Saturday morning came slow and gray.
Jiang Yue didn't sleep well. He hadn't slept well since Friday night, since the open palm on the table, since Wei's voice saying your math is getting better like it was the only safe sentence left in his vocabulary.
He lay in bed until his body ached from stillness, then got up because suffering horizontally wasn't better than suffering vertically.
The apartment was quiet in the weekend way—looser, less scheduled, but no less tense.
His mother was in the kitchen humming something, which meant she was in a good mood. Wei Chengyu had gone to the office for a half day. Wei's door was shut.
Jiang Yue shuffled to the bathroom, washed his face, stared at himself in the mirror.
He looked tired.
Not dramatic-tired. Just… worn, like someone had been sanding him down slowly for weeks.
His phone buzzed.
Xu Zhe: Come out. I'm bored. Let's do something dumb.
Jiang Yue typed back: Define dumb.
Xu Zhe: Existing outside your apartment. Fresh air. Maybe food.
Jiang Yue stared at the message.
Fresh air sounded like medicine.
He got dressed, told his mother he was going out, received the usual "be careful, eat something, don't fight anyone" speech, and left.
He didn't knock on Wei's door.
He didn't even look at it.
Outside, the city was cold and pale. Winter was settling into Yunbei like it planned to stay. The streets smelled like coal and fried dough from the breakfast carts.
Xu Zhe was waiting at the corner of their block, leaning against a wall, eating a meat bun like it was keeping him alive.
"You look terrible," Xu Zhe said cheerfully.
Jiang Yue took the second bun from Xu Zhe's hand without asking. "Thanks."
Xu Zhe didn't protest. He just watched Jiang Yue's face with that careful expression he sometimes wore when he was being a real friend instead of a clown.
"So," Xu Zhe said, walking beside him. "You want to talk about it."
Jiang Yue bit into the bun. "No."
Xu Zhe nodded. "Cool. We'll talk about it anyway."
Jiang Yue sighed.
They walked through the neighborhood toward the old part of town, where the streets narrowed and the buildings got shorter and everything felt less polished.
Xu Zhe led them to a place Jiang Yue hadn't been in months: the abandoned office building near the river. Four stories, no tenants, a rooftop that faced the water. They'd found it in their second year and claimed it as theirs, the way teenagers claimed things—by showing up and refusing to leave.
They climbed the fire escape, shoes clanging on rusty metal.
At the top, Jiang Yue stepped onto the roof and breathed.
The river stretched out below, gray and slow. The skyline of Yunbei was flat, dotted with construction cranes and apartment blocks. The air was cold enough to sting.
Jiang Yue sat on the concrete edge, legs dangling over nothing.
Xu Zhe sat beside him, closer than necessary, like he was quietly making sure Jiang Yue wouldn't fall.
For a while, they said nothing.
Then Xu Zhe spoke, gentle for once. "Is it about Wei."
Jiang Yue stared at the river. "Everything is about Wei."
Xu Zhe was quiet for a beat. "That bad?"
Jiang Yue laughed softly. "Worse."
Xu Zhe didn't push. He just waited.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. He picked at the concrete edge with his fingernail, stalling.
Then he said, voice low, "He told me he thinks about it."
Xu Zhe blinked. "About what."
Jiang Yue didn't answer.
Xu Zhe stared at him.
Then understanding hit, slow and wide.
"Oh," Xu Zhe said.
Jiang Yue didn't look at him.
Xu Zhe was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, carefully, "And you."
Jiang Yue's jaw tightened. "What do you think."
Xu Zhe exhaled, long and slow. "I think you've been weird about him since the wedding."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "I have not."
Xu Zhe raised an eyebrow. "You declared a ranking war against a guy you live with. You picked fights just to make him react. You got drunk at a party specifically to—"
"Okay," Jiang Yue snapped. "Okay. Stop."
Xu Zhe stopped.
The wind picked up slightly, cold against their faces.
Jiang Yue swallowed hard. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Xu Zhe's voice softened. "That's okay."
Jiang Yue's eyes stung. He blamed the wind.
"It's not okay," Jiang Yue muttered. "He's my stepbrother. We live together. Our parents just got married. The whole school watches us like we're a TV show."
Xu Zhe nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's a lot."
Jiang Yue's voice dropped. "And he said he thinks about it but won't do anything."
Xu Zhe turned to look at him. "And that hurts."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "It doesn't hurt. It's just… stupid."
Xu Zhe's gaze was steady. "It hurts."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. He couldn't speak for a moment.
Then he whispered, "Yeah."
Xu Zhe didn't say anything for a while.
He just sat there, shoulder touching Jiang Yue's, solid and warm.
Then Xu Zhe asked, "What are you going to do."
Jiang Yue laughed weakly. "Die, probably."
Xu Zhe snorted. "Not allowed. I need someone to copy homework from."
Jiang Yue shoved him lightly. "You never copy my homework. My homework is wrong."
Xu Zhe grinned. "That's what makes it entertaining."
Jiang Yue's mouth twitched despite himself.
The silence returned, but lighter this time.
Xu Zhe spoke again, quieter. "You know I don't care, right."
Jiang Yue blinked. "About what."
Xu Zhe's voice was steady, no joke in it. "About… who you like."
Jiang Yue froze.
He stared at the river.
His chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second.
He hadn't said it.
He hadn't said the word like.
But Xu Zhe had heard it anyway, under all the anger and the jokes and the deflection.
Jiang Yue's eyes burned.
He blinked fast, swallowed. "Shut up," he said, voice rough.
Xu Zhe smiled slightly. "I'm serious."
Jiang Yue's jaw clenched. "I said shut up."
Xu Zhe nudged his shoulder gently. "Okay. Shutting up."
They sat there for a long time, watching the river, watching the city, watching nothing.
And Jiang Yue felt, for the first time in weeks, like the weight in his chest had shifted slightly.
Not lighter.
Just shared.
When they climbed down from the roof and walked back, the sun had moved behind the clouds and the streets were busier.
Xu Zhe walked him back to his block.
At the corner, Xu Zhe stopped and looked at him.
"Whatever happens," Xu Zhe said, unusually serious, "don't disappear on me."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
Then he nodded once. "I won't."
Xu Zhe's face split into his usual grin. "Good. Because I'd find you anyway."
Jiang Yue snorted. "Stalker."
Xu Zhe waved and walked off, hands in his pockets, whistling badly.
Jiang Yue watched him go.
Then he turned toward his building.
The elevator ride felt different now. Not lighter, but more bearable.
He unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside.
The living room was dim. The kitchen was clean. His mother's shoes were gone—she'd gone out too.
Wei's door was open.
Jiang Yue stopped.
Wei was sitting at his desk, facing the window, headphones on.
He hadn't heard Jiang Yue come in.
Jiang Yue stood in the hallway and looked at him.
Wei's profile was lit by gray window light. His shoulders were tense. His hands rested on the desk, not writing, not typing.
Just still.
Like he was waiting for something too.
Jiang Yue's chest ached.
He walked to his own room and shut the door quietly.
Not a slam.
Not a statement.
Just a door closing softly, like a promise to try again.
He sat on his bed and opened his phone.
No messages from Wei.
No messages about Wei.
Just Xu Zhe's last text: Don't disappear.
Jiang Yue stared at it for a long time.
Then he opened his math workbook and started the problems Wei had assigned, alone, in his room, with the door closed but not locked.
And for the first time, studying didn't feel like punishment.
It felt like reaching.