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Han Yan's question hung in the air, and Wei Jun felt his courage shrink.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze drifting everywhere but Han Yan's face.
"It's... well." He cleared his throat. "It's about Fan-Fan."
Han Yan's brows lifted slightly. He set down his bowl and waited, his gaze steady on Wei Jun giving him all the time he needed to speak.
Somehow that only made Wei Jun feel worse.
Han Yan noticed something was wrong the moment he walked in, but he had not wanted to press.
His friend's face had been pale and tight before. Now it was nervous and flushed, as if he was about to ask for a loan of silver. Han Yan waited a few breaths longer, then spoke gently.
"A-Jun, if you need help with something, just say it. Whatever it is, I'll do what I can."
The words were so plain and sincere that Wei Jun's chest warmed.
He let out a breath, laughed at himself, and finally began.
