“Balenciaga,” Mu Yicong said.
“Whose?” Qi Yang looked up at him dubiously.
Mu Yicong’s lips curled into a faint smile—rarely without sarcasm, as if he genuinely found Qi Yang amusing.
He leaned sideways against the wall and countered, “You know what shoes I usually wear?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Qi Yang put the ugly shoes back. “Anyone wearing these at school would be laughed to death.”
After wasting a weird amount of time studying the shoes, Qi Yang stayed crouched on the floor, tilted his head, and dug around in the shoe cabinet for a while longer before finally pulling out the slippers.
He even wobbled a bit.
Mu Yicong looked down at the top of Qi Yang’s head, his eyelashes half-covering his eyes.
Qi Yang’s acting a bit out of it today.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, remembering the two cans of pineapple beer Qi Yang had just drunk. “Getting drunk off juice?”
“I don’t think so.” Qi Yang rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. “It’s just comfortable crouching.”
As he spoke, he stood up to change his shoes. Whether it was from standing up too fast or his alcohol tolerance being truly pathetic, his feet stumbled again.
Mu Yicong instinctively reached out an arm to catch him.
But Qi Yang had already steadied himself by grabbing Mu Yicong’s arm. Suddenly regaining his agility, he jammed a knee between Mu Yicong’s legs and flipped him onto the floor.
“That’s payback for when you threw me last time.” Qi Yang swung his leg over and straddled Mu Yicong’s waist, laughing triumphantly.
Mu Yicong didn’t get up immediately.
He wasn’t angry at Qi Yang’s sudden attack, nor did he show any frustration at being at a disadvantage. Even pinned down, his expression remained blank, his dark eyes fixed on Qi Yang.
There was that familiar arrogance and disdain in his eyes—faint, but unmistakable.
That look.
Every time Qi Yang saw it, it lit a fire in him.
“Call me ‘Dad’ and I’ll let you up,” he said, pressing the web of his hand against Mu Yicong’s Adam’s apple, mimicking the way Mu Yicong had once choked him.
Mu Yicong didn’t even flinch. He tilted his chin slightly upward, following the pressure from Qi Yang’s hand.
Maybe it was the way his Adam’s apple slid against the palm, or the smooth line of his jaw, or perhaps it was simply the same reason as the first time they met—just that look in Mu Yicong’s eyes.
Feeling the pulse beneath Mu Yicong’s skin and staring into those pitch-black eyes, Qi Yang’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.
“You’re so boring.” He yanked his hand back, rolled off, and lay crookedly on the floor.
Mu Yicong sat up and looked at him for a moment, then lightly kicked him in the leg.
That night marked the beginning of what, in Qi Yang’s memory, was the most harmonious period with Mu Yicong.
In their student days, hostility came without reason, and reconciliation didn’t seem to need much of a catalyst either.
Using the excuse that his home was getting louder and louder, Qi Yang started going to Mu Yicong’s place more and more often. When weekends or holidays rolled around, he’d stay there for the whole day.
While everyone else still thought they were irreconcilable enemies, their relationship was quietly growing closer day by day.
Intimate to the point of being clingy.
—Young Qi Yang couldn’t accept the word “ambiguous.” He found it too sappy. Between two guys, the most he could describe it as was “clingy.”
Clingy to the point where wearing Mu Yicong’s slippers, drinking from his cup, eating with him, and spending time at his place wasn’t enough anymore.
One day, while gaming with Liu Dameng and Cui Wu at an internet cafe, listening to the clatter of keyboards in the private room and their loud yells over game moves, a thought suddenly popped into Qi Yang’s head: I’d rather be hanging out with Mu Yicong.
The moment that thought appeared, Qi Yang froze for a long time.
He racked his brain but couldn’t figure out what was so interesting about being with someone who was like a dead log.
Couldn’t come up with anything. No logic. No reason.
What baffled Qi Yang even more was Mu Yicong’s attitude.
Originally, he didn’t care what Mu Yicong thought. He’d bully him whenever he wanted, and he’d go bother him to kill time whenever he wanted. During the summer break between junior and senior year of high school, he’d spent almost a third of his time with Mu Yicong.
After getting this clingy for a while, Qi Yang suddenly became very curious about Mu Yicong’s thoughts.
He went to Mu Yicong because he was bored. But why did Mu Yicong always let him come over?
This question mixed with the issue of Mu Yicong’s sexual orientation popped into his head at the same time. Qi Yang subconsciously stopped thinking, feeling like there was something wrong with him.
He hadn’t planned to ask—until the Saturday night of the first week of senior year.
That day after evening self-study, Liu Dameng had roped a few people into going to the internet cafe. After parting at the intersection, Qi Yang planned to go straight home. But the handlebars of his bike somehow turned on their own, and he ended up riding to the building below Mu Yicong’s place.
Only Mu Yicong wasn’t home that day.
Qi Yang waited in the pitch-black stairwell for nearly an hour. He even sent Mu Yicong a question mark, but got no reply for a long time.
Staring at the message he’d sent on the screen, Qi Yang felt a strong surge of annoyance.
He felt like an idiot.
Fuming, he went home. Zou Meizhu was screaming at Qi Xing again.
Qi Xing screamed back at her. They were like two lunatics.
Qi Yang didn’t want to say a word. He didn’t even ask why. He just picked up Qi Xing, carried her into his own bedroom, and slammed the door shut with a bang.
He grabbed a random book from his backpack, found a pen, and let Qi Xing lie on the bed and draw. He turned on his computer and started gaming, clicking the mouse loudly.
Once both Zou Meizhu outside and Qi Xing inside had quieted down, Qi Yang carried Qi Xing back to Zou Meizhu, then went to the bathroom to shower.
As the water poured over his head, Mu Yicong’s name surfaced again, and Qi Yang showered with anger burning in his head.
It was nearly 1 a.m. when Qi Yang had already turned off the lights and was about to sleep. His phone buzzed softly on the pillow.
Mu Yicong: Just saw it. What’s up?
Qi Yang sat up immediately, holding the phone and typing: Where did you go?
Mu Yicong: Eating.
Qi Yang: Why don’t you eat until next year?
Mu Yicong: Did you come looking for me?
Fuck you.
Qi Yang threw his phone and flopped back into bed, furious.
Less than two minutes later, he threw off the covers, sat up with a start, grabbed his phone, and walked straight out the door.
Mu Yicong lay on the sofa with his eyes closed, his head buzzing, still replaying the long family dinner that night.
His parents had come back from out of province. His maternal grandmother and grandfather, as well as his paternal grandparents, had all gathered together to see him. The family had set up a huge dinner. He listened as everyone at the table took turns giving him advice—telling him to be considerate of his parents, to be obedient and well-behaved, not to cause trouble for the family…
The strict upbringing he’d had since childhood wouldn’t let him show any displeasure. He politely listened to every elder’s lecture, watching them toast and laugh. They were supposed to be the closest family, but it felt like attending a business function.
Finally, the tedious meal ended. Afterward, he watched his parents rush off in their car. Mu Yicong returned to his rented room, feeling completely numb.
He waited for a while, phone in hand, but Qi Yang didn’t reply. Mu Yicong ran his hand through his hair, got up, and went to take a shower.
He had just lathered body wash all over when someone started pounding on the door.
Qi Yang counted to twenty-seven outside Mu Yicong’s door. He kicked it every five seconds.
Finally, the door swung open. Mu Yicong stood in the entrance, his hair wet, face taut, wearing slightly damp sleepwear, staring at him.
“Why are you here at this hour?” he asked Qi Yang.
“None of your business when I come.” Qi Yang pushed past him and walked in. He was wearing his sleepwear and slippers, so he didn’t even need to change shoes.
As they brushed past each other, he caught a faint hint of alcohol mixed with the scent of Mu Yicong’s fresh shower.
Sweet. Probably wine.
“You’ve been drinking?” Qi Yang stopped and stared at him. “With who? Ren Wei?”
Mu Yicong didn’t answer. After closing the door, he got a fresh set of dry clothes, went back to the bathroom to rinse off, then walked out drying his hair.
Qi Yang was already lying on the sofa unceremoniously, legs crossed.
“What’s wrong?” Mu Yicong asked him.
Qi Yang lay on the sofa playing with his phone, not even facing Mu Yicong. He shot back instead, “You ate from after school until midnight. Your boyfriend?”
“How do you know when I started eating?” Mu Yicong walked over to the sofa and looked down at him. “Did you come looking for me?”
Qi Yang couldn’t be bothered to answer. He stayed silent and continued playing on his phone.
Mu Yicong calculated the time when Qi Yang had sent him that question mark. His gaze fixed on Qi Yang, complex and heavy.
A bead of water dripped from Mu Yicong’s still-damp hair onto Qi Yang’s face.
“What the hell?” Qi Yang wiped his face and sat up. “Is that your drool?”
“I was having dinner with my family,” Mu Yicong finally answered Qi Yang’s first question. “My parents came back to handle some business. They had to rush to the neighboring city tonight, and since it’s the weekend, they asked me to join for a meal.”
Mu Yicong explained slowly and calmly, like he was explaining a math problem.
Qi Yang listened with a look of utter indifference. When Mu Yicong finished, he pinched his fingers and raised an eyebrow. “Thirty-some words. So you actually can talk normally?”
If Qi Yang usually threw a jab like that, Mu Yicong would definitely have walked away bored. But tonight, maybe it was those few sips of wine at dinner. He didn’t retort. He just kept standing in front of the sofa, staring at Qi Yang.
“Why did you come so late?” he asked again.
“My place is too noisy.” Qi Yang flicked his hair, sticking to that excuse.
“You came looking for me, didn’t find me, didn’t get a reply, so you got angry,” Mu Yicong pressed. “Right?”
Qi Yang hadn’t thought about it that much. Hearing Mu Yicong calmly analyze it, he first felt stunned, then a surge of inexplicable frustration and embarrassment.
“Are you crazy? Think you’re some treasure?” He shot back with a deliberately mocking glare, remembering a question that had been bugging him lately. “I actually have something to ask you.”
“Say it.”
