Against the Algorithm

Chapter 21: Lines No Longer Imagined

He saw the way her breath caught ever so slightly when she registered the closeness between them. He saw the way her knee brushed against the side of his under the table and how she didn't flinch away from the contact. He saw the way she wasn't trying to shrink herself, the way she had done so many mornings before. And he smirked, just slightly. Because she was here. Not halfway. Not cautiously. Not with the tension she used to carry in her shoulders like armor. Just here. And he wasn't about to let her retreat again. Without saying a word, without making a show of it, he reached for one of the plates that had been set out in front of him—stacked neatly, steam still rising from the fresh dumplings—and slid it across the table, slow and deliberate, placing it directly in front of her.

Yao blinked, her eyes flickering between the plate and his hand, her expression shifting, uncertain, surprised, but not resistant. Still, she hesitated.

And Sicheng, without lifting his gaze from the table, let his voice cut through the quiet with calm finality. "Eat."

One word.

Firm. Grounded. Absolute.

And Yao, flushing deeper but nodding, picked up her chopsticks with both hands, her voice a barely audible murmur as she whispered a soft, "Thank you."

Satisfied, Sicheng leaned back slightly in his chair, folding one arm over his chest, watching her with the same quiet intensity he always reserved for things that mattered—making sure she ate, making sure she didn't just push the food around her plate, making sure she wasn't drifting back into that place where she would forget to take care of herself. Because if there was one thing he wasn't going to let happen again—it was her slipping. Not while he was watching. Not now.

For a while, neither of them said anything, the sound of clinking chopsticks and low conversation filling the space around them, but between the two of them—there was only quiet.

Easy.

Comfortable.

Then, after a beat of silence, when he saw the way she had finally relaxed into her seat, when he noticed that the small tremble in her hands had stilled and the rhythm of her breath had evened out, when he was sure she wasn't going to pull away again—he asked. The question that had hovered at the edge of his thoughts since he left her apartment the night before. "Have you been having nightmares still?" His voice didn't shift. It remained low, measured, careful—but there was something beneath it, a weight, a depth, a quiet kind of concern that didn't need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

Yao looked up at him mid-bite, blinking once, her lips parting as if the question had caught her off guard—but then she swallowed, lowered her gaze, and answered. "They're... lessening." Her voice was quiet, still tinged with the remnants of sleep, still layered in the softness that came from not having to perform, not having to explain.

And Sicheng stilled. His gaze dropped—not to her face, not to her hands—but to the hoodie she was wearing. His hoodie. The one she had taken off when she started pulling back. The one she had stopped wearing when the nightmares got worse. The one she had put on again last night. And suddenly—he knew. He exhaled slowly, the breath leaving his lungs with the weight of quiet satisfaction, of something sinking into place, of understanding that had no need for words. Because she hadn't just stopped having nightmares. She had stopped when she had started coming back to him.

And even though he didn't say anything, even though he didn't let the smugness rise to the surface the way Yue would have, even though he didn't gloat or tease or make her flustered again just yet. It was there. In the slight curve of his lips. In the faint tilt of his head. In the ease of his shoulders as he picked up his own chopsticks and resumed eating like he wasn't quietly marking this moment as a victory. Because if she found comfort in his presence, if she slept better wearing his hoodie, if the nightmares faded when he was close. Then he had no intention of letting her drift far again.