The protagonists of the dinner were still the clingy young couple, eating, drinking, and adding dishes with unrelenting enthusiasm. Aside from Bai Qinglin, everyone had drunk quite a bit.
Zhu Jingru, in particular, had only returned after half a year, and the employees didn’t miss the chance to seize the moment. He’d just been pressured into downing a glass of beer. After tilting his head back to finish it, he sat motionless, his pupils unfocused, his gaze hazy as if heavily drunk. The two silver hoops in his earlobes swayed faintly.
Carefree and laid-back people often have a flaw: they don’t know when to stop, only how to chase the thrill to its fullest.
Zhu Jingru was the epitome of this bad habit. On top of that, today was his first time dining with Bai Qinglin, so his excitement was inevitable. He completely tossed the “I’m not interested in you” comment to the back of his mind.
Bai Qinglin timed his stay perfectly to an hour, not dampening the mood but just right. He stood up, put on his coat to leave, but his coat hem was suddenly tugged.
Zhu Jingru looked up at him, his words slurred. “Headache.”
“…” Bai Qinglin stood there, looking down at Zhu Jingru. Shaking him off would make things awkward.
He couldn’t leave now; his coat was gripped tightly. Zhu Jingru, like a child, refused to let go. The tattoo around his wrist was practically a work of art, paired with his slightly flushed, alcohol-tinged face.
He even shook the coat lightly.
After a moment, Bai Qinglin asked, “Can you stand steady?”
Zhu Jingru didn’t respond.
Bai Qinglin frowned. A stranger nearby, likely one of Zhu Jingru’s bar staff, stood up to fist-bump someone across the table but soon collapsed.
The coffee shop staff noticed them, but most were girls, collectively watching the scene with helpless amusement.
The bar crew were all drunks, caught up in their wild fun. The only one left, Huang Chen, had just returned from the restroom, his steps unsteady.
If Bai Qinglin wanted to leave, he had no choice but to help Zhu Jingru out. He furrowed his brow, the veins on the back of his hand bulging as his fingertips inadvertently brushed Zhu Jingru’s warm neck. The sensation was too unfamiliar.
Their bodies pressed close, their breathing slowly intertwining. One hand supported Zhu Jingru’s shoulder, half-holding him in a subtly intimate posture.
For two straight men with typical orientations, it wouldn’t mean much. But Zhu Jingru’s open queerness was well-known. His head rested on Bai Qinglin’s shoulder, his nose occasionally brushing against it, and he murmured knowingly, “Am I a bit heavy?”
“Stand up straight.” The calmer Bai Qinglin’s tone, the more it carried a warning.
Zhu Jingru stopped messing around, and Bai Qinglin, without another word, supported him as they left.
His hand felt warm, a vein on his wrist taut. He single-handedly propped Zhu Jingru against a streetlamp at the entrance, giving him something to lean on to avoid further contact.
“Address,” Bai Qinglin asked.
Zhu Jingru, lost in thought, didn’t answer. His heartbeat quickened, his back pressed by Bai Qinglin’s broad yet slender hand, his clothes creasing.
Bai Qinglin was about to ask again.
At that moment, Tang Chen rolled by in a flashy McLaren. He pushed open the car door, removed his sunglasses, and said, “Just toss him to me.”
Bai Qinglin didn’t let go until Huang Chen, who’d run out to check the situation, called, “Brother Tang.”
The car drove off, and Bai Qinglin stood under the ginkgo tree. The cold wind cleared his head, but the strong scent lingering on him made him uneasy.
Tong Yin came out with a camera, having snapped plenty of unflattering photos of Huang Chen. She hadn’t forgotten to capture the two handsome men at the head of the table either, holding up the camera. “Real eye-candy.”
In the photo, most people were smiling at the lens. Bai Qinglin gazed calmly ahead, while Zhu Jingru, seated beside him, showed only a striking side profile, his eyes filled with focus. The resolution was so clear it was impossible to ignore.
Among all those people, he was the only one looking at Bai Qinglin.
Bai Qinglin remained unmoved, as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at the photo. His lips moved slightly, and as he turned to leave, he noticed his palm felt warm.
Tong Yin couldn’t pinpoint what was off, but Huang Chen, slightly more sober, was screaming internally.
Help—Brother Tang, can’t you see the boss is faking being drunk?
