Chapter Text

Silence was the first thing he noticed. Not the silence of the night, but an organic, deep silence that resonated within him. Gao Tu opened his eyes and knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. The air had no smell. There was no constant background aroma of coffee, old paper, and the faint scent of firewood that permeated his small apartment. Nor was there the heavy, sometimes oppressive, layer of other people's pheromones that always floated in the air, delineating hierarchies and desires like an invisible map. Here there was only an olfactory void, clean and artificial, which caused him more disorientation than any cacophony of smells.

He sat up with a sudden movement, the exasperatingly soft sheets sliding over his skin. His skin, but no. He reached out his hand in front of his face and a shiver ran down his spine. Long, slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails. Nothing like his own hands, sometimes stained with ink or bearing small scars from his efforts to go unnoticed. Panic, an old acquaintance, began to stir in his chest, but he stifled it with the willpower of an Omega who had lived his entire life lying. Calm was his most precious mask, even now, in the midst of the inexplicable.

He got up, his legs somewhat unsteady, and headed for the bathroom. When he turned on the light, his heart stopped. The man staring back at him from the mirror was a stranger of disturbing beauty. Delicate but defined features, pale, smooth skin, eyes that even when open with shock retained a mysterious languor. He seemed vaguely familiar, like a face seen in passing in a crowd or on a screen, but he couldn't put a name to him. Confusion was a lump in his throat. Kidnapping? Some perverse experiment? His mind, agile and trained for danger, sought logical answers where there seemed to be none.

With icy determination, he returned to the room and picked up the smartphone charging on the nightstand. It had no password. The frivolity of that detail caused him a brief moment of disdain. The first thing was to find an identity. He opened the photo gallery and found a stranger's life exposed in smiling selfies. The man in the mirror on beaches, in recording studios, at luxurious events. And in many of them, another man appeared. Taller, broad-shouldered, and with a smile so wide and carefree that it almost hurt to look at it. Gao Tu held his breath. Him. Shen Wenlang. Or... no. The shape of the face, the curve of the lips, the intensity of the gaze were identical, but the essence was diametrically opposed. The person in the photos radiated a warmth and joy that the Shen Wenlang of his world would never have allowed himself to show.

With trembling fingers, he opened his browser and searched for "Actor Shen Wenlang." The results left him more confused than before. Articles about a television series called "Desire ABO" appeared. His story. His life. He felt a sudden dizziness. There, in the promotional photos, were they. The man with the warm smile was not Shen Wenlang; his name was Jiang Heng, and he was the actor who played him. And then he saw it. The revelation was a sharp blow to the stomach. The actor who brought Gao Tu, himself, to life in that fiction... was the man in the mirror. The face he now inhabited. He read the name under the photo, a name that now belonged to him: Li Pei En.

The succession of headlines bombarded his senses: "Li Pei En, the revelation of the year," "The actor who won over audiences with his Gao Tu," "The real chemistry between Li Pei En and Jiang Heng." He left the phone on the bed, feeling the world blur around him. Not only was he in an unfamiliar place. He was in the body of the person who acted out his own existence, his pain, and his secret, for the entertainment of others. The layer of absurdity was so thick that it was difficult to breathe.

A soft buzz from the phone snapped him out of his stupor. A message from "Heng 💖" appeared on the screen: "Pei En, honey, are you awake yet? Is everything okay? You seemed very quiet last night. I'll wait for you for breakfast in half an hour. I missed you!" The words—darling, I missed you—floated in the air like a sweet threat. That was his name now. Li Pei En. And Jiang Heng, the double of his obsession, his fear, and an attraction he could never admit, was waiting for him.

He needed time. He needed to understand the contours of this gilded prison. He headed back to the bathroom, determined to examine every inch of his new body. He turned on the shower and let the steam fill the room, creating a veil that isolated him, if only momentarily, from the crushing reality.

Under the hot water, which pounded his back with an almost therapeutic force, he examined himself with clinical meticulousness. The first thing he did was run his fingers over the back of his neck, searching for the familiar relief, the small protuberance that was the center of his vulnerability, the stigma, and essence of who he was. His gland. His fingers traced the skin, over and over, pressing with growing urgency. There was nothing. Only smooth, unblemished skin, without the slight swelling that gave away an Omega, or the more prominent mark of an Alpha. He was... neutral. Like a blank canvas. A Beta's body, but even more undifferentiated than that. The absence was both a dizzying relief and a profound loss. For the first time in his life, he was completely safe from being smelled, from being detected. But he was also stripped of a fundamental part of his identity.

He looked at himself in the fogged mirror. Li Pei En's body was, without a doubt, that of someone who took devoted care of himself. Defined musculature, but not bulky, the classic build of a swimmer or someone who practiced yoga regularly. Slim, yes, but athletic. Every movement denoted a contained strength and natural grace that he, Gao Tu, had never possessed. His own body was thinner, more angular, built for discretion and escape, not for display. He remembered the photos he had seen on the internet: Li Pei En was also a model. Everything fit into a perfect, polished image, destined to be admired.

As he dried himself off, an absurd and terrifying idea began to take shape in his mind, fueled by the strange resemblance of the faces he had seen. Jiang Heng was the perfect copy of Shen Wenlang. And he inhabited the body of his exact copy in this reality. They weren't just random people. It was as if this world had created replicas, actors to play out their lives. Was his world real? Or was it this one? Or were both real, existing in parallel, connected by a thread that had somehow broken, exchanging their souls?

The most crucial question, however, arose from the shadows of his most primal fear: if his soul was here, in this actor's body, where was Li Pei En's soul? Was it in his world? In his Omega body? A chill much colder than the shower water ran through him. The real Li Pei En, the one with the easy smiles and carefree life in the photos, waking up in Gao Tu's skin... in his world. A world of brutal rules, of pheromones that controlled impulses, of Alphas who could smell fear and lies from miles away.

The image was so vivid that he had to lean on the sink to keep from falling. Li Pei En wouldn't last a day. His innocence, his lack of survival instinct, would give him away immediately. And if someone like the real Shen Wenlang crossed his path... the consequences were unthinkable.

Suddenly, the soft chime of the doorbell sounded, followed by a voice that, despite its sweetness, made his whole body tense in a reflexive act of alertness.

"Pei En? Honey? Are you okay?" It was Jiang Heng's voice. Shen Wenlang's voice , but stripped of all its harshness and dominance, tinged with genuine, loving concern. "The food is going to get cold."

Gao Tu held him breath, staring at his wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. Li Pei En's mask was too big for him, alien. But him had no choice. The first act of the most difficult play of his life was about to begin. With one last glance at the person he no longer was, his dressed herself in the clothes; him found, clothes that smelled of expensive perfume that did not belong to his, and headed for the door, toward the man who had the face of him greatest torment and the voice of possible salvation.

Chapter Text

"Are you feeling okay?" 

It was the first question that hit him, followed by arms that moved like two snakes around his waist. Gao Tu opened his eyes slightly, feeling his ears turn a little red. Was this man so clingy this early in the morning?

"Yes," he replied softly, closing one eye as the man who resembled Shen Wenlang leaned toward him, kissing his cheek.

"I made you a special dish," he said, pulling away and smiling at him. It was a bright smile, one that Gao Tu felt he had never seen on Shen Wenlang, at least not once or twice... 

"What did you make?" he asked, playing along, casually wrapping his arms around Jiang Heng's shoulders. 

"It's a secret," he said, laughing, kissing him on the cheek again.

Gao Tu—Li Pei En—smiled shyly.

How long could he keep pretending?

He had to learn more about this life and learn!

The aroma of hot food and coffee filled the suite, an earthy, comforting smell that clashed with Gao Tu's inner chaos. Jiang Heng guided him to the table with a gentle hand on his back, a gesture meant to be affectionate, but which Gao Tu felt was a mark of ownership. Each touch reminded him of how vulnerable he was, how deeply he had invaded this stranger's life.

"I thought that after yesterday's exhausting shoot, you needed some energy," said Jiang Heng, dramatically uncovering a platter. "Your favorite baozi! I had them brought from that little place on Donghua Street that you like so much. And your coffee, just the way you like it: black as midnight and sweet as... well, like you when you want something," he added with a low, knowing laugh, as if they were sharing a private joke.

Gao Tu looked at the coffee. Sweet. He drank it bitter, as bitter as the reality he was trying to hide. Li Pei En, it seemed, had very different tastes. He nodded, forcing a smile that tensed the muscles in his face.

"Thank you... Heng," he managed to say, tasting the name in his mouth. It sounded strange, almost profane. Using an affectionate nickname for his Shen Wenlang's face was like acting in a play within a play.

Jiang Heng sat across from him, resting his chin in his hands, looking at him with an affectionate curiosity that Gao Tu found as disarming as it was alarming.

"Seriously, honey, last night you were... distant. Almost as if you weren't there. Are you sure you're okay? Is it because of the pressure of the special chapters?" he asked, his voice soft, completely devoid of the interrogative tone or calculating intensity that Gao Tu automatically associated with that face.

This was his chance. A perfect excuse, served on a silver platter.

"Yeah... something like that," Gao Tu muttered, taking a sip of the overly sweet coffee and trying not to grimace. "Just a little... overwhelmed. With everything."

The word everything carried more weight than he intended. This whole world. This whole body. You.

"Oh, my Pei En." Jiang Heng reached out and caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers. Gao Tu resisted the urge to pull away. "You don't have to carry everything alone. I'm here. Always. Remember what I told you when we started this? 'Together in front of the cameras and away from them.'"

Gao Tu nodded, feeling a twinge of something that wasn't panic for the first time since he woke up. It was... shock. The genuine devotion in Jiang Heng's eyes was so real, so clear, that for a second he forgot he was an impostor. This man, this version of Shen Wenlang, was a safe harbor, not a storm.

"I remember," he lied, his voice a little firmer.

"Good," Jiang Heng smiled, satisfied. "Then eat. And afterward, if you want, we can go over the lines for the new chapter together. They say our confession scene is... intense."

Intense. Gao Tu almost choked on a baozi. The idea of "acting" out a scene of love and conflict with Jiang Heng, playing Shen Wenlang, while he, in Li Pei En's body, played himself... was a level of insanity he wasn't sure he could come out of unscathed.

"Yeah... sounds good," he managed to say, staring at his plate.

As he ate, he surreptitiously observed Jiang Heng. Every gesture, every expression, was a study in contrasts. The way he laughed heartily, without a hint of calculation behind it. The way he cared openly, without using concern as a tool of manipulation. This man was the antithesis of everything Gao Tu knew.

And yet, the attraction was the same. Undeniable, strong. It came from a place deep within that recognized that face, that voice, but felt irrevocably drawn to the warmth and security that emanated from him, qualities that her Shen Wenlang had never offered him.

"How long can I keep pretending?" he asked himself, as Jiang Heng told him a silly joke about something that had happened on set.

The answer came with terrifying clarity: it wasn't about pretending. It was about learning. About absorbing every detail, every shared memory, every preference of Li Pei En. He had to become the best student of the life that now belonged to him. Because the price of failure wasn't just his exposure. It was the possibility of losing this... this strange, quiet, sweet version of a feeling he had always longed for from the shadows.

And, perhaps most importantly; it was the only way to find a way to fix the interdimensional mess he had caused: and maybe, just maybe, discover if there was a place for him in this world of peace, even if that meant remaining, forever, Li Pei En.

Or return to his true reality. Only he didn't know how. 

Breakfast ended with a comfortable silence that Gao Tu didn't know how to interpret. It wasn't the tense, charged silence of his world, where every pause was a battlefield of pheromones and unspoken intentions. This silence was... light. Jiang Heng simply smiled, cleared the dishes with a domestic ease that completely disarmed Gao Tu, and asked if he wanted to go out for some fresh air.

"The park is quiet at this hour," Jiang Heng said, picking up his jacket. "We can walk a little. It'll do you good."

Gao Tu nodded, feeling that every "yes" was another step deeper into the web of this borrowed life. Going out meant exposing himself, meant that others might see him and notice the charade. But refusing would be even more suspicious.

The morning air was fresh and clean, without the thick smell he was used to. They walked along paved paths lined with trees, and Gao Tu found himself mimicking Jiang Heng's relaxed stride; sinking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, which smelled faintly of his cologne, a citrus and somewhat woody scent that was strangely reassuring.

"About the rehearsal," Jiang Heng began, breaking the soft murmur of the wind through the leaves. "The director wants to go over the key scenes in the confession arc. He says they need to convey more... electricity." He paused and glanced sideways at Gao Tu, a playful smile on his lips. "As if there wasn't enough already."

Gao Tu felt the heat rise to the back of his neck. Electricity. He and Shen Wenlang had electricity, yes, the kind that precedes a violent storm, charged with tension, power, and danger. Not the kind Jiang Heng seemed to be talking about.

"And then there's the variety show," Jiang Heng continued, oblivious to his partner's internal turmoil. "'A Day in the Life' wants to follow us around. They want to film us on set, at home..." He paused dramatically. "Even on our morning dates. Get ready for the world to see how I annoy you until you give in and make my coffee."

Gao Tu could barely process it. His entire life had been an act of concealment, a constant effort to erase any trace of his extraordinary existence. And now, he was supposed to allow cameras to follow him around, documenting every aspect of a life that wasn't his, with a man who was the imperfect replica of his greatest obsession. The irony was so bitter he could almost taste it.

"And don't forget Lele," Jiang Heng added suddenly, his tone shifting to a sweeter, more personal one. He stopped next to a bench and whistled softly.

From among some nearby bushes, a small whirlwind of brown fur emerged. A miniature poodle, its fluffy coat carefully trimmed, rushed toward them, wagging its tail with unbridled energy. It ran straight toward Jiang Heng, jumping against his legs, but then, as if remembering something, it turned and headed toward Gao Tu.

The animal stopped in front of him, lifted its little snout, and sniffed the air emphatically. Its dark eyes seemed to examine him, confused. It did not wag its tail with the same euphoria. Gao Tu froze. Even a dog could sense that something was wrong. Could it smell the absence of the real Li Pei En? Or could it since the scent of a strange soul in a familiar body?

Jiang Heng laughed, a clear, carefree sound. "Looks like he's a little jealous because we were away," he said, bending down to pet the animal. "Come on, Lele, don't you recognize your dad anymore?"

The word "dad" resonated with Gao Tu with unexpected force. He looked at the little dog, who was now rubbing against Jiang Heng's hand, and then looked up to meet his gaze. In Jiang Heng's eyes, there was nothing but affection and a little amusement at the pet's "confusion." There was no suspicion, only simple, sincere love for a being who depended on them.

Gao Tu, moving with an awkwardness he hoped would appear affectionate, slowly knelt down. He reached a trembling hand toward the poodle. "Hello, Lele," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

The dog sniffed him again, hesitating for an eternal moment. Then, as if deciding that, despite everything, this was his owner, he licked his fingers with a quick, wiggly tongue before jumping back against Jiang Heng's legs.

It was a small gesture, a minimal acceptance, but to Gao Tu, at that moment, it felt like forgiveness. He stood up, feeling a strange, warm emotion tightening his chest. This was real. This man, this dog, this quiet life of morning walks and television shows... it was real. And he was at the center of it all, lulled by a normality he had never known.

Jiang Heng straightened up, took the leash hanging from his pocket, and hooked it onto the now excited Lele. "Let's go," he said, offering the other end of the leash to Gao Tu. "Walk with us."

Gao Tu took the leash. The fabric was rough under his fingers, a palpable, real sensation amid the surreal dream he was caught in. The three of them walked, the dog pulling forward, Jiang Heng talking softly about filming schedules and lifestyle blogs, and Gao Tu, silently, absorbing every detail, every sound, every fraction of this stolen peace.

The question was no longer how long he could pretend. The question, increasingly urgent and terrifying, was what would happen when he no longer wanted to.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the leaves of the trees in the park, painting golden patterns on the path. Jiang Heng slid his arm around Gao Tu's waist with a naturalness that still made him hold his breath. The contact was casual, intimate, and completely disconcerting. There was no Alpha possessiveness in that gesture, only affection.

"I'm going to turn on the camera," Jiang Heng announced, his voice a cheerful murmur close to him ear as he gently bumped his shoulder against he's. "Before marketing scolds us for not posting anything on social media all day. The fans must think we've run away to a desert island."

Gao Tu—Li Pei En forced a smile that he hoped looked knowing. His mind was racing. In his world, private life was a dangerous luxury, and public life was a carefully choreographed performance to hide the truth. Here, it seemed to be the opposite. Private life was seemingly solid, and public life... a spectacle.

"Do we have a script to follow?" him asked, trying to make his voice sound casual, almost joking. He looked at Jiang Heng, searching those familiar eyes for some clue. He didn't know the rules of this game. Were they open about their relationship? Was it something expected of them? Or was it something discreet? In the world he came from, primary gender mattered little; it was the secondary—Alpha, Beta, Omega—that dictated every interaction, every alliance, every taboo. Here, apparently, the taboo was different, and he needed to understand its limits.

Jiang Heng laughed, a clear sound that seemed to scare away the nearby birds. "Script? Not for this. Eliot and Kipuka said they were going to an ice cream shop in the mall and that we would meet here later. This time, the four of us together. It's kind of a surprise for the fans, a mini-cast reunion." He explained as he fiddled with his phone to record, framing them both on the screen. "Relax, honey. Just let it be us. That's all they want to see."

Gao Tu nodded, feeling tense relief. Just us. The phrase was so simple and yet so impossible. Who was "us" to Li Pei En? He had no idea. But at least now he knew the names: Eliot and Kipuka. He quickly associated the faces he had seen in his frantic searches that morning. Eliot, the actor who played Hua Yong, and Kipuka, who brought Sheng Shaoyou to life. Characters who in his world represented obstacles and allies in his complicated plot. Here, from the casual way Jiang Heng talked about them, they seemed to be close friends, almost accomplices.

And then, the biggest implication dawned on him: if Jiang Heng and Li Pei En were an open and accepted couple (that's what he thought), and if Eliot and Kipuka were also in on this "surprise" plan for the fans... it was very likely that they also shared that kind of bond. The idea was mind-boggling. Four men, in same-sex relationships, being not only tolerated but celebrated, filming themselves for the entertainment of thousands. It was a world turned upside down, a distorted mirror where the biggest concerns seemed to be filming schedules and pleasing followers on social media, rather than daily survival or hiding one's true nature.

Jiang Heng began recording, bringing the phone closer. "Hello, everyone!" he said, with a broad smile directed at the camera. "Here we are, enjoying some fresh air before the chaos finds us." He turned the camera toward Gao Tu, who struggled to relax his features into what he hoped was Li Pei En's shy but affectionate smile. "Someone say hello."

"Hello," Gao Tu managed to say, raising a hand in an awkward gesture he hoped would pass for shyness.

"We have special plans today," Jiang Heng continued, refocusing on himself. "We'll soon be meeting two very special people... So stay tuned! Can you guess who they are?" He winked at the camera and then stopped recording. "Done. Simple and sweet."

He put his phone away and took Gao Tu's hand again, intertwining their fingers with a familiarity that felt like an electric shock. "Don't worry," he murmured, as if he had sensed the tension in him. "You're always perfect in front of the camera. And with Eliot and Kipuka, it'll be just like always: a little chaos, lots of laughter, and ice cream."

Gao Tu squeezed his hand gently, allowing himself for a second to sink into the illusion. The sun was warm, Jiang Heng's hand was firm and real in his, and the promise of a normal gathering, with friends and ice cream, hung in the air. It was a ridiculously simple life, almost naive. And, he realized with a shudder that was not of fear, but of something akin to hope, it was a life that, against all logic, he was beginning to desire with an intensity that terrified him. The greatest danger was no longer being discovered. It was forgetting that he had ever been someone else.

The walk continued along increasingly lonely paths, away from the central bustle of the park. Gao Tu noticed the deliberate choice of route; Jiang Heng led with an ease that spoke of routine. It was not a random path. It was a route calculated for privacy, a small maze of trees and hedges that acted as a shield against prying eyes. Lele trotted happily ahead of them, but even the park itself seemed to whisper a secret. Gao Tu understood then: the relationship between the real Li Pei En and Jiang Heng was not the public spectacle he had imagined. It was something reserved, precious, something that needed these stolen moments in the shade of the trees. In front of the cameras, they would be colleagues, close friends, perhaps, but never this. Never the hand that Jiang Heng placed on his waist with quiet possessiveness, nor the way his shoulder brushed against Gao Tu's with a confidence that went beyond friendship. The performance ended when the lights went out, and then Jiang Heng's sweetness, which already seemed overwhelming, intensified until it became almost immeasurable.

They came to a small gazebo half-covered by vines. In the center was an old wrought-iron bench with an aura of intimacy. Jiang Heng let go of Lele's leash, and the dog shot off to sniff some nearby bushes.

"Sit down, rest a little," Jiang Heng said, his voice soft. "I'll go see what that little troublemaker is up to. He's not going to scare the ducks away from the pond again, is he?"

The iron bench was cold beneath her thighs, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves. Gao Tu watched Jiang Heng's back recede, his silhouette familiar and yet so foreign, as he played with Lele near the pond. The momentary solitude was both a balm and a curse. It allowed him, at last, to drop the mask of serenity that burned on his face. With fingers that could barely stay steady, he took out his phone. The screen lit up with a happiness that assaulted him: a selfie of Jiang Heng and Li Pei En, smiling with an intimacy that caused a dull pain in his chest. He looked away, unlocked the device, and, with a lump of apprehension in his throat, typed into the search engine: "Desire ABO novel."

The screen was flooded with results. These weren't just news stories; it was a complete archive, a meticulous dissection of his own existence. His heart pounded frantically against his rib cage. There it was, in bold letters: Gao Tu: The Omega who hides under the identity of a Beta to work alongside the powerful S-class Alpha, Shen Wenlang. Reading his life reduced to a slogan, his constant fear turned into a narrative hook, made him feel dizzy with nausea.

He eagerly swiped the screen. There was Sheng Shaoyou, the chemical magnate, an S-class Alpha whose presence in his world was as material as his own, played here by Qiu DingJie (Kipuka). And then, Hua Yong. The name made him frown. In his world, Hua Yong was a shadow, a romantic interest of Sheng Shaoyou, a character on the margins of his own story. An Omega. But here, the description read: the obstacle, Sheng Shaoyou's love interest, and supposedly—the next words were italicized, as if admitting to a fiction within a fiction—Wenlang's in the plot, played by Huang Xing (Eliot). "Supposedly." The word echoed in his mind. It was an addition, a dramatic twist invented for the novel.

He continued reading summaries of the chapters. Some scenes were exact copies of his life: meaningful glances in deserted hallways, half-spoken words, the constant danger of being discovered. But then he came across a chapter that was completely foreign to him: a forced date between Shen Wenlang and Hua Yong at a fancy restaurant. He had never heard of such a thing. A conflict with a secondary character who had never existed. The novel took the core of his reality—his secret, his forbidden attraction, the oppressive ABO hierarchy—and embellished it with lies, stylizing it into digestible entertainment for the masses.

A cold realization came over him, colder than the iron of the bench. This was not a faithful mirror. It was an adaptation. A sugarcoated, twisted version of his truth. Someone, in this absurdly normal world, had taken the threads of his life and woven them into this charade. How was it possible? Was his world real to begin with, or just source material for someone else's imagination?

He looked up. Jiang Heng was kneeling in the grass, laughing as Lele jumped to catch a twig. He was "Shen Wenlang." He embodied the man who was the epicenter of all his desires and all his fears. But this flesh—and-blood Jiang Heng, the one with dirt—stained hands and a smile that reached his eyes, knew nothing. To him, Shen Wenlang was a character. A script to memorize. A costume to put on and take off at the end of the day.

The disconnect was so monstrous, so deeply grotesque, that it made her stomach churn. He was real. His pain was real. The smell of paper in his old office, the constant pressure on his gland, the fear that tasted like copper in his mouth... all of that was real. And here, he had become a consumer product. He was a ghost in a machine, a character on a phone screen played by the man whose body he now inhabited.

He watched as Jiang Heng stood up, picked Lele up in his arms, and began walking back toward him, his smile as wide and carefree as the clear sky. Gao Tu turned off the phone screen and put it away with a sharp movement, forcing his features into a calm expression that was the biggest lie he had ever attempted. Inside, the world was shattering once again. Now he wasn't just trapped in someone else's body in a parallel universe. He was trapped inside the distorted narrative of his own life, and the only person who could understand the magnitude of that madness was him. And perhaps, somewhere in that other world full of smells and dangers, the real Li Pei En was living the same nightmare, but from the opposite side of the mirror.

Chapter Text

The sound of his own laughter, broad and carefree, surprised Gao Tu. It was a genuine laugh that came from within, carrying with it all the weight of the tension he had been carrying. His body leaned backward, about to lose his balance on the grass, but a firm arm wrapped around his back at once. Jiang Heng, without losing the thread of his own laughter or the conversation with Huang Xing, held him naturally, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Gao Tu straightened up, the contact still warm on his back, and met Jiang Heng's smiling gaze, who winked at him before refocusing on the story Huang Xing and Qiu Dingjie were telling.

Half an hour earlier, the arrival of Huang Xing and Qiu Dingjie—Eliot and Kipuka—had burst in with contagious energy. They brought bags of snacks and the promised ice cream, and amid laughter and exaggerations, they recounted the epic chase of Peanut, the puppy who had taken off like a rocket down the sidewalk. As they set up the picnic on the lawn, pulling sandwiches out of a basket that Gao Tu had never seen before, the group's dynamic began to reveal itself. Qiu Dingjie, Kipuka, with an almost electric energy, was the born storyteller, gesturing dramatically. Huang Xing, Eliot, was more serene, the calm anchor who smiled indulgently and arranged everything efficiently. And Jiang Heng... Jiang Heng was the bridge, feeding Huang Xing's jokes with gentle sarcasm and casting knowing glances at Gao Tu.

When they suggested tidying up a bit for the camera, Gao Tu shook his head. He took advantage of the moment when Jiang Heng and Huang Xing were playfully fighting over a pocket mirror to pour water into a bowl for the dogs, who were panting happily. He watched the scene with growing curiosity. The chemistry between them was evident, a real friendship that transcended the screen. It was fascinating and a little disconcerting to see Jiang Heng, with his Shen Wenlang face, engaged in a playful fight over a fringe, far from the Alpha solemnity that defined his counterpart.

"I'm turning on the camera!" Kipuka announced with a broad smile, prompting the other two to rush to put the finishing touches on their preparations.

The live stream began with a chorus of "Hello!" directed at the screen. Gao Tu followed suit, introducing himself as "Li Pei En" with a smile he hoped was convincing. As they talked about the special shorts and the dates of the variety show, Gao Tu devoted himself to eating, finding a strange comfort in the simple food and light chatter. Little by little, he was putting the pieces of their public lives together.

Kipuka handed him a phone to see the fans' comments. The screen was flooded with a torrent of hearts, emojis, and messages in various languages. Most were expressions of affection and enthusiasm, but soon, like ink stains on white paper, others began to appear. Cutting comments questioning him talent, his appearance, his motives. Harsh words disguised as "constructive criticism" that attempted to undermine the joy of the moment.

"Ignore those comments," whispered a warm voice very close to her ear. It was Jiang Heng, who had approached silently. His smile was reassuring, but his eyes said he had seen exactly what Gao Tu—Li Pei En—was reading. Gao Tu nodded, feeling a mixture of embarrassment at being caught and gratitude for the gesture.

The conversation flowed to behind-the-scenes releases and future surprises. Gao Tu managed to smile, letting himself be carried away by the atmosphere. Then came the cards. And with the cards came fierce and hilarious competition. Huang Xing was an avowed cheater, Jiang Heng a strategist who preferred distraction with nonsense that made everyone laugh, and Kipuka the quiet and surprisingly cunning player.

It was in the midst of one of Jiang Heng's antics, pretending to distract him with a ridiculous face, that Gao Tu felt that broad, genuine laugh escape him again. For a moment, just a moment, the nightmare blurred. He wasn't Gao Tu, the fugitive Omega. He was just another man, laughing with his friends in the sunshine, with Jiang Heng's hand casually resting on his knee, and the sound of the two dogs playing in the background. For a moment, the character, and reality merged into a happiness so simple and so foreign that he knew, with terrifying certainty, that losing this would hurt much more than he had ever imagined.

.

.

.

The stillness in the room was profound, broken only by the soft snoring of Lele sleeping in her bed. Gao Tu sank into the comfort of the sofa, a strangely designed piece of furniture, but absurdly comfortable, which seemed to absorb all the tension in his body. He closed his eyes, letting the images of the day parade behind his eyelids: Qiu Dingjie's contagious energy, Huang Xing's smiling serenity, the obvious complicity between them, a bubble of intimacy that spoke of a relationship much deeper than simple friendship. He had liked them. Too much. And that revelation disturbed him as much as it calmed him.

Before he could lose himself further in those thoughts, a presence leaned over him. He felt the warmth first, then the soft weight of lips on his. It was a contact so unexpected and so tender that it made him open his eyes wide. There was Jiang Heng, smiling at him with a sweetness that broke his heart.

Gao Tu froze. He had no experience in this. His life had been devoted to survival, to going unnoticed, to stifling any spark of desire that might give him away. Kissing someone... that was a luxury he had never allowed himself. Only in his most secret dreams had he imagined such a thing, and always with the stern and distant face of Shen Wenlang.

One of his hands, almost of its own accord, rose and rested on Jiang Heng's hair. It was soft, slightly messy. He remembered the fans' comments, the affectionate name "Dahai" they shouted at him. This man was an ocean of calm from which he, a castaway, did not want to emerge.

Jiang Heng noticed his initial stiffness, and his kiss was not one of demand, but of exploration. Soft, slow, almost questioning. Gao Tu closed his eyes again and surrendered. He let his lips part slightly, allowing Jiang Heng's to move with freedom that sent a shiver through him. There was no urgency, just a deep, comforting warmth that spread through his chest. When they parted, Gao Tu could feel the burning heat in his ears, surely tinged with scarlet red.

Jiang Heng remained kneeling beside the sofa, smiling, his breath mingling with Gao Tu's. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper that vibrated in the small space between them.

Gao Tu, still reeling from the kiss, didn't know how to respond. He didn't know Li Pei En's tastes, nor the routines of this house. His mind, in an act of creative panic, searched for an evasive answer that would still sound intimate. His hand, still stroking Jiang Heng's hair, paused. He used the deep, soft voice he had adopted, that of Li Pei En, but injected it with a vulnerability that was all his own.

"What would you do?" he asked, looking him in the eyes. It was a tactic to buy time, to study Jiang Heng's reaction and understand what he expected of him. But also, deep down, it was a genuine question. He didn't know how to be this man's lover. He didn't know how to act in this romantic comedy that had fallen to him. Everything about him was uncharted territory, and Jiang Heng was the only map he had.

The question, however, rather than betraying him, seemed to delight Jiang Heng. His smile widened, full of affection. "You always ask for the same thing when you don't know what to choose," he said, as if sharing a kindred secret. "I'll make you the spicy noodles you like. But this time not so spicy, since you complained about your stomach last night."

He got up and headed for the kitchen, leaving Gao Tu on the sofa with a racing heart and lips still burning. He had passed the test, but the new information was a poisoned gift. Spicy noodles. Not so spicy. Stomach complaint. Every detail was another brick in the facade Li Pei En had to build, a personality imposed on him from the outside while inside; Gao Tu struggled not to drown in the swell of an emotion his didn't know how to handle. And above all, with the echo of a kiss that hadn't been for him, but that his had felt as if it were.

Chapter Text

The steam from the shower condensed on the tiles as Gao Tu let the hot water hit his back, trying to wash away not only the sweat but also the nightmare of disorientation that had accompanied him for three days. Three days in this parallel world where the faces were familiar, but the souls were completely different. Where Huang Xing and Qiu Dingjie were not the entanglement and the distant ally, but a couple united by an obvious love and a warm friendship that he, against all odds, had found comforting.

And then there was the revelation about Li Pei En. Snooping through his phone, his medical records, and his old contracts had painted a much more complex picture of the man whose body he inhabited. The depression, the legal battle with his former company... he wasn't just the shining star the photos showed. There was a shadow there, a fragility that resonated, albeit differently, with his own. They even shared a bitter familiarity with medication. The only difference was that Li Pei En's was not to hide who he was, but to heal a wound that Gao Tu was only beginning to understand.

He dressed in underwear and a soft, neutral cotton outfit, clothes that Li Pei En would have chosen. As he did so, a sensible determination took hold of him. If this was temporary, if there was the slightest chance of returning, he needed to leave a trace. He would start a digital diary, detailed notes of each day, each interaction, each detail, of this borrowed life. He hoped, with a mixture of anxiety and hope, that the real Li Pei En was doing the same in his body. The idea of that unsuspecting man, trapped in the skin of an Omega, in a world of pheromones and hierarchical dangers, made his skin crawl.

The aroma of garlic, ginger, and something spicy pulled him out of his thoughts. He followed the tempting smell to the kitchen, where he paused in the doorway, watching. Jiang Heng moved with innate fluidity between stoves and pots, his movements confident and economical. He wasn't a man cooking out of obligation; he was someone who enjoyed creating and feeding others. The scene was so domestic, so peaceful, that it gave him a pang of bittersweet pain. No one in his life had ever cared whether he was hungry, how he preferred to sleep, or whether the food was to his liking. Li Pei En, despite his demons, had this. He had someone who looked at him as if he were the center of her universe.

“Good morning, my sleeping beauty,” Jiang Heng's voice cut through the air, warm and affectionate. He set the wooden spoon down on the pot and approached. Gao Tu instinctively crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture he hoped would pass for sleep. Jiang Heng didn't seem to notice. “Did you sleep well?”

Gao Tu nodded, not trusting his voice. Jiang Heng's eyes shone with a softness that disarmed all his defenses. When the man leaned in, Gao Tu didn't pull away. This time he was prepared. He allowed Jiang Heng's lips to meet his, and when Jiang Heng's tongue sought entry, he granted it. It was a timid contact on his part, a tentative touch that contrasted with Jiang Heng's confidence. The sensation was so overwhelmingly intimate, so electrically foreign, that it weakened his legs, turning them to jelly. It tasted of coffee, of home, and of a possessiveness so gentle that it broke his soul.

“You're going to like what I made for you,” Jiang Heng murmured as he pulled away, panting slightly. He planted three quick, consecutive kisses on his lips, as if he couldn't resist, before taking his hand and guiding him to the kitchen island.

Gao Tu let himself be led, his gaze sweeping across the culinary battlefield: pots, bowls, scattered ingredients. A genuine laugh, laden with amused astonishment, burst from his chest.

“Looks like you had fun,” he said, pointing to the mess with his chin.

Jiang Heng smiled, without a hint of embarrassment. “Something like that,” he admitted, motioning for him to sit on a stool. “It'll be worth it, I promise.”

Gao Tu settled in, watching as Jiang Heng returned to his stove. The aroma was delicious, but even more delicious was the normality of the moment. For an instant, in the morning light streaming through the kitchen window, bathing Jiang Heng in a golden glow, Gao Tu could pretend that this was his life. That the mess in the kitchen, the dog snoring on his bed, and the taste of that kiss belonged to him. And the thought was so dangerously seductive that he had to press his fingers against the cold marble of the countertop to remind himself that everything, absolutely everything, was borrowed.

Breakfast had been a delight that Gao Tu couldn't resist, filling his stomach with a warmth that seemed to extend to his soul. Every bite served by Jiang Heng was imbued with an attention that made him dizzy, a dangerous desire he had always felt for Shen Wenlang, but transformed into something real and sweet. It was in the midst of that placidity that the question arose, impulsive, laden with a weight that only he understood.

“Do you believe in parallel universes?” He let it hang in the air, trying to sound casual, as if they were discussing the plot of some random TV series and not the very foundation of his current existence.

Jiang Heng put down his teacup, frowning in an expression of concentration that was heartbreakingly familiar to him. Gao Tu, chewing slowly, watched as that gesture carved lines of seriousness into the actor's face, an exact mirror of the way Shen Wenlang analyzed reports in his office. Or how his gaze softened imperceptibly just before addressing him, granting him a fraction of his full attention. The similarity was a low blow, a revelation that even in fiction, some reflections of the original soul persisted.

“Yes. I think so,” Jiang Heng replied at last, his voice thoughtful. “It's a theme deeply rooted in our culture. There are many stories about heaven giving second chances to those who repent, or allowing them a glimpse of a life that is not entirely their own. The possibilities are endless. I don't know.” He paused, his clear eyes fixed on Gao Tu. “Do you believe they exist?”

Gao Tu nodded, the truth burning in his throat like a furtive fire. I am living proof , he thought, the specter in the machine, the glimpse of a life I stole. “Yes. I do,” he managed to say, and then, driven by a visceral need to gauge the depth of this double, he added, “If you were Shen Wenlang...”

The ring of Jiang Heng's phone cut through the air like a knife, vibrating on the granite countertop. They both looked at the device. The name “Mom” glowed on the screen. Gao Tu couldn't help but smile slightly and bitterly at the absurd normality of the interruption.

“Oh, I wasn't expecting her call,” Jiang Heng said, rising with an apologetic sigh. He picked up the phone and glanced at Gao Tu. “Give me a moment, baobei.”

Gao Tu nodded silently, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jiang Heng walked away toward the balcony, his voice becoming an affectionate murmur. His eyes returned to the empty plates. “We can't waste this,” he whispered to himself, and set about clearing up with nervous meticulousness, washing each plate and leaving it to drain, occupying his hands to calm the storm in his mind.

Almost ten minutes later, Jiang Heng returned. His gaze swept across the immaculate kitchen and then settled on Gao Tu, who had taken refuge on the sofa with an open book he wasn't reading. A warm smile spread across Jiang Heng's lips when he saw him.

“At eleven o'clock we have to go to the studio to shoot the special scenes,” he said, settling himself on the sofa and taking Gao Tu's feet to place them on his thighs, with a naturalness that still managed to surprise him. His fingers began to trace gentle circles on his ankle. “About Shen Wenlang...”

Gao Tu lowered the book, abandoning any pretense of reading. His heart was beating hard against his ribs. He looked at Jiang Heng's profile, the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. It was a crime that this man was so similar to the version in his world and, at the same time, so radically different.

“If I were Shen Wenlang,” Jiang Heng began, his voice low but filled with a conviction that sounded like personal truth, “from the first minute I met and fell in love with Gao Tu, I would have courted him. I wouldn't have let so much time go to waste.” He frowned, his gaze lost in the distance, as if visualizing the scene. “It wouldn't have taken me ten years of reflection to understand my own feelings for the person I love. I wouldn't have waited...” Him paused, his hand resting on Gao Tu's ankle. “I wouldn't have waited for Gao Tu to abandon me, to not know where he is, and yet still refuse to accept my feelings for him while I'm dying to find him and discover the secret of what happened that day.”

Finally, he turned his head and fixed his eyes on Gao Tu's. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming. It wasn't Shen Wenlang's cold fury, but the fire of deep certainty, the certainty of a man who knew the value of time and was unwilling to waste it.

Gao Tu held his breath. Jiang Heng's words were a perfect dagger that stabbed at the heart of his own story, at all the missed opportunities, at the painful dance of denial and attraction between him and the real Shen Wenlang. This man, with the face of his obsession and the soul of a stranger, had summed up the tragedy of his life in a few sentences and offered him an alternative ending. An ending where love was not hidden, but pursued.

And at that moment, under Jiang Heng's gentle caress and the weight of his words, Gao Tu felt something break inside him. The line between Gao Tu and Li Pei En, between his reality and this fiction, became so thin that it almost ceased to exist.

Chapter Text

The weight of the literary revelation was a stone on his chest. Gao Tu let the phone slide onto the sofa, the cover illustrating the drama between Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou now seeming like a bitter mockery. It wasn't just a plot; it was a distorting mirror of his own life, a poisoned version where the roles were twisted beyond recognition. Hua Yong, an Enigma. The word echoed in his mind like a bell. A second gender so rare that many in his world considered it a myth, an exception to science, not a real secondary gender. And he, Gao Tu, had fallen into his web of lies, had felt empathy for that submissive and vulnerable “Omega” who was just a mask for a cunning predator.

He sank deeper into the sofa, a familiar tightness squeezing his throat. To what extent had he been a pawn? Had his own struggle, his painful secret, been just a backdrop in someone else's game of conquest? The idea was nauseating. Even in this fictional version, he felt manipulated, used. And the worst part was that, as he read it, he recognized himself in some of the character's reactions: the caution, the hidden vulnerability, the silent despair. It was a distorted and humiliating reflection.

Depression, that gray fog he knew so well, began to envelop him. The loneliness of the apartment, now that Jiang Heng was gone, became noticeable. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating him with silence. He instantly regretted not agreeing to accompany him. Any distraction was better than staying there, ruminating on a fiction that stole pieces of his own truth.

With a sudden movement, he stood up. Inaction was the enemy. He grabbed his debit card and his phone. He didn't even bother to change; he put on the sneakers by the door and left the apartment.

The outside air was a numbing and liberating blow. The world continued on its course, oblivious to his existential crisis. He walked without a clear destination, letting the rhythm of his steps and the murmur of the city carry him along. He looked at the shop windows without really seeing, his mind still trapped between the pages of the book and the memories of his world.

Was Li Pei En feeling this lost? Overwhelmed by the unwritten rules, the overwhelming smells, the constant threat emanating from figures like Shen Wenlang? The need to know became an itch under his skin. He stopped in a small square, found a secluded bench, and opened a new note on his phone. Her fingers flew across the screen, documenting everything with the meticulousness of an investigator: the dynamic with Jiang Heng, the revelation about Hua Yong in the novel, Li Pei En's depression, the strange peace of this world without pheromones. Every detail was crucial information, a message in a bottle thrown out to the possibility that the real Li Pei En was doing the same thing.

At the end, him added a final line, a sentence that arose from the depths of his confusion and her growing, dangerous connection to this place:

"I don't know how it's possible, or why, but... take care of Shen Wenlang. And if you can... take care of him too. The loneliness here is different, but it hurts just the same."

He stored the note in a hidden folder labeled "Diary." It didn't solve anything, but the simple act of externalizing the chaos gave him a fragile sense of control. He took a deep breath, the air no longer seeming so cold. He had a few hours before Jiang Heng returned, and the charade had to continue. A few hours to lose himself in the streets of a world that wasn't his, trying to find, even if only for a moment, a piece of himself that wasn't defined by his gender, his secret, or the character he was now forced to play.

The fragile bubble of peace was suddenly shattered. The whispering murmur, followed by the indiscreet glow of phone screens pointing at him like curious eyes, brought him abruptly back to reality. Gao Tu raised his head, looking away from the screen of his own device, and met the gaze of five young women gathered a few steps away. Their faces were a mixture of disbelief, contained excitement, and that peculiar intensity of fans who recognize someone out of context.

"It's him!" whispered one, though the sound reached Gao Tu clearly.

"Li Pei En? Really? But he's alone!"

"How lucky! Shall we ask him for a photo?"

Gao Tu froze. His deeply ingrained Omega instinct screamed to hide, to run away, not to attract attention. But this body was not that of a fugitive Omega; it was that of a star. Li Pei En was used to this. He was not. Before he could react, one of the girls, the bravest one, approached him with a shy but determined smile.

"Excuse me, teacher, Li... Could we... bother you for a photo?" she asked, her voice trembling. The others nodded enthusiastically, their phones still recording.

Gao Tu swallowed hard. Li Pei En's mask, which had been falling apart during his walk, had to be forcibly put back on. He forced a smile that he hoped was the right one, shy but friendly, the one he had seen in the photos—and nodded.

"Yes, of course," he managed to say, his voice a little deeper than usual, but steady.

He stood up, and the girls crowded around him in an instant. The scent of their youthful perfumes and their excitement was overwhelming, but not in the oppressive way of the pheromones of his world; it was simply... human. He posed mechanically, repeating the smile over and over as the flashes went off. One of them spoke to him directly.

" We love your work in Desire ABO! You and Mr. Jiang are so... real!" she said, and the others murmured their agreement.

The mention of Jiang Heng gave him a foothold amid the dizziness.

"Thank you," he replied, searching for the right words. "He... Jiang Heng is a great partner."

"You're the perfect couple!" insisted another girl, and Gao Tu felt an absurdly genuine warmth rising up his neck.

After a few more photos and signing a couple of autographs in notebooks that appeared out of nowhere—His signed with Li Pei En's rune, which him had practiced at home just in case—the girls said goodbye with beaming smiles and effusive, thanks.

"Good luck with the recordings! We're looking forward to the special!" one last girl shouted before leaving.

Gao Tu was left alone again on the bench, his heart pounding. The adrenaline from the encounter slowly dissipated, leaving behind a strange feeling. It hadn't been a threatening invasion as it would have been in his world, where being discovered could mean danger. It had been... pleasant. Overwhelming, but pleasant. The admiration was obvious, sincere.

He looked at his phone, at the diary entry that was still open. His gaze fell on the last line he had written: "Loneliness here is different, but it hurts just the same."

Perhaps, he told himself, not all loneliness here was the same. Perhaps, in this noisy world full of glances, there was a different connection, one built on flashes and borrowed smiles, but one that, for a moment, had warmed the cold inside him. He gathered his things and got up, determined to walk back. He no longer wanted to be alone. He wanted to return to that apartment where, perhaps, someone would be waiting for him with dinner ready and a smile that, even if it wasn't entirely for him, was enough for now.

...

The scene Gao Tu found when he opened the apartment door was very different from the tranquility he had left hours earlier. Jiang Heng was in the middle of the room, his figure tense, one hand on his hip and the other pressing the phone to his ear. His brow was furrowed, and he paced back and forth in a perfectly straight line, like a caged tiger. Worry emanated from him in almost visible waves.

But then, he looked up.

The transformation was instantaneous. The tension in his shoulders vanished, the worry on his face collapsed like a weak structure, and a deep, relieved sigh escaped his lips. He hung up the phone without even saying goodbye and crossed the room in three long strides, wrapping Gao Tu in a hug so tight it almost took his breath away.

"Are you okay?" The question was a hoarse, inescapable whisper against his hair.

Gao Tu stood still for a second, surprised by the intensity of the welcome. Then, slowly, he raised his own hands and placed them on Jiang Heng's back. He could feel the other man's rapid heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Are you okay?" he returned the question, turning his head to get a better look at his face. Jiang Heng's cheeks were flushed, and he had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, as if he had been running.

Jiang Heng pulled away just enough to look at him, but kept his hands on his arms, as if making sure he wouldn't faint. 

"Something like that," he admitted with an exasperated but relieved sigh. "I didn't imagine so many people would chase me when they saw me leaving a grocery store. It was crazy. I thought that..." He paused, shaking his head as if to clear away an unwanted thought. He didn't finish the sentence, but Gao Tu could guess it : I thought the same thing might be happening to you, or something worse.

Gao Tu pressed his lips together. His encounter with the fans in the park had been overwhelming but civilized. Clearly, Jiang Heng had had a much more intense experience. A wave of protectiveness, mixed with guilt for letting him go alone, washed over him. To break the tension, to offer a little normality and comfort, he steered the conversation toward the first thing that came to mind. 

"Want to grab some pizza?" he asked, his voice deliberately casual.

The effect was immediate. Jiang Heng leaned back a little further, his eyes widening with an expression of feigned horror that failed to hide the flash of pure happiness that ran through him. It was clear that Li Pei En usually put up more resistance to that kind of food.

Gao Tu couldn't help but let out a light laugh, a genuine sound that came from his chest. "Don't you want to?"

"Yes, I want it!" Jiang Heng replied almost too quickly, and then, as if he couldn't contain himself, he wrapped his arms around him again, this time squeezing his waist and burying his face in Gao Tu's neck. "But don't tell my nutritionist," he murmured against his skin, his voice muffled and warm.

Gao Tu smiled, a wide, genuine smile that stretched his lips. He wrapped his arms around Jiang Heng's neck, feeling the solidity of his body against his own. At that moment, embraced in the doorway of an apartment that wasn't his, with the scent of cheap pizza floating in the air like an offering, and the warmth of a man who thought he was hugging someone else, Gao Tu allowed the mask to melt away completely. He wasn't Li Pei En. He wasn't Gao Tu. He was simply a man, tired and a little lost, finding unexpected refuge in the arms of another. And for the first time, he didn't care.

Chapter Text

The warm light of the spotlights created an intimate circle around them, isolating them from the murmur of the technical crew, from the cameras recording every second. The air smelled of dust and wiring, a scent of the film set that was already becoming familiar to him. Under his feet, the tape marks on the floor told him where he should be. And in front of him, Jiang Heng, with Shen Wenlang's intense and vulnerable gaze, but with that spark of warmth that always slipped through.

"Cut," ordered the director's voice from somewhere in the shadows. "Great. The kiss is right on the edge, perfect for getting past the censors. The gestures are impeccable. Five-minute break."

The acting tension broke. Jiang Heng relaxed his shoulders, but his hands, which according to the script were supposed to be on Gao Tu's waist, Li Pei En's, did not move. They stayed there, warm through the thin fabric of the period costume Gao Tu was wearing. Jiang Heng's lips parted from he's, but only as much as necessary. Their breath mingled in the small space between their mouths.

Gao Tu kept his eyes closed for another second, clinging to the strange sensation. It hadn't been a passionate kiss; it had been a calmness, a silent question asked with just the right pressure of the lips, an almost imperceptible movement that had nonetheless made him shiver to his toes. It was ridiculous how effective Jiang Heng was at portraying that mixture of fierce desire and absolute restraint.

He opened his eyes and met Jiang Heng's gaze. The actor was no longer completely in character. Shen Wenlang's demeanor had softened, giving way to a warm, personal curiosity. Gao Tu felt a pang of that bittersweetness he had anticipated when reading the script. The situation was so absurd... he, Gao Tu, receiving a kiss from a pleading Shen Wenlang, played by the man with whom, in another parallel and much more real life, he shared his bed and his refrigerator.

A sudden impulse, a mixture of mischief, of testing the limits of this borrowed reality, and of genuine curiosity about Jiang Heng's reaction, made him speak before he thought.

"I'm pregnant," he said, his voice a barely audible whisper, but perfectly clear in the intimate space they still shared.

The reaction was instantaneous. Jiang Heng's eyes, which had been soft and curious before, widened. The actor—the man—pulled away abruptly, though his hands clung tighter to his waist, as if instinctively wanting to prevent him from falling.

"What?" The word shot out of Jiang Heng like a gunshot, loaded with such genuine disbelief that it was almost comical. It wasn't the reaction of Shen Wenlang the Alpha, it was that of Jiang Heng, the unsuspecting boyfriend, completely off script.

Gao Tu observed every detail of the face in front of him. The arch of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips, the flash of panic and utter confusion in his eyes. He's very handsome, he thought, not for the first time. And at that moment, with his makeup highlighted, his high cheekbones and bangs slightly tousled by movement, he was more so than ever. An involuntary smile began to curve Gao Tu's lips. The days they had shared, the home-cooked meals, the silly worries, the stolen kisses around the apartment, all of that had built a bridge of affection that now prevented him from taking the joke any further.

"It's my line," he clarified softly, his voice regaining Li Pei En's tone, though the amused sparkle remained in his eyes. "The next one in the script. The one you say after I tell you we need to talk seriously."

The relief that flooded Jiang Heng's face was clear. He exhaled the breath he seemed to be holding and dropped his forehead against Gao Tu's shoulder, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and suppressed laughter.

"Pei En, damn it," he muttered against his clothes, his voice vibrating against Gao Tu's body. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Gao Tu couldn't help it. He laughed, a low, genuine laugh that made his body shake. His arm, which was still wrapped around Jiang Heng's shoulders from the scene, tightened into a brief, comforting hug.

"I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't sorry at all. It had been fun. And secretly, Jiang Heng's comical reaction, that pure, genuine shock, had told him something the script never could: to Jiang Heng, the idea was real, and terrifying, and deeply personal.

Jiang Heng lifted his head, looking at him with an affectionate reproachful gaze. "You'll pay for this," he promised, but his smile betrayed his true feelings.

"I'll buy you pizza," Gao Tu offered, his smile still intact.

"With extra pepperoni," Jiang Heng agreed immediately, and this time he did pull away completely, though he gave him a gentle pinch on the waist before turning to talk to the director.

Gao Tu was left alone in the center of the set, the spotlight still warm on his skin. The smell of dust and cables was still there, but now it also smelled of relief, complicity, and pepperoni.

...

The apartment door closed with a soft click , isolating the outside world and plunging them into the intimacy of the hallway. Their ragged breathing barely broke the silence. The trip back from the studio had been fraught with tension, stolen glances, and knowing smiles about the joke on set. But now, alone, that tension transformed into something denser, more earthly.

Gao Tu barely had time to take off his shoes before Jiang Heng wrapped his arms around him. His hands, warm and firm, rested on his cheeks, tilting his face toward him. And then, he kissed him. It wasn't like the ones in the recordings, measured and gentle. This was a hungry kiss, with a demand that completely disarmed Gao Tu. A muffled moan escaped him, a sound he didn't recognize as his own, and his arms instinctively wrapped around Jiang Heng's shoulders, anchoring himself. He noticed, distantly, that the shoulders beneath his touch seemed broader, more solid than before, as if Shen Wenlang's character had left a physical mark on him.

With a fluid movement that took his breath away, Jiang Heng lifted him up. Gao Tu wrapped his legs around his waist automatically, allowing the man to carry him while their mouths remained locked together. The kisses became lazy, deeper, exploratory. Gao Tu lost himself in the sensation, in the taste of coffee and Jiang Heng, in the safety of his arms. He felt the light, playful pinch of teeth on his lower lip, followed by a soft murmur of pleasure that vibrated in Jiang Heng's chest against his own. It was intoxicating. It was perfect oblivion.

Until the words pierced him like an icy dart.

"Pei En, baobei..."

The name, whispered so lovingly and possessively, was a bucket of cold water. Pei En. It wasn't his name. Baobei. Treasure. It wasn't his.

Gao Tu's eyes flew open. Reality crashed into him with the force of a hammer blow. The arms that held him, the lips that claimed him, the whispers... it was all for someone else. For Li Pei En. He was an intruder, a soul enjoying warmth that did not belong to him.

In a sudden panic, he pushed Jiang Heng away from his shoulders. The force wasn't great, but it was enough to break the spell.

Jiang Heng pulled away, carefully lowering him until his feet touched the ground again. Confusion was evident in his dark eyes, still clouded with desire. His breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed, and one of his hands, which Gao Tu only now noticed, had slipped beneath his shirt, his warm palm against the skin of his stomach. The contact, which seconds before had been absorbing, now burned him with guilt.

"Tomorrow... we have rehearsal," Gao Tu managed to say, his voice sounding hoarse, strange even to his own ears. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. I'm sorry, Pei En. I'm sorry for stealing this. For wanting, it to be mine.

For a moment, he feared that Jiang Heng would insist, that he would question the sudden rejection. But then, the confusion in the actor's gaze softened, replaced by kind understanding. A tender, slightly embarrassed smile curved his lips.

"It's okay," he conceded, his voice soft, without a trace of reproach. He leaned down and placed a light, apologetic kiss on his cheek, a gesture of apology and affection that broke Gao Tu's heart in two. The hand under his shirt withdrew slowly, with one last, almost inconsequential caress.

Jiang Heng took a step back, absentmindedly adjusting his own shirt.

"You're right. We should rest," he said, his tone now practical, steering the situation back to normal with an ease that left Gao Tu dizzy.

Gao Tu stood alone in the hallway, listening to Jiang Heng's footsteps receding toward the bedroom. The taste of his kiss still lingered on his lips, the touch of his hand still burning on his skin. But the name, "Pei En," echoed in his ears like a persistent influence, a reminder that in this world of borrowed kisses and borrowed warmth, he was just a specter occupying a space that wasn't his. And the guilt, mixed with a desire he could no longer deny, was a knot so tight in his throat that he had trouble breathing.

Chapter Text

The tension had become another entity in the apartment, an ostensible specter that danced between them whenever they were alone. Gao Tu had perfected the art of strategic retreat: a nervous laugh just in time, a timely reminder of the exhausting recording schedule, an evasive caress that redirected contact to less dangerous areas. But each subtle rejection was a dent in his own resistance. He was flesh and blood, and every neuron, every fiber of his body, responded to Jiang Heng's magnetism with a ferocity that terrified him.

That night, the ambush was particularly effective. Gao Tu had just dried the last plate, his hands still warm and damp, when arms wrapped around his waist from behind. There were no preliminaries. Jiang Heng turned his body and kissed him. It was a kiss that began softly, almost questioningly, but quickly became demanding. Gao Tu felt the familiar warmth of his tongue tracing his lower lip, a silent request he knew all too well. At first, he had been clumsy, a novice in the language of Jiang Heng's kisses. Now, he knew that the man liked to search, to tempt, until Gao Tu yielded with a sigh. Then, Jiang Heng would invade his mouth like a conqueror, with a confidence that made Gao Tu's knees weak.

His hands, always eager, clung to him. One tangled in his hair, the other slid down his back to pull him closer. Jiang Heng seemed obsessed with Li Pei En's waist, with the curve of his thighs, as if memorizing their shape each time. He loved to suck on his tongue, nibble his lips until they were red, and always, always, smile against his mouth when he heard the slightest muffled moan that Gao Tu couldn't contain.

Honestly, Gao Tu melted. He dissolved into those kisses until there was no trace of Gao Tu, the fugitive Omega, only the overwhelming feeling of being desired in such a total and all-consuming way. But always, just as Jiang Heng's hand began to wander with bolder intent, sliding under the elastic of his shorts, the alarm would sound in his head.

With a laugh that sounded forced even to his own ears, Gao Tu gently took his wrist. "Tomorrow... the sunrise scene," he murmured, panting slightly, referring to a demanding shot that required him to be fresh. "We have to get up very early."

Jiang Heng stopped. He always stopped. His breathing was heavy, his dark eyes shining with contained frustration mixed with exasperated tenderness. He didn't insist. He didn't struggle. Instead, he softened his expression, turning his attempt to advance into a gentle caress on the hip, and left a last soft kiss on the corner of his lips before letting go. 

"You're right," he sighed, and the resignation in his voice broke Gao Tu's heart. "Another day, baobei."

And Gao Tu was left alone, trembling, with the taste of Jiang Heng in his mouth and the touch of his hands on his skin, murmuring in his mind: Forgive me, Pei En! And... if you come back, please reward this man. He deserves it.

That same patience, that restraint that drove him crazy with guilt and desire, was what he saw reflected on the set the next day. Under the hot lights, wearing heavy makeup and uncomfortable period costumes, Gao Tu had to fake a pregnancy. His hands, following the director's instructions, caressed the soft prosthetic bump on his belly with a gesture that was meant to be loving and protective. A strange pang, a distorted and melancholic happiness, pierced him. In his world, this was possible. One slip-up, one mistake with the suppressants, and his body could... The idea was as dangerous as it was tempting. A forbidden dream that he didn't even dare to name in the privacy of his thoughts.

The warm light of the spotlights dimmed momentarily, plunging the set into a technical pause filled with murmurs and the hum of equipment. Jiang Heng, still standing tall and gazing intently at Shen Wenlang, but with his shoulders more relaxed, leafed through his script alongside Huang Xing and Qiu Dingjie. It was Jiang Heng who, with a shrewd gleam in his eyes that clashed with his character, broke the calm with a quiet comment, one of those inside jokes that only those deeply familiar with the plot could appreciate.

"With the frequency that Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou did it, they would have given Xiao Hua Sheng more than two brothers," he said, a soft laugh escaping him as he saw the immediate reaction on the others' faces.

Qiu Dingjie (Kipuka) smiled shyly over the edge of his script, but it was Huang Xing (Eliot) who took up the baton. With exaggerated seriousness that barely concealed the deep devotion he felt both for his character and, perhaps, for the man beside him, he replied with a wink to Qiu Dingjie.

"But my Mr. Sheng's health is more important. And a brat," he declared possessively and protectively.

The effect was instantaneous. Qiu Dingjie's ears turned scarlet red, and he buried his nose in his teacup, but he couldn't hide the silly, happy smile that lit up his face. The dynamic between them was so obvious, so genuine and accepted, that it was like a bubble of warmth amid the chaos of the set.

Gao Tu watched the exchange from his chair, feeling the knot of guilt and longing in his chest tighten until it hurt. They could have that. That public complicity, that affection that seeped through the lines of the script, that future they could glimpse without fear. He, on the other hand, was trapped in the labyrinth of a lie, kissing a man who whispered another name in the darkness, longing for a life that slipped through his fingers like water, while his hands caressed a fake belly and his heart dreamed of the impossible.

He shook his head mentally, scolding himself. Enough self-pity! There was no room for regrets. He had the opportunity, absurd as it was, to glimpse another world, another life. If he ever returned to his own, he would make changes. He promised himself that. He would fight for something, for someone, with the ferocity with which he now defended a lie.

The soft scent of jasmine alerted him before the voice did. Qiu Dingjie (Kipuka) had approached silently, his expression kind but curious.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice a reassuring whisper. "You're not usually so quiet when the four of us are together." A soft smile accompanied his words, creating a space of intimacy amid the bustle.

Gao Tu blinked, snapped out of his thoughts. He needed a quick response, something that fit Li Pei En's personality. A playful smile appeared on his lips almost instinctively.

"That I'm hungry," he joked, placing a hand on his fake "belly" with an exaggerated gesture.

The joke did not go unnoticed by Huang Xing (Eliot), whose ear seemed to be always tuned in to these things. He turned immediately, pointing at Jiang Heng with his rolled-up script as if it were a magic wand of reproach.

"Wenlang!" he exclaimed, with feigned indignation that betrayed his amusement. "How can you be such an absent-minded Alpha with your Omega? Your son is hungry!" And, to emphasize his point, he gave him a gentle tap on the arm with the script.

Jiang Heng's laughter was immediate and carefree, a sound that filled the surrounding space. He raised his hands in surrender, his gaze seeking out Gao Tu—Li Pei En's, with a mixture of complicity and affection that made the latter's heart skip a dangerous beat.

"You're right, you're right! I'm a terrible Alpha!" he admitted with a laugh, approaching Gao Tu. "What does my baobei crave? And the little one?" he asked, placing a large, warm hand on the fake belly with a tenderness that seemed completely genuine.

For a moment, under Huang Xing's amused gaze and Qiu Dingjie's calm smile, surrounded by the fictitious but real warmth of the scene, Gao Tu allowed the lie to envelop him completely. He let himself be lulled by the fantasy, feeling the weight of Jiang Heng's hand as proof of a world where happy endings were possible, even for someone like him.

Chapter Text

The dim light from the television illuminated their faces, casting dancing shadows from a period film that neither of them was really watching. Jiang Heng gently caressed Li Pei En's neck, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. Beside him, Gao Tu—or the person inhabiting his body—lay with his eyes closed, feigning a sleep that would not come. Jiang Heng had noticed. Of course, he had noticed.

They had been on a roller coaster of daily blogs, exhausting recordings, and intimacy that, while awkward at first, had gradually regained a familiar spark. But something was different. A layer of fog surrounded his Pei En. He was there, but not quite. Thoughtful, evasive, worried. And every time Jiang Heng asked, he hit the same wall: "I'm fine, you don't have to worry, baobei." But how could he not when the man he loved seemed to be looking through him, toward some distant and painful place.

"Pei En," Jiang Heng whispered, his voice barely a thread of sound above the television dialogue.

Gao Tu turned around immediately, his eyes wide open, clear and alert, with no trace of sleepiness. He looked at him expectantly.

"Do you remember what date we had to take Lele to the vet? I forgot to write it down," Jiang Heng lied, keeping his tone casual.

"The 17th of this month," Gao Tu replied without hesitation, his voice clear and confident.

Jiang Heng frowned, though internally he confirmed that the date was correct. It was a simple trap, but a necessary one. 

"And when were you going to visit your parents? You told me that this time we would meet up with them." He pressed gently, knowing full well that the visit was planned for next month, not this one.

Gao Tu looked at him for a long moment. The light from the screen played on his features, and then something changed in his expression. The tension vanished, replaced by a resigned calm and a soft, almost delicate smile that curved his lips. It wasn't Li Pei En's radiant smile. It was something sadder, wiser, more traditional.

"Since when have you been suspicious?" he asked, his voice as soft as his smile, but as direct as a scalpel.

The frankness took Jiang Heng by surprise, but it also freed him. He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as if absorbing the blow. When he opened them, his gaze was laden with deep concern and unwavering love.

"Since you asked me about parallel universes," he confessed, his voice now a hoarse whisper. "The same thing Pei En asked me a few days before... before she told me she had a bad headache and locked herself in her room." He paused, searching for the words. "And then... you woke up different. As if you had forgotten how you like your coffee. As if my kisses surprised you every time. As if you were learning to be yourself again, but... you weren't exactly yourself."

He fell silent, his hand still caressing the back of Gao Tu's neck, but now the gesture was a question, a silent plea. Who are you? Where is he? Is he safe?

The air between them thickened, finally charged with truth. The film continued to play, its dramatic violins sounding like the perfect soundtrack to the collapse of one reality and the birth of another, much stranger and more terrifying. Jiang Heng did not look away, waiting. Ready to hear the most incredible story of his life.

The confession floated in the air between them, as fragile and heavy as glass. 

"I am Gao Tu." 

Three simple words that fractured all of Jiang Heng's known reality.

There was no scream, no violent rejection. Only a deep silence, broken by the whisper of the television and the rapid beating of Jiang Heng's own heart, which now seemed to pound against his ears. His hand, which was still caressing the back of that man's neck—Gao Tu's—paused. He didn't withdraw it, but his fingers tensed slightly, frozen in the gesture.

"Gao Tu," Jiang Heng repeated, as if savoring the syllables, tasting their flavor in his mouth. The name was strangely familiar and yet completely foreign to him. It was the name of a character. The character that he (Li Pei En) played. Fiction had poured into his life with the violence of lightning.

His eyes scanned the face in front of him with a new intensity. He searched those eyes, the curve of the lips, the soft breathing, for some trace of his Pei En. But now that the truth was out, everything fit together with painful clarity. The initial shyness he had attributed to stress, the way he sometimes looked at him as if he were seeing a ghost, the different way of kissing, laughing, even walking. It wasn't his Pei En regaining his essence. It was a stranger learning to play him.

"Where...?" Jiang Heng's voice broke. He swallowed hard, trying to control the whirlwind of panic and confusion that was overwhelming him. "Where is he? Is he...?" He couldn't finish the question. The fear of the answer was a claw in his throat.

The name—his real name—still hung in the heavy air of the room, a confession that had changed everything. Gao Tu watched as Jiang Heng's face shifted from disbelief to an understanding too brutal, too vast to process. He saw the eyes, so expressive and full of life, cloud over with a veil of confusion and sharp pain, as if each word had been a physical blow.

Jiang Heng's lips parted, but no sound came out. He turned alarmingly pale, the blood draining from his face in an instant. His body, once so solid and confident, swayed slightly. The hand that still rested stiffly on the back of Gao Tu's neck loosened and slipped away.

"And you? Who are you really?" had been his last question, a thread of voice laden with existential terror.

And then, before Gao Tu could utter a reply, before he could reach out his arms to hold him, Jiang Heng's eyes closed. His eyelids gave way under the weight of the inconceivable, and his whole body slumped forward, limp, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"A-Heng!"

The cry escaped Gao Tu's lips before he could think. It wasn't the name "Jiang Heng," the actor, much less "Shen Wenlang," the character. It was the affectionate, intimate nickname he had heard whispered in the apartment, the one he had read in the messages on his phone. A-Heng. A name for the person, not the public figure.

He lunged forward, catching Jiang Heng's limp body before it crashed to the living room floor. The man's weight was considerable, but adrenaline gave him temporary strength. He held him against his chest, slowly sliding to his knees on the carpet, with Jiang Heng resting in his arms.

"A-Heng!" He called again, his voice trembling, stroking his cheek with a desperation that paralyzed him. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"

He touched his face, took his pulse at his neck—strong, but rapid—and stroked his hair. Panic flooded him, cold and piercing. It wasn't just the fear that something was physically wrong with him. It was the terror that he had destroyed him. That he had thrown the truth at his feet like a bomb and watched it shatter his mind.

What had he done? Why had he been so direct? Why hadn't he come up with a more elaborate lie, a gradual story? But it was too late. The truth, raw and impossible, had collapsed Jiang Heng's world in an instant.

Gao Tu remained kneeling on the floor, clutching the unconscious body of the man who, in another world, was his counterpart's obsession, and in this one, had become his anchor and his torment. Tears, which he hadn't shed for himself in years, clouded his vision as he muttered useless apologies against the terrifying silence of the room, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the television still broadcasting a movie that no one was watching.

Chapter Text

The sterile white light from the ceiling was the first thing his eyes focused on, followed by the characteristic antiseptic smell that permeated every corner. Jiang Heng blinked, trying to dispel the daze that clouded his mind. Hospital? Why was he in a hospital?

Before the fragments of memory could assemble into a coherent picture, a firm, but gentle hand pressed him softly against the stretcher, preventing him from sitting up. He turned his head with some effort and met Huang Xing's serious gaze. His friend brought his index finger to his own lips in a clear signal for silence, then with that same finger, pointed very carefully toward the side of the bed.

Jiang Heng's heart raced as he followed the direction indicated. There, hunched over in a position that looked deeply uncomfortable, was Li Pei En. No, Gao Tu. His arms were bent over the metal edge of the stretcher, serving as a makeshift pillow for his head, which lay on its side, allowing him to see his face. He was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes that spoke of fatigue. He was breathing deeply and regularly, completely immersed in an exhausted sleep.

"Let him sleep a little," Huang Xing murmured, moving closer and lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper. "He hasn't been able to do so for two days."

"Two days?" The question escaped Jiang Heng's lips in a gasp, a harsh sound laden with disbelief and alarm. His eyes widened.

And then, like an unrelenting tide, the memories came flooding back. The dim light in the living room. The movie playing in the background. The caress on the back of his neck. His question about the vet and his parents. How long have you suspected? That sad, resigned smile. And then, the three words that had shattered his reality: "I am Gao Tu."

The weight of the revelation fell on his shoulders with an almost physical, crushing force. It wasn't his Pei En. It was Gao Tu. The character. The Omega from the novel. The tormented soul that his partner played with such conviction on screen... and who now, in some unimaginable way, was trapped in the body of his beloved.

A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him. He looked again at the sleeping figure beside his bed. The concern, the absolute devotion in the way he had settled down to watch over him, even in exhaustion... it all took on a new and terrifying meaning. This was not the concern of his Pei En, always a little dramatic but short-lived. It was the tense vigilance of someone who felt responsible for a catastrophe, of a soldier exhausted after a battle he had not chosen to fight.

Jiang Heng let out a ragged gasp, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead. The world had been turned upside down, and the only compass he had—the man he loved—was not who he should be. And in the depths of his confusion and fear, a sharp, selfish question arose with force: Where is my Pei En? Is he alive? Is he as scared as I am?

His eyes, glassy with shock, fixed on Gao Tu again, and for the first time, him did not see his partner. He saw a stranger. A stranger who bore the face of his love and who, it seemed, had been carrying the weight of this nightmare alone for two long days.

Huang Xing's voice was a constant whisper, a line in the sea of confusion in which Jiang Heng was drowning. Each word was a new piece of information that collided with the fragments of memory he was trying to sort through. You fainted... you didn't wake up... you weren't breathing properly... He listened to the medical explanation—shock, stress—and a bitter sting of irony ran through his chest. Stress. Yes, we could call it that. Finding out that the fundamental laws of the universe are a lie is a little stressful.

"Are you okay?" Huang Xing's question, laden with genuine concern, brought him back to the present.

Jiang Heng looked away from the sleeping figure and stared at the white wall in front of him. He couldn't look at his friend. Not yet. If he did, all the terror, disbelief, and pain he felt could spill out, and he wasn't ready for that. Not until he understood it himself.

"Yes," he lied, the word sounding hollow and metallic in his own ears. "I'm just worried that he's not sleeping well."

It was a half-truth. A tiny part of the blizzard howling inside him. The concern for Gao Tu's physical well-being was real, a basic human feeling towards someone who was exhausted and vulnerable. But it was a speck of dust in a hurricane of conflicting emotions: panic over Li Pei En, shock at the revelation, fear of the future, utter disorientation.

Huang Xing nodded, relaxing a little as he believed the facade of calm. "Remember, everything has to be talked about, and a solution found," he said, his tone that of an older brother giving advice. "I don't know exactly what happened, but Pei Ge was crying when the doctor said they were going to admit you until you woke up."

The image hit Jiang Heng with the force of a punch. Crying. Gao Tu, the strong, reserved, and long-suffering character he knew from the novel, breaking down in tears for him. From the shock, from the guilt, from the unbearable burden of keeping such a monumental secret alone. The lump in his throat tightened until it hurt.

"I know," he managed to reply, his voice a thread of sand.

The hour that followed was an ordeal of forced stillness. Jiang Heng lay motionless, pretending to be asleep when the nurses came in to check his vital signs, but his mind was a whirlwind of incessant thought. With each passing minute, his initial disbelief gave way to a cold and terrifying acceptance. This was real. It was happening.

And his gaze, again and again, was irresistibly drawn to Gao Tu. He watched the slight tremor of his eyelashes, the way his fingers twitched even in his sleep, the extreme paleness of his face. The concern he had mentioned to Huang Xing began to grow, expanding until it occupied a significant space within the chaos. Regardless of who, how, why... that being inhabiting the body of his beloved was suffering. He had been vigilant, frightened, carrying this alone for days. And he had cried for him.

A wave of compassion, complex and painful, mingled with the sea of his other emotions. It was not the deep, familiar love he felt for Li Pei En. It was something new, a bittersweet feeling born of the most absurd circumstances: a protective concern for the stranger who had the face of his love and the soul of a fictional character lost in a world that was not his own.

He reached out hesitantly, afraid to wake him. Him fingers hovered over Gao Tu's hair, but did not touch him. He just gasped for air, feeling the overwhelming weight of the situation. Now him not only had to find a way to process this. He had to find a way to help, to understand, to navigate this impossible reality. And all without knowing if the man he loved was safe, or if him would ever see him again. The sigh that escaped his lips was laden with that heaviness, with the weight of a future that seemed infinitely more complicated and terrifying than he had ever imagined.

The voice that broke the silence in the room was not exactly Li Pei En's. It was softer, hoarse with exhaustion and contained emotion, and had a tone of vulnerability that his Pei En had always been good at hiding under layers of jokes or drama. 

"Jiang Heng." 

And when he turned his head, he found himself looking into bright eyes, flooded with tears that were barely contained in his reddened eyelids. They were Li Pei En's eyes, but the look was different. It was Gao Tu's look, laden with such deep relief and such real guilt, that it made his heart lurch. Jiang Heng was not disabled. The fainting had been a momentary failure of his system in the face of unbearable shock, not an illness. With a silent gesture, gentler than he felt inside, he motioned for him to come closer. His mind, still reeling, began to force a painful new normal: This is Gao Tu. It's not Pei En. But he's here, and he's afraid.

He watched him rise from the uncomfortable chair with a soft, almost inaudible groan and stagger toward the bed. Every movement betrayed extreme fatigue, a heaviness that went beyond the physical. When he was within reach, Jiang Heng reached out his arm. It was not a passionate gesture, but a careful, skillful one, like someone handling an object of immense value and fragility. He took him by the wrist and pulled gently, guiding him.

"I don't want to bother you," Gao Tu whispered, and the sound was so genuinely distressed that Jiang Heng felt another twinge in his chest. Gao Tu wiped a furtive tear with the back of his hand, wrapped in the wool sleeve of his sweater.

"You're not bothering me. Get up," the order was calm but firm, making it clear that there was no room for discussion. With one hand on his back and the other on his arm, he helped him onto the narrow stretcher. Gao Tu moved awkwardly, allowing him to settle him until he was sitting sideways on his thighs, as if he were a child. The intimacy of the pose was overwhelming, but it was also the most practical way to keep him close, to make sure he didn't fall from sheer exhaustion.

Jiang Heng pressed his lips together to suppress a smile that was both bitter and tender. The shyness on Gao Tu's face—on Li Pei En's face—was new. It wasn't the flirtatious shyness of his partner, but a genuine, almost adolescent embarrassment at the vulnerability and closeness. It was disconcerting and, amid the horror, strangely moving.

"Haven't you eaten?" Jiang Heng asked, shifting the focus from the overwhelming situation to something practical. It was easier to worry about someone else's empty stomach than the existential hole in his own.

"A little," Gao Tu lied, avoiding his gaze.

Then something happened that took Jiang Heng's breath away. With a slowness that betrayed immense insecurity, but also a newfound courage, Gao Tu raised his hands. Trembling, they rested on Jiang Heng's cheeks, cradling his face with a delicacy that was both an examination and a comfort. The touch was cold with exhaustion, but incredibly soft.

"I'm sorry," Gao Tu whispered, and this time the tears did spill, silently streaking down his pale face. "I... I shouldn't have told you like that. I scared you. I hurt you."

Jiang Heng closed his eyes for a second, feeling the weight of those hands, the coolness of the tears on his own cheeks. The guilt in Gao Tu's voice was so real, so heavy, that for a moment it overshadowed his own fear and confusion. This was not a monster or an invader. He was a victim, just as trapped in this nightmare as he was.

Without opening his eyes, Jiang Heng covered one of Gao Tu's hands with his own, pressing it against his cheek. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice hoarse with contained emotion. "It's over. It's done. Now... now we're here. The two of us."

They were the hardest words he had ever spoken in his life. But they were necessary. Because, regardless of everything, they were in the same boat, sailing in the darkness of an impossible sea. And for now, all he could do was make sure his shipwrecked companion didn't sink alone.

Chapter Text

The taxi ride was a dense and eloquent silence. Gao Tu had leaned against the window, his cold forehead against the glass, feeling the outside world—the lights, the buildings, normal life—slide by like someone else's movie. A slight but persistent chill ran down his back, and a strange heaviness, not the usual exhaustion, began to take hold of his bones. It was a familiar yet completely different sensation. It vaguely reminded him of the prodromes of his Omega heat, that growing fragility, that susceptibility... but without the internal fire, without the hormonal urgency. This was just a cold, clammy discomfort.

Jiang Heng, at his side, did not take his eyes off him. His own confusion and concern for Li Pei En were still there, forming a knot of anguish in his chest, but the immediate reality—the man beside him, pale and trembling—demanded action. He reached out and placed his palm against Gao Tu's forehead. The skin was noticeably hot and damp to the touch.

"It seems that you are the sick one here," he observed, his voice soft, devoid of the reproach it might have carried under other circumstances. There was a hint of gentle, almost protective irony. After all, if Gao Tu's story was true, his counterpart in that other world, that Shen Wenlang, was a "foul-mouthed idiot" who had made him suffer. He, Jiang Heng, didn't need to add more pain to the equation.

"I'm fine," Gao Tu lied, his voice a weak thread. But the universe, or his new human body, seemed determined to give him away. A sudden, violent sneeze shook him, causing him to open his eyes in surprise and a little embarrassment.

"Of course not," Jiang Heng sighed, and this time he couldn't help but smile a little, tiredly. With a gesture that was already instinctive, with an intimacy that transcended the absurdity of the situation, he brought his hand to Gao Tu's face and gently squeezed his nose between his index finger and thumb, as he would have done to Li Pei En after a particularly dramatic sneeze. "You're going to end up worse off than me."

Gao Tu didn't protest. He allowed the gesture, even leaning slightly into the contact, unconsciously seeking the comfort it offered. Jiang Heng withdrew his hand, but let it rest on the back of Gao Tu's neck, gently massaging the tension he felt there.

He looked out the back window of the taxi, into the empty darkness of the street. A sudden, deep gratitude washed over him. Thanks to whatever it was, there were no cars following them, no hordes of fans with phones eager to capture their most vulnerable moment. This crisis, this fractured reality, was theirs alone. A terrible, private space to break down, to try to understand, without the relentless scrutiny of the outside world.

The taxi stopped in front of the building. Jiang Heng paid and helped Gao Tu out, noticing how he leaned on him with more weight than usual. The joke was gone, replaced by practical and urgent concern.

"Come on," he said, his voice firm now, taking control. "I'll make you something hot, and you're going straight to bed. No recordings, no blogs. Rest."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. And for the first time since all this had begun, Gao Tu had neither the strength nor the will to argue, to pretend. He nodded weakly, allowing Jiang Heng to guide him inside, into the warmth and relative safety of the apartment that had become, for better or worse, the only refuge they both had in the midst of the chaos. The night promised to be long, but for now, all that mattered was raising his body temperature and keeping Li Pei En's body—inhabited by Gao Tu's soul—from collapsing completely.

...

The early morning unfolded in an aphasic and methodical ritual. Jiang Heng, moving with an efficiency learned from caring for Li Pei En, who was prone to exhaustion, became a ghost in the darkness of the bedroom. Every half hour, the soft click of the digital thermometer broke the silence, followed by Jiang Heng's slight sigh of relief when the temperature, although high, did not rise any further. The hot soup had been consumed, the warm bath taken. Now, Gao Tu lay in bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin, his face flushed with fever and his eyes glassy but lucid.

"But you're the one who should be resting, A-Heng," Gao Tu protested, his voice a hoarse thread. He frowned, a gesture that on Li Pei En's face looked more like a grimace of discomfort than genuine anger.

Jiang Heng didn't argue. He didn't have the energy for that. Instead of responding, he acted. With a firm but incredibly patient hand on Gao Tu's shoulder, he gently pushed him back against the pillows. Then he took the edge of the sheet and tucked it over him with a decisive movement, making sure he was well covered.

"Well, I got out of the hospital fine," Jiang Heng replied, his voice calm and gentle as he smoothed the sheet over Gao Tu's chest. "But it looks like the one who ended up sick from not sleeping well is you, sweetie."

The affectionate word, sweetheart, came out of his mouth with absolute naturalness, an emotional autopilot that activated in response to the vulnerability of the person in that bed. But this time, the direction was different. It wasn't for Li Pei En, his dramatic and adorable baobei. It was for Gao Tu, the man from another world, the troubled Omega, who was now physically paying the price for carrying an impossible secret.

Jiang Heng didn't stop to look at the effect of his words. He didn't see how Gao Tu's already flushed face lit up even more, not from fever, but from a rush of embarrassment, confusion, and something else he couldn't name. He turned toward the nightstand to put down the thermometer and check the time on his phone, turning his back to the bed for a moment.

That brief moment of distraction was a small act of mercy. It allowed Gao Tu to bury half his face in the pillow, hiding the expression of complete bewilderment that had overcome him. Cutie. No one, in either of their worlds, had ever called him that. Shen Wenlang only looked at him with intensity or disdain. The others, with distance or pity. But Jiang Heng... Jiang Heng said it as if it were an obvious fact, as natural as breathing, even knowing who he really was.

Jiang Heng turned back, his expression calm and professional. "Now, go to sleep." His tone brooked no opposition. "I'll stay here. If you need anything, let me know. Don't argue," he added, anticipating any protest, as he settled into the armchair next to the bed, ready for another long vigil.

Gao Tu closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the sheets and the much greater weight of Jiang Heng's strange, overwhelming kindness. The fever clouded his thoughts, but one thing was clear: amid the chaos, pain, and turmoil, he had found a safe haven. And that harbor, ironically, had the face of his greatest torment and the soul of a man who called a stranger from another world "cutie."

.

.

.

The following days unfolded in a strange calm, a tense but necessary truce. The outside world, with its recordings and fans, was put on hold. The apartment became an isolated bubble where the most immediate reality was Gao Tu's fever and Jiang Heng's contemplative stillness.

Yes, they were strange days.

Jiang Heng often stared blankly at a corner of the room, lost in thought, his face a mirror of the confusion and worry that gnawed at him inside. The idea that his real Pei En was trapped in another world, in a place that sounded like a dystopian nightmare, was a constant anguish, a dull pain that would not subside. But then, his gaze would fall on Gao Tu coming out of the bathroom in the morning, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, his skin still flushed from the steam, his eyes clearer after his forced rest. And something in his expression would soften. He couldn't be angry with him. He didn't deserve his anger or her reproach. Gao Tu was another victim, and the last thing he needed was to find another Shen Wenlang to rant hatred at him.

One night, sitting on their respective sides of the bed—a territory demarcated by a silent mutual agreement—Jiang Heng broke the silence. The conversation drifted toward Li Pei En, toward Gao Tu's world.

"If he's there," Jiang Heng said, his voice a little hoarse. "Rest assured, he won't want to have the end of the story." The words came out before he could gauge their weight, before he fully processed the bitter irony. Seeing Gao Tu turn his head toward him, he quickly added, "I mean... Pei En is stubborn, but he's not a masochist."

Gao Tu made a choked sound, a mixture of laughter and bitterness. "At this point, based on how long I've been here, in my world I'd be pregnant and probably running away. According to that book..." He swallowed hard. "That damn novel."

The reality check was so visceral that Jiang Heng felt a hollow in his stomach. Pregnant. Running away. He reached out almost instinctively, his hand closing around Gao Tu's wrist. It felt thin, the bones fragile beneath his skin. It was Li Pei En's wrist, but the pulse beating beneath his fingers belonged to Gao Tu.

"Probably," he admitted, his voice softer. "But... baobei..." The affectionate word, treasure, came out naturally, a balm for the harshness of the conversation. "... If Pei En did something different, when you come back..." The sentence stuck in his throat, a knot of pain and hope that he had to swallow hard. "... Everything will be different. And please," she added, with a hint of pleading, almost desperate, "don't let that idiot Wenlang win so easily."

Gao Tu's laughter was genuine, a clear sound that cut through the tension in the room. 

"Instead of seven 'no's to his marriage proposal, how about ten?" he asked, laughing, referring to a specific and dramatic point in the plot that they both knew all too well.

Jiang Heng couldn't help but smile when he saw him laugh. It was a momentary relief, a flash of light in the gloom. 

"No," he said, his smile fading to make way for a deep seriousness. "Just... Please," he whispered. "Make him more sincere." His voice dropped even lower, laden with an understanding that went beyond the script. "When you grow up without stable support and love, sometimes the black roots grow longer than the white ones. And it's hard... it's very hard to pull them out."

They were silent after that. Jiang Heng's words, his pleading please, floated in the darkness, uniting the two men in a tragic and profound understanding. It wasn't about revenge or making things difficult. It was about healing. About giving Gao Tu's story, and perhaps Shen Wenlang's as well, the ending it deserved, one built on honesty and not on pain. And at that moment, caring for Gao Tu in the stillness of the night, Jiang Heng understood that his role in this interdimensional madness was perhaps to be the bridge to that ending.

Chapter Text

The quietness of the apartment after the hustle and bustle of the set was an almost surreal contrast. Gao Tu sank into his chair, feeling the exhaustion of repeated choreography and omnipresent cameras in every muscle. In front of him, Jiang Heng moved with a domestic familiarity that still managed to move him, placing the dishes on the table with a dedication that spoke of routine.

"I thought the didn't like it," Jiang Heng commented suddenly, his voice casual but laden with a hint of nostalgia that hung in the air like a sigh. He returned to the kitchen, bringing back a tray with tea, coffee, and juice, a small buffet to accommodate both their tastes. "At that time, I was a novice at acting. Well, I still am, just with a little more experience on my resume." A shy smile appeared on his lips. "The advice he gave me in the middle of filming... helped me a lot. I was falling madly in love with him, only it seemed that he wasn't."

Gao Tu took a bite of food, chewing slowly, savoring the food and every word Jiang Heng said. Each anecdote was another piece of Li Pei En's puzzle, a window into the life she was lending her body to.

"No?" him murmured, his voice soft, an invitation to continue, a simple lure to get more of that story that fascinated and broke his heart at the same time.

Jiang Heng finally sat down across from him, pressing his lips together in a gesture that betrayed the buzz of old frustration.

"Well, that got me thinking," he admitted, playing distractedly with his chopsticks. "This world... isn't always kind. The media, the fans with their expectations... even the ministry itself can ruin a growing career overnight." He paused, his gaze lost for a moment in the window, as if seeing the potential headlines, the damaging rumors. "And with the popularity the series has gained since it premiered, with all the merchandise sold, the memes, the obsession... it was to be expected that brands would come to hire you and that future jobs, big jobs, would come your way."

He took a sip of his tea, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, more intimate, as if he were sharing a painful secret. "And an open romantic relationship with someone of the same sex, with your male co-star, no less... it's not exactly the image many producers want for a rising actor." His eyes met Gao Tu's, and in them was a deep understanding, free of resentment. "Pei En... he believed that having something like this, something of our own, was a mistake. Too big a risk. A mistake that, he said, we would regret for many years to come."

Gao Tu put his chopsticks down on his plate, the food now tasteless. Jiang Heng's words painted a picture that was all too familiar, even if the colors were different. It wasn't the fear of being discovered as an Omega, but the fear of being discovered loving another man. It wasn't the oppression of a biological hierarchy, but that of a society with rigid expectations. They were different prisons, but the essence of captivity was the same: the sacrifice of truth on the altar of survival and ambition.

"He was afraid," Gao Tu said, his voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question.

Jiang Heng nodded slowly, a serene sadness in his eyes. "Yes. He was afraid. And so was I. But..." He paused, a small, brave smile curving his lips. "... In the end, the fear of losing him was greater than the fear of everything else."

They fell silent after that, the weight of the confession floating between them over their half-empty plates of food. Gao Tu looked at Jiang Heng, really looked at him. Not just the man who cared for him, but the actor who had fought for his love against all odds, against the industry and what people would say. And for the first time, he understood that Jiang Heng's strength did not lie in the absence of fear, but in having decided what was important enough to face it. It was a lesson that, perhaps, one day, he himself could apply in his own world.

"To the world, they are great friends who support each other, but in the privacy of their homes, they are the most intimate couple there is," Gao Tu explained, smiling at Jiang Heng, who let out a chuckle.

Jiang Heng's chuckle was soft, a warm sound that blended with the intimacy of the moment. The remains of their dinner were silent witnesses to a confession that had narrowed the distance between two realities.

"Exactly," Jiang Heng nodded, his gaze softening, lost for a moment in the memory of those stolen moments. "To the world, we are Jiang Heng and Li Pei En, colleagues, inseparable friends, a convenient pairing that sells magazines and generates clicks. But behind closed doors..." He paused, and his smile took on a more private, more genuine tone. "... We stop being actors. We stop being characters. We're just A-Heng and Pei En. Or, at least, we were."

The pain of the absence of his real Pei En flashed briefly in his eyes, but he blinked it away, focusing on Gao Tu. 

"There are so many forces pulling us apart," he continued, his voice now thoughtful, even didactic, as if trying to convey a crucial lesson. "Schedules, agencies, fans, critics, the image we must project... Sometimes it prevents us from being as close as we would like at work, from having the contact we long for. But when we're alone..." He raised his hand, making a slight gesture as if turning off an imaginary switch. "The world shuts down. All that noise disappears. And the only thing that remains is... communication. Looking at each other. Talking without a script. Touching each other without a camera recording us. That's what sustains us."

His eyes locked onto Gao Tu's with a new intensity. "That something..." he said, nodding toward Gao Tu, as if he could point to the very essence of his being. "...is exactly what you and Shen Wenlang need to do." The statement was direct, unadorned. "In your story, it's all pheromones, power, hierarchy, danger... But what about communication? Just... shutting out the world and talking? No secondary roles, no masks?

Gao Tu held his breath. Jiang Heng's words were a mirror held up to his own reality, and the image it reflected was devastating. He and Shen Wenlang... Had they ever had a conversation that wasn't a chess game of hidden intentions? A moment when they weren't playing their roles as Alpha and Omega (or fake Beta)? The answer was a resounding no, a void that suddenly felt vaster and more painful than any conflict.

"He doesn't..." Gao Tu began, his voice breaking. "Shen Wenlang doesn't... listen. Not like that."

"Then you'll have to teach him," Jiang Heng replied softly but with unexpected firmness. "Or you'll have to find a way to force that conversation. Because in the end, everything else—the drama, the danger, the attraction—is noise. The shared silence, the understanding... that's the sign." He paused, then added with a hint of sadness, "It's the only way a story like yours won't destroy you both."

Gao Tu stared at his plate, but he no longer saw the food. He saw the image of Shen Wenlang, not as the intimidating and distant Alpha, but as a man potentially as trapped in his own prison of expectations and pain as he was. And for the first time, the idea of "communication" didn't sound like weakness, but like the most radical act of rebellion possible in his world. Shutting down the world. Talking. It was such a terrifying concept... and yet so incredibly hopeful.

.

.

.

Hot water ran over the dishes, creating a soft, fragrant lather that carried the same lavender scent as everything else in Jiang Heng's apartment. Gao Tu rinsed a plate, feeling the warmth of the steam on his hands, as he watched out of the corner of his eye as Jiang Heng methodically dried dishes beside him. The tension he had anticipated—the anger, the rejection, the infamous "silent treatment"—never came. Instead, a new normal had settled in, a truce cemented by deliberate and deeply touching kindness.

Jiang Heng didn't avoid him. On the contrary, he seemed to seek his company, filling the silences with small talk or anecdotes from the set. He treated him with an affection that was both respectful and tender. The touches no longer had the possessive urgency of before; now they were gestures of connection: a hand on the shoulder as he passed by, a brush of fingers as they reached for the same utensil, an arm around his back as they watched television. And each time, Jiang Heng verbalized his consent: "I like the contact, does it bother you?" It was a genuine question, not an assumption.

For Gao Tu, who had lived a life of calculated distances and furtive contacts filled with fear, that permissiveness was a new and intoxicating language. Each caress was a lesson, each embrace, unknown territory to be explored with timidity and growing eagerness.

Once the last dishes were put away and the kitchen lights were turned off, Jiang Heng turned to him in the dim light of the hallway. Without ceremony, but with a sweetness that took Gao Tu's breath away, he wrapped him in an embrace. It wasn't a prelude to something more; it was an end point, a gesture of farewell and comfort.

"Good night, sweetheart," Jiang Heng whispered, his voice a low, warm laugh near his ear. His breath caressed his skin, and Gao Tu felt a shiver run down his spine.

He allowed himself to sink into that embrace, feeling the solidity of Jiang Heng's body against his own, the calm that emanated from him. And then, driven by a courage he didn't know he had, by a real affection that had taken root in the fertile soil of this strange coexistence, Gao Tu raised his arms and wrapped them around Jiang Heng's back.

"Good evening, baobei," he whispered in response. The affectionate word him had heard so often now felt natural on his lips, albeit a little shaky.

He felt Jiang Heng's body stiffen slightly under his touch. A microsecond of surprise, the murmur of a name that belonged to someone else. But then, as if consciously deciding to relax, the tension melted away. Jiang Heng exhaled softly, a sigh that sounded like acceptance, and leaned a little more of his weight against Gao Tu's, allowing the embrace, allowing the word.

It was just a moment. A goodnight hug in a dark hallway. But for Gao Tu, it was a capitulation, a small victory. It was proof that even though he wasn't Li Pei En, he could, perhaps, carve out a small space of genuine affection in this borrowed life. And that Jiang Heng, in his vast and complicated kindness, was willing to grant it to him.

When they parted, there was a faint smile on Jiang Heng's face, an understandable sadness in his eyes. "Rest well, Gao Tu," he said, using his real name for the first time since the revelation. It sounded strange and right at the same time.

"You too, A-Heng," Gao Tu replied, and headed to his room, feeling that, for the first time since he had arrived, perhaps he was not completely alone in the darkness.

Chapter Text

The morning tranquility in the apartment was broken by soft but insistent knocks on the door. Gao Tu, who was sorting through some magazines on the sofa, looked up just as Jiang Heng opened the door to reveal Qiu Dingjie and Huang Xing in the doorway. They were a familiar sight, but today their presence felt different, more intimate, as if crossing the threshold meant entering the inner sanctum of a space they understood perfectly.

Huang Xing (Eliot) entered first, with his usual serene grace, followed closely by Qiu Dingjie (Kipuka), whose energy always seemed to vibrate a little higher than everyone else's. They brought with them the fresh scent of the outdoors and that aura of quiet complicity that always surrounded them. They were, like Jiang Heng and Li Pei En, a couple in real life, but their dynamic was noticeably different: softer, more openly tender, as if they lived in a constant bubble of delicate affection that even Gao Tu, accustomed to the intensity of his own world, found touching and a little intimidating.

As Jiang Heng and Huang Xing became entangled in a conversation about a new project, Qiu Dingjie slipped over to the coffee table where Gao Tu was sitting. He began tidying up the magazines Gao Tu had just put down, a small gesture, but one filled with a domestic familiarity that spoke volumes about his closeness to the real Li Pei En.

"Much better?" Qiu Dingjie asked softly, without looking up from his task, his voice a silk thread.

Gao Tu turned his head to get a better look at him. The concern on Qiu Dingjie's face was genuine, tinged with a softness that made the question sound more like deep care than casual courtesy. It was clear that his concern was real; they loved their Li Gege very much.

An involuntary smile played on Gao Tu's lips. "Why are you asking me?" he replied, a hint of lightheartedness in his voice. "It was Dahai who was in the hospital." He used the affectionate nickname that fans and close friends used for Jiang Heng, feeling how the strange word still felt unfamiliar on his tongue.

Qiu Dingjie finally looked up, frowning slightly, but a playful smile curved his lips. "I already asked him," he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But not you." He paused, and his smile softened, becoming more affable. "He was worried about you. So I'm worried about you too."

The simplicity and sincerity of the statement made Gao Tu's heart skip a beat. It wasn't a question about his physical health disguised as courtesy. It was a tacit acknowledgment that he, Gao Tu, was now part of this equation, this circle of care. Qiu Dingjie wasn't just asking about Li Pei En's body; he was asking about him, the person who now inhabited it and who had clearly caused Jiang Heng great concern.

For a moment, Gao Tu was speechless. The kindness, devoid of any ulterior motive or the burden of his romantic attraction to Jiang Heng, was overwhelming. It was pure, simple, and deeply healing.

"I'm... better," he finally managed to say, his voice a little thicker than he intended. "Thank you, Kipuka."

Qiu Dingjie nodded, satisfied with the answer, and gave him one last warm smile before returning to sorting the magazines, as if they had sealed a silent pact of mutual care. At that moment, Gao Tu understood that Li Pei En's support network was stronger and more genuine than he had ever imagined. And, against all odds, that network now extended to include him as well, holding him in the dizzying void between two worlds.

The apartment was transformed into a scene of cheerful chaos and domesticity. Plates of homemade food and assorted snacks filled the table, along with bottles of soda and iced tea. In one corner, a camera on a tripod recorded, its small red LED flashing like a knowing wink. It wasn't for a show, not for social media. It was, for them, a private memento of an afternoon that, against all odds, felt genuinely lighthearted.

The intimacy charged with excitement and revelations of the previous days had changed. It was no longer the intimacy of a couple sharing a terrifying secret, but the easy and noisy intimacy of deep friendship. Gao Tu found himself rereading, not acting. He watched, absorbed.

And what he observed most was Jiang Heng.

The Jiang Heng she saw now was different from the thoughtful and worried man of the past few weeks, or the tender and frustrated lover of before. This Jiang Heng was pure light. He laughed heartily when Huang Xing beat him at a silly card game, complained with exaggerated drama when he had to do his forfeit—spinning a hula-hoop around his waist—; and when he finally managed it for a few precarious seconds, his face lit up with a smile of triumph so broad and carefree that it took Gao Tu's breath away. 

It was contagious. Jiang Heng's laughter drew Huang Xing into a guffaw; made Qiu Dingjie cover his mouth to stifle an affectionate smile, and finally broke through Gao Tu's defenses, who let out a brief but genuine laugh, a sound that felt strange and liberating at the same time.

He realized, at that moment, that he was learning. Not just about how to be Li Pei En, but about how to live. In his world, every interaction was calculated, every laugh a dangerous luxury, every show of joy a potential slip-up. Here, joy was loud, messy, and shared without fear. Camaraderie was a group hug after a joke, a gentle pat on the shoulder, a glass of juice passed around without asking. And Jiang Heng was at the center of it all. He was the one who started the jokes, who accepted defeat with theatrical grace, who made sure everyone had something to eat and drink. Gao Tu watched him move around the room, a whirlwind of positive energy, and a pang of something bittersweet washed over him. This was the person Li Pei En was in love with. Not just the handsome actor or the tender lover, but this complete man, capable of creating light even in the midst of confusion itself.

When the laughter died down and Jiang Heng collapsed onto the sofa next to him, panting slightly, his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, Gao Tu didn't look away.

"What?" Jiang Heng asked, catching his steady gaze, his smile still intact but now tinged with curiosity.

"Nothing," Gao Tu murmured, looking down at his hands. "I was just thinking... you're excellent at this."

"At what? At losing?" Jiang Heng teased, taking a sip of his drink.

"At making people forget everything else," Gao Tu replied, his voice so low it was almost lost in the murmur of the television and the conversation between Huang Xing and Qiu Dingjie.

Jiang Heng stood still for a second. The smile on his lips softened, transforming into something more formal, more sincere. He said nothing. He simply reached out and gave Gao Tu's shoulder a gentle squeeze, a gesture of gratitude and understanding that spoke more than any words could have.

At that moment, with the camera recording a happiness that felt real, surrounded by friends who cared for him without knowing the whole truth, and with the warmth of Jiang Heng's hand on his shoulder. Gao Tu allowed himself to believe, just for this afternoon, that perhaps there was a place for him in this kind of happiness.

Night had fallen on the apartment, enveloping everything in a heavy, muffled silence. After the laughter and camaraderie of the afternoon, the stillness felt deeper, more meaningful. Gao Tu lay on his side of the bed, breathing with the artificial slowness of someone pretending to sleep. On the other side, he knew Jiang Heng was awake too, listening to the same silence, carrying the same weight of the unsaid.

That was when he felt it.

It wasn't a sound. It wasn't an image. It was a visceral physical sensation, a tug from the depths of his being, as if an invisible hook, attached to his sternum, had been pulled with sudden, brutal force. It wasn't painful, not exactly, but it was deeply violent. A dizzying nausea washed over him, followed by an extreme coldness that seemed to freeze his blood for an instant. The world around him—the soft texture of Li Pei En's sheets, the faint scent of lavender detergent, the sound of Jiang Heng's calm breathing on the other side of the bed—became blurred, ethereal, like a dream from which one awakens with a scream.

Jiang Heng? He wanted to say, but his mouth didn't respond. His tongue was leaden.

The pull came again, stronger this time. It was a centripetal force, dragging him inward and downward, to a place that was not in that room, that was not in that body. An agonizing, authentic, overwhelming nostalgia flooded him. It was not longing for a place, but for a truth. The truth of his own body, his own smell, his own pain.

My world.

The realization was a blinding and terrifying flash of lightning. I'm coming back.

A wave of panic washed over him, as cold as the pull itself. He turned his head toward Jiang Heng, forcing his eyes open in the darkness. He wanted to see him one last time. He wanted to memorize the curve of his shoulder under the sheet, the familiar silhouette of his profile against the light from the window. He wanted to shout that he was sorry, that he was grateful for every moment, that he should please take care of Li Pei En when he returned, that...

But all he managed was a choked gasp, a harsh, animalistic sound that cut short when the third tug came. This was not a suggestion. It was a command. A final disconnection.

The last thing he perceived, before darkness completely engulfed him, was not the sight of Jiang Heng, but the sound: a sudden movement in the sheets on the other side of the bed, a change in the rhythm of breathing, a hoarse and alarmed whisper that he thought he heard, but could no longer confirm.

"Pei...?"

And then, nothing.

Chapter Text

And then, silence.

A timeless, formless void.

Until, like the faint glow of a firefly in the deepest night, a sound began to filter through. It was a whisper, indistinguishable at first, but growing clearer with each beat of a heart that suddenly felt like its own again. A heart beating in a chest it recognized.

“Li Pei En, honey, please wake up.”

The voice. That voice.

It was soft, laden with an anguish that broke his soul, even before his mind could process whose it was. It was a voice he had longed to hear in his dreams and while awake, a voice that belonged to another world, another life.

And then, the sound that shattered him and rebuilt him at the same time: a sob. Very soft, almost muffled, but unmistakable. A sound of absolute vulnerability, heartbreakingly familiar.

Li Pei En blinked, or at least tried to. His eyelids felt heavy as lead. The darkness began to recede, replaced by the blurred vision of a ceiling—his ceiling, the ceiling of his own bedroom in his apartment, not Gao Tu's. The texture was different, the light was different, the air smelled... it smelled of jasmine and lemon, the scent of the candles Jiang Heng liked to light. He was home. He was in his body.

With a monumental effort, he turned his head toward the source of the sobbing.

There, sitting on the edge of the bed, his face pale and marked by tears that had traced shiny paths down his cheeks, was Jiang Heng. His eyes, usually full of warmth and joy, were red, swollen, and stared at Li Pei En with a mixture of terror, relief, and a love so deep that it was almost painful to behold.

Jiang Heng's hand squeezed Li Pei En's with desperate force, as if afraid he would vanish again. And Jiang Heng was crying for him.

“Baobei?” The word came from Li Pei En's lips, like a hoarse whisper, his voice cracked from disuse and emotion. It was the tone, the same one he always used with him, that made Jiang Heng look up.

Jiang Heng's reaction was instantaneous. He jumped up in bed, his hands flying to Li Pei En's face, caressing it, feeling it, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“You're awake! Oh, God, you're awake,” he gasped, but the joy in his eyes was immediately clouded by even deeper concern. His voice broke into a new sob. “You weren't waking up, I was shaking you and calling your name. Gao Tu, are you not feeling well?”

Gao Tu.

The name fell like a slab of ice on Li Pei En's chest. Did he know? Had Jiang Heng discovered everything? Had he been interacting with Gao Tu... in his body? Pain, confusion, and a sharp sense of protectiveness washed over him. He had been suffering. Because of me.

“No,” Li Pei En's voice sounded firmer, clearer, cutting through Jiang Heng's anguish. His own tears began to well up, clouding his vision of his boyfriend's devastated face. “I'm not Gao Tu.”

He saw the confusion take hold of Jiang Heng's features, the relief mixed with fear of another disappointment, another cruel twist of reality. Li Pei En sat up in bed, grabbing Jiang Heng's shoulders with a strength him didn't know he had. He shook him gently, needing him to understand, to believe.

“I'm Pei En,” Him declared, his voice nasal, on the verge of total collapse. “I'm Li Pei En. Gao Tu went back to his world.” The tears finally spilled out, hot and unstoppable. “I'm Li Pei En.”

The last repetition was a choked cry, a deep, cathartic sob that shook him completely. He collapsed forward, burying his face in Jiang Heng's neck, clutching his shirt like a shipwreck survivor. All the fear, disorientation, longing, and overwhelming relief poured out of him in a torrent of tears he couldn't contain.

For a moment, Jiang Heng stood rigid, the revelation processing through his own pain. Then, with a sound that was half sob, half sigh of relief so deep it bent his body, he wrapped Li Pei En in his arms. He pressed him against his chest with a force that almost took his breath away, his own tears wetting Li Pei En's hair.

“Pei En,” he whispered against his head, over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer. “My Pei En. You're back. You're back to me.”

There were no more questions at that moment. There was no need for explanations. Only the trembling of two bodies embraced in the darkness, crying for the horror of separation and the impossible miracle of reunion. The world of ABO, of Shen Wenlang, of lies and danger, faded into the distance, replaced by the real reality of the man he loved crying in his arms, finally, finally, back home.

...

The confirmation was a silent earthquake that reverberated through every particle of Jiang Heng. It wasn't just the words—”I am Li Pei En”—but the how. The way his hands clung to him, not with Gao Tu's learned shyness or caution, but with a desperate, possessive confidence that made his skin tingle. It was a chain breaking, a prison swinging wide open.

And then, Li Pei En kissed him.

It was not a gentle kiss of reconciliation, nor one of cautious exploration. It was a claim. A seal of ownership imprinted with lips, salty from tears, that still did not cease. It was a kiss that tasted of pent-up anguish, of fear overcome, of a home regained against all odds. Li Pei En moved over him with a determination that left no room for doubt, straddling his thighs as if him needed to feel every inch of his body to confirm that it was real, that he was real.

“I love you,” Li Pei En's whisper against his lips was a mantra, a sentence broken by the sobs that still shook him. “I love you, and I missed you so much.”

Jiang Heng couldn't hold back the pout that distorted his lips, nor the new flood of tears of relief that clouded his vision. He buried his hands in Li Pei En's back, feeling beneath his palms the familiar topography of bones and muscles he knew better than anything else in the world. The touch was different. It wasn't Gao Tu's restrained tension; it was Li Pei En's absolute surrender, total trust. It was his touch.

“I love you very much too,” he managed to reply, his voice a hoarse, wet thread, choked with the emotion that overwhelmed him. He pressed Li Pei En against his chest, as if he could melt them into one, erasing any trace of separation. “You don't know how worried I was when I found out it wasn't you.”

Li Pei En pulled away just enough to look at him, his eyes shining with tears, but now with a glint of the familiar cunning that Jiang Heng loved so much. One hand rested on the back of his neck, a reassuring possession, while the other traced fiery paths across his back, moving up and down with an intensity that promised to erase any other memory.

“Gao Tu and his guilty conscience,” Li Pei En said, and there was a hint of affectionate exasperation in his voice. “You should have suspected after the first two times I didn't want pizza.” A small, tremulous, but genuine hint of a smile played on his lips.

Jiang Heng let out a choked laugh, a wet, happy sound. “It was the tea,” he confessed, caressing Li Pei En's wet cheek with the back of his fingers. “You drank it bitter. Just the way I like it.”

They looked at each other in the dim light, the momentary mood dissolving into the overwhelming reality of their reunion. The tears had subsided, replaced by an urgent and palpable need. Li Pei En lowered his head and captured Jiang Heng's lips in another kiss, this one slower, deeper, but just as charged with all the passion and love pent-up during months of absence.

No more words were needed. The language of their bodies, rediscovering each other, reaffirming every inch, every whisper, every heartbeat, was the only dialogue that mattered. The outside world, with its interdimensional secrets and novel characters, faded away. Only the two of them existed, in the sacred intimacy of their bed, sealing with every touch, every kiss, every shared gasp, the promise that, at last, the journey was over. They were home.

Chapter Text

The next morning arrived bathed in soft light and a deep peace that Li Pei En hadn't felt in... He couldn't remember how long. The aroma of Jiang Heng's breakfast—something delicious and slightly spicy—led him to the kitchen. There, on the granite island, next to a steaming plate, lay his phone. He unlocked it out of habit, and his eyes widened.

Several zeros. Too many zeros. His bank account looked like that of a near-tycoon, not an actor. The figure left him speechless, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"What...?" he muttered, unable to complete the question. What had Gao Tu been doing? Robbing banks?

Jiang Heng, who had just placed another plate on the table, followed his gaze and smiled, a flash of amused admiration in his eyes.

"He's good with numbers," he commented, as if talking about a knitting skill. "He told me he knew how to buy lottery tickets and gradually win large amounts." He raised his eyebrows, impressed in spite of himself.

Li Pei En lowered him fork, processing the information. "Really?" An incredulous laugh escaped his lips. Of course. Gao Tu. The strategic mastermind who had survived years by hiding in plain sight. "Well, Gao Tu is very smart. If he wanted to win the lottery in his world, he could do it, even build his business. With the ideas I left him, he might just do it." The thought brought a pang of pride for the stranger who had inhabited his life.

Jiang Heng sat down beside him, his smile softening, becoming more intimate. His hand descended, resting on Li Pei En's bare thigh beneath the robe, a familiar and comforting touch that made Li Pei En shiver with pleasure.

"You better tell me," Jiang Heng said, his voice a low, warm invitation. "What did you change in that world, and what happened?" He pouted exaggeratedly, but his eyes were serious, eager to hear the story.

Li Pei En put the phone aside, pushing away the temptation of inexplicable wealth. He turned fully toward Jiang Heng, resting his hand on him partner's cheek. The skin was warm, alive, real.

"It's a very long story," he warned, but a playful smile appeared on his lips.

And then, Li Pei En plunged into the story. It was not a linear or orderly narrative; it was a torrent of images, emotions, and anecdotes that poured out of him with cathartic urgency. He made sweeping gestures with his hands, drawing scenes in the air. He spoke of the initial shock, of waking up in a body that wasn't his own, in a world of overwhelming smells and oppressive rules. He recounted how, armed only with the knowledge from the novel and a fierce desperation not to ruin Gao Tu's life, he had made decisions.

"The first thing was to tell Shen Wenlang," he confessed, his eyes shining with the memory of his boldness. "I just blurted it out. 'I'm an Omega. I thought he was going to faint. He froze, as if his brain had been disconnected." A laugh escaped him, but it quickly died away. "Then... later he came looking for me. It was different. It wasn't the harassment from the novel, it was... a different obsession. A need to understand."

He spoke of the strange and tense friendship he forged with Hua Yong, the "Omega" who was actually an Enigma. Of how he changed small plot developments, diverting courses he knew would lead to pain. Of exploring the ABO world beyond the pages, of Gao Tu's lonely and frugal life in his old building.

"I bought him a new phone," he said, as if it were a crucial detail. State-of-the-art. And I learned how to use Office 365 better, especially Excel. He's incredibly smart, and his world is technologically advanced." He smiled as he recalled his furious concentration in front of the spreadsheets. "I left him notes," he continued, his voice becoming softer, more strategic. "Lots of notes. And I even left the laptop unlocked on purpose, with all the changes I would make to the house, the budgets, the plans... in case he couldn't find one. I suspected that Shen Wenlang would sooner or later get curious and check it out." He paused dramatically. "Because a few days earlier, he had left an Omega dating site open."

This provoked shared laughter, a moment of light in the nightmare story.

"I found a Thai restaurant on the same street," he added, like a triumphant personal discovery. "And I found out that the buildings where Gao Tu lived were going to be demolished. That's not in the novel." The revelation saddened him. "And he ran into Ma Heng ahead of time, I made Shen Wenlang jealous... they even got into an argument. It was intense."

He paused, catching his breath. The story had taken them far from the kitchen island. They had moved to the large sofa in the living room, Jiang Heng settled in one corner and Li Pei En taking up all the space, his bare feet resting on his partner's lap. Jiang Heng absentmindedly massaged one of his feet, completely absorbed in the story.

"I left everything in great detail," Li Pei En concluded, his voice now a whisper. "I even made voice recordings, of the fights, of the conversations... so that Gao Tu could take his time reading and listening to everything when he came back. I also asked him that if he came back before something crucial happened, to act like he had amnesia. So he could buy time and find out what I did." Him paused one last time, a mischievous and slightly embarrassed smile curving his lips. "And well... I also kissed Shen Wenlang."

Jiang Heng nodded slowly, showing no surprise, only deep understanding. His hand paused on Li Pei En's foot.

"It was part of the plan, right?" he asked, his voice soft, without a trace of jealousy, only curiosity. Or maybe he was just pretending, because Jiang Heng was very jealous and funny, 

Li Pei En held his gaze, the smile fading to make way for sincerity. 

"It was part of my plan. To drive him crazy. So that he couldn't think of anything but Gao Tu. So that when the real Gao Tu returned, Shen Wenlang would already be too hooked, too confused, to let him go."

They fell silent after that. The magnitude of what Li Pei En had done, the seeds of change him had planted in a world that was not his own, settled between them. It had not been a journey of passive survival. It had been a rescue mission.

Finally, Jiang Heng smiled, a slow smile filled with immense pride. He squeezed Li Pei En's foot. "You're incredible," he whispered. "Absolutely incredible."

Li Pei En blushed, looking down. "I just wanted him to have a chance. A real chance."

"And from what you say," Jiang Heng said, his voice regaining a hint of joy, "I think you gave it to him."

The confession hung in the air, heavy with desire and complicity. "I know you're jealous, Heng-Er." Li Pei En said it with a smile that was half apology, half provocation, as him settled herself more comfortably on his lap, feeling Jiang Heng's heat seep through the thin fabric of his robe.

Jiang Heng let out a theatrical sigh, but his hands, sliding under the robe to caress the bare skin of Li Pei En's thighs, betrayed his true mood. 

"Well, I kissed Gao Tu too, on your body. And you kissed Shen Wenlang on Gao Tu's body," he admitted, his voice a low purr against Li Pei En's lips. "Yes, I'm jealous, but..." He bit the tip of his tongue, an adorably vulnerable gesture that made Li Pei En melt inside. His fingers pressed more firmly into his thighs, almost grazing the top of him buttocks. "... But it's stupid jealousy. Because in the end, we were both... managing a borrowed asset." A crooked smile played on his lips. "And now the asset has returned to its rightful owner."

Li Pei En laughed softly and happily, and tilted her head to claim Jiang Heng's lips in a kiss. Yes, I'm back. And then, he remembered. Gao Tu's note on his phone, a coded message from one tormented soul to another: "Forgive me, Pei En! And... if you come back, please reward this man. He deserves it."

He knew, from Jiang Heng's halting confessions, that intimacy between them had been a minefield of tension and subtle rejections, limited to kisses and caresses that did not cross certain boundaries. Gao Tu had been too scared, too overwhelmed. But Li Pei En was not. Li Pei En was home, and he had a debt of gratitude to repay.

"Aren't you tired?" Jiang Heng murmured between gasps as the kiss intensified, as Li Pei En's tongue began to trace expert, familiar patterns inside his mouth that sent an electrifying tingle throughout his body. It was Li Pei En's kiss. The real one. Intense, demanding, and perfectly calculated to drive him crazy.

"A little," Li Pei En lied against his lips, his smile a specter of mischief. "But not that much." His hands descended over Jiang Heng's chest, finding the buckle of his shorts with absolute spontaneity. His fingers, nimble and confident, toyed with the metal before sliding the clasp open with a soft but decisive sound.

The afternoon faded into a whirlwind of discarded clothes, of kisses that tasted of happiness and fulfilled, of whispers and moans that sealed every inch of reconquered skin. It was a physical reaffirmation of a bond that had survived the most absurd test imaginable.

"Ngh, Heng"

Later, already dressed and radiating peace, they turned on the camera for their video blog. Lele, the brown poodle, approached Li Pei En and began sniffing him frantically before letting out a series of small; high-pitched, heartwarming cries, as if his little canine heart knew that something fundamental had changed, that his true human had returned. Li Pei En bent down and picked him up, burying his face in his soft fur, showering him with kisses that would be carefully omitted from the final edit. That moment was just for them.

The walk was a bubble of perfect normality. They walked under the golden light of the sunset, eating ice cream and smiling at the camera with an ease that had been absent for weeks. They talked about future projects, a new drama, and thanked the fans for their support with renewed sincerity. Every glance, every touch of hands, every shared smile in front of the lens was genuine.

And as Li Pei En spoke to the camera, him felt Jiang Heng's hand on his back, a discreet but firm touch, a silent grip. He looked at the lens and smiled, a wide, carefree smile that reached his eyes.

He was back. He had planted seeds of change in another world and had returned to reap the love in his own. And for the first time in a long, long time, the future looked bright, simple, and extraordinarily happy.

Chapter Text

The domestic calm was a heavy, comforting blanket. Li Pei En rested his head on Jiang Heng's shoulder, breathing in the soft scent of green tea and clean cotton that always enveloped him. On the screen, a pair of actors exaggerated a trivial romantic conflict, but the comfort of the sofa and the warmth of the body next to him were infinitely more interesting. Jiang Heng was absorbed in the meticulous task of removing the seeds from a small bowl of lotus seeds, a task that Li Pei En found absurdly endearing. They weren't his favorite, but he ate them anyway, for him.

It was in these moments of stillness, weeks after returning to his life, to his body, to his Jiang Heng, that nostalgia for the extraordinary sometimes overtook him. The routine had returned: rehearsals for the overseas tour, the pile of scripts waiting to be read on the nightstand, the individual offers that their agency allowed them to choose freely. Everything was fine. Too fine. Too normal.

And then, like a slight but insistent pinch in the back of his mind, the question arose. The concern. Gao Tu.

He had turned his life upside down. He had twisted the script of her existence, planting real time bombs and change at every turn. He had bought his a phone, left her an Excel spreadsheet, revealed his secret to Shen Wenlang, provoked jealousy, kissed the Alpha... He had rewritten the first chapters of a future that, in the novel, was fraught with pain and escape.

And now? What was happening now? The urge to know was fleeting, but acute. Was Gao Tu navigating the new paths he had opened? Had Shen Wenlang accepted the truth without the cruel estrangement of the original plot? Most importantly, what left him paralyzed from time to time: had Gao Tu avoided the mate-seeking syndrome that Alphas suffered when they lost their Omega? Or...?

“What are you thinking about?” Jiang Heng's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Slightly sticky fingers brought a lotus seed to his lips. Jiang Heng's fingers brushed the edge of his upper teeth, an intimate and casual contact that usually made him smile.

But this time, the question had opened a floodgate he couldn't contain. The truth came out, raw and unfiltered, driven by the worry that gnawed at him.

“That Gao Tu is pregnant,” he blurted out, his voice a whisper laden with horror and macabre curiosity.

The effect was instantaneous. Jiang Heng froze. The hand holding the lotus seed stopped in midair. Li Pei En could feel the whole body next to him tense up. He turned his head to look at him and was met with his partner's frown, his dark eyes shining with a mixture of disbelief and... annoyance?

“Pregnant?” Jiang Heng repeated, the word sounding strange and heavy in his mouth. “Why... why would you be thinking about that now?” There was no reproach in his voice, but genuine perplexity, tinged with a slight hint of exasperation. It was the reaction of someone who had been there, in the eye of the hurricane of absurdity, and thought they had already gotten through it.

Li Pei En bit his lip, feeling a little foolish but unable to take it back. 

“Because it's a possibility,” he argued, his voice weak. “If things were... different. If Shen Wenlang found him before he could really run away, if there wasn't that estrangement the book talks about... the search syndrome... it's intense. And S-class Alphas...” He paused, searching for the words. “They're... persistent.”

Jiang Heng set the bowl of lotus seeds down on the coffee table with a click that was a little louder than necessary. He turned fully toward Li Pei En, his expression serious.

“Pei En,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You left. You came back. You did... what you did. You planted your seeds.” He took Li Pei En's hand, intertwining their fingers. “What happens there now... is no longer your responsibility. It's Gao Tu's life. His. You gave him tools, you gave him choices. What he chooses to do with them...” He paused, squeezing his hand. “...is his story now. Not yours.”

Li Pei En looked at their intertwined hands, then looked up into Jiang Heng's eyes, which now shone with deep understanding and slightly exasperated love.

“You have to let him go,” Jiang Heng murmured. “Stop worrying about the character and start living your happy ending. Here. With me.”

The words were a bucket of cold water and a warm embrace at the same time. Jiang Heng was right. He had been a ghost in the machine of Gao Tu's life, a guest who had altered the course of events. But the movie was now directed by Gao Tu.

Li Pei En exhaled deeply, as if expelling the anxiety that gripped him. He nodded slowly, a small, embarrassed smile appearing on his lips.

“You're right,” he admitted. “It's just... I care. I want him to do well.”

“I know,” Jiang Heng leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead. “And he'll probably do better than he ever dreamed, thanks to you. But right now,” he added, picking up another lotus seed and bringing it to his mouth, “focus on your own drama. Which, by the way, includes eating these seeds that I worked so hard to get.”

A kiss drowned out the laughter. Li Pei En threw herself at Jiang Heng, wrapping him in an embrace so tight it almost knocked them off balance on the sofa. It wasn't a soft or exploratory kiss; it was effusive, grateful, and possessive, laden with all the longing of those months of exile in his own skin. He savored Jiang Heng, the familiar taste of green tea and the residual sweetness of lotus seeds, and felt every nerve in his body respond with a shudder of recognition and relief. This. This was the kiss he remembered. The one that could make him float and anchor him to the ground at the same time. The one that made him forget even his own name.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured against his lips, the words mingling with the kiss. “I missed this.” His hands clung to Jiang Heng's shoulders, anchoring himself to the tangible reality of his presence.

Jiang Heng responded with equal intensity, his hands finding his face, his fingers tangling in his hair. It was a kiss that sealed a pact, that erased any remaining distance, real or imagined. When they finally pulled apart, panting, Li Pei En rested his forehead against Jiang Heng's, his eyes closed. 

“It's you,” him whispered, as if him still needed to confirm it. “It's really you.”

“It's me,” Jiang Heng confirmed, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And you are you. And we are here.”

They remained like that for a long moment, breathing the same air, sharing the same space, reconnecting every broken thread. Li Pei En thought of the cold nights in that other world, curled up in a bed that wasn't his, longing for exactly this: the weight of Jiang Heng against him, the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his touch.

“And I missed you,” Jiang Heng added, his voice a whisper on his skin. “Every damn day. Even though you were right here.” His thumb caressed Li Pei En's cheek. “It wasn't the same.”

Li Pei En nodded, understanding completely. He had been present, but absent. A ghost in his own life.

They settled back on the sofa, Li Pei En leaning once more on Jiang Heng's shoulder, this time with a deeper peace. The cliché movie continued to play, but now it was just background noise, a backdrop for their reconciliation.

His curiosity about Gao Tu, though muffled by Jiang Heng's wise words, had not completely dissipated. It floated at the edge of his mind, a lingering concern. Because Gao Tu was no longer just a character in a novel, nor an intruder who had usurped his body. He had become a kind of younger brother, an accomplice forged in the fire of the most absurd circumstance. And the idea that he was dealing alone with an unwanted—or perhaps, tremendously wanted, but terrifying—pregnancy in a hostile world, with a stubborn idiot like Shen Wenlang as the potential father... it kept him awake at night.

“I know,” he whispered, as if Jiang Heng could read his thoughts. “It's just... I can't help but worry. It's like... like leaving a brother in a foreign country without knowing if he's doing okay.”

Jiang Heng sighed, but this time it wasn't a sigh of exasperation, but of understanding. He squeezed his shoulder against him. 

“I know. And it's because you have too big a heart.” He paused. “But trust him. Trust that the seeds you planted bore fruit. And trust that if that idiot Wenlang has half a functioning brain cell, he'll realize that Gao Tu is the best thing that ever happened to him and cling to him like a limpet, baby or no baby.”

Li Pei En smiled, the image of Shen Wenlang clinging to Gao Tu like a limpet was as ridiculous as it was comforting. 

“You're good at comforting people, you know that?”

“It's one of my many talents,” Jiang Heng replied with feigned arrogance, planting a kiss on his hair. “Now, shall we see how this terrible movie ends, or would you prefer me to distract you from your anxious thoughts in a much more... practical way?”

The suggestion in his voice was unmistakable. Li Pei En laughed, a genuine, light laugh that his felt welling up from deep within him. He looked at the screen, where the protagonists were in the midst of a melodramatic misunderstanding, and then he looked at Jiang Heng, whose face was illuminated by the dim light of the television, his eyes shining with love and a little mischief.

The choice was obvious.

“Turn off the TV,” Li Pei En said, crawling back onto Jiang Heng's lap. “My anxious thoughts need a very intense distraction.”

And while Jiang Heng searched for the remote control with one hand, with the other he was already beginning to slide under Li Pei En's shirt. Concern for Gao Tu and his world faded, replaced by the overwhelming and joyful certainty that, no matter what was happening in parallel universes, his happy ending was right here, on this sofa, and he was about to be very, very happy.