Chapter Text
The apartment hallway felt too quiet.
Qiu Dingjie walked half a step behind Huang Xing. Not deliberately close. Letting the distance exist on its own, like something left untouched simply because neither of them wanted to reach for it.
“Don’t push yourself,” Huang Xing said.
His voice was low. Restrained. Like a sentence he had repeated too many times in his head before finally letting it out.
Qiu Dingjie gave a small nod, automatic. “I’m fine.”
He always said it the same way.
Not convincing, yet never asking to be believed.
Huang Xing stopped walking.
Not out of anger, but restraint.
“You don’t have to come today,” he said. “I can tell them.”
The words were meant to sound like protection.
But to Qiu Dingjie, they sounded like distance.
“I don’t want to trouble anyone,” he replied softly. “Especially you.”
Huang Xing turned.
Their gazes met briefly, long enough to realize they were talking about two different things, yet too tired to untangle it.
“You’re always like this,” Huang Xing said at last.
And Qiu Dingjie didn’t know whether that was a complaint, a worry, or something deeper.
He didn’t answer.
Because if he opened his mouth now, what would come out wouldn’t be a response, but a weariness he had kept buried for far too long.
They continued walking.
No raised voices.
No doors slammed shut.
Just two people walking side by side, holding anger and care in the same place.
When they reached the apartment door where the shoot was being held, Huang Xing lifted his hand and pressed the doorbell.
Qiu Dingjie stood beside him.
He took a deep breath.
Once the door opened, the world beyond this hallway would demand smiles, cheerful voices, and a distance that looked normal.
And Qiu Dingjie knew, whatever had happened in this hallway would not be allowed to follow them inside.
— POV: Qiu Dingjie —
“That’s Qiu and Ah Xing,” Jian’s voice came from behind the door.
I caught our reflections on the small screen near the entrance, my face slightly pale, Huang Xing’s calm but too rigid.
“Hello… hi, hi,” Jian greeted us brightly.
“Hi… hi,” we replied almost at the same time.
Huang Xing stepped inside first after taking off his shoes. His pace was quick, his shoulders tense. He went straight toward the table without looking back even once. I followed a few seconds later.
The distance between us wasn’t far but it was enough to make me realize that today, I would be walking on my own.
I sat down.
Not right beside him.
Not too far away either.
A safe distance. An odd one.
He chose the seat farthest from the camera, in the middle of the table. I took the seat to his right, close enough to look like we belonged together, distant enough to look normal. The camera caught my face clearly.
I smiled.
Out of habit.
Like always.
Four small dolls were brought out and shown to us.
“Wow… what are these?” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “Are these us?”
I glanced at him briefly. Just for a moment.
“Yes,” Jian replied.
“What about the brown one?” Huang Xing pointed to one of the dolls.
“That’s Hua Yong, right?” I said, with a hint of pride. That character was his. It had always been his.
We started guessing.
“The one with glasses is easy,” he said. “That’s Gaotu.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Glasses are always the easiest.”
The dolls were handed toward us.
Huang Xing reached forward immediately.
He took the Huayong doll.
And without hesitation, he took another one, the Sheng Shaoyou doll. My character.
His hand was fast.
Too fast.
Because at the very same moment, my hand had moved too.
I stopped.
Just for a fraction of a second. Almost unnoticeable.
I pulled my hand back and smiled faintly, the kind of smile I used when small things were taken from me, and I told myself it was fine.
I chose the two remaining dolls instead.
There was no reaction.
No one seemed to notice.
At least, maybe not.
The camera kept rolling.
Soft laughter filled the room.
And something small, something fragile, was left hanging in the air.
“What are you writing?” Huang Xing asked, his tone light, deliberately steering the conversation elsewhere.
They explained about the postcards and photographs, about silver and gold ink. We were asked to guess.
I took the two cards, placed them side by side, turning them over slowly. Normally, Huang Xing would lean in. Stand too close. Comment on things that didn’t really matter.
Today, he only sat there.
Waiting for me to hand one over.
Waiting without saying a word.
I passed it to him.
He looked at it for a moment or maybe only pretended to. I knew that look. A gaze that wasn’t fully present.
“This one’s clearly from the older one,” he said at last. “The gold.”
I studied it for a few more seconds before nodding.
“I think so too.”
The conversation continued, light, casual, until the doorbell rang. Two other members came in, laughter grew louder, voices filled the room. On the other side of the table, Huang Xing and I fell silent.
No small jokes like usual.
No absentminded touches.
I sat there, smiling when necessary, listening when necessary, and for the first time that day, I felt truly alone in a room full of people.
Ocean and Peien’s laughter sounded bright, too bright.
A sharp contrast to the chill hanging between Huang Xing and me.
I held back the fatigue gnawing at my body. A small yawn slipped out behind Peien’s shoulder, hoping no one would notice. The camera still caught it, just briefly, but enough. I reached for a tissue, wiped my nose. My eyes felt hot, slightly watery. My face was pale. My body warm with the flu I had been holding back since morning.
Huang Xing didn’t look over.
Or maybe… he chose not to.
To others, we probably looked like nothing more than two coworkers who happened to be sitting close together. No more than that. Even though we were usually so easy to read. Too obvious. Too close.
Something was wrong.
And I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
Our two bosses began appearing on camera more often. Their voices grew livelier, their laughter louder as if they sensed an empty space that needed filling, a rhythm that had to be maintained so no one would ask too many questions.
The conversation shifted to dinner plans.
Because they knew I wasn’t feeling well, suggestions started coming in.
“What kind of duck is Huang Xing going to cook?”
Huang Xing fell silent.
I could see it even without looking the slight tension in his shoulders. Beneath the coldness he put on, the worry was still there. It always was. It never truly left.
“Boiled duck,” he said at last. “It’s good for restoring strength.”
I glanced at him.
We cared about each other. We always had.
It was just that I didn’t want anyone to worry.
And Huang Xing hated being the one who wasn’t allowed to know what was happening to me.
The conversation lightened again. I joined in, joking about how expensive the duck would be, choosing the best one, imagining a simple dish of boiled duck with stir-fried vegetables.
Laughter returned.
And yet, between Huang Xing and me, something remained suspended. Unfinished. Unspoken.
The camera shifted away from the table, focusing instead on the totem-designed papers from our series. Our two bosses were still busy, their pens moving steadily as they signed.
We were asked to come closer, to stand around the table. I deliberately positioned myself far from him separated by Ocean and Peien, pushed into a corner that barely registered on camera, slipping out of view.
I didn’t mind giving him space.
I was used to stepping back whenever something made him uncomfortable.
Until the creative team gestured to me signaling that there was an empty spot at the far right and asked me to move closer, to stand beside Huang Xing.
I walked over slowly, hesitantly. Too slowly.
I could feel him notice me without turning his head just as he always did.
My hands were cold.
And before I could fully settle into place, his hand caught my arm, pulling me into the space between himself and Ocean. The movement was quick. Too quick. Too forceful.
I startled.
But I didn’t say anything.
I knew I wasn’t allowed to be angry.
Not allowed to be afraid.
Not allowed to cry.
All that remained was one feeling, pain, with nowhere to fall.
When it was my turn to sign the cards, I lowered my head, focusing on the marker in my hand. My movements were fast, neat, as if everything were perfectly fine.
Even though my face had already betrayed me.
I leaned forward once, peeking at Huang Xing’s card from over his shoulder, a small, almost embarrassing attempt to seek the attention I usually received without trying.
There was no reaction.
In the end, I fell silent.
One card bearing all our signatures was placed at the center of the table. The orchid totem and the orange blossom sat side by side. Two signatures aligned neatly beside each other.
Beautiful on paper.
A mess inside my chest.