Work Text:
How to Commit with a Stranger;
Everyone wants what they don’t have.
The weak wish to be strong. The unattractive yearns to be beautiful. The unnoticed wants to be recognized. To those who aren’t blessed with the ideal settings of society, it’s a perfectly reasonable desire of an average being. They would spend most of their lives wishing, wanting, craving…
But this story doesn’t intend to talk about them.
It is about their envied opposites. Supposedly, the ones who were born with qualities everybody else longs for, those who don’t even have to try. At least, that's the lie everyone else wants to ‘trust’.
What the world grants usually comes with a cost, don't you think? If you are admired, you must remain admirable. If you look perfect, you must maintain the act of being perfect. One slip-up, one human moment, one wrong move…
Then it’s all — over.
“You are now even lower than a dog.”
Shang De’s words still echoed in his head, sharp and utterly unhelpful, like an error message with no solution attached. Below him, the city remained the same. Screens plastered across buildings looped the same footage on repeat: his face, carefully angled. His smile, carefully rehearsed.
Why did I become a hero?
“We love you, Nice! Stay perfect!”
The words followed him everywhere. Perfect posture, perfect smile, perfect rescue — pre-approved, pre-filmed, pre-forgiven by a system that could be fueled even with curated hope.
Who… am I?
“Stop pretending to be perfect, you hypocrite!”
Nice didn’t remember when he started pretending. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d put on a mask. He only knew that, eventually, the mask had become the skin and that stopping had never been an option.
The edge of the building was cold beneath his palms. Wind tugged at his cape, useless now without an audience. In that moment, there’s no script telling him what to say if he failed.
What am I doing here?
“Help—”
Ah. I don’t know anymore.
“HELP!”
Go away. Just… disappear.
“Nice!”
He froze. The voice was too loud. Or too… near? In any case, it felt too real to be a memory.
“…Hello?! Over here!!!”
Nice looked down and followed the direction of the voice. A man in a white T-shirt was stuck halfway up the building, fabric snagged around a billboard support beam, his feet kicking uselessly. He dangled there like an abandoned decoration, inches away from the glowing projection of Nice’s own smiling face.
“A hero helping would be ‘nice’, please?!”
He looked like a cat someone had picked up and forgotten to put down.
“My clothes got caught up! I’m gonna fall hurry!”
Nice’s expression remained unmoving as he stared. In a world built on trust values, the script was clear: a hero sees, a hero acts, the public applauds. But Nice was tired of the script. He leaned back as he made his own signature pose one last time. He didn’t jump, he simply ceased to resist. He felt a hollow sort of peace as he began to slip away, a ghost of his rehearsed smile still etched on his face. Gravity did the rest.
Why should he care?
Someone else would handle it soon. A secondary responder, a drone, a different ‘hero’ looking for a trust boost, the system would provide.
“Hey, wait! Please— AH—!”
A sharp rrrip echoed.
The clothes gave way, the billboard support beam let go of its prize, and the man dropped.
“AAAAAAAA—“
Nice’s body reacted before his mind did.
“AAAHHHH I’M GONNA DIE AAAA—“
It wasn’t muscle memory but more like a curse of his ‘perfection’. He didn't think about saving a life, his powers simply corrected the error in the environment. He flew swiftly in mid-air and scooped the man out of the sky.
The man’s scream didn't stop, even as the wind was replaced by the sudden stillness of the rooftop. “AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
Amidst the frantic shrieking, Nice didn't wait for him to find his footing. He set the man down with the practiced efficiency of a delivery driver dropping off a package. “You may stop screaming now,” Nice beamed. “You’re safe.” The smile was automatic.
“Ah— oh…” the man sighed in relief. “Whew. It feels… a lot different when you’re actually falling.”
“Also, please,” Nice interrupted, “let go.” His tone was pleasant, but his eyes remained hollow. The man was still clutching his cape like a lifeline.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” The man released the fabric and scratched his cheek sheepishly. “I’m Lin Ling.”
The hero didn't acknowledge the name. He was already walking away.
Lin Ling scrambled to follow. “Thank you, by the way. Really. I just realized I actually didn't want to die like that. With my… shirt stuck on a relationship ad.”
The words went in and out Nice’s ear of course. He was focused below, stepping near the edge again.
“Is it alright if we get some coffee? Or… anything?” Lin Ling continued.
But Nice ignored him, his body already tilting forward, surrendering to the pull.
“Hey!”
“Leave me alone,” Nice snapped. The words slipped out before he could filter them — cold and entirely ‘un-Nice’.
“…”
The silence on the rooftop became heavy. Nice felt his practiced smile twitch, struggling to reassert itself over his irritation. He started to let himself go, intending to vanish into the skyline, only if a hand didn’t just shamelessly grab his wrist.
“Nice!”
Nice’s smile didn't just twitch this time, it fractured. He looked at the hand on his arm, then up at Lin Ling.
“Can we just have coffee first?” Lin Ling pleaded, his grip light, almost hesitant. “Please?”
Nice opened his mouth to dismiss him, to shake him off and fall, but movement at the rooftop door caught his eye. The heavy metal door groaned open. Most likely, Miss J, his manager, followed by several crew members were approaching.
“Woah!” Lin Ling gasped as Nice suddenly pulled him forward, grabbing him by the waist.
Unable to shake the grip off on time, Nice didn't give him a choice. He dived off the ledge, dragging Lin Ling into the open air just as Miss J and her crew appeared. Both of them fell together.
Lin Ling’s mouth opened to unleash another soul-shattering scream, but Nice slammed a hand over it, muffling the sound into a frantic “Mpphh!”
“Stop screaming,” Nice said calmly, one arm locked around Lin Ling’s waist, the other still firmly over his mouth. “You’re going to swallow an insect,” he added, just in case. The truth was he was just annoyed. And screaming takes attention. Yes, that too.
In response, Lin Ling bit his hand.
Nice hissed, “Tch,” and pulled his hand away. He didn't drop the man, but his eyes flashed with the rare spark of genuine annoyance.
“Are you insane?!” Lin Ling shrieked, “YOU JUST JUMPED!”
“Yes.”
“WITH ME!”
“Yes.”
“WITHOUT ASKING!”
“You’re the one who wouldn’t let go of my wrist.” Nice glanced down. “We’re still falling.”
Wind whipped Lin Ling’s shirt against his face. He clawed at Nice’s arm. “PUT ME BACK!”
“There is nowhere to put you back,” Nice replied mildly, his public voice returning. “We have passed the point of no return.”
“What kind of hero says that?!” Lin Ling asked frantically.
“The perfect kind,” Nice replied.
Lin Ling choked on air, his face pale. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAVE PEOPLE—”
He had a point, so Nice didn't retaliate. What he did was simple. He adjusted his grip automatically, angling their descent, slicing through the air with the grace of a flying falcon. His expression remained eerily composed.
The freefall caused Lin Ling to shut his eyes close, bracing for the impact.
As a consequence, there is none.
The impact never came. Haha.
Surprisingly, Nice slowed the fall, his boots touching the pavement with no more sound than a falling leaf.
When Lin Ling finally dared to open his eyes, he frantically patted his chest and legs. “I- I’m alive...”
“How did you even get stuck on a support beam in the first place?” Nice asked ‘nicely’. He released the man’s waist with a graceful flick of his wrist, stepping back before the ‘mess’ of Lin Ling’s panic could rub off on his suit. “You shouldn’t climb advertisement structures. They are not load-bearing.”
“Oh, wow I’m so sorry.” Lin Ling replied, still shaking. “Next time I’ll check the manual before trying to die.”
Nice blinked. “…Trying?”
Lin Ling faltered. “I— well—”
Nice observed him then. Something in his chest twisted unpleasantly. He dismissed it, of course. “Ah,” he said flatly, his smile remained. “That explains the screaming.”
“Excuse me??”
“Most people scream less when they are committed.” Nice looked above, before stepping into the shadow of an alley.
“I am committed!” Lin Ling hurried after him, tripping over his own feet.
“You were yelling for help.” Somehow, Nice’s smile managed to look annoyed. “You’re not suicidal, you just want attention.”
“Wha— No! Things just didn’t go as planned.”
Nice didn't answer. Rather, he kept walking, moving with elegance that made Lin Ling look like a toddler trying to keep up.
“When I got there,” Lin Ling rushed on. “I just realized there’s going to be lots of people below and when I fall it might be embarrassing so I didn’t wanna die there anymore but then I slipped…”
He didn’t even realize how much he was yapping until he realized Nice wasn’t listening. He also realized, he was probably over-explaining, so Lin Ling stopped. “Nice,” he said carefully, “Were you really trying to die?”
“No, of course not.” Nice’s response was immediate. “Why would a perfect hero try to die?”
“But you just—” Lin Ling paused then. “Oh that was sarcasm!” he laughed as if proud. But it immediately disappeared when Nice didn’t even react.
In front of him, Nice mumbled something about flying. That it would take attention. He looked at his clothes, and sure enough it’ll stand out. Most likely, they’ll find him faster.
“Uh so coffee?” Lin Ling spoke up again. “I know a cafe just around here.”
Did that go through Nice? Maybe not. Nice stopped abruptly after looking around. His gaze landed on a clothing store across the street.
“Lin Lin,” he said.
“It’s Lin Ling,” Lin Lin corrected.
“Alright Ling Ling,” Nice turned, his smile turning back into its most ‘trustworthy’ form. “Would you be so kind to do me a small favor after saving your life?”
“It’s Lin—” Lin Ling stepped back, suddenly wary. “…What kind of favor?”
“Cause a scene,” Nice remarked.
“Huh?” Lin Ling stared, pointing a shaking finger at his own chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you look unnoticeable enough, it’d be easy for you to cause a distraction without being identified.”
“Harsh,” Lin Ling said weakly.
“You owe me, don’t you?”
“That’s true— Wait,” Lin Ling paused, a frown forming. “Since when did heroes ask favors from people they save?”
But even if he just raised a question, Lin Ling didn’t hear any answer from Nice. Instead, he saw how Nice’s smile widened so blindingly bright it felt like staring directly the sun.
“Wha- why are you smiling like that,” Lin Ling shielded his eyes.
“You’ll do great. Ling Ling.”
Before Lin Ling could protest, he found himself swept up in a plan he hadn't consented to — a plan that began with a sudden, forceful shove toward the storefront. Whatever the plan was.
“Aahhhh!”
CRASH.
A massive clothing display toppled over, sending mannequins and high-end fabrics scattering across the floor. In the center of the chaos, Nice appeared as if summoned by the sound itself. He saved a girl who was about to get caught, his movement fluid and theatrical. “Are you all right?” he asked warmly.
“Waaah! It’s Nice!”
“He’s so handsome ahhhh!”
“Nice look over here!”
The store erupted. Nice struck his signature pose — two finger guns raised, a perfectly timed wink directed at the nearest phone camera — then bolted towards the back of the store in a blur of motion.
“Wait! Nice!”
“Don’t go!”
A dozen fans scrambled over the toppled mannequins, chasing the flash of his gold-trimmed cape. They watched him duck behind a heavy velvet curtain leading to the fitting rooms. The fabric was still swaying when they reached it, a dozen hands reaching out to pull it aside, desperate for one last look at perfection. But when they burst through, they found only an empty hallway.
They didn't notice the man in the oversized yellow hoodie who had just walked past them in the opposite direction. He kept his head down, blending into the frantic crowd of shoppers, looking like just another person trying to escape the commotion.
By the time people realized Nice was gone, he already was.
He emerged onto the sidewalk moments later, the heavy air of the city feeling a little lighter without the weight of the cape.
“Great job, Ling Ling,” Nice said, coming up behind the man who was still staring at the store in shock.
Lin Ling jumped, nearly tripping again. “I didn’t even— wait, how did you change so fast? People were literally right behind you.”
“They were following the cape,” Nice said, his voice devoid of its usual melody. “Not me.”
“That’s… kind of depressing,” Lin Ling commented.
“Cafe, right?” Nice said, checking the shadows for any sign of his manager’s crew. “I’ll give you that much. We have coffee, and after that, we separate.”
And so, they sat in a dim corner of the cafe, tucked away from the windows. A suffocating silence settled between them.
The coffee arrived.
Lin Ling stared at the table.
Then at Nice’s cup.
Then at the empty space in front of him.
“…I forgot I don’t have cash.”
Nice took a slow sip of his black coffee, his hood still up. He hadn’t ordered a second cup. He didn’t owe this man a drink, when he’d already given him a second chance at life, whether he wanted it or not.
He set his cup down with careful precision, observed it, fixed its position again, observed it, then adjusted until it centered the table. “So,” he said, his voice stripped of its heroic tone. “Why are you trying to die?”
“Oh, I already did,” Lin Ling answered with a hollow smirk.
Nice didn't even blink. “Dying on the inside doesn't count. So why?”
Lin Ling clicked his tongue. “You just stole my punchline…” He looked away, staring at a stain on the tablecloth that seemed to have bothered the figure in front of him. “Are we close? That’s a pretty personal question.”
“I just saved your life,” Nice reminded him.
“And I’m suicidal, remember?” Lin Ling shot back. “I should ask you then. Why are ‘you’ trying to die?”
With that said, Nice didn't argue any longer. He simply stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“He- hey! Where are you going?” Lin Ling scrambled to his feet.
“Where else?” Nice muttered, turning toward the door.
“Wait! You can’t!” Lin Ling hurried around the table, nearly tripping over a decorative plant. “Not yet. Look outside, it’s 5 PM. It’s rush hour. There are too many people out there, and I told you, I don’t wanna die in front of a crowd.”
Nice paused, looking at him with genuine confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“What?” Lin Ling blinked.
“What?” Nice repeated.
Lin Ling gestured wildly between the two of them. “We have the same goal, don’t we? I saw you on that rooftop. Why don't we... collaborate?”
“Mr. Nice,” Lin Ling smiled and offered his hand. “What do you think of a double-suicide?”
Classic idea indeed. Exceptional even, no doubt Lin Ling looked cool in his own mind. If not for the fact that Nice wasn’t even looking at him. Instead of responding, Nice looked at the distance outside the glass door as if already deciding where to go to next.
“Like, you know,” Lin Ling pushed on, blocking Nice's path toward the exit. “We brainstorm. We think of ways to die and we pick the absolute best one.”
Nice tried to side-step him.
“Hey, hey— Nice!” Lin Ling planted his feet.
“Don’t you want a better way to die? Come on. We’re in the same boat. I just realized, if I'm going to do it, I need better last words," Lin Ling said. “Something profound or like… meaningful. All I had ready for today was ‘Oh crap, I slipped’.”
Nice finally looked at him, his eyes speaking more than his smile. “You really are just seeking attention at this point.”
“It’s not like that!” Lin Ling insisted. “I mean if it’s the end, shouldn’t it be the last thing that actually matters?”
He looked straight at Nice’s eyes. “We don’t have to do it alone. It’s less scary that way right?”
“…”
“You’ll join me then?” Nice asked quietly.
“Well yeah. You saved me, didn’t you?” Lin Ling said, though his voice wavered. “Though... let’s not do it outside of X-City, preferably.”
Nice tilted his head. “Why?”
“I live here. My relatives are here. If it happens here, they’ll find me easily. Save them the trouble.”
It was an excuse Nice failed to completely understand. He stared at Lin Ling for a long beat, then shook his head. “What kind of suicidal person worries about the convenience of their relatives finding the body— You know what? I won’t even bother.”
He shoved past Lin Ling, heading for the door with a renewed sense of irritation.
“Hold on! Okay, okay!” Lin Ling turned and chased after him into the street. “Fine! I’ll just go with you! Let’s go kill ourselves right now! Let’s go!!”
A lot of people stared at their direction. Nice lowered his hoodie as a result.
***
The car was borrowed.
That was Nice’s word for it. He drove with both hands on the wheel, posture perfect even without an audience. He hadn’t turned on the radio.
[Playing: Bohemian Rhapsody — Queen]
Lin Ling did.
“Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go...”
Using a rolled-up paper bag as a makeshift microphone, Lin Ling sang along with his whole soul, eyes closed.
“Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.”
Shamelessly off-key and devastatingly sincere, he sang to the windshield, to the passing lights, to absolutely no one who asked for it.
“Mama, ooh~ (anyway the wind blows)”
Nice’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Yes, he’s listening.
“I don't wanna dieeee!”
Lin Ling leaned back, one hand over his chest, the other conducting an invisible orchestra.
“I sometimes wish I’ve never been born at all!”
His voice cracked.
Nice’s left eye twitched.
Lin Ling smiled anyway and kept going, his fingers fluttering as he hummed along to the iconic guitar riff—
Click.
“What the— why’d you stop?” Lin Ling asked as Nice turned off the radio.
“Conserving battery,” Nice said, his smile appearing in the rear view mirror.
Lin Ling frowned. “It uses battery? I was about to sing my favorite part.”
“You were… singing?” Nice asked.
“What else?”
If Nice could tell what he was thinking, he would have already stated, “I thought you were summoning demons,” but that sounded like an insult so he refrained from speaking.
Meanwhile, Lin Ling drummed his fingers against his knee, growing restless. The reason being, the traffic was heavy. “Wouldn’t it have been faster if you just flew us?” he commented.
“Definitely,” Nice replied. “They’d also find me ten times faster.”
And Nice, thought privately, “No way I’m carrying him all the way.”
Silence settled again, but not for a while. Nice, somehow, secretly wished it took a while. Perhaps, it was ‘the passenger effect’, if that is even a term. It’s not, but Lin Ling made it so.
“You know,” Lin Ling said, his voice suddenly becoming airy and nostalgic. “Once this is all over... once we finally find the right spot, I think I’d like to have a small garden.”
Nice glanced at him through the mirror.
“Sunflowers maybe,” Lin Ling continued. “I’ve always wanted to see them bloom in spring.”
Nice stared now, with a mixture of confusion and genuine concern for the man's sanity. “Aren’t you planning to die?” he asked. “Sunflowers take months. You won't be here for spring.”
Lin Ling’s face split into a wide, mischievous grin. He snapped his fingers. “Exactly! I’m triggering a Death Flag.”
“...A what?” Nice asked, genuinely, seriously.
“A Death Flag! You know, the trope! In the movies, the moment a character talks about their retirement, or makes a promise, or says they ‘can’t wait for spring’— bam! They’re dead by the next scene. The universe just can't help itself.”
“Trying to use narrative irony to bypass the difficulty of the act,” Nice remarked. “That is… remarkably lazy.”
“It’s not lazy, it’s efficient!” Lin Ling countered. “I’ve been talking about my ‘dreams for the future’ for the last ten minutes, were you not listening? I’m practically a walking target for fate right now. Any second now, a piano should fall on us.”
Lin Ling looked up expectantly.
Nothing happened.
Obviously.
“…Not enough,” Lin Ling muttered. Surely, nothing is wrong with him. This is just him. “Hmm. Right!” He straightened. “After this, I will become a hero!”
“Pfft.” Nice actually let out a short, cynical puff of air. “I don't think it works if the future is completely unrealistic.”
“At least encourage me here,” Lin Ling said, deadpan.
“Trust me,” Nice’s voice dropped, turning cold. “You’d rather not dream of it.”
“It could still work as a death flag,” Lin Ling shrugged, undeterred.
Nice could already feel a headache forming. “I didn’t know even the universe had a script.” Then another inside thought he didn’t resound out formed, “If it did, my life would have been a tragedy a long time ago, not a repetitive commercial.”
“Don’t believe me? Maybe you just haven’t said the right line yet,” Lin Ling suggested, nudging Nice’s arm. “Come on, try one. What’s something you want?”
“Is he acoustic?” Nice ‘thought’. Because obviously, that wasn’t something someone like him should answer. So he did think of something to say, to play along.
What did he want…
Nice kept his eyes on the bumper of the car ahead. He looked for a desire, a craving, a single ‘spring’ he wanted to see, for any thought to surface. Yet the silence in his mind was absolute. It wasn't even a surprise. Right now, he couldn’t think of anything at all. He was a man with a thousand fans and zero wants.
“Yeah, you’re just bad at this...” Lin Ling said, sighing before Nice could even speak.
The sunset turned the sky a tint of purple and orange, casting shadows across the highway as they drove. Lin Ling, his face pressed against the glass like a curious child, suddenly pointed toward a structure rising in the distance. “Hey,” he said suddenly. “That place.”
Nice followed his gaze. An old industrial complex loomed in the distance — rusted pipes, warning lights blinking lazily, a chemical processing plant.
“Don’t they have dangerous liquids in laboratories?” Lin Ling mused, his eyes bright. “Looks like that one is closing down. Probably full of the good stuff.”
Unique idea, but it made sense. Nice indulged him only because he didn’t have any energy to retort. When they reached the heavy metal doors, they were met with a reinforced digital lock, pulsing red.
Lin Ling sighed, poking at the keypad. “Ah. We can’t lockpick this, nevermind—”
CRACK.
Nice’s fist met the console with the weight of a meteor. Sparking wires hissed as the door groaned and slid open. “After you,” Nice said, offering that effortless smile.
Lin Ling’s jaw dropped. “You know, sometimes I forget you’re that kind of hero.”
Inside, everything smelled like synthetic. Lin Ling’s eyes shone, “Woah! That’s what I’m talking about! Looks dangerous!”
They navigated the dark, echoing hallways until they reached a massive tank labeled with biohazard warnings. It was filled with a thick, viscous black liquid.
“Hope we don’t— end up like— The Joker,” Lin Ling joked, huffing, already scrambling up the side of the tank. “But hey, maybe I’ll develop cool powers. That’d be nice.”
He reached the top, panting, only to see Nice floating effortlessly beside the rim.
“Show-off,” Lin Ling mumbled under his breath.
Nice didn't hear him even with his enhanced senses. Rather, he stood on the side, strangely still like a statue.
Black. Liquid.
The sight of it alone, and Nice already felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Lin Ling didn’t notice. He was already balanced on the edge, looking down at the vat with a dreamy expression. “Aaahhh, the pool of death. This is it. My life.” He grabbed Nice’s wrist, oblivious to how pale the hero had become.
“On the count of three! Onetwothree—”
Lin Ling threw himself forward with no hesitation at all, dragging Nice’s arm with him. “Wwoooohhhh— glub!”
The commoner vanished beneath the surface, then popped back up a second later, blinking. He wiped the sludge from his eyes and looked at his arms. “It doesn’t burn,” he muttered, and sniffed. “…Why does it smell good?”
He scooped a handful, squinting at it. “Wait. This is—”
His voice echoed off the walls.
“—black shampoo.”
He turned to laugh, but the space beside him was empty. “Oh no! Nice?”
“Were you allergic to dirtiness? Did you dissolve?!” He looked around frantically until he saw a movement above.
Lin Ling felt a hollow sting at that moment.
Owing to the fact that Nice hadn't gone in. He had used his flight to jerk upward at the last possible millisecond, hovering high above the tank like a god avoiding a puddle. What Lin Ling didn’t see was, for a brief second, Nice’s form was rigid, breathing too fast. By the time he climbed out, squelching with every step and squeezing the perfumed sludge from his white shirt, he looked genuinely offended.
“What was that? Did you back out at the last minute?”
He hurried after Nice, whose strides were long and stiff, heading straight for the exit. “You did, didn’t you? The hell, Nice? You were going to let me die alone? Hey—”
Lin Ling reached out to grab Nice’s arm.
BANG.
Nice’s fist slammed into the metal doorway as he passed through, leaving a deep dent in the steel. The sound echoed loud through the factory.
Of course. Without an audience, with that strength, Nice could silence anyone with one move. Lin Ling’s anger died instantly, replaced by sudden fear, he pulled his hand back.
“I just didn’t want to get dirty, Ling Ling. That’s all,” Nice’s voice was perfectly calm.
He slowly turned, looking at the dripping, shampoo-covered man, his smile firmly back in place, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m cursed with perfection, after all,” he added.
Nice absolutely wouldn't admit it. He was paralyzed, not by the threat of death, but by the memory of that suffocating terror. That the liquid looked too much like… ‘Fear’.
“Let’s look for other ways,” Nice said, turning back toward the car. “You can clean yourself up on the way. I have towels in the trunk.”
The ride was silent for a while. Lin Ling busied himself with drying his clothes after wiping the stickiness away. He watched the dusk, not letting his mind wander to what has gotten onto Nice. He shook off any negative thoughts. After all, Nice was a hero, and most probably he was just as broken as Lin Ling was.
Through the passenger window, the city’s cracks were showing. Amidst the sea of sleek cars and glowing advertisements under the dimming sky, an elderly woman stood on the curb, her cane hooked over a shaking arm, staring hopelessly at a mountain of dropped groceries scattered across the ground. People passed her like she wasn’t there.
“Nice, stop. Pull over for a second,” Lin Ling said, his body tensing.
Nice didn’t even tap the brakes. He stared straight ahead, his hands locked on the wheel. He’d seen the old lady, one glance and he even picked up the brand of the spilled milk.
But stopping would mean three things.
One, it would draw attention.
“Hey, are you listening? Stop the car for a bit.” Lin Ling’s voice rose in a desperate manner.
Two, it meant ‘Nice’ would have to perform, even though he was currently out of fuel nor does he care.
“You may get out if you wish,” Nice said, his voice terrifyingly level. “But I’m leaving you behind.”
Three, if Lin Ling really wanted to help, it meant he still had a stake in this world.
“What?” Lin Ling turned in his seat, staring at the hero’s profile. “It’ll take ten seconds! No one is helping her—“
And Nice, as bad as it sounds, perhaps he didn't want to be the only one truly falling.
“Then no one is helping her,” Nice cut in. “I’m not stopping. Unlike you, I actually have a reason to reach the end. If you want to play the good samaritan, then do it. It’s better for you to stay here and live anyway.”
“I have a reason!” Lin Ling shouted. “I’m here for the same reason you are!”
“No, you aren’t.” Nice made a quick glance at him, and his eyes were like cold glass. “You care about life more than you think. You’re still looking for things to fix. Someone who truly wants to die doesn’t care about spilled groceries.”
“How shallow do you think I am?!” Lin Ling’s face flushed a deep, angry red. “You think because I have a shred of empathy left, I’m not suffering? That I’m just 'faking' being miserable? I’m a nobody with no future, and you’re sitting there judging my 'commitment' to dying because I don't want an old woman to struggle in the street?”
“I’m not judging you,” Nice said, infuriatingly calm. “I’m saying, you still have the luxury of giving a damn.”
“You’re just a coward!” Lin Ling didn’t think of his words by this point. “You’re so afraid of being 'imperfect' that you’d rather let someone suffer than risk being seen as a human being!”
Nice didn’t yell, but there was a distinct sting on his voice. “Get out then. Get out and go be the hero you’re so desperate to be. See how long you last when they turn you into a billboard.”
“Maybe I will!” Lin Ling reached for the door handle even as the car was still moving. “At least I’d be dying for something real, not just pouting because I dropped in ranks.”
Nice pressed the brake.
The tires screeched.
The silence that followed was louder than the shouting.
“…Hey,” Lin Ling said at last, his anger subsiding. “Um. Sorry. That was… a bit much.”
Nice didn’t answer right away, he couldn’t acknowledge the apology. If he did, he’d have to accept the truth behind the words. So instead, he kept his gaze locked on the steering wheel, his jaw set in a rigid, perfect line.
Finally, he said, “Don’t get the wrong idea.”
Lin Ling glanced at him.
“I stopped because I need to go withdraw cash,” Nice continued, eyes fixed on the digital clock glowing on the dashboard. He didn’t look over. “It’ll take a while.”
“Oh,” Lin Ling said.
“Stay here,” Nice added. “Or don’t. Sing another song. Summon a demon. I don’t care.”
The smile came back as easily as ever — perfect, beautiful, and empty. Without waiting for a response, Nice stepped out of the car. He didn't slam the door, he closed it with quiet, effortless grace. He pulled his hoodie low and walked toward a 24-hour ATM machine.
Lin Ling didn’t think, he simply got out the car and ran back, breath coming in short, nervous bursts. By the time he reached the corner however, the crisis was already being managed. The elderly woman wasn't alone anymore. A young lady, perhaps a few years younger than Lin Ling, was already on one knee, efficiently gathering the spilled cartons and fruit. She moved with familiarity, the kind that came from years of helping the same person.
“I told you I could manage,” the old woman scolded.
“And I told you, you say that every time,” she replied. “Just let me, ah-ma.”
Lin Ling slowed to a stop. “Okay,” he murmured. “Nevermind.”
He stood awkwardly on the periphery, until a face in the crowd caught his eye. Across the street, arguing loudly with a vendor, stood a man with an impatient gait and a face that made Lin Ling’s stomach drop. He had the same voice that could fill a room without asking permission, the same as he remembered.
Lin Ling recoiled instantly. “Oh shi— nope no no no no.” He scrambled forward, ducking behind the elderly woman, using her frame and the piles of groceries as a shield.
She was startled, looking over her shoulder. “Ah! young man?”
“Sorry,” Lin Ling said urgently, crouching low and peeking around her shopping bags. “Just… I— my uncle. Can’t let him see me, I’ll get… scolded.”
She blinked, following his gaze across the street. “…Oh,” she uttered, understanding softening her expression. “Alright.”
The old lady shifted slightly, angling herself and the bag so he was better hidden.
The young lady helping her paused, a carton of milk in his hand. "Ah-ma,” she said, "Who are you talking to over there?
“Don’t mind,” the old woman replied briskly, waving a dismissing hand. “Just go ahead and pick up the groceries.”
And she did. The young lady bent down again, gathering the remaining groceries. Grumbling as she tried to knot the broken grocery bag.
The ‘uncle’, as addressed by Lin Ling, passed by without a glance in their direction. Consequently, Lin Ling finally breathed a, “Thank you.”
Before he turned to leave, Lin Ling leaned in close to the elderly woman’s ear. She stood perfectly still, letting Lin Ling speak in a voice like a passing breeze. When he pulled away, she looked up at him with a sudden look of profound, startled gratitude, before nodding with a smile — gentle to the point that it made Lin Ling hesitate. He smiled back anyway, waved, and turned back toward the parked car, his heart still thumping from the close call with his uncle.
At the distance, he saw a figure in an eye-catching posture, looking every bit like a model, leaning against the driver’s side door.
Nice’s gaze was fixed directly on where Lin Ling stood.
The moment their eyes met, Nice’s posture snapped. He immediately looked away and slid back into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut. Lin Ling, who didn’t want to get left behind, broke into a jog. He scrambled across the road, his white shirt fluttering, and yanked the passenger door open. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The radio stayed off and the city noise filled the space instead.
“So,” Lin Ling started, his voice a bit smaller than before. “Where are we actually going?”
“I’ll drop by somewhere first, then we’ll proceed,” Nice stated, his eyes scanning the road. “Do you have any ideas yet?“
“Ideas—? oh, right. The dying part.” Lin Ling bit his lip, staring out at the passing streetlights. Thoughts started to form impressively quick.
“How about we jump from the bridge tonight? You know, the one over the canal? When it’s late and there’s no one watching.”
What Lin Ling didn’t take into account was…
“I can swim, at risk of going back at the last minute,” Nice replied even without needing to think. “I’d likely just end up pulling us both to the surface.”
… doing it with a hero…
“Ah… that’s true. I can swim too.” Lin Ling frowned, tapping his chin. “Then let’s add heavy things to our bodies. We’d sink then.”
… naturally came with limitations.
“Do you think I can’t carry something heavy?” Nice said, a hint of exhaustion creeping into his voice. “A couple of weight isn't going to keep me down.”
Not only did Nice have superhuman abilities.
“Agh! Point taken,” Lin Ling threw his hands up in frustration. “Then let’s get drunk! Let’s get so wasted we won’t even know which way is up. Alcohol makes everything easier.”
Nice was also, infuriatingly restrained.
“I don’t… drink anymore,” Nice posed.
“It’s literally our last night.” Lin Ling countered. He turned his head slowly. “Live a little before you, you know, before you don't…”
Nice didn't answer immediately. For a split second, a flash of an image crossed his mind: the two of them, underwater, the world quiet and blue. He imagined their hands finding each other in the dark, a silent anchor as the light faded above.
It was strange. The thought felt so… peaceful (that it terrified him).
He shook the thought off immediately.
“I prefer something ‘less messy’,” Nice said, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Alcohol impairs coordination. It’s prone to failing.”
Yup, he also has a severe case of OCD.
“Okay then,” Lin Ling sat straight, another idea coming up. “Let’s stand on top of a tall building during a lightning storm. Then hold metallic umbrellas and we shout ‘Is that all you’ve got?!’ at the sky. Works in every action donghua. The lighting has to hit us.”
Sure enough, the idea might work. Except, Nice glanced at the dashboard’s weather report, then up at the clear, mocking night sky, stars already peeking. “Doesn’t look like a thunderstorm will happen anytime soon.”
Lin Ling slumped. Perhaps he even gave up thinking, simply that his mind still worked.“Cover ourselves in blood and wait for sharks?”
“I thought you said you wanted to die in X City,” Nice remarked dryly. What’s concerning was that he didn’t comment on where they’re supposed to get blood.
“Ocean Park!” Lin Ling countered, snapping his fingers. “The big tank in the center.”
“They don’t have sharks there.”
“They do! I saw one on TV, just lately. They’re pretty big.”
Nice sighed, the sound of a man who spent too many years dealing with public misinformation. “I don’t think— Ling Ling, dolphins and sharks are different.”
Lin Ling went silent.
“And besides, even if there were sharks,” Nice continued, his voice dripping with pragmatism, “do you really want to be in the news for dying in an ocean park because you swam in a restricted area like an idiot?”
“Fine! Forget the animals!” Lin Ling groaned, throwing his head back against the seat. “Let’s just shoot each other.”
Nice didn't even turn his head. “And where, exactly, are you going to get a gun?”
“Aren’t you allowed to have one? You’re a hero.”
“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I could. It’s not that simple. And shooting each other requires two handguns.”
“Borrow one?” Lin Ling suggested hopefully.
“From whom?” Nice asked.
“…Another hero?” Lin Ling asked shamelessly.
Nice’s jaw tightened. “That’s not how—”
“Okay, okay!” Lin Ling raised his hands in a defensive shrug. “You’re very negative today. Let me think.”
The car continued down the road as Lin Ling muttered to himself. Deep in thought, he was ticking off absurdities, completely lost in his own mental brainstorm.
Nice sat there for a moment, hand on the gear shift, watching Lin Ling mutter about ‘poisonous snakes’ under his breath.
Lin Ling didn’t notice the car engine dying down until Nice left his seat.
“Wh— where are you going?” Lin Ling scrambled for the door handle.
“Don’t follow,” Nice’s voice drifted. “I’ll be quick.”
Lin Ling watched him through the windshield. Nice walked toward a modest, three-story building with faded paint and a small, old sign that read The Little Stars Home.
An orphanage.
Lin Ling followed anyway. He kept his distance, slipping through the gate and staying behind a row of overgrown bushes.
Nice didn't go to the front door. He walked to a wooden donation box bolted to the brick wall near the door. There were no cameras there, nothing that could affect his image and trust value. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, pile. It was a huge sum of money he had withdrawn.
He hesitated for a single heartbeat, his fingers tracing the edge of the wood. Then, with the decision in mind, he dropped the pile into the slot. It hit the bottom with a thump. Likely, enough to keep the orphanage running for years.
Nice stood there for a moment, his forehead resting against the cool wood of the box. At that time, Lin Ling thought he didn’t look like a hero. More like a man who paid off a debt he never thought he could clear.
Then, Nice turned around, not at all surprised to see Lin Ling standing by the bushes. “I told you not to follow,” he said, his voice a ghost of itself.
“You’re giving it away,” Lin Ling whispered, looking at the box. “Everything you worked for.”
“It’s just paper,” Nice replied, walking past him toward the car. “It’s not going to follow me to the grave.”
Lin Ling didn’t move right away. He stared at the donation box like it might say something back to him. “Wow,” he muttered finally, trailing after Nice. “You didn’t even film it. No pose? No angle? No inspirational quote?”
Nice didn’t slow down. “Don’t start.”
“I think your PR team just felt a disturbance in the force—“ Lin Ling’s voice trailed off. Somewhere near, he noticed something.
The playground was empty.
It was too late for children to still be playing. Two swings creaked in the breeze, chains rusted, one of the seats tilted slightly to one side like it had given up waiting for a passenger.
Lin Ling stopped walking. His gaze was anchored to the movement of the seat.
“…Hey.”
Nice didn’t even look back. “No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Lin Ling smiled wryly.
“You’re looking at it,” Nice resounded. He knew that look, it was the look of a man who was about to find a distraction in the middle of a funeral.
Lin Ling switched directions, a flash of white in the shadows. “Come on. When was the last time you went to a playground?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Nice stopped walking.
“That long, huh?”
Lin Ling didn't wait for permission. The swing dipped under his weight with a sad groan that echoed through the quiet yard. “Heh,” he let out a smile, pushing off gently with the tips of his sneakers. “This thing definitely has a lower trust rating than me.”
Such enthusiasm made Nice let out a long sigh, akin to a tired babysitter, but he didn't head for the car. Instead, he moved toward the slide reflecting the moonlight. It was, at the very least sturdy, much cleaner than the swings. He sat on the very end carefully.
He stared at Lin Ling. “How old are you, exactly?”
“What kind of question is that? Getting to know you sort of thing?” Lin Ling asked as he swung. “Thought we’re just strangers here.”
“I’m asking,” Nice said, his eyes following the swing’s movement, “because you look far too old to still enjoy that.”
“It’s fun,” Lin Ling pushed off again. “Feels like I’m going somewhere. Even if I’m not.”
He gestured to the empty swing beside him.
“No thanks,” Nice said immediately, his gaze tracking the rust of the metal chains.
“You’re going to die anyway,” Lin Ling pointed out. “What’s with you being a killjoy?”
Killjoy is one thing. Notwithstanding, Nice would rather hear that than sit on a visibly unhygienic swing that stains him dirty. He hesitated.
Hesitated.
Which meant, he thought about it. So he stood up from the slide and took the seat. He sat with his back perfectly straight, his expression almost contorting as the swing creaked under him.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Lin Ling said.
“I’m sitting. This is how sitting works.”
“You’re supposed to pump your legs,” Lin Ling swung harder as if trying to demonstrate.
“I don’t need momentum,” Nice replied, smiling at Lin Ling. “I can fly.”
“Tch.” Lin Ling clicked his tongue, still kicking his legs. He rose higher. “I was thinking, your posture is too perfect. Even without the costume, people will stare. You have to slouch. Look like you have back pain and a mounting pile of debt.”
Nice took a breath and tried to fold his spine. “Like this?” he asked.
Instead of looking tired, he accidentally looked like a high-fashion model posing for an idol magazine.
“No!” Lin Ling groaned. “You look like you’re flirting while posing in a swing set.”
Nice blinked. “I’m not even smiling.”
Somehow Lin Ling felt a slight irritation, he couldn’t deny that Nice looked pretty without trying. A lucky bastard he was. “Look pathetic. Look like you just underwent a break up and you tried to distract yourself with your favorite show but realized it got canceled and you have no snacks left.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Nice remarked. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to look sad. When he opened them, he just looked hauntingly beautiful and tragic, like a statue in the rain.
“Forget it,” Lin Ling sighed. “You’re cursed.”
He slowed his pace, the chains clinking softly. “If there were kids here,” he said, his voice dropping, “they’d probably recognize you.”
Nice nodded. “Probably.”
“They’d ask for autographs. They’d ask you to fly, and you’d smile and do it wouldn't you?”
Nice didn’t answer. He simply watched his own shadow on the sand, long and motionless.
Lin Ling tilted his head, watching the hero’s profile. “Do you think you’d be happy?”
“I’d think,” Nice said carefully, “I’m on the right track.”
“Doesn’t your face hurt?” Lin Ling asked suddenly.
“From smiling?”
“From lying.”
Nice’s face went through an automatic transition, his lips curling into a flawless, practiced grin. “No.”
“Your left eye twitched.”
“That’s gratitude,” Nice lied, the smile never wavering.
Lin Ling stopped swinging entirely, his feet dragging in the sand to bring him to a halt. “I know it isn’t my place to ask, but… do you even like being a hero?”
The playground went silent, save for the wind.
“It’s complicated,” Nice said, the mask finally slipping just a fraction. “I remember wanting to be a hero.”
“Then why?” Lin Ling asked.
“Back at you,” Nice countered, turning to look at him. The question wasn’t something he was prepared to answer. “Why do you want to be a hero?”
“Well, they’re cool,” Lin Ling said, looking up at the sky. “You get to save people. Have abilities. Massive privileges too.”
“Is that all?”
“People… don’t look down on you,” Lin Ling whispered, voice trailing off into the rustling leaves. “They don’t look past you. When you’re a hero, you’re the only thing they see.”
Nice felt a heavy surge of words rise in his throat.
He knew that being seen isn't the same as being known. He knew that when people look at a hero, they aren't looking at a man, they’re looking at their own expectations. For all that, he didn’t know how to phrase the exact feeling. To speak would be to stop performing. At the same time, to speak would be to invalidate Lin Ling.
Before he could find a way to word something out, Lin Ling shook his head, physically tossing the mood away.
“Ahh, seriously, let’s not talk about this stuff,” Lin Ling said, jumping off the swing with a crunch of sand. “I just sound pathetic the more I speak to you. Don’t you have any ideas on how to die?”
Nice stood up from the swing. He adjusted his hoodie, his movements stiff. “Believe it or not,” he said quietly, “I’m not used to deciding things for myself.”
“I have an idea.” Lin ling smirked. “Volcano—”
“There are no volcanoes here,” Nice cut in quickly.
Lin Ling rolled his eyes. “See? If I suggest anything else, you’ll just find reasons why it’s bad. You’re like my boss. He finds faults in every proposal. There’s no way you don’t have anything in mind.”
Exactly as he said. Nice did have things in mind, only that he contemplates a lot before speaking. He turned his head, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the city's elevated tracks cut a line through the dark. He could hear the distant hum, a sound of pure, unstoppable transportation.
“The train,” Nice murmured.
Lin Ling’s face lit up, a grim beam of excitement breaking through. “You don’t say! We’re jumping on train railings?”
“Let’s go,” Nice said, already walking toward the car.
***
The station was louder than Nice expected. Many people lingered near the train tracks, phones glowing, some mid conversation, voices overlapped and footsteps echoed. It wasn’t the quiet stretch Lin Ling had promised.
Nice glanced sideways. “Didn’t you say there are barely any people at this station at this time?”
Lin Ling scanned the platform, bewildered. “That’s… normally what happens. Every other night.”
“Should we go further, then?” Nice asked. “I don’t normally take public transportation, so I can’t really tell where the best place would be.”
Lin Ling hesitated, “Any more isolated stations would be outside X City.”
Nice’s jaw set. “It’s non-negotiable then—”
A sudden shout cut through the noise.
“Sir—!”
Near the edge of the platform, a vendor’s cart had tipped awkwardly. The owner, who tried to prevent the cart from falling, lost his footing, his body dangling from the elevated ground while the cart teetered above him.
The train’s hum transitioned into a high-pitched scream at a distance. Its lights flickering at the mouth of the tunnel. It was seconds away.
Lin Ling didn’t think. “Hey! Careful!”
Nice did. “Wait—”
Still, Lin Ling moved immediately. He rushed forward, jumping onto the base of the railing to brace the man's weight; which in turn caused Nice to follow.
Nice didn’t know what compelled him — if it was habit, reflex, or something worse. Only that the sound of the approaching train drilled straight into his spine. His hand shot out, gripping the man’s shoulder from above as Lin Ling steadied him from below. Together, they heaved the man back onto elevated platform just as the train thundered past them, a wall of silver and light that shook the very air out of their lungs. The wind from the passage nearly tore Nice’s hoodie back, but he held it fast.
The crowd gathered instantly, drawn by the drama. Phones were pulled out, the glow of screens illuminating the scene. Some asking about the condition of the vendor.
Nice noticed it then.
In the flicker of the lights and the sea of shifting bodies, he noticed how easily Lin Ling got lost in the crowd. People were stepping right past him, looking through him to see the vendor and the ‘Hero’ in the hoodie. Lin Ling didn't even have to try to hide, he just... vanished into the background.
“Ah, young man, thank you,” the vendor said shakily, reaching out to thank his rescuers.
But Nice was already retreating. Unable to risk being recognized by a stray camera, he lowered his hoodie even further, his face a shadow. He turned and left immediately.
Lin Ling looked after him, then at the vendor, then at the small crowd already losing interest. He gave an awkward wave, murmured a quick “Take care,” and jogged after Nice.
Straight back to the car, Nice’s heart hammered against his ribs — not from the exertion, but from the close call. Into the passenger seat, Lin Ling slid in with slow, deliberate care, like someone trying not to wake a sleeping predator. He stared up front, his hands folded in his lap, avoiding Nice’s profile, looking every bit of guilty.
The silence in the car was suffocating with tension. Nice was quiet the whole time he started the car engine. Lin Ling was in the middle of rehearsing an apology inside his mind when Nice broke the silence.
“You just jumped. On the tracks.”
Lin Ling winced, his shoulders hunching.
“That was very dangerous,” Nice continued. He wasn't looking at Lin Ling, he was staring at the road with a terrifying focus.
“Yeah… sorry. I know it caught attention when you’re currently hiding,” Lin Ling whispered, looking down at his scuffed shoes, “but I wasn't thinking. I just saw the cart slipping and—”
“That’s not what I mean,” Nice snapped. He finally glanced over, and for a second, the mask was completely gone. His brows were knitted, filled with a confused, angry sort of fear. “The train was right there. Any later you would have died.”
Lin Ling blinked, speaking hesitantly. “But Nice… Isn’t that the point?”
As such, Nice opened his mouth to retort, then closed it just as quickly. He turned back to the road, searching for a logical answer that didn't exist. The problem was, he didn’t understand why he’s getting worked up either.
“It is,” Nice muttered at last.
“Do you,” Lin Ling asked, his voice small in the cabin of the car, “still want to do it?”
“Of course. It’s just…” Nice let out a long sigh. “What you did kind of reminded me of things.”
“Reminded you of what?”
“Not many heroes would actually risk their lives for a civilian anymore. Compared to the older generation, the newer ones are just famous,” Nice said, his grip on the wheel loosening. “I saw my favorite hero in you, I guess. For a second.”
The mediocre passenger had to process the words first, three seconds before his eyes widened. Lin Ling looked away, embarrassed by the gravity of the compliment. “You have a favorite hero?”
“Of course I do,” Nice replied faintly. “How else do you think I ended up like one?”
Lin Ling glanced at him “…Do you mind if I ask who?”
Nice didn’t answer right away.
“Smile.”
And the atmosphere went still.
Lin Ling also went still, for he had heard the name before. Even if he didn’t work in the industry, he’d know because everyone knew that name. And everyone knew that Smile had died just recently.
“Oh,” Lin Ling whispered, his heart sinking. “I’m… so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Nice replied. “It happens.” The way he said it didn’t match his earlier words. His voice was perfectly steady. A bit too steady, as a matter of fact.
However, Lin Ling noticed the way Nice’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, never blinking, and the way the muscles in his neck had gone rigid. Beneath that calm, there was a subtle shift, a flicker of something that wasn’t just grief or loss, except Lin Ling couldn’t quite point it out. He imagined there was more to it, but it wasn’t in his place to push further.
So instead, he asked, “What do we do now?”
Nice pondered the question, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “You’re the one who has the creative ideas.”
Which wasn’t entirely wrong, creativity was indeed a forte for someone who made 134 successful commercials of Nice and Moon alone. Although, it wasn't exactly a compliment in Lin Ling’s standpoint, it was merely a necessary skill to survive. He looked out at the passing blurred lights.
“Just drop me off somewhere…”
With that said, the car slowed slightly as Nice glanced over.
“You’re backing out?”
“No,” Lin Ling sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. “Thing is… I feel like I’m getting in your way.”
“Where will you go then?” Nice asked.
“I don’t know. Sleep somewhere, I guess. A park bench, maybe.”
Nice’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you have a place to stay?”
“How do I say this. I’m kind of living with my relatives. I’ve been working to save money so I could move out, but then I lost my job and I couldn't pay part of my—”
Lin Ling caught himself, seeing the high-tech interior of the car and the hero beside him. The reality of his small life suddenly felt embarrassing in the face of a famous figure.
“Ah. Okay, that was very uninteresting,” Lin Ling muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got carried away. Forget I said anything.”
That was what Lin Ling said, but it wasn’t entirely a phrase Nice could simply ‘forget’. Nice didn't look back at the road, he looked at Lin Ling, seeing the way he tried to make himself small. Like a man who had spent his whole life trying to pay debts to people who likely never intended to repay him, given that Nice was not unfamiliar with that notion.
“Let’s check in for the night,” Nice said incessantly.
***
The hotel towered over them, overwhelming enough that Lin Ling had to stop at the entrance, his head raised as he looked up at the glass and marble structure. Even from outside, he could smell the scent of sandalwood and fresh lilies. In short, it smelled expensive.
“Wait, Nice,” Lin Ling hissed, pulling back toward the automatic doors. “I don’t have any money with me. I don’t think I can even afford the water in the lobby.”
Anyway, Nice didn't stop, he was already walking toward the front desk, face hidden behind a sleek black mask and a cap. “Who said you’re paying? I still have some money left. Let’s spend it all since we’re dying anyway.”
The lobby was both clean and sleek. A receptionist in tailored uniform looked up with a professional smile. “Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
“None,” Nice replied, his voice was muffled by the mask.
“I see. Let me check if there are any available for walk-ins.” The staff member’s fingers danced over a silent touchscreen. “We have a few openings. Standard or deluxe?”
“Two deluxe,” Nice said without a second thought. “Adjacent, preferably.”
Lin Ling stepped up beside him, whispering urgently. “It feels like a waste. We’re only staying for a few hours. A standard— no, a couch in the lobby is more than enough.”
Beneath the brim of his hat, Nice glanced at him. He saw the way Lin Ling was nervously smoothing out his wrinkled white shirt, trying to look like he belonged in a place that cost more per night than he used to make in a month.
“It’s just money,” Nice said, turning back to the receptionist to hand over a credit card. “Besides, you did something good today.”
After a quick swipe, the receptionist slid a form across the marble counter along with Nice’s card. “Rooms 4201 and 4202 are available. If you could just fill out the guest details for the rooms, sir.”
Lin Ling shifted on his feet, his heart racing.
This was it. The moment of truth. He leaned in, his eyes darting toward the clipboard as Nice picked up the fountain pen. He was desperate to catch a glimpse — to finally see Nice’s real name.
The latter glanced at him, side-eyeing behind the mask. He didn't need to hide the form. “Peek as much as you want,” Nice uttered, his voice brimming with amusement.
Lin Ling leaned in further, squinting at the elegant handwriting. His jaw dropped.
Nice had simply written: Lin Ling.
“Nice!!” Lin Ling choked on his own breath, trying to keep his voice down. “Didn’t you just use your card? Your name is on the account! They’re going to see the mismatch!”
“They don’t check,” Nice whispered calmly. “Trust me.”
The words ought Lin Ling to flick his gaze up, only to catch the receptionist glancing at Nice again. And again. Whatever the reason was.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Uh. She’s kind of looking at you a lot though.”
Nice didn’t even blink. “I am aware.”
“I think she has a crush on you,” Lin Ling continued, a bit of his nervous energy leaking out, “or you just got recognized. Which I hope isn’t the case. If she’s observant, it’s going to be bad news.”
Nice capped the pen and slid the form back to the staff member with a steady hand. The receptionist didn’t even look at the form, she simply smiled politely and greeted “Enjoy your stay,” before handing the keycards.
It was Nice who took both keycards in one hand. He made a polite nod and began walking toward the elevators.
On the other hand, Lin Ling scrambled to keep up, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. “Did you see that? She was totally staring! I’m telling you, even with the mask, you have ‘Main Character’ energy.”
The said Main Character watched the elevator doors slide open. “It doesn't matter.” Then stepped inside. “If you pay enough, people stop asking questions and start minding their own business.” Except, deep inside, Mr. Main Character was secretly hoping his words wouldn’t backfire. What mattered was his flawless show of confidence made Lin Ling relax even just for a little.
Inside 4202, Nice didn’t turn on the lights. The door shut softly behind him. His mask and hat slipped from his fingers and landed on the carpet without care. He immediately lay flat on the bed.
The mattress was designed to make a person feel like they were floating, but Nice felt like he was sinking through the floor. He stared at the ceiling, where the faint glow of the city filtered through the curtains, then finally closed his eyes. But of course, as always, he couldn’t sleep. Silence never brought rest nor did it bring comfort. Every time he closed his eyes, it made space for him to recall.
Every. Single. Failure.
The Ruins Incident. The Smile Incident. The Top Ten Rankings.
A dog.
And… his best friend.
His jaw tightened, he opened his eyes again, breathing out through his nose as if that could reset something. He lifted an arm and draped it over his eyes, pressing just hard enough to feel the ache.
Still there.
None of it ever went away.
Nice rolled onto his side, looking at the wall that separated his room from Lin Ling’s. For a moment, he envied the man next door. Lin Ling had lost his job and his place in the world, but at least when he closed his eyes, he didn't have a gallery of people waiting to give him a standing ovation.
The silence of the room became too unbearable. Hence, he got up and headed for the balcony. It was the closest thing to comfort he knew — heights. The higher the altitude the more the world below looked like a problem he didn't have to solve. The wind that brushed past him, even if it was cold, it felt more honest than the heated luxury of the hotel.
“Nice?”
He turned his head. Lin Ling was already there, leaning against the railing of the adjacent balcony, his hair windswept and messy.
“Oh? Hey,” Nice said, his voice carrying easily in the thin air. “Can’t sleep?”
“Kind of. Yes. I’m not used to the bed,” Lin Ling admitted. “And the room. Feels like I’m in a museum than a room.”
Nice let out a small, tired smile. “So, any more plans on your mind?”
“I do have ideas,” Lin Ling looked up at the vast, dark expanse above them. “But I’ll tell you later. Let’s enjoy the night first, it’s our last.”
Nice followed his gaze upward.
“We won’t be able to see it any longer once we die,” said Lin Ling, smiling faintly as if the sky were a beautiful thing meant for someone else.
“The moon?” Nice asked, almost scoffing, as the name felt bitter on his tongue, for it reminded him of a certain someone.
“The sky,” Lin Ling corrected softly. “After all, it’s not like we’ll go up there if we commit suicide. Don’t you ever wonder what’s up there?”
Did Nice wonder? Not really.
He remained silent. He had been high enough to see the world below, and all he’d felt was how far away he was from home.
“Speaking of the moon…” Lin Ling started.
Nice’s expression shifted instantly, a ripple of loathing tightening his jaw.
“Did you just frown?” Lin Ling asked, squinting through the dark.
Nice forced his lips into a practiced curve. “No.”
“You did! Don’t tell me you had an argument with your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Nice repeated, the word sounding foreign.
“Yeah. Who else but the perfect, beautiful…” Lin Ling cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping onto his cheeks even in the dark. “…Xiao Yueqing. Aka Moon.”
“Of course,” Nice’s tone turned sharp, dripping with a sudden, cold irritation. “That’s just on TV. Like any other media personality, she’s not as dreamlike as you think.”
Lin Ling blinked, taken aback by the bite in Nice’s voice. “What do you mean? You’re literally a power couple. Well, most of it is because I make really great ads. But still...”
“What’s with that look? You look like you’re head over heels for her or something,” Nice muttered, turning back to the skyline. “I’m not even going to talk about it”
To Lin Ling, it didn’t sound like Nice was ending the conversation, but a starter. He gripped the railing and began to climb over. “Wait a sec. I’m getting really curious now,” he said.
“What are you doing?” Nice reacted. Without thinking, he felt the familiar release of gravity. He floated, his boots leaving the balcony floor as he drifted toward the gap between the railings. “You’re going to fall.”
“I’m suicidal, don’t be overprotective,” Lin Ling reminded him, one leg over the edge, trying to cross-over the balcony instead of simply doing a roundabout and entering Nice’s room through the actual door, looking remarkably calm for someone forty stories up.
Nice didn't argue, he just hovered there, his hand positioned inches away from Lin Ling, ready to catch him any second.
And so they leaned on the balcony railings together.
Nice didn't look at the skyline, he was staring at Lin Ling.
The latter caught the gaze. Lin Ling felt the stare before he even saw it. “What’s this?” He made a smirk as he turned to Nice. “Finally appreciating my handsomeness?”
“I mean,” Nice said calmly, “you are handsome.” There was no teasing in his tone. Just a flat, honest observation.
“Gah. You’re just indulging me at this point,” Lin Ling muttered, swatting at the air.
“I’m just saying what I think,” Nice replied, his eyes never leaving Lin Ling’s face. He leaned back against the sliding glass door, deceptively relaxed for a man on the brink of an ending. “Maybe if I had met you earlier, I might have asked you out.”
Lin Ling coughed violently into his fist. “Excuse me?!”
Nice didn't retract the statement. Instead, a grin spread across his face, something real and slightly mischievous.
Lin Ling looked away immediately, his ears burning. “Good thing you haven’t met me earlier, then.”
“Why not?”
“You look like a playboy,” Lin Ling grumbled, staring intensely at a distant billboard. “You’re charming, you’re famous, and you’re a literal celebrity. You would’ve made me cry in a week and call it a part of ‘character development’.”
Nice’s smile widened, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You’re more concerned about that than the fact that I’m a guy?”
The realization hit Lin Ling a second too late. He froze and turned a shade of red that was visible even in the moonlight. He sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Ah! Whatever! Let’s just kill ourselves already!” Lin Ling shouted, his face flushed as he pushed past Nice and shamelessly marched into the hero’s room.
The two suicidal idiots didn't use a rope.
They didn't have any.
Instead, they spent thirty minutes silently tearing at the expensive hotel blankets, braiding the fabric into two makeshift nooses, which was obviously Lin Ling’s idea. They stood side-by-side in the marble-tiled bathroom, balancing on a single designer chair they’d dragged inside.
Lin Ling fumbled with the knot over the heavy-duty hanging pole above the bathtub. His hands were shaking, though his mind was set.
“If you see me struggling,” Lin Ling said, voice slightly above whisper, eyes fixed on the white tile, “don’t help me.”
“Okay.” Nice adjusted his own fabric loop, his movements steady but his gaze distant. “But if you get scared, don’t push it. I won't judge you. I’ll be dead by then.”
They shared one last, fleeting look. A look between two people who had nothing left.
“On three?” Lin Ling asked.
“On three,” Nice replied.
As soon as they were about to kick the chair off, “W-wait.” Lin Ling’s breath hitched, his eyes wide.
“Hm? Should I untie it for you now?” Nice’s tone was devoid of judgment, ready to let Lin Ling walk away if his resolve had shattered.
“No,” Lin Ling swallowed hard, his throat working against the fabric. “They said… it’s better to jump. So that the weight— the rope snaps your neck and it’ll be painless. If we just slide off, we’ll just… choke.”
In a sense, that method also meant, Nice wouldn’t be able to fly out of instinct that responds to pain. Nice looked at the pole above them, then back at Lin Ling. He gave a single, somber nod. “Alright.”
In a singular, desperate burst of shared courage, they threw their weight forward.
They jumped.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't the snap of a neck or the finality of a breath, it was the screech of metal being torn from a wall. The ‘heavy-duty’ pole, never intended to support the weight of two grown men gave way instantly.
They didn't swing, they fell.
Both of them landed in the oversized bathtub. The pole clattered against the marble floor.
“Ouch!” Lin Ling yelped, rubbing the back of his head as he tried to untangle his legs from Nice’s. “What the— What happened?”
Nice was pinned beneath a pile of white fabric, his chest heaving. A sound started deep in his throat — a low vibration that Lin Ling thought was a sob, until he realized Nice was shaking.
Nice started to laugh.
He coughed, his shoulders trembling as he wiped moisture from his eyes. It was a raw, un-heroic sound. “It fell,” he managed to choke out, gesturing weakly at the wall where the pole used to be.
Lin Ling stared at the wreckage. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Looks like it’s not our time yet,” he whispered.
Nice stood up. “Wait here. I have an idea.”
He stepped out of the bath and returned a moment later carrying a hair dryer. He sat back down in the tub with Lin Ling, the porcelain cold against their skin as he reached for the faucet. The water began to fill the tub with a rising warmth that felt like a countdown.
“They have these,” Nice said, glancing at the dryer in his hand.
“By the way…” Lin Ling started, his voice echoing. “Are you sure you want me here? When they find us, I’ll be photobombing your autopsy photo—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Because in lieu of answering with words, Nice grabbed the shower head and splashed a stream of water directly onto Lin Ling’s face.
“Hey!” Lin Ling sputtered, wiping his eyes.
“They said it’s better if your head is wet,” Nice stated, a faint smile playing on his lips. He turned the water on himself then, soaking his own white hair until it plastered against his forehead.
Across him, Lin Ling watched quietly. Before, Nice used to look unreachable. Now he just looked like a man. A tired, conceivably frightened man.
Nice brushed his palms through his face, clearing the water. That’s when he caught Lin Ling staring in a daze, still dripping wet. His expression was far from the man in the car who looked too eager to die.
“Sorry,” Nice murmured.
“I’m sorry too…” Lin Ling replied.
“Why?”
“I ruined your plan,” Lin Ling said, looking at the water rising toward their waists. “And I… didn't change your mind.”
For a bit, only the sound of the running water could be heard.
“Actually, me too,” Nice looked down at the surface, watching the ripples, seeing his own distorted reflection. “I was thinking of stopping you. But… I knew it wasn't my place. Nor do I have the right to.”
The steam from the warm water was starting to rise now, fogging the mirrors.
“Are you scared?” Lin Ling asked.
Nice’s hand, resting on the edge of the tub didn’t tremble at all. But what he answered was, “…Yes.”
“Me too,” Lin Ling replied instantly, but quietly.
Nice reached through the water and took both Lin Ling’s hands. His grip was firm, but it did not feel like the grip of a hero saving a civilian. Rather, it felt like the grip of a person who didn't want to be alone.
Even still, what Nice said was, “You don’t have to do this.”
“The same goes for you,” Lin Ling countered.
Nice shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I’d be able to keep doing what I’m doing. It’s a cage I can’t break from the inside. You, on the other hand, you still have the potential to be something more. You have a heart that jumps before it thinks.”
“Let me do this alone,” Nice added.
Lin Ling gripped Nice’s hand tighter.
“Nobody’s waiting for me,” Lin Ling said, his voice cracking but firm. “I want to do this.”
Accepting the finality of it, Nice slowly picked up the plugged-in hairdryer, the hum of the small motor vibrating through his arm, enough to cover-up how his hand trembled. It felt like both a death sentence and a lifeline. Then, he looked at Lin Ling, trying to memorize his face.
When Nice placed his free palm over Lin Ling’s eyes, he knew it was an urge he didn’t need to suppress. While he’s clueless as to where the gesture came from, he did it because he could. Returning the gesture, Lin Ling reached up, placing both of his hands over Nice’s palm, clutching tight.
The hero let go of the dryer.
The splash was small, but the silence that followed was deafening.
Everything turned black instantly.
Because the power was dead — a power outage to be exact. That’s right, for a heartbeat, they both thought they were gone. They waited for the pain, the surge of current, but it never came. Instead, there was only the sound of their own heavy, synchronized breathing.
“Huh?” Lin Ling’s voice was a ragged whisper in the dark.
“Is that it?” Nice asked. He felt his heart pounding against his chest. A living rhythm.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
A heavy, authoritative knock rattled the bathroom door.
“What’s that?” Lin Ling gasped, his grip on Nice’s hand tightening until it hurt.
The knocking came again, faster this time.
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
“Tss,” Nice hissed.
“Nice?”
“They’ve come for us.”
“Who— Grim Reapers?!”
A voice boomed from the other side of the bathroom door, muffled but clear, “Mr. Lin Ling!” It was the staff, but their tone wasn't polite, it was urgent.
Nice pulled his hand away, the cold atmosphere hitting his wet skin. “We have to go. They might’ve found something off with the registration, or my company’s team has already tracked me through the card.”
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
“We’re coming in!”
The bathroom door swung open with a heavy click. The staff and security were met with…
Nothing.
The only signs of life were the hair dryer floating in the tub, the pole on the floor, the window curtains snapping violently in the wind, and a bundle of cash seemingly there as payment for the damage.
The culprits were already speeding down the road.
Nice drove like a man possessed, the engine of the luxury car screaming as it tore through the highway.
“Hey! You’re going to hit someone!” Lin Ling yelled, clutching the door handle. “If you want to die, don’t involve others!”
“I know what I’m doing. But you are aware I’m a runaway,” Nice said with gritted teeth. Frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t get a moment for himself. Frustrated by the fact that every time he does something, it always ends up a failure.
“That’s not an excuse to—”
“I won’t get others into an accident!” Nice’s voice cracked, a rare, unpolished growl. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles went white. “Do you also believe I’d mess up? Is that what you think of me?”
“You were the one who planned for the hotel,” Lin Ling responded back, his own fear turning into anger.
Despite Lin Ling’s suppressed tone, the phrase itself didn’t help Nice’s case. “Great, so it’s my fault! Everything is my fault!”
“Are we even going to do this?” Lin Ling demanded. “Because if not, just pull over and I’ll leave.”
Nice responded immediately, “Of course we are! I thought we were doing this together?” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking if they’re being followed.
“Why do you still want to do this?” Lin Ling pushed, his voice getting louder every second. “What did you really do? What's so bad that you can't just go back to your stupid, perfect life?”
That word again. He’d heard that word so many damn times, Nice got sick of it. But the ‘perfect’ person he was, he gathered himself and refrained from losing control of his own emotions. “Look, I just got distracted for a moment, okay? We’ll proceed with the plan—”
“Did you mess up on a set or something? Did you get someone pregnant? Is it some trashy scandal? What?!” Lin Ling didn’t let him finish.
Nice slammed a hand against the steering wheel. “Do you really think I’m that shallow?!”
“Then why do you want to kill yourself?” Lin Ling’s voice suddenly dropped, cutting through the roar of the engine. “The truth, Nice. The truth.”
An exasperated sigh left Nice, a sound that seemed to drain the energy right out of him. The car didn't slow down, but the fire in his eyes died out.
“Everything,” Nice whispered, his voice trembling. “Everything about me is wrong. Every smile I gave was a lie. Every person I saved, I saved because I was told to. I don’t even know what my own face looks like without a camera in front of it.”
“So what?” Lin Ling’s voice was quieter now, but the confusion remained. “You’re literally loved by people. Millions of them would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
“They love ‘Nice’,” Nice spat the name like a curse. “Not me.”
Lin Ling stayed silent.
“They don’t know about the parts I hid,” Nice continued. “They don’t know that I followed orders even when I knew they were wrong. They don’t know that I was willing to feign ignorance just to maintain my rankings. They don’t know…”
He choked on the words, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until the leather creaked.
“…that I played a part in my own role model’s death.”
The car seemed to grow colder, as if the ghost of Smile was sitting in the back seat. The worst part was, Nice toned down his phrasing. The truth was worse, way more inhumane from an outside perspective, and Nice wasn’t oblivious of it. Yet, sugarcoated as it was, it still sounded messed up.
“I- but why?” Lin Ling asked, his eyes wide with horror. “Couldn’t you just refuse? The public didn’t demand that from you. They would have supported you if you’d stood up.”
“The public didn’t demand it, yes,” Nice whispered, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. “But you know who did? The only person I ever considered family.”
Lin Ling’s breath stopped. Although he didn’t word it out, he had a small inkling on who it might have been.
“Of course I’d trust his judgment. Of course I’d follow him,” Nice said, a bitter laugh escaping him.
“He was a father to me.”
The car slowed for just a fraction.
“He took a kid with nothing and told me I could be a hero,” Nice muttered, his voice dropping to a hollow, haunting register. “I just wanted to be a good son. I did everything he asked because…”
The pause was deafening.
“Because I knew exactly how devastated he felt when he lost his real one.”
Silence fell back over the car, heavier than before. The reality was, Nice hadn't been solely chasing the Top Ten for glory, he’d also been chasing it for the sake of being good enough to fill a dead boy’s shoes. It wasn’t one over the other.
Nevertheless, killing two birds with one stone was easier said than done. Either you can’t have both, or you can’t have anything at all.
Nice didn’t ask the question out loud, but it lingered between them anyway.
“What about you then? What’s your reason for wanting to die?”
Reason.
It was something Lin Ling couldn’t deny existed. However, wording it out would make it seem small. It wasn’t that it’s insignificant but because it wasn’t one clean wound he could point to. It wasn’t one big thing then another, it was a slow erosion of things that were never dramatic enough to be named.
On top of that, comparison was inevitable. How could it not be, standing next to someone whose worth was measured in lives saved and disasters averted? Lin Ling’s value had always been quieter — tied to what he could make, not what he could do. Put beside Nice’s confession, his own suffering felt unbearably ordinary.
Most of all, he didn’t feel like he had the right to speak. Empathy was a curse. Lin Ling wasn’t lacking it, he lived with it — understanding first, adjusting second, shrinking himself until he fit perfectly into the corners of other people’s lives. That was the least he could do as a man ignored by a world that didn't even care enough to hate him.
So of course, he won’t be able to word out… a reason.
What he could do was what he does best, and it was to give someone else space to exist in their pain.
“You’re allowed to hate, you know,” Lin Ling said softly.
During the silence that followed, Nice let that word sink in.
Hate.
It didn't fit his name at all. Hatred was a distinct emotion — defined and sharp at the edges. What Nice had lived as was something duller. Years spent moving when pulled, smiling when prompted. A puppet, but not exactly a perfect one. Considering that a perfect puppet wouldn’t have felt anything at all.
It would’ve been nice if that was the case. But no, he had a heart.
And his heart wasn’t made of stone.
So yes, it hurt.
***
“Nice, where are we going?” Lin Ling asked, his voice echoing in the quiet hallway of the high-rise as he trailed behind Nice.
“Aren’t you looking for a place to stay the night?” Nice replied, his steps heavy.
What Lin Ling first thought was: “Not really.”
What he said was: “You have a private apartment? I thought you live in the Hero Tower.”
For the reason that, obviously, after learning Nice was capable of getting ‘emotional’, he didn’t want to risk it any longer. It did take Lin Ling a while to decide himself that he’ll stop testing the hero’s limits, yes, but he does deserve the credit for putting up with Nice as well. Goodness knows he’s doing a really great job, preventing himself from asking, “Are we doing something illegal?”
“Where do you think I lived before I moved there?” Nice said shortly, unlocking a door with a manual key rather than a biometric scan.
When Lin Ling peeked inside, he didn't see the sleek, minimalist perfection of the hotel. The room was clean, but it had a palpable, human messiness that didn't fit Nice’s image. There were empty alcohol bottles tucked into a corner as if someone had meant to deal with them later, rainbow fridge magnets scattered without pattern, an unfolded blanket abandoned on the sofa, and a crack on the television.
“Doesn’t that mean you’re not a resident here anymore?” Lin Ling hesitated at the threshold, afraid to intrude.
“I’m not,” Nice said simply. “What are you waiting for? Come in.”
The chance of Nice being a bad influence is low, but never zero. The evidence was, Lin Ling found himself unknowingly thinking to himself, “Ah, fuck it,” as he entered the room.
Lin Ling followed Nice, “Aren’t we intruding?”, still uneasy, eyes darting around.
“It’s fine,” Nice replied, toeing off his shoes. “No one’s coming home tonight.”
“How are you so sure—” Lin Ling stopped mid-sentence. His gaze fell on the pictures hung on the wall. They were multiple photos of Nice locked in combat with his nemesis.
It clicked. Lin Ling made a small gesture, hitting his fist against his palm. “I see. You’re still in contact with the owner. Or you’re friends. Given that they keep photos of you.”
“Roommates,” Nice corrected, absently straightening the scattered alcohol bottles on the counter. “And I can’t say much about being in contact.”
“I just… know his schedule,” Nice added, his voice trailing off.
“Yeah,” Lin Ling thought. “You’re definitely not just roommates.”
His eyes drifted to the desk, specifically, the framed photo sitting there. In the photo, Nice’s face had been vandalized with marker — doodles, mustache, cat whiskers. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked more human than Lin Ling had ever seen him. Beside him, a man in a red vest draped an arm over Nice’s shoulder, grinning widely and flashing a peace sign at the camera.
The sight made Lin Ling feel a strange, unexpected clench in his chest. The reason why the realization hurt was unbeknownst to him. All he knew was that the intimacy of the space was overwhelming.
“Is this him?” Lin Ling pointed to the man in red vest.
One quick glance at the photo and Nice looked away immediately, folding the blanket on the sofa. “Mm.”
Lin Ling’s fingers lingered on the edge of the next frame. He picked it up before he could stop himself.
They were standing shoulder to shoulder. Nice was in his costume. Beside him stood the same man, clad in black that contrasted Nice’s white outfit, helmet tucked under his arm. A familiar arrow-shaped visor gleamed faintly against the dark plating.
Lin Ling’s eyes widened as he decoded the image. His gaze flicked back to the other frames lining the wall, comparing the black costume in the photo to the ‘villain’ in the frames.
It was a perfect match.
“Wait,” he turned to Nice, “isn’t this—”
Before he could finish the name ‘Wreck’, Nice moved. The motion was so swift and desperate it felt like a blur. He snatched the frame from Lin Ling’s hand.
With that, Lin Ling involuntarily stepped back, staring at Nice, who briefly held the photo close to his chest before placing it back on the table. Gently, almost reverently, he turned it face down. In some way, Nice looked more defeated than he had in the bathtub.
“Wait here,” Nice uttered, his voice clipped as he quickly dismissed Lin Ling. “I'm going to take a shower. Watch the TV as much as you like. There’s... food in the kitchen, probably.”
He didn't wait for a response before disappearing into the bathroom door.
That left Lin Ling standing in the center of the living room, feeling like a smudge of ink on a clean page. He looked at the cracked television — a massive, high-definition screen that likely only ever broadcasted lies — and decided against turning it on. The silence of the apartment was more honest. Wherefore, all he did was sit on the edge of the sofa, his eyes lingering to the fridge magnets. They were so vibrant and chaotic compared to the man who just walked away. He imagined Wreck standing here, tilting those magnets just to annoy Nice.
Lin Ling didn't realize when he started drifting off. He was hovering on the edge of a dream until he felt a squeeze on his cheek.
“Hey,” a gentle voice murmured. “If you’re sleepy, you can use my bed.”
As Lin Ling’s eyes fluttered open, he saw Nice standing over him. His white hair damp, droplets still clinging to his skin. He was half-bare, a towel draped carelessly over one shoulder.
Lin Ling’s eyes went wide for a split second, taking in the sight, before he looked away frantically, “Wah—! Please put on a shirt! You’re going to get a cold...”
And a really, really small thought that said, “Damn he has a huggable waist.”
Nice didn't seem bothered. He reached into a nearby pile of laundry and tossed a soft, dark fabric at Lin Ling’s head. “Here,” he said, his voice unusually relaxed. “You can use this.”
“Is this yours?” Lin Ling caught the shirt, the fabric feeling comfortable against his hands. He held it up, blinking.
“It’s Wreck’s,” Nice said simply, turning to grab a glass of water.
Lin Ling froze, his fingers tightening on the fabric. “Uh. No thanks. I definitely can’t use this.”
“It’ll be fine. He won’t mind,” Nice assured him, glancing over his shoulder, gaze lingering on the shirt for a second too long. “Take a bath first. You’ll feel better.”
“Fine,” Lin Ling grumbled, standing up and clutching the shirt to his chest like a shield. “But if he comes home and tries to 'Wreck' me for wearing his clothes, I’m telling him it was your idea.”
After some time, they… didn’t end up sleeping.
They played a card game instead. Twas, Lin Ling’s suggestion. The moment he caught sight of a deck in a drawer, the decision happened without delay. To his surprise, the perfect Hero was actually losing.
“Okay. Truth or dare,” Lin Ling asked, leaning forward as Nice stared down at his losing hand.
“Truth,” Nice tried not to grumble, his shoulders slumped.
Lin Ling didn't speak immediately. Not because he was thinking of a question, but because he was observing Nice — the way he shuffled the cards with robotic precision even when his powder-blue eyes were distant.
“Are you on bad terms with Wreck?”
The air in the room solidified. Nice continued to shuffle, the sound of the cards, the only sound in the room. He didn't look up.
“Why?” Nice asked in a neutral tone.
“Nothing. I just don’t have any better questions to ask,” Lin Ling replied, pulling his knees to his chest. Wreck’s shirt looked bigger on him.
“Another personal question,” Nice finally looked up, a flicker of his old, arrogant persona sparking in his eyes as a defense mechanism. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on me?”
Lin Ling didn't even blink. “For someone who’s depressed and suicidal, you’re really full of yourself.”
The jab hit home. Nice’s smirk faltered, and he let out a short, dry breath that might have been a laugh. He reached over and picked up the set of colored markers. He handed them to Lin Ling.
“So he’s willing to go that far...” Lin Ling thought, slightly surprised.
The punishment for failing to do a dare or answering a truth was to allow the winner to draw on the loser’s face. It was Lin Ling’s idea, since he knew Nice was a perfectionist. His face was his brand. Thus, it would dread him to have it ruined by ink.
Anyhow, Nice wasn't refusing. He tilted his chin up, exposing his face. Although, he looked like he was about to make the worst sacrifice of his life, his eye visibly twitching as Lin Ling uncapped a bright blue marker.
“Do your worst,” Nice whispered, closing his eyes, trembling still. “It’s not like I’m going to a photoshoot tomorrow.”
It was quite a sight — Nice looking more afraid of markers than any villain — that it amused Lin Ling. He leaned in, his hand steady. He didn't draw something cruel. He started with a simple star, the kind a child might draw, on Nice's cheek. For every lie Nice had told the world, Lin Ling planned to leave a mark that was true.
“It will be unfair for Wreck if you’d leave him just like that,” Lin Ling muttered softly, his eyes fixed on the blue ink rather than Nice’s gaze.
“How is it leaving when we’re already separated with our current situation? It’s no different,” Nice sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “The world thinks we hate each other. He lives here, I live in a floating tower. We’re already gone from each other’s lives.”
“Death ‘is’ different,” Lin Ling pulled back just enough to look Nice in the eye. “It’s permanent.”
“Your turn,” Nice declared. It was unclear whether he dismissed the statement or not, but he didn’t wipe the star away. “Deal the cards.”
Strangely enough, they didn’t play the whole night.
Nice had slept. For the first time in years, the crushing weight hadn't sat on his chest, and he had drifted into a deep, dreamless void. He hadn't even felt Lin Ling leaning over him, gently putting a blanket.
He didn’t hear it.
When Lin Ling whispered, “Sorry.”
***
The next day came.
The sun finally clawed its way into the apartment, but to Nice, it didn't feel like a new beginning, it felt like an intrusion. Nice sat up, blinking against the light. The apartment felt oddly empty, like a place that had been abandoned. Perchance it was the silence. Needless to say, his first instinct was to look for his suicide companion.
“Lin Ling?” he called out.
His voice sounded strange to his own ears. It was the first time he had pronounced the name correctly after all.
There was no response. There was only Nice in the room.
On his bed, lie Wreck’s shirt, folded neatly. Nice stood up, his heart beginning a slow, heavy thud against his ribs. He checked the kitchen, he checked the corners, the balcony, and finally, he pushed open the bathroom door.
Gone.
Just like that.
Leaving Nice standing in the center of the living room, a hand running through his now messy hair, his face still bearing the faint, blue ink of the star Lin Ling had drawn on his cheek.
“That’s it?” Nice muttered to himself, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and a rising, stinging sense of betrayal.
“After I told him everything?”
To Nice, who had spent his life being a product for others, Lin Ling’s departure felt like the ultimate breach of contract. They were supposed to be in this together. They were supposed to be the only two people who saw through the lie.
He turned toward the distant city skyline visible through the window. The world was waking up, ready to demand more smiles, more rescues, and more perfection from a man who had nothing left to give.
How despicable it was.
Nice walked over to a heavy drawer in the desk, Wreck’s drawer. He pulled it open and reached past the old photos and papers.
There it was, a gun.
His fingers closed around the cold, heavy grip of the weapon. The same voices were coming back to haunt him. He didn't need a ‘creative’ plan anymore.
“Smile, Nice! Smile naturally.”
The trust was broken.
“Before you smile, think about what’s truly worthy of your joy.”
The companion was gone.
“Mr. Nice, what do you think of a double-suicide.”
Nice smiled then.
.
.
.
…
Meanwhile, right outside, Lin Ling had been walking through the hallway. His mind, probably looping over the fact that he couldn't even buy a cup of coffee.
BANG.
The sound was heavy, final, and sickeningly loud. It tore through the quiet of the high-rise like a scream. The startled Lin Ling’s steady strides immediately turned into a frantic, desperate sprint.
“Nice?”
Nothing answered.
“Nice?!”
Lin Ling reached the door and hammered on it, his fists bruising against the wood. The impact stung but compared to his throbbing heart, he barely felt it.
“Hey! Nice!” His voice cracked, panic rising fast and uncontrollable. “Nice, open up!”
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
“Shit— Nice!! Someone…” The word died in his throat, replaced by a sick, tightening dread. “Please no—”
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
“NICE!!!” Lin Ling didn’t stop calling out desperately, his head pressed on the door. “NICE ANSWER ME—”
THUMP—
The door swung open abruptly.
Nice stood there, his hair disheveled, looking every bit like a man who had just seen his own ghost.
Lin Ling didn't wait for an explanation, he lunged forward, shoving Nice, palms striking his chest with more emotion than force. It was a weak push against a hero’s frame, but somehow it made Nice stagger back.
“What the hell was that?!” Lin Ling shouted, his voice shaking. “What did you do??”
Taken aback by the sheer force of Lin Ling’s panic, Nice replied an automatic, hollow, "Nothing.” He looked at Lin Ling, whose eyes were wide and glassy, face looking every bit like it was about to shatter into a thousand pieces.
Another shove. “Liar! What did you just do?”
“Like I told you—”
“Why did I hear a gunshot?” Lin Ling demanded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I thought you just…”
Hesitation crawled over Nice. Instead of answering, he managed to ask, “Where did you go?”
“I just got some air!” Lin Ling yelled, the frustration taking over. “I wanted coffee, but I realized I had no money, so I came back here! Didn’t we just talk last night? I thought we were okay? Didn’t we plan to do this together? Why would you try to go without me? Why?”
The accusation hung in the air. However, the only thing Nice seemed to process was how Lin Ling was making a fuss, just because he thought he was… dead? It made his heart skip a beat.
“I'm sorry,” Nice whispered. He reached out his hand to steady the man in front, but Lin Ling pushed him again, his eyes welling up with a furious, heartbroken light.
“No! You’re so unfair! I thought we’d do it together. I thought I wasn't alone in this!”
Nice didn't let him strike again. He stepped forward and grabbed Lin Ling firmly by the shoulders, his grip grounding them both. "Yes. Yes, exactly. We’ll do it together."
“You were going to leave me, weren't you?” Lin Ling struggled against the hold, his voice cracking. “You were going to take the easy way out and disappear on me!”
“No. It was an accident,” Nice lied, or perhaps he believed it in that moment of adrenaline. “I tested— I dropped the gun, okay? It just went off. I was checking the drawer and it slipped.”
Lin Ling’s voice dropped to a broken sob. “You’re unfair! You can’t just do that!”
“Yes, I know. Okay. I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” Nice murmured, pulling Lin Ling closer through the frantic struggling. “Calm down…”
The commoner, in fact, didn’t calm down.
For a while.
He calmed down eventually. Lin Ling's head slumped against Nice's chest, and a wet sniffle broke the silence.
Nice pulled back just an inch, looking down at the messy face of his companion. “Are you crying?”
“No!” Lin Ling snapped, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, though his trembling shoulders gave him away.
They ate outside at XFC.
Correction, Nice did.
His companion hadn't touched a single fry. He merely sat there, arms crossed, staring at the plastic tabletop as if he could melt it with his gaze.
“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” Nice muttered between bites, trying to sound casual.
Lin Ling didn’t look up, his expression unreadable. “Last attempt. If it still doesn't happen tonight... let’s part ways.”
Nice paused mid-bite. Slowly, he set the food down and propped his chin on his hand, studying Lin Ling like this was suddenly very interesting. “…Are we breaking up?” he asked lightly. “You sure about that?”
“Let’s meet at Together tonight,” Lin Ling said, finally looking at Nice. “8 PM. On time.”
By ‘Together’, Lin Ling meant a restaurant. The name of the place — a high-end, ironically named lounge on the edge of the city. It was both a place for people who wanted to be seen, or for people who wanted to disappear in a crowd. Nice naturally took a moment to process the sentence.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yeah,” Lin Ling remarked, then immediately looked away. “I am.”
“So dress up,” he continued, his voice regaining some of its hidden strength. “I’ll wear date clothes, too.”
It was small, but unmistakable. Nice felt a genuine spark of intrigue. “Really?”
“Yup, I’ll go ahead.” Lin Ling stood up abruptly.
“Wait, where are you going—”
“I’ll prepare the things we’ll need,” Lin Ling said, already stepping toward the exit. “Leave it to me. Just show up.”
Nice watched him go, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. The same feeling of not being in control of the plan.
“Eight o’clock then!” Nice called out after him.
Lin Ling didn't look back, his silhouette blurring into the crowd of nobodies outside.
The transition from the open air of the XFC back to the suffocating walls of ‘home’ felt like stepping back into a cage. For Lin Ling, returning to his relatives’ place wasn't a homecoming, it was an infiltration.
He didn't plan to show up. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn't want the questions, the pity, or the inevitable reminders of why he was a burden. He sneaked around the side of the house, his back pressed against the peeling paint.
From the kitchen came the steady, familiar rhythm of chopping.
Thwak. Thwak. Thwak.
Lin Ling slowed.
He leaned just enough to peek. His aunt was there, hunched over the counter, chopping onions with a ferocity that made her shoulders shake. Her eyes were red and streaming. She was crying — a quiet, exhausted sob.
A pang of guilt hit Lin Ling, causing him to look away. “I'm sorry,” he thought, “for making it one less person to feed.”
He moved on silent feet, heart knocking too loud in his ears, and slipped down the narrow steps to the basement that served as his bedroom. The door creaked, he winced, waited, and sighed with relief when he found nothing. The air smelled of damp concrete and old cardboard met him. Against the wall lay a thin futon, his futon. He sank onto it for just a second, exhaustion catching up now that no one was looking.
Just a second.
He let the silence of his invisible life wash over him one last time.
Then he rolled up and crossed to the corner. His bag sat where he’d left it. A worn backpack — his closet, his safe, his entire life, shoved behind stacked boxes. He unzipped the side pocket where he’d hidden his emergency stash of money.
Empty.
The envelope was gone, the folded bills gone, every last bit of the quiet money he’d scraped together, missing, because of course it was. He didn't swear in shock, he didn't even sigh. He simply stared at the vacant fabric, half-expecting it. In this house, anything belonging to him was community property. Lin Ling zipped the bag back up, slow and careful, like this was simply another predictable outcome.
The next thing he looked for was decent clothes. He stood up to do just that, but his hurried movements caused him to knock the stack of cardboard boxes.
CLATTER.
The sound was deafening in the small space. Upstairs, the chopping stopped instantly.
Lin Ling’s pulse spiked. The heavy thud of his uncle’s footsteps (he recognized him just by the sound alone) began to make the floorboards creak directly above his head, moving toward the basement door.
Rattle. Rattle.
The doorknob rattled.
“Hey!” a gruff, heavy voice boomed. “Woman, did you lock the basement?!”
“Huh? Oh... wait, I’ll get the keys!” his aunt called back.
Hearing the jingle of the keys, Lin Ling scanned the basement frantically. Whether it’s a window, a second exit, or somewhere to hide.
Except none of those existed in his room.
The lock began to turn.
***
The sign for ‘Together’ overhead casted a flickering violet glow.
Nice arrived fifteen minutes early, looking every bit like a lead in a romance film even while disguised in civilian clothes — a black turtleneck, a sleek white overcoat, contact lenses, and a black wig. He chose a seat that faced the entrance without thinking about it. Habit, maybe, or hope.
He waited.
At exactly eight o’clock, nothing happened. He heard no hurried footsteps, or that familiar voice. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, Nice stayed where he was. At thirty minutes past the hour, he felt a familiar, cold sentiment opening up in his chest.
So it was a no-show.
Although, deep down, Nice didn't feel frustration. He felt a quiet, aching understanding. “He’s not coming,” Nice thought, staring outside. “And he shouldn't. Why would anyone choose to follow me into the dark?”
In a way, he had been pulling Lin Ling down with him. He had taken someone who still had a spark of empathy and allowed him to follow in death. Maybe Lin Ling had woken up, seen the sun, and realized that being invisible was still better than being nothing at all.
Still, it stung.
More than Nice expected.
He looked at his own reflection in the lounge's polished glass doors, annoyed at himself for still being here. For still waiting when he’d sworn he didn’t care anymore.
And yet, he didn’t move for quite some time.
After taking a long breath, he sat up to leave, his shoulders sinking under the weight of his overcoat.
“Nice…”
The voice was breathless.
For a second, Nice forgot how to breathe. His date was stumbling toward him, doubled over and clutching his knees as he fought to catch his breath. He looked like he had just run a marathon through a war zone.
He was late, but he was there.
A sudden smile broke across Nice’s face, one that no director had ever coached. “I thought you said you’d dress up,” he teased, looking at Lin Ling’s unchanged clothes, his voice light with a relief he couldn't quite hide.
Lin Ling looked up, pouting through his labored breaths, his face flushed from the exertion. “I didn’t… have time,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “I almost got caught sneaking.” He straightened up, smoothing out the rumpled fabric of the shirt, looking entirely out of place in front of the high-end lounge.
“Well,” Nice said, stepping closer and offering an arm, his eyes softening. “You made it. That’s what matters. You can wear my overcoat if you want.”
“No thank you,” Lin Ling said firmly, wearing a smile. “I’d like to be myself tonight.”
Having said that, Lin Ling chose the rooftop as a spot. He had to because Nice paid a staggering sum the same morning to ensure they were the only two souls under the stars. A hidden speaker system played a slow, orchestral melody — elegant and bittersweet that drifted on the cold night air.
[Playing: Tout est bien qui finit bien]
“You really had to go this far, didn’t you?” Lin Ling asked, looking at the candlelit table and the empty rooftop.
“I spent everything I had left, but never mind that,” Nice said. He stood up, the light of the city skyline catching the sharp lines of his face. As they waited for the private service to bring their order, he stepped toward Lin Ling and reached out his hand.
While Lin Ling knew how to dance, he hesitated. The man asking him wasn't just a hero, he was someone who performed literal ballet.
So he lied and said, “I don’t know how to dance.”
Needless to say, Nice didn't buy it. He took Lin Ling’s hand anyway, his grip warm and steady. “I’ll lead.”
They began to move, and as the music swelled, the ground beneath them vanished. Nice ascended. He took Lin Ling with him, his flight lifting them both.
“Woah??!”
“Relax,” Nice smiled gently, “You won’t fall.”
Lin Ling caught sight of Nice’s face. Whatever changed, it was something that made things feel… safe. They weren't just dancing anymore, they were drifting between the skyscrapers. It was just them, hence, Nice wasn't flying for an audience. He was flying so that, for one moment, Lin Ling wouldn't have to feel the weight of the world at all.
As he got used to it, by some means, Lin Ling’s eyes shone like starlight caught in glass.
He made a wistful smile.
In the weightlessness of the flight, Nice stared at his partner, his eyes tracing every line of Lin Ling’s face, committing the genuine, breathless laugh now etched there to his mind.
They descended just in time as the food arrived. The descent felt like returning to a reality they had both outgrown. The wind died down as their feet touched the rooftop tiles, just as the silver domes were lifted from their plates. The aroma of a five-star meal filled the air — a reminder of the sensory world they were about to leave.
Lin Ling reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glass vial. The liquid inside was deceptively clear, shimmering like gem.
“Last supper?” Nice asked, his voice steady, though his eyes were fixed on the glass.
“Creative way to die,” Lin Ling replied, his fingers already working to uncap the vial.
“Hey, wait…” Nice reached out, stopping Lin Ling’s hand. “Don’t you want to taste the food first? Before you put the poison in?” He looked at the perfectly seared steak and the delicate garnishes. “It feels like a waste of reservation.”
“Mmkay,” Lin Ling stared.
Nice began to serve himself, piling the food onto his plate with a forced casualness. He took a bite, chewing slowly. “It’s good,” he muttered, his eyes drifting to the city lights. “Good way to die.”
“Right?” Lin Ling said, his tone eerily light.
“Yeah.” Nice took Lin Ling’s plate and hovered his hands on the dining to serve.
“What dish do you want— I said wait!” Nice suddenly snatched the vial, pulling it to his side of the table, because Lin Ling stubbornly tried to pour it. “Don’t waste the food. We ordered a lot, so eat first. We have all night.”
Lin Ling’s lips curved up into a knowing, bittersweet look. He didn't move to eat. “Nice… You’re prolonging it, aren’t you?”
“I’m just hungry,” Nice lied, for the way he clutched the vial betrayed him.
“Give me that,” Lin Ling said, reaching across the table.
In response, Nice dodged his hand, holding the vial high, but Lin Ling was persistent. They scrambled over the table, a chaotic, desperate struggle that looked almost like a game if not for the desperation beneath it. And then, the cap popped.
“Stop— Lin Ling!” Nice shouted.
The liquid splashed out, raining down over the steaks, the wine, and the sides.
Lin Ling froze, his hand suspended over the ruined feast. He looked at Nice, his expression shifting from frantic to something soft and vulnerable.
“Say that again?” Lin Ling whispered.
“Say what?”
“My name. You pronounced it right just now.”
Realization hit. Nice went silent.
Lin Ling shrugged, he picked up his fork and moved to take a bite of the poisoned food.
“Lin Ling!” Nice lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with the strength of a hero saving someone from a falling building.
The someone who was ‘saved’, Lin Ling, didn't fight back. His grin widened, but his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “Having second thoughts?”
Contrary to Lin Ling’s smile, Nice’s expression looked more serious than it had been all night. He looked straight into Lin Ling’s eyes and retracted his hand.
“Let’s not do this anymore.”
The words left Nice easily, to the point that it surprised him too. He watched his date with a heavy heart. He had spent the day trying to find a reason to end it, only to find the one person who made him want to stay.
But for Lin Ling, staying meant returning to a world that offered nothing.
“Up to you,” Lin Ling said, his voice light. He set the fork down with a delicate clink. “It’s your decision. Let’s not… do it then.”
He stood up, the chair scraping against the tiles. It was a sound of departure.
Nice’s hand shot out, his fingers locking around Lin Ling’s wrist. “W-where are you going?”
Silhouette sharp against the city lights, Lin Ling didn’t turn back. “Let’s part ways. We’re beginning to get swayed.”
“Lin Ling, don’t—” Nice almost looked like he was pleading. He stepped around the table, forcing Lin Ling to look at him. “Think about it first.”
Lin Ling didn’t look at Nice’s face. He looked down at his own wrist, the one held by Nice. He looked at the skin where his shamefully low trust value was embedded, a number that declared him worthless to the world. It was a reminder that while Nice could choose to live as a hero, still revered even if he retired, Lin Ling would always be a ghost.
The Hero saw the look and reluctantly let go, his fingers trailing off Lin Ling’s. But he stayed in his path, blocking the exit. “I won’t bug you, but just… don’t make a rash decision, okay?”
Lin Ling moved slightly, trying to sidestep him. He seemed smaller now.
“Hey,” Nice said, his voice desperate, reaching for anything to keep the tether from snapping. “Please, just… uh. How about this. Let’s meet again tomorrow. One more day? Just one.”
“Okay, see you,” Lin Ling replied. The response was too quick.
“Where?” Nice asked, his eyes searching Lin Ling’s.
“I’ll be there.”
“Right,” Nice nodded, his mind racing to find a landmark. “The square near the orphanage? The playground. I’ll meet you there.”
“Sure.”
“What time?”
“See you,” Lin Ling whispered, already walking toward the elevator, without as much as a glance to Nice’s blinding figure.
“I’ll wait for you…” Nice called out, his voice echoing on the empty rooftop.
The air turned cold by then.
***
The day after, the sun was high over the playground, casting long, playful shadows of swings and slides onto the sand. Nice waited, standing by the fence, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a bouquet cradled awkwardly in one arm like an apology he wasn’t sure how to give. He told himself he was early on purpose and it was reasonable to arrive ahead of time.
The reality was, he’d been there for an hour.
At some point, he’d wandered to a nearby flower stall. He hadn’t really planned to buy anything, but his feet stopped anyway. His hand reached out anyway.
“So much for spending everything,” he thought bitterly. In truth, he still had a few left because he secretly still thought of a tomorrow.
He scanned the playground again. Every time a breeze rustled the leaves, he looked up, expecting to see a white shirt and a messy head of brown hair. Children ran past him, laughter sharp and bright. A couple sat on a bench, sharing earphones. An old man pushed a stroller for a child too young to remember this place.
No familiar face at all.
The closest to ‘familiar’ was a young lady walking past. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen, rimmed red like she’d cried recently and hadn’t bothered to hide it. She clutched a reusable shopping bag to her chest, fingers tight around the handles.
“Excuse me,” Nice approached her, his voice tight. “I’m looking for someone. Brown hair, brown eyes, my height.”
The woman shook her head almost immediately. “Sorry,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “I haven’t seen anyone like that.” She started to turn away.
“Wait,” Nice said, the word slipping out before he could stop it. “You’ve seen him. The night before yesterday? He was hiding behind your grandmother.”
The lady stopped. She looked at Nice with a vacant, weary expression.
“Ah-ma?”
“Yes,” Nice insisted, his brow furrowing. “You were picking up fallen groceries. I was wearing a yellow hoodie across the street. My… friend was talking to her.”
The lady went still, trying to pull the memory from the fog of her grief. “I remember the groceries, yes. And I think I remember you... your posture stood out even from a distance. I thought you were a model or an actor.”
Relief flickered in Nice’s chest. “Then you must’ve seen him,” he said. “The man who was with you.”
She paused, a genuine look of confusion in her face.
“Behind grandma?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
“…No,” she said finally. “There was no one with us.”
“What?” Nice frowned, his heart skipping a beat. “That’s impossible. He was crouched right behind her shopping bags. She even angled herself to hide him from his uncle.”
She hesitated, then swallowed. “Actually,” she said, voice lowering, “there was something strange.”
Nice’s grip tightened around the bouquet.
“My grandmother stopped suddenly,” the woman continued. “She turned and started talking. I thought she was on the phone at first, but she wasn’t holding anything.”
Her lips trembled. “She was talking to… empty space.”
Nice felt cold creep up his spine.
“I remember feeling unsettled,” the woman went on. “I thought— maybe her condition was getting worse. I was going to bring it up with her doctor.”
She looked down at the ground. “She passed away yesterday,” the lady whispered.
The words landed softly. In a way that Nice couldn’t breathe, couldn’t react.
“Come to think of it,” the lady said, almost as an afterthought, “before she died, she told me something odd.” She looked back up at him, “She said if I ever saw the man in the white T-shirt again, I should thank him for her.”
Nice felt the world tilt. The flower in his hand felt like it was wilting in real-time. “Thank him? For what?”
“She said she felt at peace,” the lady replied, her voice distant. “After he whispered to her.”
‘You don’t have to carry everything alone, Ah-ma.’
The lady looked at Nice’s empty side, her eyes searching the space where a person should be. “But I never saw him. Not then, and not now. And I’m sure you weren’t with anyone that day. You were just... standing there, looking at us.”
She bowed her head, murmuring that she had things to do for the funeral, and walked away before Nice could respond.
From there, Nice stood frozen. The sounds of the playground faded into something distant and unreal. The bouquet in his hand felt absurdly heavy now. He looked down at the flower, then at the swings where they had sat, then at the empty air beside him. His fingers curled slowly around the bouquet of flowers, snapping some, until the thorns bit into his skin.
His mind supplied explanations.
A hidden ability. Invisibility through trust value. Perception quirks. Stress-induced hallucination. Anything.
Anything that didn’t end where his thoughts were trying to go.
Nice stormed back to ‘Together’. It was more because standing still felt unbearable rather than expecting to find answers. The host recognized him immediately. His smile was polite and professional, but hesitant, like someone approaching a subject they weren’t sure they were allowed to touch.
“Sir,” he said, clasping her hands. “May I help you?”
“I was here last night,” Nice replied. “I wanted to ask… did you see the person I was with?”
The host exchanged a glance with the staff beside him. “That’s actually…” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “something we were wondering about too.”
Nice’s brow furrowed.
“You reserved the rooftop for two,” he continued. “We assumed you were meeting someone. When no one arrived, we thought perhaps they were running late.” His voice lowered. “But then you proceeded with the dinner.”
Nice’s jaw tensed. “He was there.”
The host hesitated again. “Sir, you were seated alone.”
The word ‘alone’ landed wrong.
“We didn’t interrupt,” he added quickly. “We thought you simply wanted to proceed because the reservation was expensive. But then you seemed… engaged. You were speaking. Laughing, even.”
The floor felt like it dropped away. “Like I’m talking to myself?” Nice asked flatly.
The staff member beside the host spoke up. “We thought maybe it was an earpiece. Or a private call.” He trailed off. “At one point, you even stood in the middle of the floor and moved as if you were dancing with someone. We thought it was a rehearsal. Or… grief.”
“You’re prolonging it, aren’t you?” Lin Ling’s voice echoed in his head.
“…I see,” Nice said finally. His voice sounded steady. Convincing, even.
The host inclined his head. “If you need anything, sir—”
Nice turned and walked out without a word.
Risking it all, he drove to the hotel. A monument to everything Nice was trying to escape — order, luxury, and everything nice. He didn't care about the property damage he’d caused or the fact that his presence was now a beacon for a scandal. He needed the truth.
He burst through the automatic doors, the scent of sandalwood and lilies hitting him like a physical blow. “Good morning, sir—” the receptionist began, her professional smile faltering the moment she saw the unkempt man in front of her.
“I checked in here the other night,” Nice interrupted, leaning heavily on the marble counter. “Under the name Lin Ling. I was with someone, right? A man in a white shirt. You saw him.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened. She recognized him — the cap and mask from that night. She glanced at the security and gulped. “That’s…”
“I won’t cause a scene,” Nice lifted his hand slowly, palms open. “I just— I need to know.”
The receptionist hesitated, then nodded. “I honestly… got weirded out,” she admitted quietly. “You booked two rooms.”
“Yes.”
“I thought maybe you booked for another guest who would follow later, but… you kept turning to your side while talking. Pausing, like you were waiting for replies.”
“I can show you the footage,” she said. “Just please understand, this is highly irregular.”
Nice nodded once. “Please do.”
They led him to the security office. The room was dim, monitors lined the wall. The receptionist moved the mouse, clicking last last night’s timestamp.
“There,” she said.
The footage played.
Nice watched the screen, his eyes wavering. There he was, dressed in a yellow hoodie, standing at the desk, whispering to the air. On the screen, Nice was the only one there. He saw himself turn to the empty space beside him and say, “Peek as much as you want,” while the fountain pen moved over the paper to write the name Lin Ling.
The receptionist in the video was looking at Nice with deep, unsettling confusion — not because she had a crush on him, or that she recognized the Hero, but because she was watching a man have a full conversation with a ghost.
“You took both keys,” the receptionist whispered, watching the footage with him. “You even held the elevator door open… for nothing.”
There were no glitches or distortion, not even a shadow lagging behind him.
Just one man — Talking. Waiting. Responding.
The room was silent.
The receptionist cleared her throat. “Sir, did you… lose someone recently?”
For a while, Nice stared at the frozen frame of himself on the screen. He felt something hollow out inside him. The answer came out automatically.
“…No,” he said.
She nodded, as if she didn’t quite believe him but wouldn’t push.
“Thank you,” Nice uttered, forcing the words past his throat. “That’s all.”
He left before they could say anything else.
Nice traced the path of their final days in reverse, each step a piece of a puzzle he refused to finish. He passed by the same crosswalk, same corner where Lin Ling had stopped to stare at the menu, same glass windows reflecting a version of himself that hadn’t known yet.
He arrived at the cafe. This was the first place they’d gone together.
Which meant, it would also be the last.
Nice stood by the entrance, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was about to ask the barista, “Do you remember me sitting with a man in a white shirt?”
But this time, he hesitated.
Because what if this place, too, confirmed it? What if the barista tilted their head, frowned politely, and gave the same answer? That he was a crazed man who talked to nothing?
What will he do then?
He didn’t think he could survive hearing that out loud again so he didn’t approach the counter. He stood off to the side instead, half-hidden near the pastry case, pretending to read the menu. That was when he overheard them. A group of students crowded around a phone, voices buzzing with excitement.
“Hey, have you seen the viral video yet?”
“No— wait, that one?”
“Yeah! The hero at the train station.”
“I wonder how big his Trust Value is already.”
Nice’s fingers twitched.
“…Train station?” another asked.
“You know the one who saved a vendor. Dude just appeared out of nowhere. Then disappeared just as fast without taking credit.”
He took one step closer. “Can I see that?” he asked, his voice rasping.
The students looked up, startled by the intensity in his eyes, but they handed over the phone.
Nice watched the screen. The video was shaky, seemingly recorded by a passerby. He saw the vendor’s cart tip. He saw the vendor fall. Then, he saw himself, the figure in the yellow hoodie, dashing forward. In the video, Nice reached down to pull the man up. But there was no Lin Ling bracing the man's weight. It was only Nice who hauled the vendor to safety.
Unable to look any longer, Nice handed the phone back, his vision blurring. The cafe noise rushed in all at once — the grinder, the milk frother, the low hum of conversation. Life continuing at an unforgivable pace. He absentmindedly sat down in that same dim corner, the wood of the chair cold and unforgiving. He looked at the empty space across from him.
“...I forgot I don’t have cash,” Lin Ling’s voice whispered in his memory.
Nice reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched the spot on the table where Lin Ling’s hands should have been; it felt like ice. Part of his thoughts already lined up something he refused to acknowledge. That’s why, the realization didn't come as a shock — it came as a slow, rising tide.
Lin Ling never paid.
Lin Ling never ate.
Lin Ling never… failed to look invisible.
And the truth, since the moment they sat together in the same cafe, it had already slipped before he even realized it. Heavy, undeniable, and far too late.
“Why are you trying to die?”
“Oh, I already did.”
Nice didn’t try to rationalize it. With the adrenaline finally fading, he left the cafe. The city felt different — louder, yet utterly empty. He felt like he was walking through a graveyard of memories only he had made.
In the end, Nice returned.
It wasn’t home (home didn’t exist for him anymore), but it was the closest thing he had. To the only place that still owned his existence: Treeman.
The lobby was a hive of controlled panic. The moment he stepped inside, security shifted, and a woman with a blonde bun, glasses, and a face like a sharpened blade marched toward him. Miss J didn't offer a hug, she instinctively raised a line of bodyguards before Nice even spoke.
“There’s no need, Miss J,” Nice said calmly, raising a hand before the bodyguards could close in. His voice was a dead weight. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You…” Miss J’s lips trembled as she processed his tone, her gaze pricking needles.
“Can we talk? Privately,” Nice requested.
Miss J waved the bodyguards away with a sharp motion, her eyes narrowing. Once the office door clicked shut, the dam broke.
“Do you know how much trouble we went through finding you? I’ve been dragged through the mud by Mr. Shand. Making promises I can't keep. Just what on earth is going on with you?!”
Nice stood there, a ghost in his own life, letting the noise wash over him.
“I went to that hotel,” she continued, pacing. “You spent thousands for what? To break things? I had to apologize to the management for property damage!”
“Miss J—“
“Your fans started asking about you. I’ve run out of excuses, I’ve literally started looking for your replacement—“
“Miss J.”
“What?!”
Nice took a deep breath, “I’ll get straight to the point. I will take care of my problems myself, but I need to ask you something.”
Impatient as she was, Miss J needed to know what happened to Nice. So she indulged the young hero. “Fine. Ask.”
“Do you remember the building where you last saw me? The newly built one. With my billboard on top.”
“What kind of question—”
“I asked if you remember the building.”
Nice’s gaze was so cold it seemed to drop the temperature in the room.
Miss J cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yes, yes. The one you jumped on. I remember. Why?”
“Was there a man there?” Nice’s voice was steady. “Whose shirt got stuck on a billboard support beam?”
Miss J paused, her brow furrowing as she searched her mental archives. “You mean the staff who committed suicide?”
Nice’s heart stopped. “…Committed?”
Past tense.
“Didn’t you hear? Guess you didn’t, an article was posted. He was affiliated with a Treeman branch company. Let me check…” Miss J spoke flatly as she turned to a wall of monitors, her fingers flying over a keyboard.
She pulled up an archive from a few days ago. “Here. It happened a day before you went on your little runaway. The name was uh…”
Nice didn't wait for her to finish. He pushed her aside, his eyes fixed on the screen.
The footage was blurry, shot by a bystander from across the street. In the grainy video, a man in a white shirt was dangling precariously from the support beam of Nice’s billboard. His shirt snagged on a piece of metal, seemingly after he slipped. He looked small and… terrified.
“We didn’t allow the video to be released publicly of course, so it wouldn't tarnish the launch of your new campaign. Not that anyone would really care.”
Nice didn’t hear what Miss J said. He was focused on watching, his breath held, as his own giant, smiling face loomed over the struggling man. Before rescue services could even arrive, the fabric — old, worn thin by the life of a nobody, ripped almost immediately.
The fall was silent. No hero flew in to catch him. No dramatic save.
After the footage ended, Nice didn’t say anything for a long while. He leaned into the monitor, his forehead almost touching the cold glass.
“I see…” he murmured at last.
The words were quiet, almost polite. He then turned and walked, his steps steady in the way only someone already far away could manage.
Miss J watched him, her hand already reaching for the desk phone. “Where are you going? Wait here and I’ll contact Mr. Shand,” she commanded.
Nice stopped at the door. He didn't look back at her, but he turned his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. It was the smile that made people feel safe, even as he was falling apart. “It’s late, Miss J. I’ll come to him myself.” He adjusted his coat. “I’ll just rest at the Hero Tower for a bit before then.”
And that was exactly what he did.
The Hero Tower, the pyramid of glass and steel that pierced the clouds, greeted him with silence. He entered his private suite, a room that was more of a museum than a home. It was clean, untouched, and terribly immaculate. The massive statue of himself stood at the center, a pristine reminder or something he no longer recognized. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the walls, but the city lights beyond them failed to warm the space. They only made it feel larger (emptier).
Nice walked past the statue without slowing. He didn’t register the shallow water pooled around its base, didn’t feel it soaking into his shoes, clinging coldly to his trousers.
All he could see was the footage.
On repeat.
Over and over again.
The white shirt. The moment it gave way. Lin Ling.
One day ago.
One day before he went there.
Lin Ling hadn't been waiting for him on that rooftop. He had died before the moment Nice was able to ‘save’ him. Every conversation, the car ride, the card game, the dance — it had all happened after the fall.
Nice’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
“I see,” he had said earlier, as if understanding was the same as acceptance.
It wasn’t.
The anger came quietly. A hot, steady pressure behind his ribs, building with nowhere to go.
“You promised.”
The thought hit harder than the footage.
“You said we’d do it together.”
A sharp crack rang through the room.
It was the sound of knuckles hitting the pale stone echoing through the hollow chamber. Without a change in expression, his fist moved, buried against the statue’s side. Spiderweb-shaped fractures marred the perfect surface. Pain shot up his arm, real and immediate, but it barely registered.
Nice stood there, breathing hard, his knuckles already reddening.
The statue didn’t fall.
Of course it didn’t.
He didn’t remember lowering himself to the floor. At some point, Nice was just there — sitting beside the sofa, back against it, knees drawn up slightly. The tower was silent except for the distant hum of the city and the faint drip of water from his clothes onto the marble floor.
His phone felt too light in his hand.
He stared at the screen again.
[A young man jumped to escape pressure at work]
That was it.
Not even a name in the headline, no detailed context but a disposable, carefully neutral sentence, even the whole article was a sterile, dismissive summary of a life that had been anything but simple.
One view.
It was his. Nice was the only person in the entire world who had bothered to click on Lin Ling’s ending. His fingers curled around the phone. Once again, he unknowingly made a brittle crack. It spidered on the screen under the pressure of his grip. The device went dark, unresponsive.
For a moment, that felt good.
Then it didn’t.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, and turned the phone back on despite the fractured glass. The touch still worked, barely, of course. He navigated to Lin Ling’s social media account — it wasn’t empty, it was worse. Rather than looking like a personal account, it was a desert of corporate compliance. Every single post were promotional materials.
Nice smiling, Nice mid-flight haloed by light, Nice advertisements (angles Lin Ling himself must have edited, color-corrected and refined), Nice campaigns, tagged and reposted.
Nice there. Nice here. Nice everywhere.
Post after post after post.
Even as he scrolled down, blurring to the point that his eyes hurt, earlier posts were the same. Meticulous, polished, and devoted, there were no photos of the person handling the account. Not a single caption about himself. No personal details or introductions. No complaints. No hints. No cries for help that anyone would bother to read. No ‘I exist’.
Just Nice.
As if Lin Ling had been slowly erasing himself, pixel by pixel, until only the Hero remained. Like he was just support material and not a person.
Nice let the broken phone slip from his hand. It clattered onto the floor, the screen flickering before going dark. He leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes, throat dry.
“…You idiot,” he whispered, but there was no heat in it now. Just something raw and aching.
Understanding, perhaps.
Lin Ling was so frantic when he heard the gunshot in the apartment. It couldn’t be because he was afraid of death, it was more so because he was afraid that if Nice died, the only person in the world who knew of Lin Ling would be gone. Maybe it wasn’t just because of work. Maybe the man stood at the building because he wanted to see if anyone would look up.
No one did.
Not even Nice.
Not even when every major spike in his popularity, every campaign that worked, all 134 of them… were done by the very person asking for help. Lin Ling had done it silently, without a single attempt at recognition. He hadn’t just supported Nice, he constructed his very image.
He was right there.
And Nice didn’t know. He never even bothered to ask who made the world see him like a hero.
As much as it hurt to admit, Nice wasn't thinking clearly. He was acting on instinct, looking for something, anything that proved Lin Ling was more than a ghost on screen. While he wasn’t exactly the type to look into private details, Treeman had files and he took advantage of it. He accessed them, secretly, without ceremony — employment records, emergency contacts, a registered address. He didn’t read more than he had to. Just enough to know where Lin Ling had returned to when there was nowhere else left.
He found himself standing in front of a cramped, nondescript house.
It was quiet, in a way grief makes places quiet. He stood at the gate longer than necessary before knocking. A woman answered, older and tired around the eyes, hair pulled back carelessly as if she hadn’t bothered since the bad news arrived. It was Lin Ling’s aunt.
“Yes?” she asked.
Nice swallowed. “Is this where Lin Ling lives?” he asked with a voice barely a whisper.
Her expression shifted, guarded but polite. She wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze flickering to the expensive fabric of his clothes. “Yes. And you are?”
“Here for a visit,” Nice said after a beat. “I’m from Treeman. A... coworker.”
She didn't question him. In this world, a visit from someone who looked high up in the company was a rare, terrifying honor.
“…Come in.”
The house smelled faintly of incense.
Nice followed her inside, his steps slow, careful, like he was afraid of disturbing something fragile. He noticed small things first — the cramped layout, the absence of personal touches, the way everything looked temporarily arranged.
The older woman stepped aside, gesturing toward the small, dimly lit living room. There, tucked into a corner, sat a simple, wooden casket. Nice walked toward it, his shoes heavy on the floorboards. He stopped at the edge and looked down.
There lay, Lin Ling.
The ghost he spent his supposed last days was here, and yet, he wasn't here at all. Because right here, Lin Ling’s not a ghost, nor a companion, or someone who would show up tomorrow.
Merely, someone who’s already gone.
Nice looked down at the body, observing the way the brown hair had been combed into an uncharacteristic neatness and how the skin, though pale, possessed a stillness that felt familiar. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought the man was simply asleep, given that when Lin Ling walked — when he talked, laughed, argued, sulked — he wore this same face. Nice was sure of it, he had looked at Lin Ling’s face countless times. Not once had he doubted his existence, because Lin Ling looked… more alive than Nice himself had felt in years.
His hand hovered near the edge of the casket, yet he found himself unable to afford the cost of touching it. There’s no visible change in his expression, no trembling or tightening of the jaw. He simply stared, as if waiting for something to contradict him.
This was it.
This was what he needed do. The last confirmation of a life that had already ended before they even met. And when contradiction didn’t come, he accepted it with frightening ease.
Nice felt no sudden outburst of grief nor attachment. He had met a ghost — nothing more. After all, he knew nothing about Lin Ling. He didn’t know of his favorite color, his childhood, or his dreams. They hadn’t even spent two full days together.
To Nice, Lin Ling was no different than a stranger.
The conclusion settled neatly in his mind, clean and efficient.
Pity, yes.
That was all he felt.
He perceived it then, amidst the stifling air of the room — the state of the casket. His eyes scanned the cheap, splintered wood. He noticed the absence of flowers and wreaths. Not even a single candle lit the way for the stranger he had spent less than forty-eight hours with.
“Did Treeman not sponsor the arrangements?” Nice asked, voice low.
It was the man of the house, the uncle who answered, stepping into the room with a heavy, impatient gait. “Sponsor? The brat lost his job before he decided to kill himself. It wasn’t counted, he was no longer an employee. Even in death, that kid brings nothing but trouble.”
“Dear…” the aunt pleaded, her voice trembling.
“This is exactly why I told him to use his body. His face was the only good thing going for him,” the uncle spat, pacing the small space. “He made us pay for everything!”
The aunt frantically hushed him, leaning in to whisper, but Nice’s enhanced senses caught every serrated word. “Don’t say that... we used his stash—”
“You mean the money he hid from us?” the uncle hissed back. “He owed us that much for the roof over his head.”
Composed as he was, the storm inside Nice didn't align with his frozen expression. His fist was clenched so tightly beneath his sleeve that his own nails were carving crescents into his palm, drawing blood he refused to feel.
“Hey now,” the aunt said, trying to save face, “let’s not talk bad about the child in front of a guest.”
“Let them take the body for all I care,” the uncle barked, dismissive. “We can’t even afford him a spot at a graveyard. He’ll end up in a potter's field anyway.”
Nice didn’t bother listening further. The noise of their greed was drowning out the silence of the man in the box. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his private card — the same one he used at the hotel, the one the Company could track.
He walked forward with a practiced, chilling smile and offered it to the aunt. “Here,” Nice said softly. “You may use this to give him a proper funeral. The amount left should be more than enough.”
“Oh my,” the aunt gasped, her eyes widening. “This is too much, we possibly can’t—”
The uncle’s eyes lit up with a predatory glint. He shoved past his wife, reaching for the card. “How kind of you, young man! Ignore my wife, that’s very helpful, thank you—”
The wife’s protest turned into a scream.
In a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to follow, Nice’s hand shot out. He didn't take the man's hand, he took his collar. With a sickening thud, he slammed the uncle against the wall, pinning him there with the effortless strength of a hero, lifted just enough to remind the uncle how fragile the human body really was.
Nice remembered it now.
He remembered the face of the man who had been shouting across the street at the square. He remembered the way Lin Ling had trembled and shrunk behind an old woman's shopping bags just to stay invisible. Back when Nice had watched and chosen not to care.
He leaned in close, his voice a whisper that vibrated with a terrifying authority.
“This isn’t charity,” Nice breathed, his eyes boring into the uncle’s panicked pupils. “The expenses on this card are monitored. Every cent is tracked. Use it directly for the memorial.”
He tightened his grip, but he was holding back, for any more pressure and the man’s neck would snap. The uncle’s face drained of color.
“If a single coin goes toward anything else,” Nice continued, calm as ever, “Lin Ling won’t be the only person getting buried in the ground this week.”
With a violent shove, he sent the uncle flying backward. The man crashed into the small dining table, which buckled under his weight and collapsed into a heap of splintered wood and shattered ceramic. He slumped there coughing and gasping for air, his wife too frightened to move.
The mess was chaotic and ugly — a direct insult to the perfection Nice usually maintained. He didn't acknowledge the wreckage he’d made. He simply turned to the aunt, who stood frozen, her breath hitching in a silent sob as she looked from her groaning husband to the stranger standing in her living room.
Nice straightened his posture, his expression smoothing back into that haunting, professional serenity. He reached out and gently took the aunt’s trembling hands, pressing the credit card into her palms. He offered her an elegant smile, the same one that graced a thousand billboards, the one that promised safety and trust.
“Make sure he has the best,” Nice whispered, his voice as smooth as silk but as cold as stone. “I'll be checking.”
Without another word, he turned. He didn't look back at the casket. He had already seen enough. He stepped out of the cramped house and into the open air, the heavy scent of incense finally fading as he walked away.
Outside, the night wind hit him. Nice didn't fly, he kept his feet on the pavement, feeling every uneven crack and cold stone through the soles of his boots. Perhaps that way, he’d stay grounded, as if the physical weight of his body could anchor a mind that was slowly drifting into the void.
Without the repetitive cheers from thousand strangers.
Without the orders, advices, or scolding from his father-figure.
Without the loud, out-of-script banters from his rival.
Without someone to complain about the price of coffee or to offer him a creative way to leave.
Once again, silence was his company. Except he was never good with silence to begin with. The world seems to never stop screaming his name.
Just like before...
When Nice is met with silence, he’s haunted with voices.
Just like before…
When Nice is overwhelmed with voices, he seeks a high place to drown it out. He didn’t realize why he went there specifically. If he avoided it, it’d be the same as admitting he felt something.
And he didn't.
No, he didn't feel anything.
Not when he passed the alleyway where a white shirt had once lay. Not when he entered the service elevator. Not even as he stepped onto the rooftop and walked past the massive steel skeleton of his own billboard.
The city lights stretched out below like a sea of electric diamonds, indifferent and vast. The billboard's spotlights casted a blinding white glow that made the rest of the world look like a shadow.
He stood exactly where Lin Ling would have been standing before he slipped.
Afterwards, he closed his eyes, waiting for the peace to come, waiting for the loud silence to finally stop. As the wind whipped his hair, he felt lighter than he ever had — not with hope, but with the hollow weight of someone who realized he had been talking to a ghost the whole time.
This time, really.
He would surrender himself without distractions.
“Help—”
That voice was raspy, desperate, and…
“HELP!!”
… undeniably his.
Nice’s breath caught painfully in his chest. He turned his head slowly.
There he was.
Dangling from the billboard support beam, the exact same way they had ‘met’.
“Stop messing around,” Nice said, he hadn’t noticed the way his voice cracked, “Lin Ling.”
Unfeeling, my ass.
Nice is a liar, he had always been a liar, especially to himself. In fact, he had felt so many emotions since he last came to the place, he didn’t even know how to count it all. Standing there, the sheer volume was a tidal wave he could no longer outrun.
The hanging man pondered for a moment before pulling himself up with an effortless strength that no human should have, climbing the building to stand in front of Nice. “Ahaha…” Lin Ling made a wry smile. “Hi again.”
With so many in one place, Nice could only point out a single, distinct emotion. Rising above the grief and confusion, it was ‘hatred’.
“Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” he hissed, his eyes stinging. “What did you do this for? To mess around? To watch me break?”
Lin Ling tried to get a word out, “That wasn’t—”
Nice hated the world — at Trust Values, at Treeman, at systems that let people fall quietly and called it statistics.
“Whatever sick joke you’re trying to play, it isn’t funny,” Nice declared. “How is this even... what are you? Are you even real?”
The reaction was slightly unexpected in Lin Ling’s perspective, in truth. He raised his hand slightly, but stopped halfway. He was hesitating both in his movements and what he needed to say.
Nice hated Lin Ling — for lying, for staying just long enough to matter, for calling his name like it meant something and then vanishing.
“How could you?” Nice’s voice broke. “Why me? Why pick me to haunt? What gives?!”
“Because you don’t know what’s in store for you once you do it,” Lin Ling said softly. “I wanted you to rethink at least.”
“No, ‘you’ don’t know!” Nice snapped, the years of repressed frustration finally boiling over. “You don’t know what I went through. The pain I felt, the exhaustion of being 'Nice', that's mine alone. So don’t decide for me.”
And…
Despite his anger, Nice’s tone simply came out broken. “I looked for you. Do you know that? I asked people. I went back to places we went. And nobody— nobody even—”
Lin Ling was quiet.
“You weren’t there,” Nice continued, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. “You were never there. And you let me believe you were.”
Nice hated himself — for smiling, for listening, for… wanting one more day.
He stepped closer to the edge. “I don’t… do that, Lin Ling. I don’t look forward to things. I don’t wait for people. And you—”
His voice cracked.
“You made me want tomorrow.”
Silence settled before Lin Ling spoke.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.
“That doesn’t help,” Nice gritted his teeth. “Intent never helps.”
They stood facing each other now, the drop yawning behind Nice. In which he stood, caught between the sky and the cold reality of the concrete below. “You know what the worst part is?” he resounded. “I thought I was doing better. I thought, maybe I was finally failing less.”
He gestured to himself, the city, the height.
“But it turns out I was just distracted.”
Lin Ling swallowed. “Nice.”
“No,” Nice said. “Stop trying. Lin Ling.”
Lin Ling took a step forward. Nice didn’t move away.
“I know what it’s like,” Lin Ling said quietly, his voice wavering with profound sadness. “To think if you just disappear, the world would be better off.”
Nice’s laugh was hollow, a sound of pure defeat. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Lin Ling nodded. “You’re right. I don’t.” He hesitated, then said, “But I know what comes after.” His form trembled slightly in the harsh spotlights of the billboard. “Because I’m there.”
Nice went silent.
“Do you really want to?” Lin Ling asked, his eyes searching Nice’s. “You really still plan on doing it?”
Nice tried to answer, really. But his mind was like a library where all the pages had been bleached white.
Did he ‘want’ to die?
Wanting implied preference — a choice, a direction.
Nice hadn’t felt any of those in a long time. The reality was, Nice couldn't clearly recall how he truly felt that day. Standing at the edge hadn’t been a ‘decision’, in the way people talk about life altering choices. It hadn’t even been a thought. It was just the next step in a sequence he no longer controlled.
Things had simply lined up.
The building. The wind. The silence.
The event didn’t feel real at all. His body didn't feel like his own, it felt like a costume he had forgotten to take off. As if he was just watching himself from a distance, letting the ‘Perfect Hero’ perform his last act. To see if he would actually shatter on impact.
But to acknowledge that was akin to admitting that something was fundamentally wrong. And Nice was built to be ‘perfect’, far from being wrong. He simply couldn’t afford to be broken. So he let the moment continue without him.
Did he want to ‘die’?
He was tired, yes. An exhaustion that even sleep couldn't recover.
He was numb, yes. The fear he thought he should feel, felt nonexistent. Or perhaps, he simply couldn’t handle that feeling anymore.
He wanted the noise and the pressure of the rankings to stop. But the concept of ‘dying’ required a self that existed to be extinguished, and Nice wasn't sure there was anything left of him to kill.
“Yes,” was such an easy word. It was but a single syllable.
However, as he looked at Lin Ling — the man who had turned out to be more ‘real’ as a ghost than Nice was as a living icon — the word died in his throat. He was ultimately… a hypocrite. He had called out Lin Ling's commitment to the end, while he himself was just drifting toward it. He wasn’t choosing to die, he was just failing to choose anything at all.
Nice opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The hero who always had the right line for interviews, couldn't speak a single word.
He couldn't even lie to a ghost.
“When I slipped,” Lin Ling started, looking down at the street where he had already died days ago. “Your name was among the last words I said.”
“So you were yelling for help,” Nice said bitterly.
“No, I was actually talking trash about you,” Lin Ling chuckled, though it sounded like a sob held back by will. “I was thinking about how you’d eventually grow old and ugly and lose your perfect title. I hated you.”
“I hated that you were so far away from me...” His voice was barely a whisper now ”…yet I spent every day aspiring to be just like you. A hero.”
Lin Ling turned back to him, his form flickering like a dying lightbulb, the edges of his white shirt bleeding into the blue of the night. “I guess I just didn’t want my favorite inspiration to die,” he uttered.
Silence fell heavy between them. Nice was too taken aback to move, he couldn’t speak, paralyzed by the confession.
“For the longest time, I felt like I was in the dark,” Lin Ling continued, trying to manage a fragile smile.
Nice looked away, unable to face the haunting sincerity of those eyes.
“But when I saw you that day, right here,” Lin Ling said, softer, “it felt like… a ray of light broke through.”
Nice’s fingers curled into fists.
“I thought,” Lin Ling said, voice shaking now, “maybe I was given one last chance. If I could pull someone out of a dark place… maybe it’ll make up for the fact that I couldn’t pull myself out. If I can just save someone, then perhaps my life wasn’t a mistake.”
“That’s unfair,” Nice choked out, his hands trembling at his sides. “You’re using your last words to chain me here.”
“I know,” Lin Ling said softly. “I’m sorry. I was desperate.”
He let out a weak, self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t even expect to like you. You’re kind of unbearable. And far too different from me…”
“…But when I got to know you? The real you? With flaws and all. I felt like… Oh. Maybe I wasn’t that far behind. Maybe if I hadn’t ended it, I could’ve caught up. Maybe we could have been friends, complaining about father-figures, without the costumes.”
Lin Ling’s form wavered between there and not, but his words were clear.
“Because with you, someone who’s supposed to be perfect, showing your worst…” Lin Ling continued, “I didn’t feel the need to pretend either. I could joke without consequences. I could sing badly. I could be myself. I felt… alive again.”
Nice’s head snapped up. Looking now, Lin Ling’s expression looked… hurt, far more than he expected. Even so, Lin Ling didn’t stutter, his voice simply shook.
“It’s weird, right? Even if it’s too late for me, for the first time in a while, I felt hope.”
He reached out, his almost translucent hand hovering near Nice’s heart.
“I want you to feel it too. Just rest for a while, wait for a while… Just get up every day, even if it’s only to drink coffee. And once you finally see hope again,” Lin Ling continued with his unwavering smile, “you better embrace it, alright?”
Nice didn’t wait.
He lunged forward, his arms wrapping around the space where Lin Ling stood. It should have been like hugging cold air, but in that moment, the sheer force of Nice’s will seemed to make the ghost solid.
It made Lin Ling freeze on the spot.
He didn’t want to break his smile.
But how could he continue doing so? When he never even remembered how a hug felt. The mediocre advertisement staff, now embraced by the very model of his projects. The boy who had given up… now collapsed into the man who defined his role.
“I…” Lin Ling finally sobbed, the sound raw and guttural. “I didn’t want to die…”
If he wasn’t a ghost, tears would have been falling down his eyes. “If only I— if I had just waited one more day… I’m so stupid.”
Self-blame was unavoidable. Nice, who lived with the guilt of his mistakes and believed he didn’t deserve a place in the world anymore, understood that feeling well. When a person lives long enough getting told what they are or what they should do, one ought to perceive it as the truth. Be that as it may, hearing words filled with self-reproach from Lin Ling, who was a better person than him in so many ways…
“Hey, Lin Ling don’t say that,” Nice held the dead boy tight. “It was never your fault. You didn’t do it to yourself, you didn’t choose how the world treated you…”
He could never blame Lin Ling for falling at all. And the realization that came through that meant something he wished was true. That if anyone in his world understood, maybe, just maybe… they wouldn’t blame him for existing too.
As for the commoner, whilst he himself was aware that the world would continue revolving without him, there’s no denying he’d feel the aching need to have a place. For anything or anyone to want him there, even if it’s just one. He didn’t plan to break down in front of Nice, but damn it all, “It hurts… It hurts so much.” Lin Ling couldn’t stop. “I just wanted to matter. Is that too much to ask?”
“No…” Nice replied, “Of course not. I’m sorry”, voice hoarse but genuine, “I’m so sorry I wasn't there sooner.”
Had he not stayed a little longer as a ghost, Lin Ling wouldn’t have felt it. He would never have imagined the very hero he looked up to would hold him like a lifeline. That in itself, was more than everything he ever wanted. So, no, he didn’t want Nice to apologize. What he wanted was simple, and very much himself.
“Don’t—” Lin Ling sniffled, his body becoming harder to hold. “Just promise me something. That you’ll think it through. Don’t… do this tonight.”
Nice tightened his grip, feeling the static of Lin Ling’s existence beginning to tingle against his skin. “But what about you then? Are you just... leaving me here? Alone?”
Lin Ling pulled back just enough to look Nice in the eye. He reached up, wiping a stray tear from the hero’s face — a real tear, from a real person.
“What are you talking about?” Lin Ling let out a small chuckle. “I’m a ghost, aren't I? I can watch you whenever I want.”
Nice let out a broken, wet laugh. “…That’s creepy.”
“Yeah,” Lin Ling said, smiling. “But you’re used to being watched.”
“What are you a papparazzi?”
Lin Ling snorted, his voice becoming a distant echo fading in the wind. “Live, Nice. Be more than a brand. Be a person.”
Ignoring the way it hurt, Nice teased, “Lin Ling, you sound like you're voicing an ad.”
“Aish,” Lin Ling paused, looking down at himself, his legs beginning to vanish. “I didn't mean for that to sound like a slogan. Guess my job follows me to death.”
Both of them knew of one obvious truth. They were simply too terrified to word it out.
That while Lin Ling’s ghost could be seen by those near death, his state was most likely impermanent. There was no telling he could stay.
“Then don’t drop those lines like you’re leaving,” Nice whispered, his voice losing its tease and turning raw. “Stay and tell me I’m doing a bad job at being a person. Stay and be a nuisance.”
The words came by human — desperate and selfish. Nice knew the weight of asking someone to stay, for he kept making that same request to himself too. In his case, it was like asking that person to keep hurting, because to live is to feel pain. Though, for the very same reason, that’s exactly why he’s asking company. Isn’t that so? If the world was going to hurt, he didn’t want to feel it alone.
Lin Ling let out a soft laugh. “Not even giving me a chance to reincarnate?”
But as expected, when a person has no future, they’d be inclined to leave.
“You still believe in those, do you?” Nice asked, trying to steady the tremor in his breath.
“Who knows. I might even beat you in my next life. Just you wait,” Lin Ling said, his eyes bright with a spark of the mischief that had kept Nice sane for the last forty-eight hours. “I’ll be a hero.”
Despite everything, Lin Ling somehow made it feel like there’s always hope, no matter how small.
Acceptance will inevitably take time to swallow. Nice couldn’t have possibly gone through five stages of grief in less than a day. He didn’t really want to let go. One thing’s for sure, he wanted to trust Lin Ling. So he answered, “You better then. Whatever you’ll be... Come to me. Okay?”
Lin Ling made a doubtful look, not exactly what he felt, a good actor he was. “Only if you’re still alive by then.”
“Well, duh. Promise?” Nice didn’t even hesitate with his response.
“Shouldn’t you be the one finding me?” Lin Ling countered, the edges of his figure blending into the starlight. “Why should I do all the work?”
“How am I supposed to recognize you? I’m not perfect,” Nice admitted, the confession coming easier now than it ever had.
“Coming from you?” Lin Ling’s grin was the last thing to lose its sharpness.
“Alright, alright,” Nice murmured, his hand falling through the space where Lin Ling’s arm had been. “Just... make sure to take care of yourself. If anyone treats you bad, I’ll take care of them for you. Hero privilege, right?”
Lin Ling wiped his face, his eyes shimmering with silent gratitude. He nodded slowly, his image now nothing more than a trick of the light.
“Mm. Thank you...”
Nice stood there for a long time.
“Idiot,” he whispered to the silence. “That’s my line.”
***
What is a hero?
A ray of light in the darkness. A guardian in the moment of need. A savior made perfect, by and for the people.
Nice!
We live in a world where heroes are forged by trust. You have the power to create heroes. And with hardwork…
‘You’ can become a hero too!
Nice unknowingly made a smile as he finished the segment, watching it through his phone as he lay on a sofa, the morning sun lighting his face. He was watching a rejected advertisement he found from Lin Ling’s account. His appearance looked perfect on the ad, as always, but the reason why he kept pushing the replay button was because his ears were straining for the narrator’s voice.
It was Lin Ling, alright.
There was that characteristic, enthusiastic energy Nice had grown to recognize. Even the slight, human crack in the voice at the end.
The door clicked open.
As such, Nice’s smile didn’t linger. He didn't move at first, he didn't even breathe. He just listened to the familiar weight of the footsteps. When he finally forced himself to look up, he saw him then.
Wreck.
There was a long, heavy pause as their eyes almost met. Nice had almost forgotten he wasn’t on the Hero Tower, but their apartment.
Wreck moved, dropping his keys and a bag on the entryway table with a clatter that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. “What a surprise,” he commented, his voice a rough, familiar rasp. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. Finally decided to show up?”
He headed straight to the kitchen, moving with the ease of someone who had spent too many nights alone in this space. He casually opened the fridge, the humming light spilling across the floor.
Nice stood up, his throat suddenly feeling tight. He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the rainbow magnets on the fridge, anywhere but the man’s face. “I—”
“They’re looking for you,” Wreck interrupted with a scoff, as he rummaged through the fridge. “The CEO, Treeman, everyone… They even contacted me, as if that might help. Like we’re still on speaking terms.”
He pulled out a can of beer, the metal cold in his hand.
“I reached out to your ‘girlfriend’,” Wreck continued with a tone dripping with a cynical edge. “She’s the only one who can teleport to you, anyway. But the girl apparently used the opportunity to take a vacation. Disappeared completely. Good grief.”
He popped the tab with a sharp hiss and took a long, slow drink. Instead of coming toward the living room, he leaned against the counter, keeping the distance between them.
“I didn't touch your things,” Wreck said quietly, his gaze fixed on the wall. “So if you’re looking to take the rest with you, just tell me. I’ll put it all in one place so you can be on your way.”
Offended? Hurt? Whatever the sting was, it made Nice look at him. He couldn't meet Wreck’s eyes of course, but he saw his hand. The aluminum of the can was groaning as his trembling grip began to crush the metal.
“I’m sorry,” Nice finally spoke up. The words felt small, insufficient for the years of staged battles and the silence that followed.
“What’s there to apologize for?” Wreck said. His voice was steady, but beneath the surface, he was clearly gritting his teeth. He didn't look at Nice, because if he did, the ‘villain’ mask would shatter, and all that would be left was someone who had waited far too long for his roommate to come home.
“I’m really sorry,” Nice repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper.
That was what finally made Wreck turn, his brow furrowed in a sharp, defensive frown. “I told you, there’s nothing to be so—”
The words died in Wreck’s throat.
Nice was already in tears.
Composed and beautifully tragic would be the ideal description but he wasn't crying like a hero in a movie. He was breaking apart, ugly tears streaming down his face as he repeated the apology over and over, for reasons Wreck couldn’t possibly know. He was apologizing for the fall out, for the distance, for the no contact, and for the fact that he had almost successfully erased himself from the world.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Nice choked out.
There used to be a time when Nice could tell Wreck everything — back when they were just two kids sharing the same ambition. He didn’t know when the honesty had stopped. Had it been when they started playing their scripted roles? When the fake relationship with Moon became a 24/7 performance? Or was it the moment Nice realized he was willing to let Wreck play the villain and take the world's hatred just so Nice could keep his status?
Whatever the reason, there was no way to tell Wreck the truth now.
He couldn't say, “I almost left you forever.”
He couldn't explain the ghost of Lin Ling, or the wind during a freefall, or the feeling of a noose made of fabric, or the weight of the hair dryer in the water, or the tinnitus that comes after pulling a gun’s trigger.
All he could manage was a broken, repetitive sob.
“I’m so—”
He felt it then. A sudden, firm warmth.
Wreck hadn't stayed by the counter. He had crossed the room in two strides, pulling Nice into a heavy, crushing embrace. The scent of beer and familiar laundry detergent hit Nice’s senses, a grounded reality after a night of ethereal despair.
“Stop crying,” Wreck uttered, his voice thick with a mix of frustration and relief. “Seriously, I was supposed to be angry at you. I had a whole speech ready about how much of an idiot you are for disappearing.”
And of course, that only made Nice cry harder. He buried his head into the shoulder of his supposed ‘enemy’, his hands clutching the back of Wreck’s shirt as if he were an anchor in a storm. Nice didn’t explain anything, he didn't mention the suicide pact or the burnout. And Wreck let him stay silent. Both of them had a thousand things to say — years of secrets and unspoken resentments — but in the quiet of the apartment, none of it mattered. For the first time in a long time, the trust system was locked outside the door, and they were just two people, holding on to the only thing that was still real.
It took a while before the tremors in Nice’s shoulders finally began to subside. The room was still, the only sound the distant city that no longer felt like it owned him. He pulled back just enough to look at the fabric of Wreck’s shirt, his voice steadying, though it was still filled with the aftermath of his breakdown.
“Hey...” he sounded hoarsely.
“Hm?” Wreck acknowledged, his arms still loosely wrapped around Nice, refusing to let go just yet.
“Want to go to the cafe together?” Nice asked, his lips curving a degree higher. “I know a spot.”
A palpable silence followed. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a rejection in their world.
The brief moment made Nice’s heart throb.
But Wreck just took a breath, a long-hidden tension finally leaving his chest.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
THE END.
Heavily inspired by “Last Night”.