30. Anxiety

Lu Zhengming caught a cold.

He had a habit of doing things with a reckless disregard for the consequences, which gave him a carefree air. In reality…

“You’re an idiot.”

Yin Yan sat at the bedside, pulled the thermometer from his hand, and sighed.

“Has the fever gone down?” Lu Zhengming touched his forehead. “I feel fine.”

Yin Yan nodded and said helplessly, “Even if you don’t have class, you shouldn’t push yourself like this.”

Lu Zhengming smiled but didn’t answer.

He didn’t think of himself as foolish. Before doing any of these reckless things, he had already anticipated the consequences. Who would resort to pulling all-nighters painting or aimlessly wandering at midnight unless they were driven by something even more unbearable? It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was that he just couldn’t suppress everything inside the way Yin Yan did, keeping it buried beneath an unshakable calm.

“I have to go. There’s food in the fridge. Heat it up, and it’s ready to eat.” Yin Yan pulled the blanket up over Lu Zhengming and got up to leave.

“Stay the night,” Lu Zhengming said, throwing off the blanket and chasing after him barefoot. “I want you to sleep with me.”

Yin Yan was hugged tightly from behind. He patted Lu Zhengming’s arm and said, “I have something to do.”

“I’ll wait for you, no matter how late it is,” Lu Zhengming insisted, unusually stubborn.

“What if I don’t come back?”

Lu Zhengming’s body stiffened. Yin Yan broke free from his embrace, cupped his face, and gave him a kiss on the lips. “Rest well. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Before Lu Zhengming could stop him, Yin Yan was already walking toward the door.

“Yin Yan, are you going to see Zhong Jingjing?”

“Yes.”

The expression on Lu Zhengming’s face was almost heartbroken. Yin Yan only glanced at him before quickly looking away, unable to bear it. But he didn’t offer an explanation and left Lu Zhengming’s studio in silence.

Yin Yan seemed to be walking down a path Lu Zhengming had never considered.

Before this, Lu Zhengming’s private life could only be described as chaotic, but he had never considered the possibility of being with a woman one day. He wouldn’t wrong himself, nor did he want to wrong anyone else. If Yin Yan truly wasn’t bisexual, as he had claimed, then his relationship with Zhong Jingjing might end up crossing a line Lu Zhengming couldn’t accept. He began to regret breaking the delicate balance between them, placing himself in an awkward position where neither advancing nor retreating seemed viable.

The side effects of the fever medication gradually set in, leaving Lu Zhengming too drowsy to think clearly. Groggy, he burrowed back under the covers.

He dreamed of the dog he had as a child. A light-colored Labrador. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had started raising it, but in his memory, the dog had been with him longer than his parents. Lu Zhengming had played countless mischievous pranks, and the dog had always endured them gently, never once baring its teeth at him.

Its fur was a little coarse, and it snored slightly when it slept, but none of that was a flaw. Lu Zhengming loved cuddling it because it felt so warm in his arms. After it was gone, he struggled to adjust to sleeping alone for a long time. Later, he bought several soft, fluffy blankets and tossed them on every possible sleeping surface, wrapping himself in them just to sleep soundly. And later still, he found another solution. Humans were far more comfortable to hold than dogs, and gradually, he forgot all about it.

If it hadn’t been for that day when he and Yin Yan had sex, he might never have remembered that he’d once had a dog.

What was its name? Lu Zhengming couldn’t recall, but in that dream, he missed it terribly. His chest felt hollow, as though a large dog had walked out from inside and never returned, leaving a void that had never been filled. But why had he remembered it at that particular moment?

When he had been feverish, in his dazed state, Lu Zhengming had murmured, “You’re kind of like my dog.”

Yin Yan had laughed and replied, “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Lu Zhengming had given a bitter smile and fallen silent, realizing that, for once, Yin Yan didn’t understand him. He didn’t even know why he had said it. He hadn’t meant it as an insult, nor was he trying to be playful. He just genuinely felt that Yin Yan reminded him of his dog.

As Lu Zhengming drifted deeper into sleep, both Yin Yan and the dog faded away from his dream.

When he woke up, he returned to that blue painting. The dizziness of that night felt like an illusion. The vortex had stopped spinning. It didn’t even look like a vortex anymore. It had transformed into the frozen surface of a lake. Lu Zhengming observed it for a while and noticed brushstrokes that didn’t belong to him.

Aside from Yin Yan, there was no one else who could’ve done it.

It seemed like Yin Yan had dragged Lu Zhengming out of danger and sealed off that path. But Lu Zhengming didn’t feel any relief. He had wanted to jump down there, even if it was filled with unknown dangers. There was something hidden within that fog, something he wanted to explore. Something worth risking everything for, even paying a steep price.

He ordered another batch of glass. Thinner, more transparent, and more fragile than before. He wanted to use this medium to rediscover that vortex and seek the answers to his questions. He also wanted to know if Yin Yan, like him, had caught a glimpse of what was concealed within it. Did Yin Yan act out of concern for him? Or was he also protecting himself, because he still refused to let Lu Zhengming explore any part of him beyond his body?

During that time, they rarely saw each other. It was always Lu Zhengming who initiated their meetings. Yin Yan never reached out first. Lu Zhengming increasingly felt that the time they spent together wasn’t as joyful as before. Not that it had ever been true happiness. Most of the time, he had been consumed by restless yearning, desperately searching for something that was just out of reach. But even the smallest progress had been enough to satisfy him, making him feel hopeful that, sooner or later, Yin Yan would give him what he wanted.

Now, though, that hope felt more distant than ever.

—

Yin Yan couldn’t ejaculate anymore.

He didn’t even have the strength to lift himself to his knees and could only lie on the bed, gasping for breath.

Lu Zhengming pulled the vibrator out of his body, still humming with vibration, along with traces of the cum he had just filled him with. He smeared it across Yin Yan’s thighs and back, marking him as his own. The sight brought him back to the night in Qingdao, when he’d felt happy and fulfilled. But now, staring at this still-open hole, he felt it was as empty as himself.

It needed to be filled.

He still felt so comfortable inside him, and every time he buried himself deep, Lu Zhengming couldn’t help but let out a long, satisfied sigh. Yin Yan had already been thoroughly fucked open, wet, slick, and loose enough that Lu Zhengming slid in and out smoothly. Every time he pulled out, more of the cum he had poured inside earlier leaked out.

He remembered reading something back in school that said a man’s cock had evolved to be shaped this way, perfectly designed by natural selection. Those ridges were made to scrape out another man’s seed, ensuring that only their own stayed behind.

There wasn’t anyone else’s left inside Yin Yan. This was a battle he was fighting against himself.

Lu Zhengming gripped Yin Yan’s hips hard, fiercely fucked him deep. Even he thought it must hurt, but Yin Yan didn’t cry out, didn’t ask him to stop. He still wore the collar and chain around his neck, his hands cuffed behind his back, as though he were being subjected to some kind of punishment.

But what was he being punished for?

Every thrust felt like an interrogation. Yin Yan’s legs buckled beneath him repeatedly, only for Lu Zhengming to yank him back up, forcing him to endure, to climax once more. Like a man truly being tortured, unable to escape, he was pushed over the edge, unable to muster a sound anymore.
His lower body was completely beyond his command, his legs trembling uncontrollably. The bed beneath them was soaked, and he didn’t want to think about what exactly had made it that way

Lu Zhengming came for a long time, his body going taut, shaking just like Yin Yan, before collapsing heavily on top of him. After a while, he undid Yin Yan’s cuffs, but he didn’t remove the collar. One hand still held the chain, while the other pulled Yin Yan into his arms, holding him tightly.

Yin Yan rested his forehead against Lu Zhengming’s collarbone, silently kissing away the sweat on his skin. Overhead, another soft sigh drifted down.

“It’s not what I thought it would be, is it?”

Yin Yan sighed as well, nodding faintly in agreement.

So, Lu Zhengming tightened his grip on the chain again, pulling him even closer, as if doing so could bring their hearts closer together too.