The room was dim except for the glow of the city lights filtering in through the curtains. Xiao Zhan leaned back into the couch cushions, his fingers still twined with Yibo’s. The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that pressed uncomfortably—it was the kind that held weight, that said more than words could.

Xiao Zhan turned his head slightly, studying Yibo in the soft shadows. “You know,” he murmured, “this still feels a little unreal.”