The hallway after break was pure school chaos—students flooding out of classrooms like water bursting from a dam. Laughter ricocheted off tiled walls. Someone shouted about stolen snacks. Another group groaned loudly about the endless math period they'd just survived. The air buzzed with temporary freedom.
Jian walked beside Yanyan, her small hand tucked comfortably in his. She swung their intertwined fingers in gentle arcs, bubbling with energy as they moved through the crowd.
"Jian-ge, did you see Teacher Lin's face when Junhao almost slept leaning on the window?" she said, giggling so hard her shoulders shook. "He looked ready to throw the chalk at him!"
Jian managed a laugh—short, hollow, the sound fading before it could settle. His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed distant.
They weren't on her.
They drifted, almost against his will, sliding over her shoulder toward the far end of the corridor.
And there he was.
Wei stood alone against the opposite wall, backpack slung low, arms crossed tight over his chest. A fresh white bandage wrapped around his left forearm, stark against the dark sleeve he'd rolled up just enough to show it. He wasn't looking their way. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the floor tiles, jaw set, shoulders rigid like he was bracing for impact.
Jian's steps slowed without meaning to. Yanyan kept talking, oblivious, tugging him forward.
"You're so quiet today," she teased, tilting her head to catch his eye. "Still tired from those boring classes?"
Jian blinked, forcing his focus back to her bright smile.
"Yeah… just tired," he murmured.
But his glance slipped again—back to the bandage, back to Wei.
Something unspoken tightened in his chest, sharp and unwelcome.
The crowd pushed them onward. Yanyan laughed at something else. Jian walked faster now, trying to outrun the pull of that quiet figure against the wall.
The bandage gleamed under the fluorescent lights like an accusation he hadn't asked for.
And Wei still hadn't looked up.
The hallway pulsed with post-break energy—students laughing, shoving, trading snacks, voices overlapping in a joyful roar. Jian moved through it all beside Yanyan, her hand warm in his, her chatter light and easy.
But his attention kept slipping.
Across the corridor, Wei walked alone. Head slightly lowered, bag hanging loose from one shoulder, steps quieter than the stampede around him. The fresh white bandage on his forearm stood out sharply against his dark sleeve. He didn't glance up. He didn't seem to register the chaos at all—just drifted forward like a shadow among the noise.
Jian's gaze locked there, unblinking, something tight coiling in his chest.
Yanyan tugged his sleeve, pulling him back.
"Hey—what are you looking at?"
He blinked hard, forcing his eyes to her bright, curious face.
"Nothing."
He cleared his throat, the word sounding rough even to himself.
"I… I need to go to the washroom. You go first."
Yanyan tilted her head, studying him for half a second, then smiled wide.
"Okay—don't take long."
She gave his hand a quick squeeze before skipping off, ponytail bouncing, disappearing into the crowd of friends waiting near the stairs.
Jian stood still a moment longer.
Wei was farther down the hall now, almost swallowed by the flow of bodies, but the bandage still caught the light—stark, accusing, impossible to ignore. Jian's fingers flexed at his sides. He wanted to call out. He wanted to walk away faster. He did neither.
Instead, he turned slowly toward the washroom direction, steps heavy. The hallway noise faded behind him like distant static.
He didn't look back.
But the image stayed: Wei alone, head down, bandage gleaming under fluorescent lights—a quiet wound Jian hadn't asked to see, and couldn't unsee.
The bell would ring soon. Classes would drag on again. But this moment stretched longer than any lesson, heavy with questions neither of them had dared to voice.
The moment Yanyan turned and skipped away into the crowd, Jian slipped free.
His feet moved before his mind caught up—toward Wei.
Not too close. Not too far.
Just enough distance to watch without being seen.
Wei walked ahead, head still lowered, bandage stark white against his sleeve. The hallway noise swallowed everything else: laughter, shouts, footsteps. But Jian heard only the soft rhythm of Wei's quieter steps.
He kept pace, heart thudding louder than the bell that would soon end break.
Wei didn't look back.
Jian didn't call out.
He simply followed—silent, unseen, pulled by something heavier than words.
The crowd parted and closed around them like water.
And Jian stayed in the current, eyes fixed on the bandage he couldn't ignore.
The hallway surged with students—shouts, laughter, hurried footsteps—but to Jian, the world had gone strangely quiet, as if someone had submerged everything underwater. Colors dulled. Sounds muffled. Only the dull throb in his chest felt real.
Yanyan tugged his sleeve, her voice cutting through the haze like a distant echo.
"Jian-ge, are you even listening?"
He forced a laugh—thin, brittle, barely there.
"Yeah, I'm listening."
Liar.
Because right ahead, slipping through the crowd like a ghost no one else noticed, was Wei.
Jian's heart lurched. It stumbled, tightened, pressed hard against his ribs as though desperate to break free and run toward the one person he couldn't approach.
Wei moved with that same fragile calm he always wore. Back straight despite everything. Steps soft, deliberate, like he was trying not to disturb the air. His bag strap had slipped halfway down his shoulder; he didn't bother fixing it. Head lowered slightly, lashes casting faint shadows, as if the fluorescent lights overhead were just a little too bright for someone carrying invisible weight.
The white bandage on his forearm caught the light again—stark, fresh, impossible to pretend away.
Jian's feet slowed without permission. The crowd flowed around him like water parting for a stone. Yanyan kept walking a step ahead, chatting about something he hadn't heard, ponytail swinging.
Wei didn't look up. Didn't glance their way. Didn't know Jian was watching—couldn't know how every careful step Wei took felt like a quiet accusation.
Jian swallowed hard. His fingers flexed at his sides, wanting to reach out, to stop him, to ask the questions burning behind his teeth.
He did none of those things.
He just watched Wei disappear farther into the sea of uniforms, the bandage flashing one last time before the crowd swallowed him whole.
Yanyan turned back, frowning lightly.
"Jian-ge?"
He blinked, dragged his gaze away.
"Coming."
But the hallway still felt too quiet, too heavy, and the space where Wei had been ached like an open wound Jian hadn't asked to feel.
Jian kept staring.
The hallway roared around him—laughter, footsteps, shouted greetings—but none of it reached him. His eyes stayed glued to Wei's retreating figure: head slightly bowed, bandage flashing white with every step, bag strap slipping further down his shoulder like he didn't care enough to fix it.
Jian's mind filled with questions he couldn't silence.
Where are you going?Why are you walking alone again?Do you… do you need something?
The thoughts pressed hard against his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. He wanted to call out. He wanted to close the distance. He stayed rooted instead, breath shallow, heart knocking unevenly.
Yanyan tugged his sleeve again, voice soft but insistent.
"Jian-ge?"
The sound yanked him back like a lifeline. He blinked, dragging his gaze to her concerned face.
"I, uh… I need to use the washroom first. You go ahead."
She studied him for a heartbeat, then smiled—bright, trusting, the way she always did.
"Oh—okay! Don't take too long."
Her fingers slipped from his. She gave a little wave before turning and melting into the crowd, ponytail bouncing as she joined her friends near the stairs.
Jian stood motionless a second longer.
Wei was farther now, almost lost among uniforms and backpacks. The bandage still caught stray light—stark, accusing, a silent reminder of everything Jian hadn't asked about and Wei hadn't explained.
He exhaled slowly.
The hallway noise swelled back in, loud and ordinary. Students rushed past, oblivious. Jian took one step, then another—not toward the washroom, but in the direction Wei had gone. Not chasing. Not quite.
Just following the pull he couldn't name.
The crowd parted and closed around him again. Wei disappeared around a corner. Jian kept walking anyway, the questions still whispering inside his head, unanswered and heavy.
Break would end soon. Classes would start. But right now, the bandage lingered in his mind like a wound that wasn't his—and yet somehow felt like it was.