Part 2: The Breaking Point
He remembered just yesterday, when Jiang Jin had placed an unopened box of imported chocolates—ones he hadn't even eaten himself—on Gu Xun's desk. His voice had been unusually gentle: "Liangzi, you've been staying up late. Thought you could use a boost."
Gu Xun, wearing headphones, had barely nodded.
Lu Zhao had watched it all, that same vague discomfort rising again. This isn't normal. Guys didn't act like this—not with other guys. That look in Jiang Jin's eyes, that careful tone, that quiet, persistent giving…
A wave of irritation surged in him. He didn't want to examine what felt "off." He just wanted to get away from it.
"What's wrong?" Gu Xun's cool voice cut through his thoughts.
Lu Zhao snapped back to the present. Gu Xun was looking at him, those always-calm eyes tinged with curiosity.
"N-nothing," Lu Zhao stammered, ducking his head and typing random gibberish into his document. His cheeks burned. He felt like he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to—like a trespasser in someone else's private world.
I'm overthinking this, he told himself. Jiang Jin's just… considerate.
But even he didn't believe it.
"I'm done. Heading back," Lu Zhao said abruptly, slamming his laptop shut with a speed that bordered on panic. He needed space—needed to get away from this strange, suffocating atmosphere.
Gu Xun glanced at his nearly blank screen, then at Lu Zhao's flushed face. His brow furrowed slightly, but he only said, "Okay."
Lu Zhao all but fled the library. The afternoon sun was hot, but his back felt cold.
Back at the dorm, Lu Zhao found himself alone. Jiang Jin was off training, and their elusive fourth roommate was nowhere to be found.
He looked around the room he'd lived in for two years and felt a wave of discomfort. Gu Xun's bed was immaculate, his bookshelf lined with foreign-language texts Lu Zhao couldn't even identify. The air carried that same crisp, clean scent—but now it made Lu Zhao feel restless, like he didn't belong.
He took a deep breath and walked to his wardrobe, pulling open the bottom drawer.
He began sorting through clothes he rarely wore, folding them neatly and placing them on the bed. As he moved, his elbow brushed against one of Gu Xun's hanging shirts—perfectly ironed, pristine. Lu Zhao recoiled instinctively, then pushed the shirt aside like it had stung him.
The thought was clear now: I need to move out.
Before things got even more uncomfortable.
He grabbed his phone and started scrolling through campus housing ads, fingers flying with a kind of urgency.
He'd made up his mind. Within the next few days, he'd find a place and leave. He needed to escape this vortex of confusion and unease.
Frustrated, he closed the rental page and tossed his phone onto the bed. He scanned the room—once familiar, now claustrophobic—and just wanted out.
But when he closed his eyes, Gu Xun's quiet profile in the library sunlight, and Jiang Jin's overly gentle gaze, flashed in his mind. They alternated like scenes from a film. And Lu Zhao realized: there was nowhere to run.
Because what unsettled him wasn't the room—it was the people in it. And more than that, it was the private, unspoken ripple they'd stirred in him. One he couldn't name, couldn't face, and couldn't ignore.