December brought biting winds and the pressure of final exams, sweeping across campus in tandem. The library was packed, study rooms lit deep into the night, and even the usually lively basketball courts had fallen silent. In Dorm 302, a quiet mix of anxiety and fatigue began to settle in.
Lu Zhao was staring at a textbook on Data Structures and Algorithms, struggling to make sense of red-black trees that looked more like a tangled mess of thorns. Frustrated, he raked his fingers through his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gu Xun across the room—calm as ever under the desk lamp, fingers dancing across the keyboard, lines of code multiplying on the screen with astonishing speed. He seemed completely absorbed, deaf to the world around him.
Just then, the door opened. Jiang Jin stepped in, trailing the chill of the outdoors. He carried three paper bags, the familiar logo marking them as from the campus café.
"Supplies have arrived!" His voice was still loud, but slightly more subdued than usual. He placed one bag on Lu Zhao's desk. "Your Americano, double sugar, right?"
Lu Zhao gratefully accepted the cup, momentarily freed from algorithmic despair. "Thanks, Jiang Jin. I needed this."
Jiang Jin smiled, then picked up another bag and walked toward Gu Xun. His steps were slower than usual, his smile tinged with something tentative. He didn't place the cup directly on Gu Xun's desk like he used to. Instead, he stopped a step away and said in a neutral tone, "Gu Xun, brought you a hot latte. No sugar."
Gu Xun's fingers paused briefly on the keyboard. He didn't look up. "No need. Thanks," he said flatly.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Lu Zhao, holding his warm cup, felt his palms start to sweat. He noticed Jiang Jin's smile falter for a fraction of a second before returning to normal.
"Just leave it here. Drink it if you want." Jiang Jin placed the bag gently on the edge of Gu Xun's desk—close enough to be his, but not intrusive. Then he turned, grabbed his own cup, and took a long gulp, as if trying to swallow something heavier than coffee.
Lu Zhao watched the scene unfold, and that familiar sense of "something's off" crept back in. If this were just brotherly camaraderie, Jiang Jin would've joked about the rejection or insisted playfully. But this—this quiet persistence, this carefully masked disappointment—felt unfamiliar. He shook his head, pushed the thought aside, and dove back into the maze of red-black trees. Finals came first. These little details weren't worth overthinking.
But similar moments kept happening.
One time, after pulling two consecutive all-nighters for a project review, Gu Xun returned to the dorm pale and hollow-eyed. He collapsed onto his bed without even changing clothes, falling asleep instantly.
Lu Zhao was studying when it happened, and felt a twinge of concern. A while later, Jiang Jin came back from training. Seeing Gu Xun asleep, he immediately softened his steps. He frowned, stared at Gu Xun for a few seconds, then left the room. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with a carton of milk and a pack of soda crackers, placing them gently on Gu Xun's nightstand.
Lu Zhao watched the whole thing, and that strange feeling returned. The care was… too precise, too focused. But maybe Jiang Jin was just being thoughtful. Gu Xun did look terrible.
When Gu Xun woke up and saw the items, he paused. He said nothing, didn't touch them—just picked up his water bottle and took a sip. Jiang Jin was in the room, too. He saw the reaction, and his eyes dimmed for a moment before he casually resumed whatever he was doing.
Lu Zhao took it all in. The questions in his mind multiplied. He could no longer explain Jiang Jin's behavior as simple "brotherly loyalty." The consistent, targeted gestures—and the way they continued even after being ignored—hinted at something deeper. Something more persistent.
What truly puzzled Lu Zhao came after a group discussion for a programming class. The assignment was tough, and students could form their own teams. Lu Zhao had assumed Jiang Jin would try to join Gu Xun's group, or at least discuss teaming up. But Jiang Jin didn't. He quickly formed a group with some basketball buddies who were decent coders.
During a break, Jiang Jin leaned over to Lu Zhao and asked quietly, "How's your group doing? Gu Xun's side… all good?"
His tone carried a subtle concern—clearly directed at Gu Xun.
Lu Zhao blinked. "You didn't team up with him?"
Jiang Jin shrugged, his smile a little strained. "He's on another level. We'd just slow him down. Besides… I don't think he'd want to." That last sentence was barely audible, tinged with self-mockery.
Lu Zhao watched Jiang Jin walk back to his group and suddenly understood. Jiang Jin hadn't given up—he'd just accepted the impossibility and chosen to step back. That kind of "knowing your place" felt even more off. It wasn't like the Jiang Jin he knew—the one who always charged forward, no matter the odds.
Finals surged like rising tides, drowning out personal emotions. Everyone was fighting their own battles on isolated islands. Lu Zhao was buried in exams and assignments, and the questions about his roommates faded into the background—surfacing only in rare moments of quiet.
One night, deep into a study session, Lu Zhao looked up from his mountain of notes and rubbed his aching eyes. The dorm was silent. Gu Xun was asleep for once, breathing evenly. Jiang Jin's phone cast a faint glow—he was probably chatting or watching game footage.
Lu Zhao's gaze drifted to Gu Xun's desk. The coffee bag Jiang Jin had placed there was still untouched. So was the unopened milk carton. On Jiang Jin's side, a photo of their basketball team was taped to the wall—he was grinning wildly, arm slung around a teammate.
A strange feeling welled up in Lu Zhao's chest. He realized that in this small dorm room, a silent tug-of-war was unfolding—Jiang Jin's stubborn, clumsy attempts to get closer, and Gu Xun's cold, unwavering boundaries. And he, the observer, was caught in the middle, confused and increasingly… uncomfortable.
He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. Finals were the priority. Everything else could wait. He buried himself in formulas and theorems, trying to drown out the emotional static.
The final days of the semester passed in a haze of tension, exhaustion, and a faint, lingering strangeness. When the bell rang for the last exam, Lu Zhao exhaled deeply, feeling like he'd survived a war.
Back in the dorm, Jiang Jin was excitedly packing for winter break, announcing travel plans and reunions. Gu Xun had only a few books and clothes—he was heading straight to the lab. His project would continue through the holidays.
Lu Zhao watched his two roommates—one still loud, one still quiet. The questions that had surfaced during finals seemed less urgent now, dulled by the relief of break. Maybe I was overthinking, he told himself. The end of a semester always made people want to shelve their worries.
Dragging his suitcase out of the dorm, he glanced back at the familiar window. Something felt different from the start of the term, though he couldn't say what.
Maybe we've all just grown up, he thought, merging into the stream of students heading home. And the undercurrents that had stirred beneath their daily lives were sealed away for now, waiting for the next semester to rise again.