“…”
In the instant his words landed, Wen Chaosheng clearly caught the subtle flicker in Xi Zhui’s eyes. Thinking his explanation hadn’t been clear enough, he paused for a moment before adding more.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Everyone has desires. That’s perfectly normal.”
Over the years abroad, even he had occasionally woken from midnight dreams with visions of those tender yet wild moments flashing through his mind.
Xi Zhui gazed at the growing drunken haze in Wen Chaosheng’s eyes and gave a half-smile. “Wen Chaosheng, do you know that every time you get drunk, you turn into a rogue who knows exactly how to push boundaries?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng thought that was a bit much. He wasn’t some rogue.
Meeting those silently protesting eyes, Xi Zhui continued, “Glare at me and deny it in your head all you want. You’re still the biggest rogue in the world.”
Normally, the one who turned mute whenever something came up was him. Yet after a few drinks, it was like a second personality emerged—one that permitted all sorts of intimate acts.
And once sober? Everything vanished from memory. He’d retreat into his turtle shell, playing dumb about every word spoken, every deed done, every promise made!
Xi Zhui had never met anyone who took such shameless advantage of being “drunk” quite like Wen Chaosheng.
“…”
Wen Chaosheng nearly suspected Xi Zhui could read minds. He quickly averted his eyes. Two seconds later, he tried to argue back. “You’re the one who said something about making it up to me. I just thought…”
Xi Zhui arched a brow. “Thought what? That I was dying to jump into bed with you?”
He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them even more. “Wen Chaosheng, who exactly wanted to sleep with whom? That night we reunited, was I the one who started it? Hmm?”
Wen Chaosheng’s thoughts were led astray by those words, so he threw caution to the wind and admitted it. “Fine.”
Rogue, scoundrel—call him what you would.
Inviting an ex through the back door, even asking that ex for a one-night stand? Yeah, it all sounded pretty outrageous.
His brain had ground to a halt. Lowering his head, he abandoned all thoughts of “compensation” and went into standby mode, like some idle little avatar.
His head was a fluffy mess of tousled curls, chaotic and utterly adorable—just begging for someone to reach out and ruffle it.
“…”
Acting all coy now? Putting on that puppy-dog charm?
Unable to see Wen Chaosheng’s expression clearly, Xi Zhui simply grabbed his wrist and pulled him farther inside.
Wen Chaosheng staggered along until he reached the bed’s edge. His head spun, and he plopped down with a soft “Mm.”
Xi Zhui was about to speak when his gaze suddenly snagged on a familiar jacket lying on the bed. His eyes paused there.
“…”
“Xi Zhui?”
Wen Chaosheng gave a small shake of his still-captive wrist.
Xi Zhui pulled his gaze from the jacket and let go. “If you’re tired, just sleep. Arguing with you tonight is pointless anyway.”
The next second, Wen Chaosheng grabbed his wrist in return. “A-Are you heading back?”
“…”
That smooth palm pressed against his wrist, carrying a familiar warmth.
Meeting Wen Chaosheng’s drunken, misty gaze, Xi Zhui had a fleeting moment where he felt transported back to Gannan years ago—
That night at the wrap-up banquet, Wen Chaosheng had gotten drunk too. Back in the hotel room, he wouldn’t sleep, just clung to Xi Zhui’s hand and softly asked where he was going.
Shaking off the memory a beat late, Xi Zhui suddenly didn’t want to leave. He came up with a lame excuse. “I left my room card with Xiao Chao. I’ll wait till he gets back from dinner, but can I borrow your bathroom to shower first?”
Wen Chaosheng took it at face value. “Sure.”
Just sharing the same space with Xi Zhui peacefully—even for one extra second—was bliss to him.
The bathroom door shut, blocking Xi Zhui from view.
Wen Chaosheng let out a small breath of relief. His peripheral glance landed on the jacket still glaringly displayed on the bed.
“…”
Had Xi Zhui noticed it?
Wen Chaosheng hurriedly folded the jacket and tucked it back under the right-side pillow.
The patter of shower water echoed from the bathroom, almost hypnotic.
Wen Chaosheng fought the rising tide of sleepiness, stubbornly waiting for Xi Zhui to emerge. But his eyelids kept drooping, and he couldn’t hold out.
A long while later, with a soft click—
The bathroom door handle turned. On the verge of dozing off, Wen Chaosheng jolted instinctively and struggled to lift his eyes.
Fresh from the shower, Xi Zhui hadn’t bothered with his old clothes. He’d simply wrapped a towel around his waist out of habit.
Years of consistent training had sculpted his body to perfection. The contours of his abs were even more defined than six years ago, without being overly bulky.
A thin sheen of lingering moisture clung to his skin, lending an indescribable allure.
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s gaze drifted unconsciously to those abs. But before he could fully appreciate them, his eyes froze in shock, banishing any trace of drowsiness—
There, along the edge of Xi Zhui’s right abdomen, snaked a terrifyingly long scar that curved out of sight toward his lower back.
“Xi Zhui? You…”
Wen Chaosheng felt his breath tremble. In all his memories, Xi Zhui’s body had never borne such a mark!
Xi Zhui realized too late that the scar was exposed. A flicker of annoyance crossed his mind.
He’d figured so much alcohol would have knocked Wen Chaosheng out cold, so he’d been careless coming out.
He tugged the towel up a fraction and brushed it off lightly. “Just an old injury from an accident. It’s nothing now.”
Wen Chaosheng’s hand twitched forward instinctively, wanting to touch it but holding back. “H-How could it be nothing?”
Even fully healed, a scar that length made it all too easy to imagine how deadly the wound had once been!
“…”
Why had it happened? When?
He’d kept tabs on Xi Zhui’s news all along—how had he never seen this online?
Countless questions bubbled up in Wen Chaosheng’s foggy mind. He opened his mouth, but grief choked him silent. “I…”
That reunion night in the bathroom, Xi Zhui had worn a bathrobe the whole time, and it had been from behind. Later on the big bed, the room had been dark, and Wen Chaosheng’s own depressive haze had blinded him to it.
A long time passed—or maybe just seconds—before Wen Chaosheng heard his own voice, thick with a near-sob:
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s hovering fingertips brushed the scar’s edge, sending a teasing itch.
With that apology—one that never should have come from him—Xi Zhui’s heart melted completely.
He took hold of those cool fingertips. “No need to apologize. This has nothing to do with you, and hardly anyone even knows about it.”
But Wen Chaosheng didn’t see it that way.
He should have known. He should have noticed sooner. He should have been by Xi Zhui’s side the moment it happened.
Too late now, though.
The healed scar etched on Xi Zhui’s body now burned itself into Wen Chaosheng’s heart, years later.
“Wen Chaosheng.” Xi Zhui gave his fingertips a squeeze, like a reminder. “Time to sleep.”
Wen Chaosheng ignored that and asked instead, “Hasn’t Xiao Chao come back yet? Why don’t you rest here for a bit?”
Just what Xi Zhui wanted. “Sure.”
The room’s main light flicked off, leaving only the bedside lamp.
The two men lay on the same bed once more, under the same covers. A scant distance separated their bodies—negligible, really—but enough warmth passed between them.
Wen Chaosheng’s mind was consumed by that newly discovered scar. Sleep was impossible.
He turned toward Xi Zhui, asking cautiously, “Xi Zhui, can you tell me when the accident happened? How could it have been so serious?”
Xi Zhui turned to face him, his reply as curt as ever. “On set during a movie. It’s fine now. Drop it.”
Drunk people overthought everything as it was. He didn’t want Wen Chaosheng wasting emotions on an old scar.
Wen Chaosheng hesitated, then murmured, “Oh.”
Afraid of annoying him, he decided to ask Xiao Chao on the sly later.
“…”
The man before him neither spoke nor closed his eyes. Those drunken eyes shimmered faintly vacant.
Xi Zhui simply stared.
Without the thick-framed glasses to mask it, under the bedside glow, the dark circles under Wen Chaosheng’s eyes stood out starkly—evidence of long-accumulated exhaustion.
Xi Zhui recalled first seeing him: that lifeless thinness, devoid of any sign he’d been truly living.
“Wen Chaosheng.”
Finally, Xi Zhui voiced it. “These years abroad—how have you really been? Were you sick?”
“…”
The word “sick” made Wen Chaosheng’s breath hitch. He immediately thought of those carefully hidden pill packets and denied it flat-out. “No.”
“No illness. I’ve been doing fine.”
Past experience told Xi Zhui that Wen Chaosheng couldn’t lie when drunk, yet he didn’t buy it. “Then why aren’t you eating properly? You clearly haven’t been sleeping well either.”
“No reason. I can’t cook, and takeout abroad sucks. My appetite’s just shrunk.”
Wen Chaosheng pressed his lips together; his lying skills had improved at least. “I’ve been buried in the Rotten Mud script, flipping day and night. Since coming back for the movie, I’ve been nonstop too. Haven’t rested much.”
A solid explanation, no cracks.
Xi Zhui let it go. “Then sleep. You’ve got three days off—use them to rest up.”
“Mm.”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t want Xi Zhui knowing about his depression and meds. Fearing more questions, he obediently shut his eyes.
He worried Xi Zhui might slip away once he dozed off, so even with eyes closed, he clung to consciousness. But the steady presence beside him brought utter security, loosening his taut nerves.
Gradually, thick drowsiness claimed him.
“…”
At last, even breathing came steady from beside him.
Xi Zhui relaxed. He shifted, erasing that last bit of space between them. In the dim night, his gaze grew greedy yet tender—
Wen Chaosheng always slept so obediently, forever tucking half his face into the covers and holding the same position until dawn.
Xi Zhui had more than once gazed upon Wen Chaosheng’s sleeping face and harbored such thoughts:
He wanted to gaze at him like this for the rest of his life.
He wanted to be the last person Wen Chaosheng saw before drifting off each night and the first one he beheld upon waking each morning.
Unfortunately, even when they had been together, they had seen each other far more seldom than often. The lifetime he had envisioned had ended abruptly the moment he laid eyes on that breakup text.
Time had marched on. Nearly six years had passed since their parting, and now the one he had lost lay before him once more—sleeping peacefully and utterly defenseless at his side.
Suddenly, Xi Zhui no longer cared to dwell on those long-past questions, the ones he could never unravel or find answers for.
Because he had realized that what he truly wanted was still this man right before him.
…
The night stretched endlessly, dawn still distant.
In the middle of the night, Wen Chaosheng stirred awake, muddled from drink, and tried to slip free from the warm embrace.
Xi Zhui was a light sleeper and jolted awake in an instant. “Wen Chaosheng! Where are you going?”
“…”
The sudden yank left Wen Chaosheng dizzy and disoriented. He let out a little whine. “I’m going to the bathroom. Stop pulling me.”
Xi Zhui eased his grip. “Want me to go with you? Can you even walk straight?”
“Mm!”
Wen Chaosheng waved off any help and staggered toward the bathroom under his own power.
Xi Zhui watched the direction in which he had gone, waiting quietly as his heart continued to pound from the lingering terror of that half-remembered nightmare.
A moment later, Wen Chaosheng wandered back in a daze. Without a second thought, he burrowed right back into the familiar embrace, completely oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.
Xi Zhui gazed down at the man who had snuggled up to him so instinctively and chuckled softly. “Wen Chaosheng?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng came face-to-face with features mere inches away, unsure whether this was a dream or reality. “Mm.”
Politeness first, regardless. “Hello, Xi Zhui.”
Xi Zhui laughed again at the quintessential drunken greeting. “How is it that after sleeping the whole night through, you’re even drunker than before?”
Wen Chaosheng’s head was still swimming; he hadn’t caught a word Xi Zhui had said. But upon noticing the unmistakable smile tugging at the corners of the other’s mouth again and again, a memory bubbled up from the depths of his mind.
“Xi Zhui.”
Without thinking, Wen Chaosheng voiced the question. “Why do you like the spacey type?”
Xi Zhui blinked in surprise at the familiar query. “What?”
Wen Chaosheng whined. “Didn’t you say that tonight, no matter what I asked, you’d tell me?”
“…”
On their final night in Gannan, Wen Chaosheng had gotten up midway through the night for the bathroom—and after rousing Xi Zhui in the process, he had even circled back to their conversation from before bed.
—Xi Zhui, do you have a girl you like? Have you ever dated?
—No. Why do I have to like girls?
—Then what kind of person do you like?
—I like the spacey type.
Drunk now and unable to distinguish dream from reality, Wen Chaosheng’s mind had rewound to that night in Gannan. He was utterly convinced that the man before him was the very same Xi Zhui who had just accompanied him in filming Contour.
Xi Zhui stayed silent for far too long. Wen Chaosheng couldn’t help but prod him. “Xi Zhui, why aren’t you saying anything? How could anyone’s ideal type be spacey? You’re so weird.”
After a brief hesitation of two seconds, Xi Zhui obliged the man in his arms by reciting his answer from back then. “What’s weird about it? I like you. Nothing strange there.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s eyes flew wide. He tried to lean back. “What?”
The reaction was identical to that night years ago.
Xi Zhui tightened his arm around Wen Chaosheng’s waist, drawing him close once more. “No hiding.”
Then, just as he had back then, he teased him.
“I’ve already told you I like you. The polite thing would be to say if you like me back.”
“Wen Chaosheng, aren’t you always the picture of politeness?”
“…”
It was utter nonsense, completely illogical.
Wen Chaosheng wavered in confusion and silence but ultimately chose to play the role of the courteous one. “All right. I like you too.”
He paused, then murmured in belated, bashful realization, “…I like you a lot. I’ve liked you for ages.”
Xi Zhui’s face broke into a wide smile. “Yeah? How much?”
That had been his feeling back then. But what about now? Did he still like him?
Their noses brushed together, their warm breaths stirring each other’s senses.
Lured onward, Wen Chaosheng fished a line from the depths of memory. “If we like each other, that means we should kiss.”
With that, urged on by the alcohol, he tilted his head up to do just that.
Unlike back then, Xi Zhui turned aside.
“…”
Wen Chaosheng went still.
A wave of sorrow—out of place in what should have been a dream—surged through him, twining around his heart like vines.
Kisses were for those you liked, and Xi Zhui no longer liked him.
Cruel reality bled into the recollection, turning even the dream bittersweet.
Tears spilled silently once more. Overwhelmed with grievance, Wen Chaosheng didn’t know what to do. “Don’t dodge… Don’t stop liking me…”
From start to finish, Xi Zhui had been perfectly sober.
He had no intention of crossing lines while Wen Chaosheng was drunk, nor of complicating their already tangled relationship any further. But those tears and that plea left him unable to stay detached.
“Why cry? I never stopped liking you.”
Still, Xi Zhui leaned in and kissed him. In that deep, damp tangle of lips, he let slip the truth he had buried for years. “I love you.”
Perhaps that single word—”love”—struck too fiercely. Wen Chaosheng flung his arms around him in an instant, kissing back with desperate, clumsy fervor, refusing to grant Xi Zhui even the slightest chance to withdraw.
A sharp sting pierced Xi Zhui’s upper lip, accompanied by the faint, salty tang of blood.
The Turtle had bitten him again.
Xi Zhui paid the pain no mind. He simply rolled them over, pinning Wen Chaosheng beneath him. “Wen Chaosheng—are you sure you want to keep going?”
Their gazes locked, desire flaring like wildfire.
Still convinced it was a long-lost beautiful dream, Wen Chaosheng surrendered willingly.
His eyes glistened with tears, his lips soft as he leaned in once more, revealing that vulnerable, yearning side seen by Xi Zhui alone. “…Yes.”
Everything you give me, I want it all.
