After the announcement, the day didn't really move forward.
It just… drifted.
Classes continued because they had to. Teachers came and went. Slides changed. Chalk scraped against the board in slow, irritating strokes.
No one was fully present anymore.
Some students still pretended—heads bent, pens moving—but the effort showed. Others didn't bother at all, staring out the windows, legs stretched too far under desks.
The room felt restless. Like it was waiting for something else.
Jian sat with his usual group, body relaxed in the way it always was by the end of the day. One foot hooked around the chair leg, arms loose, posture careless.
"So first day," one of his friends said, spinning a pen between his fingers,
"we ditch whatever schedule they give us."
"Obviously," another replied. "That's tradition."
"We're finding food first," someone else added.
"Real food."
"And taking pictures," Yanyan said, smiling. "Good ones. Not the blurry nonsense you always take."
"Hey," Jian protested lightly. "My pictures are artistic."
"They're crooked," she said.
Jian laughed, easy, automatic.
"Hey," one of his friends nudged him with an elbow.
"You better not disappear with your girlfriend the whole trip."
Yanyan elbowed Jian back before he could answer.
"He won't," she said. "Right?"
Jian nodded without thinking.
"Relax. I'll be there."
The words came out smooth. Convincing.
He meant them.
Or at least—he wanted to.
Because even while the conversation kept going, even while he stayed part of it, his attention kept slipping.
Not forward.
Sideways.
Last window desk.
Wei was still there.
Packing slowly.
Not the kind of slow that meant lingering.
Not the kind that asked for attention.
Just careful.
Books slid into the bag one by one. Not tossed. Not stacked carelessly. Each placed like it mattered. The zipper stopped halfway. Adjusted. Pulled again.
Wei paused to untangle his earphone, wrapping it loosely around his fingers before tucking it away.
Jian told himself not to look.
He looked anyway.
I could walk with him, the thought came quietly, without force.
Not to talk.
Not to explain anything.
Just to the gate.
Just normal.
Just like before.
His jaw tightened.
No.
The word came fast, firm.
Don't.
He shifted in his seat, posture changing just enough to shake the thought loose.
The bell rang.
Sharp. Clean. Final.
The sound cracked through the room like release.
Chairs scraped back all at once. Bags were grabbed, zippers pulled, straps slung over shoulders. The air filled with voices overlapping again.
"Trip planning later?"
"Online."
"Ask your parents tonight."
Jian stood with his group, still half in the conversation, nodding, answering when someone spoke to him.
Wei stood too.
For a second—a very small second—Jian felt it.
Now.
Then the door slid open.
"Wei."
The voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It cut through the noise anyway.
Chen Luoyang stood there casually, one hand hooked around the doorframe, bag hanging from his shoulder like he'd been waiting longer than he wanted to admit.
Wei looked up.
Their eyes met.
"Didn't think you'd be done this fast," Chen said, glancing around the room.
"Your class is usually slower."
Wei shrugged slightly.
"…Bell rang."
Chen smiled, like he expected that answer.
"You look tired," he added. "Again."
Wei didn't deny it. He reached for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
Chen shifted aside to give him space.
"I told you I had something to show you," Chen said, lowering his voice just a little.
"You forgot?"
Wei shook his head.
"…No."
"Good," Chen said lightly. "I'd be offended."
Wei hesitated for half a second, eyes flicking past Chen—
past the doorway,
past the rows of desks.
He didn't look for anyone in particular.
Chen noticed anyway.
"Come on," he said, already turning. "It's not far."
Wei nodded.
No pause.
No glance back.
He followed Chen out, shoulder brushing the doorframe as he stepped through, footsteps quiet but certain.
Chen's voice drifted back once more, casual, almost teasing.
"Try to keep up, okay?"
"…I am," Wei replied softly.
The door slid shut behind them.
The room kept moving.
Laughter rose and fell without direction.
Someone complained about homework.
A pen slipped from a desk and rolled, unnoticed.
Jian stayed where he was.
He hadn't planned to follow.
He hadn't even stood.
And that was fine.
It should have been.
He told himself it was.
So the tightness came as a surprise.
Low in his chest.
Not sharp enough to hurt—
just heavy enough to stay.
He'd already decided he wasn't walking with Wei today.
There was no reason to.
Still, the space near the door felt wrong once it emptied.
Jian shifted his weight, forcing his shoulders to relax, letting his face fall back into something familiar.
Normal.
His friends kept talking like nothing had changed.
"So tomorrow we submit names—"
"My mom already said yes."
"Mine didn't even reply."
Jian answered when someone looked at him.
Laughed when the timing called for it.
No one noticed anything off.
Only that quiet pressure lingered, settling in slowly—
not breaking,
not demanding—
just there.