Chapter 9

Chen Ang had this innate ability to speak with shameless confidence, like everything he said was completely reasonable. Probably came from putting on a straight-laced act for too long, once he let loose, there was no bottom to how brazen he could get. In the end, Xu Heng had no choice but to sulk his way downstairs with Chen Ang’s suit in hand. The thought of all those messy body fluids on the clothes made his face burn. But the dry cleaner didn’t know him anyway. If anyone should be embarrassed, it was Chen Ang. So Xu Heng forced himself to look calm as he handed over the bag.

Thankfully, the dry-cleaning staff were professional. Polite, quiet, not a single extra question. They didn’t even peek inside. Just took the bag and left.

Xu Heng finally exhaled, strolling back at a more relaxed pace.

Summer was down to its last stretch. During the day, the heat still clung on, but at night the breeze carried a pleasant coolness. His back still ached. His building didn’t have an elevator, so he climbed the stairs one at a time. The front door wasn’t fully closed. A soft glow spilled from the hallway, casting a faint line across the floor. The sound of the TV drifted out into the corridor.

He had lived alone for nearly seven years. For the first time, the place felt… lived in.

He sighed and pushed the door open. Chen Ang, the damn exhibitionist, was still sitting on the couch with his junk hanging out, legs crossed like it was no big deal. He had taken off his contact lenses and was squinting at the TV as he flicked through channels with the remote, glass of water in hand. Any strange feelings Xu Heng might’ve had evaporated in an instant.

He shut the door and muttered, “Can you put some clothes on?”

None of Xu Heng’s clothes fit Chen Ang right. The shoulders were too narrow, or the waistband wouldn’t close. In the end, Chen Ang reluctantly settled for an old, oversized pair of underwear Xu Heng had bought years ago and never worn, plus a white tank top so worn out it sagged like something a retired grandpa would wear.

Chen Ang tugged at the edge of the briefs with a frown. “These are tight.”

Xu Heng didn’t respond.

When it was time to sleep, the place only had one bedroom and a tiny living room. The couch barely fit Xu Heng alone, let alone someone with legs as long as Chen Ang’s. They had no choice but to squeeze into the same bed for the night.

Xu Heng pulled out a fresh pillow and a clean blanket for him. Neither of them was used to sharing a bed, but even with the narrow mattress, they each stuck to their own side like there was an invisible line drawn down the middle.

Xu Heng had been exhausted. He didn’t even have time to feel awkward. He passed out in no time and slept like a rock, dreamless and peaceful.

He was woken the next morning by a ringtone.

Still groggy, he reached for the alarm clock out of habit, only to touch warm skin instead. That made him snap wide awake.

It was Chen Ang’s phone ringing.

Chen Ang was lying facedown, hugging his pillow. The blanket had slipped down to his waist. His tank top was twisted and crooked. His face showed every bit of his morning mood, brows tightly furrowed. Xu Heng thought he might just hurl the phone against the wall, but instead, Chen Ang squinted at the screen and answered with a voice so gentle it could rival a customer service rep.

“Morning, Director Zhang. What’s the matter?”

“Yes, I already sent that over the day before yesterday.”

“You want to revise it? No problem. Let me jot that down. Please go ahead.”

Chen Ang clamped his phone between his shoulder and ear as he sat up, gesturing toward the bills on the nightstand. Xu Heng, still lying on his side lazily, blinked at him and gave a look that said, “Go ahead.” Chen Ang bent down and started scribbling notes. By the time he hung up, both of them were wide awake.

“I need to head back to the office right away—”

Before he could even finish, Xu Heng already knew his morning nap was gone for good. He groaned and dragged himself upright, scratching at his messy, bird’s-nest hair with a sigh.

“Fine, fine. Call the dry cleaner. I’ll go down and get your stuff.”

Chen Ang actually looked a little sheepish for once and nodded. “Thanks.”

By the time he was dressed up again, all clean and proper like nothing ever happened, he rushed out in a hurry. The apartment returned to its usual calm. Xu Heng slumped back onto the bed, wrapped himself in the blankets. The sheets still carried that stubborn cologne scent Chen Ang always wore. With the warmth trapped under the covers, the smell got stronger. It lingered. Tangled.

Drowsiness crept in again. Xu Heng reached for his phone and opened his feed, aimlessly scrolling through his moments. At the top of the list was a post from He An. It was a photo of an airport, no caption.

Xu Heng’s sleepiness vanished instantly.

He tapped on the image, zoomed in, and zoomed in again until he could read the signs. All in Chinese.

He An was back?

He didn’t even know how to feel. His chest tightened, but not in any way he could explain.

Neither he nor Chen Ang had ever brought up the idea of exchanging contact information. No phone numbers, no WeChat, nothing. Xu Heng had just assumed they were two ships passing in the night, until they ran into each other again.

At work, no less.

This time, Xu Heng’s studio took on a wedding makeup gig. He went with a few colleagues to help with the bride’s trial look.

The appointment was at a high-end custom bridal shop on the outskirts of the city. The place was luxurious with a stylish layout. Honestly, it looked more like an old European manor than a store. Xu Heng spent the whole ride glancing around like he was touring a museum.

The bride was seated on a deep red velvet couch in the lounge, dressed casually. Xu Heng immediately felt like he recognized her. After a moment, it clicked. She was the local TV news anchor, always looked graceful and classy.

She waved them over, then turned toward the fitting room.

“I need to check my makeup trial. Xiao Ang, come out and show me the suit.”

The fitting room door opened. The man who stepped out locked eyes with Xu Heng right away.

Chen Ang.

He was wearing a dark pinstripe suit, jacket draped over one arm, vest over his shirt. That kind of look could easily come off as a hotel bartender’s uniform if the fabric was cheap, but this one wasn’t. The tailoring hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist just right. He looked sharp. Handsome.

Both of them froze for a split second.

Then Chen Ang was the first to recover, turning to the bride.

“I think it looks good.”

Xu Heng stared.

Chen Ang?
What the hell? A scam-marriage gay?