Morning didn't arrive gently.
It arrived like a slap of pale light through the curtains, like the world had decided to pretend nothing happened and expected Jiang Yue to play along.
Jiang Yue woke up face-down in his pillow with his mouth tasting like regret and citrus and something that wasn't supposed to be real. His head throbbed on a delay, the hangover still gathering strength like a storm moving in.
For a few seconds, he lay still, hoping the memory would be fuzzy.
It wasn't.
The hallway. The wall under his back. Wei's hand on his wrist. The kiss—sharp, controlled, like a decision and a punishment at the same time.
Jiang Yue's eyes opened slowly.
He stared at the edge of his desk, at the chair, at the clean floor he hadn't earned. His heart was already beating too fast.
He swallowed and his throat hurt.
He lifted a hand to his mouth, touched his lips lightly, as if touch would confirm the truth.
It confirmed nothing except that his lips were his lips and his head was full of fire.
He sat up.
His hoodie from last night was still on the chair. His phone was on the floor near the bed. He picked it up and squinted.
No messages. No missed calls.
So the outside world hadn't exploded yet.
Good.
He dragged himself out of bed and stumbled toward the door, half hoping he'd open it and find the apartment empty, like the whole thing had been a drunken hallucination and the universe was just messing with him.
He opened the door.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.
The bathroom light was on.
Jiang Yue's stomach tightened.
He walked toward the bathroom, slow, and stopped when he saw Wei Nianzhan standing there, towel around his neck, hair damp as if he'd just washed his face. Fully dressed already. Calm already. Like the kiss had been something that happened to someone else.
Wei looked up when he sensed Jiang Yue.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, the air tightened so hard Jiang Yue could hear his own pulse.
Wei's gaze flicked to Jiang Yue's face, then away again, like he'd touched something hot.
Jiang Yue forced a smile, because if he didn't, he might crack.
"Good morning," he said, voice rough. "Officer."
Wei's jaw flexed slightly. "You're hungover."
Jiang Yue blinked. "Wow. Nothing gets past you."
Wei didn't respond. He stepped aside slightly, making space in the hallway like he was letting a stranger pass.
Jiang Yue stared at him.
Space.
Distance.
Like last night had been a mistake Wei was erasing by rearranging the air.
Jiang Yue's irritation flared, quick and sharp.
He stepped closer deliberately, invading the space Wei was trying to create. "So," Jiang Yue said, voice low, "are we going to pretend you didn't kiss me."
Wei's gaze snapped back, sharp.
Then it cooled instantly. "You were drunk."
Jiang Yue's smile thinned. "And you."
Wei's silence lasted half a second too long.
Then he said, calm and clipped, "I was… stopping you from doing something worse."
Jiang Yue stared at him. "Worse than kissing."
Wei didn't answer.
His expression was controlled, but the skin at his throat tightened with a swallow.
Jiang Yue watched it and felt something in his chest twist.
He stepped back slightly, but only because he needed air to breathe.
"Okay," Jiang Yue said, voice too light. "So it was first aid."
Wei's eyes narrowed slightly. "Stop."
Jiang Yue laughed, sharp. "No, seriously. Do you have a manual. 'How to handle drunk stepbrother: apply mouth-to-mouth.'"
Wei's gaze held his. Something dark flashed there—irritation, frustration, something hot that Wei immediately buried.
"Enough," Wei said, quieter.
Jiang Yue's smile faltered for a fraction.
He hated that word in Wei's mouth. Enough. Like Jiang Yue was always too much. Like Wei could just measure him and decide the limit.
Jiang Yue leaned closer again, voice dropping. "Did you regret it."
Wei's jaw tightened.
He didn't answer immediately.
His eyes flicked away, then back.
And then Wei said something that sounded like a rule, spoken like he was building a wall.
"We don't talk about it," Wei said.
Jiang Yue stared at him.
"Why," Jiang Yue whispered, voice rough.
Wei's gaze stayed steady, but there was a tension in it now, like he was holding something back with both hands. "Because if we talk about it, it becomes real."
The words landed in Jiang Yue's chest and cracked something open.
Wei's eyes widened slightly, like he'd heard himself too late.
He tightened his grip on the towel, then said colder, "And because it can't happen again."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened.
He forced a laugh that came out wrong. "Sure," he said. "Totally. Because you're so in control."
Wei's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
Jiang Yue's laugh turned bitter. "You're lying."
Wei's gaze sharpened. "So are you."
Silence.
The apartment was still asleep. No footsteps from the parents' bedroom. No kitchen sounds. No life except the two of them standing in the hallway like they were caught in a crime scene.
Jiang Yue felt too awake, too raw.
He did what he always did when he couldn't handle softness.
He turned it into a contract.
"Fine," Jiang Yue said, voice careless. "New rule."
Wei's eyes stayed on him. "What rule."
Jiang Yue lifted his chin. "We don't talk about last night."
Wei's shoulders loosened slightly, almost imperceptible. "Good."
Jiang Yue continued, because if he stopped, he might fall. "And it doesn't happen again."
Wei nodded once.
Jiang Yue swallowed and kept going, words sharp to hide the shaking underneath. "And we don't do anything stupid in public."
Wei's gaze flicked over Jiang Yue's face, like he was checking for cracks. "Yes."
Jiang Yue exhaled, feeling the wall build between them brick by brick.
It hurt.
He hated that it hurt.
Wei's voice came quieter, controlled. "You'll be late."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "So romantic."
Wei's gaze flicked to him again, warning.
Jiang Yue turned away, heading toward the bathroom, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
Wei was still there, still calm, still pretending.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened.
"Hey," Jiang Yue said, voice low.
Wei looked at him.
Jiang Yue's mouth opened.
He didn't know what he wanted to ask. Did you want to. Did you mean it. Did you feel it too.
Instead, the only thing that came out was a stupid, sharp line.
"You're a terrible kisser," Jiang Yue said.
Wei stared at him.
For half a second, something almost like amusement flickered.
Then Wei's expression went blank again. "Liar," he said.
Jiang Yue's heart kicked.
He turned and shut the bathroom door behind him before his face could betray him.
In the bathroom mirror, his cheeks were flushed. His eyes were too bright. He looked like someone who'd lost a fight and was pretending it was a joke.
He brushed his teeth too hard and tasted blood, which felt appropriate.
When he came out, Wei was gone—back into his own room, back into his calm, back behind his wall.
Jiang Yue's mother emerged from the bedroom then, hair messy, voice sleepy. "Morning," she said.
Jiang Yue forced his smile back into place. "Morning."
His mother blinked at his face. "Are you okay. You look pale."
Jiang Yue laughed lightly. "I'm always pale. Natural beauty."
His mother frowned. "Did you sleep late."
Jiang Yue shrugged. "A bit."
His mother yawned. "Eat breakfast. I'll make something."
Jiang Yue nodded and walked toward the kitchen, grateful for the normal script.
Wei Chengyu emerged a few minutes later, already checking messages on his phone, and the morning routine began: work talk, school talk, schedules like chains.
No one mentioned the party.
No one mentioned the kiss.
Jiang Yue sat at the table chewing toast he didn't want, watching Wei Nianzhan out of the corner of his eye.
Wei ate quietly, expression neutral, answering his father's questions with short, respectful lines.
Perfect son.
Perfect student.
Perfect liar.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened again, anger and longing tangled together.
After breakfast, they left together.
The elevator ride was silent.
Outside, the morning air was cold and clean, which felt unfair.
As they walked toward school, Jiang Yue's phone buzzed.
Xu Zhe: You alive? You vanished last night. Everything okay?
Jiang Yue stared at the message.
He typed back: Alive. Don't ask.
Then, after a second: Don't tell anyone I drank.
Xu Zhe replied instantly: Too late, I told the universe.
Jiang Yue shoved his phone away.
Wei walked beside him, expression calm.
Jiang Yue wanted to shove him too.
At the school gate, students flowed in. Teachers watched. Life pretended to be normal again.
Jiang Yue glanced at Wei and saw, just for a second, the faintest tension in Wei's jaw.
Like Wei was holding something back.
Like the rules they'd made in the hallway were not peace.
They were survival.
And Jiang Yue realized something else, sharp and terrifying:
If Wei Nianzhan was building rules to stop it from happening again, then a part of him had wanted it too.
And that part—hidden behind calm—was the most dangerous thing in Jiang Yue's new life.