Jiang Yue woke up like someone dragging himself out of deep water.
The fever had loosened its grip, but it hadn't left. His skin still felt too warm, his throat still scratched when he swallowed, and his head still throbbed faintly, like a reminder that his body had betrayed him and would absolutely do it again if given the chance.
He lay still for a moment, listening.
No voices.
No clinking dishes.
No morning meeting in the hallway about schedules and proper behavior.
Just quiet.
That meant one of two things: either everyone was asleep, or everyone had already left and Jiang Yue had missed something important and would be punished later.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
His room looked the same. His desk looked the same. His textbooks lay open where he'd abandoned them days ago like he was a better person in theory than in practice.
Then he remembered.
Wei's hand on his forehead.
Wei's voice in the dim: I don't have a perfect life.
Wei staying when he could've left.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened.
He sat up slowly, pushing the blanket off. His pajamas were damp with sweat, and the air in the room felt too cold now, like the fever had taken all the warmth with it and left him empty.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, slightly unsteady.
When he opened his door, the hallway light hit his eyes and he squinted.
The bathroom door was open. The kitchen light was on.
He walked toward the kitchen.
And froze.
Wei Nianzhan was there, at the counter, holding a bowl.
Not a bowl of instant noodles. Not a bowl of something fancy.
Plain congee.
Steam rose gently. The smell was soft and bland and weirdly comforting.
Wei looked up when he sensed Jiang Yue.
Their eyes met.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened immediately, like it remembered last night and wanted to choke him for it.
Wei's expression was calm. Controlled. But his eyes looked a little tired.
"You're awake," Wei said.
Jiang Yue stared at the bowl. "What is that."
Wei's voice stayed neutral. "Congee."
Jiang Yue blinked. "You made it."
Wei didn't look proud. He didn't look embarrassed either. "Yes."
Jiang Yue's mouth opened, then closed.
A thousand jokes rushed up, all sharp and defensive.
Nice, you can cook. So domestic. Are you trying to be my wife now.
He swallowed them because his throat hurt and because last night had made those kinds of jokes feel like stepping on glass.
Instead, he muttered, "We have leftovers in the fridge."
Wei's gaze didn't move. "This is easier to swallow."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened again, irritatingly. He hated the word easier coming from Wei. Wei always made things sound logical, like feelings were just problems to solve.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossing automatically. "Where are the parents."
Wei set the bowl down on the table. "Work. Your mother left early."
Jiang Yue's jaw tightened. "She didn't check on me."
Wei's gaze flicked to him. Something sharpened briefly, then smoothed. "She checked at midnight. You were asleep."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
So Wei had been there.
Of course he had.
Jiang Yue didn't know whether to feel comforted or furious.
Wei nodded at the chair. "Sit."
Jiang Yue almost snapped back on instinct, but his body was slower today. His pride was tired. His fever had scraped him raw.
He sat.
Wei placed the bowl in front of him and set a spoon beside it.
Jiang Yue stared at the congee like it might explode.
Then he took a spoonful and ate.
It tasted like nothing.
It also tasted like being taken care of, which was somehow worse.
Wei sat across from him with his own cup of water, posture straight, eyes on Jiang Yue for half a second too long, then looking away.
They ate—or rather, Jiang Yue ate while Wei watched like he was monitoring a patient.
The silence between them was thick, but not empty. It was crowded with everything they weren't saying.
Last night.
The kiss.
The fever.
The hand on the forehead.
Jiang Yue set the spoon down, swallowing carefully. "Why did you stay," he asked, voice hoarse.
Wei's gaze lifted instantly.
His expression remained controlled, but there was tension in his jaw, like he already knew this question was dangerous.
"Because you were sick," Wei said.
Jiang Yue's smile twitched. "That's not an answer."
Wei's gaze held his. "It is."
Jiang Yue stared at him for a long beat.
His head still felt heavy. His throat still hurt. He didn't have the energy for a war.
So he tried something else.
He tried honesty, but wrapped in sarcasm so it wouldn't kill him.
"Okay," Jiang Yue said softly. "So what are we now. Nurse and patient."
Wei's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened. "You say 'don't' like it solves everything."
Wei's gaze sharpened. "It stops you from making it worse."
Jiang Yue laughed faintly. "You're obsessed with 'worse.'"
Wei didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Jiang Yue glanced down at the bowl, then back up. "Teacher Gao's study pairing," he said, changing the subject like a coward. "We're supposed to do it every day."
Wei nodded once. "Yes."
Jiang Yue swallowed. "And after last night, that's… stupid."
Wei's eyes flickered. Just a fraction. Like the word last night had pulled at the wall he was building.
Wei's voice stayed calm. "We can do it."
Jiang Yue stared at him. "How."
Wei's gaze didn't move. "By making rules."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "Of course. The Wei Nianzhan solution. Rules."
Wei leaned back slightly, hands folded on the table. He looked like he was about to deliver a business proposal.
Jiang Yue felt a ridiculous urge to laugh.
Wei said, "We need a deal."
Jiang Yue's eyes narrowed. "A deal."
Wei nodded. "So we can survive the next two weeks. And the rest of the year."
The rest of the year.
Jiang Yue's stomach tightened.
Because Wei wasn't talking about homework.
He was talking about them.
Jiang Yue leaned forward slightly. "Okay," he said, voice rough. "What deal."
Wei's gaze held his, steady and dark. "At school, we act normal."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "Define normal. Because my normal is illegal."
Wei didn't react. "No public fights."
Jiang Yue's smile sharpened. "So you want to control me."
Wei's voice stayed even. "I want to control the damage."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened. "Same thing."
Wei's jaw flexed. He almost slipped, then forced it back into calm. "Then call it whatever you want."
Jiang Yue stared at him, then muttered, "Fine."
Wei continued. "At home, we study at the table. Door open."
Jiang Yue froze. "Door open?"
Wei's gaze stayed steady. "Yes."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened, heat rushing into his face despite the fever hangover.
Door open meant no privacy. No mistakes. No closeness.
It was a boundary.
It also felt like Wei admitting he didn't trust himself.
Jiang Yue forced a laugh. "Scared."
Wei's eyes narrowed. "Smart."
Jiang Yue swallowed hard, then nodded once. "Fine."
Wei added, quieter, "No drinking."
Jiang Yue blinked. "What. Now you're my dad."
Wei's gaze sharpened. "You lose control when you drink."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "And you don't."
Wei didn't answer.
The silence was heavy.
Jiang Yue leaned back and stared at Wei, suddenly exhausted.
"Is that it," Jiang Yue asked.
Wei hesitated.
Then he said, voice lower, controlled. "And… we don't touch."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened so hard it hurt.
He stared at Wei.
Wei's expression was calm, but his eyes looked too dark, too steady, like he'd decided something he didn't want to decide.
Jiang Yue swallowed.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to say, Don't worry, I'm not desperate.
He didn't.
Because the truth was humiliating: he did want to touch.
Not even in a sexual way. Not necessarily. Just… to know it was real. To know Wei didn't disappear behind rules every time something felt too close.
Jiang Yue forced his voice light. "Sure. No touching. Easy."
Wei's gaze flicked to his face, sharp, like he didn't believe him.
Jiang Yue smiled harder. "See? I can be obedient."
Wei didn't smile back. "Don't."
Jiang Yue's smile faltered.
Wei exhaled, a quiet controlled breath. "This is the deal," he said. "If you agree, we can get through it."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
Agreeing meant admitting the deal was necessary.
Agreeing meant admitting the problem existed.
Agreeing meant acknowledging that something had happened between them that needed containment.
Jiang Yue hated containment.
But he also hated the idea of ruining his mother's new marriage. Hated the idea of Teacher Gao having ammunition. Hated the idea of Wei letting go and not catching him again.
So he nodded once.
"Fine," Jiang Yue said, voice rough. "Deal."
Wei's shoulders loosened slightly, almost imperceptible.
Jiang Yue noticed anyway.
And that made him angry.
Because Wei looked relieved, as if rules were safety.
As if rules could erase what had already been written into Jiang Yue's memory.
Jiang Yue stood up, pushing the chair back. "Happy now," he asked, voice light.
Wei's gaze lifted. "No."
The answer was too fast.
Too honest.
Wei's eyes widened slightly, like he realized what he'd revealed.
His expression hardened immediately, cold mask snapping back into place. "Go rest," he said.
Jiang Yue stared at him, heart pounding.
He wanted to say something cruel to cover the moment.
Instead, he whispered, too quiet to be a joke, "Me neither."
Wei froze.
For a second, the air between them held still, like it was waiting.
Then the front door clicked.
Their mother's voice called from the hallway, bright and tired. "Yueyue? I forgot my— oh! You're up!"
The moment snapped.
Wei stood abruptly, posture perfect. Jiang Yue stepped back like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
Their mother walked in, smiling with relief when she saw Jiang Yue standing. She touched his forehead quickly. "Still warm," she murmured. "Did you eat?"
Jiang Yue nodded, forcing his usual tone back. "Yeah."
His mother looked at Wei, grateful. "Thank you, Nianzhan. You took care of him?"
Wei's voice was calm. "He slept."
His mother smiled warmly, satisfied. "Good. You two… take care of each other. You're family now."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened painfully.
Family now.
Wei's gaze flicked toward him for half a second, unreadable.
Jiang Yue forced a smile at his mother. "Yeah," he said. "Deal."
His mother blinked. "Deal?"
Jiang Yue smiled wider. "Just… house rules."
His mother laughed softly, relieved. "Good. House rules are good."
She grabbed her forgotten item and left again, rushing back to work.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Jiang Yue and Wei stood facing each other across the dining table, the congee bowl between them like evidence.
Wei's voice came quiet. "Remember it."
Jiang Yue's eyes narrowed. "I always remember."
Wei's jaw tightened slightly at that, then he turned and walked toward his room.
At his door, he paused without turning around. His voice was low, controlled, almost a warning to himself as much as to Jiang Yue.
"Don't break it," Wei said.
Jiang Yue stared at his back, chest tight.
He wanted to laugh and say, I'm the one who breaks things. That's my brand.
Instead, he said nothing.
Because part of him already knew the truth:
A deal like this wasn't made to be kept.
It was made to postpone the moment it shattered.