Against the Algorithm

Chapter 12: Sanctuary

Sicheng watched her, taking in every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken question behind her eyes, before continuing, his voice dipping lower, smoother. "This is your sanctuary, Yao."

She blinked, startled by the words, the weight of them sinking into her chest before she could even begin to process them. "No one is allowed up here unless you allow it."

Her breath hitched.

"Not the team. Not Rui. Not me."

She stared at him, her heart pounding too loudly in her ears, because the way he said it—the absolute finality in his tone, the quiet authority that left no room for argument— It meant that this wasn't just some temporary arrangement. This wasn't about convenience. This was hers. Her space. Her home. And no one, not even him, would step into it unless she wanted them to. Her throat tightened again, but this time it wasn't from uncertainty. It was something else, something heavier, something she wasn't sure she was ready to name yet. Slowly, hesitantly, she whispered, "You... really did all of this for me?"

"Of course I did." Sicheng tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully, his gaze burning with something deep, something unreadable. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sicheng had been prepared for hesitation, had expected her to take time to process everything, to stand there with that wide, disbelieving look in her eyes as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that someone had done this for her, that she had been given something so deliberately hers—something that wasn't a burden, something that wasn't conditional, something that was simply meant for her. But what he hadn't been prepared for— Was the sudden impact of her small frame colliding into him. For the briefest moment, his breath caught.

Because Yao never initiated touch. She had always been the type to flinch when startled, the type to tense slightly whenever someone got too close, the type to keep a respectable distance, not because she was afraid, but because she had never learned how to reach out first.

And yet—

Here she was.

Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers clutching at the fabric of the hoodie she was still swimming in, her face pressed against his chest as if she had simply acted before thinking, before hesitating, before stopping herself.

And Sicheng, for the first time in longer than he could remember, found himself completely, utterly still. Because he hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected her to cling to him so tightly, hadn't expected the way she would lean into him with the full weight of someone who didn't even realize what she was doing, didn't even realize how naturally she had just given into it. His arms came around her on instinct, the motion smooth, controlled, but the second his hands settled against her back, the second he felt her respond to the contact by leaning further into it, something sharp twisted inside of him.

Because his mother had been right. The memory of her words came back to him in full force, the calculated certainty behind them ringing clear in his mind.

"She's touch-starved."

He had acknowledged it, had known it even before Wang Lan had pointed it out, had seen it in the way Yao hesitated when people reached for her, the way she froze for a fraction of a second before letting someone touch her, the way she never actively sought out contact herself. But knowing it wasn't the same as feeling it. Because now, standing here, with her in his arms, with the way she had unconsciously melted into the embrace, he could feel it—the way her body reacted, the way it took no effort at all for her to settle against him, the way she instinctively adjusted to the warmth like she was absorbing something she had gone too long without.