The deal lasted three days.
Which, frankly, was impressive considering Jiang Yue had once lost a bet to Xu Zhe in under two minutes and still insisted it was "a moral victory."
Three days of open doors.
Three days of studying at the dining table.
Three days of not touching, not drinking, not fighting, not saying the words that sat between them like a live wire.
Three days of Wei Nianzhan acting like rules could hold a universe together.
By the fourth day, the universe got bored.
It started small.
A Tuesday evening with cold rain tapping on the window, turning the apartment into a dim, gray box. Jiang Yue sat at the dining table with his workbook open, pen in hand, trying very hard to be a person with a future.
Wei sat across from him, marking answers, posture straight, sleeves rolled to the forearm. Calm, controlled, neat.
The door to Wei's room was open, as promised. The door to Jiang Yue's was open too, like they were both proving something.
Jiang Yue couldn't decide what was worse: the openness, or the fact that it felt like a test they were both failing quietly.
Wei tapped the page once. "This one is wrong."
Jiang Yue didn't look up. "No it's not."
Wei's pen circled the step with surgical cruelty. "You skipped."
"It's implied," Jiang Yue said.
Wei's gaze lifted. "Math doesn't imply."
Jiang Yue sighed dramatically. "Math is emotionally unavailable."
Wei didn't react. He leaned forward slightly and wrote the correct method, the movement smooth and precise.
Jiang Yue watched the pen move and felt the familiar blend of annoyance and grudging admiration.
Then the power went out.
Not fully. Not in a dramatic blackout.
Just a sharp flicker that made the overhead light die for a second, then return weaker, as if the building itself was tired.
Jiang Yue blinked. "What was that."
Wei didn't look up. "Storm."
Another flicker.
The light dimmed again.
Outside, thunder rolled, low and distant.
Jiang Yue leaned back. "If the power goes out, I'm going to sleep."
Wei's voice was flat. "No."
Jiang Yue smirked. "Yes."
Wei glanced up briefly, eyes steady. "We finish this section."
Jiang Yue stared at him. "You're insane."
Wei's gaze returned to the paper. "You agreed."
Jiang Yue rolled his eyes and bent back down, because apparently he did listen when it mattered, which made him want to punch a wall.
The light flickered again.
This time, the overhead bulb died completely.
The apartment fell into dimness, lit only by the glow from Wei's laptop and the streetlight outside filtering through rain-streaked windows.
Wei's laptop battery held for now.
Jiang Yue's patience did not.
He leaned back in his chair, squinting. "Great. Romantic."
Wei didn't look up. "Stop."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "It's not my fault the universe ships us."
Wei's pen paused.
Just for a second.
Then it moved again. "Do your work."
Jiang Yue stared at him, irritation sparking. The dimness made everything feel closer. Softer. More private, despite the open doors. The quiet hum of the laptop felt too intimate.
"Why do you care so much," Jiang Yue asked suddenly, voice low.
Wei's pen stopped again.
He looked up slowly. "About what."
"About me getting answers right," Jiang Yue said, sharper than he meant. "About me not ruining things. About me not falling. Why."
The question hung in the dim air.
Rain tapped on the window, steady and patient.
Wei's gaze held Jiang Yue's.
For a moment, his expression stayed controlled.
Then the first crack appeared.
Wei exhaled slowly, like he was trying not to say something.
And then he said, quiet and edged, "Because I'm tired."
Jiang Yue blinked.
Wei's jaw flexed. His voice lowered further, the calm thinning. "I'm tired of cleaning up after you. I'm tired of watching you act like you don't care and then fall apart when no one is looking."
Jiang Yue's chest flared hot. "I don't fall apart."
Wei's eyes flashed. "You do. You just do it loudly so you can pretend it's strength."
The words hit like a slap.
Jiang Yue stood up so fast his chair scraped hard. "Say that again."
Wei stood too, slower, but his posture was rigid now. The crack in his control widened just enough to let something sharp through.
"I'm not afraid of you," Wei said, voice low. "You're not scary. You're just reckless."
Jiang Yue's breath came faster.
He wanted to throw something. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to shove Wei until Wei stopped being calm.
Instead, he stepped closer, hands clenched. "You think you know me."
Wei's gaze didn't move. "I live with you."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. "You don't live with me. You live next to me. There's a difference."
Wei's jaw tightened.
For a second, his eyes flicked away—like he'd been hit—and then back.
Then Wei said something that wasn't in the deal. Something that shouldn't be said.
"You want me to react," Wei said, voice rougher now. "You want to pull me down so you're not alone."
Jiang Yue froze.
Because it was too accurate.
Because Tang Ruo had said it too, and Jiang Yue had hated it then, and he hated it now even more coming from Wei.
Jiang Yue's smile turned sharp, desperate. "And you want to stay above me forever," he shot back. "You want to be perfect so nobody can touch you."
Wei's eyes flashed. "I'm not trying to be above you."
Jiang Yue stepped closer again, too close, violating the deal on purpose without touching. "Then what are you doing."
Wei's chest rose and fell, controlled breathing cracking at the edges. His hands were at his sides, fingers tense like he wanted to grab something and didn't trust himself to choose what.
"I'm trying not to make a mistake," Wei said, voice low.
Jiang Yue's pulse kicked hard.
Mistake.
They both knew what it meant.
The air tightened.
The laptop glow lit Wei's face from below, making his eyes look darker, his control look thinner.
Jiang Yue swallowed. His throat hurt, but not from fever now.
He whispered, too quiet to be a joke, "Too late."
Wei's gaze snapped to his mouth again—brief, involuntary—then back up, like he hated himself for it.
A loud thunder crack hit outside.
The building shook slightly.
And in that instant, the deal snapped—not fully, not with action, but with the sound of both of them realizing they were standing on the edge again.
Wei stepped back first, like retreat was the only way to survive.
His voice came colder, forced. "Go to your room."
Jiang Yue's laugh was bitter. "Now you're ordering me."
Wei's jaw flexed. "Yes."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
Then, because he was Jiang Yue and he couldn't resist burning his own fingers, he said, "What if I don't."
Wei's eyes darkened. For a second, the crack widened into something dangerous.
Then Wei spoke, and his voice sounded like restraint stretched too thin.
"Then I'll leave," Wei said.
The threat hit Jiang Yue in the chest like a punch.
Not leave the apartment.
Leave the table. Leave the deal. Leave the fragile connection Wei kept pretending wasn't there.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened.
He forced a smile anyway, because fear was humiliation. "Fine," he said. "Leave."
Wei stared at him for a long beat, jaw tight.
Then he turned and walked toward the balcony instead of his room, sliding the door open to let cold, wet air rush in.
Jiang Yue stood in the dim dining area, breathing hard, staring at Wei's back through the glass.
Rain blew in slightly, dampening the floor.
Wei gripped the balcony railing, shoulders rigid, head lowered like he was holding himself back from doing something irreversible.
Jiang Yue's hands shook.
He hated Wei for being right.
He hated Wei for seeing him.
He hated himself for wanting to follow Wei onto that balcony and say something honest.
He didn't.
He walked to his room instead and shut the door hard.
Open door deal, broken.
The first crack.
And in the dark, with thunder rolling outside, Jiang Yue realized the deal wasn't the thing holding them together.
It was the thing keeping them from colliding.
And now it had cracked.