The week had settled into a predictable rhythm, or at least as predictable as a top student's life could be. Li Yichen moved through it with methodical precision: early arrival at school, immaculate desk, silent lunches, and evenings spent tutoring students who struggled to keep up with the relentless pace of Class 2A. Each day was a carefully choreographed sequence, designed to maximize productivity and minimize distraction.
Yet, distraction had a way of finding him.
On Thursday afternoon, Yichen was in the school library, the quiet sanctuary he treated as sacred. The warm smell of old books mingled with faint ink, the soft rustle of pages a comfort he could almost meditate to. Several classmates had gathered around the long table in the corner, their heads bent over textbooks and notebooks. Yichen's sharp eyes scanned each equation, each character stroke, guiding his younger students with patient precision.
"Careful with your fractions here," Yichen instructed a student struggling over a particularly tricky math problem. "If you divide incorrectly, the error compounds. Start again from the numerator."
The student's forehead creased, but under Yichen's calm, exacting guidance, understanding began to dawn.
A quiet hum of progress filled the table. Yichen's voice was soft, steady, precise. Each word deliberate, each explanation carefully measured. The students were comfortable here; the anxiety that had plagued them during class melted under Yichen's quiet authority.
Then came a noise.
A loud, irregular shuffle. A sniff of citrus in the air.
Yichen's head lifted slightly, brows knitting. At the back of the library, Zhao Rui stood leaning against a bookshelf, his posture casual, one leg bent, hands in pockets. His eyes glimmered with amusement, the same bright amber that had caught Yichen's attention days before.
"What are you doing here?" Yichen asked, calm but with an edge he did not bother to mask.
Zhao Rui stepped closer, unbothered by the librarian's glare as he brushed past a row of books. "I was just… curious," he said, voice dripping with feigned innocence. He leaned casually against the table, peering over the students' shoulders. "So this is where the great Li Yichen tutors the weaklings, huh?"
Yichen's jaw tightened. "Tutoring is not an exhibition for entertainment."
Rui grinned, unrepentant. "I don't mean to entertain. I'm… studying you. Observing. A necessary part of learning."
Yichen's eyes flicked to the students, who were now all frozen, unsure how to respond to Rui's intrusion. "This is a private session. You should leave."
"And miss seeing how amazing you are?" Zhao Rui tilted his head, eyebrows raised. "Never."
Yichen exhaled through his nose sharply, adjusting his glasses as if the gesture could somehow shield him from Rui's gaze. "You're distracting them."
"That's your problem," Zhao Rui said lightly, grinning. Then, leaning closer to Yichen, he whispered, "Do you always act like this with everyone? Or just me?"
Yichen's fingers stilled over the textbook. He did not answer. Words felt unnecessary and dangerous with Rui this close—so bright, so loud, so… unpredictable.
Zhao Rui leaned back, eyes scanning the library, noting the small details of Yichen's world: the meticulous alignment of pens, the soft crease of Yichen's notebook pages, the faint tension in his shoulders. He smirked to himself, silently marking each little quirk as a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"Do you… always help them like this?" Rui asked after a pause, voice softer now, almost conspiratorial.
"Yes," Yichen replied firmly. "It is my duty. Some students need guidance."
"And some students just need you." Rui's amber eyes flicked to Yichen, teasing, dangerous in their intensity.
Yichen's spine stiffened imperceptibly. He hated how Rui could stir this subtle, unnamable reaction in him. He returned his gaze to the students, ignoring the mischievous hum that seemed to vibrate around him.
The students had resumed their work, trying to ignore Rui, but his presence was impossible to erase. Every small laugh, every whispered comment directed at Yichen, tugged at the edges of their concentration.
After another fifteen minutes of tutoring, Yichen finally announced a short break. "Ten minutes. Then we continue. Sit quietly until then."
The students nodded, relieved, and began stretching or quietly chatting among themselves. Yichen gathered his notes and leaned back, letting a slow breath escape.
"Mind telling me why you're here?" he asked Rui, who had not moved an inch.
Zhao Rui's grin widened. "I told you—I'm observing. You're… fascinating."
"Fascinating in a way that annoys everyone," Yichen muttered, voice low, eyes sharp.
Rui laughed softly, the sound echoing lightly in the quiet library. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Yichen's teeth clenched. He hated how Rui could turn every irritation into amusement, every challenge into a game.
"Why do you follow me?" Yichen asked finally, unable to mask the strain. His voice was quiet but carried weight.
Zhao Rui shrugged, still leaning casually. "Because you're… interesting. And because I want to see how you live. How you handle people. How… you handle life."
Yichen's heart gave a subtle, unwanted lurch. He refused to let it register. "I do not need supervision."
"I'm not supervising," Rui said softly, eyes sharp and calculating. "I'm… learning."
The word sent a small ripple through Yichen's carefully maintained composure. Learning from someone else was one thing. Being watched—closely, deliberately—was entirely different.
"Leave," Yichen said firmly.
Zhao Rui's smirk didn't waver. Instead, he leaned just a fraction closer, just enough to make Yichen aware of the warmth of his presence, the faint citrus scent that clung to him like a trail of sunlight.
"I could," Rui said. "But then I'd miss seeing this side of you. The side that helps people. The side that's… not just perfect formulas and rules."
Yichen's chest tightened. He did not answer, only adjusted the alignment of his pens, a silent defense mechanism. Rui noticed, of course. He always noticed.
After the break, Yichen resumed tutoring, but Rui stayed. He did not sit with the other students. He did not make a sound. He simply watched, leaning lazily against a nearby shelf, occasionally tapping his pen or glancing at Yichen with that same unrelenting curiosity.
The hours passed slowly. Yichen tried to ignore him, focusing on teaching fractions, grammar, and chemical equations. Yet Rui's presence lingered, shadow-like, impossible to fully dismiss.
Finally, when the last student left with polite bows and murmured thanks, Yichen began to gather his things. He did not glance at Rui, though he felt the weight of the boy's gaze on his back.
"Heading home?" Rui asked suddenly, voice breaking the quiet.
"Yes," Yichen said shortly.
"Walk together?" Rui's tone was light, teasing, but Yichen felt the quiet insistence in it, the unspoken expectation.
"I do not socialize after tutoring," Yichen replied, tone final.
"Not even a little?" Rui pressed, tilting his head, eyes bright.
"No," Yichen said firmly, shouldering his bag.
Rui's grin did not falter. "You're impossible."
"Perhaps."
Yet, when Yichen stepped into the courtyard, Rui fell into step beside him. He matched Yichen's pace silently, easily, without question.
Yichen's jaw tightened. He hated that Rui could do this—enter his world, disrupt the rhythm he depended on, and somehow, effortlessly, insist on staying.
"And what's the plan after this?" Rui asked casually, glancing around the wet courtyard. "Back to your room? Or do you have another tutoring session waiting for you?"
"Neither," Yichen replied, voice clipped. "I have personal study."
"Ah," Rui said softly, thoughtful. Then, after a pause, he added, "You know, you shouldn't always shoulder everyone's burden. Sometimes… people like me can help."
Yichen's chest tightened further. "I do not need help."
"I know," Rui said gently, almost teasing. "But I want to. That's different."
A faint breeze stirred between them, rustling the wet leaves along the paths. Yichen walked in silence, mind racing. He hated Rui's presence, the way it disrupted his world.
And yet… the corner of his thoughts, the smallest, most carefully guarded part, wondered how long he could maintain this wall.
For the first time, Yichen realized that Zhao Rui would not simply leave. He would follow, persist, and—deliberately or not—pull Yichen out of his ordered, quiet world.
It was infuriating. It was exhausting.
And yet… Yichen's chest tightened with a strange, unfamiliar curiosity he refused to name.
By the time they parted at the school gate, with Rui waving cheerfully and Yichen heading home in stiff silence, the seed of tension—and something more—had firmly taken root.
Rui watched Yichen's retreating figure with a soft, satisfied smile. His first plan had worked. He knew the boy's routines, his habits, his quiet, meticulous world. And now… he would explore it, step by step.
Slowly. Persistently. In the only way Rui knew how: by being impossible to ignore.