Zhu Jingru was forced to tilt his head up, getting his face pinched again, just as he had wished. His mind was a complete muddle. With his back against the sofa, his jaw ached, his face was flushed from being rubbed, and the pinching made his breathing a little ragged.
The reason he was let go was that Tang Chen happened to push the door open, seeming to have interrupted Bai Qinglin’s mood.
“Does it hurt?” Bai Qinglin pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands, then asked as he tossed it into the trash can.
Even if it didn’t hurt, Zhu Jingru would have said it did. He panted as if complaining, “You were too forceful.”
“Apologies.” Two lukewarm words, devoid of any actual apology. Bai Qinglin put on his coat, his eyes half-closed. The lenses of his glasses were smudged with dust. He pulled out a new tissue and continued to wipe them, once again ignoring Zhu Jingru.
Zhu Jingru had the illusion of being used and then discarded, like that crumpled ball of paper. He couldn’t help but plead, “You already got to pinch me. Don’t be angry, Brother Bai.”
Bai Qinglin was silent for a few seconds before looking up at Zhu Jingru. “Be quiet.”
Zhu Jingru deliberately did the opposite. He sat up to make tea, both Longjing and Maojian varieties. He brewed the finest tea leaves into a complete mess, clinking the celadon cups together to make a crisp sound.
This provoked Bai Qinglin beyond his limit of patience. Without a word, he tossed a tissue to Zhu Jingru, like an elder supervising a junior, demanding that he wipe the foam clinging to his fingers completely clean.
Zhu Jingru feigned obedience. “All clean.”
“Mn.”
Bai Qinglin’s gaze inadvertently swept over Zhu Jingru’s white T-shirt. It was somewhat translucent, and he could vaguely see the red string around his waist. He hadn’t intended to ask, but the words were already out. “Why do you wear that?”
Zhu Jingru was never shy when he should have been. He directly lifted his shirt with both hands to show Bai Qinglin his entire waist, explaining in a serious tone, “I’m too restless and used to get sick often as a child. Back then, I wore a red string and a silver anklet to ward off evil spirits, and only took them off in my teens. I’ve gotten used to running wild these years and didn’t wear one, but not long ago my mom found out I was sick again. She mailed this one over, said it was to keep me safe and that I had to wear it day and night.”
Bai Qinglin quickly lowered his eyes, his gaze fixed on the floor tiles. He changed the subject and continued his inquiry, “Your wrist.”
“The tattoo?”
Bai Qinglin nodded.
“A phoenix flower. I got it eight years ago. I was foolish back then and got it tattooed where it would hurt the most.”
Bai Qinglin had a habit of observing small details to judge a person. Daring to the point of recklessness, truly mad. He formed an outline of Zhu Jingru in his mind, and couldn’t help but wonder what Zhu Jingru must have been like when he was even younger.
“You’ve asked so many questions, shouldn’t it be my turn now?” Zhu Jingru didn’t like to be at a disadvantage and never let anyone get the upper hand.
“Mn.”
“Am I not good-looking?” Zhu Jingru teased. “You keep looking down.”
Bai Qinglin’s neck stiffened slightly. He looked up, his pupils dark and somber. He feigned calmness as he gazed at Zhu Jingru’s waist, encircled by the red string. It was indeed slender, with beautiful lines. An image instantly flashed through his mind: Zhu Jingru lying in bed, his consciousness hazy, his chest rising and falling, along with the slight tremble of his waist.
Bai Qinglin felt a craving for a cigarette. His voice was slightly hoarse. “What else do you want to ask?”
Zhu Jingru was playing for high stakes. “Brother Bai, on New Year’s Eve, are you willing to leave with me?”
The answer to his question was lost as Tang Chen burst in, cutting off the conversation.
Tang Chen didn’t want to interrupt either. The main issue was that Yue Chuan had gotten drunk and was arguing with a customer. Li Wenxue couldn’t stop him at all and had to find Bai Qinglin to resolve it.
After knocking, he waited. Bai Qinglin came out a moment later, seeming to have something draped over his arm.
Tang Chen mused to himself that for Zhu Jingru to have taken a fancy to him, he was indeed strikingly handsome. Although he was a bit cold, perhaps he was fiery in bed. He sized up the muscles on Bai Qinglin’s body and compared their body types.
Fuck, the peacock is definitely going to be the one getting fucked.
Tang Chen gloatingly pushed the door open, only to come face to face with Zhu Jingru.
“Why did you change your clothes again?” Tang Chen had just finished asking when he immediately noticed something was off with Zhu Jingru’s face. “You two didn’t get a room and were playing so rough in here instead?”
Zhu Jingru explained, “We haven’t even started playing yet.”
“…”
Zhu Jingru added, still savoring the memory, “His grip is very strong. It really did hurt.”
Tang Chen’s scalp tingled. He suddenly remembered something important. “Yuan Ye just called. He asked if you’re still going in January?”
“Is there any reason I can’t go?” Zhu Jingru asked back with a smile.
It started to snow outside. It was the tail end of December; the new year would be arriving soon.
Late at night, Bai Qinglin tossed Yue Chuan into the guest room and left without a backward glance. He had suffered from insomnia for so long that he had forgotten how to fall asleep normally. But when he held that white T-shirt in his arms, the pathological emptiness and craving were once again alleviated.
Bai Qinglin’s hand, with its purplish-blue veins, clenched tighter, stroking the fabric with progressively more force. He uncontrollably lowered his head and sniffed it with the tip of his nose, as greedily as an addict.
After suppressing and restraining himself for so long, the onset of his affliction was an unbearable torment, like ants gnawing away at his sanity.
By the time Bai Qinglin realized he was using the shirt to pleasure himself, it was already too late. A sheen of damp sweat appeared on his forehead. In the darkness, the suppressed gasps slowly faded away.
