The second day of the new semester arrived with a damp chill that clung to the morning air. The gingko trees lining the school gate were now a shade deeper in yellow, their leaves trembling slightly as the breeze passed. Students filed in, clutching umbrellas against the lingering drizzle, voices rising in a mixture of excitement and groggy complaints.
Inside Class 2A, Yichen was already at his seat, as usual. He had arrived early, his bag meticulously arranged beside him, textbooks stacked in perfect order. Even the pencil case lay flat, aligned with the edge of the desk as if resisting any intrusion. Order, predictability, quiet—they were shields, and Yichen depended on them.
He didn't notice Zhao Rui until the classroom door slammed open with that familiar, loud thud.
"Good morning!" Zhao Rui's voice rang through the room like a bell. A few students turned, eyebrows raised, some groaning softly.
Yichen's hand paused mid-note, his head tilting slightly, a flicker of irritation surfacing.
Zhao Rui strode in, hair messy, tie crooked, bag swinging carelessly. He winked at a friend near the door, laughing loudly at something Yichen couldn't hear. That laugh—bright, unapologetic, and booming—made Yichen's teeth grit.
He turned back to his notebook, trying to ignore it. But the noise was persistent.
"Li Yichen!" Zhao Rui called suddenly, loud enough to make heads turn. "Did you see the cafeteria menu today? They finally added dumplings!"
Yichen lowered his pen, expression flat. "I do not need to see it."
Zhao Rui laughed again, the sound rolling over the desks, impossible to ignore. He leaned over Yichen's shoulder, pointing at the textbook in front of him.
"Still studying physics problems? You must be exhausted by now."
"I am not," Yichen replied evenly, keeping his eyes on the formulas.
"Come on, lighten up a little. Life isn't just about equations and top scores." Zhao Rui nudged Yichen lightly.
Yichen flinched at the contact, his spine stiffening. He removed his notebook slightly, creating a small barrier. "I prefer quiet."
"Quiet? That's boring." Zhao Rui grinned, unbothered by Yichen's glare. "You're way too serious, Li Yichen. Don't you ever just… exist without a plan?"
"I exist precisely because of a plan," Yichen said, voice cool and clipped.
Zhao Rui sat back, eyes glinting with amusement. "I see. So you're the kind of person who schedules breathing too?"
Yichen's jaw tightened. The classroom, once a haven of calm, felt suddenly invasive. Zhao Rui's presence was… loud, unavoidable, chaotic.
When the teacher entered to start the morning lesson, Zhao Rui leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, smirking at Yichen as if daring him to react. Yichen didn't. He focused on the board, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Halfway through class, Zhao Rui's leg began to bounce under the desk, tapping a rapid rhythm against the floor. The sound made Yichen's teeth clench. He tried to tune it out, counting silently in his head, but the constant rhythm became intrusive, like a metronome set to tease him.
"Why are you moving like that?" Yichen whispered sharply, not wanting to disturb the class yet unable to hold it in.
Zhao Rui looked up, grinning, eyes playful. "Moving? Me? I'm just… stretching."
"Stretching makes noise." Yichen's whisper was tight, precise, almost a reprimand.
"Noise makes life interesting," Zhao Rui countered softly, still smirking.
Yichen exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had half a mind to ignore him completely, but that small, infuriating grin made it impossible.
By mid-morning, the clash between order and chaos became palpable. Zhao Rui leaned over Yichen's desk again, this time tapping a pen against the edge of the table in a rhythm that seemed designed to test his patience.
"Seriously, can you not?" Yichen hissed, voice low but firm.
Zhao Rui tilted his head. "Or what?"
Yichen's eyes flicked to him, cold and steady. "Or I will continue ignoring you."
Zhao Rui laughed quietly. "Ignoring me? That's… new." He leaned back, hands behind his head, still grinning. "You know, I like a challenge."
Yichen turned back to the board, jaw tight, chest stiff. Every muscle in him was on alert, resisting the pull of curiosity that Zhao Rui seemed to trigger. He did not want to be curious. Curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity made rules meaningless.
"Li Yichen," Zhao Rui whispered at the edge of the lesson, leaning over just enough to catch his attention without the teacher noticing. "You're too perfect. I can't figure you out."
"I am not for figuring out," Yichen replied, tone sharp, eyes narrowed.
Zhao Rui shrugged, smirk unbroken. "Fine. But I will. Eventually."
The words lingered, more a promise than a threat, and Yichen felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest. He hated that.
During break, Yichen sat alone, carefully spacing his notebooks, adjusting his pens, seeking refuge in ritual. But Zhao Rui appeared anyway, carrying two bottles of tea, plopping one on Yichen's desk with a grin.
"You need a break," he said brightly.
"I do not need your tea," Yichen replied flatly.
"You might not need it, but you deserve it," Zhao Rui countered, leaning back in his chair. "I insist."
Yichen's eyes flicked up, annoyance flashing. "I do not need insisting either."
Zhao Rui leaned closer, elbows on the desk. "Then I'll insist quietly."
Impossible, Yichen thought, jaw tightening. Quietly was not Zhao Rui's style. He opened his mouth to argue further but stopped. Words felt trivial next to Zhao Rui's persistent, unyielding presence.
The rest of the morning passed in a push-and-pull of subtle confrontations: Zhao Rui moving his chair closer, tapping pens, whispering questions that didn't need answers, and Yichen responding with precise, measured resistance.
By the time lunch rolled around, Yichen's patience was frayed. He packed his bag with methodical swiftness, intent on leaving without incident. Zhao Rui, however, had other ideas.
"Come on," Zhao Rui said, sidling up to him. "You can't escape me forever."
"I will leave alone," Yichen said, tone final, eyes straight ahead.
Zhao Rui chuckled softly. "You could, or you could walk with me and pretend it's an accident?"
Yichen's hands tightened on the straps of his bag. "I do not pretend."
Zhao Rui shrugged, grinning, completely unbothered by the rejection. "Then consider it fate. I walk fast. Keep up, Li Yichen."
Yichen exhaled slowly, irritation coiling tightly around his chest. And yet… as they stepped out into the courtyard, he found himself unconsciously adjusting his pace to match Zhao Rui's.
The rain had stopped, leaving the air sharp and cool, with puddles reflecting the gray sky. Students clustered in groups, laughing and chatting, while Yichen walked silently, rigid, alert to every sound Zhao Rui made. Zhao Rui, meanwhile, hummed a soft tune, swinging his bag carelessly, completely oblivious—or perhaps entirely aware—of the storm he stirred in Yichen's carefully ordered world.
Yichen hated it. He hated the noise, the chaos, the intrusion.
And yet, he could not stop noticing.
As the afternoon sun broke through lingering clouds, casting long, warm rays across the courtyard, the tension between them settled into a fragile rhythm. Zhao Rui's presence was like a current beneath the surface—loud, unpredictable, and utterly impossible to ignore.
Yichen resisted it with everything he had.
But a small, reluctant part of him—one he refused to name or acknowledge—wondered how long he could keep resisting.