Chapter 57

The word spun hard in Fei Bolin's head for a moment, then vanished the second he saw Wen Fu again.

He really was overheated — hearing people talk about what Wen Fu looked like, his thoughts just kept running away with him.

No matter how pretty he was, there was no way in hell Qi Yichuan was going to be Wen Fu's damn boyfriend.

The man himself, Wen Fu, was sitting cross-legged on the grass watching anime. Whether it was his nose or his ears, the second Fei Bolin got close, he looked up like he had a sensor installed — two dark eyes fixed right on Fei Bolin.

"The ground's dirty, don't just sit anywhere." Fei Bolin pulled him up and shoved the pink-packaged Jule Milk and a cola into his hands.

Wen Fu looked left and right, decided to drink the Jule Milk first.

Before, Fei Bolin had only ever given him plain milk. He'd never tried the yogurt flavor.

Straw into the slot, Wen Fu took a tentative sip. The next second his eyes went wide, just like that first night he'd ever tasted milk.

Fei Bolin had just turned to check on Qi Yichuan catching up behind them. One moment of inattention, a few seconds later when he turned back, he heard the empty-straw sound coming from the carton.

Wen Fu held the box, staring at him without blinking.

Fei Bolin: ?

"...Finished?"

Wen Fu nodded.

"Want more?"

Wen Fu nodded again.

"What about the cola?"

Wen Fu shook his head.

No more cola.

Only wants Jule Milk.

Fei Bolin took the milk carton from Wen Fu's hands in disbelief, then weighed it. He couldn't believe Wen Fu had downed the whole box in the time it took him to turn his head.

But the carton was definitely empty.

Fei Bolin pinched Wen Fu's chin, bent down to look at his mouth.

Wen Fu was very cooperative: "Ah—"

Fei Bolin braced his knees, aiming his gaze straight at the back of Wen Fu's throat.

Qi Yichuan, walking up behind them, happened to catch this scene.

He stopped short, rubbed his eyes. Once he was sure he wasn't seeing things, he shifted to the side, changed his angle, and finally realized Fei Bolin was just inspecting Wen Fu's mouth — not kissing him.

He figured he must really be losing it today, fixating on Fei Bolin like this — even this he could misread.

He and Fei Bolin didn't actually have anything to compete over!

That spark at the underground supermarket just now was totally baffling.

Presumably Fei Bolin thought the same. After checking Wen Fu's mouth and confirming there weren't two throats in there, he took Wen Fu's hand and headed toward the underground supermarket.

Passing Qi Yichuan, Fei Bolin paused: "I'm taking Xiao Fu to buy drinks. Keep an eye on the equipment for me."

Qi Yichuan had nothing to say to that — he was staying to wait for the results anyway.

After Fei Bolin walked off, he caught up: "Didn't you just buy some?!"

Without looking back, Fei Bolin held up the Jule Milk carton: "He finished it!"

"Oh..." Qi Yichuan was stunned for a few seconds, then suddenly shouted, "Did you two share one mouth to drink that fast?!"

Fei Bolin ignored him.

Wen Fu turned his head and answered: "One mouth."

Fei Bolin immediately turned his head back around.

"Don't just talk to anyone."

"That's Qi Yichuan."

"Even worse with Qi Yichuan."

"...Oh."

Wen Fu didn't get it, but his world didn't have a skill called 'argue with Fei Bolin,' so he decided if he couldn't figure it out, he'd eat first.

He pulled the chocolate Fei Bolin had bought from his pocket, turned the matcha flavor — which he'd never tried — over and over in his hands, then tore open the long wrapper. Just as he was about to open wide and take a bite, he suddenly looked up: "Want some, Bo-ge?"

Fei Bolin's face was blank: "Bo-ge doesn't want any."

For some reason, after talking with Qi Yichuan, his mood wasn't great. He couldn't pin down exactly why. Maybe he was still hung up on that word 'boyfriend' — even though he knew Qi Yichuan was just joking.

Wen Fu bit off half the bar in one go.

Chew chew chew chew chew.

Chewed all the way to the underground supermarket, finishing the bar right on arrival.

Fei Bolin led Wen Fu to the drink shelf, pointed at the pink-packaged Jule Milk: "This flavor?"

Wen Fu couldn't be bothered to nod, just reached out and grabbed it himself.

Three boxes at once.

While grabbing them, he kept sneaking peeks at Fei Bolin's face. Seeing no objection, he secretly rejoiced.

But the next second, Fei Bolin said: "You can only take one."

The secret joy vanished.

Wen Fu slowly put the extra two boxes back.

Fei Bolin saw his eyes dim, explained helplessly: "You already had one tonight. You can have at most one more."

Wen Fu didn't argue, didn't get mad, just said 'oh' and carried his single box of Jule Milk to the register. Fei Bolin watched him droop, and his heart softened.

Wen Fu had just worked hard performing tonight, spent a whole month preparing the song. All he wanted was two extra boxes of milk. Why set rules right now?

He sighed, casually grabbed two more boxes of Jule Milk and swiped them all together.

Wen Fu snuck a glance at the milk in his hand, pressed his lips together.

Just then, the last evening study period had ended, and a wave of students was flooding toward the field to catch the tail end of the competition.

They stood by the flower bed at the supermarket entrance, hearing the thundering footsteps overhead, and both decided to sit on the bench and wait for the crowd to thin out.

Wen Fu cradled the three boxes of Jule Milk in his arms, working through them one by one.

This time he drank slowly, like he was savoring fine grain, no longer gulping it down in a few swallows — otherwise his tongue wouldn't even taste it before his stomach had already digested several rounds.

But even slowed down, Wen Fu's eating speed was still faster than most people's.

First box took a minute. He held it to his ear and shook — nothing left. Tossed it, opened the second.

Wind drifted down from the atrium, cool and gentle. The thundering footsteps overhead had stopped without them noticing.

Wen Fu's cheeks sucked in and puffed out — another half box of Jule Milk gone.

Fei Bolin watched Wen Fu drink, lost in thought.

Arm on his knee, palm under his chin, he leaned sideways and watched Wen Fu for a while. Curiosity got the better of him: "Really that good?"

Wen Fu had the straw in his mouth, focused on drinking. Hearing the question, he immediately held out the half-finished drink to Fei Bolin's lips.

Fei Bolin looked down at the Jule Milk box, and through the straw Wen Fu had been using, took a gentle sip.

Sweet and sour, a thick milky drink.

"Caught you two!" Qi Yichuan suddenly appeared behind them, slapping one shoulder each. "I knew it — two mouths on one straw! And you wouldn't admit it!"

They both jumped, instinctively turned around, and saw Qi Yichuan's face again.

Fei Bolin said, headache forming: "I was just tasting—"

"Tasting what?" Qi Yichuan cut him off ruthlessly. "You've had several boxes and you call that tasting? So when Wen Fu said 'one mouth,' he meant you two share one mouth?"

He pointed at the unopened box beside them: "There's a fresh one right here! You just had to use his straw."

Wen Fu piped up from the side: "That one's mine too."

Qi Yichuan: "So?"

Wen Fu: "Whatever box Bo-ge drinks, he's using my straw."

Fei Bolin: "..."

Fei Bolin had no way to defend himself, so he changed the subject: "Why'd you come down?"

Qi Yichuan vaulted over the back of the bench, plopped down next to Wen Fu, stabbed the straw into the unopened box and took a sip first: "It's over. You two didn't come back for ages, so I came to check."

Then held up the milk toward Wen Fu: "Also gonna steal a sip from your straw."

Wen Fu: "..."

Fei Bolin caught the key point: "It's over?"

"Yeah," Qi Yichuan scanned them both, "voting started not long after you two left. Everyone's gone now."

"Then—"

"Second place," Qi Yichuan held up two fingers, "the one who sang Song of Seven Miles got two more votes than us."

He asked Wen Fu: "Which singer's album do you want?"

Wen Fu shook his head.

He only knew how to listen to and sing songs. He had no idea about albums.

"Then it's mine." Qi Yichuan pulled out his phone and started scrolling. "The club said any album works, they'll do their best to get it. I'm picking an Anita Mui one, out of print."

Wen Fu wasn't listening. He just stared at the milk box Qi Yichuan had snatched, then turned to look at Fei Bolin in silent accusation.

Fei Bolin's headache returned, faintly.

He pulled Wen Fu toward the supermarket, said to Qi Yichuan: "That's that, then. Anything on the field we should help you carry?"

"Nope," Qi Yichuan said, "I promised to lend my drums and guitar to a classmate for two weeks. He'll bring them back when he's done."

"Then get home early." Fei Bolin lifted the supermarket curtain. "I'm taking Xiao Fu to get something to eat."

"Got it!"

The three said goodbye. Fei Bolin bought Wen Fu another box of Jule Milk, watched him finish it. Wen Fu wiped his mouth, only then satisfied enough to follow Fei Bolin home.

During bath time, Wen Fu sat in front of Fei Bolin, eyelids fighting each other.

Since two months ago, when Wen Fu discovered that bathing together saved a lot of time, now every night the moment Fei Bolin stepped into the bathroom, Wen Fu would scramble in right behind him.

One reason: bathing with Fei Bolin meant he basically didn't have to do anything, just sit on the stool with his phone watching anime. Another: Fei Bolin had a thing about cleanliness, washed hair and body more carefully than Wen Fu did himself. Anywhere Wen Fu was sloppy, Fei Bolin couldn't stand it and would grab him and scrub him down.

Every day Wen Fu rolled around outside, came home, clung to Fei Bolin for a bath, and came out clean and fresh, smelling nice.

The one principle Fei Bolin held firm: after washing Wen Fu and kicking him out, he'd take off his own pants and bathe.

Even though he knew Wen Fu wouldn't do anything, Fei Bolin was sure that when they were truly exposed, what was more naked than his body was Wen Fu's gaze — looking at his lower half like it was some world wonder.

Just imagining the scene — he refused to think about it.

That night, after washing up, Fei Bolin came back to the room and saw Wen Fu lying face-down on the bed, motionless, feet in slippers dangling off the edge, already asleep. Probably his first time in a performance competition like this — a whole month of work, he was really worn out.

He turned off the overhead light, left only the desk lamp, walked over quietly, took the towel off Wen Fu's head. His hair was still wet — hadn't been dried.

Wen Fu's face was buried in the pillow, head tilted slightly, revealing one eye and a narrow bridge of nose.

His lashes were damp too, like still soaked in water, darker than usual.

Fei Bolin put his hand on his head, fingers sinking into the faintly steamy wet hair, used his thumb pad to brush his eye, called softly: "Xiao Fu."

Wen Fu's lashes trembled as his eyeballs moved beneath the thin lids, but he didn't wake.

Fei Bolin called again: "Xiao Fu?"

This time Wen Fu frowned slightly, his lowered lashes lifted, eyes half-open, looked at Fei Bolin crouching by the bed: "...Bo-ge?"

"Hair's not dry yet," Fei Bolin still spoke softly. Even knowing Wen Fu was awake, he didn't raise his voice. "Don't sleep, you'll catch cold."

"Have to dry it?" Wen Fu asked, but didn't move.

"Have to." Fei Bolin reached for Wen Fu's forehead, felt a palm's worth of water. "Forgot what I told you?"

Wen Fu gazed at him half-awake, vaguely remembering Fei Bolin had told him: after washing his hair, he could laze around for at most twenty minutes. After twenty minutes, if he still hadn't gone to dry his hair, Fei Bolin would come catch him.

Wen Fu was too sleepy. When he spoke, his voice was even smaller and thinner than usual, lazy and soft: "Has it been twenty minutes?"

Fei Bolin nodded.

But Wen Fu didn't want to get up to dry his hair.

How could you make a sleeping person get up to dry their hair? That was completely unreasonable. It's not like he didn't have a gege.

Wen Fu raised his arm and gripped the back of Fei Bolin's hand resting in his hair, turned his face toward him. In the dim yellow light from the desk, he gazed at Fei Bolin in a tipsy haze, rubbed one cheek against Fei Bolin's palm, and asked in a pleading whisper: "Can Bo-ge blow-dry it for me?"