The next class dragged like a slow storm.
Jian sat at his desk, book open, pen in hand, eyes fixed on the chalkboard —
but his mind wasn't in the room.
Not even for a second.
His thoughts were stuck in the hallway.
Wei and Chen
standing shoulder-to-shoulder
speaking softly
smiling quietly
sharing things Jian never knew about.
Every time he blinked, the picture replayed.
Chen touching Wei's sleeve.
Wei laughing — actually laughing — softly.
Wei leaning in to look at the painting.
Wei's hair brushing Chen's shoulder.
Jian felt a weird, sharp sinking in his chest all over again.
The teacher continued writing equations.
Jian's eyes didn't move.
Yanyan leaned over, whispering in her usual brightness:
"Jian-ge, what did Miss say? Solve which question?"
Jian didn't even hear her.
She poked his arm lightly.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jian-ge?"
Nothing.
She poked again— harder.
"Jian—"
"YANYAN, STOP TOUCHING ME FOR A SECOND!"
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
Yanyan froze, eyes wide.
Her hand dropped from Jian's arm.
"...Oh."
Jian's breath caught as the weight of his own voice hit him.
He had never shouted at her like that.
Not once.
He opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
Yanyan looked down at her notebook.
"It's okay," she whispered.
"I was just asking…"
Jian stared.
Guilt punched him in the stomach.
But he couldn't apologize.
Not now.
He didn't even know how to explain himself.
How could he say:
"I'm losing my mind thinking about another boy smiling with someone else."
"I can't focus because everything feels wrong."
He forced himself to face forward again.
But the rest of the class passed like fog.
He didn't hear a word.
When the final bell rang, the entire building burst to life.
"Oh god finally!"
"Let's go get tea!"
"I'm STARVING."
"Movie night anyone?"
Jian's friend, Minghao, threw an arm around his shoulder.
"Bro, we're going to the arcade. Come!"
Yanyan stood a little behind them, still quiet.
Jian hesitated.
Every part of him wanted to say yes.
But another part — a louder part — whispered:
"Is Wei walking home alone?"
"Is his hand okay?"
"Is he struggling with the bag?"
"Did he talk to Chen again?"
He swallowed.
"You guys go ahead," he said. "I have to… uh… return a book."
Minghao frowned.
"What book?"
"I— borrowed it. From someone. Doesn't matter."
Yanyan looked at him for a second longer than needed.
Then she nodded faintly.
"Okay… see you tomorrow."
Jian's chest tightened again.
He didn't deserve the softness in her voice.
But he walked away anyway.
Down the stairs.
Toward the front gate.
Toward the spot students rarely looked twice at.
Because he knew.
He just knew—
Wei always walked out last.
Quiet.
Alone.
Never in a crowd.
Jian leaned against the staircase pillar outside the school building.
It was winter evening.
Cold.
Wind sharp.
Sky a soft, pale grey.
Students rushed past him, talking, laughing, eating, hurrying home.
Jian didn't move.
His hands were cold.
But his heartbeat was loud.
After a while…
Footsteps.
Soft.
Familiar.
Wei.
He walked out carrying his bag with one hand —
the left again.
Right arm tucked carefully to his chest, sleeve hiding everything.
He didn't notice Jian at first.
He walked with his usual quiet steps, heading toward the gate.
Jian pushed off the pillar.
His voice came out before his brain could stop it.
"...Wei."
Wei halted.
Slowly, he turned.
His eyes widened slightly.
He wasn't expecting anyone.
He definitely wasn't expecting Jian.
"...You're still here?" Wei asked softly.
Jian stepped closer — not too close, but enough.
His voice was different.
Not cold.
Not loud.
Not mocking.
But low.
Warm.
Careful.
Softer than he ever spoke to anyone.
"Your hand…" Jian said quietly.
"Does it hurt?"
Wei blinked.
A surprised breath slipped out of him.
A small one.
Almost invisible.
Jian continued, his tone steady in a way he didn't know he had:
"Is the bandage okay?"
"You didn't… overwork it in class?"
Wei looked at him like he was seeing a stranger.
"…It's fine," he whispered.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," Jian said quickly. "I know I don't have to."
He paused, swallowing.
"But I want to know."
Something flickered across Wei's face.
Confusion.
Softness.
Guarded surprise.
No one spoke to him like that.
No one asked him like that.
He lowered his gaze.
"It's okay," he murmured.
"You tied it well."
Jian exhaled sharply — a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He remembered that.
He noticed that.
Something warm unfurled inside him.
The wind blew harder.
Wei's hair brushed across his forehead.
His uniform sleeves fluttered slightly.
Jian stared.
He didn't know when his mouth started moving.
He just knew the words came from somewhere deep, raw, unfiltered:
"Can I… walk with you today?"
Wei froze.
He looked up slowly.
His eyes searched Jian's face carefully —
like he was checking if this was a joke.
"...Walk with me?" Wei repeated softly.
"Yeah."
Jian swallowed.
"I mean — if you're okay with it."
The wind blew again, colder now.
Wei looked down at his shoes.
A tiny pause.
Then:
"It's… late," he said quietly.
His voice gentle.
Almost shy.
"Winter gets colder."
Jian's heart hammered.
Wei added:
"My house is far… four blocks."
"I know," Jian said.
"Mine too."
Wei's lashes lowered.
He didn't smile.
He didn't say yes.
But he stepped to the side —
slow, soft —
leaving a small space beside him.
A space meant for one other person.
And in Wei's quiet language,
that was an answer.
Jian stepped into it.
His breath misted in the cold air.
Wei whispered:
"…If you want…"
"…then come."