Monday, 8:02 a.m.The office felt wrong.
Not chaotic. Not noisy. Just... wrong.
Zhao Xinyi walked in wearing Zhou Yichen's black jacket — not on purpose, of course. It was just the nearest thing when she left. Totally not significant. Definitely not because it felt weirdly comforting.
She folded it neatly on his desk before anyone could see.
But he wasn't there.
Odd. Zhou Yichen didn't do late.
When he finally walked in, two hours later, his hair was a mess and his expression unreadable — the kind of unreadable that made her stomach twist.
"Meeting in ten," he said without looking at her.
No smirk. No sarcastic jab. Not even a glance at the jacket.
That's when she knew something was off.
Later, in the Meeting Room
Yichen sat across from her, arms folded, jaw clenched. Yiyi presented the finalized campaign. People nodded. It was good. Objectively good.
Still, Yichen said nothing.
Until the very end.
"This feels... safe," he said. Cold. Flat.
Yiyi's head snapped up. "Safe?"
"You played it smart," he continued. "Too smart. Where's the fire you usually throw at me?"
Everyone else awkwardly avoided eye contact.
Yiyi, furious now, stood. "You asked for this! You tore apart my last pitch. You ignored half of my input. You literally said 'No love songs' — and now you're mad it isn't loud enough?"
"I'm not mad."
"Well, you're not happy."
He stood too. "Maybe I expected more from someone who thinks sarcasm is a personality."
Silence. Thick. Unforgiving.
She laughed once, but it cracked at the edges. "You know what's worse than sarcasm? Acting like you don't feel anything, when clearly — you do."
He flinched. Just barely. But she saw it.
"You say nothing," she whispered, voice breaking. "But somehow it's always too much."
And with that, she turned and walked out.
Later That Night
Yichen sat alone in his apartment, staring at the jacket she'd left behind. Her perfume still clung to the collar. Something bright and sharp, like her.
He'd told himself distance was smart. Safe. Necessary.
So why did he feel like the air had been knocked out of his chest the moment she walked away?
He reached for his phone. Then stopped. Then put it down.
Then picked it up again.
And finally typed:
Zhao Xinyi.You're right.I say nothing.Because I don't know how to say what I actually want to.But I'm trying.
He stared at the message.Deleted it.Typed again:
Tomorrow. Coffee? Just us.
Sent.