Qiu Sui listened to the voice message and blanked out for a few seconds.
He’s coming to find me?
To hang out with me?
Qiu Sui puzzled over his meaning, instinctively biting his lip as he slowly deleted the line of text he’d already typed.
His holiday schedule was already packed well in advance—at least half of it was booked solid. He felt a bit awkward as he tapped out a reply, taking a good while before sending it sheepishly.
Qiu Sui: My holiday’s already fully booked for the next few days.
Qiu Sui: Are you coming to Stream City for a trip?
Qiu Sui: Want me to recommend some spots and send them over?
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before a response finally trickled in.
Shen Zhixiao didn’t seem too disheartened by the rejection, his tone casual: “Is that so… No worries, it was just a sudden whim anyway. Enjoy your holiday relaxing with your friends…”
A faint stiffness crept into his otherwise steady voice at the end, but Qiu Sui didn’t catch it. He sent back an apologetic emoji.
Feeling listless at midday, Qiu Sui still hadn’t fully registered that he was home. Only now, amid Qiu Fanghai and Zhuang Ni’s conversation, as he unbuckled his seatbelt in this familiar, comforting environment, did he truly feel like he’d landed back on solid ground.
Qiu Sui didn’t dislike life in Sea City, but he’d always felt somewhat detached at school.
Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings he just couldn’t quite adjust to. Unlike the fixed, daily grind of high school classes with the same group, university’s scattered schedule made it hard for him to sync up with new friends.
He had no roommates and only crossed paths with classmates during major-specific lectures, where the person next to him could be a different stranger every day. They’d nod and chat briefly before scattering after class.
Coming from all corners of the country, everyone kept things politely surface-level. Conversations lacked pure sincerity, like a thin membrane separated them—no one fully trusted anyone, and no one had the patience to dive deeper. Socializing stayed shallow, which killed Qiu Sui’s desire to make friends, given how long he liked to mull things over before opening up.
He’d only just started trying to befriend Xiao Mu, who often shared his table, when the guy suddenly confessed to him. Qiu Sui couldn’t deny feeling down about it.
But back in Stream City, it was like slipping into his high school comfort zone again—everything relaxed him.
That night, he went to bed early on schedule. The next morning, Zhuang Ni dragged him and Qiu Shun to the dim sum spot across from their neighborhood for breakfast. Then they met up with friends who’d come over for a group meal, wandering another commercial district, chatting and laughing as they strolled. After dinner, they warmed up with a game of basketball in the park.
Hanging with friends, Qiu Sui didn’t check his phone often. When he finally remembered after a long stretch, WeChat had piled up with messages—almost all from Shen Zhixiao.
Shen Zhixiao: Still playing ball with friends?
Shen Zhixiao: Better keep your distance when playing.
Shen Zhixiao: Bumping into someone by accident can easily lead to falls and injuries.
Qiu Sui read the messages and couldn’t help chuckling. Keep your distance in basketball? How the hell do you play defense then?
As he typed a reply to Shen Zhixiao, a heavy hand suddenly clamped down on his neck. Before he could react, a friend’s voice rang in his ear: “Who’re you chatting with? You’ve been grabbing your phone a bunch over here.”
It was Lin Kai, who’d also come to rest, his high school desk mate of two years. Straightforward and friendly by nature, he was one of Qiu Sui’s few Alpha friends, now raising his brows teasingly.
Though Shen Zhixiao’s messages were all innocuous chit-chat, Qiu Sui instinctively hid his screen, which only made Lin Kai’s grin more mischievous.
Qiu Sui’s face was still flushed from the exercise. He lightly tugged at his brows and explained, “A friend from uni…”
Lin Kai didn’t say if he bought it or not, but his hand stayed on Qiu Sui’s neck. He coughed awkwardly, his expression a bit off, then suddenly dragged him toward an empty bench nearby.
“What’re you doing?” Qiu Sui panicked, clutching his collar to shield the faint mark still lingering on his collarbone.
Lin Kai plopped him down without noticing anything amiss and sat close like they were about to have a heart-to-heart bro talk. Scratching his chin, eyes drifting, he muttered, “Uh, so you and Qiu Shun came back together… What about Qiao Keren? Who’s he with in Sea City?”
“He went to neighboring Lanshi for a trip with his roommates,” Qiu Sui replied, chuckling inexplicably. He nudged Lin Kai with his elbow. “Why not just ask him yourself?”
Lin Kai ruffled his hair hard, the muscles in his back flexing, his dark face unusually flustered: “Didn’t wanna bug him if he’s busy. Asking you is just casual.”
Qiu Sui thought fair enough and was about to shrug him off when someone nearby yelped. Lin Kai suddenly sprang up from his seat.
Qiu Sui looked over in confusion and saw Lin Kai wincing, rubbing his back with a small pebble in hand. He glared behind Qiu Sui: “Who the hell’s throwing rocks?!”
Qiu Sui turned too and spotted two kids on the park steps clutching balloons, spooked by Lin Kai’s fierce glare as they bolted into the greenery. Qiu Sui explained, “Probably kicked it by accident?”
Lin Kai kneaded the solid muscle—it didn’t hurt much, but it startled him. He grumbled and backed off, no longer cozying up to Qiu Sui. Instead, he probed sideways about their usual school life.
Qiu Sui stood, phone in hand, stretching his limbs. His lowered nape twitched, and suddenly he felt locked on.
He whipped his head around instinctively. The steps held only elderly folks strolling by.
Qiu Sui rubbed his nape. Chatting with Lin Kai, he belatedly noticed his phone had vibrated. Sure enough, new messages from Shen Zhixiao.
Shen Zhixiao: Why no reply?
Shen Zhixiao: Back to playing ball?
Shen Zhixiao: Or chatting with friends and forgot about me?
Shen Zhixiao: Qiu Sui?
Shen Zhixiao: [Retracted a message]
Shen Zhixiao: [Retracted a message]
Shen Zhixiao: [Retracted a message]
Shen Zhixiao: [Retracted a message]
Shen Zhixiao: [Retracted a message]
Shen Zhixiao: Sorry, sent by mistake.
Shen Zhixiao: Still chatting with friends?
Shen Zhixiao had accidentally nailed what Qiu Sui was doing, prompting an automatic reply: No, just finished chatting.
His message barely sent before Shen Zhixiao fired back instantly—a stark contrast to Qiu Sui’s irregular responses.
Shen Zhixiao reminded him it was nearing dinnertime. Qiu Sui glanced at the clock—already 6 PM.
Not early at all. He eyed the sunset, waved to his friends, and suggested they grab dinner.
On the way, Qiu Sui hugged his phone, curiously asking Shen Zhixiao what he’d retracted. The reply: accidentally tapped a bunch of emojis.
Seeing his insistence, Shen Zhixiao sent one over.
Out of nowhere, a stick-figure kitten kissing emoji popped up. Qiu Sui nearly fumbled his phone.
Staring at it, his cooling body heat surged back. Neck stiff, he hammered the keys.
Qiu Sui: I’m not curious anymore!
Qiu Sui: Just retract it.
Shen Zhixiao obliged, then sent a voice note. No earbuds, friends nearby—Qiu Sui lowered the volume, lagged behind, and held the speaker to his ear. A short, breathy puff came through: Shen Zhixiao’s low chuckle.
Qiu Sui froze. He’s laughing at me for making him retract it. Embarrassed and annoyed, he fired off a decapitated alien emoji—but quickly retracted it.
Silence for two seconds. Unsure if Shen Zhixiao saw that weird one, Qiu Sui followed up: Sent by mistake, plus an emoji he’d snagged from Qiao Keren.
Shen Zhixiao’s voice note arrived. Qiu Sui tapped it instinctively, pressing to his ear. A longer, breathier low laugh filtered through, followed by a muffled voice, slow and deliberate: “You’re so cute… Qiu Sui.”
“!”
Qiu Sui gripped his phone, eyes wide, unwilling to believe his ears.
He bristled visibly, unconvinced, converting it to text. Seeing cute, embarrassment and irritation exploded.
Qiu Sui found “cute” undignified. He could call others that secretly, but not hear it from anyone else—at least not since high school, and that was from his mom.
Clutching his phone, he struggled for a comeback, finally typing furiously. His friends, seeing him bite his lip and stare intensely at his screen from behind, asked with concern what was wrong.
Qiu Sui jolted, sent his “no calling me cute” pact, then looked up blinking awkwardly, screen off, feigning calm: “Nothing.”
They found a nearby restaurant and sat. Qiu Sui sipped cool water, checked WeChat. Shen Zhixiao had replied.
Shen Zhixiao: Alright.
Shen Zhixiao: But can I not use that word for other things either?
Qiu Sui propped his chin, amending precisely: Non-humans are fine.
Shen Zhixiao: Okay then. 🙁
Qiu Sui didn’t chat long, leaning back to say he was eating with friends and would catch up later.
Shen Zhixiao just sent a waiting emoji and went quiet.
Scrolling their history, Qiu Sui realized Shen Zhixiao messaged more than expected—morning, noon, night.
If no reply, he’d hush. But one response from Qiu Sui, and a flurry followed. Rinse and repeat.
After dinner, Qiu Sui paced the shop entrance, stuffed with iced drink in hand.
Two friends lived far and needed rides home. Qiu Sui and Lin Kai were a quick walk away, so they waited with them before heading home leisurely.
Lin Kai slung an arm over his shoulders, reminiscing high school. Qiu Sui listened phone in hand, but a chill prickled inexplicably, making him glance back sensitively.
The dim sidewalk behind held only stout banyan trees and hurried pedestrians—nothing else.
Lin Kai paused, no response, and prodded: “Huh? What’s up?”
Qiu Sui shook his head—”Nothing”—and kept walking. At the bend, his peripheral vision flicked back, but the streetlight was too dim; only blackness.
He refocused ahead, lips pressing thin, but he didn’t dismiss the sudden intuition lightly.
