Chapter 3 - Part 1: The Softest Evening

Saturday, 4:45 PM

The late afternoon sunlight melted across Lin Yue's apartment, painting golden streaks over velvet cushions and polished wood—soft, quiet, almost indulgent.

Lin Yue sat quietly on the couch, legs folded beneath her, a linen throw resting lightly across her knees.

From the corner, the gentle notes of a Chopin nocturne drifted through the speakers. Soft, wistful, and elegantly melancholic.

The music lulled the room into drowsiness. But Lin Yue has been staring at the same page for twenty minutes. Reading without absorbing, eyes drifting, mind elsewhere.

Eventually, she set the book aside, leaned her head back, and exhaled deeply.

Everything around her was ordinary. The stillness, the scent of her tea, the hum of the air conditioner. But somehow, that ordinary only made the static in her chest feel louder.

She reached for her phone out of habit. Notifications pinged softly from the Lin sibling group chat, still hilariously titled "Hao is the Eldest."

She allowed herself a smile at Lin Hao's hangover meme and Liang's usual dry reply. It was comforting in a way—this chaos between the three of them. But she didn't reply.

 Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before exiting the chat.

And yet... Chen Rui's voice lingered more than anything else.

Low. Steady. Gentle.

And oddly, she could see his face up close.

Lin Yue was full of wonder and thought, why did that memory feel so vivid?

She shook her head. Maybe she needed more tea.

Then the doorbell rang.

Her brows furrowed slightly.

No scheduled deliveries. No prior messages. No dramatics from Yaoyao as she checked her phone. It doesn't feel like a surprise food raid from Hao, and Big Brother didn't believe in unannounced visits.

 She walked to the door and opened it. Then she froze.

Chen Rui stood there.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a small brown paper bag in one hand. His other hand was tucked loosely into his soft-knit ash gray sweater. The relaxed fit of his navy trousers only made the look feel even more effortless.

But it was the way he looked at her that made her pause.

There was something in Chen Rui's eyes.

Soft, intent, and far too warm.

"I brought the soup anyway," Chen Rui said simply with a smile, holding up the bag.

"You... didn't have to," Lin Yue replied, startled by how soft her voice sounded.

"You didn't reply," he said, stepping in like he'd done a hundred times before.

She didn't stop him.

He bent to remove his shoes and reached for the indoor slippers she had once bought without thinking much of it. They still sat in the same place. He wore them naturally, like they belonged there.

Without pause, Chen Rui walked toward the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter, opening the cupboard and reaching for the bowls. Same shelf, same rhythm.

He'd done this before. Movie nights, work marathons, the occasional quiet dinner.

But this time felt different.

Lin Yue stood still, watching the way Chen Rui's eyes lingered on her.

Was he reassessing things? Or was it just her imagination? She thought to herself.

"Still a bit of a headache?" Chen Rui asked while glancing over his shoulder.

"A little," she admitted, clearing her throat.

Chen Rui nodded and began preparing the soup like it was second nature. Lin Yue joined him at the counter, boiling water for tea. The silence between them wasn't awkward. But it wasn't entirely normal either.

He was comfortable here. But the way he looked at her now wasn't.

And it made her suddenly aware of how simply she was dressed. She was barefaced, soft-knit sweater, hair loosely tied, sleeves a little too long for her arms. Not styled. Not polished. Just... her.

And still, he looked at her like she was poetry left out in the sun.

Quiet. Soft. Dangerous.

Lin Yue decided to busy herself with the teacups, feeling strangely unsettled. Aware of his glances. And more aware of herself than usual.

Something feels different. And she wasn't sure how to name it.

(Chen Rui's POV)

The moment he stepped into Lin Yue's apartment, Chen Rui felt it again. That familiar stillness, that soft scent in the air he could never quite name but always linked to her. White musk, citrus, and something warmer. Clean linen, maybe? Or maybe it was just the way her presence lingered in every corner.

Chen Rui slipped into his indoor slippers without thinking. The fit was familiar. The feeling was not.

But something felt different tonight.

Lin Yue was still there, at the counter, adjusting the kettle with quiet grace. Nothing flashy. No makeup. No styled hair. Just Lin Yue in a sweater slightly too big for her frame, sleeves brushing her knuckles, loose tendrils of hair curling around her face.

And he couldn't look away.

There was nothing deliberate about the way she looked. And maybe that's what struck him most.

She was effortlessly beautiful.

Disarmingly so.

Chen Rui placed the soup container on the counter, eyes flickering toward Lin Yue while she turned away to reach for the teacups. Her movements were quiet, fluid, understated.

She didn't try to command attention but somehow, she had all of his.

The silence between them wasn't awkward, but it carried a weight. A hum. Something he couldn't quite define but felt deeply.

When Lin Yue stood on her toes to reach something on the shelf, Chen Rui caught the soft curve of her neckline.

That maddening glimpse of her collarbone, just a soft arc beneath fabric, unfair in its simplicity—made his throat tighten for reasons he refused to examine.

His heart did something strange then—something absurd.

He looked away quickly before she caught him staring.

She offered to make the tea, and he let her. Anything to keep watching her fingers move with quiet precision. Anything to stay here, just a little longer.

"Osmanthus again?" he asked, mostly to fill the silence.

"Mm. The only one that plays nice with soup."

He chuckled. That was Lin Yue. Unexpectedly picky, delightfully specific.

Her hands trembled, barely noticeable, but he saw it. And it wrecked him more than it should have.

Maybe it was just the steam. Or maybe she felt something too?

"So," Lin Yue said suddenly but still not looking at him, "how bad was I last night?"

Chen Rui smiled gently. "You were fine. A little louder than usual."

She shot him an incredulous look. "Loud?"

Chen Rui: "In a cute way."

There.

He said it.

Lin Yue blinked, visibly flustered. Her cheeks tinged just the slightest pink.

She sat across from him, wrapping her hands around her cup. Chen Rui placed a bowl in front of her and stirred his own. The silence resumed, but it felt warmer now.

"I didn't say or do anything absurd, did I?" she asked after a while.

He smiled again. "Define absurd" in a teasing tone.

Lin Yue: "You're joking."

Chen Rui: "Maybe?"

Lin Yue exhaled. It was more like a soft huff that almost turned into a laugh.

She hadn't changed. But he had.

That much was clear.

Chen Rui remembered the way she'd looked up at him the night before, flushed, eyes glassy. He remembered her voice wavering as she said, "Do you ever think there's something wrong with me?"

And something in him changed permanently.

His resolve? Hmmm.

"I didn't mean to worry you," Lin Yue said softly as she finally looked at him straight in the eyes.

"You didn't," Chen Rui replied, just as softly. "But if you did... I wouldn't mind."

She looked at him, startled, eyes flickering with something she didn't have a name for yet. Something soft. Something dangerous.

He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. But as she turned to pour another cup of tea, Chen Rui knew, it wasn't just longing anymore. It was something quieter... deeper. A want that had settled in his bones.

>⩊<

Note:

Continue to Part 2 of Chapter 3 please! 💙

I hope you guys like this slow pace. 🤞

- Z