Ming Ye laid on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting loosely by his side. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city slipping through the curtains. He hadn't bothered turning on the lights. He didn't need them.
Because no matter how dark the room was, that scene kept replaying in his mind over and over again.
Zi Han standing there beside that ridiculous pink bicycle.
Shi Xian beside her.
And himself—
"…I don't think I can ride with someone who thinks of me that way."
His brows knitted slightly, jaw tightening as the memory echoed again, sharper this time, like a blade deliberately pressed into a wound.
Then came the part that irritated him the most.
Her expression.
It wasn't fear nor nervousness. It was not even that guarded stiffness she usually had around him.
It was cold.
It was an expression he had never seen on her before.
As if she had drawn a line.
