“I’ve been carrying this fire extinguisher for three months now,” Liu Wei announced to no one in particular as he adjusted the red cylinder strapped to his back. The other students in the university cafeteria barely glanced his way, having grown accustomed to his peculiar accessory.

“You know that’s completely unnecessary, right?” His friend Chen Ming said between mouthfuls of noodles. “The chances of spontaneously combusting are statistically negligible.”

“That’s exactly what my uncle thought before he burst into flames while playing mahjong,” Liu Wei replied matter-of-factly. “Besides, it’s become part of my identity now. I’m Fire Extinguisher Guy.”

The weight of the extinguisher had left permanent creases in all his shirts, but Liu Wei wore them like badges of honor. His paranoia had started after watching a documentary about spontaneous human combustion, though his friends suspected it had more to do with his breakup with Zhang Mei, who had called him “the most boring, predictable person” she’d ever dated.

“Have you considered therapy?” Chen Ming suggested carefully.

“Have you considered that therapy wouldn’t help if I suddenly burst into flames during the session?” Liu Wei countered, his expression deadly serious.

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at a nearby table. A girl had knocked over a candle, setting her textbook ablaze. Before anyone could react, Liu Wei leaped into action with practiced precision, dousing the fire with a perfect spray from his trusty extinguisher.

“See?” he exclaimed triumphantly, white foam dripping from his hands. “Who’s paranoid now?”

The girl, covered in chemical powder but otherwise unharmed, looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment. “My hero,” she said, trying to suppress a laugh. “I’m Sun Jing.”

“Liu Wei. Would you like to get coffee sometime? I know a place with absolutely no open flames.”

Later that evening, as Liu Wei prepared for his date, he caught his reflection in the mirror - the red cylinder still faithfully strapped to his back. For the first time in three months, he hesitated before the door.

“Maybe…” he muttered to himself, fingers hovering over the buckle. But then he remembered his uncle’s mahjong incident (which may or may not have actually happened) and tightened the straps instead.

As he walked to meet Sun Jing, the familiar weight on his back felt different somehow. Was it lighter? Heavier? He couldn’t tell. A group of kids pointed and whispered as he passed, but today he didn’t mind. The setting sun cast his elongated shadow ahead of him - a figure with what could have been wings, or perhaps just a fire extinguisher.

He arrived at the cafe five minutes early, watching through the window as baristas operated their flame-free coffee machines. Sun Jing wasn’t there yet. He reached back and touched the cool metal cylinder, his constant companion these past months. Then, slowly, he began to unbuckle the straps.

Or did he?