Ye Yiyi drove with Tang Coco, the road unspooling like a black ribbon while the city lights ebbed like a receding tide.

“Um… do you really have to go?” Her voice fluttered like a trapped sparrow, and her knuckles clung to the wheel like frost on bark.

“I… I… am going! We’re here, so… why not…” Her cheeks flushed like peach blossoms after rain, and her breath came thin as mist.

Tang Coco stared, her thoughts tangling like reeds in a stream, wondering what storm had passed between them to leave this skittish hush.

“Then let’s go in.” Her tone was steady as a stone path, and she pushed the door open like lifting a paper screen.

“Oh…” Yiyi’s reply was a reed-thin whisper, and she slipped out, then darted back to cling to Coco’s arm like ivy clinging to an eave.

Coco told herself to accept this oddness, her patience spreading like tea leaves in warm water, and she pressed the doorbell.

Ding-dong. The chime rippled like a silver bell on a windchime.

Click. The lock answered like a pebble dropped into a bowl.

Mo Zitong filled the doorway in soft homewear, an oversized yellow tee falling to mid-thigh like sunlight pooling on snow.

Her legs looked pale as porcelain, and her brown ponytail hung like a smooth river rope at her nape.

Coco loved Mo Zitong’s style, fresh as bamboo after rain and light as a spring breeze.

Mo’s smile opened like a lantern, then stalled a beat like a kite snagged on a branch when she saw Yiyi glued to Coco’s arm.

The smile returned like a tide smoothing sand. “You’re here—both of you. Yiyi, you didn’t even text me, but I’ve got enough ingredients.”

“…” Yiyi’s silence curled like smoke, and when Coco drew breath to answer, Yiyi tugged her forward like a sudden gust.

Mo watched the scene with calm water eyes, then shut the door with a hush like a shell closing and drifted toward the living room.

“An old classmate sent me a secret hotpot base,” she said, her words warm as rising steam. “It’s supposed to be amazing, and eating alone feels like cold ash. So I asked Coco. I figured Yiyi would be too shy to come.”

Yiyi leaned into Coco like a bird seeking a sleeve, her shoulder a small weight warm as a handwarmer.

“So that’s how it is. Thanks,” Coco said, her gratitude clean as a spring well.

“Don’t be polite with me,” Mo laughed, the sound crisp as snapped bamboo. “I’ll set the table.”

She slipped to the kitchen, her silhouette moving like a crane beyond paper screens.

“You okay?” Coco kept her voice low, her worry a tremor like a string in winter wind.

“I’m fine…” Yiyi’s face burned like sunset on clouds, but her words fell soft as damp ash.

“You don’t look fine. What happened between you two?” Coco’s confusion swirled like eddies in a shallow brook.

“I… I…” The syllables stuck like rice on a lid, unwilling to lift.

“Forget it. I’m fine. Just—be careful later!” Her urgency flashed like a spark hitting tinder, and she sat up straight like a drawn bow.

Coco blinked, her mind blank as fresh snow under moonlight.

“Hm? Careful of what? My place is safe,” came Mo’s voice, drifting from the kitchen like steam through a bamboo sieve.

She carried out the hotpot, the copper gleaming like a small sun and the broth shivering like red silk.

“Hmph. I won’t let you lay a hand on Coco!” Yiyi planted her fists on her hips, a tiny cat puffing up like a dandelion.

“Heh. That’s the Yiyi I know.” Mo’s smile curved like a crescent moon, and she turned to sort the platters like a painter laying out inks.

An hour bled by like dye through cloth, and the three of them ate while steam clouded the air like low fog over fields.

Yiyi stayed quiet, her chopsticks rising and falling like a heron fishing, and she sat pressed to Coco like shadow to lantern.

Mo kept the table bright with chatter, her stories flitting like swallows and her questions pattering like warm rain.

Overall it felt easy as a mild spring, aside from Yiyi’s hush hanging like a damp sleeve.

“So, Coco, what kind of boys do you like?” Mo asked with a smile light as a willow switch, her eyes cutting toward Yiyi like a quick blade of light.

“Ah? I don’t—” Coco started, her refusal smooth as a pebble, but a sharp voice sliced through like thunder over tiles.

“Stop! You’re meddling too much. Coco’s business doesn’t need your fingers in it!” Yiyi’s words snapped like dry twigs in fire.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Mo’s mouth quirked like a fox’s tail, playful and thin.

“Because Coco is mine!” Yiyi burst out, her blush blooming like a peony and her breath rough as a bellows.

Coco stared, stunned as a deer under lantern light, remembering this was the second time like a drumbeat echoing twice.

Earlier Mo had set out red wine, the shine dark as pomegranate, and she and Coco had only sipped like bees tasting dew.

Yiyi, silent and stewing, drank mouth after mouth like a thirsty traveler at a mountain spring, and the flush now climbed like a tide.

“Yiyi… are you okay?” Coco held her arm, her touch careful as a moth’s wing.

“Me? I’m fine!” Yiyi pushed her hand away, the gesture quick as a sparrow flick, and her voice rang brittle as ice.