He was utterly frustrated, his mind consumed by those thoughts all the way home, returning with a belly full of anger.
You Fu was having dinner, a simple meal of porridge and a boiled egg. When Ji An wasn’t around, You Fu would just make something to fill his stomach, not caring much about taste as long as it kept him alive.
Seeing that You Fu hadn’t even bothered to cook for himself, Ji An’s irritation grew. Without even changing his shoes, he stormed over and yanked You Fu’s hair forcefully.
You Fu lifted his eyelids to glance at him, seemingly surprised that he had returned so early.
Ji An demanded, “What do you mean by this today?”
You Fu’s lips curved slightly. “That kind of thing is a bit disgusting, just a reminder to pay attention to hygiene.”
Ji An’s temper reached its peak. He slammed You Fu’s head onto the table with a dull thud. “Do I need you to manage me? What gives you the right to assume I’d do something like that without any basis? Who asked you to talk to me like this? Are you out of your mind?!”
You Fu’s shoulders trembled slightly, and Ji An realized he was laughing.
“Brother, don’t be angry. I know I was wrong. I’ll kneel and apologize.”
You Fu effortlessly knelt in front of him.
It was clearly an act of apology, but whether it was because You Fu had knelt too many times that Ji An was immune, or because of You Fu’s indifferent attitude that stirred a sense of disgust, Ji An’s anger wasn’t alleviated.
He didn’t know when he reached out, but by the time he realized, a cup of water had already been poured over You Fu’s head.
The water trickled down his hair and neck, seeping into his collar, and was absorbed by his clothes as it rolled down his shoulders and back. The sparse droplets shattered on the floor.
Perhaps it was the accumulation of too many suppressed emotions, but Ji An wanted to vent, to have a big argument with You Fu.
Unfortunately, You Fu, kneeling there, had no reaction whatsoever.
It was eerie, the lack of any fluctuation in response to anything.
And this terrifying lack of normal human behavior, Ji An had witnessed for four or five years.
Over sixteen hundred days, every minute and every second was like this.
Even when You Fu was younger, he didn’t have the innocence typical of a child of that age, nor did he go through the rebellious phase of a teenager.
He was always like this, stagnant water, never changing.
Having seen it too much, Ji An’s mind suddenly flashed to that night when You Fu clutched his hand and called him “Brother.” Ji An wanted to tear open his layers of skin, to dissect that heart and see if it was filled with stone, to feel if his blood was cold and piercing.
Ultimately, he wanted to dig out that tiny soft spot inside, treat it as a precious treasure, and carefully place it in the most transparent display case.
Ji An suddenly smashed the glass on the ground, grabbing You Fu by the collar and pulling him up, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Can you give me some reaction?! Are you dead? Do you not know what I’m doing to you?!”
You Fu was like a puppet, with Ji An pulling the strings of his limbs and body. He let Ji An manipulate him, doing all sorts of things, but unfortunately, the puppet’s face remained expressionless.
You Fu said, “What kind of reaction do you want? I can show you, any kind you want.”
This indifferent tone sounded like a charity to a pitiful creature, even if he did show fear or resentment, it would be fake.
Ji An didn’t need anything fake. He just wanted to see some emotion from You Fu.
Not a puppet.
Not like his mother, where no matter what he did, it was all in vain.
His mother wouldn’t give him emotional expression, and neither would You Fu.
They were too similar, so similar that Ji An hated them, hated them for turning him into a vicious madman.
His head felt like it had been forcibly chiseled open, filled with cement, sealing off his consciousness.
It hurt so much.
He finally let go of You Fu, staggered a few steps, and knelt on the ground, picking up a shard of glass to cut a bloody line on his arm. His arm bore many scars from previous cuts, long since healed and not particularly noticeable.
The sharp pain drove away the dull ache in his brain, bringing him some clarity. Blood dripped onto the floor, drip, drip, drip…
Forming a thread.
You Fu watched him for a long time, and when he was about to make a second cut, he stood up and grabbed Ji An’s wrist.
“Don’t touch me!” Ji An shook off his hand.
You Fu grabbed the shard of glass, embedding it into his flesh. His blood flowed down his hand, mingling with the red on the floor, indistinguishable from each other.
“Ji An.” You Fu knelt on one knee in front of him. “People become numb. When you do something too much, it naturally becomes boring. You find me uninteresting, and of course, I find your antics dull. What kind of reaction do you expect from me?”
Their hands were already tightly clasped together, fingers interlocked, with the shard of glass continuously piercing into their palms, sharing the pain.
The blood flowed through their entwined fingers, so painful, so painful.
“I…” Ji An opened his mouth, suddenly mustering strength to push him to the ground. “I don’t need you to condescendingly criticize my actions! You’re insane! I should send you to a mental hospital!”
You Fu retorted, “And how are you any better than me?”
The sting in his palm brought Ji An back to the reality of the situation. He got up and went to the bathroom to hastily wash the cuts on his palm.
He mocked himself repeatedly. He had known it would be like this, so why did he keep trying, naively hoping for a different outcome?
He had known this since he was a child, so why did he deceive himself?
He really, really hated them.
He hated his mother for being able to smile at anyone but him, hated You Fu for bearing his mother’s love and his own hatred, yet remaining cold and emotionless, as if it were all natural.
When he went out, You Fu had already cleaned up the floor. He took off his blood-stained white undershirt, brushed past Ji An, and went to the bathroom to wash the clothes.
Even though the detergent burned his wounds, turning the water in the sink a bright red, he remained calm.
As if nothing had happened just now.
“Why?”
Ji An stood there muttering to himself. He used to think You Fu’s indifference was because he was naturally cold, but on that snowy night, Ji An realized he wasn’t like that on the surface. He just didn’t want to express it to him, just like his mother, disdainful of expressing it to him.
Before that night, he could ignore these things, but after that night, he couldn’t.
What did he do wrong? Why did his mother leave behind a child so similar to her to torment him?
He heard You Fu’s voice again in his mind: “People become numb.”
This voice seemed to arise from nowhere in his mind. He suddenly thought of You Fu’s earlier words, “That kind of thing is a bit disgusting.”
Whether it was his consciousness driving his body or his body driving his consciousness, he stepped behind You Fu.
You Fu sensed his gaze and looked up.
Ji An grabbed his hair, the tearing pain forcing You Fu to turn his head, greeted by hot, humid breath.
Ji An pressed his head down, his nose brushing lightly over his lips like a butterfly’s wing, then moving upward. Just as their noses were about to touch, he turned his head aside, nearing those seemingly soft lips.
The next second, he felt You Fu’s breath suddenly closer, You Fu leaning in! His eyes widened in shock, realizing what he was doing.
You Fu’s lips brushed his like a dragonfly skimming the water, and Ji An felt a chill, almost springing back a great distance, using his other hand to push him away.
“Are you crazy?!”
You Fu’s face bore a smile that revealed no emotion, his deliberately suppressed voice slightly hoarse. “Weren’t you the one who started this? Why are you turning around and scolding me?”
Being called out, Ji An felt a mix of anger and a hint of embarrassment, along with a visceral aversion to You Fu’s face.
He touched his nose, feeling utterly ridiculous, probably having drunk his brain into a stupor during lunch with Gu Ziyu.
Ji An asked, “Then why didn’t you avoid it?”
You Fu turned around, stepping forward until his bare chest touched Ji An, lowering his gaze slightly. “Isn’t this what you want? If you want it, I can give it to you. Whatever you want, I can offer it to you without reservation.”
Kissing seemed to him like eating or drinking water, something he could do as long as Ji An commanded it, the machine operating according to the instructions.
The boy’s face carried the unique freshness of his age, but You Fu exuded a gloomy aura that overshadowed much of that freshness, showing a maturity beyond his years.
Ji An thought he must be quite ill to want to disgust him with something as ridiculous as a kiss.
Ji An turned away with a stern face.
You Fu stood there watching his back, inexplicably raising a hand to touch his lips, still warm.
…
Ji An could only vent through smoking and drinking. Why was the winter wind so cold, like knives slicing through flesh?
He sat on the rooftop steps, behind him the unprotected high altitude. If he wanted, he could fall from this bone-crushing height at any time.
He wouldn’t.
No matter how many times he sat here, he knew he wouldn’t, because he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to his mother, and he still had a child to raise.
He remembered when You Fu was little, whenever Ji An’s emotions fluctuated greatly, You Fu would quietly follow him, hiding in the corners, like a ghost watching Ji An drink in various secluded spots.
Once, Ji An drank too much and fell asleep in the stairwell, half-awake, feeling himself being moved, only to realize he was on You Fu’s back.
He was a bit dazed because before, when he passed out outside, he would only be awakened by the cold wind, then stumble home on his own.
Besides his maternal grandparents, he had never been on anyone else’s back.
At that time, You Fu was only thirteen or fourteen, half a head shorter than Ji An, his back still quite thin, struggling to carry him.
Ji An listened to his slightly heavy breathing, drunkenly saying, “I hate you. No matter what you do, I won’t accept you. You owe me, and you’ll never repay it in this lifetime.”
You Fu said, “I never thought of repaying.”
Ji An sneered, “Then what are you doing now?”
You Fu struggled to adjust him on his back. “This is just what I should do.”
Ji An didn’t respond, sinking into a peaceful dream on his back.
At this moment, Ji An finished the can of beer, looking toward the stairway entrance, dark and empty, as if the feeling of being watched earlier was just an illusion.
He descended the steps, his turbulent emotions long soothed by the wind.
When he returned home, the light in You Fu’s room was off, and he was already asleep.
Ji An saw a bowl of white porridge on the dining table, next to a plate of fried dumplings. He touched the bowl, finding the porridge still warm, clearly just made.
You Fu always managed to time his return perfectly.
The reason was already self-evident.
Ji An sat in silence for a while, then sat at the table to eat dinner. He picked up a fork and speared a dumpling, popping it into his mouth.
You Fu had considered that he was still hungry, that his injured right hand made it difficult to use chopsticks, and that he didn’t want to see him.
And this meticulous consideration had permeated the entire five years they had lived under the same roof…