Under the night sky, in the night wind, the flickering rooftop light cast its glow in shifting shadows.
Shan Jiqiu didn’t look at the meteor shower on the phone screen. Instead, she looked at the boy before her, his brows and eyes curved with a smile.
Her childhood had made her lose faith in the word “love,” stripping her of the ability to love. She didn’t want to live like her parents—they had never been good examples. If even blood ties could be so fragile, how much weaker must love and friendship be?
But she hadn’t known that in this world, absolutes could be broken.
Her grandmother gave her the family she had lost—caring for her daily life, teaching her how to be a person.
Yu Kexia and the others gave her rare friendship—teaching her sincerity, loyalty, companionship, and cherishing. And Lu Yun—his presence shattered all her walls, teaching her growth and love.
When had she started liking him? She couldn’t say. She only remembered that the moment she realized her dependence on him had crossed the line of friendship, she already liked him.
Maybe it was that instant of realization. Maybe it had been long before.
She had struggled, forced herself to dismiss the thought.
She had avoided, dodged, tried to restrain herself, repeatedly warning herself it was forbidden.
But in the end, a single smile, a word of care, an unintentional gesture from him could undo all her defenses, collapsing them completely.
His kindness wove into the strings of her heart, silent and unbroken. One pluck, and the music stretched endlessly.
Shan Jiqiu pushed the phone away, muttering gloomily: “What kind of gift is this? Boring.”
That was how it was—his invisible indulgence, her endless surrender.
Lu Yun glanced at the screen, then handed the phone back, countering, “Why boring? Look—so clear, so spectacular, so beautiful! I’m telling you, you can really make wishes with this. Just wait, I’ll make sure it works as a gift for you.”
Shan Jiqiu was already overwhelmed with emotion. If he added anything more, she feared she’d lose control and confess. And when she sobered up, she’d want to jump off the rooftop in regret.
What was wrong with her tonight? Was there alcohol in the cake? Or in the cola? Or in the air itself?
She felt dizzy, not quite clear‑headed. No—she had to leave while she could still control herself.
“Fine, fine, I’ll wait,” she said perfunctorily, rising to her feet.
But Lu Yun’s hoodie was too big, its sleeve trailing on the ground. She didn’t notice. As she stood, her heel caught the sleeve, and she slipped. Her balance gave way, and she fell sideways without warning.
The cola arced through the air, clattering to the ground, rolling twice in full circles. Dark liquid foamed white bubbles, pooling into a thin river across the concrete.
Around them was dead silence, the atmosphere strangely eerie.
Lu Yun was the first to realize—the softness pressed against his chest.
A sensation he had never experienced since becoming aware of himself, indescribable. Looking closer, he was flat on his back, with someone having fallen squarely on top of him.
The girl lifted her head—her red lips were inches away, her breath carrying a sweet scent so close it filled his nose.
Lu Yun could clearly feel his heartbeat going haywire, his mouth dry, throat tight, swallowing difficult—all the signs of coming down with some strange “illness.”
Shan Jiqiu’s hands clutched his shoulders, her whole body draped over him like a blanket. She could feel the firm muscles beneath his T‑shirt. When she raised her head, she met the boy’s dark, deep eyes—so deep they seemed to pull her in.
Oh no—her ears were burning. Ahhh—her face too. The light was dim here; surely he couldn’t see clearly?
Their eyes locked wide, staring at each other without blinking, without moving. After a moment, both suddenly realized how awkward the situation was. So, almost at the same time, they tried to push and get up.
But both pushed too hard, their balance was off. Lu Yun’s foot slipped, his leg flew up, and the chair tipped backward mercilessly—taking both of them down with it. With a dull thud, the boy’s back hit the ground.
And now, this position was even more awkward.
Lu Yun’s legs were still hooked on the chair, while Shan Jiqiu lay sprawled across his body. Upper body flat on the floor, lower body still raised—a ridiculous, comical pose. And it wasn’t easy to get up.
Lu Yun sighed, looking at the girl on top of him: “Planning to stay like this all night?”
Shan Jiqiu was dazed from the fall, her mind still rebooting. Hearing that, she snapped back and started to move.
The sudden friction made Lu Yun suck in a sharp breath. Clenching his fists, his voice hoarse, he gritted out: “Can you not move around?”
Shan Jiqiu, mortified, froze instantly.
Lu Yun simply rested both hands behind his head, secretly adjusting to the strange sensations, and said in a low voice: “Turn to the side and roll off. Then I can get up.”
Shan Jiqiu muttered “Oh,” studied the situation, then told him: “Alright, don’t move. I’ll roll off—it’s not hard.”
“Mm. Lu Yun didn’t want to say much now. He felt strange, his heart restless, that unfamiliar sensation growing stronger.
Shan Jiqiu moved her legs, braced her hands against the ground, trying to keep her body from touching his. Her right leg stepped aside, then the left followed. With both hands steady, she managed to kneel on the empty space beside him, then stood up. She was about to reach out to help him, but he had already flipped himself up.
Freed from her weight, Lu Yun could move again. He pressed his legs down, tightened his core, pushed with his hands, and sprang up with force.
In an instant, both boy and chair returned to their original upright state.
Lu Yun stood, bent down, scooped up his hoodie from the ground, dusted it off, and handed it to Shan Jiqiu. His voice was still hoarse: “Put it on.”
Shan Jiqiu didn’t take it. She just wanted to escape the scene quickly. It had been far too awkward. She decided to say something to break the tension.
“It’s getting late…” She paused. Why did that sound so suggestive?
It’s getting late. Husband, let’s rest.
She shivered, corrected herself: “Let’s go down. We still have school tomorrow.”
Lu Yun gave a quiet “Mm,” then walked over, draped the hoodie’s hood over her head, and turned to tidy up the leftover cake and trash.
They went down the rooftop in silence, the sound of their footsteps on the stairs unusually loud. Neither knew what to say. One had something on her mind, the other was unsettled.
Back on the third floor, Shan Jiqiu returned the hoodie to Lu Yun and, rare for her, politely said goodnight.
“I’m going in. Goodnight.”
Lu Yun handed her the remaining cake: “Mm. Goodnight.”
They turned, each unlocking their own door.
Lu Yun opened his, flicked on the light, and instinctively glanced at the clock on the wall. Suddenly, he turned back: “Wait.”
“Hm?” Shan Jiqiu turned.
“Thirty seconds left.”
Lu Yun lowered his voice, quick and serious: “Happy birthday, Qiu‑baby.”