Gu Shiying steadied himself, stepping slightly to the side. Fu Huan naturally withdrew his hands, letting them fall to his sides, where they slowly curled into fists.
He was holding himself back.
Once a certain switch was flipped, it was like a floodgate bursting open—impossible to close again.
He had held Gu Shiying’s wrist, steadied his arm, gripped his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his waist. Although each contact was brief, he savored every touch, reluctant to let go. Day and night, the thoughts consumed him. Desire grew heavier by the hour.
Just moments ago, he’d felt magnanimous, willing just to stay by Gu Shiying’s side, letting him develop feelings bit by bit. But now, he didn’t want to go bit by bit. He wanted to possess Gu Shiying. To hold him tight. To be like those couples earlier. To have Gu Shiying’s attention. To be called by a special, intimate nickname meant just for him.
The fireworks were breathtaking, but fleeting.
His phone captured the transient beauty. Satisfied that his footage supply had swelled to fill another page, Gu Shiying happily went to get late-night snacks with Fu Huan.
With so many tourists today, every shop was packed. Luckily, Fu Huan had taken him to a more hidden spot. Far less foot traffic than the places right on the water. When they arrived, there were still open tables. They ate for over an hour before heading back to the guesthouse.
Both carried the smoky scent of the BBQ grill from their meal. Back in the room, Gu Shiying went straight for a shower. After he came out, Fu Huan went in.
Wearing the pajamas Fu Huan had bought today, Gu Shiying curled up on the orange two-seater fabric sofa, blow-drying his hair. The room had a small balcony. Leaving the door open let in the sound of the night ocean and the sea breeze.
In this atmosphere, after drying his hair, Gu Shiying was scrolling through his footage. But the pajamas were too silky and comfortable. After a few videos, he found himself dozing off against the sofa, his chin propped on his hand.
Creak.
The rusted hinges of the bathroom door screeched open, chasing away half of Gu Shiying’s drowsiness.
No—he couldn’t sleep. He had to share a 1.5-meter bed with Fu Huan. Pulling an all-nighter was mandatory tonight.
Fu Huan walked out, toweling his damp hair. “Tired?”
Gu Shiying’s brain was still a muddle. “Uh, yeah, a bit.”
Fu Huan: “Then sleep.”
Gu Shiying: “Aren’t you sleeping?”
Fu Huan headed toward the sofa area. His long legs brought him over in two strides. Gu Shiying found himself enveloped in the same guesthouse body wash scent. His legs instinctively pressed together, and he shifted back against the sofa cushions.
Fu Huan said, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
Gu Shiying: “You’re not sleeping in the bed?”
Fu Huan turned his head to look at him. “Gu Shiying, don’t forget—I’m gay. You have no psychological burden about that?”
This caught him completely off guard. Fu Huan had just directly stabbed through the elephant in the room that Gu Shiying had been deliberately ignoring. It wasn’t that he didn’t know. He knew all too well.
Gu Shiying: “Oh, uh, right. The bed’s pretty big.”
Fu Huan: “Don’t spout nonsense with your eyes wide open.”
Gu Shiying: “Well, isn’t it better than the dorm beds?”
Fu Huan: “Not enough for two people.”
Gu Shiying: “The sofa’s way too short. How about I sleep on the sofa, you take the bed?”
Fu Huan: “No. Get on the bed.”
“We’re brothers. No need to split hairs like this.” Even he could barely keep up the act. Mostly, saying things like this was just a way to make Fu Huan understand it was hopeless and give up more firmly.
The smile on Fu Huan’s face slowly faded. “Gu Shiying, stop it.”
Gu Shiying feigned indifference. “Ha, you’re being way too cautious.”
He ducked into the bathroom for a moment, then crawled out and burrowed under the covers. He tossed the extra pillow over to Fu Huan.
Fu Huan stretched out a long arm and caught it, tucking it against one side of the sofa. “Just go to sleep. We have to be up early for the sunrise.”
After pulling the blanket up, Gu Shiying poked his head out again. “You don’t have a blanket. Won’t you be cold? Maybe just get on the bed.”
Fu Huan: “No need. I’m not cold.”
Gu Shiying had a point, but he didn’t even realize it. Earlier, seeing Gu Shiying in the pajamas he’d hurriedly bought—his fingertips had trembled in the shower. Sitting close to him on the sofa just now? He was burning up all over. How could he possibly be cold?
Moonlight streamed in through the glass balcony door. Lying on his side on the sofa, Fu Huan could openly gaze at Gu Shiying, whose face was half-buried in the pillow.
In the dorm, for the sake of some privacy, everyone put up bed curtains. Fu Huan rarely had a chance to observe Gu Shiying from a level, horizontal angle like this. Still, he knew that Gu Shiying normally didn’t wrap himself up like a burrito while sleeping.
Usually, Gu Shiying slept in a starfish pose, legs often dangling over the bed rail.
But now, he’d cocooned himself into a chrysalis.
Was the AC set too low? Could he really be that cold?
Fu Huan felt no chill whatsoever.
Probably not. The AC was set to 26 degrees—he’d checked the remote before turning off the lights. The remote was still in the same spot; Gu Shiying hadn’t touched it.
But Gu Shiying couldn’t possibly have figured out he liked him, right?
Yet just moments ago, he’d been throwing the word “brothers” around, face full of righteous, adorably clueless innocence.
Fu Huan felt a spark of joy at that sliver of possibility. But then, in the darkness, a huge wave of disappointment crashed over him.
He knew. A Gu Shiying who could toss out the word “brothers” like that could never, ever have romantic feelings for him.
Gu Shiying was genuinely exhausted, struggling just to keep his eyes open. Yet he knew exactly what Fu Huan was thinking; he could only wrap himself tighter.
So tired.
It was somewhat noisy outside—other tourists were just returning. Their voices drifted through, passing by the room.
Gu Shiying was in that hazy, half-asleep state. Once the chatter died down, sleep began to claim him again.
But just as he’d fallen back asleep, a loud BANG—like an explosion right next to his ear—jolted him upright in bed.
“What?! What happened?!”
In a fluster, Gu Shiying fumbled for the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light.
He saw Fu Huan, still on the sofa—only the sofa had partially collapsed beneath him. His posture was twisted, the two sofa cushions now forming a V-shape crushed under his weight.
Gu Shiying couldn’t hold back. A snort of laughter escaped him. Then he felt it was maybe a bit immoral to laugh. He threw off the blankets, jumped out of bed, and went to help the slightly stunned Fu Huan up.
Grasping Fu Huan’s sleeve, he lent him a hand to stand. Fu Huan didn’t dare put any weight on the broken, treacherous sofa.
Gu Shiying was now wide awake. “You okay? How does a sofa just collapse? The quality is awful!”
Fu Huan was also speechless, a wry laugh escaping him. “Truly terrible. No wonder this place still had vacancies when I booked. It’s because everything here is falling apart.”
They’d both gained a new understanding of this mom-and-pop operation.
Gu Shiying fumed, “Definitely never staying at a couple-run place again.”
Fu Huan was just as exasperated. “Mm. Next time I’ll remember to check the reviews.”
Gu Shiying: “…” Wait. Who said there’d be a “next time” staying outside with you? Don’t even think about it.
However, after grumbling about the guesthouse, they returned to the night’s most agonizing issue.
The sofa was un-sleepable. Fu Huan had to take the bed.
Settling back into bed, Gu Shiying proactively patted the space beside him. “Sleep here.”
“No other choice,” Fu Huan admitted. This time, he couldn’t afford to be conflicted. He placed his pillow back and gingerly lowered himself onto the mattress—rigid as a board, as still as a log.
Gu Shiying wasn’t wrapped like a mummy this time. He even had to share half the blanket with Fu Huan.
But neither of them moved the blanket much.
Gu Shiying’s voice was stiff too. “I’m sleeping. Goodnight.”
Fu Huan’s hands were flat on his stomach, his throat tight. “Goodnight.”
At last, it was truly quiet. No more noise filtered in from outside.
Most of Gu Shiying’s drowsiness had been obliterated; sleeping felt impossible now.
He had never been this close to Fu Huan before!
Usually, there might be an occasional, brief moment of physical contact, but it always ended quickly. Now, lying in a 1.5-meter bed? Only a single blanket separated them.
In the dark silence, even their breathing seemed amplified.
After ten minutes, Gu Shiying tugged a corner of the blanket up over his chest.
Fu Huan must be asleep by now, right?
He wasn’t moving. His breathing was steady and even.
Thank goodness. He could finally relax and sleep.
Drowsiness, which had never fully left, returned. Relaxing now, it washed over him powerfully.
Before long, Gu Shiying was in a deep sleep. Unconsciously, he turned over, facing Fu Huan.
Fu Huan, not sleepy at all, traced the outline of his features with a burning gaze, aided by the faint light from the balcony.
If Gu Shiying were to wake up now, he would see a Fu Huan he’d never witnessed before. Eyes rimmed with the red of suppressed longing, filled not just with raw desire, but with a depth of devotion that could drown a person.
That night, Fu Huan didn’t even manage a moment of shuteye—let alone a nap. Because in the middle of the night, Gu Shiying reverted to his usual sleeping bravado: he threw his leg directly over Fu Huan’s thigh as if it were a body pillow.
Fu Huan stared at the ceiling in quiet bliss, his mind playing endless fantasies of pulling Gu Shiying into his arms.
He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to move. It was only when he thought about the drive home in the afternoon and the need to avoid driving tired that he forced himself to doze a little.
Gu Shiying, on the other hand, slept utterly unaware. He opened his eyes to morning light spilling through the window.
He usually moved in his sleep—sometimes starfishing, sometimes curling on his side with a leg hitched over a pillow.
Hold on. The thing under his leg was a pillow, right? But why was it so hard?
Still half-asleep, assuming he was in the dorm, he didn’t want to open his eyes yet. Two seconds later, his memory came crashing back. He hadn’t slept in the dorm. He’d slept in a guesthouse. And he’d slept in the same bed as Fu Huan.
Crap. That thing under his leg… it was…
Yep. Fu Huan’s thigh.
Gu Shiying quickly moved his leg away, pretending nothing had happened.
Wait. Wasn’t he forgetting something?
The sunrise! What time was it?
He bolted upright, scratching his hair in confusion, then grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
He’d been in such a messy state last night, he’d completely forgotten to set an alarm!
Fu Huan stirred awake the moment the leg was removed.
Gu Shiying asked him, “You didn’t set an alarm either?”
Fu Huan blinked innocently. “I forgot.”
It wasn’t that he’d forgotten to set an alarm. After some thought, he’d decided: if Gu Shiying woke up on his own, they’d watch the sunrise together. If he didn’t wake before dawn… then maybe there would be another chance for them to come here, in the future.
Gu Shiying rarely saw Fu Huan just waking up. He himself was always groggy and disoriented upon waking. Fu Huan wasn’t even human—he’d go for a morning jog even in the dead of winter. Every time Gu Shiying woke up, Fu Huan was already back from his run and freshly showered.
Seeing Fu Huan with messy hair, blinking up at him… it was kind of… cute.
Gu Shiying looked away. “Well, we’re awake anyway. I’m gonna wash up.”
By the time he rushed through his morning routine and came back out, Fu Huan was still sitting on the bed.
Gu Shiying: “Not getting up?”
Fu Huan: “No—my leg’s asleep.”
Gu Shiying: “Don’t tell me I used it as a pillow all night.”
Fu Huan looked at him. “Yeah.”
Gu Shiying, once again speaking before thinking: “Want me to rub it for you?”
Fu Huan’s response came even faster. “Sure.”
Gu Shiying badly wanted to throttle his own self from one second ago.
