Morning came earlier than it should have.
The school garden filled slowly, unevenly, like the day itself hadn't fully woken up yet.
Buses lined the curb, engines humming low, breath fogging the cool air. Their windows reflected pale winter light, outlines of trees and half-awake faces.
Students gathered in loose clusters—some yawning, some buzzing with energy already too loud for the hour.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"I woke up at five."
"My bag's heavier than me."
Teachers stood near the front, counting heads, clipboards in hand.
There were four of them.
Two female teachers—one younger, already smiling despite the cold, the other older, wrapped in a thick coat, expression sharp but not unkind.
Two male teachers—one tall and serious, the other checking his watch repeatedly like time was a personal enemy.
Ms. Fang stood slightly apart, hands clasped, scanning the crowd calmly.
"Listen up," one of the male teachers called out. "We'll go over this once."
Groans answered him.
He ignored them.
"You'll each get a map," he continued. "Stick to the group. No wandering off alone."
The younger female teacher began handing out folded papers.
"These show the main areas," she said. "Bamboo gardens, the old temple grounds, the mountain paths, and the historic market streets."
Someone whistled.
"Phones are allowed," the older teacher added. "But don't make us regret it."
Laughter rippled through the group.
Ms. Fang stepped forward.
"This trip is three days," she said gently. "Take care of yourselves—and each other."
The cold pressed in, but excitement kept people warm.
Students shifted from foot to foot, hugging jackets tighter, comparing maps, already planning which places they'd go first.
"Which bus are we on?"
"Same one as yesterday's list."
"I'm sitting by the window."
The teachers started directing students toward their assigned buses.
"Bus one—over there."
"Bus two—don't crowd."
Yanyan stood with her friends near the steps of their bus, scanning the garden.
She checked her phone.
Then checked again.
"…He's late," she murmured.
Around her, bags were being loaded underneath the buses. Doors hissed open. Teachers counted again.
Someone shouted, "If anyone's missing, say it now."
The garden buzzed.
Engines idled.
And Jian still wasn't there.
The sound of hurried footsteps cut through the garden.
Someone running.
Heads turned instinctively.
"Hey—"
Jian came into view from the far path, jacket half-zipped, bag bouncing against his back. His hair was a mess in the way that looked intentional—dark strands falling into his eyes, the rest pushed back by the cold wind.
He was smiling.
Wide. Reckless. Alive.
His breath came out in quick white bursts as he sprinted the last few steps, one hand shooting out to grab the bus door before it could close.
"WAIT—WAIT—"
The driver sighed, already used to this kind of thing.
One of the male teachers frowned.
"You're late."
Jian bent forward, hands on his knees, laughing between breaths.
"Sorry—" he said, voice bright, unbothered. "Alarm betrayed me."
The younger female teacher shook her head.
"Young people," she muttered, but she was smiling.
"Get on," the older teacher said. "And don't make this a habit."
Jian straightened, still grinning, cheeks flushed from the cold and the run. His eyes were bright, sharp, catching everything at once—the buses, the teachers, the morning light.
"Won't happen again," he said easily, already stepping up.
Inside the bus, warmth hit him immediately.
He scanned the rows without thinking.
Yanyan—there.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
"Jian-ge!"
Her voice came from the back rows, sweet and unmistakably happy. She lifted her hand, waving exaggeratedly so he couldn't miss it.
"Over here!"
Jian laughed again, lifting his hand in reply as he moved down the aisle, still catching his breath.
"I'm coming, I'm coming."
He took another step.
Then another.
And somewhere between one breath and the next—
Everything stopped.
The heat from the run drained out of his body all at once.
His chest went cold.
Cheng Wei.
The name didn't leave his lips.
It didn't even reach his throat.
It existed only in his chest, a soundless whisper his heart said to itself before his mind could stop it.
"Jian-ge?"
Yanyan's voice reached him—sweet, familiar—but it landed somewhere far away. He couldn't hear her properly.
His eyes were already somewhere else.
Wei sat in the last row.
The same side Yanyan was moving toward.
By the window.
His head was turned slightly, gaze resting outside like he was watching something only he could see. Morning light slipped in through the glass, softening the sharp lines of his face.
His hair was longer than Jian remembered.
Dark. Slightly curly at the ends. Loose strands fell into his eyes, others brushing the tops of his ears. A white earphone wire peeked through the mess, half-hidden by hair, swaying faintly with the movement of the bus.
And then—
Details Jian had never allowed himself time to see.
The small mole beneath Wei's lower lip.
The faint one near the corner of his eyelid.
Another, higher up, close to his eyebrow.
It hit Jian all at once.
This Wei wasn't different from the Wei at school.
He was exactly the same.
Jian had just never looked this closely.
Or maybe—
he never let himself.
Today, for reasons he didn't understand, he did.
"Jian-ge."
Yanyan tugged his hand, fingers sliding between his, shaking him lightly.
"I'm talking to you," she said, half-laughing. "Where are you even looking?"
Before she could turn to follow his gaze, Jian reacted.
Too fast.
He shifted, stepping into her space, lifting his hand to her hair.
"Your hairpin," he said smoothly, fingers brushing near her temple. "It looks really good on you."
She blinked.
"And—you smell nice today."
Yanyan flushed instantly.
"Stop," she said, swatting lightly at his stomach. "You're annoying."
He grinned, teasing. "See? Your cheeks are red."
She turned her face away, embarrassed but smiling.
"Come on," she said. "This is our seat. And don't think I'm not angry—you're really late. I thought—"
He leaned closer, voice playful.
"That I wouldn't come?"
She glared at him. "Don't joke about that."
As they moved down the aisle, Jian's gaze shifted again—just once.
And that was when he saw it.
A hand reached toward Wei.
Long fingers. Familiar movement.
Chen Luoyang leaned in from the seat beside him, tugging gently at the loose earphone wire, pulling the other bud free. His fingers brushed through Wei's hair by accident—or maybe not—as he adjusted it.
Wei didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't say anything.
Chen slipped the earphone into his own ear, said something low and close. Wei tilted his head slightly to listen.
Their shoulders touched.
Jian's blood burned.
From his chest to his neck to the tips of his ears.
For half a second, words almost escaped him—
angry, sharp, unfiltered.
"Why would you—"
Yanyan looked up. "What?"
Jian stopped himself.
Cleared it instantly.
"I mean—" he said, forcing a breath, "you don't like the last seat, remember? So why did you choose it?"
Yanyan blinked, then laughed.
"Because you can see everyone from behind," she said. "And our friends are all back here anyway."
As if summoned, three boys from the next rows waved exaggeratedly.
"JIAN—"
"LEADER—"
"OVER HERE—"
Jian lifted a hand in reply, the easy, reckless grin sliding back into place like armor.
He sat down beside Yanyan.
Yanyan on one side.
Chen and Wei on the other.
The bus filled with noise again.
And Jian stared forward—
knowing exactly where Wei was,
without looking again.