Kai woke up late the next morning, which was unusual for him. He usually popped up before Lian could even start making coffee. But when she walked into the living room, he was still on the sofa with the blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes half open. Mei had left earlier to take a call. Lian brewed tea, letting the steam fill the quiet apartment before speaking.
“You slept,” she said. It was not a question.
Kai rubbed his face. “More like I passed out. But I guess that counts.”
Lian set a cup down on the table. “Drink. You look like you fell off a moving bus.”
“Thank you for the gentle encouragement.”
Lian smirked but did not argue. She sat down across from him with her own cup. The morning light pushed through the curtains in thin strips, cutting across the room. The silence was comfortable enough, but she could tell Kai was waiting for her to bring something up.
He finally said, “You are thinking too loudly.”
“I am thinking normally. You are just sensitive this morning.”
Kai took a sip and sighed. “I do not want yesterday to become some big thing that turns into a long lecture.”
“I was not planning a lecture.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You always say that and then suddenly I am hearing a story about how you trained in the mountains for six years.”
“That was one time and you asked.”
He leaned back. “I asked because you looked like you were about to tell me anyway.”
Lian shook her head and let it go. Today was not the day for debates. She reached for her phone and scanned the alerts from their network. A few messages, nothing urgent. No one knew about Kai’s moment of weakness. No one connected them to the body. Good.
Kai watched her. “What is on the list?”
“Nothing that needs immediate attention.”
“So a slow morning.”
“Yes.”
He let out a long breath, something between relief and dread. “I want something slow today. Just a normal day.”
“You can have one.”
“Do we even remember what that looks like.”
Lian thought about it before answering. “We can make something up.”
He smiled a little at that. “Alright. Where do we start.”
“Breakfast outside. Fresh air.”
“You want to go in public. Together.”
“Yes.”
Kai shrugged. “If we get shot at, I am blaming you.”
“You always blame me.”
“Because it is usually your idea.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Lian did not deny that. She gathered her jacket and checked the hallway before they stepped out. The stairs smelled like laundry detergent and old concrete. A couple of neighbors passed them with polite nods. No one stared too long, and that was enough.
They walked toward Jordan Road where morning traffic hummed. Kai kept his hands in his pockets and stayed close, but not clingy the way he used to when he was younger. Lian knew he was still processing yesterday, the tightness around his eyes made that clear. But he looked steadier today.
They found a small place at the corner, with metal stools and a man yelling orders at the kitchen. Kai sat while Lian ordered congee and fried dough. When the food arrived, Kai poked at it.
“I already know you will tell me to eat.”
“Yes.”
“You are predictable.”
“You are grumpy.”
Kai gave her a tired grin and ate anyway. The warmth seemed to settle into him slowly. After a while, he said, “I kept thinking about the look on his face.”
Lian paused her spoon. “Kai.”
“I know. I know. You told me not to replay it. I am trying. But it is stuck in there.”
She leaned her elbows on the table. “Then tell me how it feels right now.”
Kai looked out at the street instead of her. “It feels like I crossed a line I cannot uncross. That is the part I keep thinking about.”
“You crossed a line that was forced on you.”
“That does not change the fact that I crossed it.”
“That is true.”
Kai blinked at her. “You are agreeing too easily.”
“Because I am not trying to erase what you feel. I just want you to understand that the line is real, yes, but you are not lost just because you stepped over it.”
Kai stared into his bowl. “I do not want this to change me.”
“It will change you,” Lian said gently. “Everything changes us. But that does not mean you will become someone else.”
He stayed quiet for a long time.
When they finished breakfast, they walked along the shops with no particular destination. Kai pointed at a street vendor selling knockoff watches. “Do you want a fake watch. I can get you one that says it is worth eighty thousand dollars.”
“I already have a real one.”
“That one is old. You can upgrade.”
“It was our father’s.”
Kai nodded once and let the joke drop. He moved to another stall and picked up a cheap lighter shaped like a panda. “What about this. Very classy. Very subtle.”
Lian shook her head. “Put it back.”
Kai placed it down reluctantly. “You have no taste.”
“I have survival instincts.”
They kept walking. The simplicity of it seemed to help Kai more than anything. He kept noticing small things, like a couple arguing over a shopping list or a group of kids racing to school. He watched them with a strange kind of yearning, like he was memorizing what normal life looked like.
Around noon they ended up at the waterfront, sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor. Kai leaned back with his arms stretched along the top of the bench.
“I missed days like this,” he said quietly.
Lian glanced at him. “We can have more of them.”
“Maybe.”
“You are allowed to want something slower.”
Kai closed his eyes. “Then I want this. Just one day where no one is trying to kill us.”
Lian let the wind blow her hair back. “Then today can be that day.”
He smiled a little. “Alright. Then I want ice cream.”
“You are twenty. You eat ice cream like a child.”
“Then buy it for your child.”
Lian stood. “Fine.”
When she returned with two cones, Kai accepted his with an exaggerated sigh of relief. They ate in silence, letting the sun warm their shoulders and the breeze carry the smell of salt across the air.
Kai finally said, “I feel better than yesterday.”
“I can see that.”
“And worse in some ways.”
“I can see that too.”
He looked at her. “Thank you for not treating me like I am broken.”
“You are many things, Kai. But broken is not one of them.”
Kai breathed out slowly, as if letting something settle inside him.
They finished their ice cream and watched the boats drift across the water.
For a few hours, the world felt quiet enough that they could almost imagine they were ordinary people.
Almost.
