Chapter 12: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓼
The next morning, Lu Zhen did not take his usual seat.
Lin Xu noticed it immediately.
The back row, left side—the place that had quietly become theirs over the past weeks—was occupied by only one bag, one notebook, one untouched cup of coffee set beside an empty chair.
But Lu Zhen was not there.
Instead, he sat three rows ahead, near the window.
Far enough to make the distance obvious.
Far enough that it could not be accidental.
Lin Xu stood at the back of the classroom for a moment, looking at him.
Lu Zhen did not turn around.
Did not acknowledge him.
Did not even glance back.
After a pause, Lin Xu walked forward and took a different seat without saying a word.
No confrontation.
No question.
Just silence.
And somehow—
that made the distance feel sharper.
—
The lecture passed in strained quiet.
Lu Zhen wrote more than usual.
Page after page of notes he would probably never read again.
Anything to keep his eyes down.
Anything to avoid looking behind him.
Because he could still feel it—
Lin Xu's presence in the room.
Not beside him.
Not close.
But there.
And somehow that felt worse.
—
A folded note landed softly beside Lu Zhen's notebook.
He frowned.
Unfolded it.
One line.
Did I do something wrong?
Lu Zhen stared at the words.
His fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
Then he folded it once more—
and slipped it into his pocket without replying.
—
At lunch, Zhou Kai dropped into the seat across from Song Yan with his usual careless ease.
"You look terrible," he said.
Song Yan looked up flatly.
"That's a terrible way to greet someone."
"It's honest."
"You confuse honesty with being rude."
Zhou Kai grinned.
"And yet, you still eat with me."
Song Yan sighed quietly, setting down his chopsticks.
Across the cafeteria, his eyes drifted toward Lu Zhen sitting alone by the far window.
"…Something's wrong with him," Song Yan said.
Zhou Kai followed his gaze.
Lu Zhen sat untouched food in front of him, staring blankly outside.
Lin Xu stood a few steps away, hesitating.
Then chose not to approach.
"…Yeah," Zhou Kai said quietly.
Song Yan glanced at him.
"You noticed too?"
"I'm loud, not blind."
For once, neither of them joked.
—
By evening, rain had started again.
A thin drizzle at first.
Then heavier.
Lu Zhen left campus alone, walking faster than usual through the wet streets.
He knew Lin Xu would follow.
That was the problem.
That was exactly why—
he stopped under the dim shelter of a closed storefront and turned around sharply.
Lin Xu was there.
A few steps behind.
Silent.
Steady.
Like always.
"I told you before," Lu Zhen said, voice colder than usual, "stop following me."
Lin Xu stood still in the rain.
"I'm not following you."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because you walked away."
"That's not an answer."
"It is to me."
Lu Zhen laughed once—
short, bitter, humorless.
"…You really don't understand, do you?"
Lin Xu said nothing.
Rainwater dripped from his sleeves.
His hair clung damply to his forehead, but he didn't move.
Didn't step closer.
Didn't step back.
Lu Zhen clenched his fists in his coat pockets.
"You should have just stayed away."
"Why?"
"Because it's easier."
"For who?"
The question came softly.
Too softly.
Lu Zhen's jaw tightened.
"For everyone."
Lin Xu shook his head faintly.
"That's not true."
"You don't know anything."
"Then tell me."
"Stop saying that!"
The words came out louder than intended.
Sharp enough to cut through the rain.
For a moment—
everything stilled.
Even Lu Zhen seemed startled by the force of his own voice.
A passing car sprayed water along the curb.
Neither of them moved.
—
Lin Xu spoke first.
Quietly.
"You're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You are."
"I said I'm not."
Lin Xu held his gaze.
Then said the one thing Lu Zhen least wanted to hear:
"You're scared."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Lu Zhen's expression changed—
not anger.
Not denial.
Something more fragile than both.
"…Don't," he said quietly.
Lin Xu's voice softened.
"Lu Zhen—"
"Don't."
This time it almost sounded like pleading.
And that—
that frightened Lu Zhen more than anything else.
Because pleading meant weakness.
And weakness meant cracks.
And cracks meant things spilled out.
Things he could not let anyone see.
—
Across the street, under the awning of a convenience store, Zhou Kai and Song Yan had paused on their way home.
Both had seen enough to know not to interrupt.
Song Yan's brows drew together slightly.
"…He's shaking."
Zhou Kai looked across the rain-slick road.
Lu Zhen's shoulders were tense, rigid, like he was holding himself together by force alone.
"…Lin Xu won't leave him," Zhou Kai said.
Song Yan glanced sideways.
"How can you be sure?"
Zhou Kai's expression softened.
"Because some people stay even when they're pushed away."
The words settled quietly between them.
Song Yan looked away first.
"…That sounds exhausting."
Zhou Kai smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"…Still worth it."
Song Yan said nothing.
But he didn't walk away.
—
Back under the shelter, Lu Zhen stepped backward.
One step.
Then another.
Putting space between himself and Lin Xu.
"I need you to stop."
Lin Xu's eyes didn't leave him.
"Stop what?"
"Being there."
The words landed harder than either of them expected.
Lu Zhen looked away immediately after saying them.
As if he already regretted it.
Rain blurred the city lights behind them.
Lin Xu stood motionless for a long moment.
Then nodded once.
"…If that's what you really want."
Lu Zhen said nothing.
Because he didn't know anymore.
—
Lin Xu turned and walked away.
No argument.
No insistence.
No staying this time.
Just footsteps fading into rain.
And Lu Zhen—
stood there alone.
Breathing too hard.
Chest tight.
Hands trembling where no one could see.
The distance he had forced between them was finally there.
Exactly what he wanted.
Exactly what he asked for.
So why—
did it hurt like loss?
—
That night, Lu Zhen returned to his apartment soaked through.
When he emptied his coat pocket, the folded note from earlier slipped onto the floor.
He picked it up again.
Opened it.
Read the same line twice.
Did I do something wrong?
Lu Zhen sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, staring at the words until they blurred.
Then quietly—
for the first time in years—
he covered his eyes with one hand
and let himself break in silence.