Love Wears a Knife

Si Rang’s room hadn’t changed.

That was the unsettling part.

The same window frame scratched by years of storms.

The same desk that still carried the ghost of abandoned homework.

The same walls, pale and silent, holding secrets no one spoke aloud.

He set his bag down and exhaled slowly.

He didn’t want to admit it, but returning here felt like standing inside a wound that had never properly healed, looking at it again while remembering the past feels like adding salt to the wound which clearly haven't healed since a long time.

The academy claimed to “preserve memories.”

Si Rang found that poetic in the worst way.

Some memories weren’t meant to be kept alive.

He dragged a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed.

A soft knock cut through his thoughts.

He didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway.

Only one person dared ignore his silence.

Lu Shen stepped in without saying a word. He carried a folded towel in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. The rainwater on his shoulders suggested he had run through the storm after Si Rang.

“What do you want?” Si Rang muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re soaked,” Lu Shen said simply. “You’ll get sick.”

“That’s not your problem.”

Lu Shen placed the mug on the desk, ignoring the hostility as if it were a breeze. “Drink it before it cools.”

Si Rang stared at the mug like it was poison. “What is this supposed to be? A peace offering?”

“No,” Lu Shen replied gently, eyes soft but unreadable. “It’s just ginger tea.”

That tone again. Soft. Familiar. Dangerous.

Si Rang hated how his body tensed.

He hated how Lu Shen’s presence filled the room like warmth he didn’t ask for.

“Get out,” Si Rang muttered. “I don’t need your fake kindness.”

Lu Shen finally looked away, letting the silence settle between them like a fragile thread.

“Si Rang,” he began carefully, “you don’t have to talk to me. But don’t treat me like I’m your enemy.”

A cold laugh escaped Si Rang’s throat. “Isn’t that what we are?”

Lu Shen didn’t answer.

That annoyed Si Rang more than any argument could have.

“Say something,” he snapped. “If you’re really the calm, perfect guy everyone worships, defend yourself. Or at least deny it.”

Lu Shen met his gaze, eyes dark with something Si Rang couldn’t read.

“I won’t deny something you believe so strongly,” he said quietly. “Even if it hurts.”

That made something twist sharply inside Si Rang.

He hated how Lu Shen talked—as if every word was a quiet confession wrapped in patience. As if he understood Si Rang in a way no one else ever had.

“Stop acting like you care,” Si Rang said, voice tightening. “It’s pathetic.”

“If caring about you is pathetic,” Lu Shen murmured, “then I’ll accept that.”

Those words hit too hard.

Si Rang stood abruptly, pushing past him, needing space—oxygen—anything.

But Lu Shen stepped slightly to the side, blocking the door in that frustratingly calm way of his.

“Move,” Si Rang growled.

“Not until you stop shaking.”

Si Rang froze.

His fingers were trembling.

Barely noticeable—but Lu Shen had noticed.

He hated that.

He hated him for seeing too much.

Lu Shen lifted the towel slightly. “At least dry your hair.”

“No.”

“Let me help.”

“No.”

Lu Shen sighed softly and stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that Si Rang could feel the warmth of his presence.

“Then I’ll stand here until you do,” he said.

It wasn’t a threat.

It wasn’t a demand.

It was something infuriatingly gentle.

Si Rang tightened his jaw, snatched the towel from his hand, and began rubbing his hair aggressively.

Lu Shen didn’t smile, didn’t tease. He simply watched with a quiet relief that made Si Rang’s chest tighten in ways he didn’t understand.

“Good,” Lu Shen whispered.

“Shut up.”

But for the first time since arriving, Si Rang’s voice wasn’t angry.

It was tired.

Too tired.

Lu Shen stepped back toward the door. “Get some rest. Tomorrow… we should talk.”

“We won’t,” Si Rang muttered.

Lu Shen’s eyes lingered on him—soft, warm, unbearably sincere.

“Goodnight, Si Rang.”

When the door closed, the room felt colder.

Si Rang sank onto the bed, towel slipping from his hands.

He hated Lu Shen.

He hated him for being gentle.

For remembering the little things.

For speaking his name like a memory Si Rang tried so hard to forget.

He hated him most…

because despite everything that happened years ago—

Lu Shen still looked at him

as if Si Rang wasn’t a mistake.

As if he wasn’t the villain in his own story.

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