Yang Chuan arrived late, his eyes brimming with an intense desire to know what was going on.
He nudged the boy sprawled on the ground with his toe. “Hey, man, what are you doing?”
Wang Dalin struggled to his feet. “Chuan, my chest hurts. Rub it for me, will you?”
“Would you quit it? You’re trying to take advantage of me again.”
“Huh? Isn’t this my bottle?” He walked over out of habit and draped an arm over Luo Cheng’s shoulder. Following his gaze, he spotted the pretty boy standing in front of Luo Cheng.
“It’s yours.” Ji Yan turned and shoved the bottle into Yang Chuan’s arms.
Yang Chuan blinked. “Oh. Thanks.” Maybe it was his imagination, but the boy’s smile had faded a lot when he looked at him just now. And when he’d handed over the bottle, he’d pulled his hand back awfully fast.
Did he have some kind of virus or something?
Luo Cheng raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “A freshman?”
Wang Dalin rubbed his chest and came over. “Cheng-ge, he’s a sophomore. And he’s taller than you, so calling him a kid isn’t exactly appropriate.”
What the hell did he mean, “isn’t exactly appropriate”? Yang Chuan nearly choked on his own spit.
Luo Cheng suppressed the urge to kick him into next week, his smile faint and wry.
But Ji Yan solemnly picked up the thread. “Gege, I’m Ji Yan from Class One, Grade Two. We’re right across from you.”
This time, Yang Chuan really did nearly choke to death.
Wang Dalin chuckled. “Oh, junior, I know you.”
Luo Cheng frowned. He felt like he’d heard that name somewhere before. “Ji Yan?”
As he mulled it over, someone took his left wrist and lifted his hand.
His palm tickled. Ji Yan’s fingertip was tracing across it.
Writing his name.
“Ji, as in ‘season.’ Yan, with the person radical and the water radical.”
“Did you remember, gege?”
Luo Cheng lifted his head from the desk and gulped down several mouthfuls of water.
The weather hadn’t been hot lately, but his mouth was always dry, especially when he looked over at the opposite classroom building.
Like some old witch was casting a spell, luring his heart right out of his chest.
As soon as class ended, Luo Cheng went to the canteen shop and bought a bottle of soda.
“It’s cold?” Yang Chuan snatched it from him. “Why are you drinking something cold?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I just don’t want your stomach acting up. You already have a bad stomach.”
Luo Cheng turned to look at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m not drinking much. I’ll be fine.”
The hallway outside the classroom was crowded after class, mostly with boys. Some were preening and flirting with girls as they walked by, winking so often it looked like they were having a fit. They were practically asking for a beating.
“Hey, buddy, get dolled up a little more and you could be the madam at a brothel!”
“Yang Chuan, get lost!” the boy laughed, cursing. “Cheng-ge, give him a punch already.”
Luo Cheng narrowed his eyes and offered an impartial assessment. “That was a nice hip swing.”
“Damn it, Cheng-ge. You can’t do me like that.”
“Come on in, handsome! The ladies here are all breathtaking beauties, the fairest in the land!”
“Young Master Luo, you’re so handsome, and your waist is so slim. I want to wrap my legs around it.”
Laughter rose and fell around them. Two girls passed by, blushing as they sneaked a glance at the waist of the school’s big shot they’d been talking about. They had to admit, it really was slim.
The tips of Luo Cheng’s ears turned a little red. He untied the school uniform jacket from around his waist and put it on, swore at them a few times, then went back to the classroom.
The teachers’ office door swung open. The director of discipline, who also taught math, stood in the doorway with one hand on his hip and a yellow ruler in the other, pointing it at the boys in the hall. “You boys get a kick out of harassing girls, do you? Keep acting up and I’ll have you drop your pants and line up!”
In a flash, the hall was empty.
The pen in Ji Yan’s hand stopped. He closed his sketchbook.
“Finished?” His desk mate scribbled away furiously.
“No, just a little more.”
“Oh? What’s left?”
Ji Yan tapped his lips rhythmically with a fingertip, murmured, “Mm,” then curled his mouth in thought. “I’ll have to measure it to know just how slim it is.”
“What’s so slim?”
Ji Yan looked out the window, his eyes darkening to a deep, inky black. His voice was low. “It’d feel soft to the touch, wouldn’t it?”
Gege.