Wei walked down the familiar street.
The sun was already high, baking the asphalt, but a light breeze offered a brief reprieve.
He carried a small paper bag, the faint scent of freshly baked pineapple cakes wafting from it.
He reached Jian's gate.
It was slightly ajar, as usual.
He didn't hesitate.
He simply pushed it open, the familiar creak of the hinges a sound he now associated with mornings.
He stepped inside, closing the gate softly behind him.
Xiao-Mei was already there, perched on the low stone wall that lined the path to the front door.
She looked up, her eyes, sharp and bright, immediately fixing on the paper bag in his hand.
"Wei ge!" she chirped, launching herself off the wall.
Before he could even fully register her movement, her hand darted into the bag.
She pulled out a pineapple cake, still warm, and took a triumphant bite.
Wei sighed, a soft, resigned sound.
"Those were for everyone," he said, his voice even.
Xiao-Mei chewed happily, crumbs dusting her chin.
"I am everyone," she declared, her mouth full.
She flashed him a cheeky grin, then skipped off toward the kitchen, already halfway through her conquest.
Wei watched her go, a faint, private smile touching his lips.
He walked into the house.
The familiar sounds of morning filled the air: the rhythmic chop-chop of a knife against a cutting board, the sizzle of oil in a pan, the low murmur of a radio playing a traditional Taiwanese opera.
Auntie was in the kitchen, her back to him, stirring something in a large pot.
She didn't turn around.
"Wei, what do you want for lunch today?" she asked, her voice warm and unhurried.
Wei paused, a small, almost imperceptible hesitation.
"Anything is fine, Auntie," he replied, the automatic response slipping out.
Auntie stopped stirring, then turned, a wooden spoon still in her hand.
She looked at him, a knowing glint in her eyes.
"No 'anything,' Wei-er. You're not at a restaurant. Tell me what you like."
She tapped the spoon against the pot, a gentle reprimand.
Then, her expression softened.
"You liked the braised eggplant the other day, didn't you? I have some fresh ones."
Wei blinked.
He had mentioned, almost in passing, that he enjoyed eggplant.
She remembered.
Without making a big deal out of it.
Without even needing to ask again.
It was a small detail, but it settled something warm and unexpected in his chest.
"Yes, Auntie. That would be wonderful."
He walked upstairs, his footsteps light on the wooden stairs.
He didn't need to ask where Jian was.
He already knew.
Jian's door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaping into the hallway.
Wei pushed it open, stepping into the familiar room.
Jian was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by books, a pencil tucked behind his ear.
He didn't look up as Wei entered.
He simply shifted, moving a stack of history textbooks and a crumpled exam paper.
Creating space.
Automatically.
He didn't even think about it.
Wei sat down in exactly that spot, his back against the wall, his own books already in hand.
Neither of them commented on the unspoken choreography.
It had quietly become routine.
Like the sun rising.
Like the sound of Xiao-Mei's laughter from downstairs.
Study began, seamlessly.
They already knew each other's habits, their rhythms.
Jian reached for his physics textbook, then paused.
"Oh, wait." He rummaged through a pile of papers, then pulled out a sleek, black pen.
"You forgot this yesterday."
Wei took the pen, his favorite one, the one with the smooth, dark ink.
He had indeed forgotten it.
He hadn't even realized until now.
As Jian struggled with a particularly tricky calculus problem, Wei's hand reached out.
He gently circled a misplaced negative sign in Jian's notebook, before Jian even noticed his mistake.
Jian glanced at it, then at Wei, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.
"Right. Thanks."
Later, when Jian reached for a specific reference book on the pile, Wei handed it to him before he could even fully extend his arm.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
Xiao-Mei stood there, a triumphant grin on her face, holding a large bag of guava candy.
"Emergency study supplies!" she declared, tossing the bag between them.
It landed with a soft thump on the floor, scattering a few pieces of candy.
Jian sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Who asked you?"
Xiao-Mei shrugged, already popping a candy into her mouth.
"Nobody. But you looked like you were about to explode."
She giggled, then turned and skipped out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
Jian groaned, picking up a piece of candy.
Wei quietly smiled, reaching for one himself.
Time passed, marked not by the clock, but by these small, ordinary moments.
The tea cups on Jian's desk slowly emptied.
The pages of their textbooks turned, one after another.
The pencils they used grew shorter, their tips worn down by hours of equations and notes.
Outside, the sunlight shifted, painting long, golden rectangles across the wooden floor.
The old ceiling fan spun slowly overhead, a lazy, rhythmic whirring that barely stirred the humid air.
Solved exam papers began to pile up beside them, a testament to their quiet diligence.
From downstairs, the radio continued its broadcast, occasionally interrupted by Auntie's voice.
"Looks like another typhoon moving toward Taiwan this week," Auntie's voice drifted up, casual and unconcerned.
Neither Jian nor Wei paid much attention.
Typhoons were a part of summer.
Just like study holidays.
Just like the floor study sessions.
Late afternoon arrived, painting the room in soft, amber hues.
Wei reached for the thermos of water on Jian's desk.
He knew where the cups were kept, in the small cupboard above the sink downstairs.
He knew where the kettle was, on the counter beside the stove.
He knew where everything belonged in this house.
He paused for just a second, his hand hovering over the thermos.
Then, he continued naturally, pouring himself a glass of water.
Jian didn't even look up from his textbook, still engrossed in a particularly challenging problem.
Because to Jian, this had already become normal.
Wei poured himself a glass of water.
Set the thermos back in its usual place.
Then quietly returned upstairs.
Jian never looked up.
He simply shifted one of the history books away from Wei's spot before turning another page.
Wei sat down without thinking.
Neither of them noticed.
Outside, the afternoon cicadas continued singing beneath the summer sun.
The study session went on, just as it had yesterday.
And the day before that.