Against the Algorithm

Chapter 58: Measured Steps

Summary: In a house wrapped in quiet, everything moves a little slower—bare feet, shared laughter, soft declarations whispered into music and steam. But even in that peace, decisions are made. Real ones. With her trust placed carefully in his hands and the future edging closer, Yao doesn't just brace herself—she begins to lead, even as she lets herself be held.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft light of late afternoon, shadows stretching lazily across the floor. The dishes from lunch were cleaned and set out to dry. The air was warm, peaceful, and still wrapped in that strange, sacred hush that only came when the outside world didn't feel real.

Yao sat curled on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, a blanket draped loosely over her lap as she traced her fingers over the edge of her mug. She wasn't tired, not exactly, but she was settled, heart full, nerves calm, mind quiet in a way that rarely happened.

Sicheng, seated beside her, had one arm stretched behind the cushions, fingers absently combing through the tail of her still-damp braid. Then, without a word, he leaned forward. Reached for the small, sleek CD/radio system he'd bought her months ago. She blinked as the soft click sounded, the disc tray closing before the first notes of something low and warm began to fill the space, instrumentals, gentle and slow, something clearly chosen with intention.

Yao looked up at him, blinking. "What are you doing?"

He turned, smirked faintly, and offered her his hand. "Come here."

She flushed. Immediately. Her fingers curled tighter around the mug. "Sicheng..."

"You said you wanted to keep practicing," he said simply, his voice quiet but teasing at the edges. "You asked me to teach you." He didn't press. He just stood there, hand extended, eyes steady.

Waiting.

Yao hesitated. Her heart stuttered. She'd never danced with anyone before him. Had never let anyone lead her. And even now, even with all they had shared, especially because of all they had shared, she still felt her cheeks burn as she slowly set the mug down and reached for his hand.

He pulled her gently to her feet. No rush. No drama. Just the quiet rhythm of music and breath as he stepped closer, one hand guiding her waist, the other holding her hand loosely in his. "You remember how to start?" he murmured, tilting his head down just enough to meet her eyes.

She nodded, just once.

"Good," he whispered and they moved. Small steps. Slow rhythm. Bare feet on cool floors, her sleep shirt brushing against his chest, the scent of tea and soap still clinging faintly to them both. He didn't say much. Only corrected her once when her foot shifted the wrong direction, his palm gently squeezing her waist to steady her.

Yao looked up at him shyly, her voice barely a breath. "...Why now?"

His eyes softened. "Because it's quiet," he said. "And because I like dancing with you."

Her blush deepened. She didn't speak again. She just let him hold her close, her hands resting against him, her head slowly lowering to his chest as they continued to move, slow and soft and steady. And somewhere in the middle of the third track.... She smiled.

They moved slowly at first, every step deliberate, every shift of weight quiet and measured. Yao followed his lead carefully, her eyes focused somewhere between his collarbone and the floor, still flushed but no longer tense. Her hands rested light on his arms, her movements cautious but more natural now—more trusting. She didn't even realize when her head tilted into his chest again, letting him guide them across the living room floor with the steady rhythm of the soft music humming from the speakers.