The classroom gradually filled with noise—
chairs scraping, laughter drifting in waves, someone dropping a stack of textbooks with a loud thud.
But Jian heard none of it.
He kept his head down, flipping through pages he wasn't reading,
pretending to be busy,
very badly.
Because every few seconds,
without his permission,
his gaze slid sideways…
toward the boy sitting by the window.
Wei sat with unusual stillness.
His sleeve-covered fingers rested on top of his notebook,
barely moving except for a soft tap…
tap…
tap…
like he was counting his breaths.
And every time Jian glanced over,
Wei's lashes trembled faintly—
as if he could feel the attention on him.
Yanyan leans closer
"Jian…"
"Mm?" he replied too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Mm?" she repeated, mocking him gently.
He cleared his throat.
"I mean— yeah— what?"
Yanyan studied him with a half-amused, half-concerned expression.
"You didn't hear anything I said."
"I did—"
"Then what did I say?"
"…something about… history?"
"We're talking about math."
"Oh."
She stared at him.
"Jian," she said softly,
"you're acting weird."
He felt something squeeze inside his chest.
"I'm not."
"You are."
She reached over and brushed a stray pencil shaving off his sleeve—
a small, affectionate gesture she'd always done.
Jian flinched before he could stop himself.
It was tiny.
Barely noticeable.
But Yanyan paused.
"…Did I do something?" she asked quietly.
"No— no, you didn't," Jian said quickly.
"You didn't. I'm just… distracted."
"By what?"
The question hung between them.
He couldn't answer.
Not truthfully.
Not even halfway.
Yanyan forced a small smile.
"Okay. Distracted. But don't shut me out, okay? I'm your girlfriend, not a stranger."
The word hit him harder than he expected:
girlfriend.
He nodded stiffly.
"Yeah. I know."
She let it go.
But he could tell she felt something she didn't want to say yet.
Across the room: Wei tries to focus
Wei's pen slipped from his fingers and clinked on the desk.
He tensed.
He never made noise in class—
not if he could help it.
Noise drew attention.
And today, he felt Jian's presence more acutely than usual.
Like a warm draft brushing against him from across the room.
He bent slowly to pick up the pen,
fingertips brushing the cold floor…
When he straightened again,
his gaze accidentally moved toward Jian.
Jian was already looking at him.
Wei froze.
Their eyes met—
a small, quiet collision.
Jian blinked.
Wei blinked.
Neither moved for a second.
Then Wei looked away so quickly he almost dropped his pen again.
His ears turned pink.
The class clown notices
A boy two rows behind them nudged his friend.
"Look at Wei. He's pink," he snickered.
Wei sank a little deeper into his seat.
Jian felt irritation spark in his stomach.
"Shut up," he muttered before he could stop himself.
The boy raised his eyebrows.
"Oye— why are you defending him?"
Jian clenched his jaw.
"No reason. You're just annoying."
"Since when does annoying bother you?"
"Since just now."
The boy laughed, confused but amused.
Wei kept his head down,
fingers tightening on his pen.
But Jian saw—
the way Wei's shoulders relaxed just a little,
as if that tiny defense had reached him.
Teacher enters
The door slammed.
The class jumped.
"Sit," the teacher barked.
Books flipped open.
Papers rustled.
Wei straightened, trying not to look like he'd been flustered seconds ago.
Jian forced himself to stare at the board—
only to look at the wrong page completely.
Yanyan leaned over and whispered:
"You're… not okay, are you?"
"I'm fine."
"You're holding your book upside down."
"…I'm not."
"You are."
Jian turned the book the right way with the stiffest movement known to mankind.
Yanyan sighed softly.
"If something is bothering you… tell me later, okay?"
"Yanyan—"
"You don't have to say it now," she said gently.
"But you can talk to me."
Her voice was too kind.
Too trusting.
Too undeserving of the confusion growing inside him.
Jian swallowed.
"Okay."
Meanwhile, Wei feels a gaze again
He tried to copy what was on the board—
but every now and then,
a prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck.
He didn't have to check to know whose eyes were drifting toward him.
He tried to focus harder.
But then—
a faint rustle.
Jian's foot tapped the leg of his own desk anxiously.
Wei's pen paused halfway on the page.
The smallest smile ghosted across his lips.
Barely there.
Barely real.
But warm.