The city outside had gone quiet. Ji Yuzhe lay in the dark and listened to it.
He wasn't sleeping. He hadn't been, not really, not since she came home tonight. He'd heard her in the hallway, the particular sound of her footsteps when she was hesitating. He'd heard her eventually walk in. And then the conversation, which had gone better than he expected and worse than he hoped, because she had touched his hand in the dark and pulled away like she'd burned herself.
He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling he couldn't see.
Three days. She had avoided him for three days after the kiss, and tonight was the first time she'd said more than a handful of words to him. He hadn't pushed. He wasn't going to push. But he had noticed every one of those days, the way he noticed everything about her — the small things he'd been cataloguing for longer than he wanted to admit.
He wanted to tell her things. He'd stopped himself each time.
