The room was steeped in silence, every sound stilled.

Lin An slowly lifted his head, meeting Xu Qinghuan’s rigid expression. Dizziness swirled again. He’d hoped she’d be asleep by the time he got home—then there’d be no trouble.

But she was waiting.

“I know what you want to say. I know why you’re angry…” His voice was faint. “I wanted to go home alone too, but I had no umbrella. Couldn’t hail a cab.”

“So I just waited on the steps for the rain to stop. I knew you wouldn’t come—and you didn’t need to. I just thought… wait it out, go home after. But I ran into her.”

“We only chatted. I didn’t say anything on purpose. I wanted to push her away—cut all ties, forever.”

“Then my head got so dizzy. I couldn’t argue anymore. She held my hand and walked me home. I wanted to leave… but I had no strength. None.”

“She gave me medicine. Held me while I slept. Whispered softly to comfort me. Kissed me. Said she liked me.”

“But when I woke, she asked me to stay. I ran. Deleted her contact. I just wanted to get home early… because I was afraid you’d be angry.”

“I walked back. It was freezing. I kept thinking—once home, I’d fall asleep. Then you wouldn’t be angry. I know why you’re upset. If you say I’m wrong… I’m wrong.”

“It’s all my fault. But… I’m so tired. Really tired. Can we stop? Or… hit me twice, then let me sleep. Okay?”

Lin An looked like a child who’d messed up. Yet as he lifted his head, a trace of self-mockery flickered in his eyes—

a quiet, heart-wrenching ridicule.

“I know I was wrong. Let me rest,” he pleaded softly.

But Xu Qinghuan was swallowed by panic.

A tidal wave of shadow crashed over her.

She felt it clearly: the tender love always glowing in her younger brother’s eyes—the boy who, no matter what, looked at her with warmth—was fading.

Like someone who’d chased a butterfly until it vanished, then finally stopped. Only exhaustion remained. No heat. No gentleness.

Xu Qinghuan stood frozen. The hickey on his neck burned her sight. *Was I wrong?* But what did it matter now?

Lin An watched her, voice weary. “If you have more to say… tomorrow. Okay? I’ll still listen. Always. Anything you say.”

“You say I’m wrong—I’m wrong. You’re right. It’s my fault. I just want to sleep.”

He turned slowly. His steps dragged like hauling a heavy shell. Brushed teeth. Washed face. Returned to his room. Closed the door. Locked it. Slipped under the covers. Closed his eyes.

The small living room felt hollow. Xu Qinghuan’s mind buzzed.

His words were perfect. But his eyes… hollow. The love she’d worn down was gone.

*It shouldn’t be like this. If Su Yuejin hadn’t appeared…*

Then she realized.

The rain had been heavy. He waited alone. Feverish. When sick, he always turned listless. Yet she hadn’t called a familiar driver. Hadn’t brought an umbrella.

But *she* did. Took him home. Fed him medicine. Held him. Coaxed him to sleep. Su Yuejin—that proud, beautiful woman—had gentleness too. A tempting poison.

Suffocating. Addictive.

Yet he still came home. To *her*. To *them*. He explained first. Apologized. And she gave sarcasm. A kick.

He didn’t argue. Just tired. Went to sleep.

*Xu Qinghuan, how could you be so foolish?!*

She had to act. *Now.* If she waited, tomorrow Su Yuejin would find him. He’d fall. He’d be enchanted. And that “foolish” woman… would fall for him too.

She rushed to his door.

Locked.

………………

“Open the door.” Her voice trembled.

Silence. Had he slept? Fear tightened her chest. Fingers clawed the wood. “Open it, Lin An!”

Footsteps. But no unlock. He’d sealed himself inside, licking wounds. “What is it?” Weak. Distant.

“It’s my fault. You weren’t wrong. You’re a good kid. Open up… let me apologize.”

“No need.”

Lin An slid down, back against the door, murmuring. “You’re not wrong. It’s all my fault. Let it be.”

“I won’t contact Su Yuejin. Won’t love her. It’d lead nowhere. We’re not from the same world.”

“I’m just… tired. Heart’s weary. Maybe the fever scrambled my brain. I feel awful.”

“I admit… when she held me, my heart stirred. She was gentle. Sweet. Not proud. Not foolish. The way she coaxed me… it moved me.”

“I want a normal relationship too. Not one you force. I want someone who cherishes *me*. I get lonely. I feel alone.”

“Open the door. Look me in the eyes. Whisper it…”

“Go to sleep, Xu Qinghuan.”

“Stop worrying. Stop scolding. Stop dangling me. I’m scared. *Really* scared.” His voice—a fawn cornered at a cliff’s edge. One step closer… and he’d shatter.

Xu Qinghuan leaned against the door, throat tight, breath shallow. “Lin An… please. Open it.”

He didn’t. In the dark, he stared blankly. He loved heavy rain. Darkness. No light. It felt safe.

Inside him, a storm raged—drowning the world.

…………………………

She’d always softened him with a few sweet words. He never stayed angry. Never blamed her.

But now? He wasn’t even angry. No way to apologize. He was just… tired. He’d lost the tug-of-war. Chose to withdraw. To let go.

“Open the door. I’ll hold you tonight. Tell me everything. Okay?”

He shook his head silently.

“Qinghuan, sleep. It’s late. Bags under your eyes. You care about looks. Don’t be stubborn.”

“You don’t want me anymore? Lin An… you can’t.”

“I’m not leaving. I’ve always been here.” A whisper. “Haven’t I? You said date someone—I did. Pretended to be someone else. Tricked a kind girl. It’s exhausting.”

“You know I don’t like her. You know who I like.”

Hope flickered in her eyes—a drowning hand grasping rope.

“But… liking someone is exhausting too. If love feels like this… maybe let go.”

“Like the orphanage. You gave me candy, so I wanted to be good. No other girl ever did. When one finally did… my heart stirred. Other girls’ candy tastes good too. I like candy. Hate medicine. I go crazy without it too.”

“Open the door.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I’ll jump.”

Madness edged her voice. Eyes sharp. Tone firm.

Seconds passed.

The door opened.

Tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. She lunged, arms wrapping him tight.

Lin An looked down. Expression unchanged.

“Take off your clothes. Feverish.” Xu Qinghuan met his gaze, loosened her hold, peeled off his T-shirt. Fingers slid the strap from his shoulder.

Her nightgown pooled on the floor. Nothing beneath.

Bare.

Pale as moonlight.