Chapter 71

The light rocked unsteadily in the gradually calming breaths. The glass of the French window was blindingly bright.

A thin layer of sweat pricked at his back. Jiang Chu slowly raised one hand to press over his eyes and let out a long breath from his still-trembling chest.

Qin Zui’s rhythm matched his. Jiang Chu could feel his powerful heartbeat slamming through the skin.

He loosened his grip around Qin Zui’s shoulders and patted his back to signal him to get up. Qin Zui pressed his forehead into the hollow of Jiang Chu’s shoulder for a long moment, then finally let go and knelt up.

The t-shirt that had been covering Jiang Chu’s face had slipped off at some point. Qin Zui picked it up and casually wiped a couple of times.

When he moved to wipe Jiang Chu’s stomach, Jiang Chu grabbed his hand. “I’ll do it myself.”

His voice was so hoarse it surprised even him.

Qin Zui didn’t say anything. He let go and left the t-shirt on Jiang Chu.

Jiang Chu tugged at his clothes, which had been pushed up to his chest, and sat up. When his gaze dropped down, his scalp crawled.

One of his legs had been squeezed off the sofa, hanging loose. His body was a mess.

And Qin Zui’s t-shirt was black. The stuff on it was unsightly.

He didn’t even know how he’d managed to get his pants fixed. He didn’t dare meet Qin Zui’s eyes. He just grabbed the shirt and went to the bathroom.

When Jiang Chu came out of the shower, Qin Zui went in to wash too. The first thing he saw was his t-shirt soaking in the sink, with a glob of hand soap stirred into the water.

He reached in and swished it around a couple of times, then couldn’t help but smile.

Qin Zui quickly scrubbed the shirt, wrung it out, found a hanger, and hung it. When he came out, he saw Jiang Chu sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing the French window, a wisp of smoke curling up from his head like he was trying to become an immortal.

He drank the half-glass of water Jiang Chu had left on the table, then climbed onto the bed too. He wrapped his arms around Jiang Chu from behind, his palms rubbing over Jiang Chu’s belly.

“Done?” Jiang Chu had been staring into space while biting a cigarette. Qin Zui’s arms around him snapped him back. He tilted his head and dropped a bit of ash onto his leg.

He silently cursed “fuck” and spent a moment brushing it off.

“Yeah.” Qin Zui hummed. His chin rested on Jiang Chu’s shoulder as he looked ahead and helped him brush the ash off.

After brushing the ash, he took the half-smoked cigarette from Jiang Chu’s mouth and put it in his own.

Jiang Chu stared at Qin Zui’s hand resting on his knee for a while, then pulled another cigarette from the pack and put it between his lips.

“Little dog.” He called out to Qin Zui.

Qin Zui tightened his arms around Jiang Chu’s waist and pulled him back, signaling him to relax his spine and lean into him.

Had this kid’s chest already grown strong enough to hold a person?

Jiang Chu didn’t actually lean back. Instead, he squeezed Qin Zui’s hand. “I know saying this now makes me sound like a total asshole.”

Qin Zui didn’t reply, but the rhythm of his breathing tightened.

With difficulty, Jiang Chu continued: “But you can’t keep doing this.”

In the silence—Qin Zui not speaking, not moving—Jiang Chu strangely recalled his past breakups.

He was always the one being dumped. He couldn’t remember the ones before clearly, but the most vivid was his ex-girlfriend.

When she’d said “Let’s break up,” her voice was light, and her eyes looked like it was hard for her too.

Jiang Chu didn’t know what she’d really felt at the time, and he’d forgotten what he’d felt.

It didn’t seem like he’d had a strong reaction. He’d even vaguely felt relieved for her.

Now, there was no official intimate relationship between him and Qin Zui. He’d only said “You can’t keep doing this,” but his heart ached.

Not for himself. For Qin Zui.

Qin Zui really was like a little dog. His little dog. The dog was too sincere, pouring out his feelings without hiding a bit.

He didn’t dare turn around and look into Qin Zui’s eyes.

“I don’t know if you can understand this,” Jiang Chu said, frowning, his gaze fixed on a corner of the carpet. He kept squeezing Qin Zui’s hand. “I can’t explain it to my parents. You understand?”

“My mom—she wouldn’t understand. She’d never accept it. My dad… your mom too—even more impossible.” Just saying that relationship out loud made Jiang Chu’s head throb. “I’m supposed to call your mom ‘Mom.’ You’re my little brother. I’m your big brother.”

“I can’t just be responsible for myself. I have a whole family above me. Including you.” He almost squeezed the words out of his throat. “You understand?”

Qin Zui still didn’t speak.

Jiang Chu irritably grabbed the lighter and clicked it, lighting the cigarette.

“If it weren’t for that relationship, or if I were your age, maybe I would…” He paused, not bothering to finish that useless hypothetical.

“You’re too young, Qin Zui.” His messy thoughts kept circling back to the deepest root. “When I was your age, I thought I’d love that one girl for the rest of my life. That I’d marry her. That there’d never be anyone else.”

“Think about that trainee teacher from middle school. In a few years, when you look back at how you feel about me now—” Jiang Chu gritted his teeth. “It’ll be the same.”

“So you—” He tried to continue, but Qin Zui, who had been holding him quietly with no reaction, interrupted him then.

“Is that why?” Qin Zui gripped Jiang Chu’s hand in his and tightened his arms around Jiang Chu’s waist.

“What do you mean ‘that’s why’?” Jiang Chu was squeezed so hard he nearly bit through his cigarette again. He almost wanted to turn around and smack him. “I’ve been talking for ages and you only pick out what you want to hear—”

“The rest doesn’t matter. The bottom line is, you’re most afraid that I’m younger than you. Afraid that my feelings for you don’t count. Afraid I’ll change later. Right?” Qin Zui interrupted him again, grabbing Jiang Chu’s chin and forcing him to turn around and face him.

“…How does the rest not matter? You think just because you say it doesn’t count?” Jiang Chu really wanted to swear. He opened his mouth, tried to find the words, but didn’t know how to argue.

“I still don’t understand why you compare yourself to that middle school teacher of mine.” Qin Zui didn’t answer his question. He frowned slightly, looking at Jiang Chu very seriously.

“You have nothing in common with him.” He jabbed a finger into Jiang Chu’s left chest, then pressed his palm firmly flat, feeling Jiang Chu’s heartbeat and, at the same time, the teeth marks he’d left there. “I never had any of these thoughts about him. Not about anyone. To me, you’re nothing like anyone else. Is it really that hard to believe me, bro?”

Qin Zui rarely expressed his feelings in such a long stretch. Jiang Chu was momentarily speechless, staring at the carpet.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me. I’m not afraid you don’t trust me. I don’t have any other way.” Qin Zui hugged him again, pressing his neck from behind. “But if you can’t trust the twenty-year-old me, can you trust the twenty-five-year-old me? The twenty-eight-year-old me? When I’m your age? When I’m thirty?”

“I can wait until you’re willing to believe me. Can you give me that time?” Qin Zui wasn’t saying it in anger. His tone was serious. Very serious. So serious that his voice tightened. “Wait for me, okay? Bro?”

Jiang Chu could no longer tell if the ache in his chest was from Qin Zui’s too-forceful palm or from the dense emotion pressing into him from behind.

He just ached. Qin Zui hadn’t said a single hurtful word, but every single one made him want to gasp.

“How can you not understand what I’m saying?” Jiang Chu’s heart ached so much. He turned around, grabbed Qin Zui’s neck, and rubbed his back hard. He ached so much he didn’t even know how to handle him. He pressed his nose firmly against Qin Zui’s cheek, then angrily bit his ear. “What the hell are you?”

Qin Zui tightened his arms around Jiang Chu’s waist and pushed him against the headboard, then buried his head down and kissed him.

For the next two days, neither of them brought it up again.

Jiang Chu was unsettled. When he woke up in the middle of the night, remembering how Qin Zui had held him tight and said “Bro, wait for me,” his heart would clench.

Then he couldn’t help sighing, turning over, and slamming his leg onto Qin Zui. When he woke him up, they’d chat about random things.

Qin Zui, on the other hand, didn’t want to think about it, and he tried not to give Jiang Chu any chance to either.

“Let’s just have a good time these few days, okay, bro?” Whenever he got the chance, he’d pull at Jiang Chu’s pants. Apart from actually going out to walk around and eat, he wanted to lock Jiang Chu in the hotel the entire rest of the time.

Jiang Chu almost let himself be bewitched.

Saying “almost” wasn’t even right—separated from the familiar environment of daily life and study, staying in a place where it was just the two of them, with nothing serious to do except eat and play, it was easy to feel a sort of indulgence and decadence, like “there’s no one else in the world.”

And once is a precedent, twice is a habit. His indulgence toward Qin Zui was skyrocketing in a straight line.

The first time on the sofa, the sound of Qin Zui fumbling and pulling down the zipper made Jiang Chu’s ears burn. When he was grabbed, he almost knee-jerk kicked Qin Zui off.

The first two times were just hands. On the third day, after they’d spent the whole day squeezing through tourist spots and returned with bones almost out of joint, Jiang Chu collapsed on the bed, only wanting to sleep.

Qin Zui turned off the lights and played some crappy horror movie on the TV. They talked intermittently. Taking advantage of Jiang Chu’s dazed state, Qin Zui brazenly pressed him down, parted his legs, and rubbed against his thigh gap.

Jiang Chu was dazed for the first few seconds. When he realized what was happening, every hair on his body stood on end. He twisted his arm to punch him, but Qin Zui pressed his head into the pillow, bit his neck, and left a mess on his leg.

Jiang Chu beat him up afterward, of course. But Qin Zui had a thick face, and he was satisfied.

He’d satisfy his desires, take the beating afterward, and then even if they did nothing else—just holding Jiang Chu while sleeping or watching TV—he felt at peace.

But they didn’t make it through the entire five-day holiday, which had even been left open for extension.

On the evening of the fourth day, after dinner, Jiang Chu felt he hadn’t bought Qin Zui enough stuff and wanted to take him to buy a couple of winter outfits. Then his mom called.

“Where are you, Jiang Chu? You don’t come home for the holiday. Out with Da Ben and them again?” His mom’s voice was like the big clock that bonged on time every day in the medical school building—a single “dong” that snapped Jiang Chu awake.

“No.” Jiang Chu glanced at Qin Zui, feeling a guilty sensation that their whole few days of messing around had been seen by his mom through this single phone call.

“I came to… see Qin Zui.” He paused before finishing the sentence.

“Ah.” His mom hummed, asking first: “He’s doing well?”

“He’s fine.” Jiang Chu said.

“Then come home and see your mom.” His mom’s tone was a little unhappy. “Are you addicted to raising that couple’s son? In the last two years, I haven’t seen you care about me that much.”

Before Jiang Chu could say more, she dropped a “Come eat at home tomorrow” and hung up.