Their fingers interlocked.
Each finger interleaved perfectly with the other’s, fitting seamlessly into the gaps between knuckles—the hardness of bones, the softness of fingertips, the slight coolness of the back of the hand. All these sensations transmitted unreservedly to the nerve endings in his skin.
This was He Siheng’s first time holding hands with someone, fingers fully intertwined.
Compared to a regular handshake, it seemed to carry an indescribable feeling.
The boy’s thumb pad kept rubbing faintly against the back of his hand, somewhat itchy.
Yet it wasn’t just itchiness.
This strange sensation traveled from his skin deep into his heart, disrupting the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The air in the movie theater seemed poorly ventilated, and for no reason, He Siheng felt a bit hot.
They had been holding hands for a while when he tried to pull his hand back, but Tan Jing’s fingers gripped tighter, entwining even more.
He Siheng couldn’t help but glance sideways, masking his own abnormality with a tone of disgust: “Weren’t you not afraid of ghosts before? How did you get so timid now?”
Tan Jing leaned against the chair back, speaking lazily: “I’ve always been a scaredy-cat, just pretending to be strong.”
“Then why aren’t you pretending now?”
“Because I learned a truth,” Tan Jing looked at him and curved his lips into a smile: “The one who cries gets the milk.”
“…”
He Siheng twitched the corner of his mouth: “I think your skin has gotten thicker.”
Tan Jing smiled without denying or affirming it.
Their hands remained clasped.
He Siheng turned his head back and refocused his attention on the movie.
Perhaps because the hand transmitted another person’s body heat, He Siheng found he wasn’t as scared of the movie anymore.
It was just inconvenient to eat popcorn.
His healthy left hand was held by Tan Jing, and his injured right hand was bandaged. He Siheng hesitated several times but still didn’t use his right hand. It hurt every time he tried, and he wasn’t that craving it anyway.
As he thought this, the boy beside him suddenly reached into the popcorn bucket, pinched a piece of popcorn with his slender fingers, and brought it to his lips.
He Siheng turned his head to look at Tan Jing, utterly baffled.
The latter looked perfectly natural: “Don’t you rely on popcorn to relieve the movie’s boredom?”
He Siheng felt like this guy was treating him like a kid, and he was quite dissatisfied: “Even so, you don’t need to feed me.”
“I borrowed one of your hands, so I’m returning one hand.” Tan Jing justified confidently.
He then raised his brow, his eyes carrying a hint of teasing amusement: “Are you shy?”
“Who—who—who’s shy!” He Siheng denied vehemently.
The curve at Tan Jing’s lips deepened. He didn’t argue with him, just lifted his chin, signaling him to eat the popcorn.
He Siheng thought, Fine, I’ll eat it, and lowered his head to bite the popcorn. But he immediately froze.
He had accidentally opened his mouth too wide and took Tan Jing’s finger in along with it.
Compared to lips brushing a finger, the sensation of a finger being enveloped by soft lips was evidently stronger. Tan Jing paused imperceptibly.
He Siheng reacted quickly and let go right away, but in his panic, his tongue tip unwittingly brushed over Tan Jing’s fingertip.
It was quick, like a damp feather gliding over, ticklish.
The air was filled with the sweet, tempting aroma of popcorn.
He Siheng coughed twice with the popcorn in his mouth: “I—I’m not eating anymore.”
Tan Jing didn’t say anything this time, just gave a low hum and withdrew his hand, hiding it in the shadows where the dim light couldn’t reach, hesitatingly curling it slightly.
He Siheng breathed a sigh of relief, glad that Tan Jing hadn’t said anything.
Tan Jing probably found his saliva pretty gross too.
He Siheng was about to say he had tissues in his pocket and that Tan Jing could take one when, without a word, Tan Jing reached out again, grabbed a piece of popcorn, and fed it to himself this time.
He Siheng’s eyes widened slightly in disbelief as he turned to stare at Tan Jing.
The young man had his eyes slightly downcast, his dark pupils illuminated clearly by the screen light.
Noticing his gaze, Tan Jing looked over, the slight upturn of his eye corners holding a trace of confusion, as if silently asking what was wrong.
Like being scalded by boiling water, He Siheng quickly looked away, no longer meeting his eyes.
At that moment, Tan Jing changed his posture. Their clasped hands, pulling He Siheng along, rested his elbow on the armrest. The back of He Siheng’s hand pressed against Tan Jing’s jaw, feeling every chew.
And every chew involuntarily reminded He Siheng that the fingers Tan Jing had used to grab the popcorn had just been in his mouth.
He remembered Tan Jing had a bit of a cleanliness obsession as a kid. After Tan Wan passed by and took a bite of his watermelon slice, Tan Jing wouldn’t eat it anymore. Had he grown out of it?
Please be a little more bothered…
Inappropriately, He Siheng recalled the accidental kiss from that night of the drunken sleepwalking incident, his neck flushing red.
Fortunately, the movie theater lights were dim; it shouldn’t expose his current discomfort.
He Siheng forcibly pulled his attention back to the screen.
Good grief—one glance, and right in view were the male and female leads passionately kissing.
Come on, it’s a horror movie—why are you two in the mood for romance?
He Siheng closed his eyes in despair or helplessness—he couldn’t tell which.
This movie was utter trash, unwatchable.
His attention was fully on the movie, completely unaware that the boy beside him wasn’t watching at all. The corner of his eye had always been on He Siheng, quietly observing his every reaction.
No anger, no disgust—the shy reaction was bigger than expected. This was good.
After a while, Tan Jing lowered his head slightly and tapped his ear root with his knuckle.
It was scorching hot.
Amid the screams in the theater, the boy let out a long breath, pursed his thin lips, and then couldn’t help curving them upward.
Hurting the enemy by a thousand, self-damage by eight hundred.
The movie ended, and as they exited the theater, He Siheng had never felt the outside air so refreshing, cooling his cheeks.
With the movie over, it was time to head home. Halfway there, Tan Jing suddenly stopped: “There’s a question I’ve always been curious about.”
He Siheng stopped too and turned to look at him: “What question?”
Tan Jing lifted his finger to point at his ear: “Why do you have three studs on one side and only one on the other?”
Of course, He Siheng wouldn’t admit it was because three on the left hurt too much, and one on the right was his limit.
He cleared his throat: “It’s called asymmetrical aesthetics.”
Tan Jing nodded solemnly: “Noted.”
He Siheng found it odd: “Why ask suddenly?”
Then, with ill intent, he tempted: “What, you want to get earrings too?”
He thought Tan Jing would refuse like last time, but instead, Tan Jing hummed in agreement.
He Siheng was shocked instead: “Huh???”
Tan Jing didn’t just agree—he turned and headed into the shop nearby. He Siheng then noticed they were in front of an ear piercing store, the sign outside boldly advertising piercing services.
Seeing Tan Jing was serious, He Siheng hurriedly grabbed him: “Wait, wait, what’s wrong with you? You’re not afraid of pain?”
“Not afraid.”
Tan Jing seemed determined to go in. He Siheng used all his strength to hold him back.
“No, you can’t get it.”
“Why not?”
He Siheng subconsciously wanted to say it hurt a lot, especially the two on the cartilage, but then realized that would expose himself, making him seem like a wimp.
He Siheng thought for a moment and justified: “I already got caught by Old Yan for the earrings and had to write a self-criticism. Now you’re my desk mate—if you get one too, Old Yan will blame me, saying I led you astray.”
Tan Jing pondered: “Seems reasonable.”
Seeing him convinced, He Siheng hurriedly tried to drag him away from the door: “So don’t get it.”
But Tan Jing stood firm: “But I want to wear the same style as you.”
He Siheng was stunned: “Why the same style?”
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