Idk Bro Im Just Here @kimpapchi - Tumblr Blog

let me do this for you

"Lu Guang’s limbs feel heavy as he climbs the stairs, every changed minute weighing down his body as he goes to check on Cheng Xiaoshi. He wishes he could do today over again. He doesn’t know if he’d have the strength to do today over again." Lu Guang experiences Cheng Xiaoshi being sick for the first time. Twice.

My long-awaited Link Click fic is finally here!! I have been so excited to post this for MONTHS because it's genuinely one of my favorite things I've written. I love Link Click for letting me write just about anything with a layer of agony over it because Lu Guang is in a permanent state of anxious paranoia about messing up the timeline. It means even the funny bits include angst :)

So this baby's got it all! Sickfic shenanigans, big sister Qiao Ling, whiny Cheng Xiaoshi, Lu Guang feeling like his mourning every time he looks at Cheng Xiaoshi's face, soup..... What more could you ask for?

(Spoilers for season 2. Content warning for vomiting. 12k words. Ignore the fact that I completely messed up the layout of the studio and then didn't want to change it. The living room and their made-up kitchen are on their own separate floor, because I said so.) (ao3 link)

---

Dingdingding. Dingdingding. Dingdingding.

Lu Guang cracks his eyes open and feels around next to his pillow for his phone, thumbing at the screen to turn off his morning alarm. Early morning sunlight is already filtering in through the window, so Lu Guang relents that it’s time to start the day. He pulls himself down the ladder, ignoring the groans from Cheng Xiaoshi coming from the bottom bunk as his own phone begins to buzz. Lu Guang silently descends the stairs, allowing Cheng Xiaoshi his customary extra few minutes of sleep while Lu Guang prepares tea and a simple breakfast for the two of them.

After living together for almost a year, Lu Guang enjoys the comfort he finds in this familiar morning routine. He sets the breakfast on the table and sets to eating his own, waiting for his roommate.

But Cheng Xiaoshi never comes down. Lu Guang waits patiently, knowing that Cheng Xiaoshi is a sloth and some days he takes longer to rouse himself than others. But after watching the time tick by on his watch for 21 minutes, he can no longer idly wait. Lu Guang climbs the stairs, ready to bang his fist on the doorframe to wake his roommate up, when Cheng Xiaoshi flies past him, almost knocking Lu Guang over, and runs straight for the bathroom.

Lu Guang waits outside the bathroom door impatiently. “Hurry up or we’re going to be late—”

And that’s when Cheng Xiaoshi starts retching.

The morning does not get more pleasant after that. As it turns out, the only thing more annoying that an overly chipper, healthy Cheng Xiaoshi is a sick one.

---

“Was it something you ate?” Lu Guang asks Cheng Xiaoshi reproachfully. The first round of puking had only lasted a few minutes, but before Lu Guang even had a chance to speak to Cheng Xiaoshi properly, he was back in the bathroom, coughing and moaning as he continued expelling everything he had in his stomach.

Cheng Xiaoshi is on the couch in the living room now, looking a little green and definitely not in the mood for answering questions. The quilt from his bed is wrapped around his body, coming up over head to look like a hood.

“How should I know? It’s not like the answer was written at the bottom of the toilet bowl.”

Lu Guang sighs. “We ate the same meals yesterday. I was just wondering if your food felt off in any way.”

“If it felt off, I wouldn’t have eaten it!”

This is debatable. Lu Guang has seen Cheng Xiaoshi eat plenty of things in the name of “not letting it go to waste” that seemed questionable. While this situation is an appropriate time to mention that fact, Lu Guang refrains.

“Okay, well maybe you have a virus, then.”

Cheng Xiaoshi holds a hand to his stomach pathetically. “Can you cure me, Lu Guang?”

“No, but I can go downstairs to open the studio alone while you stay up here and keep your puke away from the customers.”

This is apparently the wrong response, because Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes widen like he was just told that Lu Guang is moving out of the country today.

“You’re leaving me?” he cries. “In my hour of need, you’re going to abandon me?”

Lu Guang rolls his eyes. “I’m going to be directly underneath you, idiot. Just call me if you need something. Someone has to pay rent this month.”

“Do you think Qiao Ling would come take care of me?”

“Qiao Ling has her own priorities besides dealing with your whining. Go lay back down; I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

Lu Guang leaves silently. He wasn’t wrong; they really did need to open the studio today. There were customers scheduled to pick up their prints this morning. He makes sure to take his phone off silent mode as he works, in case Cheng Xiaoshi calls for something, but he never does. Lu Guang finds himself staring nervously at his phone throughout the morning. Is Cheng Xiaoshi still throwing up? Has he made it to the toilet every time, or is he defacing every surface of their apartment in revenge? Does he need something? Why hasn’t he called?

By lunch time, Lu Guang can’t stand it. He locks up the studio and goes upstairs to check on his roommate. His worries melt away when he sees Cheng Xiaoshi in the exact same position he was left in, strewn across the couch with a plastic-lined wastepaper basket on the floor beside him, groaning pathetically.

“Lu Guaaaaaang….” Cheng Xiaoshi moans, long and desperate. “Everything huuuurts.”

Lu Guang tries a gentle approach. “Could you be more specific? Is it your stomach? Does your body ache? Are you feverish?”

Cheng Xiaoshi pulls the quilt higher, tucking it under his chin. “I’m not gonna make it. Call Qiao Ling. Tell her to come quickly so I can update my will.”

Lu Guang sighs. “You’re not dying, idiot. You probably have a virus. Or it was something you ate. Now could you tell me the rest of your symptoms?”

Cheng Xiaoshi ignores his questions yet again, cracking his eyes open slowly, like it’s taking him a great amount of effort to do so. “Have you called Qiao Ling? Does she know I’m ill?”

“I could help you get better if you’d just tell me what’s wrong,” Lu Guang says crossly. The quilt is pulled up so high he can barely see Cheng Xiaoshi under the blanket. Does he have a fever? Does he need medication? He debates leaning forward to feel his forehead but doesn’t know a way to pull it off without it seeming strange. He refrains. “I know your stomach is upset, but what else—”

Cheng Xiaoshi rolls over flippantly. “Tell me when Qiao Ling gets here. I’ll only speak to her. I’m taking you out of my will.”

Lu Guang looks to the ceiling, balling his hands into fists and breathing slowly. After a few slow exhales he calmly tells Cheng Xiaoshi that he should try eating something small to settle his stomach. He goes to their pantry and prepares a small dish full of plain wonton strips and a glass of cool water.

“I have to go back to work. Please try to eat something,” Lu Guang says evenly. He ignores the cries of “Qiao Lingggggggg!” echoing through the apartment as he leaves.

Lu Guang returns to the front counter, pulling out several canisters of film that still needed to be developed for customers later this week. Thankfully, they don’t have any new clients from Qiao Ling. Lu Guang isn’t entirely sure how their powers would work if Cheng Xiaoshi was sick during a dive. His physiology tends to get transferred to the person in the past he possesses. Would their client start puking uncontrollably mid-dive? Lu Guang dreads the thought.

No, this is better. Let Cheng Xiaoshi sleep if off while Lu Guang tends to the studio. Cheng Xiaoshi will have to dip into his meager savings to pay for his half of the rest this month if he doesn’t come back to work in the next few days, but that can’t be helped. If he’s lucky, Qiao Ling will be merciful on him.

Lu Guang stares at the canisters on the counter before him. The studio is blessedly quiet without Cheng Xiaoshi’s usual chittering and loud pop music playing through the speakers of his phone. Lu Guang should be reveling in the silence, but he does feel marginally bad for leaving Cheng Xiaoshi by himself upstairs, no matter how irritating his dramatics are.

Lu Guang picks up his cell phone and dials Qiao Ling’s number.

---

Qiao Ling arrives around closing time, a paper bag full of groceries on her hip as she opens the front door to the Time Photo Studio, the pre-recorded greeting ringing through the silence.

“Is he in bed?” Qiao Ling asks, before remembering her manners and greeting Lu Guang properly.

Lu Guang waves away formalities. “He’s on the couch. He keeps calling for you,” he tells her, his normal deadpan tone giving way to the smallest hint of annoyance.

Qiao Ling rolls her eyes, but fondly, and hurries up the stairs. Lu Guang flips the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and follows her up to the apartment.

“Where’s my patient?” Qiao Ling calls in a sing-song tone. A long, monotonous “uuuuuuuuuuhn” echoes back to her, indicating that Cheng Xiaoshi is still alive, and probably in the same condition Lu Guang left him in.

His assumptions are proven correct when Lu Guang follows Qiao Ling to the living room. Though now Cheng Xiaoshi has a hand over his forehead like a swooning maiden as well. Lu Guang crosses his arms at Cheng Xiaoshi’s childishness. He expects Qiao Ling to share in his annoyance, but she smiles good naturedly as she sits down on the edge of the couch to pull his hand from his face and replace it with her own, pushing his bangs back to feel his temperature.

Lu Guang ignores the odd feeling in his gut watching the tender gesture. Their relationship has always been a curious thing to him. As an only child, sibling dynamics have always been interesting to observe. Though they may not be related by blood, Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi have been together for half of their lives, and little moments like this show their closeness. While Lu Guang spent most of the day reluctant to get within a few feet of Cheng Xiaoshi, Qiao Ling presses her hand gently to his forehead with no hesitation, frowning at whatever she feels. Lu Guang wonders if he should have pushed past his own reservations and checked his temperature himself earlier. He silently curses them for not owning a thermometer.

“Sorry I’m late,” Qiao Ling tells Cheng Xiaoshi. “I was with Xu ShanShan and Dong Yi at the new noodle shop downtown and the trains were far behind schedule. I would have taken a cab back if I knew it was urgent.”

“I almost perished while you were gone. And Lu Guang just left me here!” Cheng Xiaoshi accuses sourly, making a face at Lu Guang that he pointedly ignores.

She pats his cheek twice. “Don’t be like that. Lu Guang was running the studio. Now,” she claps her hands together, “would you like some soup?”

Whatever dumb act Cheng Xiaoshi has been putting on for the whole conversation falls away from his face, his tired eyes lighting up again with genuine happiness. “Really?”

Qiao Ling smiles once more, then hefts her bag from the market back onto her hip and carries it to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep in an actual bed for a while?” she calls over the rustling of the bag as she pulls ingredients out and sets them on their small counter. “Lu Guang can help you!”

Lu Guang isn’t sure what face he is making, but if he had to guess, it probably looks similar to the expression he made last week when he stepped in dog poop on the sidewalk. Cheng Xiaoshi stares back at him, eyes narrowed.

“I can take myself, actually.”

He pulls himself to his feet, albeit much slower than he would on a typical day. Cheng Xiaoshi is normally so bouncy and energetic that Lu Guang often wonders if he’s possessed by a child. Lu Guang’s own muted personality is only made more apparent the longer he spends time by Cheng Xiaoshi’s side.

Cheng Xiaoshi drapes the quilt over his shoulders and shuffles out of the room past Lu Guang. After he leaves, Lu Guang glances at the lined trash can they left by the couch; mercifully, it’s still empty.

Qiao Ling is already in the kitchen, pulling out a few of the ingredients from her bag and setting them on their cutting board beside their hot plate. Calling the meager set-up a “kitchen” is more generous than it deserves. With a sink and a few feet of counter space, the area barely counts as a kitchenette, but Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang make do. It’s not like either of them do much cooking anyway. Their singular hot plate is more than enough to boil water for cup noodles.

He approaches the kitchen and sits on a wooden chair near the counter, watching Qiao Ling as she chops vegetables.

“You’re being awfully nice to him.”

“And you’re being awfully cold,” she counters, thought she doesn’t sound upset by it. “What’s gotten you in such a mood? Did he do something?”

Lu Guang rests his chin on his fist. “No, he’s just been trying my patience all day.”

“That’s nothing new,” she says with a laugh. “He’s always like that when he’s sick. He used to drive my parents crazy when we were kids. Always wallowing and complaining whenever he got even the slightest cold.”

Lu Guang internally wilts. So he’s going to be dealing with dramatics like this every time Cheng Xiaoshi gets sick? How many times will he be written out of his will?

“And you humor him?” Lu Guang asks.

“He’s sick,” Qiao Ling says with a shrug. “It’s the one time I’ll let it slide.”

They fall into an easy silence for a few minutes, Qiao Ling getting a pot of broth simmering on the hot plate as she chops the vegetables, the quiet shuck shuck shuck of the knife against the wooden cutting board being the only sound in the room as Lu Guang reflects on his own attitude.

“What kind of soup are you making him?” Lu Guang asks after a while, peering at the ingredients spread across the counter.

“I’m honestly not sure,” Qiao Ling says dubiously. “When we were little, Cheng Xiaoshi used to always claim that his mom had a soup recipe that would cure you of just about anything. During all his complaining he would beg for his mother’s soup. Taking pity on him, I made him some when we were maybe eleven. He ate it, but according to him it tasted all wrong. It’s been my mission since then to try and replicate the recipe correctly.”

“Are you close?”

Qiao Ling shrugs and shakes her head. “Who knows?”

She points to a piece of paper she set on the counter earlier. A basic herbal soup recipe was written at the top, and the bottom had subsequent ingredients written down, scratched out, added quantity to, over and over again in a formless mess.

“These are all my attempts so far. I found out it starts with chicken bone broth. And contains daikon radishes. And root vegetables. And fennel. But the rest is just blind guessing. He tries to offer me suggestions, but I don’t even know if he remembers what the original tasted like at this point.”

“But you make him soup all the same?”

Qiao Ling nods. “I make him soup all the same. He likes being cared for.”

They devolve into silence once more, this time more comfortably than the last. Lu Guang observes Qiao Ling as she works, stirring the broth and submerging herbs in a small pouch made of cheesecloth. Occasionally, Lu Guang glances at the scribbled-over piece of paper, tallying up all of Qiao Ling’s attempts to replicate Cheng Xiaoshi’s mother’s recipe over the years. Given the amount of time Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling spent arguing, Lu Guang could hardly believe this caring and sweet side of Qiao Ling. They weren’t really siblings, but all the scribbles on that sheet of paper surely remind Lu Guang of something a sister would do for her brother.

After several cycles of simmering, taste-testing, adding ingredients, and simmering once more, Qiao Ling finally declares the soup to be finished. After searching their tiny kitchen and being unable to locate their small wooden serving tray, Qiao Ling settles for retrieving Cheng Xiaoshi from his bed and depositing him in the kitchen beside Lu Guang at the counter.

If his movements were slightly sluggish before, the slowness is only exaggerated now as he gingerly lowers himself to his seat. Lu Guang recalls the small dish of wonton strips and glass of water on the coffee table when he and Qiao Ling came to see him this evening, untouched from how Lu Guang had left them. Cheng Xiaoshi probably hasn’t had anything to eat or drink all day for fear of being sick again. The usually fluffy hair stuck to his temples with sweat indicates he probably does have a fever.

Lu Guang is so focused on Cheng Xiaoshi that he’s surprised when he looks down to see not one bowl of soup, but three being prepared by Qiao Ling.

“We all need to taste-test it, don’t we?” Qiao Ling says with a grin she aims at Cheng Xiaoshi. She slides the bowls across the counter to the boys and places a bowl in front of herself as well.

Cheng Xiaoshi, though still looking haggard, grins back like this is custom, and digs into his soup with a gusto Lu Guang didn’t think he was capable of, given his ailment. Across the counter, Qiao Ling sips from her spoon as well. Not wanting to be rude, Lu Guang dips his spoon into his bowl and brings it to his lips, tasting the soup Qiao Ling has spent the past few hours perfecting. Warmth floods his chest as he swallows the spoonful, and despite not being sick himself, Lu Guang can feel the earthy root vegetables and flavorful broth breathing new life into him. He had no idea Qiao Ling was such a fantastic cook.

“Well?” Qiao Ling asks, looking to Cheng Xiaoshi, who was currently devouring his bowl like he thinks it might be taken from him if he slows down.

He stops suddenly, his spoon clanking against his bowl. He swallows thoughtfully.

“I think you’re getting close!” he says, his smile as sunny as ever. His tone isn’t patronizing; there’s a naïve kindness to it that prevents Qiao Ling from being hurt, though there is a slight disappointment in her eyes that Lu Guang catches, though Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t seem to. It must be frustrating that after all these attempts she’s yet to nail down the correct flavor.

“Maybe it could use more sweetness?” Cheng Xiaoshi muses, like that was something common in bone broth soups.

Nonetheless, Qiao Ling jots down the critique on her cheat sheet diligently, the character for “sweeter” followed by several question marks. Lu Guang doesn’t blame her confusion. His critique is both vague and unhelpful.

All of them finish their bowls of soup, regardless of lack of sweetness. Lu Guang can’t help but marvel at the rich and flavorful taste of the soup, whipped together in only a few hours’ time. When Cheng Xiaoshi begins nodding off at the counter, Qiao Ling places a hand on his shoulder and instructs him to go back to bed.

He nods, sending her a sleepy smile before turning to leave the kitchen.

“Thank you, my landlady!” he says jovially.

“Bah, bah, get out of her before I charge you for it,” Qiao Ling says, sounding more like her usual self, though with the same gentle teasing in her tone she’s been using all day.

Lu Guang waits for Cheng Xiaoshi to leave the room before turning to look Qiao Ling in the eye.

“Sweeter?”

Qiao Ling sucks her lips in for a moment, trying to hold it back, but eventually giggles tumble out of her, the sound of her laughter bouncing off the tiles of the kitchen. Even Lu Guang snorts, unable to help himself.

“He’s always like this,” she says fondly, as she begins ladling the soup into smaller containers to fit in Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi’s fridge. “I try to make him the soup he wants, but he’s so unhelpful. What could have possibly made her soup sweet? Beets?” she asks incredulously. “That would change the color of the broth too much, though. Ah! I can’t even make a guess right now. One day I’m just going to put a spoonful of sugar in his bowl and see if that makes a difference.”

Lu Guang chuckles softly and offers to finish the dishes for her since she cooked the meal. She stays in the apartment a little while longer, chatting with Lu Guang while he washes, and she dries. Afterwards, Lu Gung instructs Qiao Ling to go home before it gets too dark. Qiao Ling agrees, going upstairs to check on Cheng Xiaoshi once more before leaving for the night.

Lu Guang ponders staying downstairs for a few minutes, allowing Cheng Xiaoshi time to get settled into sleep before going up to their room. He has a book he’s been meaning to finish, so Lu Guang goes to the living room and turns on a small lamp, prepared to stay a while.

He only manages to read a few pages before he hears rustling from the top of the stairs, and soon Cheng Xiaoshi is descending them slowly, still wrapped in his quilt.

“I thought you were going to bed,” says Lu Guang.

Cheng Xiaoshi shakes his head petulantly. “I’ve been sleeping all day! I don’t think I can anymore. Watch something with me.”

Lu Guang looks at the novel in his hands, then back to his roommate uncertainly. Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him with hopeful eyes, like he’s a child and Lu Guang is a strict parent deciding whether he’s allowed to stay up past curfew. He really does revert into a younger state when he’s sick.

Lu Guang knows he should tell Cheng Xiaoshi to go back to bed; rest was an important part of getting well again, and even in the dim light he can still see how pale his complexion is. But Cheng Xiaoshi blinks his brown eyes at him once more and Lu Guang feels himself giving in.

“Fine,” Lu Guang says, sounding resigned. He ignores the way his face warms when Cheng Xiaoshi smiles at him and plops down right beside him on the couch. “But only for a short while.” He leans forward to open his laptop on the coffee table and pull up a movie from a few days ago that they never finished. When he leans back on the couch, Cheng Xiaoshi is practically sidled up next to him, legs touching and giant quilt pressing into Lu Guang’s side.

Lu Guang raises an eyebrow, before adding:

“And if you puke on me, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs and scoots over to the other side of the couch instead. Lu Guang uses his foot to push the small garbage can to Cheng Xiaoshi’s side of the couch as well, though he doesn’t think Cheng Xiaoshi has gotten sick since this morning.

The tense atmosphere from the day has finally fallen from between them, and they watch the movie peacefully. Whenever Lu Guang glances at Cheng Xiaoshi from the corner of his eye, his eyes are bright.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lu Guang jolts awake to the sound of dinging beside his ear.

His alarm. It was just his alarm. He looks around the room in the dim light of the morning sun. His books are still neatly piled on the desk, Cheng Xiaoshi’s clothes from yesterday are still scattered across the floor. He breathes slowly.

He thought this would be easier. He’d only experienced Cheng Xiaoshi being gone from this world for a few hours, so by comparison a world where he softly snores beneath Lu Guang, oblivious to his phone’s own buzzing alarm, should be normal by comparison. But being in this timeline is like wearing a shirt that’s buttoned up wrong. Maybe it’s his body, a year younger, that feels so odd. Maybe it’s this room, this hazy, peaceful atmosphere that’s getting to him. His alarm is still distantly ringing in his ears, and it sounds so much like the sirens from that night. He’s been in this new (old?) life for a month, but nothing has felt comfortable yet.

Lu Guang tries not to dwell on it as he quietly climbs down the ladder of their shared bunkbed and makes his way to the kitchen in his t-shirt and sleep shorts. He’ll make them tea, fix up a simple breakfast, and keep pretending that a month ago his hands weren’t soaked in the hot pulses of Cheng Xiaoshi’s blood. Lu Guang can still feel the crusty sensation of where it dried between his fingers. He washes his hands, taking extra time to scrub them like the phantom blood can finally be burned from his skin’s memory if he uses water that’s hot enough.

When his skin starts to feel sensitive, he finally gives it a rest. He needs to stop doing that. Cheng Xiaoshi is going to notice his scrubbing one of these days and question him about it. He dries his hands on a dishtowel, a fleck of blood still visible only to him on his right knuckle. He won’t wash it again, he won’t wash it again, he won’t—

Where is Cheng Xiaoshi anyway? Shouldn’t he be up by now?

Lu Guang shoves his hands in his pockets and ascends the stairs. He wonders how he should wake him. He doesn’t want to startle him, but Cheng Xiaoshi’s laziness is going to cut breakfast short. Now when they open the studio, he’s going to spend all morning complaining about his hunger, and Lu Guang will spend all morning secretly considering ordering delivery for him, before reminding himself that he never would have done that two years ago to placate him.

Lu Guang’s head is still buzzing with too many colliding thoughts when Cheng Xiaoshi whips open their bedroom door and flies past him, slamming the bathroom door shut louder than necessary.

Lu Guang sighs and paces over the bathroom door, calling “Hurry up in there or we’re going to be—”

That’s about all he gets out before he hears a horrible guttural cough, then the echoing sound of liquid splashing against the toilet water.

Oh.

Lu Guang had forgotten all about this day. This was the first time he had seen Cheng Xiaoshi sick. He’d spent the morning throwing up and the afternoon wasting away on their couch in the living room, whining while Lu Guang tried to figure out what was wrong.

“Cheng Xiaoshi? What’s wrong?” Lu Guang calls through the bathroom door.

More retching. A dumb question, but he’s sure he must have asked something like this the first time around. He opens the bathroom door slowly, peering in to see Cheng Xiaoshi kneeling before their toilet, forehead resting on his forearms as he pants.

“Sick,” Cheng Xiaoshi replies finally, like that wasn’t glaringly obvious.

“Do you think you can stand?” Lu Guang asks.

Cheng Xiaoshi nods, panting for a moment longer before pulling himself to his feet carefully. He leaves the bathroom, and they speak for a moment before Cheng Xiaoshi rushes back to the bathroom a second time. Lu Guang already knows, but says anyway, “You’re in no condition to work today. You should go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t remember Cheng Xiaoshi looking this miserable. His skin is pale and clammy, his bangs hanging limply in front of his eyes as he nods. Lu Guang helps him to his feet this time, allowing himself to keep a hand between Cheng Xiaoshi’s shoulders as he walks him to the couch. He leaves for a moment to get him a quilt to cover up with and remembers to grab the wastepaper basket from their room, too, lest Cheng Xiaoshi need to be sick again and not be able to make it to the toilet. Did he continue throwing up the rest of the day? Lu Guang wishes he had committed more of these days to memory.

He passes the quilt over to Cheng Xiaoshi, setting the basket on the floor and lining it with a plastic bag.

“Do you think it was something you ate?”

“How should I know? It’s not like it was written in the bottom of the toilet bowl!” he says indignantly.

Lu Guang never ended up getting sick last time, and they ate the same food yesterday, so he doubts it was food poisoning. Most likely a 24-hour bug that Cheng Xiaoshi was unfortunate to catch. Lu Guang watches Cheng Xiaoshi wrap the quilt around his shoulders, going as far as to pull it over his head as he shivered. Lu Guang doesn’t know how he missed Cheng Xiaoshi’s fever before. He’s obviously freezing right now. Guilt claws at Lu Guang’s throat. He swallows it down.

“It’s probably a stomach virus,” he says curtly.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him pitifully. “Can you cure me, Lu Guang?”

Lu Guang internally reminds himself of all the good times he will spend with Cheng Xiaoshi after this. One day of sickness is not the end of the world (Lu Guang already knows what that is), so he shouldn’t feel so terrible about leaving Cheng Xiaoshi alone. It’s what he did last time, so he has to follow the flow of the timeline.

“No. What I can do is go down to open the studio. And you can stay up here and keep your puke away from the customers.”

“You’re leaving me?” Cheng Xiaoshi cries. “In my hour of need, you’re going to abandon me?”

Never, he thinks desperately. But this is not the same as that night.

It’s not that serious, Lu Guang reminds himself. It’s one day of being apart from him. The first time this happened Lu Guang had been secretly pleased to be away from Cheng Xiaoshi’s sickness. He didn’t know how to deal with taking care of someone, and it seemed easier to leave Cheng Xiaoshi to his own devices while Lu Guang managed their responsibilities with the studio. He tries to channel that energy now, putting on a show of rolling his eyes at Cheng Xiaoshi.

“I’m going to be directly underneath you, idiot. Just call me if you need something. Someone has to pay rent this month.”

“Do you think Qiao Ling will come to take care of me?”

“Maybe later,” Lu Guang says, thinking of Qiao Ling and her morale-saving soup showing up later today.

“Later? I’m sick now,” Cheng Xiaoshi laments, trying to sit up without jostling himself.

Suddenly, Cheng Xiaoshi sucks in a sharp breath; Lu Guang’s back straightens at the noise.

It’s too similar to the sounds Cheng Xiaoshi made that night. Lu Guang’s skin pebbles with a sudden chill, and his palms begin to sweat instinctively. He can feel the world begin to spin when Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward and throws up what’s left in him in the garbage can beside him.

The sound and the smell and the memories are too much for him, so Lu Guang turns on his heel and leaves the room.

---

This is not a great time to be having a panic attack. Lu Guang has closed himself in the darkroom and is currently counting backwards from one hundred, telling himself that Cheng Xiaoshi is fine and that today is normal and that no one is gasping for their last breaths right now, blood gurgling from a bullet hole in their chest.

But he’s fucked things up. Lu Guang doesn’t remember how he left Cheng Xiaoshi last time, but it wasn’t that suddenly and it definitely wasn’t mid-puke. So now on top of controlling the PTSD he’s not supposed to have, Lu Guang also must control the panic that he’s fucking up a timeline he’s not supposed to know about. There’s too many fears to keep track of, and the day has hardly even begun. Lu Guang looks down at his shaking hands, then immediately regrets that choice, the red lighting of the darkroom not helping his spiraling mental state at all.

He goes to the bathroom in the studio, splashing water on his face and washing his hands for far longer than necessary before leaving, then heads back up to the apartment to fix things.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him bitterly.

“I—” Lu Guang looks at him guiltily. “I don’t do well around puking.”

“I noticed,” Cheng Xiaoshi says.

“I’m sorry,” Lu Guang says, not knowing what else to say.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s expression softens. Lu Guang could never understand this. How easily forgiven he was.

He grabs the trash can and empties it into the garbage in the kitchen, returning it by Cheng Xiaoshi’s side with a fresh bag in it.

Concern paints Cheng Xiaoshi’s pale features. “Are you sure you aren’t sick too, Lu Guang? You don’t look well.”

Lu Guang remembers his quest to return to the normal timeline before he hits an unchangeable node.

“I’m fine. I should go open the studio. I have my phone, so call if you need anything.”

He heads downstairs, and after a few minutes of preparation, opens the studio. The world won’t stop turning just because of one man’s existential crisis. The morning is mostly quiet, only a few customers coming in to pick up prints from the day before. Lu Guang could spend his free moments developing more photographs in the darkroom, but he can’t bear to go back into the red lighting alone just yet. He spends the morning dusting the studio and wiping down the front windows, completing small, menial tasks while he waits for lunchtime to go check on Cheng Xiaoshi.

He doesn’t call, but Lu Guang doesn’t expect him to, so the morning passes by in relative peace. It reminds Lu Guang of times when Cheng Xiaoshi is on a dive and Lu Guang is left to take care of things while he’s gone. He’s used to this, so he tries not to let it bother him that precious moments he could be spending with Cheng Xiaoshi are being wasted alone.

At lunchtime he closes the studio and returns to the apartment. Cheng Xiaoshi is right where he left him, the quilt pulled up to his chin as he lies on the couch.

“Lu Guaaaaaang…” Cheng Xiaoshi moans, long and desperate. “Everything huuuurts.”

“What hurts?” Lu Guang asks. His body, probably. With the fever and shivering his whole body probably aches. “Is it your stomach still? Your body? Are you going to be sick again?”

Cheng Xiaoshi only grumbles irritably. “You ask too many questions.”

Lu Guang lets out a controlled breath. Ah, there’s the irritation he should have been channeling all morning.

“I’m trying to help you. Be more specific about your symptoms, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“I’m dying, is that specific enough for you?”

Lu Guang’s irritation evaporates, the breath punched out of him. He’s kidding. Lu Guang knows it’s a joke, but it’s not one he likes.

Cheng Xiaoshi ignores whatever expression is on Lu Guang’s face, rolling his eyes back in fake agony. “I’m not gonna make it. Call Qiao Ling. Tell her to come quickly so I can update my will.”

It’s a stupid impulse, but Lu Guang can’t stand it. He needs to touch him. To feel Cheng Xiaoshi, alive, beneath his palms. Lu Guang sits on the edge of the couch, reaching forward towards Cheng Xiaoshi’s face. He opens his eyes suddenly, flinching away from Lu Guang’s touch.

“What are you doing?” he squeaks.

Lu Guang thinks fast. “I’m trying to check your temperature, idiot. We don’t have a thermometer.”

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks a few times, then gingerly leans forward, letting Lu Guang’s cool fingers brush his damp bangs back and rest on his forehead for a moment. Something inside Lu Guang settles at the contact. He’s warm, but not dangerously so. Lu Guang feels his own forehead for comparison with his other hand, and notes that the difference between them is minute.

“A slight fever,” he confirms after a few more seconds. His hand trails down Cheng Xiaoshi’s temple of its own accord before Lu Guang pulls it away reluctantly. Cheng Xiaoshi frowns like he’s disappointed.

Lu Guang stands up. “I’ll see if we have any medicine.”

He leaves the room, mostly to put space between them, and searches the kitchenette for medicine he knows he won’t find. Their kitchen was rarely ever stocked with things they actually needed. It took a long time for Lu Guang to finally begin purchasing useful things for their apartment, like medicine or first aid kits. Right now, all their cupboards are stuffed to the brim with cup noodles and other convenience food. Lu Guang sighs. It will be so long before they can afford nicer groceries.

He returns empty-handed. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t look surprised.

“I don’t know what you expected to find,” he says with a sad snort.

Lu Guang sighs. He needs to get back to the studio. He goes back to the kitchen once more and returns with a glass of water and a dish of plain wonton strips.

“Here. This should be simple enough to digest. Try to eat something and see if you can keep it down. And make sure to drink water. I’ll come check on you in a few hours.”

If leaving him was hard a few hours ago, now it’s taking a Herculean amount of strength to leave Cheng Xiaoshi behind. Lu Guang has to stand at the front counter of Time Photo Studio and pretend to be a normal person while his mind is still lingering on the feeling of Cheng Xiaoshi’s clammy skin beneath his hand. He could have gotten him a wet cloth to put on his forehead, at least. He debates going back up, but a customer comes in, and Lu Guang’s attention is needed elsewhere.

After they leave, Lu Guang tackles the darkroom, finally. Leaving these photos for another day could mess up the timeline somehow, and it’s imperative that he keeps things the same. The critical node he’s waiting to change hasn’t happened yet.

He tips a photo back and forth in the developer fluid, wondering if he’d crossed a line to reach for Cheng Xiaoshi the way he did earlier. Lu Guang tended to avoid physical contact in the past. It wasn’t something he was used to, before he met Cheng Xiaoshi. Lu Guang had kept firm physical boundaries between himself and others, holding himself at a distance.

But with Cheng Xiaoshi, there was no such thing as distance. If Cheng Xiaoshi wasn’t casually leaning into Lu Guang’s personal space, he was slinging an arm around his neck, grabbing his sleeve, nuzzling his face into Lu Guang’s shoulder to get his attention. Lu Guang couldn’t fathom that other people could be this physical, and it always confounded him. It didn’t take long in their friendship for Lu Guang to give up on pushing Cheng Xiaoshi away. It was clear he wasn’t ever going to stop invading Lu Guang’s space, and after a while it stopped feeling invasive, truthfully.

But Lu Guang had never been the type to initiate contact. That was one of the toughest parts of being in this timeline, if he was being honest.

---

Lu Guang had realized just how difficult restraining himself could be on his first day in this timeline.

He had only had a few hours to think about it. After declaring Cheng Xiaoshi dead, the police officers had dragged Lu Guang back to the station to question him. Despite Captain Xiao’s patience with him, they could barely get a word out of him, much less a helpful statement. They wanted specifics, any clues to help them with the serial killer case, but Lu Guang could barely breathe, staring at his shaking hands in the bright fluorescent light of the station. Lu Guang didn’t care about answers, he only cared about fixing things.

After a few hours, an officer drove him back to the studio. Lu Guang bounded upstairs, his mind already made up. He would save Cheng Xiaoshi if it was the last thing he did.

He sat down at their shared desk, a picture he took from one year ago lying before him. He could have waited longer to make the decision, but waiting was not going to bring Cheng Xiaoshi back. This might.

Clap!

Lu Guang blinked. The bleak shadows of their bedroom were replaced instantly with streaks of afternoon sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the living room. Lu Guang lowered the phone in his hands, looking at the photo of a small slip of paper resting on his knee—a fortune from a fortune cookie.

“Well?”

The sound of his voice, bright and curious, made Lu Guang flinch.

“What does it say, Lu Guang?”

Lu Guang looked up.

And there he was. Cheng Xiaoshi, staring at him, breathing and alive and wearing his pristine varsity jacket, un-stained by blood. He looked at Lu Guang expectantly, and Lu Guang threw himself at him.

Barely able to contain his emotions, Lu Guang crashed into Cheng Xiaoshi and pulled him into a breathtaking embrace, almost knocking the takeout from his hands.

“Lu Guang?” Cheng Xiaoshi had shouted in surprise, not knowing what else to say with the sudden attack of affection.

Lu Guang held tight to Cheng Xiaoshi, feeling his hair tickle his cheek and breathing in his scent. He’d been dead. Just hours before. The police were mid-investigation with a serial killer on the loose, and Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang had gotten too close. Cheng Xiaoshi was unexpectedly killed, dying as he lay in Lu Guang’s arms. He could still hear Cheng Xiaoshi’s stuttering gasps as the blood gurgled out of the wound in his chest. Lu Guang’s dry palms still felt slick with the sensation of warm blood.

Lu Guang was so grateful for another chance, another moment with Cheng Xiaoshi. He almost lost himself in the sensation of feeling him, warm and safe and alive in his arms.

But then the second rule of diving flashed through his head like lightning.

Change nothing.

This was his first lesson.

“What’s wrong, Lu Guang?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked him.

Lu Guang stepped away suddenly, still marveling at the sound of Cheng Xiaoshi’s voice and reeling for an excuse. He awkwardly returned to his chair and picked up the piece of paper he was taking a picture of when he’d reinhabited the past.

“My fortune,” he said stiffly. “It told me to hug a treasured friend.”

Cheng Xiaoshi beamed at his response. “Does it bring good luck?”

“Sure,” Lu Guang said, trying to recover when everything about Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile made him want to cry. It worked. He’d dove back in time and would find a way to fix everything. He’d find a way to make it up to Cheng Xiaoshi for losing him before.

But the damage to the timeline had already been done. The rest of the day Cheng Xiaoshi kept bringing it up.

“Don’t you think you should let your treasured friend handle that invoice for you?”

“C’mon, Lu Guang! Try the crane. I’m here with you to bring you good fortune after all.”

Lu Guang couldn’t escape it. One misstep, and he’d already altered the timeline. He’d never understood why following directions during a dive was so hard for Cheng Xiaoshi, but it was becoming clearer now.

It wasn’t until they were in their apartment that night, Qiao Ling meeting them to discuss a new client, that things shifted back to normal.

Qiao Ling stood in the living room, thumbing through posts on her phone, when Cheng Xiaoshi brought it up.

“Hey Qiao Ling, did you know that I’m Lu Guang’s treasured friend?” he asked, pointing to leftover fortune cookies. Lu Guang had trashed the piece of paper from before, not letting Cheng Xiaoshi read the message on it that contradicted his odd behavior. “I’ve been bringing him good fortune all day!” he said proudly.

Qiao Ling didn’t look from up from the phone she was scrolling through, which didn’t have its usual bunny case.

“Hey, Lu Guang,” she said, unimpressed, “could you tell your lucky charm that if he stopped spending money on mobile gatcha games and take-out he might be able to afford his monthly rent?”

“Hey, that’s my phone!” Cheng Xiaoshi shouted, pushing past Lu Guang to fight Qiao Ling for his cell phone. His reach was longer, so after a second of wrestling it was back in his hands. “How did you even unlock it?”

Qiao Ling sneered. “If you’re foolish enough to make your password your birthday then you deserved it. Look, I bet Lu Guang’s password is harder to crack. He’s younger than you but still wiser. Right, Lu Guang?”

Lu Guang blinked, suddenly remembering this conversation from the first time they had it. His password was also his birthday.

Cheng Xiaoshi burst into laughter, knowing Lu Guang’s password to be just as easy as his, and Lu Guang fumbled with his settings, slinking shamefully over to the other side of the room to change it out of their line of sight, like he had years ago. He silently thanked Qiao Ling for returning the conversation back to the normal flow of the timeline. He needed to remember not to slip up like he did today. There was a larger node he was aiming to change, and he couldn’t falter in the early stages.

He looked down at his phone’s password settings and gave himself a reminder.

“Are you going to tell me your new one?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked, throwing his arm over Lu Guang’s shoulder and leaning into his personal space.

There it was again. Lu Guang’s heartbeat tripled at the sensation of Cheng Xiaoshi so close to him. Lu Guang resisted the urge to pull Cheng Xiaoshi in closer, to revel in the sound of his breathing and the feeling of his pulse. If the old Lu Guang didn’t do those things, he couldn’t do them either.

If Lu Guang was a little slower in pushing him away, well. That was neither here nor there.

---

Lu Guang shakes his head at the memory as he pins the photos on the line to dry and leaves the darkroom. The sun is dipping behind the buildings across the street, so it must be close to closing time. Lu Guang looks at his watch. Any minute now, Qiao Ling will be bursting through the studio door to make Cheng Xiaoshi her magical soup, reviving him from his illness and returning the vitality to him. Lu Guang checks the register to make sure the till is correctly counted, glancing at the front door every few minutes.

After a while it begins to unnerve him. Was she this late last time? Lu Guang could swear she came around closing time. Lu Guang opens his phone to check for messages from her, swiping over to his Recent Calls menu to ask where she is.

Lu Guang’s blood congeals in his veins.

His last few Outgoing Calls are all to Cheng Xiaoshi, from days ago. Lu Guang hasn’t spoken with Qiao Ling today.

If he hasn’t called Qiao Ling, that means she doesn’t even know Cheng Xiaoshi is sick. If she doesn’t know he’s sick, she is unaware that she is supposed to urgently come to the studio. If she doesn’t come quickly, she won’t have time to make Cheng Xiaoshi her replicated recipe. If she doesn’t make the soup, the timeline—

Lu Guang puts his hands to his head, his fingers gripping the roots of his hair as he pulls in frustration.

This can’t be happening. Just one slip up, and everything could fall apart. What if eating Qiao Ling’s soup was a critical node? Lu Guang’s painstaking care of keeping this timeline the same will all be undone because he forgot to make a single phone call.

Lu Guang tries to ignore the tremor in his hands as he dials Qiao Ling’s number.

“He’s sick?” Qiao Ling asks him. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me sooner. I could have taken care of him so you could keep running the studio.”

“I still opened today. Cheng Xiaoshi is upstairs.”

“You left him alone?” she asks. There’s a little too much emotion packed into the question for Lu Guang to overlook.

“Should I not have?”

Qiao Ling hesitates. “No, it’s—it’s fine…he’s just sensitive about being left alone. You know.”

You know.

She leaves the implication dangling before him. Lu Guang wants to slap himself. He did know. And now this is the second time he’s left Cheng Xiaoshi by himself when he was feeling vulnerable. Lu Guang burns with shame.

“He’s been asking for you,” Lu Guang tells her, feeling defeated. “Is there any chance you could stop by?”

“Probably not tonight,” she says. Lu Guang’s heart sinks even further. “There’s an event going on downtown. All the trains are behind schedule, and it will be impossible to hail a cab in the crowd. You said he was asking for me? He probably just wants—well, it doesn’t matter now. Tell him I can stop by tomorrow if he’s still feeling unwell, okay?”

Their phone call ends shortly afterwards. Lu Guang stares out the window of the studio, watching the sky become streaked in pinks and purples. It’s getting late. He supposes there’s nothing else to do but to face Cheng Xiaoshi. He doubts there’s any way to recover the timeline now. All he can hope for is that today’s missteps didn’t change any critical nodes for the future.

Lu Guang’s limbs feel heavy as he climbs the stairs, every changed minute weighing down his body as he goes to check on his friend. Cheng Xiaoshi is exactly where Lu Guang left him, though now he has an arm thrown over his eyes, trying to block out the rays of the setting sun as they beam in through the windows of the sunroom.

“Hey.” Lu Guang sits in the chair beside the couch.

Cheng Xiaoshi pulls his arm away from his pale face. His eyebrows draw up in concern. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Lu Guang can’t even fathom what his expression must look like right now. “Yeah, just tired.”

Even though he’s ill, Cheng Xiaoshi still manages to grin. “Looks like someone is finally realizing how much work I do in the studio. And you say I don’t pull my own weight.”

Lu Guang tries for a smile, though he doesn’t think he quite manages it. “You’re right. Today was hard without you.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cheng Xiaoshi sits up gingerly. “If you’re sick too, you should say something.” His concern almost cheers Lu Guang up, but then he continues, “When Qiao Ling gets here, you can ask her for some—”

“Qiao Ling isn’t coming.”

He keeps his eyes trained on his lap, so he doesn’t have to see Cheng Xiaoshi’s disappointed expression.

Lu Guang is so tired. He wishes he could freeze this conversation, this whole day, and go nap for a thousand hours. The stress of it all is sucking the marrow from his bones. He wishes he could do today over again. He doesn’t know if he’d have the strength to do today over again. The longer Lu Guang exists in this timeline, the more he wonders if his mission is even possible. Will living in the past really allow Lu Guang to eventually change Cheng Xiaoshi’s future? Or is Cheng Xiaoshi existing on borrowed time? He thinks of today’s mistakes, piling up on one another, how one misstep can change the entire course of the future, and feels dizzy.

He jumps a bit when the feeling of cool glass brushes against his knuckles. Cheng Xiaoshi is pushing a glass of water into his hand.

“Drink.”

Cheng Xiaoshi’s stern command is so absolute that Lu Guang actually obeys, taking a sip of the water, which turns into a gulp, which turns to him finishing the glass.

Cheng Xiaoshi pushes the plate of wonton strips across the table to Lu Guang, who delicately takes one and crunches down on it.

“Better?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks.

Lu Guang nods. The world has righted itself a little, and the shining edges of his vision have receded back to normalcy. He looks down at the empty glass in his hand, the dish on the table. Recognition hits him.

“I left these out for you,” Lu Guang accuses.

Cheng Xiaoshi shrugs, the blanket slipping from his shoulder a little. “You looked like you needed them more.”

Lu Guang sighs. “You haven’t eaten anything today, have you?”

He shrugs again. “Not hungry.”

Lu Guang thinks of the last time he lived this day, and the way Cheng Xiaoshi devoured his meal. He doesn’t believe him.

“It’s just that…normally, when I’m sick—” Cheng Xiaoshi cuts himself off, like he doesn’t want to say it and make Lu Guang feel worse.

Lu Guang finishes his thought for him. “Qiao Ling normally cooks for you, doesn’t she?”

“It’s not just that. It’s stupid, really,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a tradition she started when we were kids. She tries to recreate a dish my mom made for me when I was little.”

Even after years of knowing him, Lu Guang can’t remember Cheng Xiaoshi ever telling him this story himself. Should Lu Guang have thought to ask?

“What dish?” he asks carefully.

“Just soup,” he says, sounding shy. “I guess when I was little it was difficult getting me to eat nutritious foods. When I was sick my mom would make this incredible soup that had a ton of nutritional value, but somehow didn’t taste bad! It was like she covered up the taste of every awful vegetable somehow.” Cheng Xiaoshi looks down, fiddling with the edge of his quilt. “I never really questioned how she made all those healthy things taste so good. Special mom powers, I guess.”

Now Lu Guang remembers why he never asked for this story. He never liked this, hearing fond memories about Cheng Xiaoshi’s parents. He’d never tell him, but Lu Guang hates them. He hates how they abandoned their son and constantly villainizes them in his head whenever Cheng Xiaoshi brings them up.

He also hates them because he can’t stand the way Cheng Xiaoshi looks after talking about them. The sad, distant look in his eyes as his gaze trails back to the door, like part of him is always waiting for them to return through it.

Lu Guang stands suddenly, startling Cheng Xiaoshi. “What was in this soup?”

“Lu Guang?”

Lu Guang rifles through a drawer in their kitchenette, locating a piece of scrap paper. “What were the ingredients?”

Cheng Xiaoshi looks dumbstruck, still not entirely sure what Lu Guang’s intent is. “I’m not sure. Qiao Ling has been trying to recreate it for years.”

“Then tell me the ingredients you know to be correct. I’ll try to make it.”

“You don’t know how to cook!” Cheng Xiaoshi says incredulously. “And you definitely don’t know how to make soup.”

Lu Guang does. A year from now Cheng Xiaoshi will make him a bowl of noodles so lumpy and overcooked that Lu Guang will actually learn to cook just to spite him and make a better bowl. He knows enough to get by, not that Cheng Xiaoshi would know that right now.

“I’ve seen cooking shows,” he responds flippantly, grabbing his wallet from the table and putting it in his back pocket. “I’ll figure it out. Now, what ingredients can you remember?”

Cheng Xiaoshi rattles off a few ingredients absently, a look of disbelief on his face as Lu Guang jots them down on his paper. Lu Guang mentally tacks on a few other ingredients, remembering that they were in Qiao Ling’s soup when she made it for them originally. He wishes he could remember everything on her scribbled over recipe sheet, but this will have to do for now.

Lu Guang looks at the ingredients and nods. He makes it all the way to the stairs before stopping short. He turns to Cheng Xiaoshi, quilt still loosely wrapped around his shoulders and bewildered expression still plastered on his pale face.

“Will you be fine on your own while I go to the market?” he asks seriously.

Cheng Xiaoshi blinks at the question.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Lu Guang nods. “Call if you need anything.”

---

The trip to the market is quick. Lu Guang grabs herbs, spices, and fresh vegetables— foods that until now would have been considered a luxury for him and Cheng Xiaoshi. If there’s a possibility it could go in a healing soup, Lu Guang adds it to his basket. He pays for it all with little concern for the few bills remaining in his wallet and hurries back to the studio.

Lu Guang paces down the road, lined with shadows now that the sun has almost fully set, with a paper bag in his arms full of ingredients he only kind of knows how to cook. He enters the studio and goes straight upstairs to Cheng Xiaoshi, who must have watched him walk up the road from the window, clammy handprint still on the glass behind him as he turns to look at Lu Guang.

Lu Guang wonders if his own expression matches the unsure one on Cheng Xiaoshi’s face.

“Well,” he starts uncomfortably. He looks down at the ingredients in the bag, which look much more intimidating now that he’s standing before Cheng Xiaoshi with them. He clears his throat delicately. “I’m going to get started.

“Let me help you—” Cheng Xiaoshi starts, trying to stand. He blinks rapidly and falls back to the couch, too lightheaded from not eating all day.

Lu Guang fills another glass of water and takes the added step to put it directly in Cheng Xiaoshi’s hand this time, the same way Cheng Xiaoshi did earlier with him. He doesn’t speak until he sees Cheng Xiaoshi take a tiny, tentative sip.

“You should be resting,” Lu Guang says. “Let me do this for you.”

The flush in cheeks probably has more to do with the illness than anything, but Cheng Xiaoshi’s expression is swirl of emotions as he relents, leaning back into the couch with a quiet “okay.”

Lu Guang returns to the kitchenette with his bag of spoils. He’d sat with Qiao Ling for the entire time that she made her healing soup the last time, so it shouldn’t be that hard to recreate a facsimile, right? Simmer some broth, chop a few vegetables, do something with herbs, how difficult could it be?

He puts their one large pot on top of their hot plate and dumps in a container’s worth of store-bought chicken bone broth. He turns on the hot plate. Step one complete.

“You should have the herbs in there already,” Lu Guang hears an annoying voice call from behind him.

He looks over his shoulder at a snuggled-up Cheng Xiaoshi, eyes closed and breathing too evenly for someone who was awake but two minutes ago.

Grumbling under his breath, Lu Guang turns off the heat and pulls out the tiny cutting board they have, ripping a few sprigs of each herb off their stems. He sets them on the board, knife hovering over them, but hesitates. Did Qiao Ling chop these?

“She normally puts them in whole.”

Lu Guang rolls his eyes and puts the knife down, reaching over the pot with his handful of herbs.

“In a bag.”

His hand stills.

“Made of cheesecloth.”

“Cheng Xiaoshi!”

Now Lu Guang is glaring over his shoulder. Cheng Xiaoshi smirks in his “sleep.”

It goes on like that for a while, with Lu Guang completing a handful of steps before a certain sleeping patient’s voice drifts from behind him with some unsolicited advice. Eventually Lu Guang gives up on pretenses and pulls a chair up to the kitchenette and glares at it pointedly until Cheng Xiaoshi happily takes a seat. Lu Guang only lets him stay after he finishes his whole glass of water.

But it’s…nice. Neither of them have ever been good cooks. And it won’t be months until they’ve built up a strong enough reputation from diving to earn them some real money for groceries. But it reminds Lu Guang of a time not that long ago, a time that hasn’t yet happened, where he and Cheng Xiaoshi would stand in their tiny kitchenette, shoulder to shoulder, as they argued about how much bean paste to put in their mapo tofu. Emotion still claws at his throat when he thinks of it, of a Cheng Xiaoshi older than the one before him (though not much more mature) whose days were unknowingly numbered. Lu Guang stops cooking twice to scrub his hands in the sink at the thought of it.

“It’s no wonder you never get sick, Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi says as he watches Lu Guang paw at the edge of the sink for their bar of soap. “Surgeons probably wash their hands less often than you.”

Lu Guang pauses, looking at the red, sudsy skin on his hands. He swallows and rinses them off.

The whole cooking process takes about an hour. Lu Guang wonders if he should let it cook longer, but with how famished Cheng Xiaoshi looks after a day of not eating, he’s not sure he wants to wait any longer.

“It’s probably done,” he says, trying to sound sure of himself as he turns off the heat. He looks over at his scrap sheet once more, wondering what ingredients from Qiao Ling’s paper he might have missed in preparing this dish. With Chinese yams and codonopsis root, it should at least help Cheng Xiaoshi’s digestion, thought Lu Guang can’t speak for the taste. He’s about to start rooting through their kitchenette for a clean bowl when a memory hits him. Qiao Ling’s blocky handwriting, a word with several question marks after it. She and Lu Guang giggling at Cheng Xiaoshi’s expense.

It probably won’t make a difference, but before Cheng Xiaoshi can look, Lu Guang grabs their jar of honey that they use for tea and tips it over the pot, dumping a small glob in.

He stirs the soup a few times for it to dissolve, then pulls out a bowl and ladles a large helping of soup into it before pushing it in front of Cheng Xiaoshi.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at it, then back to Lu Guang, eyebrows pinched up.

“Aren’t you going to pour yourself some? We’re supposed to eat it together.”

Lu Guang could argue that this is Cheng Xiaoshi’s meal. He’s the sick one here. He’s the one who hasn’t eaten all day. But he can’t keep his composure with Cheng Xiaoshi’s brown eyes shining at him like that. Maybe it’s some sort of tradition he and Qiao Ling have. Lu Guang relents and pours a second, albeit less full, bowl.

“Happy?” he asks.

Judging by Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile, he must be. He finally begins eating his soup after that, so Lu Guang takes it as a victory.

He looks down at his own bowl. He has to admit, he is curious. He scoops up a spoonful, trying to get as many bits of vegetable as possible, and eats it. Warmth flows through his chest, same as before, with the earthy flavors of the vegetables complimenting the chicken broth. Even some of the more complex flavors of the traditional Chinese herbs are more muted, making them a little less bitter than last time. It’s not a perfect replication, but hopefully Cheng Xiaoshi enjoys the attempt all the same.

Lu Guang looks up from his bowl to ask Cheng Xiaoshi what he thinks, but the sight of him has Lu Guang stopping in his tracks.

He’s crying.

“Cheng Xiaoshi?” Lu Guang says, unable to disguise how worried he sounds.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes squeeze shut as hot tears drip down his cheeks. He opens them slowly and tries to blink them away, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand as he takes another careful bite. But the second he swallows, more tears fall.

“How did you do this?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks, voice thick.

“You can stop if you don’t like it—” Lu Guang tries to tell him.

Cheng Xiaoshi sniffs a little. “It tastes like my mother’s.”

Lu Guang looks down at his bowl and freezes.

This wasn’t a part of the plan.

He was supposed to recreate Qiao Ling’s attempt at this soup, not actually try to make his mother’s recipe. It’s Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling’s tradition, and now Lu Guang has usurped it and through blind, hasty grocery shopping and an impulsive addition managed to find a combination of ingredients that satisfied Cheng Xiaoshi. Is this going to mess up the timeline? Has Lu Guang somehow tripped up in an even greater way than before, unable to stop himself from smashing this timeline into ruin before he can attempt to find the correct node that will save Cheng Xiaoshi in the future?

He can feel himself falling into another spiral, but when he looks at Cheng Xiaoshi, the ball of anxiety in his gut unravels minutely.

While Lu Guang has been wrestling with another panic attack, Cheng Xiaoshi’s face has broken into a radiant smile. Tears still shimmer at the edges of his eyes as he takes bite after reverent bite, but the joy on his face is enough to stop Lu Guang from losing all composure.

Lu Guang takes another sip of the soup. A soup that tastes like home to Cheng Xiaoshi. When he is sick and miserable, when he craves warmth and care, this is the dish that he longs for. A soup that reminds him of his mother’s love, no matter how distant a memory it is to him now. A dish that Qiao Ling has spent almost a decade trying to make, purely so she could help Cheng Xiaoshi feel precisely like this.

Because what even is the point of all of this if not to make Cheng Xiaoshi happy?

He prays that the timeline will favor him in this one moment, because when he looks at the joy on Cheng Xiaoshi’s face, Lu Guang can’t find any regret left in him.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks to Lu Guang and clears his throat a little.

“You better eat your soup before it gets cold. If you’re not careful, I might eat your bowl too.”

Lu Guang wraps a hand around his bowl protectively, and Cheng Xiaoshi’s laughter chases away all his doubt.

---

“Aghh!! I can’t believe you spilled broth all over it! Lu Guang, I’ve not known you to be so clumsy.”

Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang both look at the soaked sheet of paper, the ink already starting to blot.

“You don’t happen to remember the quantities of all the ingredients you used, do you?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks Lu Guang.

Lu Guang looks at the paper forlornly. “I barely remember what I bought. I was picking through the vegetable section at the market at random.”

There’s barely enough soup in the pot for another full bowl (Cheng Xiaoshi devoured two of them, though Lu Guang forced him to eat slowly), and most of the vegetables had already been eaten, so there isn’t much evidence left for them to pick through.

While the universe seemed to favor Lu Guang in giving him such a convenient out, Lu Guang can’t help but pity Cheng Xiaoshi. He wonders if their destroyed ingredient list will fill him with heartbreak, now that his mother’s healing soup recipe has been washed away.

But Cheng Xiaoshi picks up the remains of the list, smiling good naturedly.

“Ah, it’s alright. I’m sure Qiao Ling still wants to try and recreate the recipe anyway. It would make her sad to discover that you’re such a cooking prodigy on your first try.” He balls up the wet paper and throws it away. “Let’s keep today between us, alright?”

“Are you sure?” Lu Guang asks.

Cheng Xiaoshi nods, still looking happier than he’s been all day. Lu Guang’s heartbeat quickens every time he looks at him. It’s hard to believe the change in Cheng Xiaoshi after just one meal. It could just be that after a full day of not eating, his revitalization has more to do with a full stomach than anything. Or perhaps the ingredients in the soup truly are medicinal. But color has returned to Cheng Xiaoshi’s cheeks once more, and he’s moving with an ease that he hasn’t had since yesterday.

Lu Guang gathers their bowls, washing them in the sink and leaving them on a dishtowel to dry. He sees Cheng Xiaoshi return to the couch instead of going upstairs.

“You should probably go to bed,” Lu Guang tells him, prioritizing responsibility.

“I’ve been sleeping all day!” Cheng Xiaoshi responds indignantly. “Come watch something with me.”

Lu Guang weighs the options of arguing with Cheng Xiaoshi versus doing what he wants. When he looks at Cheng Xiaoshi’s pouting expression, Lu Guang finds himself giving in, yet again. He tells himself it’s only because Cheng Xiaoshi is sick.

“Fine.”

Lu Guang takes out his laptop and pulls up a movie from the other day that they didn’t finish watching. As he’s adjusting the volume on his speakers, Cheng Xiaoshi speaks.

“Hey, Lu Guang?”

Lu Guang turns to face him. “Hm?”

“Thank you.” Cheng Xiaoshi looks at his lap shyly. “For today.”

The earnest admission stops Lu Guang short.

Every moment from today has been one continuous misstep after another. The stress, the anguish, the panic from it all was enough to take years off Lu Guang’s life. Lu Guang has known from the start that his mission to save Cheng Xiaoshi would be difficult, but days like today truly made him question if saving Cheng Xiaoshi was even possible. Lu Guang knows what the future looks like, but he’s more unsure of it than he’s ever been. Keeping the timeline the same long enough to find the critical node that will save Cheng Xiaoshi’s life might be a dream so farfetched that it might not even be worth attempting.

But Lu Guang thinks of the tear-streaked smile after Cheng Xiaoshi took that first bite.

Spending every waking moment agonizing over his next step won’t get him anywhere. Instead, Lu Guang folds up that smile and tucks it into a corner of his mind for safekeeping.

Cheng Xiaoshi thanked him for today.

Maybe that is enough.

Lu Guang offers Cheng Xiaoshi a nod, unable to help how bashful he feels as well. If he opened his mouth to respond, he worries that something far more revealing might tumble out of him. Something about promising to always care for him, to always keep him safe. He settles on a small dip of his chin and hopes it conveys what words can’t.

It only takes a moment longer to set up the movie. Afterwards, Lu Guang sits on his side of the couch. Cheng Xiaoshi sidles up next to him, so close the quilt he’s wrapped in presses into Lu Guang’s side.

Lu Guang pointedly does not look into his eyes when he asks, “Are you feeling well, now?”

“Yes,” Cheng Xiaoshi replies happily.

“And you’re not going to throw up on me?”

“Of course not!”

Lu Guang nods to himself. Then he leans forward to press ‘play.’

He does not tell Cheng Xiaoshi to move. Timeline be damned.

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