Against the Algorithm

Chapter 42: When the Storm Brings Family

Summary: The fever has broken, but peace is a fragile thing. With teasing, warnings, and declarations landing like grenades, the day spirals into chaos wrapped in affection. And when the most unexpected guest finally arrives, nothing catches fire—because it's already burning quietly beneath every laugh, every word, and every promise not to let go.

Notes:

Author's Note: Lu family Shenanigans

Chapter Forty-Two

The next morning dawned quiet, the base wrapped in a hush that was only ever found in the earliest hours—before the scrims began, before Rui started barking about schedules, and before Yue could open his mouth to stir chaos. But that silence shattered the second Yao appeared at the top of the stairs. She moved carefully, still in thick socks and one of Sicheng's oversized hoodies that all but swallowed her frame, her platinum hair brushed and loosely tied back, hazel eyes a touch bleary but more alert than they had been in days. She was on the mend. But still delicate. Still recovering. Still moving too damn much, in Sicheng's opinion. Which was why the second her foot touched the top stair, four pairs of eyes below clocked the movement—and one, in particular, narrowed.

Lu Sicheng stood at the foot of the stairs with his arms crossed and a look on his face like she was a porcelain doll trying to scale a cliff face with no harness. His gaze tracked every single one of her movements, from the cautious shift of her hand to the railing, to the slight wobble of her step, to the way she clutched the small blanket she'd brought down with her like a shield.

Across the living room, Lao Mao elbowed Lao K and nodded toward the scene. "He's doing it again."

Lao K didn't even look up from his coffee and breakfast sandwhich. "He hasn't stopped since she got sick."

"He's like a hawk. But worse. Like... a mother hawk that would maul a raccoon for breathing near her."

"I feel bad for anyone who actually tries to date her," Yue muttered from the couch, scrolling on his phone. "Wait. Right. He is the one dating her. Never mind. I feel bad for her."

"Shut up," Pang whispered. "She sneezed once yesterday and he made her sit down and drink ginger tea like it was holy water."

They all watched as Yao finally reached the bottom stair, visibly proud of herself for doing so without swaying. She gave them a small, sleepy wave—then moved with slow, deliberate steps toward her desk.

Sicheng hovered. Not obviously. Not technically. But anyone who had lived with him this long could see the way he followed behind her at just the right distance, eyes fixed on her back like if he blinked, she'd collapse again. His entire posture screamed support unit in permanent standby.

She reached her desk.

He didn't breathe.

She pulled the chair out.

His hand almost twitched forward.

And when she sat?

Only then did he allow himself to exhale.

With practiced ease, she placed Xiao Cong into his small, fleece-lined cat bed beside her monitor. The gray-striped kitten stretched once, blinked at her with lazy contentment, then immediately curled back up into a ball like he'd claimed the desk permanently. A second later, Da Bing vaulted onto the cat tree stationed beside the desk like the regal sentinel he was, curling on the top tier with his tail flicking once, his blue eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to get close.