The night deepened around them, the soft hum of cicadas blending into the faint rustle of leaves. The world outside the balcony was wrapped in a gentle darkness, but on that narrow strip of space, illuminated only by the dim light spilling from the living room, everything felt clearer — brighter, even.
Liyun held her sketchbook to her chest, her fingers curling tight around its worn edges as though it could anchor her trembling heart. Mingchen hadn't said anything about the hand sketch after handing it back, but the way his thumb had lingered on the paper — the way his expression had softened, unreadable yet tender — it replayed in her mind on a loop.
He didn't tease her like Yichen would have. Didn't ask her why she'd drawn his hand so carefully, so intimately. He'd simply acknowledged it and let it be. And somehow, that made her heart twist even tighter.
Beside her, Mingchen sipped quietly from a can of soda — the same brand he always drank, the one Yichen stocked just for him. His profile was calm, almost serene, with the faintest upward curve at the corner of his lips. It was a look Liyun had seen countless times, yet somehow, tonight, it made her chest ache.
"Do you draw every day?" His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if he didn't want to shatter the fragile atmosphere they'd built.
"Not every day," Liyun replied softly. "Only when I feel like I have something I want to remember."
Mingchen turned his head slightly, his dark eyes flickering with something curious. "Like what?"
She hesitated, the words tangling on the tip of her tongue. You. But she couldn't say that. It was too raw, too close to the truth she'd kept locked away for so long.
"Just… little things," she said instead. "The view from the bus stop, Xinyi's hair when she braids it, my mom's dumplings."
"And hands?" His voice was teasing, but only just — gentle enough that she couldn't tell if he was fishing for something more.
Liyun's cheeks heated. "Hands are hard to draw," she mumbled. "I need practice."
Mingchen didn't press. Instead, he stretched out his own hand, fingers relaxed, palm up, resting casually against the railing between them. "You can practice with mine anytime."
It was the kind of comment he might have made to anyone — Yichen's kid sister, a little girl who'd once chased after him with missing teeth and pigtails. But the way he said it now, soft and deliberate, made her heart lurch painfully.
"Okay," she whispered, but she didn't reach for his hand.
They stood there in silence again, the unspoken words swirling between them, filling the air with possibilities neither dared to name.
After a while, Mingchen tilted his head back, staring up at the sky. "I used to think I had everything figured out," he said quietly. "When I was your age, I thought once I got into university, life would make sense. But it doesn't. Not really."
Liyun turned to face him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. Mingchen was always so easygoing, the one who cracked jokes at the dinner table and never seemed fazed by anything. Hearing him admit uncertainty felt… oddly intimate.
"I think it's okay not to have everything figured out," she said softly. "As long as you're not alone."
Mingchen's gaze slid to her, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "You're pretty wise for a high schooler."
"I read a lot." She smiled faintly. "Mostly romance novels."
That made him chuckle, a low, warm sound that settled somewhere deep in her chest. "Romance novels, huh? Should I be worried?"
"About what?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"That you'll compare every guy you meet to some fictional prince."
Liyun's heart thudded painfully against her ribs. There's no prince. There's only you.
"I don't need a prince," she said quietly. "I just want someone who feels… right."
Mingchen didn't reply immediately, but his expression shifted — something unreadable flickering across his face before he looked away. "That's a pretty good standard."
They stayed there like that, side by side, with no barriers between them except the ones they were too scared to break.
The sound of Yichen's voice calling for Mingchen broke the spell. Liyun stepped back instinctively, the sudden distance between them colder than the night air.
"Coming!" Mingchen called back, but he didn't move right away.
He turned back to Liyun, hesitating for a second longer than necessary. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"If you ever feel lost," he said softly, "you can talk to me. Even if it's about dumb romance novels."
Liyun's throat tightened. "Okay."
And then he was gone, slipping back into the warm chaos of the living room, leaving her alone on the balcony with nothing but the faint scent of his shampoo and the quiet thudding of her own heart.
---
The next day was the same — and different.
Mingchen didn't treat her any differently, but there was something gentler in the way he spoke to her, something softer in the way he smiled. He ruffled her hair absentmindedly as he passed by, the same way he'd always done, but his fingers lingered just a heartbeat longer than usual.
And Liyun, caught between hope and fear, didn't know what to do with that.
The summer heat gradually gave way to autumn's cooler breeze. School started again, and Liyun buried herself in textbooks and practice exams, telling herself it was better this way — better to focus on things she could control.
But Mingchen was always there.
Sometimes at their house, sometimes just a passing figure in the hallway when he came to pick up Yichen for a basketball game. And sometimes, on rare nights when the world felt quieter than usual, he'd find her on the balcony again.
They didn't always talk. Sometimes they just stood there, watching the sky or listening to the distant hum of the city. But those moments — those quiet, stolen moments — became something precious.
A secret just for the two of them.
One Friday night, when Yichen and Mingchen were watching a movie, Liyun brought them snacks. Yichen barely glanced up, but Mingchen gave her a quiet smile — the kind of smile that felt like a thank you and something more.
She lingered by the door for a second longer than necessary, her heart pounding in her chest. Mingchen's gaze followed her as she left, and even though nothing was said, it felt like everything was.
---
That night, Liyun lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, her heart caught between hope and fear.
Mingchen was still her brother's best friend.
She was still just his best friend's little sister.
But the way he looked at her now — with something softer, something warmer — made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, she wasn't the only one whose feelings had started to shift.
(End of chapter)
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— Author of 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡