Wei stepped into the living room.
The air was thick with the scent of ginger and scallions, a comforting aroma that clung to the furniture and curtains.
The television in the corner murmured softly, a news anchor's voice a low hum beneath the clatter of pots from the kitchen.
Xiao-Mei, who had apparently finished her apple, was now sprawled on the sofa, flipping through a comic book.
From the kitchen, Auntie's voice rang out, clear and warm.
She didn't even look up from the stove.
"Wei, wash your hands first! Lunch will be ready soon. Don't let Jian distract you with his messy room."
Wei paused, a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.
No formal welcoming.
No ceremony.
No awkwardness.
Just inclusion.
It was a strange feeling.
At home, he was always acknowledged, always greeted with polite questions about his day.
But here, he was simply absorbed.
Like a missing piece slotting back into place.
He didn't comment, but a quiet warmth spread through his chest.
Nobody was treating him like an outsider.
Jian, still slightly flustered from Xiao-Mei's teasing, gestured vaguely toward the stairs.
"Come on. Let's go upstairs before Mama finds more chores for us."
Wei nodded, a small, dry smile touching his lips.
He followed Jian up the narrow wooden staircase.
Yesterday, the ascent had felt like an expedition into unfamiliar territory.
Today, it was just… going upstairs.
Jian's room was exactly as Wei remembered it.
A controlled chaos of textbooks, manga, discarded clothes, and half-eaten snacks.
The desk, a small wooden affair tucked against the wall, was buried under a mountain of papers.
"Right," Wei said, surveying the scene.
"Where do we even start?"
Jian shrugged, already clearing a small space on the desk, pushing aside a stack of old magazines.
"Anywhere. Just try not to touch the green one. It's my lucky exam shirt."
Wei raised an eyebrow.
"You have a lucky exam shirt?"
"Don't judge," Jian mumbled, his ears turning a faint pink.
Wei chuckled softly.
He placed his own meticulously organized books and notes onto the small cleared space.
It was barely enough room for one person, let alone two.
They sat down, their elbows immediately bumping.
"Move," Wei said, his voice even.
"What?" Jian asked, startled.
"Your elbow. It's on my calculus book."
Jian grumbled but shifted, bumping Wei's arm again.
"Sorry."
Five minutes later, they were at it again.
"Move," Wei said, without looking up from his notes.
"Again?" Jian sighed dramatically.
"Your notebook is on my notes. I can't see the formula."
Jian reluctantly pulled his notebook back, his pen scratching against the paper.
"This desk is too small," he complained.
"It's fine," Wei replied, already trying to decipher a complex equation.
Another ten minutes passed.
Jian was fidgeting, tapping his pen, humming a tuneless melody.
Wei tried to ignore him, but the desk was a battlefield of textbooks and limbs.
"Move," Wei said, his patience wearing thin.
"...Now what?" Jian asked, his voice muffled.
"Your foot. It's kicking my bag."
Jian looked down, surprised.
"Oh. Sorry."
Wei sighed, a long, exasperated sound.
He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the wooden floor.
"This isn't working."
Jian looked up, his eyes wide.
"What isn't working? My studying? I swear I'm trying!"
Wei shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
"The desk. It's a disaster."
Jian looked around his room, then back at the desk.
"It's always been like this."
"Exactly," Wei said.
He stood up, surveying the small room.
His gaze landed on the floor, a relatively clear patch of worn linoleum near the window.
"The floor," he declared.
Jian blinked.
"The floor?"
"Yes. More space. Less bumping."
Without waiting for an answer, Wei began to move his books.
Jian watched him for a moment, then shrugged and started gathering his own.
Soon, the floor was transformed.
Textbooks were spread open like fallen birds.
Notebooks lay scattered, their pages filled with hurried scribbles.
Pens, highlighters, and rulers formed a haphazard border around their makeshift study area.
It was a complete mess.
Even more so than the desk had been.
But ironically, it was easier to study.
Wei leaned against the wall, his physics book propped on his knees.
Jian sat opposite him, surrounded by a fortress of reference materials.
The room, once a battlefield of elbows, was now a shared space of quiet concentration.
Jian looked up from his chemistry notes.
Wei was completely focused, his brow furrowed slightly as he worked through a problem.
The sunlight from the window illuminated the side of his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw.
He looked completely comfortable.
Completely at ease.
As if this was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Yesterday, Wei had been a guest.
Polite, a little stiff, always aware of his surroundings.
Today, he was just… Wei.
Sprawled on the floor of Jian's messy room, surrounded by books, occasionally muttering to himself about a particularly stubborn equation.
It felt… normal.
Jian realized something then.
Yesterday felt like a visit.
A special occasion.
Today felt like a routine.
A normal thing.
He hadn't even consciously thought about whether Wei would come today.
It had just been an assumption.
Like the sun rising.
Or his sister being annoying.
Time passed, marked only by the shifting sunlight and the occasional rustle of pages.
They worked in comfortable silence.
Occasionally, Jian would ask a question, and Wei would offer a concise explanation.
Sometimes, Wei would point out a mistake in Jian's calculations, his finger hovering over the incorrect number.
There was no awkwardness.
No need to fill every moment with conversation.
Just the quiet hum of two minds working in tandem.
Jian looked up again, stretching his stiff neck.
Wei was still engrossed in his book, a faint frown on his face.
He looked so serious.
So dedicated.
And so completely at home.
Yesterday, Jian had hoped Wei would come back.
He had been nervous, uncertain, wondering if he had overstepped.
Today, seeing him here, on the floor of his room, surrounded by their shared mess of books, felt natural.
It felt right.
It felt like the beginning of a habit.
He didn't say it aloud.
Wei didn't say it aloud.
But both noticed the difference.
This wasn't just studying anymore.
This was choosing each other.
Quietly.
Every day.