The lunch break ended the way it always did.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Too heavy.
Chairs scraped against the floor as students dragged themselves back into the classroom, voices already tired despite having just eaten.
"Why is it always history after lunch…"
"I'm actually going to die."
"Mr. Chen again??"
Someone yawned loudly. Someone else dropped their bag with a thud.
Jian walked in with Yanyan beside him.
She was still talking.
"…and then the ending was SO sad, like actually unfair," Yanyan said, hands moving as she spoke.
"I cried. Like proper cried. You should watch it."
Jian nodded.
"Mm."
He sat down, one leg sliding out from under the desk, foot hooked lazily around the chair leg. His hands stayed tucked into his pockets.
From the outside, it looked normal.
Boyfriend listening.
Boyfriend relaxed.
Boyfriend present.
Yanyan leaned closer, still talking — about her favourite idol now, about a new drama coming out, about how the fandom was fighting again.
Jian made the right sounds at the right time.
"Yeah?"
"Oh."
"That bad?"
But his eyes weren't really on her.
They were on nothing.
Because inside his head, lunch hadn't ended.
Chen's face surfaced first — calm, too calm.
Standing beside Wei.
Too close.
Then Wei.
Quiet.
Still.
That way he looked when he didn't want to be seen.
Jian pressed his tongue lightly against the inside of his cheek.
Stop.
He shifted in his seat, like that would shake the thoughts loose.
Yanyan laughed at something she said herself.
"You're listening, right?" she asked, smiling.
"Yeah," Jian said quickly. "I am."
And technically, he wasn't lying.
He just couldn't stop seeing it.
Wei walking away.
Chen beside him.
The way Chen had spoken to him — low, familiar.
It irritated Jian.
For no reason.
He didn't even know why.
The classroom slowly settled into that dull, heavy quiet that always came before a boring period. Books opened lazily. Someone rested their head on their arms already.
Then—
A voice from the back door.
"See you after class."
Jian stiffened.
He didn't turn.
Didn't want to.
"…I have something to show you."
The voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Jian knew who it was before he even looked.
His jaw tightened.
Don't turn around.
He told himself that.
He still did.
Just before the boy passed the first row, Jian caught sight of him.
Messy hair.
Tall.
Casual posture.
Walking like he belonged everywhere.
Chen Luoyang.
The door slid shut behind him.
The bell rang immediately after.
Sharp. Final.
And the entire class collectively suffered.
"Oh no."
"Please tell me it's not—"
"History after lunch should be illegal."
"I just ate. I can't stay awake."
Someone dramatically dropped their head on the desk.
Chairs scraped. Bags were dragged closer. The room filled with that dull, sleepy noise that always followed lunch.
Jian pressed his tongue lightly against his cheek.
Stop thinking about it.
Someone near the window yawned loudly.
"Where's Mr. Chen…"
"Did he finally retire?"
"I'm actually praying he forgot about us."
The door slid open.
Everyone straightened slightly, already preparing themselves.
But—
It wasn't Mr. Chen.
Ms. Fang stepped in.
Warm smile.
Soft cardigan.
Clipboard hugged lightly to her chest.
The room froze for half a second.
Then—
"…Wait."
"That's not history."
"Is she lost?"
"Why is counselling here?"
Ms. Fang laughed softly.