Lunch on the terrace passed quietly, in the warm, wind-wrapped silence that always existed between me and Luoyang. He talked more than I did, as always—his voice drifting between playful teasing, casual observations about classmates, and the kind of sharp commentary that only he could deliver without sounding cruel.
I listened, responded in soft, short lines, letting his words fill the empty spaces I didn't know how to fill on my own. We finished the food slowly, letting the winter air cool the surface of our lunchboxes.
When the bell finally rang, echoing across the courtyard below, we gathered our things and headed back toward the classrooms.
The hallway outside the terrace was quieter now, most students already inside. The windows vibrated slightly from the cold wind outside. My footsteps echoed lightly; Luo's were slower, more relaxed.
We turned the corner.
And that's when I saw him.
Sen Jian.
He was standing near the water cooler with his group of friends, a bottle raised halfway to his lips, head slightly tilted back as he drank. His girlfriend was saying something beside him, touching his arm lightly.
But the moment he saw us—
saw me—
the bottle lowered.
His friends continued talking, unaware of the sudden shift in his posture,
but Jian's eyes stayed glued to us,
his jaw tensing slowly,
as though the air around him had thickened instantly.
There was no fight this time.
No shouting.
No broken bottles.
Just a look.
A long, sharp, burning look
that didn't match the coldness of winter at all.
I felt it before I met it.
Luo was mid-sentence when he noticed Jian too; his voice softened into something lazy and almost mocking as he spoke to me:
"Look at that. Seems someone is having a difficult day."
He didn't raise his voice, but it carried clearly in the empty corridor.
I didn't reply.
I kept walking.
My gaze stayed forward.
But Jian…
He didn't blink.
He watched every step I took,
every shift of my shoulder,
every inch of space that existed between me and Luo.
Luo didn't move closer;
he didn't need to —
his presence beside me was close enough to draw a line.
As we approached Jian's group,
his friends finally noticed the silence.
One nudged him.
"Bro, what are you staring at?"
Jian didn't answer.
He swallowed hard,
the movement sharp and angry.
His girlfriend whispered his name softly—
"Jian?"
—but he acted as if he hadn't heard her.
We passed them.
And in that moment—
Luo, without even turning his head,
gave Jian a slow, effortless glance,
the kind that carried amusement, dismissal, and a threat all wrapped in one.
It was the kind of look only someone like Chen Luoyang could deliver—
refined, elegant, wordless,
but lethal in its clarity.
The look said:
"He's with me.
Now what?"
Jian's jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle shift from the corner of my eye.
His friend whispered, amused,
"Bro, that quiet guy walking around with that prince-looking dude… tch, weird pair."
Jian snapped,
"Shut up."
The word sliced through the air.
Hard.
Stressed.
Too sharp.
His girlfriend flinched.
His friends fell silent.
But Jian kept staring at our backs even after we walked past his group,
even after we turned the corner,
even after we faded from view.
And I didn't look back.
Not because I didn't care.
But because I didn't know how to look at someone whose gaze felt like a storm pressing against the back of my neck.
Luo nudged my arm lightly once the hallway grew quiet again.
"Well, well…" he murmured in a tone of amused discovery,
"someone really hates you, doesn't he?"
"I haven't done anything," I replied softly.
Luo laughed under his breath.
"That's the problem, Wei.
You exist quietly…
and it drives certain people insane."
I didn't respond.
But deep inside my chest,
something small and unsteady fluttered.
Because even though I didn't turn around,
even though I kept walking…
I could still feel Jian's eyes burning into my back
long after I disappeared around the corner.