The pain hits hard and fast, blinding for a second. He slaps a hand to his forehead, wheezing.

Memory floods back in sluggish waves.

The game. The shove. The fall. The clinic.

Lu Guang collapsed over his legs and oh so adorably on the verge of tears. He exhales, mostly in relief.

It wasn't anything more than that. Thank god. How would he explain it if something else had happened and—

He's gonna put a pause on that thought actually.

There's a quiet knock at the door. Cheng Xiaoshi jolts.

"You awake?" Lu Guang's voice comes soft and clipped from the other side. He panics. (Why does he panic?)

"No!" He blurts. "Don't come in!"

". . . Why?"

Why? Excellent question. He doesn't know either.

"I'm—" Think brain. What can he say to gather himself, because right now, he's sure he looks atrocious. He was in the clinic. He was sweaty. He was gross. His hair was flat.

And it's not like wearing Lu Guang's clothes is magically gonna make those things disappear.

". . . I'm— uh— getting dressed!" Lamest excuse ever.

Lu Guang catches his bluff immediately. And the door opens slowly.

Cheng Xiaoshi squeals. "You'd walk in on me changing, you pervert?!"

"Quit your screeching." He walks in holding a glass of water and a cold pack. "You're not changing."

"How would you know?"

Their eyes lock.

And Lu Guang's lips turn up slightly. "Because you don't have any clothes. And you'd rather wear mine anyway."

The audacity. Why he oughta—

"Here." Lu Guang hands him the water. Then he holds out the cold pack. "And I brought this for your ankle. Keep it on while I get the bath running."

Oh.

. . .

Oh. 😏

Why he oughta . . . 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓼.

He takes the glass when Lu Guang clears his throat, caught between a lecherous thought and genuine gratitude. He smiles crookedly.

His knuckles, bruised and cut from breaking his fall earlier, tingle underneath the gauze wrapped around his hand. They hadn't even fully healed from the fight, and now he's nursing the doubled pain and a sprain.

Just great.

He swallows a heavy gulp and eyes Lu Guang through the glass. He pulls it away and thumbs the rim.

"So," he tries to sit back against the bedframe. ". . . You changed me?"

Yes, because that's all he can think about.

Lu Guang gives him a look. "No. I made the monster in the closet do it."

Cheng Xiaoshi grins. "Okay. How many points did the monster give me for having an attractive sleeping face?"

". . . You were drooling. And snoring."

"It adds to the charm."

Lu Guang rolls his eyes, turning away. "He docked points. Minus seven."

"Numerology says the number seven means perfection." He says slyly. "Don't worry. Tell him I got the memo."

Lu Guang sighs. "Finish the water. And don't move until I'm back."

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not like he can.

Still, his eyes don't lose any of their glimmer as he watches Lu Guang walk away. Not when he opens the washroom door. Not even when he shuts it behind him.

Because waking up like this is enough to make Cheng Xiaoshi appreciate the circumstances that led to the sprain.

Who needs to win a basketball game when you've got the love of your life taking care of you?

(An exaggeration. Probably one-sided.)

In the washroom, steam begins to curl around the mirror as Lu Guang adjusts the faucet. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, testing the water with a dip of his wrist every so often.

He adds a few drops of eucalyptus oil to the bath, a means for easy recuperation. The scent blends into the rising mist, clean and comforting.

He exhales. Wipes his hands on a towel. And tells himself this is normal.

He's helping a friend.

He's helping an idiot.

But this idiot needs him. Worst case, he'll have to drop Cheng Xiaoshi off on Qiao Ling's doorstep, bidding his farewell and a "good luck!" before he dips because she'll definitely need it.

Lu Guang walks back out once the water's ready, finding Cheng Xiaoshi testing his foot out against the ground. He's staring intently, like he's willing the pain to go away before he puts pressure on it.

"I told you not to move."

He looks up. Attempts to smile. "I'm trying to see if the sleep helped me heal faster."

Lu Guang cocks a brow.

"Y'know, like in video games," he leans back. "You put your character to sleep, and then their health is back up to a hundred percent the next morning."

". . . Are you being serious?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's smile widens. "It's scientifically proven. Don't make me out to be a total idiot. I do my research when it benefits me."

He sighs, closing in. "Once in a lifetime thing, huh? Think you can stand if I help you?"

"I'd stand for you even if I lost both legs."

"Romantic," Lu Guang deadpans. "Here."

Awkward shifting. Except it isn't as tough as it had been earlier now that Cheng Xiaoshi's awake. A hand circles his waist for stability and Cheng Xiaoshi slides his arm over Lu Guang's shoulders. Lu Guang doesn't move until he's readied himself to take a step forward.

It still hurts. Kinda.

Okay, not kinda. It hurts bad.

Cheng Xiaoshi barely puts a fourth of his weight on his foot before his vision blanks out from the pain. He hisses in a breath and stumbles, immediately lifting the leg.

"Sorry," he mutters, grip tightening in Lu Guang's shirt.

"Take your time. I have painkillers in the kitchen. You can have them after you've eaten."

Waiting that long might just be a death sentence. But he wants to freshen up first, so he'll just have to suck it up.

His teeth are gritted under a twitchy smile. "Greaaat."

They hobble to the bathroom, where the steam now builds in the air. The tub is two-thirds of the way full, towels folded neatly by the sink, with two bottles of shampoo and conditioner uncapped and ready by the edge.

"Don't take too long," Lu Guang says without looking back from the doorframe. "Call and I'll bring you a towel."

"Wow, how thoughtful," Cheng Xiaoshi hums, leaning against the sink. "What's next? Cucumber slices? Relaxing music? Maybe even those things girls get done at spas?"

He blinks. ". . . Manicures?"

"Oh, yeah!" He grins. "A manicure. Sounds fancy."

Lu Guang sighs. And instead, pointedly says, "Don't slip."

Cheng Xiaoshi only laughs.

He shuts the door behind him. There's broth simmering on the stove, a recipe he defaults to whenever he's feeling sick. It's the kind that warms you up from the inside, homey and comforting. A recipe he learned a long time ago from . . . anyway. Noodles are cooking on the other burner, water simmering. It should make for a fulfilling meal.

Lu Guang finds comfort in cooking. Time spent in the kitchen making old but heartwarming recipes is a great time spend. He feels at ease. So, what he assumes will be a peaceful fifteen minutes of quiet cooking is actually cut short at the six-minute mark.

Because the moment he turns up the heat on the broth, he hears a thud and a splash and a—

". . . Lu Guang?"

He sighs like a man who foresaw this ten years ago. And he just told him not to slip.

He trudges over and pushes the bathroom door open, and sure enough— there Cheng Xiaoshi is, sunken into the water with his wrapped ankle over the edge, wet hair sticking to his forehead, and both arms stretched along the rim like he's posing for a bath product commercial.

Lu Guang's eyes go to the hoodie folded neatly on the edge of the sink. His jersey and shorts, however, are on the floor. Then he looks back at Cheng Xiaoshi.

So, he didn't fall. But there's water all over the floor, most likely the surge of rebounding water from when he got in.

Cheng Xiaoshi tilts his head, smile breezy. "I got in fine. But uh, I can't exactly reach the shampoo. Or the back of my head. Minor oversight."

He holds up his bandaged knuckles to prove his point.

Lu Guang pinches the bridge of his nose. Okay. So no relaxing cooking time for him after all. Awesome.

He walks in and closes the door, rolling up his sleeves again.

"Sit up."

"Oooh, so demanding."

Lu Guang gives him a look. "Do you want clean hair or not?"

"I want you," Cheng Xiaoshi says, all teeth, eyes glinting.

He says nothing. C+ for the effort, though.

Instead, he grabs the shampoo and conditioner bottles and rounds the tub.

Cheng Xiaoshi, still smiling, shifts up a bit more when Lu Guang steps behind him. He's been in a good mood since he woke up, hasn't he?

No, actually. He's been in a good mood since the clinic.

Lu Guang wonders why. It's weird.

Cheng Xiaoshi exhales deeply.

The warmth of the bath has already started to loosen the tightness in his muscles. Steam beads along his collarbones, rising in lazy curls that have now completely fogged up the mirror.

Lu Guang grabs a stool and a cup, scoots close behind the tub, and settles.

"Close your eyes," he says quietly.

Cheng Xiaoshi does. Mostly. One eye stays cracked open and he tilts his head back.

"You're not gonna waterboard me, right?"

"No promises." Lu Guang rakes his bangs back all the way.

"Ah," he relaxes, "a sadist thing. Right. Waterboard away, then."

That earns him a smack on the back of his head.

"What?" He laughs, yelping when there's a sharp tug at his hair. "Ow— am I wrong?!"

"Very. Shut up for like, five minutes."

"Pfft. Aye aye, Captain Killjoy."

Lu Guang stands briefly, reaching for the detachable shower head before turning the faucet on, waiting for the water to warm up before he runs it over Cheng Xiaoshi's scalp.

The moment the water cascades through his hair, behind his ears, down his neck, he stiffens. It tickles.

Lu Guang's fingers work the shampoo in next, slow and steady, massaging and rubbing through tangles like he's a professional or something. It smells like him. It feels heavenly.

Cheng Xiaoshi nearly falls in.

"You're killing me here, Lu Guang." He murmurs. "Why are you so good at this?"

"What happened to my five minutes of silence?"

"I would've obeyed, seriously. But you're working me too well right now—" Another sharp tug. This one hurts more. He hisses, grin tugging at his lips. "Ah— ah, what's with the abuse?"

"Don't say it like that." Lu Guang scowls.

"Like what?"

"Like that."

Cheng Xiaoshi can't see him, but he can envision the look on his face perfectly. He can even predict the hint of red at the tips of his ears.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Bad Lu Guang. I didn't take you for the dirty-minded type."

"I'm not. Keep your freaky words to yourself."

"You're the freaky one. All I said was—"

"I will drown you."

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs abruptly. "And you call me dramatic."

"Because you are," he scrubs harder, probably still a little flushed. "Don't say weird stuff while I'm washing your hair."

"I can't help it. I'm weak to tenderness. You should know this by now."

Lu Guang's finger grazes his eyebrow. "You should be weak to self-preservation. You're awfully trusting considering I have the upper hand here."

"Actually, you have both your hands in my hair." Cheng Xiaoshi interjects. "It's romantic."

"Is it?"

"Very." He mimics from earlier. "Weak to tenderness, remember?"

"Hm . . . so holding your hand will sweep you off your feet?" He asks. Cheng Xiaoshi hums in thought.

"Well, no. Actually. Actually, it depends on who it is. Why? You wanna hold my hand?"

Lu Guang ignores him. "And a hug?"

There's . . . a strange hint of a smile in his voice. Cheng Xiaoshi would turn to look, but his eyes are still shut.

"Er . . . I guess?"

A pause. Lu Guang's scrubbing falters, and a brief silence fills the washroom. Water drips from stray locks and skin. The exhaust hums in the background.

Cheng Xiaoshi opens his mouth to question it, to make a joke of the strange question, until Lu Guang says—

"Then, a kiss?"

— He almost slips.

Cheng Xiaoshi scrambles to wash the soap out of his eyes. Because the fingers in his hair have suddenly gone soft enough to make him panic.

He blinks the water away then snaps around to look at Lu Guang, whose gaze is averted, hands still bubbly.

"What are you doing." Cheng Xiaoshi asks suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"What's with the weird interrogation?" He narrows his eyes. "What are you doing."

Lu Guang's eyes slide back to him. After a moment, he leans forward slightly. "I can't be curious?"

"Not while, like you said earlier, you're washing my hair."

He tilts his head. "You'd rather I ask over a quiet dinner? With just the two of us? Intimately? Or while lying beside you in the dark? On one bed?"

The more he says, the further Cheng Xiaoshi's lips part in disbelief. Speechless. His cheeks deepen in colour, enough for Lu Guang to notice with a downward flick of his gaze.

His tone then drops considerably. "Who's the dirty-minded one now?"

"—!"

He smirks and taps a dollop of soapsuds on Cheng Xiaoshi's nose.

"Turn around," he says sweetly. "I'm not done."

Defeated, Cheng Xiaoshi has no choice but to relent for now.

Next time, though, he'll charge up everything he's got to turn Lu Guang's own words against him. It absolutely sucks every time he gets a crack in Lu Guang's stoicism, only for him to whirl the cannon right back at him.

It only takes a single move from Lu Guang to make him spiral. And it's probably because he really is head over heels (shoes?) for him.

He won't lose this battle. He'll win.

And that means he needs to get used to this unpredictability so he can counter it. He'll study Lu Guang's mannerisms. He'll learn when to notice the switch flip. He'll think of responses to random flirtations. He'll take a potato chip and eat it.

Er . . . what point was he trying to make again?

He won't back down. Now this is war.

Lu Guang has washed the shampoo out already and is mid-conditioner when Cheng Xiaoshi reaches back and grabs his fingers.

He freezes right there. Blinks. Narrows his eyes.

"What are you—"

"A kiss . . ." he swallows, staring at the rippling water, "would be like fireworks on New Year's."

It comes out as a murmur. Quiet. With none of the brazenness his words usually have.

Is it genuine? Perhaps.

An exaggeration? Not really.

Stupid? Oh, a hundred percent.

But it seems Lu Guang likes his stupidity the most, because he doesn't tell him to shut up. He doesn't smack him. He doesn't pull his hair. He doesn't even breathe.

Cheng Xiaoshi can't see his face. And this time, he's got no idea what expression he's wearing.

He just hopes it landed right.

Chapter Text

The smell hits first— rich broth, soft noodles, a hint of ginger and something herbal. Spice. Lots of it.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs, leaning against the arch that leads to the kitchen. Lu Guang looks up, bowl in one hand, ladle in the other.

"Anyone ever tell you you're wifey material?" He swoons.

Lu Guang purses his lips and turns back to the soup. "I've never cooked for anyone besides myself, so no."

"Oh, so this is a personal thing?" Cheng Xiaoshi hums, awed. "I'm your first?"

"First taste-tester, yes."

"But I bet I'd be your first for a lot of things."

He shoots him a look. Cheng Xiaoshi's smirk widens.

"Assumed liberties aside," Lu Guang hands the bowl to him, "you should eat."

He takes the bowl with both hands, fingers brushing Lu Guang's for a second longer than necessary.

"Mmm. Smells like love."

"Smells like chilli oil," Lu Guang mutters.

Cheng Xiaoshi shrugs. "It's the effort that counts, y'know. I don't think anyone other than Qiao Ling has taken care of me this thoroughly before."

Sure, she avoids any and all situations where she ends up having to cook (it's too much, she says), but she's one hell of a cushion to fall back on when he's feeling down.

Cleaning up after him when he wants to try a new recipe, fixing him up after a killer hangover, taking care of him when he's got a terrible fever—

They're all things she's been there to help him with. And he hasn't once taken her for granted.

Without Qiao Ling, would he even be here today? Would he have cleaned up his act and focused on his studies? Would he have joined the basketball team?

Would he have even come to college and ended up meeting the one guy he's serious about?

His smile wanes a little.

No.

No, he wouldn't have.

Which is exactly why every drop of gratitude in his heart goes to her first and foremost.

(Somewhere, Qiao Ling sneezes.)

Cheng Xiaoshi limps back to the table, careful so as not to spill the soup, and takes a seat. Lu Guang joins him a couple moments later, his own bowl in hand.

They eat in relative silence for a bit— nothing but the sound of chopsticks against porcelain in the air between them. The broth is as spicy as it is delicious, noodles chewy and perfectly cooked.

Of course, Cheng Xiaoshi would know.

He sets down his chopsticks and gulps down the remainder of the soup. Then, he puts the bowl down and leans against his elbow.

Cheek in his palm. Smiling.

Lu Guang tries not to notice the pair of eyes boring into him. "Was it good?"

"Anything you make me is good. Great. Amazing. Five stars."

He looks up, deadpan. "You're laying it on thick."

"I'm just being honest," Cheng Xiaoshi says, all innocent-like. "Would it kill you to accept a compliment without acting like I'm tryna sell you something?"

"Yes."

He snorts. "This is why you'd never survive in customer service."

Lu Guang lets the silence hang before replying, "Good. I hate people."

"You don't hate me, though." He adds, smug.

There's a beat.

". . . Because you're easier to tolerate." Lu Guang then says before taking the last bite of his tofu.

Cheng Xiaoshi gasps. Watches as Lu Guang stands up. Stacks their bowls.

"Easier to tolerate?" he echoes. "That's all I am to you? Some guy who's easier to tolerate than the rest of humanity?"

Lu Guang doesn't look back. "I can change my mind."

"Too late. Feelings? Hurt. Heart? Shattered. I'll die of a broken heart right here in this chair and it'll be all your fault."

"So be it. I'll bury you and write your eulogy too."

Cheng Xiaoshi frowns. ". . . I swear you're not the first person who said that to me."

(chapter 17: Qiao Ling shrugs. "Someone had to wake you up. No big deal, I'll bury you and give your eulogy. 'He lived like an idiot and died like one too.'")

(So, yes. Lu Guang isn't the first person to say that to him.)

(Seems his comedic death is a recurring conversation topic.)

He rises from the chair and stabilizes himself before half-limping to help. Lu Guang blocks him with a single look.

"Sit."

He blinks. "I can at least dry—"

"You'll slip and end up with a concussion. Sit."

Cheng Xiaoshi's expression flattens.

What a hardass.

It's just a twist. Not a broken foot. Cheng Xiaoshi can totally be put to a task and he'll be fine! So what's with the sudden CAUTION: FRAGILE GLASS treatment?

"Treating me like I'm a liability." He mumbles, sinking back into his chair.

"I heard that."

"It's true!"

Porcelain clinks. The faucet shuts off. And Lu Guang emerges a few moments later, wiping his hands dry. He spares Cheng Xiaoshi a glance before he paces to the china cabinets off to the side.

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at his back, frowning, as he opens the door and reaches for a box.

"You're injured. Does it kill you to sit still for a bit?"

"Only a little." He flops over the table. "Besides, sitting still makes me anxious. I start to think. A lot. Especially about whether or not I'll be able to play again."

Lu Guang sets the box— a first-aid kit— down on the table. He opens it. "You can't play now."

"Yet! I can't play yet." Cheng Xiaoshi corrects. "I'm a man of vision. You have no idea what this ankle is holding me back from."

He pulls out a brace and a fresh roll of gauze. "Uh-huh. Like your Olympic future?"

"Yes— exactly! Loving the support."

"That wasn't support."

But Cheng Xiaoshi's already grinning. He props himself up, cheek against his forearm. "What's that for?"

"The swelling's gone down, so we should change your bandages. And you could've gotten them wet while in the bath." Lu Guang says, kneeling in front of him.

Cheng Xiaoshi fully sits up, watching as he gently nudges the injured leg onto his thigh. He starts with unwrapping the old bandages, ripping off the medical tape.

He stares quietly. Nurse Lu Guang's really been shining through lately, hasn't he?

"There are painkillers in the box. Take those for now." He directs. Cheng Xiaoshi, not at all in the mood to look away, still does and finds both pills in a little plastic ziplock.

He swallows them down with a sip from his water from earlier, relieved.

This should be good enough. At least he won't be turning in pain throughout the night.

His gaze drops to Lu Guang again, who's wrapping the new bandage on.

He smiles.

"Is this our reenactment of Cinderella?"

Lu Guang exhales, unimpressed. "Cinderella wasn't a jock who twisted her ankle being stupid."

"That just means our story's better. We've got more substance, babe."

"Don't start."

Cheng Xiaoshi grins.

He finishes securing the bandage, smooth and precise, then fits the brace gently around Cheng Xiaoshi's ankle— testing the straps, adjusting the angle.

His hands are careful. Too careful.

And now, Cheng Xiaoshi’s staring at him with a look quieter than he's ever been. Maybe it's the ache in his knuckles. Or maybe it's the fact that today has been extremely hectic.

He doesn't know. But everything feels . . . softer. He's at peace.

"And your hand?" Lu Guang asks, looking up.

He blinks when he sees the look on Cheng Xiaoshi's face. His eyes narrow slightly, suspicious.

". . . What?"

He inhales, snapping out of his thoughts. He offers his hand without a word, glancing away.

He really needs to not. This level of down badness is just embarrassing.

Lu Guang doesn't comment on his sudden silence and instead takes his hand. Cold fingers brush over the old gauze, slowly undoing it.

The sun outside has begun to dip. Golden light, now dimming, peers in through the half-open blinds. It paints the side of Lu Guang's face in a soft glow.

Subject A's third picture is right there. Flashing at him like some quest banner in a video game.

Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers itch.

What he'd do to reach over and grab his phone and take the picture. Except doing that right this moment would expose him for the weirdo that he is, and he'd rather die than let that happen.

He huffs and lets his head thunk against the back of the chair.

. . . Qiao Ling was right.

He really does need to get a grip.

- - ⏱︎ - -

"You gotta be kidding me."

Lu Guang doesn't look up from where he's setting his phone on the nightstand. "What now?"

Cheng Xiaoshi's standing in the doorway like he walked in on something he wasn't meant to see. He points a dramatic, accusatory finger at the bed. "That's it?"

Lu Guang glances over. "What? The bed?"

"Yes, the bed! The, as in, singular." He limps forward with all the grace of a wounded drama queen. "You mean to tell me I survived two hours in the hospital, an emotionally-charged bonding moment with you, and your judgy bedside manner— only to have to endure this?"

Lu Guang's expression flattens. "Were you expecting a suite?"

Cheng Xiaoshi leans against the wall, stunned. Because there's no way Lu Guang hasn't thought this through. Him and Lu Guang? Sharing a bed? At night? Together?

What kind of fanfiction, "one bed, two people" trope is this?! Not to mention, he literally declared his romantic feelings for him. Like. Out loud. With his mouth.

. . . Is this a soft rejection? Is he being friend-zoned right now? Is Lu Guang gonna pull a "you're like my brother" on him?!

Cheng Xiaoshi stares at him.

Lu Guang stares back.

"You're sleeping with me?" He asks flatly.

". . . Yes?"

"On that bed?"

"Yes."

"Beside me?"

"Yes."

"In the same blanket?"

"Do . . . you want another one?"

His gaze darkens. He narrows his eyes. ". . . Lu Guang. Are you rejecting me?"

Lu Guang blinks. "When did I say that?"

"You—" Cheng Xiaoshi inhales sharply. Because Lu Guang really hasn't thought this through. If he had, he wouldn't look so confused.

And then, his spiel begins.

"You can't just casually share a bed with someone you've—!" He gestures vaguely between them, voice gradually rising. "— someone who confessed their feelings to you! That's not normal. That's not something you brush off and then crawl under the covers like, 'oh, well, guess we're even better friends now!'"

The wall feels like a trap behind him now.

Keeping him in this tiny, stupidly neat room in front of stupidly neat Lu Guang. Who currently has his arms folded over his chest. And is watching him like he's free entertainment.

"I mean, if this is you being nice, then . . . then I'm gonna need a very detailed PowerPoint on your definitions of affection, boundaries, and cruel psychological warfare." He rambles. "Like think— do you know what this looks like to anyone with working eyes?!"

Lu Guang cocks a brow. "We're the only ones here."

Cheng Xiaoshi gapes at him, as if that's more offensive than anything else.

"That's not the point!" He scolds, pointing. "Does this feel like a casual bro sleepover thing to you? Are you expecting us to whisper about girls under the covers and braid each other's hair?"

He hums, shifting his weight. "I don't know how to braid."

"—Lu Guang!"

He chuckles. Cheng Xiaoshi slaps a hand over his eyes.

"You know, if you wanted to reject me, you could've said no. This is a super roundabout, redundant way to do it. And you're totally giving me mixed signals here!"

Lu Guang doesn't interrupt him. This side of him— it's funny. Quite charming.

(As he's actively spouting off about god knows what. Lu Guang isn't even listening.)

Instead, he takes a quiet step forward. And another.

Cheng Xiaoshi keeps talking. "You first tell me to court you, then you take care of me, then you run to my bedside like some knight in pastel-coloured hospital lighting, and now you wanna sleep next to me like none of it had romantic undertones?!"

One final step.

"Do you understand the emotional whiplash I'm—" Cheng Xiaoshi moves his hand from his face, readjusting his gaze before cutting off mid-sentence.

Lu Guang says nothing because he's already there.

Close.

Way too close.

Cheng Xiaoshi flinches, back now firmly against the wall. "Wh—"

Lu Guang tilts his head slightly. His voice drops, soft and dangerous. "You always talk this much when you're nervous?"

Oh.

Well, shit.

Is this fair ground to say he's on the verge of self-detonation? Er . . . spontaneous combustion? Why doesn't it happen to people who want it to happen to them?

He swallows. Looks away. "I'm not— nervous."

Lu Guang hums low. "No?"

Cheng Xiaoshi forces a laugh, face beet red, ears flaming. "No. Obviously not. I'm just—" he points between them, wrist knocking lightly against Lu Guang's chest in the process. "—stating facts. Setting . . . boundaries and being articulate and emotionally mature."

"Is that what this is?"

"Yup."

"It's not you spiralling?"

"Nope."

"Mm." He doesn't sound convinced. (Yeah, who would be?) His gaze drops to Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth for half a second too long and fuck— he's three seconds away from suffocating on the tension in the air.

He licks his lips. Stupidly.

He curses at himself mentally when it registers, because now his eagerness is like, clearer than glass. (Get a grip, Cheng Xiaoshi.)

". . . Your ears are red." Lu Guang's voice is wrapped in silk and smugness. He's teasing. His tone, his eyes, his expression. And god forbid a man be seduced—

"They're not?" It comes out as a question, voice breaking at the end because he physically can't do this anymore. (Pathetic.)

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart is racing. Faster than ever. Fast enough to cause heart failure.

And Lu Guang knows this. Which is why he continues to press. "They are."

He inhales shakily. "Lu Guang, I swear—"

"What, I can't tease?" He asks, mock curious. "Is it okay when you flirt with everyone in a two-mile radius, but not me?"

That's not it at all.

Because it's Cheng Xiaoshi he's teasing. And Cheng Xiaoshi is the last person he should be messing with like that!

". . . You know that's not it." He manages.

He's hopeless. Beyond hopeless. He'll be saying his goodbyes now.

Lu Guang shrugs, relenting. That sparkle in his eye doesn't, though. It seems to brighten. And then, he leans in like he's about to tell him a secret. He gestures for him to come closer.

Cheng Xiaoshi hesitantly lowers his head. Enough so Lu Guang won't have to tiptoe. Against the cuff of his ear, there's warmth, a smirk, and a whisper—

"Then shut up and get in the bed."

The words hit like a punch to the throat.

He freezes.

Blue-screens. Error 404s. Whatever it is.

Sure, his reaction is a bit late. But it crashes into him so hard, he nearly falls over from shock.

. . . WHAT?!

Did he really just say that? He said that, right? Right? RIGHT?? IS HE GOING DEAF??? He can't have meant it in that kind of way, though— duh. He hasn't even accepted the confession!

He didn't even say it like that.

(He did.)

Lu Guang's definitely not that type of person.

(He is.)

Wait. Waitwaitwait. WAIT.

Face blazing, eyes wild, he stares blankly at Lu Guang when he pulls back. And Lu Guang spares him a smile, turns on his heel, and walks away. He walks away like he didn't turn Cheng Xiaoshi into a glorified puddle on the floor.

"I'm going to change." He says, glancing briefly over his shoulder. "I'd better find you in the blanket when I come back."

All Cheng Xiaoshi can do is stare after him, jaw slack.

Because this guy— this evil, conniving menace— really will kill him. Dressed all innocently in his ivory sweaters and that fake nonchalance, making Cheng Xiaoshi's knees tremble and almost give out under him by saying the craziest things with the straightest face and the sultriest voice.

He's evil. Eviler than Cinderella's stepmother.

Cheng Xiaoshi is doomed.

. . . And so in love.

- - ⏱︎ - -

Things wind down after that.

Lu Guang returns wearing his nightsuit— a cute little pair of matching cat pyjamas.

Cheng Xiaoshi would comment on it if his brain hadn't melted in real time like, four minutes ago. Instead, he redirects his attention to the ceiling, arms under his head.

"Do you need a nightlight?" Lu Guang asks, fingers over the light switch.

He snorts. "I'm not four."

"You act like it."

Before he can shoot Lu Guang a half-hearted glare, the light flicks off. Darkness spills across the room, and weirdly enough, the absence of the ceiling— the visual anchor— throws him off. Feels like the floor's about to disappear too.

Which is fair. Cheng Xiaoshi did almost eat shit earlier because of one slightly flirty comment. It's different when Lu Guang does it, he tells himself.

It basically is. Since he doesn't flirt at all, even the slightest of suggestive comments from him is like an end-of-the-world type abnormality. A godsend. A blessing.

He hears the rustle of the blanket on his left, then feels the dip of the bed.

The mattress shifts under Lu Guang's weight, and Cheng Xiaoshi tenses like he's lying next to a live wire.

Not that it shows. Obviously.

He's totally relaxed. Completely unbothered. Calm as a cucumber in a sensory deprivation tank.

. . . Excluding how his heart is doing a drum solo against his ribs. Hard. But that's fine. That's normal. Very Cheng Xiaoshi-esque.

He stares into the void, lips parted slightly, arms still tucked behind his head. Should he say something? He's debating whether to breathe quieter. Or louder. Or just . . . not at all.

Lu Guang shifts beside him. The sheets rustle again.

Then, in the dark:

"You're quiet."

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks at the ceiling he can't see. "Is that wrong?"

"For you? Absolutely."

His expression flattens. "Ha ha. You must think you're so funny."

Lu Guang's reply is smug. Pleased. "I know I am."

"Well, you're lucky," Cheng Xiaoshi huffs, closing his eyes. "That's another thing I like about you."

There's a pause.

Like an actual pause. Silence. The kind you can feel stretching between you, like the air itself is raising its eyebrows and facepalming.

And then, it hits.

Who even says that?

Oh— god, what if Lu Guang's making that face? The unreadable one. The one that makes Cheng Xiaoshi spiral because he can't tell if he's judging him, ignoring him, or mentally drafting a restraining order.

Did he . . . mess up? Was he not supposed to say it so casually? It's not like intimate feelings are meant to be taken as jokes. He just turned himself into a joke, didn't he? And now Lu Guang's gonna think he's some self-deprecating loser who can't be serious about anything.

Before he can scramble to take it back, Lu Guang's voice fills the silence.

". . . What do you even like about me, anyway?"

It's quiet. Quiet, but heavy.

A question that isn't only surface-level curiosity. Even if it seems that way.

It sounds like Cheng Xiaoshi's answer matters to him. This isn't something he can brush off with a stupid answer like "Oh, it's 'cuz you're sooooo hot and everything you do has me questioning my sanity LOL."

His embarrassment subsides, and he stares up for a moment before answering.

". . . You want a list?"

"I just want to know. Why me?"

In the brief silence that Cheng Xiaoshi lets hang between them, cars whoosh by on wet roads. Headlights flash in the room briefly, and thunder rolls somewhere quietly in the distance. Wind rattles the window frame outside, bare branches casting faint shadows across the walls.

Then, he inhales.

"Well . . . you ever see someone do something totally mundane, and it . . . floors you?" he starts. "Like— they make tea. Or put their glasses on. Or bite their nails when they're stressed."

Lu Guang's silence says to keep going.

"You do that. All the time," Cheng Xiaoshi murmurs. "You talk like you don't care. But in your own way, you do. You make me food when I'm over, you fix me up when I'm hurt, you tutor me even though you find it annoying. And you do it all so— perfectly that I . . ."

He slides his arm over his eyes, hiding in the crook of his elbow.

". . . I guess I couldn't help myself."

A beat.

"It's dumb, I know, but I like to notice all the little things. And the way you are with me, I can tell you're a really kind person. Maybe you're not as good at showing it, but that's okay 'cuz . . . I can see it."

Then, his lips turn up in a smile.

"So you could say I like the person who does all those things."

There's silence again. Only it's heavier this time.

He waits. Doesn't push. Doesn't tease.

And— so quietly that it might've been imagined:

"Oh."

It lingers in the dark, barely louder than the hum of the air purifier in the back. One syllable. Weightless. But not so in this ambiance. Not here.

Cheng Xiaoshi almost laughs. Because of course that's all he gets. Not a 'thanks.' Not a 'me too.' Just oh.

But then he hears the slight shift of the blanket— the give of the mattress as Lu Guang rolls over to face him.

He doesn't look right away.

Not until Lu Guang's voice comes again, lower than before. Almost uncertain.

"Is that all it takes . . . ?"

"What?"

"To like someone."

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him. It's hard to make him out in the dark, but the outline is there. The faintest edge of his jaw. The curve of his shoulder beneath the blanket. Silver eyes that barely catch the light.

Silver eyes that are on him.

Lu Guang is closer now. Much closer.

He swallows. His response comes out a little shaky. "It isn't only that."

More silence. A cue to continue.

Cheng Xiaoshi breathes. "You're smart. And focused. And you've got this resting ice-prince face but you still take care of me when I do stupid things. You sat with me in the clinic. You ran to me when I was hurt. You brought me all the way here to help me."

His chest tightens.

". . . You make me feel safe."

There. There it is.

He did not mean to say that aloud. But maybe . . . maybe in this room, in this atmosphere, for this conversation— it's okay? For this brief moment where things like statistics and midterms aren't looming over them, it's okay for this to happen?

Truth be told, he's not very good at putting his feelings into words. For someone who prides himself on how easily he can read others, he has no idea how to make himself more candid to others.

This barely scratches the surface of what he feels. He's sure that in five years from now, he still won't know how to word it.

He's fallen hard. So stupidly fast and so stupidly hard, he broke his teeth on impact.

But he's fine with that.

Because it's Lu Guang. And he'll always know what Cheng Xiaoshi means, even without him needing to say it.

The silence isn't the suffocating kind. Tension-filled, sure, but the kind that tickles. The kind that lets butterflies loose in the pit of your belly and has your heart fluttering in anticipation.

He probably sounds like a kid. To someone like Lu Guang, who's big on fancy, eloquent words, he must seem like a himbo.

Except—