WP 23

Si Shaorong sat in his room, still reeling. His mind was a tangled mess, every thought colliding with the next until it felt like his heart might leap right out of his chest. He even raised a hand and pressed it over his heart, as if that would calm it.

He couldn’t even remember how he got back to his room. Had he walked? Run? If he had run, did it look ridiculous?

He vaguely recalled Jiang Yibai saying something before he left. But the more he tried to remember, the more it slipped away. Had Jiang Yibai said anything? Or was it just his imagination? What was the last thing he said?

Si Shaorong didn’t know why he needed to remember that so badly right now. But he had to think about something, anything, because otherwise, he felt like an ant on a hot pan, too restless to stay still.

Right. He’d said something like “Mm”, hadn’t he?

“Mm” to what? Oh, right. He had said he was going back to his room, and Jiang Yibai had simply responded. That was it. Nothing more.

But before that?

Si Shaorong sat numbly at the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the tall window, his gaze vacant.

And then he remembered.

Right before that, Jiang Yibai had leaned in, voice rough and hoarse, panting into his ear. “Did that feel good?”

Heat surged through Si Shaorong in an instant. He shot up from the bed like he’d been burned. For a second, he even felt like he’d launched two meters into the air. Not that it was physically possible, of course.

Jiang Yibai’s voice, his warmth, the rhythm of his breath, kept replaying in Si Shaorong’s head, looping over and over. Details he hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment now rose to the surface one by one, practically waving signs and flashing lights to demand his attention.

Jiang Yibai’s nose really was high-bridged. And his hair, once wet, looked so soft. Did they kiss? Maybe. Maybe not. He remembered being pressed against the tiled wall, their bodies so close he could feel the heat of Jiang Yibai’s skin. So unfamiliar, yet so electrifying.

And those hands, those long, elegant fingers that always looked so composed when playing piano, had been bold, unrestrained, filthy.

Si Shaorong’s breathing started to quicken again. He rubbed his face and began pacing around the room. Desperate to shake off the obsessive replay in his mind, he clumsily opened his laptop and pulled up a document, only to stare blankly at the screen.

Before he knew it, he was opening a browser. Something compelled him. He typed in a few keywords, even switching to English for better results, and among the endless titles, he found a G.V video site.

The website was crude and cluttered. Pop-up ads floated across the screen in every direction, practically burying the homepage. Si Shaorong swallowed, turned off the computer’s volume, and clicked on a video.

It started with two muscular, blond-haired foreigners sitting on a couch watching TV. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim light. After a moment of chatting, they began kissing, eager and unreserved.

Si Shaorong stared blankly. The restless heat in his body began to settle.

He didn’t feel particularly aroused watching it. Still, driven by curiosity, and perhaps the mindset of “research,” he kept going. When the action finally escalated, a flicker of sensation stirred in him. He straightened slightly, eyes fixed on the screen as the performance grew increasingly intense. His thoughts drifted to the way Jiang Yibai had touched him just earlier.

Jiang Yibai was on the leaner side, but not weak. His build was compact, strong. His skin was pale andsmooth.

Those fingers of his carried surprising strength. When they pressed down, the pressure was enough to make one lose control.

Si Shaorong’s heart began to race again. Watching the video, he couldn’t help but mentally replace one of the men with Jiang Yibai.

Knock knock—

“Ge, I—”

The voice cut off abruptly.

Si Shaorong froze. A second later, he slammed the laptop shut in a panic, but it was too late. Jiang Yibai had already seen everything.

Neither of them said a word.

Si Shaorong didn’t dare turn around. The air was so thick with awkwardness it was hard to breathe.

He wasn’t good at diffusing tension, and for a moment, it felt like he’d completely shut down. It was Jiang Yibai who finally spoke first.

“Ahem.” He didn’t bother changing the subject and asked directly, “Ge, you curious about this stuff?”

“…Ah.” Si Shaorong didn’t know how to respond.

Jiang Yibai stepped fully into the room and sat at the edge of the bed, looking at Si Shaorong’s back. “Did it feel good earlier? Did I pinch you too hard?”

Now that he mentioned it, Si Shaorong did notice a dull ache in his waist, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It made him feel even more on edge.

He shut his eyes briefly and thought, Get a grip already.

Jiang Yibai, seeing he still wasn’t speaking, said, “Sorry. I couldn’t hold back. If I made you uncomfortable, I really do apologize. Also… didn’t you say earlier that you had something you wanted to tell me? Do you still want to?”

Si Shaorong blanked for a moment, then remembered what he had wanted to ask before they got carried away. His mind was still a haze, and he hesitated a long while before finally saying, “If I reacted to you… does that mean I’m… like that?”

Jiang Yibai considered the question. “Would that bother you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You felt something for another guy. Do you hate that part of yourself? Or are you scared of it?”

“No.” Si Shaorong only felt confused. In all his years up to now, he had never once felt this kind of impulse or excitement toward anyone. The sensation was strange, uncomfortable even, but not repulsive. And not frightening either.

Jiang Yibai took out a cigarette, then remembered Si Shaorong didn’t smoke. He hesitated, then put it back down.

Si Shaorong turned off the air conditioner and cracked open the window. He glanced over and made a small hand gesture. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

Jiang Yibai licked his lips. Truthfully, he was feeling just as messy inside. He wanted something to anchor him, and the urge to light up was instinctive.

He murmured a quick apology, lit the cigarette, and took a hard drag before exhaling slowly.

Si Shaorong watched him. There was something quietly magnetic about him in that moment, something he couldn’t name. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself walking over and sitting down beside him, reaching out to take the cigarette from his lips.

The feeling was strange and unfamiliar. Si Shaorong thought, I’ve never cared this much about someone before. Never cared what they were thinking or feeling. Never wanted to look at someone constantly, even though looking at him makes me nervous.

I want to hold him. I want to touch him. I want to kiss him…

Jiang Yibai didn’t say a word when the cigarette was taken from him. The two of them just sat there, locking eyes. Something was swelling between them. Restless, unspeakable, electric. Neither of them could quite name it, but both could feel it pressing at the edges of their thoughts.

It was as if they were waiting for something to happen, though neither of them knew exactly what that something was.

Si Shaorong glanced down at the cigarette, then brought it to his lips and took a drag.

He choked immediately, coughing hard as he waved the smoke away. Jiang Yibai turned to the side and chuckled quietly.

Si Shaorong ended up laughing too, though the tension in his brow never eased. What emerged was more of a crooked smile, touched with something complicated.

Jiang Yibai reached over, plucked the cigarette from his fingers, and held it between his own. Then he slipped an arm around Si Shaorong’s neck and kissed him.

Only then did Si Shaorong realize that they hadn’t kissed in the shower.

Jiang Yibai’s tongue slid into his mouth, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. His whole body shivered like he couldn’t breathe, and in the next second, both arms were wrapped around Jiang Yibai’s back, clawing at it hard.

Then he kissed him back. One hand grabbed the cigarette and, without looking, crushed it out on the nightstand. The other pulled Jiang Yibai’s wrist down and held it in place as he pushed him onto the bed.

It was like something had broken open in him. A young man tasting desire for the first time, unable to stop once it started. They didn’t go all the way, but this time, Si Shaorong was the one in control.

And he learned fast.

Jiang Yibai had his arms around his waist. He leaned up and kissed just behind his ear, whispering, “Whether you are or not doesn’t matter.”

Si Shaorong paused, realizing he was answering the question he’d asked earlier.

Jiang Yibai’s voice was still hoarse, heavy with the heat that hadn’t yet faded. “Straight, gay, bi… all of that is just a label people made up. We need rules to function, to coexist, to make sense of things, but those rules are man-made. Built so no one steps out of the box and disrupts the order.”

“As long as you’re not hurting anyone, not breaking the law or damaging someone else’s life, then how you live, who you love doesn’t matter.” Jiang Yibai gave a faint smile. “Most of life, we don’t get to choose. You never know if it’s tomorrow or disaster that’ll hit first. So why tie yourself down with labels that don’t mean anything? You, of all people, probably understand that better than I do.”

Si Shaorong was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. If I cared that much, I would’ve quit writing a long time ago.”

Being yourself was always harder than becoming the version others wanted you to be. More often than not, the biggest challenge wasn’t doubt from the outside world. It was doubt from within.

Late at night, when everything quieted down, you’d go over your choices again and again. Was this the right path? Was it worth it? Even if one day the world acknowledged your work, what stayed with you the longest was still that constant, gnawing self-doubt.

Compared to that, the labels others assigned you didn’t seem so important anymore.

“What about you?” Si Shaorong asked. “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

“Of course I do,” Jiang Yibai said with a laugh. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Si Shaorong thought of what Zhen Zhen had once said about him and couldn’t help but smile.

Jiang Yibai raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I used to think you lived without fear. That you only ever did what you wanted.”

A smile stirred in Jiang Yibai’s eyes. His hand moved gently over Si Shaorong’s skin, but he didn’t reply.

Of course he wanted to be someone like that, someone truly carefree, confident, and unburdened. But living that way was never easy.

Take now, for example. He liked Si Shaorong. He wanted him. But the moment that desire took root, he had already lost some of that so-called freedom.

He was no longer carefree. Not even close.

And maybe it was a foolish decision.

But he couldn’t give up the warmth in his arms. He didn’t want to let go.

Maybe it was the two intimate encounters, or maybe something else, but Si Shaorong finally seemed to let go of whatever tension he’d been holding. He curled up against Jiang Yibai and refused to move. Jiang Yibai didn’t mind. He let him stay. Si Shaorong murmured, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been… this close to someone.”

“What about your parents?” Jiang Yibai asked.

“They were always busy. From a young age, they expected me to be independent. They never really coddled me,” Si Shaorong said after a pause. “I respect them a lot. But maybe because of that, I was never very close to them.”

It was the first time Jiang Yibai had heard anything about his family. He was genuinely curious. “Do they care about your writing?”

“Not really. It was my own decision, so I have to stand by it. Whether I succeed or fail, it’s all on me,” Si Shaorong said. “They approach their work the same way. You make a choice, you own the consequences.”

He paused, then added, “I’ll take responsibility for you too.”

Jiang Yibai hadn’t expected the conversation to suddenly veer in that direction. Before he could say anything, Si Shaorong continued, utterly straightforward, “You’re a good person. I’ll treat you well.”

Jiang Yibai: “…”