It was the same room that he’d had as a child, but it seemed smaller now—there was a desk, a bigger bed, several bookshelves. Xingyu could see the bathroom in the far corner of the room, but he didn’t head right to it; instead, he lingered at the desk for a moment, traced his hands over the organized notes Xiao-Xiao had stacked and lined up against the edge. He’d always been like that, even when he was young—trying to make up for all his emotions by remaining as perfect and organized as possible. And then he went to the books and looked at each one, smiling when he saw the photography books. Had Xiao-Xiao found a hobby? They were dog-eared and full of sticky notes. Xingyu pulled one out and flipped through it, stopping whenever he saw something tabbed or highlighted. In the back, he found something more—five photographs.

Xingyu tucked them into his back pocket, put the book back, and went to the bathroom.

The first aid kit wasn’t in the open, so he had to do a little more searching, maybe more than necessary. Xiao-Xiao used the same shampoo he did—the same as Ba’s. It seemed neither of them were able to break away from the desire to become more like their father. He also seemed to like exfoliators—had a whole variety of them.

He opened the medicine cabinet. There it was—the first aid kit, small but reasonable. Xingyu reached for it.

Stopped.

There was a medicine bottle. Something with a name he didn’t recognize. Xiao-Xiao was medicated? For what? He arranged the medicine bottle just as he’d found it and then typed the name into his phone’s search bar.

Used to treat depression.

Depression? Xiao-Xiao?

His phone buzzed—a message from Weiran asking when they would meet. His stomach turned.

Depression. Xiao-Xiao. Depression.

His phone buzzed again.

Xingyu took a picture of the pill bottle, grabbed a band aid from the medicine cabinet, and fled.

The water was still bubbling away on the stove, but he’d long since stopped caring about eating something. He switched off the heat, pushed the pot off the burner, then curled up on the couch with his laptop perched on his legs and dove head-first into research. First was the medication—it was for depression, with lots of side effects that included turning a person a little lifeless emotionally. Then when he felt like he’d researched all he could—it was really for depression, no matter how he looked at it or what website he combed through—he started looking up Xiao-Xiao. What he’s really been doing since Xingyu’s been gone, not just what Xingyu read in articles. Why he would be prescribed depression medication. There was nothing available to the public—only the same articles here and there that Xingyu had already read several times over.