By the time the sun climbed high enough to cut through the winter haze, the apartment had settled into an uneasy calm.
Jiang Shuang cleaned up the bowls, moving slowly, as if any sudden movement might ripple something in the air she didn't want disturbed.
Jiang Que stood on the balcony with his phone pressed to his ear.
He spoke quietly—too quietly for her to hear the words, but not so quietly she couldn't recognize the tone.
His "work voice," calm, efficient, threaded with that authority he never needed to raise.
When the call ended, he didn't step back in immediately.
He stayed there for a moment, one hand in his coat pocket, the other rubbing lightly at his brow.
Jiang Shuang hesitated before walking over.
"Is something wrong?" she asked softly.
Jiang Que looked up, and the faint crease between his brows eased.
"Nothing that concerns you."
She didn't like that answer.
It drew a line between them—carefully, gently, but unmistakably.
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke first.
"Work issue. It'll be handled."
His gaze softened, as if he could sense her tension before she felt it herself.
"You don't need to worry about me."
Jiang Shuang leaned lightly against the balcony door frame, her breath forming a thin cloud in the cool air.
"You worry about me," she said.
"That's different."
"Why?"
Jiang Que's eyes flicked toward the cityscape before returning to her.
A beat passed, quiet and dense.
"…Because you matter more," he said.
The words were simple.
Too simple.
They landed with the weight of something that shouldn't have been said this plainly.
Jiang Shuang froze.
Her fingers curled against her sleeve, knuckles paling beneath the fabric.
"Jiang Que…"
She said his name as if it were both a warning and a plea.
He stepped away from the balcony railing and came closer, stopping just in front of her. Not too close—but close enough that the distance felt intentional.
"You should rest today," he said. "Your nerves are stretched thin."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
He never forced his opinions on anyone—except her.
With her, he crossed lines without hesitation when it came to her wellbeing.
Jiang Shuang lowered her eyes.
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You aren't."
"You worry too much—"
"You don't worry enough."
She blinked, startled. "What do you mean?"
Jiang Que held her gaze, unflinching.
"You don't worry about what happens to you," he said. "You think as long as you stay standing, everything will solve itself."
His voice was quiet, but not cold.
It held the warmth of someone who had watched her fall apart in ways she never admitted.
"Let someone carry the weight with you," he added, softer now. "At least once."
Her throat tightened.
For a moment, the world shrank to the space between them—the fragile air, the unsaid things, the kindness that hovered dangerously close to something more.
Before either of them could speak again, Jiang Shuang's phone buzzed on the table inside.
She flinched at the sound, breaking the moment.
Jiang Que exhaled quietly, stepping back.
"Answer it."
Jiang Shuang turned away to grab the phone.
When she saw the caller ID, her shoulders stiffened.
Lin Yanzhou.
A colleague.
A friend.
Someone who fit neatly into her life in ways Jiang Que never tried to.
Jiang Que noticed her hesitation.
"Take it," he said.
But there was something unreadable in his tone now—something tightly held, almost imperceptibly brittle.
Jiang Shuang answered the call and stepped aside, lowering her voice.
"Hello?"
Through the balcony glass, she saw Jiang Que turn away, his expression dimming a shade as he slipped his hands back into his pockets.
She spoke quietly with Lin Yanzhou.
Logistics.
Schedules.
A project meeting next week.
Nothing personal.
Yet Jiang Que didn't look at her once during the call.
When she hung up, the silence between them had shifted—subtle, but real.
"Work?" he asked, tone unreadable.
"Yes."
His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded.
"I should go."
Her breath caught. "So soon?"
"If I stay longer, you won't rest."
A lie.
A gentle one, but she felt it.
He walked to the door, picked up his coat.
Jiang Shuang followed him there, her steps small, almost reluctant.
When he turned to look at her one last time, the winter light behind him carved his silhouette into something quiet and distant.
"Call me if anything happens," he said.
"I will."
"Promise me."
His eyes held hers.
"…I promise."
Only then did Jiang Que leave.
The door closed softly behind him, but the echo stayed in the room long after he was gone.
Jiang Shuang stood there, fingers brushing the seam of her sleeve where his gaze had lingered.
She didn't understand why her chest tightened when she heard him walk away down the hall.
She only knew—
Distance was supposed to make things safer.
But with Jiang Que, distance never stayed where it belonged.
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