The school gate clicked shut behind them, muffling the noise of students scattering home.
The winter evening stretched ahead — pale sunlight fading, cold wind biting gently at their coats.
Wei stepped forward first.
Quiet.
Soft.
Breathing slowly, as if the cold was something he welcomed.
Jian walked beside him.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
For the first time.
Neither of them said anything.
Only the sound of their shoes on the pavement,
rhythmic
steady
almost synchronized.
The neighborhood streets were washed in winter gold, shadows long and soft, trees swaying lightly as the sun dipped lower.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was fragile… like something that would break if they spoke too fast.
After a minute, Jian cleared his throat.
"Do you… always walk home?"
Wei nodded once.
"Mm."
"Alone?"
"…Mm."
Jian frowned.
He didn't know why that bothered him.
But it did.
A lot.
They kept walking, boots crunching over dry winter leaves.
Wei's breath misted softly in the air—
a small, visible cloud
fading instantly.
Jian watched it
and felt something warm stir in his chest.
As they turned down the quieter road lined with bare trees, Jian's eyes drifted—
not on purpose,
but because he couldn't help it.
Wei's right hand was hidden under the sleeve again.
He hunched slightly against the wind but pretended he wasn't cold.
But Jian saw—
the tips of Wei's fingers turning red the light pink at the edge of his earshis nose reddened slightly his eyes blinking a little faster from the cold breeze
He wasn't wearing gloves.
Or a proper scarf.
His coat looked too thin.
Jian felt a tiny flicker of irritation.
Not at Wei.
At himself.
For noticing too much.
For caring too much.
But the words slipped out anyway:
"…You're cold."
Wei blinked, startled.
"What?"
"Your hands," Jian said quietly.
"And… your face."
Wei looked away.
"It's always like this," he murmured.
"I'm used to it."
Jian clenched his jaw.
Used to it?
That bothered him even more.
A few steps later, Wei adjusted his bag strap again — with his left hand.
The right hand stayed hidden, unmoving.
Jian watched carefully.
"…He's tired."
"…It's heavy for one hand."
"…He's pretending it's fine again."
Without thinking, Jian said:
"Give it to me."
Wei blinked.
"…What?"
"Your bag," Jian repeated.
"Give it."
Wei shook his head instantly.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I can carry it."
"You're using one hand."
Wei stayed silent.
Jian extended his hand.
Wei stepped one inch away.
"…It's fine."
The refusal was soft.
Not cold.
Not rude.
Just… habit.
But Jian didn't move his hand.
"Give it," he said again, quieter this time.
Not demanding.
Just firm.
Wei finally turned his head slowly, confusion clouding his eyes.
"…Why?" he whispered.
Because your wrist is hurt.
Because you're cold.
Because you don't deserve to struggle alone.
Because it hurts me to watch you.
Because I don't want you to walk like this.
Because I care.
Because I—
Jian tightened his jaw.
He didn't have any of those answers ready.
He didn't know how to say even one of them.
So he said the simplest truth available:
"Because I'm walking with you."
Wei's breath caught.
For a moment, the wind itself felt still.
He didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
Didn't move.
He just let out a small exhale…
And let go of the bag strap.
Jian took it before Wei changed his mind.
Their fingers brushed — warm, brief, unintentional.
Both froze.
Jian swallowed.
Wei lowered his eyes, lashes trembling slightly.
But he didn't take the bag back.
He let Jian hold the weight.
They walked again,
but this time the distance between them was smaller.
Not touching.
But close enough that if either one leaned a little, their shoulders might brush.
The winter air pressed cold against their bodies,
but between them
a quiet warmth formed.
Wei spoke first.
"…You didn't have to."
"I know."
"You still did."
"…I know."
Wei's breath came out in another misty puff.
"Why?" he whispered softly.
Jian didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Because he didn't want to lie.
Because telling the truth might expose something he wasn't ready to see.
Wei didn't push.
He just nodded once, looking at the sidewalk.
At one point, a gust of winter wind rushed through the street.
Wei shivered — barely — but enough for Jian to see.
Jian instinctively stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just… nearer.
Wei blinked, startled by the closeness.
His left hand swung slightly with the movement—
and brushed the back of Jian's knuckles.
They both stopped breathing.
It wasn't a real touch.
Just a whisper of one.
A promise of one.
Their hands hovered beside each other
so close
so warm
yet not touching.
Wei slowly turned his head.
Jian already looked away…
but his ears were slightly red.
The wind blew again.
Wei's fingers trembled once from the cold.
Jian looked down instinctively.
"…Your hands," he murmured.
Wei hid them behind his sleeve immediately.
"It's fine," he said softly.
"It's always like this in winter."
That phrase again.
Jian hated it.
Hated how normal he made it sound.
Wei's breath misted in the air, small clouds rising and disappearing.
Jian's heart clenched.
He exhaled once and whispered:
"…You don't have to be used to things like that."
Wei blinked, surprised.
But before he could respond—
Jian stepped closer again,
shoulder almost touching Wei's,
their breaths mixing in the cold air.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
Wei didn't move away.
And that was more than enough.
They reached the junction where their houses separated —
only a few blocks apart
but still different paths.
Wei slowed down.
"…You live that way," he murmured.
Jian nodded.
"And you live that way."
Another gust of wind rushed through the street, tossing a few dry leaves past them.
Wei's hair blew into his eyes.
He pushed it back with his left hand.
Jian watched the movement, chest tightening.
A strange, warm ache.
Something unnamed.
Wei finally looked up at him.
"…Thank you," he said softly.
"For walking with me."
Jian opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…Anytime," he whispered.
Wei lowered his gaze.
Then, in a voice almost carried away by the wind:
"Tomorrow too?"
Jian's heart slammed.
Wei's cheeks were pink from cold.
His fingers red.
His voice quiet.
Jian swallowed hard.
"…Yeah," he said.
"I'll walk with you tomorrow."
Wei nodded.
The smallest, shyest acknowledgment.
And then he turned down his road.
Jian watched him until he disappeared behind the winter trees.
He didn't know why his chest felt so full.
He didn't know why the cold didn't sting as much now.
But he knew one thing—
Tomorrow suddenly felt too far away.
The Night Before — Parallel Scene
Jian's Room
Jian didn't understand why he couldn't sleep.
He tossed.
Turned.
Punched his pillow.
Changed his blanket.
Changed sides again.
Nothing helped.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw:
Wei under the winter tree.
Wei shivering.
Wei's breath misting in cold air.
Wei looking at him with that small, shy expression.
Wei's voice:
"…Tomorrow too?"
Jian pulled the blanket over his face and groaned.
"This is stupid… why am I thinking so much…"
He rolled out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, stood by the window.
Cold night wind slapped his skin.
Didn't work.
He rested his forehead against the glass, eyes half-open.
"…What are you doing to me?"
He didn't know the answer.
He didn't know the question either.
He fell asleep much later, the faint image of Wei lingering in his mind.
Wei sat at the edge of his bed, breathing slowly.
The room was dim, lit only by streetlight slipping through thin curtains.
His wrist throbbed.
His head felt heavy.
His skin felt cold and hot at the same time.
He pressed his left hand to his forehead.
It hurt.
But quietly.
Softly.
The same way everything in his life hurt.
He lay down, pulling the blanket around him.
He remembered the walk home:
Jian's warmth beside him.
Jian's steady steps.
Jian carrying his bag.
Jian looking at him without looking away.
His chest squeezed.
He curled into himself.
It was cold.
Too cold.
But he closed his eyes with one final thought:
"Tomorrow too…"