The moment Jian stepped back into the classroom after lunch and saw the empty chair beside his, something inside him dropped so sharply it felt like missing a step on the stairs.
He froze.
The noise from the hallway faded,
the laughter from his friends blurred into a distant hum,
and all he could see was that empty space—
the chair that should have held the quiet boy who somehow made the air feel different simply by existing.
Empty.
Too empty.
He blinked once, as if his eyes were lying to him.
He blinked again, harder.
But no—
Wei wasn't there.
A strange restlessness climbed into Jian's chest,
the kind that didn't belong to anger or irritation,
but something sharper,
hotter,
and so unfamiliar it made him breathe shallow.
Did he go home?
Did he switch classes?
Did he—?
His thoughts stopped abruptly when he saw a shadow in the back row.
His gaze followed it—
slow, confused—
until he found him.
Cheng Wei.
Sitting alone by the window,
head slightly lowered,
sunlight touching the strands of his hair in a soft glow,
his presence quiet but unmistakably heavy.
Jian's stomach tightened.
Why the hell… is he sitting there?
He forced himself to walk to his desk,
threw his things down with a little more noise than usual,
and lowered himself into the seat—
but the inch of distance between him and the empty chair
felt like a knife.
He stared at it.
Again.
Again.
As if Wei would suddenly return to fill it.
His friend poked him lightly.
"Bro, you okay?"
Jian didn't answer.
He only dragged his fingers through his hair,
messing it more out of agitation than habit.
And took his wallet and left.
After the lunch break all the students are in class for the next period
And Jians thoughts were something else
He looked again at the empty space to his right,
heart thudding too loudly,
mind replaying his own careless words from earlier—
"I don't want to sit next to him."
"He irritates me."
"I'm losing my mind."
Words spoken for laughs,
for ego,
for confusion—
words he hadn't meant to be heard by anyone outside his circle.
But Wei had moved.
Wei had left.
Wei had taken those words
and turned them into distance.
Jian's chest tightened painfully.
Not in anger.
In something worse.
Why did he leave?
Why does it feel wrong without him here?
Why does this stupid empty chair bother me?
His friend nudged him again.
"What are you staring at?"
Jian snapped,
"Nothing. Shut up."
But it wasn't nothing.
It was the echo of someone quietly slipping away—not out of drama or pride, but out of a soft, gentle attempt not to burden anyone.
That hurt more than it made sense.
His eyes drifted again to the back row.
Wei sat still as a winter lake,
eyes lowered,
expression unreadable,
his aura cold and calm in a way that twisted something in Jian's stomach.
He looked lonely.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
Just… quietly.
And Jian hated how that made him feel.
Did he leave because of me?
Because of what I said?
Because he thinks I… don't want him here?
Jian gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white.
He didn't understand the ache spreading through his chest.
He didn't understand why Wei's distance hurt more than Wei's silence ever had.
He didn't understand why seeing that last row seat occupied by the quiet boy made him feel like he had somehow caused damage he couldn't name.
And worst of all—
He didn't understand why every few seconds,
his eyes betrayed him and drifted back toward Wei
even when he told himself not to look.