10

Yi He fell into anxiety day after day. 

He would feel melancholic at times, and at other times burst out laughing uncontrollably. Whenever he thought of Qi Shuitang, a joyous feeling would well up from the depths of his heart, as if his heart wanted to break free from the confines of his ribcage and throw itself into Qi Shuitang’s embrace.

He did not know what to make of this emotion, only that he found himself acting strangely, as if he had become even more foolish. Whenever Qi Shuitang came to see him, he was too shy to tell him about his abnormality, covering his chest and responding to the other’s words one by one.

But his acting was really clumsy, and Qi Shuitang could see through his evasiveness at a glance, feeling anxious but also a little dejected. 

He wondered if perhaps Yi He was fed up, otherwise why would he keep avoiding him?

The two were trapped in a fence of self-doubt, like two uneasy captive beasts, unable to break free.

It was Yi He who broke this stalemate.

After much contemplation, he could not bear to make Qi Shuitang unhappy because of his own strangeness. 

So, on a summer evening, Yi He grasped Qi Shuitang’s wrist, tickling Qi Shuitang’s heart like the breeze that swept by.

“What’s wrong?” Qi Shuitang’s complexion had not been good for a while. As the semester-end exams approached, his grades, which were already not good, had to be brought up through sheer rote learning, and with the distance between the two of them in recent times, his heart was even more restless.

He stared absent-mindedly at Yi He’s pale fingers, his brows slightly furrowed, his expression not very good.

“You’ve grown a beard.” Yi He didn’t seem very enthusiastic either. He rummaged in his small backpack and pulled out a bag of jianbing, but due to lack of attention, the oil and sauce had leaked out quite a bit, dripping down his clothes, backpack, and along the web of his hand down to his forearm, finally dripping “plop” to the ground.

Yi He was at a complete loss. He almost instantly stuffed the jianbing back into the bag, and the hand that had been gripping Qi Shuitang’s wrist also withdrew. The two hands came together as if they had not coordinated, both covered in the sticky sauce. He stood there with a dejected expression, palms spread out, not knowing what to do, not daring to look at Qi Shuitang’s expression.

Qi Shuitang’s face grew even darker. He yanked the standing Yi He, the action a bit rough, causing Yi He to stagger a little before being dragged and pressed against the edge of the sink to wash his hands.

Without waiting for him to say anything, Qi Shuitang turned and left. He pressed his lips together, tightened the strap of the backpack on his body, shook the water off his hands, and rubbed his eyes hard.

The clothes were still stained with oil and looked a bit disgusting. Yi He looked around to make sure no one was around, took off the backpack and placed it to the side, then took off the T-shirt and started scrubbing it under the faucet.

The summer night breeze carried a hint of coolness, and Yi He’s goosebump-covered skin practically glowed under the moonlight. He casually slapped a mosquito to death, scratching the nape of his neck, and the small patch of skin quickly turned red, as if the blood under the skin was about to burst through.

Qi Shuitang’s eyes darkened, and he silently approached Yi He from behind, carrying a pack of tissue.

“I’m sorry,” Yi He murmured.

“Sorry for what?” Qi Shuitang suddenly realized his own overreaction. He hastily turned his gaze away, his sight sweeping over the slender neck, and in his panic, focused on the banana leaves behind Yi He.

He rummaged in the backpack behind him and pulled out the basketball jersey, unceremoniously putting it on Yi He.

Yi He tried hard to control his emotions, taking deep breaths. He pinched the loose thread on his pants, as if finding a support point, and said, “I, I think I’m sick. Whenever I see you, I feel uncomfortable.”

“I, I’m wrong,” he strained to keep his mind focused, repeatedly telling himself not to be anxious in his heart. After a while, he continued, “We’re friends. I can’t make you suffer because of my illness.”

Qi Shuitang listened quietly, taking a long time to recover. Yi He’s mood became increasingly low, and the thread was suddenly yanked off by himself, the taut string in his mind snapping with a “crack.”

“Yi He!” Qi Shuitang’s eyes gleamed, as if he had just realized something. He gripped Yi He’s wrist, finally finding the opportunity to forcefully hold that hand, a size smaller than his own, in his palm. Their hands were both damp with sticky sweat, tightly intertwined.

“You like me.” Qi Shuitang made Yi He look up at him, affirming. 

“Just as I like you, you must like me very, very deeply.”

Author’s Note:

I originally wanted to write more, but I thought it was just right to stop here. Let us bless the newlyweds!