Ruoqing was woken up by the sound of eggs frying.
Not her alarm—the alarm hadn't gone off yet. She lay in bed squinting, listening to oil popping in the pan, the scrape of a spatula against the bottom, and the soft patter of bare feet moving back and forth across tile.
She rolled over and checked her phone. 6:43 a.m.
There was a smell in the air she didn't recognize—not instant noodles, not microwaved convenience store food, but the actual smell of someone cooking in a kitchen. Ruoqing had lived in this studio apartment for almost a year. This was the first time she'd smelled anything like it.
She sat up. Her hair looked like a bird's nest.
Ranhua was standing at the kitchen counter—the one so narrow you could barely turn around—still wearing the cream-colored jacket from the night before, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Two eggs sizzled in the small pan in front of her. The rice cooker beside it was steaming, and two bowls of white rice were already waiting. On the coffee table: two pairs of chopsticks, a small dish of soy sauce, and a plate of cucumber slices cut at uneven angles.
"You're up," Ranhua said, not turning around, her voice as easy as if she were in her own home.
"…When did you get up."
"Around five. Couldn't sleep." She flipped the eggs. The edges had gone crispy and golden. "Your fridge has eggs, one cucumber that's almost dead, and three beers. What do you normally eat?"
"Convenience store."
"That explains why you look so pale."
Ruoqing didn't argue. She walked to the sink and brushed her teeth, watching in the mirror as Ranhua slid the eggs onto a plate—quick, practiced, the kind of effortless motion that comes from years of cooking without thinking about it.
When she came back out, everything was set. Two bowls of rice, two fried eggs, soy sauce, cucumbers. Crowded onto a coffee table barely the size of two magazines laid side by side, but somehow it looked right.
"Sit down." Ranhua dropped cross-legged onto the floor and patted the spot next to her.
Ruoqing sat across from her and picked up her chopsticks.
The yolks were soft. When she broke one open it ran down over the rice, deep yellow. She took a bite. Salt and warmth spread across her tongue.
Just a fried egg. Nothing special. But for some reason it tasted better than anything she'd ever gotten from a convenience store.
"Where's Xiao Yu?" Ruoqing asked. The question she hadn't asked last night.
Ranhua chewed a piece of cucumber. She looked calmer than she had the night before—eyes still a little puffy, but the redness was gone.
"At his grandparents'. It's summer break, we already had it planned—let him spend some time out in the countryside." She paused. "So at least I don't have to worry about him."
Ruoqing nodded and didn't push. She heard the weight in that *at least*—at least Xiao Yu was fine, at least there was one part of this she didn't have to carry. Everything else was still hanging in the air.
"What time do you have to be at work?" Ranhua asked.
"Clock in at eight-thirty."
"Then eat fast. Don't be late."
Ruoqing looked at her. Ranhua kept her head down, scooping rice, pretending not to notice.
"Don't go through my stuff while I'm gone."
"What stuff." Ranhua rolled her eyes. "Your apartment is emptier than my bathroom."
The corner of Ruoqing's mouth moved. Close enough to a smile.
She got off work at 6:12 p.m.
Ruoqing walked out the front door of the office building. The sky was still light but starting to go orange. She stopped under the covered walkway and lit a cigarette—a new pack she'd bought at lunch, barely touched. She took a drag and pulled out her phone.
Ranhua had sent seven messages.
First: *what's your wifi password* Second: *nvm found it on the router* Third: *your dish soap is almost out* Fourth: *made instant noodles for lunch used your last pack* Fifth: *can you grab some on your way home* Sixth: *actually nvm i went out and got some* Seventh: *ruoqing the crack on my phone screen keeps spreading. when i play pubg i can't tap anything on the right side*
Ruoqing stared at the last message for a few seconds.
She held the cigarette between her lips and typed back: *just got off. standing outside the office. come out, i'll take you to get a phone.*
The reply came instantly: *SERIOUSLY!!!*
Then a string of stickers—cartoon bears with hearts for eyes, one after another.
Ruoqing pocketed her phone, finished the cigarette, and pressed the butt out against the ground before dropping it in the little tin.
Twenty minutes later, Ranhua appeared at the MRT exit. She'd changed into a light blue t-shirt—probably dug out of her suitcase—and her hair was tied back again. She looked a lot more like a person than the wreck who'd shown up crying in the middle of the night.
"Let's go," Ruoqing said.
"Where to?"
"There's a place on the next block. Not expensive."
They walked side by side through the early evening. Shops along the street were turning their lights on. A braised food cart sent warm, spiced air drifting past. An old man on a bicycle rode by with a bag of oranges in the front basket.
Ranhua walked on Ruoqing's left, half a step faster, occasionally pulling ahead before glancing back.
"Which model do you think I should get?"
"What's your budget."
"…Three thousand?" Her voice had a guilty edge to it.
"Then look at the three-thousand ones."
The phone shop was small. A few rows of handsets sat under bright lights in a glass case. The young guy behind the counter—glasses, maybe twenty—stood up when they walked in.
Ranhua leaned over the case for a long time, then pointed at a white one. "Can this run PUBG?"
The clerk smiled a little. "Yeah, medium-low settings, no problem."
"What about high?"
"It'll lag."
Ranhua frowned and looked at the black one next to it. Eight hundred more. She went back and forth for a while, finger hovering between the two.
Ruoqing stood beside her, hands in her jacket pockets, expression flat.
"Get the black one," she said.
"But it's eight hundred more—"
"I'll cover it. You can pay me back."
Ranhua turned and stared at her. "For real?"
"Otherwise you'll buy the white one, it'll chug like a slideshow, and you'll complain about it all night."
Ranhua blinked. Then she laughed—not the kind that looked worse than crying, like last night, but a real one, eyes curving up.
"Lin Ruoqing, since when are you this nice."
"Hurry up and pick. I need to buy cigarettes."
Ranhua cradled the black phone like she'd just recovered something she thought was gone forever. While the clerk swapped in her SIM card and applied the screen protector, she was already downloading PUBG.
By the time they walked out of the shop, it was dark. The streetlights were on, stretching their shadows out long across the pavement, overlapping.
Ranhua walked with her head down, poking at the new phone, and nearly walked into a utility pole. Ruoqing grabbed her arm without changing expression.
"Watch where you're going."
"Hold on, hold on, I'm logging into my account—"
"If you die you won't need to log in."
Ranhua laughed and drifted closer, looping her arm through Ruoqing's. Ruoqing didn't pull away. She just slowed down slightly, enough for Ranhua to keep up.
"Ruoqing."
"Mm."
"Play PUBG with me tonight."
"I don't play."
"Come on—it's my new phone, I need to break it in."
"…We'll see when we get back."
Ranhua knew *we'll see* meant yes. She smiled wider and held on tighter.
Ruoqing glanced down at her arm, said nothing.
The streetlights threw their shadows onto the ground—one tall, one shorter, one swaying constantly, one perfectly still.
She thought: this person is so loud.
But somehow not in a way she minded.