Jiang Shuang arrived home just past eight.
The apartment was quiet in the early hours, filled only with the soft hum of the heater and the faint smell of the essential oils she always forgot to turn off. She slipped out of her coat and hung it by the door, feeling the weight of the hospital's fluorescent lights still sitting behind her eyes.
Jiang Que followed her inside with slower steps, as if measuring the space before entering it. He closed the door gently, the lock clicking into place like a breath released.
"You should rest for a bit," he said.
"I still have work."
"You won't get anything done in this state."
Jiang Shuang didn't argue, but she walked past him toward the living room anyway, placing the medical documents on the coffee table. She opened one, skimmed a line, and promptly lost focus. Her eyes blurred over the text.
Jiang Que watched her from the doorway.
"You didn't sleep last night," he said.
It wasn't a question. He could tell from the faint redness at the corner of her eyes, the way she blinked too slowly.
Jiang Shuang pressed her palms together lightly. "Mom had another episode. I stayed to talk to the nurse."
Jiang Que stepped closer, stopping just beside the sofa.
"You should have called me."
She gave a small, almost invisible smile. "And what would you have done? Sit beside me the whole night?"
"If that's what it took."
His voice wasn't blunt, but it landed with a weight that stilled the air between them.
Jiang Shuang's breath caught for half a second. She lowered her gaze to the documents again, pretending to read.
"…You have work too," she said softly.
"That's not a reason not to call."
A quiet moment stretched.
Not tense—just full.
Like something unsaid pressing against the edges of the room.
Jiang Shuang stood suddenly. "I'll make breakfast."
"I'll do it," Jiang Que said.
"You cooked last time."
"And you didn't eat."
She paused.
He reached past her, picking up the documents she had been pretending to focus on. For a moment, his fingers brushed her wrist—light, unintentional, but it made her freeze as if the contact carried more meaning than it should.
"Go rest," he repeated. "Ten minutes."
His tone was firmer now, less negotiable.
Jiang Shuang had never been someone who obeyed easily, but with Jiang Que, resistance felt pointless.
Maybe because he carried that unwavering steadiness.
Maybe because he never asked anything from her except that she take care of herself.
So she nodded.
But she didn't go to her room.
Instead, she went to the balcony window, arms loosely wrapped around herself, watching the city wake through a thin veil of winter mist.
Behind her, in the kitchen, Jiang Que moved with quiet efficiency—washing vegetables, heating the pan, boiling water. The sounds blended into the soft morning hum of the apartment. She could always tell when he was in her home; his presence filled the space without forcing itself into it.
She shut her eyes briefly.
There were many feelings she could name.
But whichever one was about Jiang Que—
that one stayed nameless.
When breakfast was ready, he called out, "Come eat."
She turned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm coming."
Jiang Que watched her approach, his gaze steady, unreadable.
He pulled out a chair for her, then sat across from her with his usual restraint.
"Your department called earlier," he said. "You should check your phone."
She startled slightly and reached for her phone. Three missed calls, two unread messages. Her stomach tightened.
"I forgot to turn the sound on…"
"They said it wasn't urgent."
Jiang Shuang exhaled in relief.
Jiang Que tapped his spoon lightly against his bowl.
"Eat."
She took a sip of the soup. The warmth spread quickly through her, calming the tremor she hadn't realized sat under her ribs.
After a moment she murmured, "Thanks… for today."
Jiang Que didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained low, fixed on the bowl in front of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost controlled.
"You don't have to thank me."
Jiang Shuang looked at him.
Jiang Que met her eyes then—directly, without turning away.
"If you fall," he said, "I will always be the one catching you."
The sentence landed like a confession disguised as something ordinary.
Jiang Shuang's fingers tightened around her spoon.
Her heart made a small, sharp movement she wished it wouldn't make.
She lowered her gaze, hiding her expression in the steam rising from her bowl.
"Jiang Que…"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Some truths lived too close beneath the surface to be named aloud.
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