Jiang Mian didn’t speak further. Chen Gu naturally switched topics: “You like it a lot?”
Jiang Mian nodded, speaking honestly: “It was also my first time modeling for someone.”
Chen Gu raised an eyebrow: “Then I can’t give it to you.”
Jiang Mian: “?”
Chen Gu said with an air of complete innocence: “I want to keep it as a memento.”
That was definitely something Chen Gu would do.
Jiang Mian thought.
“I wasn’t going to say…”
“That’s even better.”
Chen Gu twirled the charcoal pencil in his hand, gesturing to Jiang Mian: “Want to learn?”
Jiang Mian was indeed somewhat interested.
But…
He pressed his lips together: “I can’t draw well.”
Truthfully, art classes had existed since kindergarten. It was just a pity that Jiang Mian’s body likely hadn’t inherited any of Xiang Wei’s artistic cells, because his art grades were almost always a mess.
He could only be thankful that art wasn’t part of official grades, just a relaxing interest class.
“This stuff is actually very simple.” Chen Gu thought for a moment: “It’s like your practice problems; you just need to do it more. Art is fundamentally built on lots of practice as a foundation. Besides, you’re just drawing for fun; you’re not planning to have your pen name displayed alongside mine in an art gallery, right?”
Jiang Mian still hesitated a bit.
Chen Gu chuckled softly again: “Besides, if I can’t teach you well, that’s the teacher’s problem, not your fault. If you’re not satisfied with your drawing, just take it up with me, the teacher.”
Jiang Mian finally nodded.
He curved his lips into a very faint smile. Though it was just a short word, it revealed that his mood had been uplifted by Chen Gu: “Mm.”
Looking at him, Chen Gu was momentarily dazed.
He didn’t know if anyone had ever told Jiang Mian that when Jiang Mian smiled, he truly looked wonderful.
Jiang Mian had a somewhat world-weary face, which always gave him a cool, aloof sense of distance, making him seem hard to approach.
But when he smiled, even just a faint curve, it could make a person forget their own name.
The two swapped positions. Chen Gu stood behind Jiang Mian, who sat in the chair, holding the charcoal pencil Chen Gu handed him.
The pencil’s body still retained the warmth of Chen Gu’s palm and fingertips, especially noticeable in the air-conditioned room.
Sitting before the easel, Jiang Mian simply couldn’t ignore Chen Gu behind him.
Belatedly, he realized that this position meant Chen Gu had him trapped between himself and the easel, with nowhere to go.
But by the time he noticed, it was too late.
Chen Gu’s intensely invasive pressure filled the space around him.
Jiang Mian took a deep breath internally, trying hard to ignore the strange feeling. Staring blankly at the paper, he asked Chen Gu for help: “What should I… draw?”
Chen Gu didn’t answer immediately.
His hand reached over Jiang Mian’s shoulder. Jiang Mian instinctively tilted his head slightly, seeing his solid forearm slightly tensed, a few veins standing out strikingly against his fair skin.
At this distance, if he was just a little careless, he could lean right against Chen Gu’s arm.
Jiang Mian held his breath, watching Chen Gu take another pencil from the easel to hold in his hand, listening to his deep voice explode above his head: “What do you want to draw?”
Jiang Mian felt his thoughts were countless times slower than usual.
He wasn’t even sure how long he paused before making a sound: “Mm.”
Jiang Mian hummed softly. His brain barely managed to operate, but the first thing he thought of was the little black cat on Chen Gu’s DingDong avatar.
So he said: “A cat.”
Chen Gu said okay: “I’ll draw a demonstration for you.”
As he spoke, he placed his hand on the back of Jiang Mian’s chair, leaning forward slightly, and started drawing on the paper directly from this position.
Jiang Mian’s body unconsciously stiffened a bit.
Yet Chen Gu acted as if he hadn’t noticed at all, still seriously explaining to Jiang Mian how to draw the lines.
Jiang Mian pressed his lips together, striving to focus his thoughts on the lesson, but he simply couldn’t.
Especially since he felt Chen Gu’s voice seemed to be getting closer and closer to him, warm breath practically spilling onto the back of his ear.
Jiang Mian’s ear felt like it was being roasted over a fire, flushing red and burning hot.
“Classmate Jiang.” Chen Gu even lowered his voice to remind him: “Focus.”
Jiang Mian exhaled. At this point, his brain was no longer capable of rationally processing how Chen Gu knew his thoughts weren’t here. He could only force himself to concentrate, watching Chen Gu slowly finish sketching the little cat.
Chen Gu put down the pencil, gesturing to him: “You try?”
Jiang Mian pushed away all those chaotic, frivolous thoughts. Gripping the pencil amid his wildly pounding heartbeat, sounding like a drumroll in his ears.
He looked at the example Chen Gu had provided and thought it looked quite simple. Just do this and that, and it would be done.
However, once he started himself, after just two strokes, he fell into silence staring at the distorted lines.
By now, Jiang Mian no longer cared about questions like whether Chen Gu was too close, whether this distance was somewhat ambiguous, or whether boundaries had already been crossed.
He just felt that drawing was truly, incredibly difficult.
Not to mention Chen Gu even laughed.
Jiang Mian stayed silent but wasn’t angry.
His own failure was his doing. Besides, Chen Gu wasn’t mocking him; he could tell.
Chen Gu… was probably just teasing him.
From the very first moment he saw Chen Gu, Jiang Mian had known.
How rotten this person’s core nature was.
“It’s not like that.”
But Chen Gu was also very patient and gentle with him: “You need to first set a rough position, like I did earlier.”
He slowed his speech, raising the pencil to teach again: “For example, from here to here are the ears, here to here is the head…”
Jiang Mian watched him draw horizontal and vertical guide lines. Chen Gu gestured again: “Try now within this frame.”
Jiang Mian was silent for a moment: “I think my problem is that my hand shakes when drawing lines.”
Chen Gu laughed despite himself: “You’re gripping the pencil too tightly.”
He paused slightly, asking Jiang Mian: “May I touch your hand?”
To be honest, in a proper teaching context, if Chen Gu just directly touched him, Jiang Mian would at most pause briefly and wouldn’t pay it too much mind. After all, any ambiguous feelings had been blown away by his own tear-jerking lines now.
But Chen Gu just had to deliberately ask this extra question. Thus, the barely assembled academic atmosphere (?) dissipated again, and Jiang Mian fell silent once more.
He was speechless for a long time. Chen Gu softly handed Jiang Mian a way out: “Jiang Mian, I’m feeling a bit unwell.”
Chen Gu kept his voice low, sounding somewhat frail, as if enduring something: “Being too close to you.”
Jiang Mian knew Chen Gu was pretending.
But he still nodded.
So Chen Gu’s hand enveloped his. The temperature of his palm felt somewhat scorching, perhaps reverse-warming in the air-conditioned room.
His fingertips pressed against the back of Jiang Mian’s fingers, then slipped slightly into the gaps between them, guiding his hand to relax.
Yet Jiang Mian’s nerve cells only tensed further.
He watched Chen Gu guide his hand to draw beautiful, smooth lines, stroke by stroke.
Lifting, lowering… The pencil tip rustled against the paper, accompanied by someone’s heartbeat—whose, he didn’t know.
Jiang Mian felt a little dazed.
In the past, autumn in South Boundary was always very hot, and this was also the season prone to typhoons—that stifling, suffocating heat, very uncomfortable.
But at this very moment, he felt that this year’s autumn in South Boundary seemed hotter than every year before.
The air seemed filled with flour dust, ready to explode with a single spark.
Under Chen Gu’s guidance, Jiang Mian completed a beautiful little cat.
This cat was different from Chen Gu’s demonstration; it was a cat lifting its paw to groom itself.
It looked elegant and noble, while still exuding the cuteness of a furry animal.
Chen Gu didn’t release his hand, which was still wrapped around Jiang Mian’s. He smiled, his eyes curving: “See, you drew very well too.”
Even at this stage, Jiang Mian could still correct meticulously: “No, you guided me through this drawing. I was just moved by you, so it’s still your drawing.”
Chen Gu was speechless, then laughed: “Then shall Classmate Jiang draw one on his own?”
As he said this, he made to release Jiang Mian’s hand.
Jiang Mian paused briefly. With the pencil held between his index and middle fingers, he hooked his thumb around Chen Gu’s retreating fingers.
This time, it was Chen Gu who froze.
He saw Jiang Mian turn his head slightly, creating a bit of distance, and look up at him with a perfectly serious expression: “Aren’t you feeling unwell?”
If his ears weren’t dyed red as if stained, Chen Gu would have truly believed Jiang Mian had bought that terrible excuse.
Chen Gu didn’t grab Jiang Mian’s hand in return; he simply let Jiang Mian hook his fingers.
His face was a picture of innocence, but his eyes overflowed with delight, barely contained: “What to do then?”
Chen Gu sighed softly: “You need to draw.”
Jiang Mian had been about to suggest just learning another time, but Chen Gu blinked lightly and drawled lazily: “Why don’t you give me your left hand?”
Jiang Mian was silent for a moment, then ultimately raised his left hand.
He thought Chen Gu would grab his wrist, but unexpectedly, Chen Gu directly intertwined their fingers.
This action could be described as going far beyond ambiguous, causing Jiang Mian’s entire mind to blank for a second. His fingers also curled involuntarily, fingertips lightly brushing against the back of Chen Gu’s hand.
For a person like Chen Gu with Touch Starvation, a faint bit of physical contact could have its sensation magnified a thousandfold.
Thus, his originally dormant condition was instantly triggered by this unconscious little move of Jiang Mian’s. The desire for more contact seized his rationality in an instant.
He couldn’t help tightening his grip until Jiang Mian hissed in pain, frowning and calling: “Chen Gu.”
He looked at him. Even though the grip hurt, he didn’t struggle, just reminded him: “You’re using too much force.”
Hearing his serious tone, Chen Gu forced himself to loosen slightly. But ultimately, he still crossed the line. Reaching out, he pulled Jiang Mian—chair and all—into his embrace from behind.
He bent over. Being too tall, his hands could only pass through the gap between Jiang Mian’s chest and arms, but he could just lower his head and bury it in Jiang Mian’s hair.
Jiang Mian had probably washed his hair before coming.
The faint fragrance of shampoo was still very noticeable—a very light, comfortable scent, much like Jiang Mian himself.
Intoxicating.
This action made Jiang Mian’s entire body tense up, but he knew Chen Gu was genuinely relapsing.
He could sense it. It was different.
So Jiang Mian didn’t move, just quietly waiting for Chen Gu.
He didn’t know what state Chen Gu was caught in, but he clearly heard Chen Gu call his name with a hoarse voice: “Jiang Mian.”
Jiang Mian responded.
Then again: “Jiang Mian.”
Jiang Mian continued to respond with “Mm”.
So Chen Gu called again and again, eventually almost mumbling. Jiang Mian always patiently responded, even if it was just a single word.
But for Chen Gu, this was enough.
Just being able to confirm the person in his arms was real.
Jiang Mian didn’t know how long or how many times Chen Gu called his name, but he knew that in the end, the words Chen Gu murmured turned into one sentence—
“I like you.”
Jiang Mian stopped. He no longer said “Mm”.
He unconsciously closed his eyes to mask the faint tremor in his heart, but Chen Gu just wouldn’t let him off. Today, he was determined to lay him completely bare.
“I really like you.”
Chen Gu’s tone was sincere, the earnestness in his words so genuine that even if tested with a Truth Stone, not a shred of falsehood could be found.
To say Jiang Mian wasn’t moved would definitely be a lie.
But he moved his lips, and the question he asked was still that same one: “Why do you like me?”
“I don’t know.”
Chen Gu knew this question held a different meaning from the last one. He sighed softly: “Jiang Mian, something like ‘liking’ isn’t a formula. There’s no problem-solving process, and there are no reference answers.”
Liking was, inherently, “The feeling arises unknowingly, yet grows ever deeper.”
It was an indescribable stirring and falling in the heart.
Jiang Mian didn’t speak.
Chen Gu lowered his voice again: “I’m not asking you for an answer.”
As if recalling something, Chen Gu’s tone turned cold and indifferent for a fleeting moment: “I just want you to know that my feelings for you are serious. I miss you when I can’t see you; I want to get closer when I see you.”
Having unspeakably dirty thoughts about you.
For the first time, Chen Gu cursed in front of Jiang Mian: “So put away that idea of yours about everyone taking a step back. I can’t possibly maintain that damned ‘just friends’ status with you.”
After the harsh words, he softened his tone again, like someone with no way out, gently nuzzling Jiang Mian, pleading pitifully: “Jiang Mian, you said I was special. You said I was different. Do whatever you want, just don’t take those words back.”
Chen Gu sounded as if he had suffered the greatest grievance in the world: “Please, Jiang Mian, don’t be so cruel to me.”
