On the canvas, a silver muzzle circled the young man’s jaw. His lush lips bit down on the metal piece, and his thick, well-defined lashes hung low, masking the faint, reddish wetness in his eyes.
Ji Ting stopped his brush. Recalling the photo that showed only half of the face, he used his imagination to fill in the rest of the picture behind the lens.
The snow-white skin, prone to reddening at the slightest friction against the metal, looked as if it were made to be bullied.
Obediently wearing the muzzle, the boy’s stubborn temperament was still undeniable. That sharp, unruly aura was captured perfectly under his brush.
At that moment, the studio door was kicked open with a bang. Ji Ting looked up, meeting the eyes of a breathless Song Yang.
The person on the canvas had suddenly materialized into reality. Ji Ting was dazed for a moment, almost thinking he had hallucinated.
Song Yang scanned the room and, finding only Ji Ting inside, gasped as he spoke intermittently: “I know this is presumptuous, but I do not have time to explain.”
He hurriedly turned to close the studio door tightly and bent down to fumble with the lock: “How do I lock this?”
“The lock is broken.” Seeing him in a frantic state, Ji Ting set down his brush. “What is going on?”
Song Yang had no choice but to pull the door shut. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his tone uncharacteristically serious: “Senior, in short, I am being hunted.”
Ji Ting frowned: “Huh?”
“They are probably on the second floor already. Save me, or I will be bleeding all over the Ninth Building today!”
After saying this, he paced back and forth like a headless fly before quieting down to listen. The sound of footsteps grew closer. He turned pale with fright: “Damn it, there is no time! I will hide behind the curtains. If they barge in, just pretend you never saw me.”
He stumbled toward where Ji Ting was sitting, blocked by scattered painting tools. Just as he was about to jump over them, Ji Ting suddenly barked: “Wait!”
Song Yang was mid-leap, his head snapping up: “Huh?”
He thought Ji Ting was about to help, but this arrogant guy was actually busy tearing the tape off his own drawing board. Song Yang was instantly incensed: “Big brother, my life is hanging by a thread and you are worried about your painting? By the time you finish, my ashes will have been scattered to the wind!”
Ji Ting slowly tore off a piece, not wanting to ruin the paper by rushing. Seeing Song Yang agilely darting toward him, he realized he could not let him see the painting.
As Song Yang approached and his gaze was about to shift to the drawing board, Ji Ting rose with a swoosh and slapped Song Yang on the side of the face, forcing him to turn his head away.
“Ouch!” Song Yang yelped, staggering to find his footing. Bewildered by the sudden assault, he covered his face, eyes wide with shock: “No, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, I did not mean to.” After saying that, Ji Ting used his body to block the board and urgently searched for something to cover it.
Song Yang, confused and unwilling to waste time arguing, charged toward the curtains like a rocket.
He hid behind the curtains, only to realize a chunk of his foot was exposed. He pulled the curtain back to poke his head out: “Senior, this hiding spot will not work; it is a dead giveaway!”
He saw Ji Ting grab a jacket from his chair, scurrying around and ignoring him entirely. Song Yang stepped out from behind the curtain: “Senior, help me find a spot. Ouch!”
Mid-sentence, Ji Ting turned around and slapped Song Yang’s face back, much like a whip lashing a top.
Ji Ting took this opportunity to quickly throw the jacket over the drawing board, covering the watercolor completely.
After spinning around and finally steadying himself, Song Yang was so angry he nearly jumped: “If you are not going to help, fine, but why hit me? That is the second time! Is my head a ball to you? Is it fun to slap me around?”
“I am sorry, I did not mean to hit you when I reached out. Did I hurt you?”
At that moment, rapid footsteps echoed in the corridor. Song Yang’s heart jumped into his throat. He grabbed Ji Ting’s arm: “Senior, Brother Ting, Your Majesty, I know we have our differences and you have every right to be annoyed, but lives are at stake. This is not the time to vent. Help me this once, and I will be your servant in the student union forever.”
Ji Ting: “Sit on my lap.”
Song Yang was so furious he raised his fists: “I said I would be your servant, not sit on your lap!”
Ji Ting sat on the stool in front of the drawing board and looked up calmly: “I said right now, sit on my lap.”
Song Yang froze for several seconds before squeezing out a single syllable: “Huh?”
“Why lock the door!” A hoodlum with yellow hair kicked open the studio door and roared inside. Behind him, his underlings bowed to let their boss pass, and the buzz-cut man with the tattoo strolled in slowly.
He scanned the studio, finally narrowing his eyes as his gaze landed on the overlapping shadows behind the drawing board.
Ji Ting’s grip on Song Yang’s waist tightened. He leaned close to Song Yang’s ear and whispered: “Do not tremble.”
Wearing his hoodie, Song Yang sat sideways on Ji Ting’s lap, slumped over Ji Ting’s shoulder like a giant dog. With his chin resting on the other man’s neck, he gritted his teeth and whispered: “I am not trembling because I am scared; I am trembling because this posture is way too damn weird.”
The distance was too intimate; damp, warm breath sprayed against his neck, and body heat transferred between them, making their heartbeats seem to synchronize.
Ji Ting said nothing, lifting his eyes to meet the buzz-cut man’s gaze.
He reached out, placing his hand on the back of Song Yang’s neck through his clothes, applying secret pressure. His eyes darkened, his look as fierce and possessive as a wolf protecting its cub: “Can’t people date with the door closed?”
“Who dates by grabbing people’s carotid arteries?” Song Yang wanted to bite his neck in this position, but he scolded in a low voice: “Are you trying to strangle me? Be gentle.”
Ji Ting relaxed his hand. Fearing Song Yang might slide off, he hugged him tighter around the waist.
“Yo, my apologies.” The buzz-cut man studied Song Yang’s back and said slowly, “A man and a woman alone, quite the mood. Sorry for the intrusion.”
The group retreated from the studio and pulled the door shut.
“Okay, let me go.” Hearing them walk away, Song Yang struggled to stand up. He threw his body backward, but accidentally bumped into the drawing board behind him. The board fell to the ground with a bang, and the jacket covering it slid off.
Seeing the watercolor exposed on the ground, a flash of panic crossed Ji Ting’s eyes. The moment Song Yang turned his head, he grabbed Song Yang’s shoulders and pressed him back into his embrace.
Song Yang felt his chest collide with something, his eyes widening in shock. Then, he felt a force against his back as he was completely imprisoned in the other’s arms.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Song Yang struggled, but to no avail. He punched Ji Ting in the back: “Men shouldn’t be so intimate!”
“Wait, they have not left yet.” Ji Ting whispered, secretly extending his foot to kick the drawing board further away to prevent Song Yang from seeing it.
“They left! Do you think I am deaf?” Song Yang was furious: “What the hell are you trying to do today? If you do not let me go, I will bite your neck!”
“Go ahead and bite.” Ji Ting held him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, his cold tone laced with mockery.
Song Yang bared his fangs, truly intending to sink them into his neck: “Ah!”
“Only dogs bite.” Ji Ting’s voice pierced him like an arrow. Song Yang froze, realizing he had almost fallen into a trap.
Song Yang shut his mouth, grinding his teeth in frustration. Feeling even more incensed, he wanted to retaliate, but sensed Ji Ting move his leg. His buttocks suddenly hovered in the air, his whole body jolting upward, sliding toward Ji Ting due to gravity.
“Damn it.” He muttered, then flopped onto Ji Ting’s chest. Fearing he would fall, he clutched Ji Ting’s neck.
His face buried into Ji Ting’s neck, the soft strands of the other man’s hair brushing against his cheek. He smelled a fragrance even richer than when he had hugged him earlier. He leaned his nose closer, could not help but take a deep breath—a comfortable scent, like lilies.
Song Yang’s first thought: Smells good. What shampoo does this arrogant guy use?
His second thought: Crap, this pose between me and this guy is a bit ambiguous.
Finally, realization dawned on him: Holy crap, this looks like I am the one throwing myself into his arms!
Realizing this critical issue, Song Yang hurriedly lifted his head, struggling desperately like a fish on a chopping board, cursing as he did: “Ji Ting, are you sick? Are you hugging me to stay warm? I am a human, not your hot water bottle! Let go! Let go!”
“Shh, keep quiet. I think I hear them coming back.”
“For real?” Song Yang went silent, holding his breath to listen, but heard nothing.
Song Yang was completely enraged. He used all his strength to push Ji Ting away, lunging out of his embrace. Due to inertia, he fell backward, rolled on the floor, and slammed into the drawing board.
Clutching his bruised waist, Song Yang screamed at the ceiling: “Ah, my poor back.”
Ji Ting stood up from the stool, walked over in two steps, and looked down at the wailing Song Yang, dropping a single sentence: “Do not crush my painting.”
Song Yang’s eyes widened as he watched Ji Ting crouch down, push him aside, scoop up his precious drawing board, and stand up to hide it behind the curtains.
Song Yang suddenly understood. He finally saw clearly: the arrogant guy had punched him twice for no reason just because he was afraid of damaging that precious painting.
Precious treasure, is it? I will find a chance to burn it to the ground!
Ji Ting turned around, reaching out to help Song Yang up: “Are you okay?”
“Okay your grandfather’s! I am furious!” He slapped Ji Ting’s hand away and sprang up from the floor: “I came here to hide from hoodlums. The hoodlums did not hurt me, but you punched me left and right until I was dizzy! Did you do that on purpose or was it an accident? Have you been wanting to do this for a long time, huh?”
Ji Ting felt guilty: “Sorry, it is fine now. The force I used was not that heavy. You did not get hurt, did you?”
He leaned in to inspect Song Yang’s face. At that moment, the studio door was kicked open once again. Song Yang turned his head in shock, meeting the ferocious gaze of the buzz-cut man outside, with the same thugs following behind him.
“I knew something felt wrong just now. You really were hiding in here. Song Yang, are you trying to play me for a fool?”