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The bar was louder than Cheng expected—not just the music and chatter, but the buzz of celebration that hung thick in the air.
They’d come out to mark a small victory, something ordinary for most but rare for them: a night without deadlines or chasing shadows.
Lu Guang had been smiling more than usual, laughter spilling easily from him like he’d unlocked a door he usually kept shut. Cheng watched him with a mix of relief and caution, the way his friend’s eyes sparkled a little too bright, a little too far away.
Lu Guang was drinking faster than usual too—something Cheng noticed but didn’t say. After all, Lu had a high tolerance. Cheng assumed he could handle it.
Cheng sat beside Lu Guang, eyes flicking between his friend and the crowd, trying to soak in the moment.
Lu Guang was different tonight. Louder. Looser. That rare kind of lightness Cheng hadn’t seen in him ever. It was like the usual weight on Lu’s shoulders had lifted, just a little.
But maybe that was just the alcohol.
I’ve never seen him drunk before. Not like this.
Cheng’s stomach tightened, but he pushed the worry down. Lu Guang had a high tolerance. He’d always been able to handle it. Still, tonight felt… off. The way Lu laughed too hard, moved too fast. Like he was trying to outrun something even he didn’t want to face.
Then Lu said it—something strange, unexpected.
“Remember that rooftop? The one where we barely escaped the cops?”
Cheng blinked, caught off guard. I don’t remember that.
He searched Lu’s eyes, hoping for a hint, but all he saw was that flicker—like Lu was somewhere else, lost in a memory that Cheng couldn’t reach.
When Lu caught the confusion in his gaze, he laughed it off, but Cheng’s heart sank a little.
What was going on in his head right now?
Cheng forced a smile, raising his glass. “Okay, mystery rooftop guy. Tell me more about these ‘old memories’.”
As Lu rambled on—sometimes making sense, sometimes not—Cheng laughed too, trying to keep the night light, but inside, a storm was stirring.
There was something behind those eyes, something heavy he couldn’t touch. And no matter how much Lu tried to brush it off, Cheng felt it gnawing at him.
But this night was different. Maybe tonight, it was okay to just let Lu be like this—for once.
The bar lights glinted off Lu Guang’s glasses, a soft amber glow painting the sharp lines of his face into something looser, blurrier. He was flushed—just slightly—and Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t miss the way he leaned back in his seat like gravity had taken a brief holiday.
Cheng grinned, propping his chin on his hand as he watched Lu swish the remaining bit of his drink.
“So,” Cheng said, leaning in with a teasing tilt of his head, “what exactly is in that fancy drink of yours? Liquid personality?”
Lu Guang rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. That in itself was weird.
“Didn’t think you were into this much fun, Lu,” Cheng added, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You gonna start dancing next?”
“I don’t dance,” Lu mumbled, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Besides, you’re also drunk”
“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be an idiot,” Cheng quipped, then paused, watching Lu carefully as he laughed at his joke.
Lu’s posture was relaxed, too relaxed. And the way he stared at the bar lights like they were memories instead of bulbs… Cheng couldn’t shake it.
“Did I ever tell you,” Lu said suddenly, gaze fixed somewhere just past Cheng’s shoulder, “the air smells different near the river in winter?”
Cheng blinked. “I mean… yeah, I guess. Cold?”
Lu shook his head, slow and a little loose. “Not just that. It’s like… old rain. Copper.”
“…Okay, poetic,” Cheng said, chuckling. “Is this drunk Lu or secret-poet Lu talking?”
Lu looked at him then, sharp for a second—and then soft again. “You were there once. Thought you’d remember.”
Cheng’s stomach did a slow, strange turn.
“I—was I?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. “We talking this life or a past one?”
Lu didn’t answer. Just sipped what was left of his drink, then leaned forward on the table like he might slide right off his seat otherwise.
Cheng raised an eyebrow, still smiling, still pretending not to be scanning every inch of Lu’s face for warning signs. “Man, you’re really leaning into this night, huh?”
He reached over and stole one of the peanuts from Lu’s forgotten snack bowl. “If you pass out I’m not carrying you. I’ll make Qiao Ling drag you. She works out.”
Lu let out a soft laugh, the kind that didn’t match the tired slump in his shoulders.
Cheng watched him a second longer. He was too warm, too loose. He looked like he might say something real—and Cheng wasn’t sure he wanted that. Not yet. Not tonight.
So he leaned back in his seat, stretched like a satisfied cat, and said, “Alright, philosopher. Tell me more weird things. Let’s see how far gone you are.”
Lu looked at him, amused, and said, “The light in the alley near the blue bakery turns green at exactly 3:47 a.m.”
Cheng narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a real thing.”
Lu smiled. “You’ve never been there.”
Cheng’s grin wavered for just a second. What are you remembering? he thought.
But he didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he grabbed Lu’s wrist gently and said, “C’mon, let’s get some water in you. You’re starting to sound like a time traveler.”
Lu didn’t resist. He just blinked, like he was trying to figure out whether Cheng was joking or not.
And Cheng, with all his usual cheer, led him off the bar stool—half play, half protectiveness, heart pounding just a little too fast.
Cheng’s hand hovered at Lu Guang’s back—not quite touching, just enough to catch him if he swayed too far. Lu didn’t resist, didn’t complain, just let himself be guided like he was walking through a dream. Which, honestly, Cheng wasn’t convinced he wasn’t.
They stepped out into the night, cool air rushing up to meet them. The street was quieter than the bar, washed in the soft blue of a neon sign and the faint glow of streetlights. Cheng led them toward the side alley where things were quieter, more breathable.
“Alright, buddy,” Cheng said, his tone teasing but gentle. “Air. Fresh. Cold. Perfect cure for drunk time travelers.”
Lu leaned back against the wall, tilting his head up like he was listening to something far away.
“Mm,” he murmured. “Better.”
Cheng crossed his arms, pretending to study him with exaggerated suspicion. “Okay, scale of one to totally wasted—how gone are you right now?”
Lu closed his eyes. “...Five?”
“That’s a lie,” Cheng said immediately. “You’re a solid nine and a half. You’ve said four things that made zero sense, and one of them involved the concept of time tasting like cinnamon.”
Lu chuckled quietly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You absolutely did. Or something just as weird.”
Lu opened his eyes then, and for a second—just a second—they were glassy. Sad. Cheng caught it before it vanished, like a crack in a mask that resealed itself
.
“You used to hate the rain,” Lu murmured.
Cheng blinked. “What?”
Lu’s brows knit, faintly. “Nothing.”
There it was again. Another thread that didn’t connect.
Cheng leaned against the wall next to him, pretending not to look too closely. “You’re saying a lot of nothings that sound suspiciously like somethings.”
Lu glanced at him, expression unreadable, then turned his gaze back up to the sky. “You’re... softer here,” he said quietly.
Cheng swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat.
He still didn’t know what Lu meant. But the way he said “here” made something twist in Cheng’s chest. Like Lu wasn’t just talking about the night. Or the bar. Or even this life.
Still, Cheng laughed—light, careless, easy. “You saying I’m not soft normally? I’m a golden retriever, man. I’m made of soft.”
“You bark too much,” Lu muttered.
Cheng grinned. “And yet, you keep me around.”
They stood there for a moment, the air cool and still between them. Cheng could feel it in his bones—that tension Lu was holding under the alcohol, the unspoken weight hiding behind his uncharacteristic warmth.
But tonight wasn’t the night to push. Not yet.
“You good?” Cheng asked, quieter now. “Really.”
Lu hesitated. Then nodded once.
“Liar,” Cheng said, no bite in his voice.
Lu gave him a look. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet,” Cheng said with a soft smile, “I’m still your favorite.”
Lu didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Cheng leaned his shoulder against the brick wall, watching Lu carefully out of the corner of his eye. The street was quiet, but Lu’s words echoed in his mind like dropped stones.
You’re softer here.
What the hell did that mean?
He glanced over. Lu looked peaceful in the cold night air, eyes half-lidded, the distant streetlight catching the tips of his hair in gold. But Cheng knew better. Lu Guang didn’t do “peaceful.” He did “tense but composed.” “Exhausted but upright.” This... loose version of him? It didn’t fit.
“You’re staring,” Lu murmured without looking over.
Cheng scoffed. “You’re imagining things. That’s what happens when your blood’s 40% alcohol.”
Lu gave a tired little smile. “I’m imagining a lot of things tonight.”
That stopped Cheng short for a second. He couldn’t tell if Lu meant it seriously. Or sadly. Or—God—both.
“Like what?” Cheng asked, still keeping the tone easy, playful. “Come on, you can’t say something that ominous and not follow through.”
Lu tilted his head back, letting his hair fall away from his face. “Mmm... like this street being different. Like it used to be narrower. The light warmer.”
Cheng blinked slowly. “Used to be?”
Lu didn’t respond.
Cheng chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, time traveler. You’ve officially lost me. Again.”
“It’s nothing,” Lu said quietly. “My head’s just messy.”
Cheng wanted to press. God, he wanted to press. But instead, he sidled closer, nudged Lu’s elbow with his own, and said, “Messy brain, huh? That’s okay. I’ve got enough smooth brain for both of us.”
That got a real laugh from Lu—a soft, muffled huff of air through his nose. Cheng grinned wider, proud.
“You always joke about your brain being full of bees,” Lu said a second later, like it was a fact.
Cheng blinked again. “...I’ve literally never said that.”
Lu looked genuinely surprised. “You haven’t?”
“Nope. Bees? That’s your drunk brain making stuff up.”
“Huh,” Lu said softly, frowning to himself. “Weird.”
There it is again, Cheng thought. Like he’s remembering someone who’s me... but not.
He shook off the chill crawling up his spine. “Alright, spooky psychic moment over. Time to get you inside and onto a couch before you start reciting riddles backwards or whatever it is Drunk Lu does at Level Ten.”
But Lu didn’t move.
Instead, he turned to Cheng—fully, face flushed and open, eyes bright in a way that made Cheng’s heart skip—and said, completely out of nowhere:
“Dance with me.”
Cheng blinked. “What?”
Lu held out a hand, not even swaying. Somehow steady despite everything. “Come on. Just for a second.”
“You’ve definitely crossed into the singing Disney princess part of your drunk arc.”
Lu smirked. “Cheng Xiaoshi. I’m asking nicely.”
Cheng stared at him, lips parted. The absurdity of it warred with the way Lu looked at him—so clear and weirdly soft.
“…You’re going to remember this tomorrow and be mortified.”
“Probably,” Lu agreed.
Cheng hesitated. Then he reached out and took Lu’s hand.
No music. Just the wind and the hum of distant city noise.
They swayed—awkwardly at first, like two idiots trying to figure out what dancing even meant in a quiet alley at midnight. But then Lu stepped in just a little closer. Not too much. Just enough that Cheng could feel his warmth.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Cheng muttered, but he was grinning. “Of all the weird things you’ve said tonight, this is the most dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because now I kinda don’t want it to stop.”
Lu didn’t answer.
He just swayed with him, silent and smiling like he wasn’t falling apart inside. Like this moment—this exact sliver of time—was enough.
Cheng held him tighter, still pretending not to be scared of the cracks he couldn’t name.
Cheng didn’t know how long they stood there, swaying like two idiots under the streetlight. A minute? Two? Long enough for the chill to settle in his jacket, for the buzz of Lu’s hand in his to feel almost normal.
“You’re surprisingly coordinated for someone who just tried to order another drink by whispering into an ashtray,” Cheng muttered.
Lu let out a quiet laugh, and it warmed something in Cheng’s chest. Too warm, actually.
“I have gotten better since last time ” Lu said suddenly.
Cheng blinked. “What?”
Lu’s gaze didn’t meet his. “Not like this. It was raining. You were wet. I was annoyed. And you made me laugh anyway.”
The words hit like a dart, straight to the gut. Cheng opened his mouth to respond, but Lu shook his head a little, the movement slow and fuzzy.
“Forget it,” he murmured, his voice turning soft and breathless. “Just mixed up.”
Cheng didn’t call him out on it. He just swallowed around the tightness in his throat.
“I swear,” he said, forcing a crooked smile, “either you’ve got a second life you never told me about or your drunk brain is writing fanfiction.”
Lu smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Cheng echoed, pretending it didn’t chill him a little.
Lu’s eyes fluttered closed again, and he rested his forehead lightly against Cheng’s shoulder. It caught him off guard—Lu Guang didn’t lean on people. He supported people. Carried burdens. Stayed two steps ahead.
Now he was quiet. Small. Just a little heavier than before.
Cheng’s grin faded slowly, his hands still at Lu’s waist like he wasn’t sure if letting go would make him crumble.
What are you not telling me, Lu?
“Alright,” Cheng whispered, his voice barely above the rustle of the breeze. “Let’s get you somewhere warm before I start asking too many questions.”
Lu didn’t argue. He never did when he was like this.
As they stepped apart, Lu stumbled a bit, and Cheng caught him with ease. He threw one of Lu’s arms around his shoulder and guided him down the sidewalk, moving slowly.
“You know,” Cheng muttered, still trying to fill the silence with nonsense, “you’re gonna owe me for this. Carrying your skinny ass all the way home while you mumble weird prophetic nonsense? I want snacks. Like, a week’s worth.”
Lu chuckled again, eyes half-lidded. “Deal.”
A pause.
Then, more quietly, as if it slipped out without permission
“You always take care of me.”
Cheng stopped walking.
He stared ahead, trying not to let the words hit too hard. He felt Lu’s weight shift beside him and forced himself to keep going. Step by step.
“You’re drunk,” he said, not looking at him.
“I know,” Lu whispered.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, but Cheng’s thoughts were anything but quiet.
The streets were still damp from earlier rain, the pavement shimmering with reflected amber light. Cheng tried not to look at how Lu was leaning more into him now, head tilted slightly, one foot dragging just a little with each step.
He felt lighter somehow—and not just because of the alcohol. Like something inside him had been temporarily unlatched. Cheng hated it.
“Alright, keep it together,” Cheng muttered, adjusting his grip so Lu’s arm stayed balanced on his shoulder. “You’re lucky I work out. If you were a centimeter taller, we’d be on the floor right now.”
“You don’t work out,” Lu said into his neck.
Cheng snorted. “Rude. I do enough. I lift takeout bags. That counts.”
“You stretch once every two weeks and call it cardio."
Cheng turned his head slowly to stare at him. “Okay, wow. This drunk version of you is savage.”
But Lu wasn’t grinning. He was blinking slowly, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all.
“That was you,” he mumbled. “You said that. Or... someone said that. I can’t keep it straight right now.”
Cheng’s smile dimmed again.
There it was—the crack in the tone, the way Lu’s voice faltered like he wasn’t sure if he was still in the same timeline. Cheng knew something was off. Not just drunk-off, but deep-core wrong.
“Hey.” He kept his voice light. “You okay in there? You’re kinda talking like a sad oracle.”
Lu squinted at him, lips parted like he wanted to explain.
But after a beat, he just shook his head.
“It’s nothing. You’re just different when you’re... when it’s now.”
Cheng laughed nervously. “When it’s now? Okay, what—are we in a time loop? Did you do a drug and not tell me?”
Lu didn’t answer. He just let out a little breath, soft and tired.
“I keep thinking I’ve lost you,” he said, barely audible.
That one knocked the wind right out of Cheng.
He stopped walking again. “What?”
But Lu was already trying to move forward, like he hadn’t said anything at all. Like it had slipped out from a deeper place he didn’t want touched.
Cheng held him still.
“Lu. What do you mean—‘lost me’?”
“I didn’t say that,” Lu said.
“You did. Just now.”
Lu blinked at him, expression flickering between confusion and that same numb smile he always wore when things got too close. “Then I didn’t mean it.”
Cheng stared at him, trying to piece it together. Drunk rambling? A buried memory? Was this just exhaustion? Stress? Something deeper?
He wanted to demand answers. To shake him a little and say, Tell me what the hell is going on with you. Tell me why you look at me like I’ve died before.
Instead, he just grumbled, “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drunk. Otherwise I’d leave your cryptic ass right here on the sidewalk.”
That finally earned him a smirk—small but genuine.
“You’d never leave me,” Lu said, like it was a known fact.
Cheng didn’t respond.
He just started walking again, slower this time, listening to the night and to Lu’s quiet breaths as they moved forward.
As they walked, Lu suddenly tilted his head and smirked.
“Hey, Cheng… you zoning out on me again?”
Cheng blinked, caught off guard. He gave a quick chuckle and waved it off.
“Nah, just thinking about how lucky I am to be stuck with you tonight.”
Lu laughed, nudging him playfully. “Good answer. Now, let’s get back to the fun stuff.”
With that, Lu launched into another round of teasing stories and half-remembered details, dragging Cheng back into the easy rhythm of their drunken night.
They kept strolling, laughter bubbling between them like a secret song only they could hear. Lu’s words stumbled through stories that didn’t quite add up, little flashes of memories that made Cheng tilt his head but say nothing — just smiling and rolling with it.
Cheng’s eyes flickered to Lu, catching the light in his tipsy grin, and something soft bloomed inside him. Even if the past was tangled and messy, right here, in this moment, Lu was bright and real.
“Alright, old man,” Cheng teased, bumping Lu’s shoulder gently, “what’s next? Gonna make me dance again or just keep talking my ear off?”
Lu’s grin widened, sparkling with mischief. “Oh, you’re gonna dance. But this time, no backing out.”
Cheng laughed, heart light despite the knot of worry buried deep beneath it, and braced himself — because with Lu, the night was never just quiet and easy.
Lu’s hand slid into Cheng’s without hesitation, fingers curling around his with a warmth that sent a little jolt through Cheng’s chest.
“Come on, doggo,” Lu teased, tugging him toward the middle of the empty street bathed in yellow streetlights.
“Show me those moves you always hide.”
Cheng rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re lucky you’re drunk or I’d say no.”
“Drunk means more fun,” Lu said, eyes gleaming. “Now dance.”
Cheng let himself be pulled into a loose, awkward shuffle, laughing as Lu matched his movements with exaggerated flair. The air was cool, but the heat between them was undeniable — something soft and wild, the way laughter and light touches and tipsy joy mixed into a moment neither wanted to end.
Lu’s grin faltered for just a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he shook it off and threw his head back to laugh freely.
Cheng caught that shadow out of the corner of his eye but chose not to ask. Tonight, he decided, they’d just dance.
Cheng matched Lu’s steps, feeling the rhythm pulse through the quiet street, a strange kind of peace settling over him despite the swirling thoughts he couldn’t shake. Lu’s laughter was infectious, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the timelines, the secrets, the silent fears—felt a little lighter.
As Lu spun around, arms wide like he was claiming the night itself, Cheng caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes. It was fleeting, quickly masked by that playful grin, but Cheng didn’t miss it.
He stepped closer, nudging Lu gently. “You’re really something else tonight.”
Lu winked, leaning into Cheng’s side. “Only for you.”
Cheng’s heart skipped, but he kept his tone light. “Alright, then. Let’s make sure this night counts.”
They danced under the streetlamp’s glow, two souls tangled in laughter, unspoken worries, and the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, they could hold onto this moment a little longer.
After a few more spins and laughter, Lu suddenly slowed, his movements growing softer until he finally sank down onto a nearby bench. The streetlamp cast a warm pool of light around him, but in his eyes, Cheng caught a flicker of something quieter—something fragile that didn’t quite belong to the night’s carefree mood.
Cheng sat beside him, careful not to crowd. “Hey, you zoning out again?” he teased, nudging Lu’s shoulder lightly.
Lu gave a small, crooked smile but didn’t look up. “Maybe a little.”
Cheng watched him for a moment, his heart tightening in a way he couldn’t explain. “You’re too good at hiding things,” he said softly.
Lu’s laugh was a whisper, half-mocking, half-worn. “Yeah, well, some things are better left buried.”
Cheng didn’t push. Instead, he threw an arm around Lu’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Maybe. But I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Lu’s eyes met his, just for a second, shimmering with something unspoken, before he blinked it away and smirked. “You’re kind of clingy when you want to be.”
Cheng grinned, feeling a little lighter. “Only for you.”
They stayed there for a while, side by side in the quiet night, the unspoken hanging softly between them but never heavy enough to break the moment.
Lu leaned back on the bench, a mischievous glint creeping into his eyes. “Alright, serious talk’s done. Now, I dare you—no, challenge you—to a thumb war.”
Cheng blinked, caught off guard. “A thumb war? Really?”
“Yep,” Lu grinned wide, “And loser has to buy the next times drinks.”
Cheng laughed, shaking his head but sliding his hand forward to meet Lu’s. “You’re on.”
Their thumbs locked, fingers curling tight, and for a moment, the quiet tension faded completely, replaced by the silly competition and shared smiles.
“Prepare to lose,” Lu teased, wiggling his thumb confidently.
“Oh, it’s already over in my mind,” Cheng shot back, eyes shining.
They laughed together, the warmth between them growing, the night stretching out with possibilities — and maybe, just maybe, a little more hope.
Cheng’s thumb pinned Lu’s down triumphantly. “Victory,” he declared, smug and grinning.
Lu stared down at their hands for a second, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I’ll be paying for your terrible taste in beer.”
Cheng laughed. “You’re just bitter because your streak is over.”
Lu leaned back, his smile lopsided. “Guess I’m losing my edge.”
The words were casual, but something in the way he said it—soft, almost too soft—caught Cheng off guard. For just a heartbeat, Lu looked... tired. Not in the physical sense, but like something inside him had been stretched too thin for too long.
Cheng didn’t say anything. He just watched him, that usual flicker of protectiveness rising like a tide. But he didn’t show it—not in his face, not in his voice. Instead, he bumped Lu’s shoulder lightly, trying to offer steadiness without calling attention to it.
“You’re still sharp as hell,” he said. “You’re just up against a master.”
Lu smiled at that, a little more genuine this time, but his eyes stayed far away for a second longer before returning to the present. “Sure, sure. Let me have this moment of defeat in peace.”
Cheng leaned his elbows on his knees, glancing sideways at him. You don’t have to carry whatever this is alone, he wanted to say. But instead: “You’re buying the expensive kind next time.”
Lu laughed again, and the sound filled the empty street like it was trying to push something heavier away.
They left the bench a few minutes later, Cheng stretching his arms over his head with a groan and Lu nudging him with his shoulder like they were still kids sneaking out after curfew. The street was empty, the night air crisp, and the soft city glow reflected off the pavement like they were walking on something a little more magical than concrete.
“You know what’s weird?” Lu said suddenly, hands stuffed in his pockets, voice loose with drink and ease.
“What?” Cheng asked, side-eyeing him like he was bracing for nonsense.
Lu looked up at the sky. “There’s this alley near the studio. Tiny. Half-flooded all the time. Smells like wet paint and cold metal. I had this weird thought earlier that it used to be filled with flowers.”
Cheng blinked. “What?”
“Yeah,” Lu chuckled to himself. “Doesn’t make sense, right? I swear I remember you pulling me out of there once.”
Cheng stared at him, puzzled. “Maybe you’re dreaming your own flashbacks.”
“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing,” Lu said, then flashed him a grin. “Or maybe you just have a face that screams ‘drag me out of strange alleys.’”
Cheng laughed, shoving him. “If anyone’s got that face, it’s you.”
Lu stumbled dramatically and grinned, but his eyes didn’t quite match the levity of his tone. Still, he quickly moved on, pointing at the flickering sign of a 24-hour boba place like it was the most important discovery of the night.
“Let’s get something stupidly sweet,” he declared.
“Is that a craving or a cry for help?”
“Both,” Lu replied with a smirk, pulling Cheng by the wrist toward the glow of the store.
Cheng followed, watching the way Lu moved — too confident to be fully okay, too loose to be entirely fine. Still smiling. Still charming. Still carrying something silent.
Cheng let him lead.
The bell over the door jingled softly as they stepped into the boba shop. It was nearly empty—just a bored-looking teenager at the counter and a couple passed out in a booth by the window. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a strangely intimate stillness.
Lu leaned over the counter like a man on a mission. “One brown sugar milk tea,” he announced, “with tapioca. Extra tapioca. And pudding.”
The teen behind the counter blinked slowly. “You want… both?”
“Obviously.”
Cheng raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna combust.”
“I’ve been through worse,” Lu replied smoothly, then turned to Cheng. “You want one?”
“I don’t need a sugar bomb at 2 a.m.”
Lu pointed at him. “That’s where you’re wrong. That’s exactly when you need one.”
Cheng snorted and ordered something far less deadly, watching as Lu swayed a little on his feet, eyes bright and cheeks faintly pink from the alcohol. There was a strange kind of freedom in him right now—like his sharp edges had been dulled just enough to let everything flow. It was... new. Cheng didn’t hate it.
They took their drinks to a tiny booth near the window. Lu sat cross-legged, sipping with satisfaction. Cheng leaned back, quietly observing. The quiet of the shop wrapped around them like a lazy blanket.
“This place looks different,” Lu murmured after a while, staring out the window. “it looks different than last time. Different lights. Music. You had ordered something awful.”
Cheng tilted his head. “You just gonna keep saying cryptic stuff or is this some weird game?”
Lu blinked at him, then chuckled, as if catching himself.
“I’m drunk. I get poetic.”
“More like scrambled.”
“I prefer ‘mysterious.’” He grinned, taking another sip.
Cheng smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. What are you remembering that I’m not part of? he wondered silently. But he didn’t ask. Not tonight.
Instead, he took a long drink of his tea and leaned forward, changing the subject. “So. If you had to rank your worst drinks ever—”
“Oh, we’re doing this?” Lu perked up, the tension in his shoulders easing.
Cheng nodded, smiling wide now, letting the moment flow past them like a slow tide. He could hold the questions in his chest for another night.
The air outside was cooler now, the kind that settled against the skin like silk and made everything feel quieter than it was. Cheng walked with his hands in his pockets, the ice in his half-finished boba drink clinking with each step. Beside him, Lu walked with a faint bounce in his step, still sipping with determined glee like a kid who’d discovered sugar for the first time.
“You know,” Lu said, looking up at the night sky, “we should do this more. Drink. Walk. Be stupid.”
Cheng glanced sideways. “You’re usually allergic to stupid.”
“I’m making exceptions.”
Cheng chuckled. “Well, it’s a little late to pretend you’re not enjoying this.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Lu replied, eyes half-lidded now, soft with whatever thoughts he was fighting not to voice.
“Just... don’t get used to it.”
Cheng bumped their shoulders lightly. “Too late.”
They passed a row of dark storefronts, their reflections moving beside them in the glass. The silence was a little heavier now, like the warmth of the evening was slowly giving way to the truth waiting beneath it.
Lu swayed slightly as he walked, not quite stumbling—but Cheng noticed. He slowed his pace without saying anything, keeping just close enough in case the world tilted too far.
When they reached their building, Lu paused at the entrance, squinting up at the windows like they might hold some kind of answer.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Cheng looked at him. “Yeah?”
Lu didn’t look back. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
A pause.
“Not asking questions.”
Cheng’s chest tightened, but he only shrugged. “Didn’t seem like the night for it.”
Lu finally looked at him. His eyes were a little glassy, but there was something clear beneath them too—something raw, barely hidden.
“Still. Thanks.”
Cheng unlocked the door. “C’mon, before you pass out on the stairs.”
Lu made a noise of mock offense but followed him up, dragging his feet just a little, like maybe he didn’t want the night to end yet.
Inside the apartment, the lights were low. Familiar. Cheng dropped his keys, turned to find Lu toeing off his shoes, expression soft, gaze distant.
Cheng clapped a hand gently on his shoulder. “Go crash. I’ll get you water.”
Lu nodded, a bit slower than usual. “You’re annoying,” he muttered.
“You’re drunk.”
Lu didn’t argue.
As he wandered off to his room, Cheng stood in the dark kitchen for a moment, listening to the soft click of the door closing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He didn’t have answers. But tonight, maybe that was okay.
He’d be here when the questions came.
The apartment was dim and still when Cheng padded down the hall, water bottle in hand. He pushed open the bedroom door with his elbow, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet.
The bunk bed cast long shadows across the room, and from the top bunk, Lu’s blanket was already half-slid off, one arm dangling loosely over the edge like he’d just flopped there and given up.
“You alive?” Cheng asked quietly, standing at the edge of the ladder.
A low, muffled noise drifted down from above. “Define alive…”
“Fair.” He climbed halfway up and nudged the bottle into Lu’s hand. “Drink or you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning.”
Lu fumbled for it, fingers brushing Cheng’s, his grip clumsy. “You sound like my mother.”
“Your mother sounds this handsome?”
Lu made a tired sound that might’ve been a laugh. He rolled onto his side with a grunt, letting his face press halfway into his pillow. “This bunk is way taller when you’re dizzy.”
Cheng leaned against the frame, watching him with an amused little smile. “You always talk this much when you’re drunk?”
“I always talk this much when I want to forget,”
Lu mumbled, then quickly added,
“Kidding. Maybe.”
Cheng didn’t push. He just reached up and gently pulled the blanket over Lu’s legs, tucking the corner in so it wouldn’t fall again. Lu didn’t react to the gesture, just stared at the ceiling like it held stars only he could see.
“You gonna be okay up there?”
“M’fine.”
“Alright. Holler if you fall out and die.”
“No promises.”
Cheng let himself breathe again and stepped away, flicking off the light with a soft click. The room sank into silence, only the low hum of the fridge in the distance and Lu’s slow, uneven breaths above him.
He climbed into the bottom bunk and lay there staring at the underside of Lu’s mattress, hands behind his head. The night had cracked open something he wasn’t sure how to name.
But for now, it was enough to just… be here.
And wait.
The faint light of the moon filtered through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gray. Cheng had been awake for hours, long past when he should’ve slept, his mind spinning in circles.
What was last night?
He turned over, staring at the underside of Lu’s bunk. The memories of their time out on the street, Lu’s lighthearted teasing, and that odd, tender moment back at the boba shop felt distant, almost surreal now in the quiet morning. But even more than that—there was something about the way Lu had been, so… open, in his tipsy state. Something raw underneath all that energy. He’d cracked through a layer, let something slip.
Was it just the alcohol?
But even with that question floating in the back of his mind, Cheng couldn’t ignore the way Lu had looked at him at certain moments, the flicker of something unguarded behind the usual walls.
He sighed, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts tangled together. The image of Lu, eyes soft, words slurring but so real, hovered over him. Thanks, Cheng, he’d said last night. Not asking questions.
But now that the buzz had worn off, Cheng couldn’t stop asking them.
What’s going on inside your head, Lu?
Cheng hadn’t pressed him on it. He never did. Lu’s walls were strong. And every time Cheng thought about breaking them down, he hesitated. It was easier not to.
Easier to just let Lu slip out of the cracks without asking for more than he was ready to give.
He shifted in his bed, his thoughts wandering back to the night, to the moments when Lu had been so carefree. So different from the way he usually held himself. So full of laughter, teasing, lightness. And yet, underneath it, there was that quiet sadness that Cheng had learned to spot. The way he’d gone quiet in the bench. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes sometimes.
It was like holding a firework in his hands—bright and beautiful, but dangerous in the wrong hands.
Cheng rolled onto his side, staring at the ceiling again, trying to push his thoughts aside. But then he heard it.
A low, muffled sound. The softest, almost inaudible shift of blankets. A breath that caught in the air.
Cheng stiffened.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. The soft gasps. The restless movements.
Lu’s nightmares.
He didn’t move. Didn’t go up to check. Just listened. His hand tightened around the edge of the blanket, knuckles going white. The silence in the room grew heavier as the small sounds grew more frantic. Lu was tossing a little, the slight rustle of his sheets turning into sharp, agitated movements.
But Cheng… Cheng did nothing. He stayed there, his heart picking up in a nervous rhythm, his thoughts battling with his instincts. He’d seen the way Lu pulled away from everything, how quickly he shut down when anyone got too close. He couldn’t make himself do it—couldn’t pull Lu out of whatever memory was haunting him tonight.
Lu wouldn’t want it.
He never did
And so Cheng stayed still, his breath shallow, the minutes stretching longer than they should’ve. He heard Lu’s voice this time—quiet, unintelligible, but unmistakable fear laced in the words.
Dammit, Lu.
Cheng clenched his teeth. He should do something. He should reach out. Say something. But the silence was too thick, and the distance felt too wide.
Instead, he let his eyes flutter shut, forcing himself to listen to the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest.
It wasn’t until the sounds from the top bunk slowed, turning into soft, shuddering breaths that Cheng finally exhaled, the tension lifting just enough for him to relax.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Not yet.
The sun had climbed higher now, casting warm streaks of light across the floor. The stillness of the early hours had lifted, and somewhere outside, a bird chirped like it didn’t know how heavy the world could be.
Cheng lay there for a moment longer before he heard the telltale creak above him. A slow groan, a thud of an elbow hitting wood, and a muffled curse.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Cheng called up, voice already wearing a grin.
A grumble. “What time is it?”
“Almost afternoon. You snored like a dying cat. Real tragic.”
There was a long pause.
Then, “Why does my mouth taste like regret?”
Cheng snorted, sitting up and leaning an arm over the side of the bunk bed. “Because you downed enough sake to knock out a small horse. And then you dragged me down a sidewalk, tried to start a dance battle with a streetlamp, challenged me to a thumb wrestling match—”
“Liar.”
“Oh, and demanded I buy you boba. You swore it would ‘fix the universe’s imbalance.’” Cheng made air quotes with a dramatic flourish.
From the top bunk came the sound of a pillow being thrown—Cheng caught it effortlessly.
“None of that happened,” Lu muttered, voice still hoarse and rough with sleep. But there was a flicker of disbelief behind the denial, and Cheng knew he’d gotten to him.
“You’re right,” Cheng said cheerfully, tossing the pillow back up. “Maybe I hallucinated you making heart eyes at your brown sugar milk tea. Very moving, by the way.”
Lu groaned and rolled over, hanging his head off the bunk just enough for his hair to fall in a messy curtain over his eyes. His expression was blank, but the flush on his cheeks was undeniable.
“I hate you,” he muttered.
“No, you don’t.”
Lu didn’t argue that.
For a while, they sat in that soft, suspended quiet—the kind that only comes after a night like the one they’d had.
The banter died down, but the warmth lingered. Lu seemed more like himself again, the controlled, reserved Lu Guang Cheng knew.
The walls were up, the edges were sharp again, but Cheng could still feel the echo of the version he’d seen the night before—unguarded, vibrant, and maybe a little lost.
Cheng watched him disappear into the bathroom to brush his teeth, still grumbling to himself.
He really doesn’t remember.
Or maybe he did, but wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Cheng didn’t know which possibility was heavier.
He moved to the window, pulling it open to let the breeze in. The air smelled clean, like beginnings.
Last night had changed something in him. Cheng had seen something. A crack. A slip. A glimmer of the truth hiding behind Lu’s usual precision and distance.
He’s holding something.
Lots of somethings.
And Cheng had let it go for a long time. Had kept pace with Lu without asking questions, without demanding anything he wasn’t ready to give. But now…
Now, he wanted to know.
Not to fix him. Not to pry. Just… to understand. To be there.
He heard Lu swear quietly at his toothbrush. Cheng smiled to himself.
He didn’t know what kind of secrets Lu was keeping, what kind of pain was buried in those sharp silences, but he was done standing at the edge.
He was going to solve the mystery that was Lu Guang.
Even if he had to do it piece by piece.