The soft creak of the balcony door sliding shut signaled the end of their brief moment alone, but the warmth of Mingchen's quiet presence beside her lingered long after he returned to the living room. Liyun stayed behind, leaning against the railing, her fingers curling slightly as if still holding the invisible thread of connection they had shared through that borrowed can of soda.
It was moments like this — fleeting and subtle — that filled her scrapbook of memories, even if she never actually pasted them down. There were no photos of them together, no candid shots she could glue onto the pages with cute captions, but every glance, every word, every accidental touch was archived in her heart with painstaking precision.
When she finally went back inside, the living room was a lively mess — Yichen and his friends sprawled across the couch, controllers in hand, shouting over each other about game strategies. The coffee table was covered in empty snack wrappers, bowls of sunflower seeds, and soda cans (one of which was still faintly cold from the balcony air).
Liyun slipped past them, hoping to sneak back to her room unnoticed.
"Xiao Yun!" Yichen's voice caught her halfway up the stairs. "You didn't say goodnight."
She paused, caught in his brotherly trap, and turned back reluctantly. "Goodnight."
"Come sit for a bit," Yichen said, patting the empty spot beside him. "Mingchen's here — you love annoying him, don't you?"
The teasing was casual, but Liyun's heart jumped to her throat. She couldn't very well refuse without making it obvious, so she shuffled over and perched at the edge of the couch. Far away from Mingchen, but still close enough to feel the edges of his presence.
Mingchen glanced up from his phone, his smile small but warm. "Goodnight, Xiao Yun."
Her cheeks flushed, but she smiled back. "Goodnight."
Yichen, oblivious to the undercurrent between them, tossed a sunflower seed at her. "What are you blushing for?"
"I'm not!" she yelped, and Mingchen's soft chuckle made her want to disappear into the couch cushions entirely.
Mom came by a moment later, gathering empty bowls and cups. "Don't keep everyone up too late, Yichen. And Mingchen — don't forget to grab some scallion pancakes to take home."
"Thank you, Auntie," Mingchen said politely, and Liyun's heart flipped again at how naturally he fit into her family.
When she finally escaped to her room, her hands trembled as she reached for her journal — not the public scrapbook she showed her friends, but her private one. The one no one knew about. The one filled with pages dedicated to Xu Mingchen.
She flipped to a fresh page and dated the top corner.
"Today, Mingchen handed me a soda. It was just a can, but his fingers brushed mine for half a second. It's embarrassing how happy that made me."
She doodled a tiny can beside the words, adding a speech bubble that said: Relax, I've got you.
Her heart ached a little — not in sadness, but in the tender, bittersweet way that only a first love could ache.
---
The days slipped into a familiar rhythm after that. School, dinner, Yichen's friends crowding the living room, and Mingchen's steady presence threading through it all. Sometimes, Liyun barely spoke to him — just a shy "hello" or a polite "goodnight" — but her awareness of him never dulled.
Spring gave way to early summer, and with it came longer days, cicada songs, and the unmistakable feeling that something was shifting. Maybe it was just her — growing older, feeling more aware of how her heart sped up around him. Or maybe it was something in the way Mingchen's gaze lingered on her a little longer than before.
It was hard to tell.
One humid evening, the family gathered for hotpot night — a Zhao household tradition whenever exams ended and the promise of summer vacation loomed ahead. The table was a riot of colors — thinly sliced meats, fresh vegetables, homemade dipping sauces — and the air was thick with laughter.
Liyun sat between her mother and Xinyi, who had somehow invited herself over after hearing that Mingchen would be there. Xinyi was not subtle. She nudged Liyun's elbow every time Mingchen spoke, whispering things like "He's so mature" and "Look at his hands, though."
"Stop it!" Liyun hissed under her breath, her face burning hotter than the bubbling pot.
Across the table, Mingchen was rolling up his sleeves, preparing to fight Yichen for the last piece of beef. The veins in his forearms shifted as he moved, and Liyun couldn't help but glance down at her own hands — small, soft, nothing like his.
"Xiao Yun, pass me the tofu?" Mingchen's voice pulled her from her spiral.
She nearly knocked over her drink again in her hurry to hand it to him. Their fingers brushed — again — and her stomach did a full flip. It was becoming a pattern, these small accidental touches that left her giddy and flustered all at once.
"Thanks," he said, his smile gentle.
"No problem," she mumbled, too soft for anyone but him to hear.
The night stretched on, warm and noisy and perfect. When the hotpot was reduced to broth and the plates were mostly empty, Yichen and his friends declared a trip to the nearby convenience store for ice cream. Liyun, full and sleepy, stayed behind to help her mom with dishes.
To her surprise, Mingchen lingered too.
"Here," he said, rolling up his sleeves even further and taking the dishcloth from her hands. "I'll wash. You dry."
Her heart stuttered again, but she didn't argue. Side by side at the sink, the space between them felt small — not uncomfortable, just… new.
The warm water ran over both their hands as they worked, the sound of clinking plates filling the silence. Occasionally, their elbows bumped, and every time, Liyun felt like she might actually dissolve into bubbles.
"You're quieter than usual tonight," Mingchen said after a while.
"Am I?" she tried to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her nervousness.
He glanced sideways at her, his smile half-hidden. "Yeah. Usually you're bickering with Yichen or yelling at Xinyi."
"I'm just tired," she said quickly.
"Hmm." He didn't press, but his gaze lingered just a second too long.
When the last dish was placed on the rack, Liyun wiped her hands on a towel, already planning her escape to her room before her heart could give her away.
"Xiao Yun," Mingchen's voice stopped her at the door.
She turned back, pulse racing.
"Goodnight," he said, the same gentle smile softening his features.
"Goodnight," she whispered, the warmth in her chest blooming a little bigger.
It was only a few words — ordinary, really — but to Zhao Liyun, it felt like the start of something that might, one day, become extraordinary.