Xu Chen let the curtain fall back into place.
The city lights disappeared behind the thick fabric, and the room returned to its controlled, enclosed stillness.
For a second, he stood there, facing the glass, his reflection faintly visible against the darkened surface.
Then he turned.
Aum was still near the center of the room, exactly where he had been a moment ago, as if the shift from outside to inside hadn't required any adjustment from him at all.
Xu Chen walked past him, loosening his sleeves this time, the movement casual but deliberate something to do with his hands.
"Alright," he said, glancing around. "We should probably… settle in."
Aum looked at him.
He waited.
Xu Chen nodded once to himself.
"Right. That means figuring out who sleeps where."
Aum's gaze shifted briefly toward the bed.
Then back to Xu Chen.
"There is sufficient space for both."
Xu Chen stopped mid-step.
"…We're not starting this again."
Aum's expression remained unchanged.
"You initiated the discussion," he said.
Xu Chen stared at him.
"…I regret that decision already."
Aum didn't respond.
Xu Chen exhaled through his nose, a faint smile threatening to appear despite himself.
"Okay," he said, pointing toward the bed. "Yes. Technically, it fits two people. That is not the issue."
Aum waited.
Xu Chen ran a hand through his hair again, slower this time.
"It's about… boundaries."
Aum considered that word.
"Define."
Xu Chen blinked.
"…I'm not defining boundaries for you."
"Then I cannot apply them," Aum replied calmly.
Xu Chen looked at him for a long second.
"…You're doing this on purpose now."
"I am trying to understand your parameters."
Xu Chen let out a quiet laugh.
"Of course you are."
A pause.
Then, finally,
"I'll take the couch."
Aum glanced toward it again.
"That reduces rest quality."
"I'll survive," Xu Chen said.
"That is not the same as optimal functioning."
Xu Chen turned toward him fully this time.
"…Do you ever just let things be?"
Aum met his gaze.
"Yes."
A pause.
"…When?"
"When efficiency is not required."
Xu Chen stared at him.
"…And this is efficient?"
Aum paused.
"…No."
Xu Chen blinked.
Then huffed a short breath that turned into a small laugh.
"Great. We're making progress."
He shook his head slightly and grabbed his clothes from the chair.
"I'm changing."
He walked toward the bathroom, then paused again halfway.
"You sure you don't need anything?"
Aum looked at him.
"No."
Xu Chen nodded once.
"Of course."
The bathroom door closed behind him.
Aum remained still for a moment.
Then he moved.
He walked slowly around the room instead, his attention shifting across smaller details this time—the texture of the couch fabric, the alignment of objects on the desk, the faint hum of the air-conditioning unit.
The system was active.
Temperature controlled.
Yet the air felt… heavier.
He paused.
His awareness shifted inward.
There was no environmental cause significant enough to explain the change.
Which meant....
The variable was internal.
Aum stood still for a moment longer.
Then turned his gaze toward the closed bathroom door.
Inside, Xu Chen stood under the running water, one hand braced lightly against the tiled wall.
"…This is normal," he said quietly.
The words sounded less convincing out loud.
He tilted his head back slightly, letting the water run over his face.
Normal.
Long day.
New environment.
Shared space.
That was it.
Nothing else.
Because the alternative...
Xu Chen shut the thought down immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
He turned the water off with more force than necessary and reached for the towel.
This wasn't complicated.
He was tired.
That explained everything.
He changed quickly, pulling on a loose t-shirt and comfortable pants, then stood for a second in front of the mirror.
"…You're fine," he muttered.
He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.
When Xu Chen stepped out, the room felt quieter.
Aum was near the desk now, his hand resting lightly against the edge, his posture relaxed in a way that hadn't been there earlier.
Xu Chen slowed slightly.
Something about that—
He stopped the thought before it formed fully.
"You can use the bathroom," he said instead.
Aum turned.
He nodded once and walked past Xu Chen.
This time, the distance between them narrowed more than before.
Not by accident.
Just… alignment of movement.
For a brief moment, their shoulders nearly touched.
Xu Chen felt it.
He stilled for half a second.
Aum didn't react.
He entered the bathroom.
The door closed.
Xu Chen remained where he was.
Then exhaled slowly.
"…Okay."
He walked toward the couch, sitting down heavily this time, leaning back and stretching his legs out.
This was fine.
Comfortable enough.
He adjusted the cushion behind him.
Still fine.
He picked up his phone, unlocking it again out of habit.
Messages.
Notifications.
Nothing urgent.
He scrolled without reading.
Then stopped.
Locked the screen.
Dropped the phone beside him.
Why was he...
Xu Chen leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.
Because this wasn't just about space.
That was the problem.
He shifted slightly.
The couch felt smaller now.
Not physically.
Just… noticeable.
The sound of water started again.
Xu Chen closed his eyes briefly.
He shouldn't be paying attention to that.
And yet....
He was.
"…Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
The bathroom door opened.
Xu Chen sat up slightly.
Aum stepped out.
His hair was damp, falling more loosely now, the darker strands framing his face in a way that softened the sharpness of his features. The clothes Xu Chen had bought earlier fit him cleanly—simple lines, but structured enough to follow the natural definition of his frame.
Xu Chen looked at him.
Then immediately looked somewhere else.
"…Good fit," he said.
Aum glanced down briefly.
"Yes."
A pause settled between them.
Xu Chen stood up abruptly.
"Actually.....
forget the couch."
Aum looked at him.
Xu Chen gestured toward the bed.
"We'll share it."
The words came out faster than he expected.
Aum didn't question it.
"That is more efficient," he said.
Xu Chen let out a short breath.
"Yeah. Don't get used to it."
Aum nodded.
"I will not."
That somehow made it worse.
They moved toward the bed.
Xu Chen took one side, pulling the blanket back slightly before sitting down.
Aum took the other.
The distance between them was sufficient. More than sufficient. This was not a proximity problem.
He lay back.
Aum lay back.
In the dark, Xu Chen stared at the ceiling and became aware — with the specific, unwelcome precision of a body that had not shared a bed with another person in longer than was worth examining — of several things simultaneously.
The warmth radiating from Aum's side. Not contact. Just — warmth. The presence of another body in a space that had never shared with others.
The sound of Aum's breathing, which was steady and unhurried and completely unconscious of what it was doing to the quality of the dark.
The fact that his own breathing had shifted to match it.
He caught this. Corrected it. Breathed deliberately at his own pace.
Three minutes later his body had drifted back into Aum's rhythm without consulting him.
Stop it, he told himself. He was thirty years old. He was an environmental scientist with a research grant and a masters degree and eleven years of professional discipline. He was not going to lose a breathing competition with his own autonomic nervous system because of a stranger.
He lost.
Eventually he slept.