The classroom had emptied halfway when Jian returned,
the noise of lunchtime echoing softly from the corridor behind him.
He pushed open the sliding door with more hesitation than force,
hands cold around his water bottle,
heart warmer than he wanted to admit.
Inside, Yanyan sat alone at her desk,
lunchbox closed, chin resting in both hands.
When she heard him step in,
she lifted her head—
a small movement,
barely noticeable,
but the faint relief in her eyes hit Jian harder than it should have.
"There you are," she said gently.
"You took a while."
Jian froze for a second.
A second too long.
Just long enough for Yanyan to feel it.
"Sorry," he murmured, seating himself.
"I… spaced out."
Yanyan's fingers tapped the desk in a quiet rhythm.
Rhythms she only made when she was nervous.
"You've been spacing out since morning," she said.
Her voice wasn't accusing—
it was soft, like she was afraid of being too loud.
"Are you sure everything's okay?"
Jian stared at the grain of the wooden desk.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears again—
loud, uneven, betraying him.
"Yeah," he said, voice thin.
"I just… didn't sleep well."
Yanyan didn't press.
But she leaned in, searching his face for something—
a truth he wasn't giving her.
She wasn't angry.
Just quietly… unsettled.
"If you're tired, you could've slept during break," she whispered.
"I would've let you rest on my desk."
Jian's chest tightened, guilt prickling under his skin.
Yanyan smiled faintly,
but it was a smile built with effort,
not instinct.
"Next time, tell me," she said softly.
"Whatever it is… even if it's small."
He nodded.
But the truth was too heavy to place in her hands.
Terrace — Wei & Chen Luoyang
Up on the terrace, the winter wind tugged at the edges of their uniforms,
carrying the smell of distant chalk and faint cafeteria steam.
Wei's lunchbox sat half-finished beside him.
The small portion was already cold,
but he didn't seem to mind.
He kept his knees drawn up,
chin resting lightly on them—
a posture that made him look younger,
smaller,
almost fragile in the gray noon light.
Chen Luoyang stretched out his long legs,
leaning back against the wall.
He held another bun in one hand,
biting it with the blank expression of someone whose mind was only half-present.
After a moment, he said,
"You're doing that thing again."
Wei blinked.
"What thing?"
"The thinking thing."
Chen nudged Wei's ankle with his shoe.
"The one where you stare at your rice like it insulted you."
Wei looked down.
"I'm just… distracted."
"You're always distracted," Chen sighed.
"But today you're distracted in stereo."
Wei didn't answer.
Chen bit into his bun again,
chewing slowly,
observing him from the corner of his eye.
"So," he began casually,
"Jian showed up today."
Wei's fingers stilled.
Chen smirked.
That was answer enough.
Wei took a breath,
hugging his knees tighter.
"…You saw?"
"I have eyes," Chen replied.
"And a brain. And a tragic front-row seat to your life."
Wei didn't reply,
but his ears betrayed him—
turning slightly pink at the tips.
Chen continued,
voice no longer teasing,
but low and steady.
"What happened yesterday? You didn't answer earlier."
Wei stared at his shoes.
The terrace wind tugged at his hair,
blowing strands across his eyes.
"He… waited for me."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"He didn't have to."
Chen's chewing stopped.
"He asked if I was okay," Wei continued,
fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeve.
"He noticed I didn't eat.
He noticed I was… tired."
Chen's expression shifted—
from amusement
to something quieter, older.
"And that scared you," he said.
Wei nodded,
head still bowed.
"…I don't know what to do when he's kind."
Chen scoffed softly.
"That's because you're used to him being anything but kind."
Wei's breath stilled.
Chen wasn't wrong.
Not even slightly.
The past between them wasn't violent—
but it wasn't gentle either.
It was filled with—
whispered jokes,
small cruelties,
Jian's sharp tongue when he wanted to look cool,
Wei's silent endurance when he didn't know how to defend himself,
and a hundred moments where their eyes met across classrooms
but never settled long enough to soften.
Chen had been the only witness
to the strange history between the two boys.
He had seen the way Wei froze whenever Jian raised his voice.
He had seen how Jian avoided looking at Wei too long.
He had seen the little wounds they gave each other
in ways neither of them fully understood.
So he wasn't surprised
when he said quietly:
"You still like him."
Wei closed his eyes.
"…I never stopped."
The wind paused as though listening.
Chen leaned his head back against the wall,
exhaling.
"You liked him even when he was being an idiot to you."
Wei whispered,
"He didn't know."
"And you didn't tell him."
Wei didn't reply.
"You liked him in middle school."
Wei's hand trembled.
Chen softened.
"You liked him even younger than that."
Wei swallowed.
"…Yes."
It wasn't an admission said lightly.
It was quiet, trembling—
like something he had kept locked away for too long.
Chen studied him for a long moment.
"I knew," he said simply.
"I've known since that winter in primary school. The one where he gave you the last seat by the heater and pretended it was because he 'didn't want to get too warm.'"
Wei's lips parted.
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything you try to hide," Chen said.
Wei lowered his head into his knees,
face hidden.
"…What if he remembers how I used to be?
What if he thinks I'm pathetic?"
Chen tapped Wei's lunchbox lightly.
"What if he remembers how he used to be?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"He wasn't exactly sunshine to you either."
Wei didn't deny it.
Chen leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.
"Listen," he said.
"I don't trust Jian.
Not yet.
Not after the way he treated you through the years."
Wei's breathing hitched.
"But I trust you," Chen continued.
"And I trust the way you look at him."
Wei looked up then—
eyes soft, but tired around the edges.
Chen's voice turned gentler.
"If he's actually trying…
If he's finally seeing you…
then let him.
But don't break yourself for him again."
Wei hugged his knees, chin resting on them,
eyes drifting to the sky.
"…I don't want to hope."
"I know," Chen murmured.
"But you already are."
Wei didn't deny it.
The wind carried their silence for a while—
a fragile, suspended moment
between the boy who had loved quietly for years
and the friend who had watched that love bloom and bruise
over and over again.
Lunch ends — the paths cross
The bell rang again,
this time less shrill,
as if tired from calling students all day.
Wei closed his lunchbox,
tucking it into his bag.
Chen stood up, stretching his arms.
"Come on," he said lazily.
"We're late."
Wei followed him down the stairs—
footsteps soft,
shoulders still a little hunched from the cold.
Halfway down the corridor,
they turned a corner—
And stopped.
Jian and Yanyan were walking toward them from the opposite side.
Jian had his hands shoved into his pockets,
hair slightly messy,
eyes unfocused—
like he was still somewhere in the quiet of his own thoughts.
Yanyan walked beside him,
one hand lightly gripping her notebook,
face bright but laced with something uncertain.
Wei froze.
Chen's eyes narrowed in immediate assessment.
Jian lifted his gaze—
suddenly alert,
as if a familiar presence had brushed against him before he even saw it.
Wei.
Chen beside him.
The two of them standing together in a quiet corner of the hallway.
Their eyes met.
Wei's breath caught.
Jian's chest thudded once, too hard.
It was only a second—
but it stretched like a thread pulled tight.
Yanyan blinked and followed Jian's gaze.
"Oh—Wei," she greeted politely.
"We don't usually see you during lunch."
Wei dipped his head slightly.
"Mn."
Chen stood just behind him,
expression unreadable,
arms crossed loosely.
Jian opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
Then opened it again,
voice soft and awkward:
"…You went out to eat?"
Wei hesitated.
Chen answered for him—
calm, steady, almost protective:
"We were on the terrace."
Jian's eyes flicked briefly to Chen,
then back to Wei.
"Oh," he said quietly.
The air felt too thin.
Someone needed to move.
No one did.
Then Yanyan smiled gently and tugged Jian's sleeve.
"We should go. Class will start soon."
Jian nodded but his eyes lingered on Wei—
just for a moment,
just long enough for Chen to notice,
just long enough for Wei's fingers to curl inside his sleeve again.
Then the moment broke.
Jian walked past—
Yanyan keeping pace beside him—
while Wei stood still,
Chen beside him like a silent shield.
As the distance grew,
Chen murmured under his breath,
"…He looked at you like he wasn't ready to let the moment go."
Wei didn't reply.
He couldn't.
He was still standing in that single second
where Jian's gaze touched him
like winter sunlight—
cold at the edges
but warm at the centre.