The distance between the two closed in an instant.
The familiar scent of the man pressed down, his features now inches away.
His eyes were thinly hooded with a slight upward tilt at the corners, carrying an innate sharpness. When he fixed his gaze on someone, it always felt like scrutiny—aloof, indifferent, and cold.
But now, as he leaned down to meet her eye level, some of that distance seemed to fade.
Wen Yifan leaned back against the elevator wall, meeting his gaze without flinching. Her thoughts had turned to mush, struggling to process, and she mechanically replied, "I don’t have any plans for that at the moment."
Sang Yan straightened, the faint curve at his lips lingering, unreadable as to whether he believed her or not.
After a moment of thought, Wen Yifan couldn’t help but add, as if reciting a script, "I’ll let you know if that changes in the future."
"..."
Without waiting for his reaction, she calmly stepped out of the elevator. She thought she was walking steadily, but her steps felt heavy, sluggish, as if she were treading on cotton.
Sang Yan finally noticed something was off. "How much did you drink tonight?"
Wen Yifan paused. "One glass."
Sang Yan: "One glass of what?"
Wen Yifan shook her head. "I don’t know."
Sang Yan frowned, his tone sharp. "You drank something without even knowing what it was?"
Wen Yifan: "Xiao Tian gave it to me."
Like a robot, she answered whatever was asked, her demeanor barely different from usual. If not for that earlier remark, Sang Yan wouldn’t have guessed she was drunk.
Afraid she might stumble, he stepped forward, reaching out to steady her. "Stand still."
Seeing his movement, Wen Yifan instinctively retreated, lifting a hand to press down on her hoodie’s cap again. "Sang Yan."
"?"
Staring into his eyes, she pressed her lips together and inexplicably blurted out something earnest, as if trying to bridge the gap between them: "I think I’ve been pretty nice to you lately."
Sang Yan’s hand stilled slightly.
Then she continued, "I haven’t argued with you at all. I’ve even been obedient."
Sang Yan withdrew his hand, his tone flat. "What are you getting at?"
"So I want to… negotiate with you." Wen Yifan felt another wave of nausea and leaned closer to him, finding some relief in his scent. "Can you not strangle me?"
Sang Yan: "?"
"I want," she enunciated slowly, "to breathe properly."
"..."
Only then did Sang Yan notice her persistent grip on her hood. It reminded him of what he’d done to Mu Chengyun earlier. His lips twitched, speechless, as he grabbed her arm.
Wen Yifan’s hand remained stiff, her body language guarded.
"Fine," Sang Yan clicked his tongue, though his touch was gentle. "I won’t touch your hood."
"..."
Hearing this, Wen Yifan’s expression wavered between doubt and belief before she gradually lowered her hand.
Sang Yan guided her toward their apartment door, his grip loose. Glancing at her profile, he lowered his gaze to her limp, boneless-looking arm and murmured under his breath, "You’re not getting that treatment."
Once inside, Wen Yifan swapped to her indoor slippers and instinctively headed for her room. But after only a few steps, Sang Yan pulled her back and steered her to the couch. "Sit."
Wen Yifan gave a quiet "Oh" and watched as Sang Yan boiled water. Then he turned toward the kitchen.
A second later, he glanced back and added, "Don’t touch that water."Wen Yifan didn’t know what he was up to, so she could only nod. Her stomach was upset, and her eyelids felt heavy, drooping uncontrollably. She wanted something warm to drink and also felt like sleeping.
After waiting a while,
she happened to notice the boiling water nearby and sighed in relief, reaching out instinctively to pour herself a cup.
The next moment, Sang Yan’s voice rang out, “What are you doing?”
“...” Wen Yifan immediately withdrew her hand, feeling guilty as if she’d touched something without permission.
Sang Yan walked back and sat beside her. He held a jar of honey, scooping several spoonfuls into a cup before adding cold water, then mixing in hot water.
Still in his suit, his broad shoulders and long legs lent him a more serious air, tempering his usual carefree demeanor.
Wen Yifan noticed his attire again. “Why are you dressed like this today?”
Sang Yan didn’t answer, placing the cup in front of her. “Drink.”
She took it, sipping slowly before continuing, “Did you find a job?”
He remained indifferent, still silent.
But with alcohol loosening her tongue, Wen Yifan was chattier than usual. “When did you get it?”
Though most of her words were questions.
She didn’t seem to care if he answered, rambling on, “Does this job require formal wear?”
Sang Yan chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of questions.”
Wen Yifan blinked.
“But right now,” he stood up after watching her drink half the cup, “I’m not interested in talking to a drunk.”
Feeling wronged, she protested, “I only had one glass.”
Ignoring her, Sang Yan headed to the kitchen.
From behind, Wen Yifan added, “At your graduation ceremony, you drank over a dozen bottles. That’s what you call a drunk.”
He froze instantly, turning back. “How do you know that?”
Wen Yifan answered honestly, “Mu Chengyun told me.”
“...”
“Why did you drink so much?”
After a long silence, Sang Yan averted his gaze. “That was ages ago.”
Sang Yan: “Already forgot.”
“Oh.” The honey water had sobered her up slightly, easing her stomach. “Then drink less in the future.”
Sang Yan didn’t respond, disappearing into the kitchen.
Soon after,
he returned with a bowl of porridge, setting it before Wen Yifan. He sprawled back on the sofa, finally done with his tasks, and lazily said, “Finish it, then go to sleep.”
“...”
At that moment, Wen Yifan truly felt the happiness of having a roommate. Silently, she thought Sang Yan was quite kind—if he ever fell ill, she’d return the favor and take care of him.
Sang Yan lounged, scrolling on his phone.
As Wen Yifan slowly ate the porridge and was about to thank him, his phone rang.
He answered immediately, “Speak.”
He always sounded like this on calls—no pleasantries, just straight to the point, as if impatient for the other person to spit out whatever they had to say.
Wen Yifan swallowed her words.
The person on the other end said something, prompting Sang Yan to ask, “Whose birthday?”
“Oh, you didn’t need to call just to remind me.” His tone was casual, utterly indifferent. “Just tell Duan Jiaxu there’s no need to announce his birthday to the world at his age.”
“...”"If you really wanted to celebrate, you should've just done it quietly by yourself." After a pause, Sang Yan scoffed, "What do you mean I'm old too? Tell that '80s kid' to stop trying to drag me, a '90s kid', into his age bracket."
"Alright, go study," Sang Yan said. "With the college entrance exams next month, why are you bothering with this nonsense?"
"Hanging up now."
Though the call ended, the room remained silent.
Wen Yifan's mind sluggishly processed the conversation before recalling something: "Isn't your birthday January 1990?"
Sang Yan glanced at her: "What about it?"
"It's right after New Year's Day," Wen Yifan said. "That's only two days apart from 1989."
Playing with his phone, Sang Yan responded in a deliberately casual tone, as if missing her implication: "You remember my details quite well."
Wen Yifan paused briefly before replying softly, "Because that date's easy to remember."
"Oh." Sang Yan seemed indifferent, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, it is easy to remember."
...
After finishing the congee, Wen Yifan thanked Sang Yan and returned to her room. The steam from her shower gradually cleared her thoughts, bringing into sharp relief the foolish things she'd done and said that evening.
A belated wave of embarrassment washed over her, renewing her regret about drinking that night.
The lingering alcohol pushed her exhaustion to its limit.
Emerging from the bathroom, she collapsed onto the bed, her eyelids too heavy to keep open. She lacked the energy to dwell on the evening's events any longer. As she drifted off, she remembered the cup of honey water Sang Yan had pressed into her hand.
It had been scalding hot.
The warmth seemed to spread from her fingertips throughout her entire body.
Just before losing consciousness,
an unbidden thought surfaced in Wen Yifan's mind.
She hoped Sang Yan would stay here a little longer—
Perhaps because of Mu Chengyun's words earlier, Wen Yifan's dreams that night appropriately revisited her graduation day. Yet the scenes were hazy, appearing vivid yet somehow unreal.
Even in her dream, she couldn't distinguish reality from illusion.
In her memory, the graduation ceremony had ended in the afternoon.
Wearing her academic gown and holding her diploma, Wen Yifan followed the crowd out of the auditorium with her roommates.
The area outside was packed, mostly with graduates in their gowns taking photos with family and friends. The constant flow of people meant they kept running into acquaintances along the way.
Wen Yifan kept getting pulled into group photos here and there.
Having been busy with internships during their senior year, the girls hadn't seen each other much recently. Now they chattered nonstop, sharing stories from their respective work experiences.
When one conversation lulled, a roommate suddenly said, "Oh right, when I went to get my diploma earlier, I saw this ridiculously handsome guy in the back rows. No idea which department he's from."
Another roommate exclaimed, "What! Why didn't you point him out?"
"How could I? You were all waiting to go onstage for your diplomas. By the time you came down, he'd disappeared. I almost thought I'd imagined him."
"Fine, let's just say you hallucinated then."
Listening to their banter, Wen Yifan couldn't help but smile.
Soon after, the four were called over by a classmate to take more photos.Wen Yifan was pulled along by her roommate. She was positioned near the center, facing the camera with only the faintest curve at the corners of her lips. The photographer held the camera, counting down loudly, "Three, two..."
The last number never came.
At that moment, amidst the bustling crowd, Wen Yifan suddenly heard someone call her name. The voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it was unmistakably familiar. Her breath hitched, and she instinctively turned to scan her surroundings.
The photographer exclaimed, "Senior, why did you move suddenly?"
Her roommate beside her also asked, "What's wrong?"
Wen Yifan continued looking around, feeling oddly unsettled. "I think I heard someone call me."
"Huh?" Hearing this, her roommate also glanced around. "Are you sure? I didn't hear anything. Maybe someone with a similar name? There are so many people here..."
Wen Yifan barely registered the rest of her roommate's words.
Her gaze fixed on a certain direction.
A tall, lean figure stood out—dressed in a crisp white shirt and dress pants, as if he had come specifically for someone's graduation ceremony. At that moment, he seemed to be checking his phone, head lowered as he slowly distanced himself from the lively crowd.
Heading toward the quieter edges.
In an instant.
Wen Yifan was reminded of that rainy night four years ago, when the sky had been thick with drizzle.
Even with the rain, the air had still felt stiflingly warm.
The boy had silently walked her home, his usual pride completely shattered. The same boy who had been so full of confidence from the moment they first met now seemed to have been forcibly stripped of it, replaced by something fragile and unshakeable.
In that seemingly endless alley.
He had turned away without a word, step by step, walking out of her world.
Now, in a daze.
The two figures seemed to overlap.
Wen Yifan’s mind went blank. Unconsciously, she took a step forward—only to be immediately pulled back by her roommate.
"Yifan, where are you going?"
At the same time, the photographer called out, "Senior, let's take another one!"
Wen Yifan numbly averted her gaze.
She told herself he must still be in Nanwu—there was no way he’d be here, thousands of miles away in Yihe.
There was no reason for him to be here.
Distractedly, she finished the photo session and looked back in that direction.
But the scene from moments ago might as well have been an illusion.
That familiar figure had already melted into the crowd, disappearing without a trace.
……
Wen Yifan woke from the dream.
Her throat was parched. She sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. The harsh light stung her eyes, and she winced, her mind still foggy.
The dream’s memory remained vivid.
Yet now, Wen Yifan couldn’t be sure—had she truly seen that figure on graduation day, or had her dreams painted an extra stroke onto her memories?
She sat in silence for a long while before finally closing her eyes.
Perhaps influenced by the dream, or maybe because the night amplified emotions.
Wen Yifan felt utterly miserable.
Sleep was out of the question now. She got up, deciding to fetch a glass of warm water.
Not wanting to disturb Sang Yan, she left her slippers behind and tiptoed barefoot into the living room. Just as she was about to sit by the coffee table, the sound of a door opening came from behind.
Wen Yifan froze.
She turned to look.Just then, Sang Yan also emerged from his room. Dressed in casual shorts and a T-shirt, he looked slightly drowsy, as if he had gotten up to use the bathroom. Noticing her presence out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head and casually remarked, "Sleepwalking again?"
"..."
"What exactly triggers your sleepwalking?" His voice was low and hoarse from just waking up. "Does drinking too much set it off too?"
Wen Yifan remained silent.
The moment she saw him, the images from her dream surged back.
Her mind was completely occupied by the figure of that receding back, growing ever more distant from the crowd.
In the utterly silent space, the dim lighting seemed almost hypnotic.
An impulse welled up inside her.
Recalling what Sang Yan had said earlier—
"You suddenly ran out and hugged me."
He wouldn’t know anyway.
He thought she was sleepwalking.
He didn’t realize she was fully awake.
Wen Yifan slowly moved toward him.
Sang Yan lazily yawned, making room for her, and quipped provocatively, "Not taking advantage of me this time?"
Just this once.
She would indulge this impulse just once.
It was as if she had been transported back to that sweltering summer after the college entrance exams.
Back then, the younger version of herself had watched the retreating figure of that boy, suppressing the urge to run forward and embrace him. She had forcibly averted her gaze, stepping back bit by bit, choosing to withdraw from his world.
Now, in this very moment, it felt like time had reversed.
She wanted to act on the impulse she had restrained back then.
Wen Yifan’s heart was entirely consumed by that long-held yearning and the lingering haze of alcohol, leaving no room for rationality. She stopped beside him, her heart pounding so violently it seemed ready to burst from her chest.
Only a single step separated her from Sang Yan.
The scent that clung to him was no different from when he was a teenager.
The faint aroma of sandalwood permeated the air.
Since it was her first time doing something like this, Wen Yifan held her breath, hesitating slightly.
Sang Yan continued, "Hurry up and go back—"
Before he could finish.
Wen Yifan lowered her gaze, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around him.
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