jian stood in front of the old wooden closet, its door a dark rectangle in the gloom.
The single candle, now burning lower, cast long, dancing shadows across the hallway.
He had pulled out one futon.
One blanket.
He looked inside again, his eyes scanning the shelves, the corners, the very back.
Nothing else.
He closed the closet door softly, the sound barely audible above the howling wind.
He moved to another cupboard, then under the bed, his search thorough but fruitless.
Nothing.
He scratched the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of mild exasperation.
"...I thought we had another one," he mumbled, more to himself than to Wei.
Wei watched him, a quiet observer.
He understood immediately.
There wasn't enough bedding.
Not for three people, not with Xiao-Mei already claiming the sofa downstairs.
"It's alright," Wei simply replied, his voice calm.
A few seconds of silence stretched between them, filled only by the relentless roar of the storm.
Then, Xiao-Mei's voice, surprisingly cheerful, broke the quiet.
She had appeared at the top of the stairs, her own pillow and a small, colorful blanket clutched in her arms.
"I'll sleep downstairs," she announced, as if it were the most obvious solution.
Both Jian and Wei looked at her, surprised by her sudden appearance and her casual declaration.
She shrugged, her eyes wide and innocent.
"I'm scared of thunder anyway. And I want the living room. It's bigger."
She had already solved half the problem without realizing it, her childlike pragmatism cutting through the adult awkwardness.
She gave them a quick, bright smile, then happily disappeared downstairs, her small footsteps swallowed by the storm.
Children accepted situations much faster than adults.
Wei realized his clothes were slightly damp.
Not soaked, but humid from the oppressive air and the occasional spray that had found its way through the old window frames.
Jian noticed.
Without saying much, he quietly walked toward his old wardrobe, its wooden doors creaking softly as he opened them.
He searched through a pile of clothes, then pulled out an oversized T-shirt, faded but clean.
A pair of old shorts, equally soft and worn.
He didn't look directly at Wei while handing them over, his gaze fixed somewhere on the wall behind Wei's head.
He simply said, his voice a little gruff.
"...They're clean."
Wei hesitated for a moment, then took the clothes.
"...Thanks," he said, the word feeling a little foreign in the quiet room.
It was an act of awkward kindness, devoid of any romantic overtone, yet deeply considerate.
Wei went to the small bathroom down the hall to change.
While he was gone, Jian quietly started folding his dresses, which were draped over his desk chair.
He didn't even realize he was doing it.
It was just habit, a small, unconscious act of tidiness in the midst of chaos.
The room was silent except for the relentless drumming of the rain against the window.
Then the bathroom door opened.
Wei walked back into the room.
The clothes were much too big.
The T-shirt hung loosely on his frame, its sleeves nearly reaching his elbows.
The shorts were baggy, falling well past his knees.
Jian looked up from the uniforms, his hands pausing mid-fold.
He stopped.
For only one second.
Then immediately looked away, his gaze darting to the wall, then to the futon on the floor.
It wasn't because Wei looked attractive.
It was because seeing someone else wearing his clothes, inside his room, felt strangely unfamiliar.
An unexpected intrusion into his personal space, yet not entirely unwelcome.
Wei noticed Jian looking, then glanced down at the oversized shirt.
"...Too big?" he asked, a hint of dry humour in his voice.
Jian quickly replied, his voice a fraction too fast.
"No."
"...It's fine."
Jian quietly spread the futon on the floor, near the wall, away from the window.
It was narrow, clearly meant for one person.
They both immediately tried to give it to the other.
"You sleep there," Wei said, gesturing to the futon.
Jian shook his head.
"It's your first time staying over."
"It's your house," Wei countered.
Neither won the silent argument.
Eventually, Wei broke the stalemate, his voice calm and practical.
"We're both seventeen."
He looked at the futon, then at Jian.
"It's only one night."
It was matter-of-fact, devoid of embarrassment, just a simple statement of fact.
Jian slowly nodded, a faint blush still on his cheeks.
They lay down.
Not close.
Not touching.
They left a realistic space between them, a small, unspoken boundary.
The blanket was only just large enough to cover both of them, stretched taut.
Jian reached over and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
Only occasional flashes of lightning, brief and stark, illuminated the room.
Rain filled every silence, a constant, roaring presence.
For a long time, nobody spoke.
Wei quietly said, his voice barely a whisper in the dark.
"...You know."
Jian, who had been listening to the rain, stirred.
"Hm?"
"You really thought ghosts wore school uniforms."
A long pause stretched between them, punctuated by a distant rumble of thunder.
Then, Jian laughed.
Very quietly, a soft, almost shy sound.
"So we're talking about that again?"
"You started it," Wei replied, his voice dry.
"I don't remember doing that."
"You apologized."
"...Only about twenty minutes ago."
Jian laughed again, a real one this time, a soft, genuine chuckle that filled the small, dark room.
The conversation continued, simple and comfortable.
They talked about school, about the upcoming exams, about Xiao-Mei's latest antics.
It was natural, easy, a familiar rhythm established between them.
Not romantic, not tense, just two boys talking in the dark.
Then, a particularly loud thunderclap shook the house, making the windows rattle violently.
Wei instinctively gripped the edge of the blanket, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly.
Jian noticed.
He remembered.
Wei had always hated storms, a quiet fear he rarely showed.
Without saying anything, Jian quietly pulled a little more of the blanket toward Wei.
Not enough for Wei to consciously notice the gesture.
Just enough to offer a fraction more warmth, a fraction more comfort.
Much later, the conversation slowly faded.
Wei's breathing became slow and steady, a soft, even rhythm beside him.
Jian remained awake.
Listening to the rain.
The storm had weakened, but water still drummed steadily against the roof.
Beside him, Wei hadn't moved for a long time.
Jian assumed he had finally fallen asleep.
He quietly turned his head.
A faint flash of lightning slipped through the curtains.
For just a heartbeat—
he saw Wei lying there, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
Jian looked away again.
"...Good."
The word was barely more than a breath.
He folded one arm beneath his head and stared back at the ceiling.
Sleep refused to come.
...
Beside him—
Wei opened his eyes.
Only slightly.
He had never fallen asleep.
He simply lay there in silence, listening to the rain...
wondering why neither of them could.
Outside,
the rain showed no sign of stopping.