Work Text:
“Lu Guang?”
Below, the city lights stretch out into the night. Before him, Lu Guang stands on the rooftop’s edge, gazing out at nothing. Panic rises in Cheng Xiaoshi’s throat: if he looks away now, if he so much as blinks, Lu Guang will disappear.
“Don’t go!” The wind rips his words from him. “Not you, too. Stay. Please. I... I need--”
Lu Guang doesn’t move. The wind, the stars, the chill of the night air. Cheng Xiaoshi reaches out--
--and is shaken awake. The bedroom’s darkness is too similar; he barely manages to stop himself from reaching for Lu Guang’s hand.
“You were making too much noise,” Lu Guang mutters, and turns to climb back up the ladder.
Some things can only be said in dreams. Cheng Xiaoshi closes his eyes; listens to the creaking of the bunk-bed’s frame, the sound of shifting weight above. It’s enough. It has to be.
Cheng Xiaoshi puts down the camera that he’s been polishing and stifles a yawn. They’ve hit the dead stretch of the day, the long afternoon where lunch hour is over but office hours aren’t. Not that he’s complaining. As long as he doesn’t think about living expenses, it’s nice to relax for a while.
He hadn’t always liked it when the shop was quiet. In those early years alone, it was easy to feel like a ghost, a shadow; a roll of neglected negatives, gathering dust in the dark. Qiao Ling came by when she could, of course -- but she had her own life beyond the shop, full of other friends. Now, well. It’s comforting, that’s all. To wake up and not be alone. To look at the couch and expect to see someone there, reading or drinking coffee or taking a nap.
Today it’s the second of those options. Cheng Xiaoshi flops down beside him.
“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we hadn’t met?” he asks, glancing over.
“No point wondering.” Lu Guang takes another sip. “I’d always have found you. A secret organisation noticed your potential years ago -- they sent me to watch over you until your powers awakened, then guide you through them.”
Cheng Xiaoshi stares, then bursts out laughing. “Did you add something weird to your coffee? Here I was, trying to be all poignant...”
“We did meet.” He sets the cup down. “Whatever’s happened can’t be changed.”
“...Don’t make it sound like something worth regretting.”
Lu Guang shrugs and reaches for his book. How unfriendly. Cheng Xiaoshi’s here, trying to have a conversation, and he hasn’t even made eye contact.
“Do you mean it?” he asks.
“Hm?” Lu Guang looks up, finally. “Did you actually believe--”
That you’d always have found me.
“Of course not,” Cheng Xiaoshi says hastily. “Fine, fine, read your book, my philosophical musings on life and fate are clearly wasted on you.”
He walks back to the counter. He doesn’t know if Lu Guang watches him leave.
“Time tries to heal itself. Even if you tug it the wrong way, as long as it’s not too distorted, the timeline can snap back into place. That’s why small changes -- the ones you keep making --” Lu Guang adds pointedly, “don’t affect the main direction. They might leave ripples in the past, but the flow stays the same.”
“That’s way too many metaphors to be mixing,” Cheng Xiaoshi says. “What happens when it’s not a small change?”
“You shouldn’t have to find out.”
He sighs. “Such a boring answer. Why can’t we change the present if we’re making it better--”
“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang says sharply. “If that’s how you’re going to think, don’t ever dive again.”
“I’m just saying...”
Lu Guang leans forward, too close, his gaze ice-cold. “You’d create a time paradox. Clients bring photographs to us because they have some past worry or regret, and they want to do something about it in the present. What happens if you erase that regret? You erase the reason for them to come to us at all.” He draws a frustrated breath, continues: “And what do you think will happen to you, Cheng Xiaoshi from the future? You belong to a timeline in which someone gave you that photograph to enter. But that won’t exist any longer. What about yourself? Even if you did exist, would you have anywhere to which you could return?”
Cheng Xiaoshi shrinks back against the couch. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’ve, um, spent a lot of time thinking about this, huh.”
“I’ve had to,” Lu Guang says, syllables brittle and precise.
Then, as abruptly, he withdraws. Cheng Xiaoshi finds he can breathe again.
Lu Guang picks up his phone, gets to his feet. “I’m going out.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, alarmed. “I didn’t think it would... Well, I didn’t think, okay?”
“Clearly,” Lu Guang mutters, but he pauses a few steps away. Cheng Xiaoshi waits for the line of his back to relax.
Then -- careful, feeling like the protagonist of some sci-fi movie before a devastating plot reveal -- he asks: “Why did you have to... think about it?”
Lu Guang doesn’t pause any longer.
The darkroom is the only part of the shop that’s entirely his own. Cheng Xiaoshi lifts another print from the tray of developer. Stop bath; fixer; wash. He’s just hung the print up to dry when he looks past it and sees--
“Lu Guang? When did you--”
Lu Guang’s face is unreadable. Maybe it’s the dim light. The print sways gently above: both of them on either side of Qiao Ling, smiling. A blink and the world shifts: now he’s the one by the doorway, Lu Guang in front of the workbench. Cheng Xiaoshi reaches for the light switch--
“Don’t,” Lu Guang says, closing the distance to grab his wrist.
“S-sure.” He doesn’t resist; Lu Guang lets go. “What’s wrong?”
The darkness shrinks the space between them. Lu Guang reaches up, unfastens another print and hands it over: a rectangle of muddy shadows. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t remember developing this one.
“I can’t see it like this,” he says, careful. “May I..?”
“Don’t,” Lu Guang says again, softer. His expression shifts, easier to read but just as unfamiliar: wistful, almost sad. Cheng Xiaoshi wonders: If he flicks the light switch now, what will he destroy?
He wakes before he can find out.
Inexhaustive list of other questions Lu Guang has not properly answered:
- “So do you see the past, or do you see, like... the photo’s own future? What if you look into a photo taken less than twelve hours ago?”
- “Okay, so a photo can only be used once. But a video is a series of frames, right? So can I enter every frame in a video? I mean, think about it. Twenty-four fps -- more, if the camera’s good enough. So many chances.”
- “Why does Qiao Ling think she can act like that, anyway, just because she’s our landlady--”
- “Why didn’t you accept that request? It sounded fine to me.”
- “Do you even care about our clients? Is this just a job to you? Lu Guang, I swear--”
- “Hey, you know that old Japanese show with the magical girls where one of them kept going back to the past to save her friends, but they kept dying, and she... what? Why’re you looking at me like that? It’s not that old. You know it too, right?”
- “How do you scan through twelve hours so quickly, anyway? And remember everything? No wonder you did so well in exams.”
- “...they’ll come back, right? Someday. Right, Lu Guang?”
“Thanks,” Cheng Xiaoshi sighs, falling gratefully back onto the couch. “You really saved me back there.”
When did it happen, that shift from conscious decision to unconscious trust? Following Lu Guang’s mission commands has become second nature, whether in the heat of a basketball match or a fistfight or -- as in the one just completed -- simply extricating himself from a social minefield. Cheng Xiaoshi treasures that synchronicity; a tacit understanding, more instinct than thought. A shot passed across the court, trusting that it’ll find the right pair of hands.
“I’m you from the future,” Lu Guang deadpans. “That’s why I know exactly how stupid you can be.”
So much for warm and fuzzy feelings. “Hey--”
The shop door, the chime, Qiao Ling’s brisk enthusiasm: “Good afternoon! Any updates?”
“Lucky for you that our landlady’s shown up,” Cheng Xiaoshi mutters. “I won’t forget that.”
Lu Guang just nods. The expression on his face might be a smile.
Lu Guang tries and fails to wrest his wrist from Cheng Xiaoshi’s grip. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, eyes wild and golden, and taps the palm of Lu Guang’s trapped hand. Disappears.
Don't--
“Ah, I see,” Lu Guang hums in Cheng Xiaoshi’s tone. No, the other way around: Cheng Xiaoshi’s mind in Lu Guang’s body, Lu Guang’s voice in Cheng Xiaoshi’s mind. Whose dream is this now?
Past-Cheng Xiaoshi glances up. “Lu Guang? Did you say something?”
No wonder you didn’t want me in here, Cheng Xiaoshi says, as if admiring the interior design of Lu Guang’s psyche. Fear and guilt, memories you can’t share. And the lies, of course. Don’t you ever get tired of this?
Past-Cheng Xiaoshi’s gaze, curious but unsuspecting. Cheng Xiaoshi’s mental voice, lightly mocking. Lu Guang’s hands clench upon nothing. I--
He wakes. In the bunk below, Cheng Xiaoshi rolls over in his sleep, mumbling some unimportant mystery.
When Cheng Xiaoshi reappears this time, he isn’t angry. That’s worse, somehow.
“You made me watch them die,” he says quietly.
Something clenches in Lu Guang’s chest. “The rules--”
“They didn’t have to.” He sits down on the couch, wraps his arms around himself. “We could have warned them. It was nothing. A step in the wrong direction. You didn’t tell me-- you watched as--” He draws a ragged breath. “I could’ve saved them, Lu Guang. The two of them-- I could’ve--”
“You couldn’t,” he replies; softly, since there’s no way to say it gently. “Their fate--”
“How is that fate? A meaningless accident--”
“They’re already dead.”
“How can you say that?” Cheng Xiaoshi whispers. “As if it doesn’t matter. As if that means we shouldn’t even try. We could’ve tried. We should have. Have you never lost anyone? Never--”
You have no idea, Lu Guang thinks. He reaches out, tentative; Cheng Xiaoshi flinches before his fingers make contact.
It shouldn’t hurt. It does. Lu Guang waits.
“You can’t expect me to just... not care.” Cheng Xiaoshi says at last. “To give up from the start. Would you? No matter who it was? If it was me, or Qiao Ling, would you...”
“Some things can’t be changed.”
Cheng Xiaoshi makes a small, choked sound that might be a laugh. “If you died, I’d go back for you.”
I know. “You shouldn’t.”
That’s what sets him off -- Cheng Xiaoshi lunges forward, grabs Lu Guang by the shoulders. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare. I’d drag you out of hell if I had to.”
That might be easier, Lu Guang thinks wryly. But the past isn’t simply a place that can be visited, even if Cheng Xiaoshi believes that he’s been doing just that. Time is a river, carrying everything with it; fate’s path can’t be changed. Besides, Lu Guang knows where this is coming from. For all of Cheng Xiaoshi’s bravado, what he means is: Don’t leave me alone.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes blaze with unnameable emotion, his breathing unsteady. Lu Guang places a cautious hand on his back. There’s something ludicrous about this, he thinks: Cheng Xiaoshi getting worked up over the possibility of his death.
“I’m not dead,” he offers.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s fingers tighten, then relax. “Shut up.”
Lu Guang complies.
“I hate it,” Cheng Xiaoshi says at last, low and anguished. “I hate how you can be so cold. I hate that when you are, I-- I think of you as a monster, but I don’t know what else to think, I can’t--”
“You don’t understand--”
“Then help me!” Cheng Xiaoshi snarls, crumpling Lu Guang’s collar in his hands. “Help me understand. You never tell me anything. You never explain. I trust you, I trust you about everything -- but why won’t you trust me?” His anger cools into despair. “Why can’t we save anyone? What makes you so sure? Did... did something happen, before? I’ve known you for years, but I-- I still don’t know anything about you.”
Because I don’t want you to, Lu Guang thinks, looking up into those too-bright eyes. He thinks of how Cheng Xiaoshi cries over the fates of strangers; his unrestrained empathy, his childlike insistence on justice and happy endings. There are truths you shouldn’t learn, beliefs you should be allowed to keep. I don’t--
“Tell me,” Cheng Xiaoshi pleads. “I want to know. I want to understand you.”
A sunlit basketball court. A smile so genuine it burned.
Lu Guang’s eyes sting.
He draws a breath: slow, careful, as if it’s the first time he’s ever done so.
He says:
Cheng Xiaoshi lies in a drift of photographs. Lu Guang knows the traditional way to wake someone like this. It works; Cheng Xiaoshi opens his eyes.
“Why?” he asks, perfectly serene. “I thought we couldn’t save anyone.”
There’s a sword in Lu Guang’s hand. Who is he in this story? Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes flash gold, but some other light has already died.
What have you become?
“You,” Cheng Xiaoshi replies gently. He reaches up, fingers light against the side of Lu Guang’s face. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Rational. Sensible. Nothing left that needs protecting.”
Yes. The sword burns in his grasp. No. I don’t know. He finds his voice: “Cheng Xiaoshi, I--”
He wakes up. He is still in the dream.