阿泽又一次把外卖骑手骂骂咧咧地挂了电话，靠在吱呀作响的旧木椅上，看着窗外。深圳的雨季总是来得猝不及防，哗啦啦一下就砸下来，把楼下的共享单车都淋成了黑铁疙瘩。屋里光线暗，他扯着领口，还是觉得热得慌。

“阿泽，别赖在椅子上啦，冰箱里的酸菜鱼都快凉了。”柳晚踩着高跟鞋从厨房出来，手里还拿着两瓶啤酒。

“晚晚，你能不能让我安静会儿。”阿泽翻了个白眼，声音里带着点不耐烦。他刚被导师叫去开了个冗长得要命的会，回来只想瘫着。

“怎么，嫌弃我做的菜了？”柳晚走近，拎起他的胳膊，把他拽进客厅，“嫌我烦就直说，当初要死要活地跟着你从北方跑南下，图的是啥？”

阿泽 wasn't about to argue. He just sighed and plopped onto the sofa, taking a swig from the beer she handed him. The living room was small, crammed with second-hand furniture they’d picked up from different thrift stores over the past few months. One wall was dominated by a bookshelf that still wasn't fully stocked, the other by a wobbly IKEA coffee table that had required three attempts to assemble.

“就是觉得，这里太吵了。”阿泽 said, popping the beer can open with his finger. The can erupted in a small salute of foam.

柳晚笑他：“吵？哪有，跟你说，楼下那对情侣吵架，我都听得到。”她凑近他，压低声音，“男的吼得跟幼儿园老师似的。”

阿泽咧嘴笑起来：“那不挺好？至少比北方那些闷声大发财的家伙强。”

两人拌了会儿嘴，柳晚突然安静下来，眼神有点飘忽地盯着天花板。