The next morning, the power was back.
Of course it was.
The universe always restored electricity after it had finished using darkness for dramatic effect, like it was politely resetting the stage so everyone could pretend nothing happened.
Jiang Yue woke up with the stale taste of last night's anger in his mouth.
His room was warmer now. The overhead light worked. His phone was charged. His textbooks sat on his desk like innocent objects, pretending they hadn't witnessed anything.
The open door rule had been broken.
He'd slammed it shut.
And now he lay in bed staring at it, feeling a strange, sour mix of satisfaction and dread.
He wanted to feel proud.
He only felt… empty.
Outside his room, the apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
No kitchen sounds. No water running. No footsteps.
Which could only mean Wei was already awake and had adjusted his entire schedule to avoid existing in the same space.
Jiang Yue sat up slowly, rubbed his face, and dragged himself to the door.
He opened it.
The hallway was empty.
Wei's door was closed.
The bathroom door was closed.
The living room was dark.
Jiang Yue stood there for a second, listening.
Nothing.
He swallowed and walked toward the bathroom, because his body still had needs even when his pride wanted him to rot in silence.
He knocked once out of habit—then realized how stupid that was. He'd never knocked on his own bathroom door before.
He twisted the knob.
Locked.
Jiang Yue's jaw tightened.
He knocked harder. "Wei."
No answer.
He knocked again. "Wei Nianzhan."
Silence.
Then the lock clicked, and the door opened.
Wei stood there, hair damp, toothbrush in hand, face calm like he'd been expecting this moment and had already decided how to survive it.
His gaze flicked over Jiang Yue's face once, then away.
"Bathroom schedule," Wei said, flat.
Jiang Yue stared at him. "You're locking me out now."
Wei's expression didn't change. "You broke the open door rule."
Jiang Yue's chest flared hot. "That was about studying. Not the bathroom."
Wei's gaze lifted, dark and steady. "Rules are rules."
Jiang Yue wanted to laugh.
He also wanted to shove him.
Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, forcing his voice casual. "You slept?"
Wei's eyes flicked to him briefly. "Yes."
Jiang Yue knew it was a lie.
He could see it in the faint darkness under Wei's eyes, in the tension in his jaw, in the way he held his toothbrush like it was a weapon.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened.
He wanted to say, Sorry.
The word sat in his mouth like poison.
He couldn't swallow it. He couldn't spit it out.
So he did what he always did.
He joked.
"You look like you fought a thunderstorm," Jiang Yue said.
Wei's mouth tightened. "You look like you lost."
Jiang Yue's smile faltered for half a second.
Then he recovered. "I always lose. It's my brand."
Wei's gaze held his for a beat too long.
Something almost slipped in Wei's eyes—something like regret.
Then Wei stepped past him, towel over his shoulder, and walked toward his room without another word.
Jiang Yue stood there, watching him go, chest tight.
He waited until Wei's door clicked shut, then went into the bathroom and washed his face too hard.
In the mirror, he looked pale.
Not pale like "natural beauty" pale.
Pale like someone who had pushed too hard and was now waiting to see what cracked.
At breakfast, their mother was already dressed for work, hair pinned up, face tired but bright in the way it always got when she was trying to keep things smooth.
Wei Chengyu was reading something on his phone, posture rigid.
Wei sat at the table, silent, eating neatly.
Jiang Yue sat down last.
No one looked at him.
Not on purpose, not dramatically.
Just… naturally, like the atmosphere had decided he was a sharp object and it would be safer not to touch.
Their mother spoke first, too cheerful. "You boys sleep okay?"
Wei answered, "Yes."
Jiang Yue answered, "Sure."
Their mother smiled, relieved to get anything. "Good. It's going to be cold today. Wear a jacket."
Wei nodded.
Jiang Yue took a bite of toast and pretended his stomach wasn't twisting.
Wei Chengyu cleared his throat. "Nianzhan," he said. "Your teacher messaged me. Your grades are fine. Keep your focus. Don't get involved in nonsense."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Jiang Yue.
Jiang Yue's jaw tightened.
Wei answered calmly. "Yes."
Their mother quickly added, "And Yueyue, you too. Focus on studying. If you need help, ask."
Jiang Yue forced a smile. "Yeah."
He didn't look at Wei.
Wei didn't look at him either.
Parent performance.
Except now it wasn't a performance of harmony.
It was a performance of not exploding.
At school, the silence followed them like a shadow.
In the hallway, people still whispered, but less gleefully now. More cautious, like they sensed tension.
Tang Ruo watched Jiang Yue from across the classroom with a look that was no longer purely amused. It was curious now. Like she could smell the crack in the deal and wanted to see what leaked out.
Shen Yichen glanced at Wei, then at Jiang Yue, and his mouth tightened into something like satisfaction.
As if he'd been waiting for this.
In class, Teacher Gao assigned another worksheet. She praised Wei. She ignored Jiang Yue unless she was disappointed.
Normal.
Except Jiang Yue couldn't stop noticing Wei's avoidance.
Wei didn't turn around to pass papers back. He asked someone else.
Wei didn't speak to Jiang Yue during paired work. He wrote notes and pushed them across the desk without looking up.
Wei didn't follow Jiang Yue out of class at the bell. He left first, fast.
Every avoidance was a message.
You wanted space, so you get it.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened with something ugly.
Not just anger.
Something close to panic.
Because Wei leaving last night—the threat—hadn't been empty.
Wei could actually do it.
Wei could actually detach and walk away and leave Jiang Yue alone with his own chaos.
And Jiang Yue didn't know when he'd started caring about that, but apparently it had happened.
At lunch, Jiang Yue sat with Xu Zhe, trying to act normal.
Xu Zhe watched him over his tray, brow furrowed. "What happened."
"Nothing," Jiang Yue said automatically.
Xu Zhe snorted. "Jiang Yue. When you say 'nothing,' it means 'something exploded and I'm pretending it didn't.'"
Jiang Yue stabbed at his food. "We had an argument."
Xu Zhe stared. "With Wei?"
Jiang Yue didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Xu Zhe leaned in, voice low. "Did you guys… break the deal."
Jiang Yue's jaw tightened. "The deal was stupid."
Xu Zhe sighed. "Okay. But are you okay."
Jiang Yue stared at his tray. His throat tightened.
He didn't know how to answer that without sounding pathetic.
So he said the truth sideways. "He's avoiding me."
Xu Zhe blinked. "That's what you wanted, right? Space."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "Apparently I'm an idiot."
Xu Zhe's expression softened. He didn't laugh this time. "Yeah," he said gently. "You kind of are."
Jiang Yue glared weakly, but he couldn't even summon real anger. His chest felt heavy.
After school, Jiang Yue went home alone.
Wei stayed late for student council or extra self-study—anything that meant he didn't have to share elevator air with Jiang Yue.
Jiang Yue unlocked the door and stepped into the quiet apartment.
No one was home yet.
Silence.
His footsteps sounded too loud.
He stood in the entryway for a moment, staring at the neat shoes lined up by the door, at the living room that looked like a staged photo again, at the dining table where the deal had been made.
He felt a strange urge, sudden and unwanted, to put everything back the way it had been before last night.
Like he could undo the crack by making the stage look neat again.
He walked to the dining table and sat down.
He opened his workbook.
He stared at the questions.
He couldn't focus.
Not because of numbers.
Because of a closed door down the hallway.
Wei's door.
Jiang Yue stared at it for a long time.
Then he stood up, walked toward it, and stopped outside.
His hand hovered near the wood.
He didn't knock.
He just stood there, breathing, feeling his pride and his fear wrestle in his chest.
Finally, he spoke—not loud, not confident. Just enough for the words to exist.
"I didn't mean it," Jiang Yue said quietly, staring at the door like it could answer. "Last night."
Silence.
No movement.
Jiang Yue swallowed.
He forced himself to add the second line, the one that mattered, the one that tasted like humiliation.
"Sorry."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Still, the word landed in the hallway like a stone.
On the other side of the door, there was a pause.
A long one.
Then Wei's voice came through, muffled, controlled.
"Go study," Wei said.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened. Anger flared instantly to protect him from the sting.
He leaned closer to the door, voice sharp. "That's it? That's your response?"
Wei didn't answer.
Jiang Yue clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to slam his fist into the wood.
Then the door opened.
Wei stood there, expression calm but eyes dark, like he'd been holding himself together with both hands.
Jiang Yue froze.
Wei didn't invite him in.
He didn't step out either.
He stood in the doorway like a boundary.
His voice was low. "Don't apologize if you're going to do it again."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. "I won't."
Wei's gaze held his. "You don't know that."
Jiang Yue's chest flared. "I do."
Wei's jaw flexed. His eyes flicked to Jiang Yue's face, then away, like looking too long was dangerous.
Then Wei almost slipped.
His voice came quieter, tight. "You don't get to pull me close and then shove me away."
The words hit Jiang Yue like a punch.
He stared at Wei, stunned.
Because it was the truth.
Because it was an accusation.
Because it sounded like hurt.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened, and for once, no joke came fast enough.
"I didn't—" Jiang Yue started.
Wei cut him off, voice cold again. "Go do your homework."
Jiang Yue's hands clenched at his sides. "Stop telling me what to do."
Wei's gaze sharpened. "Then stop making me."
Silence.
They stood in the hallway like that for a long beat, the apartment holding its breath.
Then Wei stepped back slightly, not an invitation—just space.
"I'll help you with math," Wei said, voice controlled. "At the table. Door open."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
An unspoken apology.
Not in words.
In action.
Jiang Yue swallowed hard. "Fine," he muttered.
Wei nodded once, small.
Then he shut his door again—softly this time, not as a slam, but not as openness either.
A compromise.
Jiang Yue stood in the hallway, breathing.
He didn't feel better.
But he didn't feel like he was falling alone either.
And for now, that was enough to keep the crack from splitting all the way open.