trying

Zhou Xinyu x Reader angst

(6.5k words)

The lock clicks, and you’re inside.

The room is dark— not pitch black but dark enough where outlines start to blur. You slide your shoes off, exhausted after a session of working carrying the workload of four people. It isn’t until you place your bag down you notice the glow of a phone screen on the couch. 

Xinyu was there, waiting. Silently.

You see the glint in her eyes find you at the door.

“You forgot me.” Xinyu said. Soft. Fragile. The words paradoxically carried more weight than if she screamed.

But you hadn’t. The facts lined up in your mind like a defense you weren’t allowed to use: you texted her updates, told her when you’d be home, warned her you’d be late. You even offered to step out of the group project for a moment to call.

Still, the words clung to you. You forgot me.

They hollowed you out, making you doubt yourself. Had you? Somehow? In a way you couldn’t see?

You wanted to be angry. You almost were. But the sadness in her voice was like a hand pressing against your throat, and the way her lips curved into that smile— gentle, forgiving— made you feel as though the argument was already over. You’d already lost.

—

You woke up in a daze, stirred by the incessant cooing of pigeons outside your windows. Beside you lay the love of your life– your girlfriend of half a decade, and possibly, your only need in the world– still drifting through her dreams. Her face soft, emanating a quiet serenity.

A careful peak of your phone revealed it to be 7:23 AM, roughly an hour before Xinyu would begin to stir. You cautiously slipped out from underneath the layers of blankets, and crept toward the door connecting your bedroom to the living room. 

The door creaks while you pull it open, holding your breath the entire time. You glance toward your bed, noting two things: one,  Xinyu is thankfully still asleep; and two, she is as gorgeous as you always have remembered her. Even now in this unkempt state, there is no flaw you could find— nor dare seek— about her being. Her disheveled hair, as messy it may be, outlined her features. Even from across the room, you could see a glistening trail of saliva down her cheek. You used to find that endearing. Now, it just feels… too much. Like something you’re supposed to adore.

You slipped past the door, still eyeing your girlfriend as she grasped at your spot for something to fill her slender hands. The couch greets you just as it did so many times, your reprieve from Xinyu. Pictures and videos streamed through your screen– your daily doomscroll session. Amidst the flashing lights and snappy content– noting how oddly frequent spinning kitchen utensils showed up– you couldn't help but think about your girlfriend. Specifically how lucky you were to have her. Whether it be your personality, the way you treasured her, or the four previous rejections, you had her. Even if it’s only because she feels bad.

In your mind, those four confessions didn’t count as true admissions of romantic feelings. You were wasted, nothing else needs to be said—but she never let you live it down.

She would playfully mock you, “Xinwe….. I-“ punctuating every word with exaggerated slurs. “I- I- I weaaaaaaally want to go out with you… Pweeeeeeaseeeeeeee-” 

You cringed just thinking about it. A true confession or not, your feelings were true, just not conveyed the way you would have liked it to.

Your endless stream of dopamine was interrupted by a text from Kotone.  

Tone~ 🎶 did you do any work on that study guide?

You for prof park’s?

Tone~ 🎶 Mhm

You i completely forgor we had one💀

Tone~ 🎶 🗿 jiyeon, naky, and i are going to the cafe later around 1pm if you wanna drop by we’ll just be studying and reviewing for the exam comin up

You sit up and hesitate before thinking. You could go but you don’t know how Xinyu would feel about it. You know Kotone well but the other two are acquaintances by virtue of the aforementioned class. Xinyu and Kotone are also friends, so surely she wouldn’t mind it, right? 

You hmm, maybe. I’ll lyk around 12 if I’m comin or not

Tone~ 🎶 👍👍👍

You scratch your head and think about how to bring it up to Xinyu. It shouldn’t feel like preparing for an argument. It’s just a café. It’s just studying. But your brain runs rehearsals anyway– lines that sound innocent, just plausible enough to pass.

Another peek at the corner of your phone, 8:02 AM, only a matter of time before she would wake. You could try something that had worked before: they need your help, mainly Nakyoung that is, or you could mention the exam coming up just this week. 

For better or for worse, this has become a sort of unspoken rule in your relationship. Xinyu loved spending time with you– maybe a little too much– but the way she lit up made it worth it. Or at least that’s what you told yourself.

If she didn’t get her way, you paid for it with the silent treatment. Guilt filled your lungs like thick smoke at these times. Her silence was suffocating. Silence– more often than not– was all she needed. But it came at your expense.

Your way? A rare occurrence. An urban legend. You missed nights out with your friends. Skipped study sessions when you desperately need that time. Abandoned hobbies that kept you sane. 

Every skipped plan, every silence swallowed– it was all for her.

You told yourself that the sacrifices were worth it. You loved her. She loved you. Eventually everything would work out and this would only be a minor bump– something you’d both look on fondly, laughing at how trivial it was. That’s what was supposed to happen, what you clung to, even as a malignant, insidious thought burrowed into your mind.

The time you spent together, you cherished it. She would light up your world like nobody else could. It made your sacrifices small in comparison to how she made you feel. It’d make you forget what you gave up. 

But a gnawing, incessant thought would always resurface: What about me? 

That thought stung. It stung because it was the truth. And it stung more than any of Xinyu’s silences could.

You buried that thought. Buried it beneath six feet of dirt and tamped it down with the weight of love and false assurances. But it came back. Over and over and over. No matter what and how many times you tried. It would always resurface, and you’d hopelessly bury it all the same every time.

You did it because you loved her. It was the right thing to do– Right?

Before you can put much more thought into what you’d tell her, you heard Xinyu stirring around in bed. It wasn’t much her movement, but rather the guttural groan that emanated from your bedroom which alerted you. 

Dismayed, but left without choice, you reluctantly returned to your room. 

The view gate kept by your door was immaculate– something that you wouldn’t trade the world for. Xinyu lay starfished half-covered in blankets, hair a gorgeous mess, half-lidded eyes directed toward you–  all made even more perfect by a saccharine smile that turned your brain into mush.

In an instant you’re at her side, softly brushing strands of hair off her face. Up close, she’s breathtaking. She doesn’t have to try. 

“Good morning, baobei,” you whispered, softly planting a kiss on her forehead. She hums warmly in response, her lips thinning as she smiles wider than moments ago. You gently caress her now rosy cheek with your thumb. Xinyu meets your gaze with those stunning, brown-oceans of eyes nuzzling into your touch.

This woman– She’s overpowered. 

“Morning~” Xinyu replied in a syrupy voice. A toothy smile spreads across your face; She has you– completely. 

One look. One sound. It’s all it takes.

Xinyu’s done nothing but lie there, still– you’re under her influence.

It feels like everything you are belongs to her.

Before your mind can register it, your lips are on hers. Her slender figure wraps around you; one hand threading through your hair, the other pulling you in by your waist. Xinyu deepens the kiss– her lips desperately trying to memorize yours. Your hand trails down her waist—her breath hitching slightly– your body lightly pressing against her to share her warmth. You break the kiss, hovering your lips just above hers. Her breath is shaky– almost as if she’s trying to keep herself calm.

“You were gone,” she stammers, voice still raspy. “I reached out and you weren’t there.”

“I was just outside,” you say, lightly rubbing her waist. 

She doesn’t reply right away. You feel her grasp on your waist tighten.

“I hate waking up alone,” Xinyu whispers, punctuating it with an exasperated sigh.

A pang of guilt strikes you. You knew that.

You swallow hard. Guilt thick in your throat. “I’m here now.” Though, in the back of your mind you were somewhere else.

Xinyu kisses you, hard, hungry for more of you. Like she’s trying to leave an imprint of herself on you that’ll never fade. 

Blankets are forced away. She flips you over, straddling your waist– never breaking the kiss. Her hands find their way underneath your shirt, fingers tracing your clavicle. She smiles into the kiss, your brain numbing by the millisecond.

Everything becomes a blur.

The only thing that exists is Xinyu. Her touch, her warmth, her breath catching as your hands explore her skin. Suddenly the room is warmer, blankets and pillows laid astray, limbs becoming more and more tangled.

Xinyu separates her lips from yours. She whispers in your ear, “Stay with me today. Just us.”  

You pause—the words hit you like a freight train. You stare absently into the pillow. Your lips part, intending to say something. But then, your lips are on her neck—leaving your mark—drawing her closer, your body betraying your mind.

You remember Kotone’s text, The study session– and you bury it all. 

Because she asked. But is that enough?

Xinyu leans into you, intoxicated by your attention– thriving because of it. She straightens herself, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You oblige, and your torso is exposed in an instant. Xinyu guides your hands toward the hem of her shirt, beckoning you to do the same.

Moment by moment, the sun rises– illuminating the room in golden stripes through the blinds.

And then–

———

It’s 10 AM– at least, you think– when you finally come to. Xinyu’s soft breath warms your bare chest, steady, unhurried. Your fingers are laced with hers, your thumb tracing the back of her hand in a quiet reassurance.

Sunlight spills into your room, painting it an ombré gold. She shifts, lips grazing your collarbone– a blissful reminder she’s here. Her leg drapes over yours, the familiar weight pinning you to the bed, to this moment. A tether. A serene quiet fills the room; interrupted only by your soft breaths and the occasional hum from Xinyu’s contentment. This subdued intimacy feels like worlds apart to the unabated lust you two shared just moments ago.

Moments like this– silence that doesn’t threaten– you savor them. You wish it could last: an undemanding quiet. Your gaze follows the seam where ceiling meets wall, your mind already drifting.

But even with her warmth seeping in, a gnawing ache tightens in your chest. Subtle at first– you distract yourself with the memory of spinning kitchen utensils from earlier– but it swells. The thought you’ve tried to bury surfaces: what you’re giving up, and who you’re becoming.

Your thumb keeps tracing her hand– a futile anchor to where you are, who you’re with. That this should be enough.

Your mind rebukes that thought. 

You drift to Kotone’s message– the café, the hushed clatter of mugs, pages flipping, laughter that never demanded compromise.

You picture yourself there, tucked in a corner booth with your laptop, earphones half-in. The company is nice, but it’s the simplicity you crave– the chance to exist without carrying so much weight.

Out there, you could just be a student. Your own person. Someone who never had to shrink to fit another’s mold– who could take up space without always measuring it against Xinyu’s needs.

Your vision blurs. The room drifts away, the ceiling gathering into a heavy bank of nimbus clouds, ready to break.

Xinyu stirs against you again, her hand tightening around yours as if she can somehow sense you drifting away. Her hand reels you back. Back to the bed and back to this moment. Back to this world you’ve built around her.

Maybe that’s the problem. You’ve made Xinyu your world. And you don’t know where she ends and where you begin anymore. 

Your eyes shift from her face, her nose scrunching every so often, to the ebb and flow of her chest. She looks safe. Peaceful. And in that stillness, guilt floods you for wanting more.

But the thought return– heavier, more suffocating than before:

What about what you want?

Your phone buzzes faintly on your nightstand. It’s Kotone, you know it. You don’t even need to check.

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm in your mind as you glance at Xinyu, still lost in sleep. You want to go. You want to stay. You weigh the choices, but both promise some level of anguish– guilt or suffocation.

You love Xinyu. You’ve said it so many times, it’s an unconscious truth, a reflex. 

But if the cost is you– your voice, your space, your very self– is that still love?

You jolt in surprise as Xinyu nudges you, her blinking eyes looking at you expectantly. You must have woken her up while you were lost in thought, your own mind too loud for her quiet. There’s no point in figuring out how long she’s been awake or looking at you. “Did you want breakfast?” you stammer in a hushed whisper.

She shrugs, “If you want,” she says, reclaiming your chest as her pillow.

“Aren’t you a little hungry?” you ask, trying to bridge the void. 

“Only a little, but I’m comfy like this,” she replies in a hoarse voice, sleep still clinging to her tone. You hum in response, already acknowledging that you won’t be eating until much later.

You part your lips, but nothing comes out. The words– small, aching truths– sink before they can breach the surface. You want to tell her about Kotone, the café, the study session, about needing something– anything– that’s yours. But you already know how it ends. She’ll push back, make it about her, “I want to spend time with you.” 

So you stay. 

Not because you want to. But because it’s easier than watching her vanish behind that silence again.

———

You stare at your screen hoping it was a glitch. A behind-the-scenes error. A mistyped number. Anything but what it was.

62%

Maybe Professor Park’s TA entered it wrong. Confusing 6 for a 9. Simple mistake, right?. Your screen dimmed– the auto-sleep. The universe’s way of cushioning the blow before it hits. You refresh the page, but nope—62%. 

Just a room away, Xinyu hums– off in her own world– stirring something in a pot. The scent of mushrooms, soy sauce, and spices you couldn’t name based on the smell alone floats into the room. It should be comforting.

Instead, it makes your stomach turn.

You glance at the grade again. Yep– still a 62. As if checking would somehow change it.

You stifle a chuckle. None of this is funny, but it feels  inevitable. You tried--paid attention in class. Jotted down everything Park and her TA emphasized. The material was just dense. That’s why you and Kotone started studying together. That’s why you got solid marks before. 

Maybe if you’d gone to the study session… but you stayed. With her. You convinced  yourself it was your decision to stay. You chose her. But still– maybe if you went.

A beat passed– long enough to feel the crushing weight of it all.

“Everything okay?” Xinyu calls from the kitchen, voice light, oblivious.

You tense up, “Yeah… just got the results from Park’s exam.”

“Oh? How’d you do?” she asked, a little too brightly. “You did well before, right?”

You hesitate. Not wanting to break the calm with the reality of what you’re avoiding.

The letters scramble in your mind, syllables stuck in your throat. “Got a… uh… 73,” you cough, clearing your throat, but it doesn’t sound like the truth. “Could’ve been worse.” 

A beat of stillness passes, long enough that it feels  like hours, making you wish you’d never answered.

“You’re right, it’s not too bad,” Xinyu replied, voice thinner now, a trace of something unreadable behind it. “I know you’ll do better next time.” 

You nodded, but the words cling to your skin. Only if it were that simple.

Xinyu walks into the room, holding two bowls– steam curling from each one. She hands you one with a gentle smile. Hot and sour soup. Of course. Your favorite. 

She playfully nudges your shoulder, her voice light, “Still proud of you, you know,” her eyes smiling too, but you can see the edge in them.

You return it, your smile automatic. “Thanks.” 

You take the bowl with both hands, grateful for something to steady them, but the warmth of the soup feels distant. The soup looks perfect– ribbons of eggs swirled around, mushrooms cut just how you like them, the vinegar stinging your nose, but it does little to calm the tension inside you.

You stir it absently, watching the broth swirl. 

“I think I’ll study with Kotone again tomorrow,” your tone kept deliberately casual, but there’s a sharpness in your chest. “Before the next exam.”

You don’t look at her, but you hear it: the sharp clink of ceramic as her bowl meets the table a little too quickly. The air grew thick, heavy with unspoken words.

“Oh,” she said. Just that. Her voice doesn’t crack or falter. It just… dulls. A subtle dimming.

She sits across from you. And there it is– silence, thick and unruly.

That jagged, restless shroud is back, crawling into the space between you. It dares you to speak, but you know nothing good would come– a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She doesn’t look up. Her lips are pressed tight, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from her soup. Her shoulders tense, just the slightest movement– a warning you can’t ignore.

It should have been a simple statement. Just a heads-up. Nothing more. But it’s never simple, not with Xinyu. The smallest things come loaded. Saying something even slightly off could trigger something you’d never see coming.

You watch her, spoon still circling your untouched bowl.  You open your mouth to say something, anything– to explain, to smooth it over. But your voice is snagged in your throat, caught between guilt, frustration, and something darker– boiling inside of you.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Rounding a 62 to a 73 was just a white lie– a little something to keep the peace. You didn’t want to lie, but telling the truth felt like asking for permission.

You want to say more: that you needed the study group. That the content is getting harder. That you can’t afford to fall behind. But the words twist in your chest, half-formed, impossible to release.

But you already know what silence feels like with her. How it can stretch for weeks, how it consumes your mind, how it makes you feel like you don’t belong in your own bed.

———

The sparsely populated café carries the unmistakable scent of fresh espresso. Soft chatter hums around you, interwoven with faint ambient music. Raindrops tap steadily against the windows helping to fill in the lulls. 

Of course it is raining. Still, you’re tucked in the corner of the café as planned with Kotone and the others. This is where you are supposed to make up for lost time, catching up on everything you missed, yet it feels like you are just going through the motions.

Everyone is in hoodies and sweats, slouched in their seats. You glance at Kotone, who is sitting beside you, frantically scribbling notes. Her bun unraveling by the word. Nakyoung, across from Kotone, seems more focused on curating the perfect study playlist than studying itself. Jiyeon, who sits across from you, was locked in– typing up a storm, whiteboarding, and reviewing videos. But you– you’re hoping the knowledge would enter your brain through osmosis, because at this point, you’re barely keeping your eyes open– let alone processing anything.

You skim the slides and texts, but nothing sticks. Nerve pathways mesh, names and connections knot together. What innervates what, where impulses travel– it all slid through like sand through a sieve.

Your mind drifts from anatomy to the messages you hadn’t opened. Four from Xinyu– two sent over an hour ago.

You didn’t have to read the messages to know: she wanted you home. Her words were always wrapped in a veil of neediness, soft but insistent. You’d only been here two hours, but the material already felt like gibberish– a puzzle with missing pieces.

You want to go home. Be with Xinyu. Ease the tension.

But you need to save your grade and this is one of the last chances to pull everything together before it all comes crashing down. Opening her messages would ruin your focus– pull you into guilt and worry. You can already picture them: clipped lines, halfway between guilt and affection.

You sink in a spiraling dread until Kotone pulls you out, calling your name.

“Hey,” she whispers– soft but direct– cutting through the fog. “You doing alright? You’ve been staring at that thing too long.” She nods toward the confusing diagram of the solar plexus, gaze soft but knowing.

You blink, caught between Xinyu’s unread messages and Kotone’s steady gaze. 

“Yeah...” you mutter, raking your hand through your hair. “I just can’t figure out which branch goes where.” A hollow excuse, but easier than the truth.

Kotone nods, not pressing. Her eyes flick toward your hand, still guarding your phone. Her expression softens, and she gives you a look– quiet, knowing, one that speaks volumes about what you haven’t said.

“Trouble with the solar plexus?” Jiyeon asks from across the table, pep in her voice.

You nod lightly after a beat, your voice sheepish. “All the branches keep blurring together.”

Jiyeon’s smile softens as she leans back, letting out a knowing sigh. “I get you– I didn’t get it at first either.” She slides a napkin between you two and begins sketching a network of lines. “I like to think of it as a tree,” Jiyeon says with a smile, voice easy and confident. “Everything starts from the celiac trunk…” 

She keeps talking, but her enthusiastic words fade into the background like a distant hum. The diagram swells with labels; branches overlapping, connections tangling. “Did you get that?” Jiyeon’s voice cutting through the noise.

You blink hard, forcing focus, before meeting Jiyeon’s expectant gaze. “I’d love to say yes… I liked how you explained it.” The words teetering between honesty and safety.

As Jiyeon prepares to launch into another explanation– one that would have flown over your head– your phone buzzes again. Your eyes dart toward your phone, your hand instinctively tightening your grip around it– a practiced subtlety. 

Maybe Jiyeon or Kotone notice:– you’re not sure– but Nakyoung speaks first. “Can we take a break?” she groans, head in her hands. “Whatever Jiyeon just said killed my motivation.” She sinks lower in her chair.

Jiyeon pouts. 

Cute

“I’m down for a break,” Kotone sighs, stretching. “Any more studying and I think I’ll end up like Naky.”

Nakyoung huffs, amused and exasperated. “You’re already halfway there, Tone~.”

You and Jiyeon laugh beneath your breath.

“You guys can take a break… I’ll keep studying,” Jiyeon says, flipping to a fresh page.

Nakyoung shoves her shoulder. “Cool off. We’ve been going for, like, four hours.”

“Two,” you correct. “But my brain’s leaking out my ears and nose, so yeah– break time.” You close your laptop; Kotone and Nakyoung follow suit.

The others turn to their phones. You fidget with your sleeves, watching rain streak down the window as if it might tell you something.

Your phone buzzes again. You keep your eyes on the rain, tracing its erratic paths– anything to avoid Xinyu’s messages. Even studying sounded better.

Kotone nudges your leg, nodding at your phone.

You don’t want to answer Xinyu. But if Kotone’s checking in… you’ll look.

Tone~ 🎶 1 new message (now)

Baobei ❤️🦊 7 new messages (7 minutes ago)

Disregarding your partner’s messages, you open Kotone’s chat.

Tone~ 🎶 anything interesting out there?

You nah just betting on which raindrop is gonna win

Tone~ 🎶 right… you doing okay? something happen?

Relief and guilt hit at once. Kotone always knows when something’s up with you and Xinyu. You consider brushing it off, but she’d get it out of you eventually.

You other than my mushy brain? yeah xinyu’s upset again

Tone~ 🎶 yeeeesh what happened this time

You this she didn’t like that i came out to study made me sleep on the couch last night 🥲

Tone~ 🎶 wow new low, even for her you okay?

You i guess alive, just tired barely talked last night or this morning she’s been texting me though

Your mind drifts to last night, after you told her you’d be studying. You tried to say something, but she left before you could finish. Locked herself in your room. You could hear the videos she was watching through your door– proof she was awake, just refusing to acknowledge you.

This morning, she stayed holed up. Door locked. Quiet. You knew she was awake from the message on your phone: have fun. The curt reply sent doubt through you.

Tone~ 🎶 what’s she been saying?

You the usual prob trying not to look

Tone~ 🎶 fair, don’t take it to heart you didn’t do anything wrong

You she thinks i did

Tone~ 🎶 well she’s wrong nothing wrong with you studying especially after last exam want me to talk to her?

Your chest tightens. You hate to admit it, but Kotone’s right. Some part of you knows this isn’t okay– but it’s the smaller part, drowned by all of your faulty rationalizations.

You it’s fine that’s just how she is i’ll just smooth it over take her somewhere nice

Tone~ 🎶 idk how you put up with that well i’m always here if you need to talk alright

You you were the one that introduced me to her 💀 thanks Tone

You feel a little lighter, though still weighed down by Xinyu– and the mountain of content you haven’t touched. Thanks to Kotone, you’re finally bring yourself to check Xinyu’s messages.

Baobei ❤️🦊

can you bring me food? (7 minutes ago)

did you eat? (1 hour ago)

are you okay? (1 hour ago)

i miss you 😢(2 hours ago)

who’s there? (2 hours ago)

when will you be back? (2 hours ago)

have fun. (8 hours ago)

Frustration wells inside of you. Why care now? Why does it matter who you’re with? You’re studying– that’s all that fucking matters.

Your eyes narrow, rereading Xinyu’s messages– maybe the tone of the texts will magically change. You read between each text in the notification preview, it’s still the same: Clingy, accusatory, and controlling. 

Your finger hovers over the texts. You could reply, smooth it over. But fuck, a resentment you never realized was boiling inside of you. 

Your breath quickens, heat rising in your face. Streams of texts, fueled by years of pent up enmity, flashes through your mind– your truth. You imagine firing back– confessing the truth of her subtle manipulations, how much you’ve had to sacrifice for her sake, how fed up you are with her bullshit, and tell her about everything you’ve buried. 

Like that night she sat in the dark, waiting for you after a group project.

Her words were a searing blow to your mental. “You forgot me,” she had said, sadness dripping from her voice.

You hadn’t. You texted her updates. Told her when you’d get home. That you’d be late. You even offered to step out of the group for a moment to call her.

When she said those three words, you were livid. But the way she said it, so softly, so sadly, you believed you did forget her. Then, she smiled. The kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve already lost– even though you did nothing wrong. You spent days making it up to her, but she never let you forget.

You think about how often that’s happened. The soft hurt in her voice. The subtle rewrites in your memory. The way she makes you question your own intentions– had you forgotten her? Had you been selfish? You never really knew.

You still don’t.

You exhale, jaw aching from how hard you’d clenched it. The edge of your anger dulls into something else. Something heavier.

You don’t know when it happened, but your phone died. 

At first, you stare at the black screen, thumb hovering like it still expects to scroll.

No buzzing. No text previews. No Xinyu.

For a moment, the world is quiet– rain pattering against glass, the low clamor of the café. Serene.

But the calm doesn’t last long. Your mind catches up. 

She’s going to think I’m ignoring her

That I did this on purpose 

She’s probably already upset– thinking I chose studying over her

You wait for the panic– that familiar ache in your chest. It never comes. And maybe, for once, that’s okay.

You tuck your phone in your bag and for a while you pretend to study. Underlining a phrase you’ve read over 12 times by now. It still hasn’t stuck. 

———

Hours pass. The sun is about to fall below the horizon, illuminating the clouds in a dusky orange. It’s still raining. More of a drizzle now, but still– it’s raining.

The four of you are still tucked in the corner of the café, noticeably emptier now. To your surprise, you actually managed to make headway in actually understanding the content. 

As always, Nakyoung is the first to speak, “Call it here?” 

Kotone stretches her arms above her head, letting out a soft groan that draws a half-smile from Jiyeon. “I think my brain is officially fried,” Kotone says, her voice light but exhaustion evident. 

Jiyeon closes her notebook with more caution than necessary. “We did good today,” she murmurs.

You nod, though your eyes wander toward the window. You trace the streaks of the drizzle that blurs the headlights of cars passing by. You imagine yourself out there– walking, basking in the rain, moisture clinging to your hair and clothes. 

Nakyoung is already packing her things, efficient as ever. “Before it gets dark, yeah?” she suggests, but waits for the others to move first.

Neither Kotone or Jiyeon get up. An awkward pause persists. There’s comfort in this pause. A fleeting pocket of normalcy you didn’t realize you were craving. 

Kotone leans toward you, her shoulder brushing against yours. “Glad you found your focus,” she comments warmly. “Think you’re cooked?” 

“Me too.” you reply. “Hopefully not. Everything started to kinda make sense toward the end.” You turn toward Jiyeon, “Thanks by the way, for explaining everything.”

Your comment elicits a gummy smile from Jiyeon. She ducks her head, almost embarrassed, and busies herself tucking stray stationary back into her case.

Kotone lets out a breathy laugh, her voice carrying a cadence that makes everything sound lighter. “Honestly, I’d be lost without Jiyeon too.” “Same,” Nakyoung chimes in, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “But– I didn’t say that.” 

That earns a ripple of laughter– delicate, tired, but real. The kind of laughter that feels unforced, like a stitch pulling something frayed back together, even if it's just for a moment. You savor it.

“Bus stop?” Jiyeon finally suggests breaking the lull.

The group stirs, Kotone and Nakyoung slide out from the booth. You and Jiyeon follow in tow. 

Nakyoung and Jiyeon head toward the door while you and Kotone trail behind them, several paces behind. “I’m glad you made it. Seems like you needed this.”

———

The lock clicks, and you’re inside.

The air inside is thick, heavy— like the drizzle still clinging to your clothes from the sandwich store. You close the door behind you as you step in, the petrichor from the outside still fresh on your nose. 

Déjà vu. Dread. Xinyu is on the couch. In the dark. Face softly illuminated by her phone. Her eyes, sharp, trained on you.

Xinyu’s voice cuts through the darkness. “Where were you?”

You hold up the paper bag. “I was getting some food for us,” you say quietly, setting it on the counter.“From that sandwich place you like.” Even as you speak, it feels performative something you’re supposed to do.

She doesn’t pay any mind to it. “I didn’t ask what you brought. I asked where you were.” 

You slide your damp shoes off, feigning steadiness in your voice. “At the café. With Kotone, Jiyeon, and Nakyoung. Studying, like I said I would.”

Xinyu’s eyes narrow, staring daggers into you. “Then why didn’t you answer me? Do you know how many times I called? Texted?”

You inhale slowly, bracing for the words to collapse as they leave your mouth. “My phone died,” is all you’re able to muster. 

It's the truth.

Silence hangs. Then she lets out a dry laugh. “Convenient. So convenient.” Xinyu scoffs again, sharper this time. “You expect me to believe that your phone was dead… all afternoon?”

“It’s the truth,” you blurt out with more of an edge than intended. “It just happened… I’m sorry.” 

You feel yourself crumble under her gaze. The stillness itself accusing you. She’s studying you– parsing every word, deciphering the meaning only she could find, and how to weaponize it.

“So– you’re telling me that your phone dies. And you didn’t think to charge it?” 

You delay your response, lips parting but no words come out. Your answer doesn’t matter, it’s just fuel to the fire.

Her eyes glint in the faint glow of her phone, tilting her head. “What kind of person just lets their phone die?” she presses. “It’s not hard, plug it in. Text me back. Keep me from worrying.”

That last word doesn’t land right. Its meaning warped, twisted to fit her definition.

“I didn’t have my charger,” you admit reluctantly. You set your belongings on one of your chairs. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

The couch cushions rustle as Xinyu leans back, her eyes leaving you briefly to check her phone. She lets the silence drag again, suffocating. You wish she would yell– at least then you'd have a reason to retaliate.

“And Kotone, Jiyeon, and Nakyoung…” she spits their names like curses, clicking her tongue after each one. “I bet they kept you busy enough to forget I existed.”

Each name lands like a punch to the gut. Poisoning the laughter, the café, the normalcy. Saturating it with shame.

A heat rises in your face. The room muffles around you, sound dampening, blurring around the edges.

Xinyu says more, her tone sharp, but the words bleed together– static, unintelligible noise that refuses to resolve into meaning. You catch fragments, parts of syllables that dissolve before you comprehend them.

You try to listen, but your ears ring. Your throat tightens, then relaxes. Somehow words leave your mouth– meaning lost on you. The words don’t feel like yours.

Whatever you said, it’s enough. Through the blur you watch Xinyu lean back, her expression softening. 

The pattern repeats: Xinyu speaks, her words dissolve into noise, a voice that isn’t yours replies, and Xinyu likes it.

Amidst your muddled mind, one thought surfaces: This isn’t fair. 

None of this is fair. These one-sided “compromises.”  How Xinyu comes first. Fair would be a simple conversation: you go out to study, nothing more. No push back. Never this.

A crippling cloud of silence looms over you two, deliberate and thick. Xinyu sets her phone down on the couch beside her. A  click. 

The lamp in the corner floods the room with dusky orange– false sunlight, like the after-storm glow you want to believe in. 

The silence stretches, stranding you with your thoughts on a sinking ship. You imagine yourself out there: soaked in rain, walking, following the streetlights. The thought soothes you— for a moment

Xinyu shifts in the couch– her posture straightening slightly, brushing hair from her face. Her eyes meet yours. “I missed you~” she coos with a saccharine smile.

The sharpness recedes as if it never existed. She pats the cushion beside her, “Come here, you had a long day.” 

Your body doesn’t move at first, still wandering through fictional downpours. The paper bag still sits on the counter, the scent of fresh bread and vinegar somehow sharper in the orange light. You think about leaving it there. Leaving this. 

“Don’t be difficult,” she teases. “I just missed you, that’s all,” as if that’s a good enough excuse.

Xinyu extends her hand toward you, and for a moment the dusky light lands just right, the softness of her features catching you off guard.  She’s ethereal, otherworldly— a world you don’t belong in. You’re supposed to perform: Admire, submit, forgive.

And so you do, just like all the times before.

You hate that you do.

You resign yourself to sink into the cushion beside Xinyu. Immediately, she rests her head on your shoulder, her fingers weaving with yours, like it’s meant to be there. 

“I missed you too, baobei,” you reply, the words slitting your tongue on the way out.. 

“You smell like rain,” she murmurs. Her breath brushing against your collarbone. “I like it on you.”

You can only hum in response.

Xinyu  keeps talking— likely about her day— but the words skim past you.

Eventually, she lays her head on your lap, her breathing evening into sleep.

Your gaze roams around the room: tracing the ceiling, counting books, cataloguing anything to distract yourself from the crushing silence.

A clock ticks faintly from another room. The fridge continues to drone on. Rain taps on the window in uneven rhythms. Time continues as you remain rooted in place.

The orange lamplight stains everything in false warmth. The table frozen in time, a bowl of cold hot and sour soup left untouched. The paper bag leaking the sharp tang of vinegar. 

Silence thickens all around it all, oppressive, and crushing. You take each breath with caution, weary that you might wake Xinyu up.