Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Title: he lived, and he burned

AU: CXS Survived AU

he lived, and he burned

Cheng Xiaoshi died.

Then… he didn’t.

The world kept going. Everyone thought it was over. The building collapsed, the light went out. A clean, tragic ending. That’s what they called it.

But some stories don’t stay buried. Some stories crawl back through the cracks.

He woke up hours later, lying in rubble under a flickering emergency light. Blood on his face, ash in his mouth. His body wasn’t broken, but something felt wrong. Off. Like the inside of him had been rewired, too hot, too loud — like fire wearing human skin.

When he blinked, the light flickered with him. And in a shard of broken glass nearby, he caught his reflection — yellow eyes. Glowing.

Not a trick of the light. Not just tired eyes.

They were glowing.

Lu Guang found him two days later, standing on a rooftop ledge like he wasn’t sure gravity still worked on him. He didn’t fall. Didn’t flinch.

“Xiaoshi?”

Cheng Xiaoshi turned. His eyes still glowed.

“It’s me,” he said. But it didn’t sound like a promise.

He tried to smile. It didn’t reach anywhere.

The timeline didn’t kill him. It changed him.

He remembered everything. Every time he stepped in when he wasn’t supposed to. Every timeline. Every life saved that took something else with it. All those “I can fix this” moments — stacked up like bones.

And now it was all in him. Burned into his memory. Like the timelines didn’t want him to forget. Like they made sure he wouldn’t.

People started whispering. About the guy on rooftops. About the glowing eyes. About how sometimes, if you messed with time in that city… you just disappeared.

Lu Guang didn’t believe that stuff. Not really.

But when he looked at Cheng Xiaoshi now, he didn’t just see his best friend. He saw someone who’d been through something huge. Someone who still wasn’t done paying for it.

Qiao Ling asked him once, “Do you think he’s still in there?”

Lu Guang couldn’t answer.

Sometimes Cheng Xiaoshi sits up on the same rooftop. The one where everything broke. The city lights below twitch and flicker like glitched-out data.

He watches. He remembers. He waits.

He doesn’t really know what he is now.

But he lived.

And somehow, that’s the part that feels most dangerous.

End.

Chapter Text

the favor he shouldn't ask

Lu Guang hadn’t seen him in a month.

Thirty-one days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. (He was.)

He’d convinced himself that maybe Cheng Xiaoshi was... resting. Recovering. Disappearing. Anything but standing outside his window again like nothing had changed.

But now he was here.

The same worn hoodie. The same cocky smile, cracked down the middle. And eyes that still glowed faintly yellow even in the dark, like something radioactive never left his bones.

“Miss me?”

Lu Guang didn’t answer.

He didn’t say how the sight of him hit like a blade. How it felt like looking at a photo of someone you already buried. Someone who came back wrong.

Instead, he stepped aside, letting him in without a word. The air between them snapped tight — like something had been left unfinished the last time they spoke. Because it had.

Cheng Xiaoshi walked in slowly, not looking around, not fidgeting. Just... quiet. Hollow.

“What do you want?” Lu Guang asked finally.

Xiaoshi blinked. “Straight to business. No ‘how have you been’? Not even a coffee offer?”

“You don’t drink coffee. You always said it tasted like regret.”

“Well,” Xiaoshi said, mouth twitching into a bitter half-smile, “maybe that’s fitting now.”

Lu Guang didn’t flinch. But he felt the weight behind those words.

Xiaoshi sat on the windowsill, his usual spot, like muscle memory brought him there.

“I need a favor,” he said at last.

Lu Guang’s heart dropped before he could stop it. “You’re not supposed to have powers anymore.”

“Exactly.” He looked up, eyes glowing faintly, hands folded in his lap like he was keeping them from shaking. “That’s why I need yours.”

Silence. Then:

“You want me to send you back in time?” Lu Guang’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Using the ability I got after... after you—”

“Died. Yeah.”

Lu Guang’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

Cheng Xiaoshi looked at him. And in that moment, he looked more like himself than he had in months. Tired. Stubborn. Too full of guilt for one body to carry.

“Because there’s something I have to do. Something I have to change.”

“Change what?”

Xiaoshi didn’t answer.

Lu Guang stepped forward. “No. If I’m doing this, I need to know—”

“Lu Guang,” he said, softly. “Please.”

That single word — please — cracked everything open.

They didn’t speak as they prepared. A photo from Lu Guang’s past. The same steps they used to follow together, back when this was routine. Back when it didn’t hurt so much to try and fix things.

Lu Guang hesitated with the photo in hand. “If you go back, and you change something... I won’t remember it. Not unless it ripples far enough. Not unless you make it personal.”

Xiaoshi gave a tiny smile. “It’s always personal, isn’t it?”

And with that — hand pressed to the photo, breath held — he slipped into the past.

It was only minutes. But for Lu Guang, it felt longer. Something in the air buzzed like electricity waiting to bite.

When Cheng Xiaoshi came back, he was... still. Too still.

“What did you do?” Lu Guang asked, stepping toward him.

Xiaoshi’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “You’ll know when the time’s right.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He looked down. “You didn’t tell me when you broke the rules first.”

Lu Guang froze. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” Xiaoshi’s voice was sharp now. “We agreed — no interfering with each other’s lives. No fixing. No redoing. You broke it first.”

“I saved you.”

“So did I,” Cheng Xiaoshi whispered. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Lu Guang stared at him. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

Xiaoshi looked at him for a long moment. “Because if I do... you’ll try to stop me. Or worse — you’ll try to go back and undo it.”

“I have the right to know.”

“Maybe. But not yet.”

And then it happened — that flicker. That blink. A shift in light, like the world exhaled around them.

Lu Guang reached out instinctively. “Wait— Xiaoshi—”

But Cheng Xiaoshi was already gone.

No light. No sound. Just the echo of what he left behind.

A photo on the floor. Burned around the edges. And silence.

Lu Guang sat down slowly. He didn’t know what Xiaoshi had changed. Or why.

But something in the room felt different. Familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Like an old scar he’d forgotten, aching again without warning.

Whatever Cheng Xiaoshi did... it mattered. It always did.

And he was afraid to find out how much.

End of Part 2.

Author’s Sneaky Note:
Hellowee! you thought it ended there?? nope! LG POV just dropped like a bomb you weren’t ready for (I mean who would be if it was a bomb). it’s not over yet, and neither is what CXS started enjoy this small pov of Lg Xoxo

There was a space where Cheng Xiaoshi had been. It followed Lu Guang around like a shadow.

He knew better than to expect answers. Xiaoshi never gave answers. He gave puzzles. He gave rules, then broke them. He gave everything, then left.

And now Lu Guang was left with questions in yellow light, with timeline scars stitched into memories that didn’t fit quite right anymore.

A new photo in his inbox. Timestamped a day before they ever met.

Lu Guang closed his eyes.

"You idiot," he whispered. "What did you save me from?"
To be continued in Part 3...(yes actually this time)

Chapter Text

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

Just the fan above. Distant traffic. The soft click of power shutting down. Then — nothing.

And then — this.

A basketball court. Chain-link fences. Heat soaked into the pavement like it never left.

Familiar. Too familiar.

A ball rolls to his feet. He picks it up without thinking.

Then — a figure jogs into view. Dark shirt. Lopsided grin.

Cheng Xiaoshi.

Lu Guang forgets to breathe.

CXS slows, scans the court. Eyes land on him — amused, almost surprised.

“Hey,” Lu Guang says, holding the ball out. “Yours?”

This is where he should smile. Say something dumb. Ask to play.

But he doesn’t.

He looks. Pauses. Walks away.

No smile. No nod.

Just leaves.

Lu Guang stands there. Ball in hand. Throat tight with something he can’t name.

“Wait,” he says. “Aren’t we—”

The words fade. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

This isn’t how it happened.

He steps forward. The court ripples.

The sun flickers wrong. Shadows crawl slow. The fence hums with static.

“You never met him here,” a voice says — inside the dream, not his own. “This is the one where you missed him.”

He turns. Empty court. Empty air.

The ball rolls away.

Next frame.

The studio. Clean. Too clean.

No photos. No clutter. No Cheng Xiaoshi sprawled across the couch.

The closet holds only grey.

On the table: a photo. He’s in it. Alone. At the courthouse. Unspeaking.

He flips it over.

“Don’t fix what never broke.”

Next frame.

A staircase. A tunnel. Voices echo — none of them his name.

He steps into the light. It burns. He stumbles.

A hand grabs his wrist — cold, grounding.

Cheng Xiaoshi.

Glowing eyes. Distant. Dim.

“You don’t remember this one,” CXS says. “That’s okay. I do.”

Lu Guang wants to ask: Why did you change it?

Instead, Cheng leans close.

Whispers: “You weren’t supposed to be there. You changed me.”

Lu Guang wakes gasping.

The fan spins above. Room dark. Quiet.

He touches his face. Dry. But his eyes sting.

Something glows beside the bed.

The light table’s on.

A single Polaroid sits face-down.

He turns it over.

The basketball court.

CXS walking away.

Lu Guang frozen mid-step, holding the ball.

Scrawled at the bottom:

“You made the first move. I made the last.”

He doesn’t sleep again that night.

Chapter Text

Lu Guang stopped checking the calendar after the 12th missed appointment.

The first time he thought about going back, it was after three days of silence. Cheng Xiaoshi hadn’t answered. The texts were read. Then deleted. Then not even sent.

It wasn’t dramatic — that wasn’t how grief worked for him. He folded his jacket the same way. Brewed the same bitter coffee. Showed up to work with clean collars and a voice that sounded fine. He just... stopped expecting the door to open anymore.

“You’re planning it, aren’t you?” Qiao Ling had said once, not looking up.
“To go back and stop it.”

He hadn’t answered. That had been an answer.

That version of Lu Guang — the one with the plan — had marked everything. Every location. Every hour that spiraled into that final timeline. He had collected the moments that unraveled into Cheng Xiaoshi’s death and filed them away like a court case.

He was ready to break every rule.

But then something changed.

Because the man who had once died appeared again. Not as he was. Not as Lu Guang remembered him. Something was off — the glow in his eyes, the echo behind his voice, the way he smiled like he knew things Lu Guang wasn’t supposed to.

And suddenly, Lu Guang stopped preparing.

He didn’t stop mourning. But he paused the jump.

Now, days pass with less fire. Lu Guang wakes up and checks the time even when there’s nowhere to be. He eats quietly. Walks past the alley where they used to wait for cases. And sometimes, when he forgets for just one moment — he turns like CXS is behind him.

But Cheng Xiaoshi’s not there. Not the version he knew. And not the version who left.

There’s only the version who came back broken. The one who won’t say what he changed.

Lu Guang sits, considering if he should go back or not. He's the one that could send himself back. He try convincing doing it once — just once — and puts his thoughts back in his head . He thinks about asking Qiao Ling to help. He thinks about doing it without permission.

But in the end, he writes a single message. Not sent. Just saved in drafts.

“If you were still you, would you ask me to go back?”

The next morning, he finds a post-it note on his door. In Cheng Xiaoshi’s handwriting.

“Don’t go back. Not yet. I fixed it for you.”

Lu Guang stares at the note until it curls at the edges. He doesn’t throw it away.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t wake up. Not in the way people usually do. It’s more like resurfacing from water you didn’t realize you were drowning in — slow, staggering, as if memory can’t quite keep up with sensation. Cheng Xiaoshi blinks into a space that has no floor, no horizon, no ceiling. Just infinite, endless white that isn't light, and silence that isn’t empty. There's no gravity, yet he feels pulled. No body, and yet — he exists. It's terrifying in the softest, most surreal way. And then he hears someone speak.

"That's you?"

The voice comes from behind him, coarse and rasped, like it’s been unused for years. He turns — too fast, clumsily — and comes face to face with himself. Except... not quite. This version of him is ragged around the edges, older in a way that time alone couldn’t explain. His hair is long, falling almost to his shoulders in unkempt waves, like he's forgotten what scissors are. There’s no glow in his eyes — but there’s weight in them. The kind that comes from chasing ghosts in every timeline, every photograph, long past the point of reason. He’s barefoot. Quiet. Watching.

Then, a third voice joins in. Flat. Chilling. Controlled in a way that sounds like it took a lot of effort to get there.

“Yeah.”

Cheng Xiaoshi’s gaze darts toward the source. Another version of him stands to the side, arms folded. This one has a clean cut — dark hair cropped shorter, sharper — and eyes that glow gold, dull but steady. They pulse faintly, not with warmth, but like they’ve been burned into his skull. He doesn’t blink much. Doesn’t move unless he has to. This one doesn’t look like he’s been chasing anything. He looks like he’s already caught it, crushed it, and swallowed the guilt.

“Okay,” the original says slowly, glancing down at himself, then at the two others. “Why are we naked?”

The long-haired one raises a brow, deadpan. “We’re you. You’re us. Get over it.”

“Right.” A beat passes. “So… am I dead?”

“Technically? You were,” future-glow CXS says. “But you’re not anymore. Kind of. You’re in the process of... paying.”

“Paying?”

“For what you broke,” the long-haired version answers. His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s not soft either. Just tired. Bone-deep tired. “Every life that shifted because you changed something. Every death that shouldn’t have happened. You remember that girl? The one who died because you wrote a text that wasn't meant to be written? You don’t even know how far that ripple went, do you?”

“We all think we’re saving someone,” the future version says. “Until we realize we’re just choosing who dies instead.”

Silence stretches between the three. The original Cheng Xiaoshi feels it press down like a wall. It’s surreal — being judged by two versions of himself, both so certain. Both so changed. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Mostly, he wants to ask: Why am I still here?

“So I’m a demon now?” he mutters, half-joking, half-shaking.

Future-CXS shrugs. “Half, maybe. Or just a mistake that refuses to die.”

The long-haired version stares at him then — longer than necessary. His hair shifts as he moves, catching something like invisible wind. “You’re not alive,” he says slowly. “You’re just here. Just like I’ve been. Looking for something. Someone.”

“Lu Guang,” the original says before he can stop himself.

Neither of them answer. But that’s enough.

“So what now?” he asks, voice smaller than he expected.

“Now?” The glowing-eyed one tilts his head. “Now we wait.”

“Or we search,” the long-haired one adds, barely above a whisper. “But you’ve only just arrived. You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t.”

They don’t say goodbye. The void doesn’t allow endings. Only echoes. Only versions of versions. And somewhere, in the overlapping silence, Cheng Xiaoshi wonders which of them he’ll become.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands still for a long time after the others fall silent. He doesn’t ask if he’s going back — to life, to death, to anything. There are no doors in this place. No time passing. Just the three of them suspended in whatever this not-place is, and the suffocating weight of versions that made different choices.

The glowing-eyed one moves first, shifting slightly — the faint gold pulse in his irises flickering like a dying filament. “We don’t get to stay,” he says, eyes locked on some point far past CXS’s shoulder. “Not here. Not in one piece.”

“You’ll learn,” the long-haired one adds, softer this time. “You’ll learn how to look through the cracks. Where the frames don’t line up. Where you can slip in and out.” He steps forward — just once. “But once you do, you won’t stop. You’ll think it’s for him. Maybe at first it will be. But it won’t stay that way.”

CXS swallows. He wants to speak. He doesn't. There’s nothing to ask that won’t be answered in pain.

The light shifts. A flicker — like a camera flash in reverse — and suddenly the long-haired version is gone, dispersed like smoke through a frame being torn apart. The glowing-eyed one is next. His voice reaches back just before he vanishes too, low and echoing:

“Between one frame and the next... that’s where we exist now.”

Then he’s alone again. The void holds him, breathless. Colorless. Until—

—he feels it. Not a heartbeat, not warmth. But a *pull*. A familiar gravity threading through the nothing. It hums like old film spinning. He looks down, and where there was once infinite blankness, there’s now a ripple beneath his feet: the outline of a photograph — soft, curling at the corners — showing the back of a boy with silver-white hair standing under a streetlamp.

Lu Guang.

Without thinking, CXS steps forward — and falls.

The world tears open like a reel skipping frames. A scream gets caught in his throat and never makes it out. There's no color, no shape, no time — just flickers. Streetlights. A park bench. His reflection in a cracked mirror. The camera lens turning. The sound of a shutter clicking once, twice—

Then black.

And a whisper, from nowhere and everywhere:

“This is the in-between. Let’s see how long you last.” In a blink, they're gone.

End of Chapter 5.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: "Tired."

The door opens without a knock.

Just the creak of hinges, slow and dragged, like the person behind them barely had the strength to turn the handle.

Lu Guang doesn't look up immediately. He thinks—hopes—it’s a dream. Another one. But the air shifts. The hallway drafts in cold. And the sound of shoes on floorboards is unmistakably real.

He turns.

Cheng Xiaoshi stands in the doorway.

His hair falls to his shoulders now, limp and unbrushed. He’s wearing a black hoodie Lu Guang doesn’t recognize—too big, worn thin at the edges, like it belonged to someone else before him. His eyes look sunken, ringed with the kind of fatigue that can’t be slept off.

He looks... wrong. Fragile, haunted. Like he’s barely holding shape.

Lu Guang stiffens. “What are you doing here?”

CXS doesn’t answer. He steps forward, slow and heavy, and wraps his arms around Lu Guang without a word.

"...Tired," he whispers.

And then—his eyes flicker. That glow, that sickly, permanent light they’ve carried since he came back, fades. It dies out completely as he exhales.

Lu Guang forgets how to breathe.

For just one second, CXS looks like himself again. Like the version of him from before. No glowing eyes. No timeline residue. Just... a boy in a hoodie, exhausted beyond words.

Then, he slumps. Fully unconscious.

Lu Guang catches him with a soft curse, stumbling back to drag him toward the bed. His body is limp. Cold.

He fell asleep on me mid-hug, Lu Guang thinks, dumbfounded. Seriously?

The hoodie smells like rain. Old rust. Train dust.

He tucks the other boy in without waking him.

Later—he wakes.

No gasp. No shift. Just opens his eyes, slow and empty, and looks at Lu Guang across the room.

“I missed you,” Cheng Xiaoshi says quietly.

Lu Guang hesitates. The silence stretches and strains.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

He folds his arms, unsure where to stand. “But if you’re... half-alive or whatever... why didn’t you come back sooner?”

CXS stares at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t,” he says, flat. “There were rules. Anchors. I got pulled into different layers of the timeline. I kept getting spit out. Every time I tried, I’d end up somewhere else.”

“By who?”

CXS doesn’t answer.

His eyes drift toward the shelf. Lu Guang follows his gaze—and freezes.

The black notebook.

Lu Guang’s time diary.

His chest tightens.

CXS walks over and picks it up. Opens it. Eyes scan the pages. Something in him... clicks.

His irises flash yellow.

Bright. Real. Back.

Lu Guang’s heart drops.

No, he thinks. You looked more like yourself when the light was gone.

“What are you doing?” Lu Guang asks.

CXS startles slightly. “...Oh. Nothing.” He closes the book, but doesn’t put it back.

“You knew about my time diary?” Lu Guang asks, quieter now.

CXS doesn’t look at him. “It’s hard to miss. You leave it out like it’s meant to be found.”

Lu Guang exhales.

He turns to the bed again. CXS follows, hoodie sleeves falling over his hands. He climbs back under the covers without a word.

They lie there in silence.

“You know,” Lu Guang mutters, not quite facing him, “your eyes are like lamps in the dark. Makes it hard to sleep.”

That gets a faint smile out of CXS.

But the glow stays.

Dim. Alive. Listening.

And Lu Guang tells himself he won’t ask more questions—at least not tonight.

Just until the light goes out again.

Lu Guang lies still.

The room is quiet now, just the ticking of the wall clock and the subtle hum of the city outside. The window is cracked open; a breeze lifts the curtains, cool and quiet, brushing through his hair like fingers he can’t name. Cheng Xiaoshi is already asleep beside him, turned away, shoulders rising and falling in a slow rhythm — peaceful, for once.

LG doesn’t move. He just watches him.

There’s a strange tenderness in CXS like this, when the edges aren’t sharpened by adrenaline or deflection. His brows are slightly furrowed, but his lips have softened. The glow is gone from his eyes, but in this moment, LG isn’t sure if that comforts him or not. Without it, CXS looks young again. Human. Breakable.

Lu Guang whispers under his breath, again, “I missed you a lot Cheng Xiao Shu.”

He doesn’t expect a response. He doesn't want one — not right now. Not when everything still feels fragile and suspended. He rolls onto his side, tucks his hand beneath the pillow, and lets sleep steal him slowly.

When Lu Guang wakes, the light has changed. It’s soft and pale, and something is wrong.

The bed is cold beside him. The sheets are smoothed over, like someone tried not to wake him. But it’s the silence that confirms it — not peaceful, but empty. Hollow.

He sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and sees the note on the nightstand.

“Going out for a walk. Don’t follow me.”
—CXS

Lu Guang stares at it a little too long.

There’s no timestamp. No explanation. No clue if “walk” means five minutes or five months.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. Of course.

He doesn’t chase him. Not yet. He just sits on the edge of the bed and lets the quiet stretch out around him again, colder this time.

Chapter Text

The streetlight above them buzzes, flickering a little like it’s tired of being on. Cheng Xiaoshi leans back against the wall, hands deep in his hoodie pocket, eyes on the curb. It’s late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful — just paused.

Xavier stands nearby, shoulder against a rusted signpost. He’s got a gun at his side, not pointed — just there. Hanging like a reminder.

“You’re late,” he says.

“I took the long way,” CXS mutters. “Had to loop around.”

“Thought you’d ditched.” Xavier doesn’t sound mad. Just watching.

“You’d know if I did.”

They don’t look at each other for a bit. Just air between them and a patch of cracked concrete. The silence isn’t awkward — it’s routine.

Then Xavier says, “Vein asked about you.”

CXS huffs, low. “He always does.”

“He thinks I’m wasting time. Says you’re too unstable now. A risk.”

“Vein’s always been scared of things he doesn’t understand.” A pause. “Especially when they don't answer to him.”

Xavier gives a soft grunt that might be a laugh. “You scared him when you took that bullet. Not many people do.”

“It wasn’t about Vein.”

“No. It was about him.” Xavier finally glances over. “Still is, huh?”

CXS doesn’t answer right away. Just shifts his weight, the corner of his mouth twitching, maybe in guilt. Maybe in something else.

Xavier lifts the gun slightly, looking down the barrel like he’s checking it. “You know how many threads that one moment split?”

“I didn’t ask you to count them.”

“No. But you asked me to cover the fallout.” He tucks the gun back down again. “You’re lucky Vein doesn’t know how deep this runs.”

“If he finds out?”

Xavier shrugs. “He won’t go after you. He’ll go after Lu Guang. Clean target. Less questions.”

CXS stiffens. His voice comes low: “Then you stop him.”

“I’ve been trying. But he doesn’t trust me either these days.” Xavier watches him, gaze sharp. “You’ve changed things, Cheng Xiaoshi. And the deeper you go, the harder it is to keep Vein on a leash.”

“I didn’t do this for Vein. Or for you.”

“No,” Xavier says, calmly. “You did it for him. And now we’re all picking up the pieces.”

The street stays still for a while. Not even cars pass. Just the two of them, like figures at the edge of something real.

“You broke the rule,” Xavier adds finally. “One story. That’s all it took.”

CXS’s eyes catch the faintest glow. “Then I guess I’ll keep breaking it, if it means I don’t lose him again.”

“Just don’t forget — if Vein finds out the truth, it’s not you he’ll aim for.”

“I know.” A long pause. “But I’ve handled worse.”

“You’re not the only one who remembers what he did last time,” Xavier says. “Vein hasn’t forgotten.”

“He can live with it,” CXS mutters, turning his face away. “I can’t.”

Xavier doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to. Because somewhere between them, something’s already been decided — and it won’t be easy to undo.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: I Miss Him (He’s in the Kitchen)

The rooftop is quiet except for the wind and the faint buzz of a vending machine left humming on the lower floor.

Two Cheng Xiaoshis sit side-by-side on the ledge.

“So,” Present!CXS mutters, squinting at the skyline, “this is the part where I open up to myself?”

Future!CXS shrugs. “Or don’t. Therapy’s fake anyway.”

“Is that why we’re broken?”

“Among other reasons.”

They sit like that for a while — two versions of the same boy, bruised in different ways, both pretending they don’t need this.

Future!CXS eventually sighs. “You’re scared. That if you screw up again, someone else will pay the price.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be saying that to you?”

“Time’s not linear. Let me have this.”

Present!CXS rolls his eyes, then tilts his head. “So... do we actually make it out okay?”

Future!CXS doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “Vein didn’t plan it. Xavier did. Vein was just a bullet someone handed a gun to.”

“So we work with Xavier now?”

“We survive with Xavier. There’s a difference.”

There’s a beat of silence before Future!CXS leans back and stares up at the clouds.

“I don’t hate Vein,” he says quietly. “But if I see him again, I’ll break his other arm.”

“I thought you were mature now.”

“Nope. Just tired.”

Behind them, the door creaks open.

Lu Guang steps out, blinking at the cold. He stops short when he sees them — two Xiaoshis, mirror images caught in the wind.

They all freeze.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Present!CXS mumbles.

Future!CXS glances back, then straightens up. “Oops.”

Lu Guang just looks at them. At him. Then quietly, with all the weight in the world:

“I’ll wait for you.”

Future!CXS smiles — soft and wrecked. He walks toward the door, brushing past Present!CXS. Before he goes inside, he murmurs, “He still says that like it’s easy.”

Present!CXS blinks. “Wait, wouldn’t that tumble the timeline or whatever?”

“Nah.” Future!CXS shrugs. “I miss my man.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” LG says.

“Neither are you.”

That gets a smile, soft and tired. LG walks over. Doesn't sit, just stands beside him — arms crossed, hair mussed from sleep.

“I saw him .” he says after a while. “The other you. He’s been quiet lately.”

Future!CXS hums. “He gets like that when he’s close to remembering too much, Don't mind him.”

“And you?” LG asks. “What do you do when you remember too much?”

The smile fades. “I come here.”

They fall into silence again.The wind pulls at LG’s hoodie. He turns to look at him — really look this time. The same face, same voice, but different. Lined with something heavier. Eyes that glow, He really had seen too much.

“You know,” Future!CXS starts, “Vein didn’t come up with that plan. It was Xavier. Vein just followed orders.”

“I thought Vein worked under him,” LG mutters.

“He does,” CXS says. “They all do. But only one of them actually knows what the timelines cost.”

LG frowns. “And you trust him?”

CXS lets out a low laugh. “No. But I think he trusts me. That’s almost worse.”

There’s another long pause before he speaks again. “You know, I miss him.”

“Who?”

Future!CXS doesn’t answer right away. Then he points toward the apartment behind them.

“Him.”

LG blinks. “You mean the younger you?”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean you. The one who still looks at me like I’m worth it.”

LG doesn't know what to say. He sits beside him, finally. For a moment, he almost reaches for his hand — but doesn’t.

“You always said we shouldn’t change the past,” he whispers.

Future!CXS doesn’t look at him. “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t change yours.”

“Then what did you change?”

Silence. And then softly, like a secret —

“You’ll find out.”