Work Text:
The air in the studio is thick with the dust motes dancing in the last rays of the setting sun. It paints the worn cushions of the couch a muted gold. He should get up. Should probably at least turn on a light. But… no. Can’t. Everything feels too heavy. Every muscle, every thought. Days blurring together, the endless stream of faces in the photos, Cheng Xiaoshi’s constant chaotic energy, the weight of each jump, each mission, each potential disaster—it all just… sits.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s been reckless lately. Taking bigger risks. Always pushing, always trying to save everyone. And Lu Guang? He’s supposed to be the anchor. The calm, steady voice. But the voices… they get louder, too. The what-ifs. The could-have-beens. They gnaw.
God, I’m tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.
His eyes sting. He needs just a few minutes. A few minutes to just… be. To not be calculating trajectories, assessing risks, watching. Just… nothing. The pattern of the couch is surprisingly rough against his cheek. Almost grounding. His breathing evens out. The studio fades.
Then... nothingness.
Then him.
He’s laughing. That bright, unrestrained laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes, the one that always manages to pull a reluctant smile from Lu Guang. But the laugh is… distorted. Echoing in a vast, empty space. He’s standing on a rooftop. The wind whips his hair around his face, obscuring his features, but Lu Guang knows it’s him. He would know Cheng Xiaoshi anywhere, in any form. But Cheng Xiaoshi has always been drawn to heights. To the edge.
Stupid, Lu Guang thinks, despite the worry gnawing at him.
“Cheng Xiaoshi!” he tries to yell, but his voice is swallowed by the wind.
He can’t move. Rooted to the spot. Panic claws at his throat now.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s looking down, not at the city sprawling beneath him, but at something else. Something Lu Guang can’t see. Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile widens, a manic, terrifying grin.
Then he steps forward.
NO!
Lu Guang lunges, but his limbs are lead. He screams, but no sound escapes.
Cheng Xiaoshi falls.
The image shatters.
Now they are in that alley. The one from… from that case with the missing girl. The rain is coming down in sheets, blurring everything, turning the grime into a slick, oily mess. He’s there, on the ground. Not laughing. Not smiling. Just… still.
A pool of crimson blossoms around him, staining the grey concrete. Someone is standing over him. A dark figure, face obscured by shadow. A glint of metal.
“No! Stop!”
But it’s too late—always too late. The figure raises the metal.
Again, Lu Guang’s paralyzed. Helpless. Always helpless, always useless.
The metal plunges.
Darkness.
Then the train station. Crowded. Bustling. A sea of faces. He’s weaving through the throng, oblivious, humming some tuneless melody. His headphones are on, blocking out the world. Lu Guang tries to reach him, but there are too many people. Hands brush against Lu Guang, faces blur, a cacophony of voices rises to a deafening roar.
Cheng Xiaoshi is pushed onto the tracks by the growing crowd. Distracted. Unaware.
The train hurtles towards him, a roaring metal beast. The ground vibrates. The air crackles with electricity.
“Look out!”
He doesn’t hear the shout.
The impact. A sickening crunch.
The image dissolves into a miasma of blood and shattered metal.
Each death is different. Each one more brutal than the last. Drowning in a river, crushed beneath rubble, consumed by fire. Each one is a nightmare painted in vivid, horrifying detail.
And in each one, Lu Guang is powerless to stop it. Useless, he thinks bitterly.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s always just out of reach. Always smiling before he’s falling, or bleeding, or just gone. But the last one, the last one is by far the worst.
They are in the studio. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The setting sun casts long shadows across the floor. Cheng Xiaoshi is sitting across from Lu Guang, his eyes bright, full of life. He’s talking, animated as always, gesturing wildly with his hands. Lu Guang can’t hear what he’s saying. The words are muffled, distorted. But Lu Guang doesn’t need to hear them. He knows them by heart. Cheng Xiaoshi’s hopes, his dreams, his endless optimism.
Cheng Xiaoshi reaches across the space between them, takes Lu Guang’s hand.
His touch is warm, familiar. Comforting.
For a moment, Lu Guang almost believes it’s real. Almost forgets the endless cycle of death and despair.
Then Cheng Xiaoshi’s hand starts to crumble.
Turning to ash.
The flesh melts away, revealing bone. The light in his eyes flickers, then dies. He’s looking at Lu Guang. Pleading. That face, so full of life, so infuriatingly Cheng Xiaoshi, contorted in pain, etched with fear. It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Lu Guang…” he whispers, his voice a ragged rasp, “Help them…”
Help who? Himself? Her? The endless parade of faces flashing before his eyes, each one a life he couldn’t save, a tragedy he was forced to witness. But it’s always him. Always Cheng Xiaoshi in the middle of it all, reckless and headstrong, throwing himself into the fire.
His body disintegrates before Lu Guang’s very eyes. Turning to dust, scattering in the wind. Leaving nothing behind. No vibrant color, no infuriatingly loud laughter, no warmth. Just… gone. He tries to reach out, to grab Cheng Xiaoshi, to hold him, but his hands pass right through. Lu Guang screams, but the sound is trapped in his throat, a silent, agonizing plea lost in the void.
Just emptiness. A hollow ache in his chest, a gaping wound where Cheng Xiaoshi used to be. The world is muted, colorless, meaningless without him. No witty comebacks, no shared meals, no bickering over silly topics, no comfortable silences filling the studio as they worked. Just… nothing.
Lu Guang wakes with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Sweat clings to his skin, cold and clammy, like an infected wound left untreated. The surface of the couch is still rough against his cheek, the familiar discomfort oddly grounding. The studio is dark, the only light filtering in from the streetlights outside, casting long, distorted shadows that dance on the walls. Someone is shaking Lu Guang’s shoulder, a voice filled with concern trying to break through the ringing in his ears.
“Lu Guang? Hey, Lu Guang, wake up. You okay?”
It's him. It's really him—Cheng Xiaoshi. The voice, the touch, the familiar scent of cheap instant noodles and that cologne he pretends he doesn’t like but secretly does. It is Cheng Xiaoshi.
Relief floods through Lu Guang, so potent it almost knocks him back under. It tastes like air after being underwater for too long, like sunlight after a lifetime in darkness. He drags himself up, blinking against the dim light, trying to focus, to convince himself that Cheng Xiaoshi actually is here, solid, and real, and unmistakably alive.
He’s kneeling beside the couch, his brow furrowed with worry, his hand still resting tentatively on Lu Guang’s shoulder. He’s so close. Too close, maybe. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t deserve this, him seeing Lu Guang like this.
“A-Guang, you were crying in your sleep. Bad dream?”
Crying? He hadn’t even realized. The dream had been so vivid, so real, the fear still clings to him, a suffocating weight. He can’t speak, can’t find the words to explain the terror that still grips him. He just stares at Cheng Xiaoshi, drinking him in, desperately trying to reassure himself that it was just a dream. A horrible, twisted nightmare.
Lu Guang doesn’t think, doesn’t plan. He just reacts.
He lunges forward, throwing his arms around Cheng Xiaoshi, burying his face in his shoulder. He clings to him as if he’s a lifeline, the only thing anchoring him to reality. Lu Guang hugs him tightly, desperately, needing to feel his warmth, his solidity, the reassuring presence of him. His stature is large under Lu Guang’s trembling arms, but solid. Real. Alive.
“Whoa, Lu Guang! What’s wrong?” Cheng Xiaoshi stumbles back slightly, caught off guard by the sudden embrace. He can feel the tension in Lu Guang’s body, the frantic grip of his fingers. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t push him away, though, he merely tightens his own arms around Lu Guang in return.
And Lu Guang doesn’t answer. He can’t.
The words are caught in his throat, choked by the lingering fear and the overwhelming relief. He just holds on tighter, burying his face deeper into Cheng Xiaoshi’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, letting it fill his lungs, chasing away the memory of dust and emptiness. Cold and slippery like the blood he still feels on his fingers.
Lu Guang can feel his heart beating beneath his ear, a steady, reassuring rhythm.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Alive. Cheng Xiaoshi’s alive. Lu Guang lets the sound wash over him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any more questions. He just holds Lu Guang. He lets him cling, lets him burrow, lets him soak his shirt with tears Lu Guang didn’t even know he was shedding. He just remains there, a quiet, unwavering presence, a safe harbor in the storm raging inside Lu Guang.
And that’s when Lu Guang finally breaks.
The dam bursts, and the tears flow freely, hot and silent. He sobs, wracking sobs that shake his entire body. He tries to stifle them, tries to regain control, but it’s of no use. The fear, the relief, the overwhelming need for Cheng Xiaoshi, all pour out in a torrent of emotion he can no longer contain. He cries for the nightmares, for the faces he couldn’t save, for the constant fear that gnaws at the edges of his mind. He cries for all the times he pushed Cheng Xiaoshi away, all the times Lu Guang pretended he didn’t care, all the times he was too afraid to admit how much Cheng Xiaoshi means to him.
Lu Guang cries for Cheng Xiaoshi, for the reckless, infuriating, wonderful human being who somehow managed to worm his way into his cold, guarded heart. He feels Cheng Xiaoshi shift slightly, adjusting his grip, pulling him even closer. He can feel Cheng Xiaoshi’s heart beating even faster now, in response to his distress.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Cheng Xiaoshi whispers, his voice soft and soothing, “Whatever it was, it’s over now. I’m here.”
Lu Guang doesn’t believe him—cannot bring himself to.
He knows the danger, the stakes. He knows that one day, he might not be able to save Cheng Xiaoshi. But for now, in this moment, he lets himself believe it, if only briefly. He lets himself cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Lu Guang can keep Cheng Xiaoshi safe.
He stays like that for a long time, clinging to his anchor, lost in his own tears and fears. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything more after the few words. He just holds Lu Guang, a silent anchor in the storm. He lets him listen to his heartbeat, lets him feel his warmth, lets him know, without words, that he’s not alone. Eventually, the sobs subside, replaced by quiet sniffles. Lu Guang’s trembling starts to ease, and the suffocating weight on his chest begins to lift. He pulls back slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
He avoids Cheng Xiaoshi’s gaze, ashamed of his vulnerability, afraid of what he might see in the other’s eyes.
Pity? Disgust? Amusement? Lu Guang wouldn’t blame him for any of it.
But when he finally dares to look up, all Lu Guang sees is concern.
(And something else, something deeper, something he can’t quite name. Something he’s too afraid to name, lest he makes it real.)
“Better?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks softly, his voice laced with worry.
Lu Guang nods, unable to speak. He still feels raw, exposed, but he also feels weirdly lighter. As if he’s released something he’s been holding onto for too long.
Cheng Xiaoshi reaches out, gently brushing a stray strand of silvery hair from his face. His touch is light, hesitant, but it sends a shiver down Lu Guang’s spine.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks, auburn eyes searching misty grey.
Lu Guang hesitates. Part of him wants to tell Cheng Xiaoshi everything, to pour out all his fears and anxieties. But another part of him is terrified of burdening him, of scaring him away.
Finally, Lu Guang shakes his head, “No. It’s… not something I’m ready to talk about.”
Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t push him. He just nods, respecting Lu Guang’s boundaries. Cheng Xiaoshi knows him well enough to know when to push and when to back off. He stands up, pulling Lu Guang up with him.
“Come on. Let’s get you some water.”
Lu Guang lets Cheng Xiaoshi lead him to the kitchenette, the familiar routine a welcome distraction. He watches as the ravenhead fills a glass with water, his movements efficient and familiar. He hands Lu Guang the glass, Cheng Xiaoshi’s fingers brushing against his. He looks at Lu Guang, his eyes still filled with concern.
Lu Guang feels those eyes like a warm hearth on a cold day.
Thank you, he wants to say. Thank you for being here. Thank you for not judging me.
Thank you for just being you.
But the words still won’t come. So, Lu Guang just nods, takes a sip of water, and lets the silence fill the space between them. A comfortable silence this time. A silence filled with unspoken emotions. Lu Guang knows that things will never be quite the same after this—after everything he’s done. He’s shown Cheng Xiaoshi a part of himself he usually keeps hidden, a vulnerability he usually guards fiercely.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s time to let Cheng Xiaoshi in. Maybe it’s time to stop being so afraid. Maybe one day, Lu Guang might actually believe these words.
Lu Guang looks at him again, really looks at Cheng Xiaoshi.
And this time, he sees something new in those bright, knowing eyes. He sees acceptance. He sees understanding. And he sees…something terrifyingly close to love? Lu Guang doesn’t know what the future holds. He doesn’t know if he can protect Cheng Xiaoshi from everything that’s coming. But he knows one thing for sure.
He’s not alone.
And that, for now, is enough.