Noah dragged his weary body and waited at the elevator door. As he watched the red numbers slowly decrease, the elevator chimed with a "ding" and the doors slid open.
He chose to stand in the corner, trying to keep his distance from the other passengers. The sudden drop in temperature chilled him, and he could feel the cold creeping into his bones. Now, to top it all off, he had caught a cold. In the confined space, his nose felt painfully blocked, as if stuffed with cotton.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he should have already finished his shower and be snuggled in bed by now. Instead, dizziness and nasal congestion fogged his mind, making it difficult to think. It felt like a spring in need of lubrication—straining and creaking under the pressure.
Noah coughed softly, trying to relieve the itch in his throat, and watched the numbers rise, willing the elevator to move faster. Finally, it reached his floor.
He stepped out quickly. The corridor's windows were ajar, and a gust of wind rushed through, bringing a slight chill that oddly eased the discomfort in his nose.
Unlocking the door, Noah shrugged off his coat and hung it by the entrance before swapping his hard leather shoes for soft, cozy wool slippers.
"Are you back? I ordered takeout—it's on the table. If you want to eat, just heat it up in the microwave," came a voice from the living room.
Noah turned to see Oliver, his marriage partner, lounging casually on the sofa, engrossed in a TV show.
He glanced at the half-finished bowl of spicy Maoxuewang on the table, the remnants of duck blood and coagulated oil staring back at him. "I can't eat spicy food; I have a cold," Noah replied, his voice thick with congestion.
Oliver didn't even turn his head, focused on the screen. "Oh, then what do you want to eat? I can order something else."
Noah felt his appetite wane. He hadn't bought groceries today, and the refrigerator was likely bare. "Forget it. I'm not hungry."
Oliver switched off the TV and stood. "Okay, then clear the table. I left it for you." As he walked past Noah, he added casually, "I'm going on a business trip tomorrow. Remember to take your medicine, you're not a kid anymore."
With that, Oliver disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him. A year ago, they had started sleeping in separate rooms—the day Noah discovered Oliver's infidelity. He couldn't bear sharing a space with someone who had betrayed him, even though intimacy had already waned long before.
Back then, they had shared a bed but rarely connected physically. Noah never cared much for overly intimate gestures; perhaps he was more suited for a platonic relationship. So, he'd used his work as an excuse to create distance, claiming he didn't want to disturb Oliver's sleep.
Oliver had remained blissfully unaware of Noah's emotional withdrawal, perhaps because he only ever thought of himself.
As for Noah, he resisted the thought of divorce, but it wasn't because he still loved Oliver. The love he once had was slowly eroded by Oliver's indifference. He had grown accustomed to their relationship being reduced to mere coexistence, treating Oliver more like a roommate than a partner.
The first piece of furniture they bought together was a water purifier. As long as the power was on, they would always have hot water. Noah vividly remembered their early days, shivering as they boiled water for bathing in the winter because the pipes froze solid.
Now, having moved from the freezing north to the rapidly developing City A, the winter cold was manageable. The water pipes no longer froze, a small comfort amidst the changes.
Noah gazed around their home, adorned with familiar decorations that felt warm yet hollow. He sipped on the hot water, feeling it wash over him, and slowly made his way to his room.
Tomorrow was Friday, and he looked forward to a brief reprieve after finishing work.
The next morning, Noah awoke to the sound of his alarm clock. A glance at the messy bathroom counter told him that Oliver had already left. The mint toothpaste invigorated him as he washed his face with warm water, wiping the countertop dry with a towel.
Fortune favored him today; there was no traffic. He settled into his workstation, surrounded by the familiar sounds of keyboards and chatter.
As the workday neared its end, excitement buzzed in the air. Everyone was eager to embrace the upcoming weekend, a welcome break from the week's fatigue.
"Noah, have you and your partner tried any good restaurants lately?" Emma, seated next to him, asked brightly.
Their boss was generous, offering full overtime subsidies and never deducting holidays—a dream for any office worker.
"What's up, Emma? Trouble in paradise?" Noah replied, unscrewing his thermos for a sip. "What works for me might not work for you."
Emma smiled unabashedly. "I'm having dinner with my ex-boyfriend the day after tomorrow. Ahem, maybe he's not really my ex anymore."
Noah recalled Emma mentioning her former partner, Elijah—a decent but somewhat dull guy. They had experienced the ups and downs of first love, navigating their different worldviews. Their clashes had led to breakups, reconciliations, and the inevitable drama that seemed to bond them.
"It sounds promising. I wouldn't be surprised if you had good news for me on Monday," Noah said, propping his chin on his hand.
"Your nasal voice is better today! Just remember to keep warm in this weather." Emma rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small white box. "This is the medicine my mom bought for me; it works wonders. You should get some."
Noah accepted the box, his heart warming at her thoughtfulness. "Thanks for looking out for me, Emma." He smiled, a genuine expression breaking through his usual reserve.
"Not a big deal! I've got to run—don't forget to send me those restaurant names!" With a cheerful wave, Emma gathered her things and headed out.
As Noah watched her lively departure, he leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly to himself.