CH Extra 4

Extra 4: Drawing Nearer to Each Other

“…According to the most recent news from the municipal weather bureau, a red rainstorm warning signal was issued this morning at 7am. A short-term rainstorm, particularly heavy, is predicted to occur, and it’ll be accompanied by thunder, strong winds and other local storm effects. Citizens, please look after your safety as you go out today…”

The old television in the breakfast shop was broadcasting that day’s weather report. The dusty blades of the fan were humming as they spun, the noise meshing into the sounds of the cicadas in the bushes. Yue Zhishi finished his last bite of his vegetarian soup noodles; his forehead was sweating from the heat. As soon as he raised his head, the restaurant owner sighed, gazing outside the store with his arms by his side. “What terrible weather. It’s about to scorch people, and yet a heavy rainstorm’s coming. The weather report’s talking nonsense.”

Yue Zhishi also stood up, and he walked outside, pulling on his schoolbag, and climbed onto his bike. Large, expansive fields of green in both light and dark shades filled his vision, and the wind of midsummer swept over his face and body with humid, hot air, feeling as though it was covering his skin with a layer of film. It was still early morning, and yet the heat harboured within the rays of light was already beginning to show itself — sunlight reflected off the glass walls of tall buildings, and other than the dappled shadows of trees, it turned everything broiling hot and ghastly pale.

It truly didn’t feel like rainstorm weather.

Everyone had already long turned on the aircon in the classroom, so Yue Zhishi rushed into the cool room, sweating from his bike ride over. He subconsciously rubbed his arms and sat down, flipping open his books.

His desk mate borrowed his English homework, and he even praised the artwork Yue Zhishi had created for the creative arts festival.

“Thank you.” With his head lowered, Yue Zhishi read through his notes, wanting to memorise his texts, but the only thing he could think of was the invitation he’d extended out to Song Yu last night as they’d eaten their late night snack. It was an invitation Song Yu was very unlikely to care about.

It probably couldn’t even be considered as an invitation. Drinking his mung bean soup, he’d only casually mentioned that the creative arts festival was going to display a new group of student artwork today, and that his painting was in that new group to be exhibited. But at that time, only Aunt Rong and Uncle Song had displayed an enthusiastic interest in his painting; Song Yu had peacefully sat there and drank his soup, not saying a single word.

Afterwards, Yue Zhishi hadn’t been able to hold back, and he’d asked, “Gege, do you have physical education class tomorrow?”

Song Yu had nodded and then had asked him why.

Yue Zhishi had said, no reason. A few seconds later, he found a reason to talk and said he wanted to look at one of Song Yu’s textbooks.

“Someone’s borrowed it,” Song Yu had replied.

He hadn’t actually wanted to look at it to begin with, so Yue Zhishi had nodded his head very calmly. “Okay.”

He’d only wanted to confirm if Song Yu was going to the physical education class or not.

Because going to the sports ground from the high school department’s classroom building required them to pass through the creative arts festival’s exhibition site: the small fountain square.

“I think it’s meant to rain today.” His desk mate had finished copying his homework at an incredible speed, and he gratefully returned Yue Zhishi’s exercise book back to him. “Did you bring an umbrella today, Le Le?”

Yue Zhishi came back to attention and nodded. “I always have one in my desk drawer.”

“That’s good then, but I feel like you won’t need to use it. The sun’s too strong today.”

After turning on the aircon, the classroom was like a large blast freezer, isolating him from the outside world’s temperature. His mind turned sluggish, and his body also lost its sensitivity, unable to sense the changes outside. Yue Zhishi didn’t like the heat, so he didn’t take a single step out of his classroom.

Song Yu, who hated high temperatures even more than Yue Zhishi did, had no choice but to leave his cold air during the third class period and head towards his physical education class very mournfully and very apathetically. The sunlight might’ve been slightly less compared to that morning, but it was still ridiculously muggy; the air felt like a wet towel on his face.

If someone wrung out the air in this city, water would most likely pour out of it.

“I’ll grab a good basketball court later.” Qin Yan took hold of his shoulders. “Hey, want to buy a sprite first?”

Finding him too warm, Song Yu pushed Qin Yan away. “Too hot. Don’t want to play.”

“No way! Shit, if you don’t play, how am I meant to win? You’re a high school boy, how could you not play basketball?!”

He once again started to tenaciously plead at Song Yu, his words not stopping as they travelled from the classroom building to the main road in the school, and then to the fountain square that’d had its fountain turned off.

Qin Yan’s eyes were caught by the artwork in front of him. “Didn’t they change out the works on display today? Hey, this paper cutting work’s not bad… Are there none from us second year high school students?” He looked over the art quickly, his gaze skipping over them with cursory glances. As soon as he turned around, he saw Song Yu stopped in front of a certain easel — Qin Yan found it a bit strange how absorbed he was in it. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Song Yu turned away, following behind Qin Yan and leaving.

It was a bright summer day, and yet their physical education teacher still forced them to run around the sports ground twice. After he finished his run, Song Yu went to the automatic vending machine at the edge of the sports ground and bought a bottle of iced water; he felt somewhat better after taking a few mouthfuls. Qin Yan pulled a few guys over for a three versus three match, and because the weather was too hot, Song Yu played particularly ferociously, wanting to end the match as soon as possible. The three guys playing against him even thought he had an excess of energy.

“Holy shit, another one!” Qin Yan was like a cheerleader lazing about on the court, giving Song Yu loud applause.

As the ball landed on the ground, Song Yu plucked at his shirt collar, humid air flowing into his shirt. Thick and heavy clouds rapidly took over the entire sky, and it was as though the sky darkened in an instant.

He stretched out his hands, dirtied from basketball, and unfurled them with his palms facing upwards as if he was waiting for something.

“Song Yu, continue!”

“It’s too hot.” Song Yu turned to leave. “I’m going to go rinse my face.”

Qin Yan found him baffling. “You like being clean too much, can’t you go later.”

But he’d never been able to hold Song Yu back, only able to watch as he went to do what he wanted to do. The strange thing was, Song Yu didn’t go directly to the bathroom behind the soccer field; instead, he left the sports ground surrounded by wire mesh and walked away.

Dark spots appeared on the light grey cement ground, one after another. After leaving the sports ground, Song Yu’s footsteps quickened slightly, and then he later started running. The sounds of someone reciting English in the classroom building crossed over the wildly green and lush trees, and Song Yu, in his white shirt, dashed underneath their shadows before finally stopping in front of a particular easel in the exhibition area.

Vaguely panting, he stared at the slip of paper attached to the easel. It said, [Yue Zhishi, junior high class 2-8].

It started to rain, and drops of water passed through clouds and the gaps in the trees to land on Song Yu’s shoulders.

He’d originally wanted to grab the painting and go, but he suddenly saw the palms of his hands: they were very dirty, stained with the basketball’s dirt. So he didn’t touch the painting — he held onto the wooden frame and lifted it up, the artwork on it facing inwards. He left that deserted small square before the rain started to fall heavier.

The rain soaked through Song Yu’s back, and the translucent white shirt wrapped around the gently jutting out shoulder blades of youth. Entering the first floor staircase of the junior high classroom building, he slightly wiped off the water on his forehead with the back of a hand, and then he lowered his head, checking to see if the painting had gotten wet.

Good thing he’d managed to get there in time — only the first initial drops of rain had fallen onto the art. Yue Zhishi had painted a city flourishing in the rain, but the city, teeming with lives, reflected the faint surface of a lake like a photo with double exposure.

The title of the painting was: No Place to Return.

Song Yu held onto the easel and went upstairs using a staircase far away from Yue Zhishi’s classroom. In the staircase, the rays of light turned dark and gloomy, and the images of his memories seemed to refract within the indistinct water vapour in the air.

He seemed to see Yue Zhishi crouching underneath a roof as a six year old child, and he was pointing at the water on the ground. The water was overflowing, about to completely cover an entire step, and he asked Song Yu, “Xiao Ye gege, why does it flood as soon as it rains? The water’s almost about to swallow the little tower I made from rocks yesterday.”

At that time, Song Yu had tried explaining to him, “Because we originally had a lot of lakes here. The lakes can hold a lot of water, but in order to build more houses, the lakes have been turned into ground. They can’t hold water anymore.”

The young Yue Zhishi had remained crouched on the floor, and he’d let out a long, long ‘ohhh’.

“So the rain doesn’t have a home to go back to anymore.”

Back then, Song Yu had only thought of Yue Zhishi as being completely clueless, as someone who hadn’t understood a thing he’d said. He’d explained something in such a scientific way, and yet Yue Zhishi had understood it in so strangely.

But now, at this very moment, as he recalled his childhood memories, Song Yu couldn’t help but curve up the corners of his mouth.

These whimsical ideas of Yue Zhishi’s brain had mostly come from the countless days and nights he’d spent with Song Yu.

When their class reached the halfway point, Yue Zhishi suddenly heard his desk mate say it was raining outside. It was as though Yue Zhishi had just awoken from a dream, remembering his artwork was still outside — he quickly swerved his head around towards Jiang Yufan, who was sitting in another section, and pouted, giving him a sad look. Jiang Yufan gave him a heartbroken look in return; his own work was also in the rain. He then used body language and mouthed at Yue Zhishi: we’ll go get them once class ends.

The rain started to pour, water beating at the glass windows before trickling down and covering it with transparent lines. Yue Zhishi was feeling slightly down, and it wasn’t entirely because of his painting being possibly drenched.

It happened very rarely, but Yue Zhishi reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, but there weren’t any messages on it.

Song Yu hadn’t sent him any thoughts about his painting — that clearly meant Song Yu hadn’t seen his work at all.

But Yue Zhishi very quickly rejected that deduction of his, because even if Song Yu did see it, he still wouldn’t share with him any of his thoughts.

“We won’t be able to finish our discussion of the exam paper, so let’s end it here for today. Revise your incorrect answers once class finishes, and let’s continue during night self-study…”

The teacher was still speaking at the podium, but the moment the bell rang, Jiang Yufan rushed out of the classroom’s front door. Holding onto an umbrella, Yue Zhishi was slightly hesitant; he followed behind a few other people when he saw them leaving too, mingling in with them with his head lowered.

The doors for class 2-8 were close to the staircase, and they flew downstairs, the wind of their body movements cutting through the sticky air. When he saw Jiang Yufan prepared to bolt right into the rain, Yue Zhishi shouted out his name, opened his umbrella and ran over to the small square together with him.

“My photos my photos my photos…” Jiang Yufan muttered again and again on their way over. Once they arrived, they realised every easel had been covered by a light blue and see-through waterproof tarp, but he was still worried and pulled Yue Zhishi over to double check. He eventually saw his photos, placed safely under the tarp.

“Good thing they moved quickly. But my photos have been laminated anyway, your painting’s in a bit more danger. Let’s go have a look.” He walked around, tugging at Yue Zhishi’s arm.

Yue Zhishi’s eyes were also searching for his painting, but when they finally arrived at the area where his painting had originally been placed, he realised that section was now missing a frame.

“Where’s my painting?” Yue Zhishi murmured.

Jiang Yufan looked to the left and to the right; neither of them was Yue Zhishi’s work, and the space in between them just so happened to be empty. “Are you sure it was here?”

Yue Zhishi nodded.

“That’s too strange. Let’s keep looking.”

The two of them searched over the entire row, but they still didn’t find Yue Zhishi’s painting. The works were placed very orderly, in two rows facing each other, and so it was obvious there was one missing easel in the area.

Yue Zhishi’s heart also seemed to be missing one small section, as though it had been stolen away by someone. He appeared unperturbed, but he inwardly felt lost and confused — in disappointment, he rushed back to the classroom building before the bell rang for the next class.

Jiang Yufan leaped over two steps for every one step he took, arriving at the third floor before Yue Zhishi did, and he was saying, “How could someone have stolen the painting, the easel’s soooo big. How could it just disappear…”

He abruptly fell silent. Looking at the corridor in front of their classroom, he said to Yue Zhishi behind him, “So many people.”

Yue Zhishi also lifted his head to see. There truly was a lot of people. “Why are they all around our classroom’s back door…”

“Let’s go, let’s have a look.” Jiang Yufan looked excited, interested in seeing what the fuss was, and even though Yue Zhishi was in a poor mood, he still followed along.

Quite a few of their classmates in the crowd saw Yue Zhishi as he walked over, and they beckoned to him, grinning. “Hey, isn’t that Le Le?”

“You’re so amazing!”

Yue Zhishi had utterly no idea what was happening, yet the huddle of people spread open as though just for him.

The easel of his lost painting was set in front of the classroom back door, and the painting on top of it was completely intact and undamaged. It was raining so heavily outside, yet the painting didn’t look like it’d been touched by a single droplet of water at all.

“How’d it get here?” Jiang Yufan asked the other people. “Who brought it over?”

“No one knows, it was already here when we came out after class ended.”

“You didn’t see who it was even though you were the first one out?”

Jiang Yufan ruffled his hair. “We ran directly to the staircase from the front door.”

Yue Zhishi was still immersed in confusion. The bell for the next class rang, and so he ended up moving that easel — inexplicably disappearing before inexplicably reappearing once again — into the classroom and left it next to the aircon.

The speed and quantity of the rain increased as the day went on, not stopping once throughout the entire day. The semester exam was approaching, so everyone decided to stay in the classroom for their noon break; Yue Zhishi did the same. He was getting a bit sleepy from working on his questions, and so he napped on his desk for half an hour, the rain even heavier when he woke up. Someone opened the doors, and the classroom, previously sealed off from the rain, suddenly flooded with the restless and anxious sounds of rain.

Yue Zhishi was in a daze, slowly blinking at the blackboard.

Jiang Yufan ran over to him, propping himself up with his hands on Yue Zhishi’s desk. “Le Le, I think I know who helped you move it. Maybe it was a girl with a crush on you, and since she was concerned about your painting, she secretly helped you bring it here.”

“Hm…” Yue Zhishi’s eyes slowly gathered focus. “Doesn’t she need to attend class?”

“She could’ve taken a leave of absence.” Jiang Yufan’s fingers tapped on the desk. “Taking a leave of absence to help you move the easel, how romantic is that.” He then said to himself, “But not leaving behind a single hint, it really is a secret crush.”

Lowering his head, Yue Zhishi glanced at the phone in his drawer. It now had a few more messages, but the name he wanted to see still didn’t appear.

“I guess so. What you say makes sense.”

Someone who secretly liked him, willing to save his artwork during a day filled with heavy rain — that was a lot more reasonable than a certain thought that had flashed across Yue Zhishi’s mind.

Seconds passed, and the screen of his phone darkened, returning back to silence.

The weather report was finally true for once.

It was as though there was no end to the rain, the colour of the sky much more shadowy than usual. Water seeped through the window lattices, and the leaves of the broadleaf trees outside the windows were saturated by the rain and looked like they were about to release green-coloured fluid. The ground was flooded, and the ivy leaves on the high school department’s classroom building were swaying underneath the rapid pattering of water.

Yue Zhishi was very grateful towards the person who helped him bring in his painting, but he was also worried for other people’s works. During dinner, he saw the students in charge of the creative arts festival moving the easels away, and so he went to help to help.

Only he had his artwork with him.

The math teacher who’d said he’d come by during the night self-study session to continue going over the exam paper ended up saying he wasn’t coming anymore, and he had the class representative pass out a new paper for the class to do. Everyone was already numb to the endless problems and questions, so when the class monitor sat onto the podium to enforce discipline, everyone in class lowered their heads to work on the paper. Only a few people were talking in whispers.

Yue Zhishi was always very focused when working on questions, the end of his pen poking at his chin several times without him realising. Having thought of a way to solve the question in front of him, he was about to start writing when there was a sudden clap of thunder — his body jerked in reflex.

“Storm’s seriously getting worse.”

“Man, that lighting really scared me.”

Jiang Yufan gazed outside the window. “…There won’t be a power outage, right.”

The class monitor knocked on the podium. “Quiet. Stop talking.”

He had just finished speaking — the originally bright classroom abruptly fell into darkness.

“Holy shit, it really is a power outage!”

“Jiang Yufan, your mouth is so unlucky!”

“Does this mean we can leave school early!”

Noises also came from other classrooms. Yue Zhishi’s first reaction was to look in the direction of the high school classroom building; it was also covered in darkness.

The class monitor did his best to keep the class in check, telling them to keep quiet. The class next door was obviously much harder to handle: the students had already run into the corridor.

“I’m going to the offices to look for our teacher, you guys don’t go outside.”

The boys in the class started to kick up a fuss and chatter, talking about things like ‘we’re definitely going to be let out early’ and ‘let’s go eat barbecue skewers in a bit’. A portion of students pulled out small rechargeable table lamps, or used the torches on their phones, to light up their homework and continued working.

Yue Zhishi also grabbed out his phone, wanting to finish his question. His hand had just wrapped itself around the pen again when a white light flashed across outside as though tearing open the black night. For a moment, it was as bright as day, but the darkness completely swallowed the brightness very soon after. It was a scary omen, to Yue Zhishi — he covered his ears with his hands.

As expected, a massive roll of thunder sounded in the next second. It didn’t matter how well Yue Zhishi had prepared; he was still startled.

“Yue Zhishi, you’re still afraid of thunder at your age?” The boy sitting behind him teased, “What do you need to cover your ears for?”

Hearing those words, Yue Zhishi drew down his hands and attempted to distract himself by doing questions.

The class monitor had yet to return after heading out, and the classroom became more and more chaotic — but at least no one had yet to leave the room.

“I hear our school has an electric generator, the power outage shouldn’t last for too long.”

“Really? But weren’t we just let out of school early last time?”

Mindless chatter, the sounds of rain, the low voice of the female classmate in front of him as she recited texts — they all mixed together in the dark and humid classroom, but they were still unable to hold out the cracks of thunder.

It wasn’t really a hard question, yet Yue Zhishi was only able to finish it with starts and stops, finally finishing it with an inference. He finally couldn’t continue waiting and enduring anymore; he pulled out his phone, unlocked it and tapped into his chat with Song Yu.

He wanted to say to Song Yu that he was really scared, but then he thought of the teasing from the boy behind him and thought, he really did seem ridiculous.

As he hesitated, it felt like the chat screen suddenly moved. Thinking he’d just imagined it, Yue Zhishi lowered his head to look at it — Song Yu had actually sent him a message.

[Song Yu gege: The book you wanted yesterday has just been returned. I’ll give it to you tonight when we’re home.]

Yue Zhishi didn’t think Song Yu would send him a message about something like that. He grabbed onto it and used it as a hasty excuse to keep talking.

But what he didn’t realise even more was that the message was something Song Yu had struggled to think of as soon as that first crack of thunder had sounded, worried Yue Zhishi would be afraid. He’d searched for a very long time before he found a suitable reason to start a conversation with Yue Zhishi.

The message looked natural, not too overly concerned, and seemed very much like something a normal older brother would say.

White light blazed across the outside sky again, but Yue Zhishi held onto his phone, feeling like Song Yu had snatched away much of his attention. It was why he didn’t feel so panicked anymore, but he was still scared whenever thunder crashed.

He typed out a row of words, sending it out.

[Yue Zhishi: Gege, I’m a bit scared.]

The class monitor came back, opening the classroom door. He said, “Teacher’s not at his office, and he’s not at the kitchenette for teachers either.”

The students in the classroom immediately exploded with cheers, but the class monitor still refused to let them leave, sticking to his role as monitor. “They would’ve let us know if we were to be let out early. Just wait first.”

Yue Zhishi received Song Yu’s reply in the midst of cheers and quiet complaints.

[Song Yu gege: There are so many people in your classroom, why are you scared?]

He thought about it and felt Song Yu’s words had a point — and so for a moment, Yue Zhishi didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t notice the ‘currently typing’ displayed at the top of the chat screen, and after a few minutes, he couldn’t help but send Song Yu another message.

[Yue Zhishi: But I’m still a tiny bit afraid.]

He waited for a very long time, thunder crashing twice and the class monitor repeating for the third time that they weren’t to make a racket, but Yue Zhishi still didn’t receive Song Yu’s response.

He thought: in Song Yu’s eyes, he must look utterly childish, timid and like he hadn’t grown up at all.

Some girls gathered together to go to the bathroom, and they asked for leave from the class monitor. Looking towards the high school classroom building, Yue Zhishi saw little flashes of light in Song Yu’s classroom, and he felt like he’d been caught by some kind of spell.

He also asked for leave from the class monitor, and because of his image of being an obedient student, he was granted permission very easily. Except he didn’t go to the bathroom — he walked directly into the staircase and arrived at that open air corridor connecting the two classroom buildings.

The outside world was somewhat brighter than inside the classroom, and wind, mingled with rain and the smell of humidity, soared towards him, faintly wetting his hair and shirt. A layer of water covered the marble floor of the corridor and made it very slippery. Yue Zhishi cautiously made his way across, head looking down, and saw his white canvas shoes landing on the ground’s black tiles — every step created small waves, rippling with light.

He was actually walking without a place in mind, his feet moving without much conscious thought. It was as though he’d arrived here in this corridor after yielding to inertia.

This was the place he quietly stayed in every day as he waited for Song Yu to finish his classes. But he had ‘waited’ only by himself — Song Yu wouldn’t actually go to him. As soon as he saw people coming out of high school’s class 2-5’s room, Yue Zhishi would pack up his vocabulary textbook and leave, biking home first.

Song Yu was the one who wasn’t aware of this; Song Yu was the one with actions being done to him.

He was about to reach the end of the corridor — Yue Zhishi felt like it was time for him to stop walking. In an instant, lightning swept across the night sky and illuminated everything around him. Yue Zhishi lifted his face, and it was like a coincidence that seemed to occur only in movies.

Someone was standing tall and upright at the end of the corridor near the staircase entrance. The lightning revealed his face.

Thinking he’d seen incorrectly, Yue Zhishi froze where he was, but lightning flashed across; the person standing there hadn’t disappeared, and it truly was Song Yu.

In the darkness, he seemed to be looking over at Yue Zhishi with a pair of bright eyes. Yue Zhishi wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but it felt like Song Yu gave him a look with his eyes before turning around. He didn’t walk over to Yue Zhishi and the corridor; instead, he headed towards the bathroom near the entry to the stairs.

Perhaps he’d been enchanted by that imagined look, or perhaps he knew it was about to thunder again very soon — Yue Zhishi strode over and followed.

He left behind waves of water on those reflective floor tiles.

The moment there was a boom of thunder, Yue Zhishi pushed open the door to the bathroom, his shoulders trembling. He felt like he’d entered a restricted area with no light. He was hoping no one knew he’d run over here, as though he would be terrified of someone noticing how he and Song Yu had appeared at the same time — as though he would be terrified of someone learning of his relationship with Song Yu.

The bathroom was empty, with only a large area for washing hands and a large sink. Song Yu was standing inside, looking like he’d just washed his hands.

Yue Zhishi opened his mouth very quietly, calling out Song Yu gege, and then started a conversation very unnaturally.

“…It’s really raining too hard today.”

He blankly became aware of one thing: many things, before they occurred, were actually long foreshadowed.

The weather report had loudly and clearly told him that there was going to be a heavy rainstorm; warnings had come again and again.

He hadn’t dared to believe it, but there was no way he could prevent it from happening.

But this realisation was dim and ambiguous; at that time, Yue Zhishi had still yet to fully understand it.

Song Yu took a few steps towards him. Lightning appeared once again, and it completely lit up this cramped room of a few square metres. In that short moment, Song Yu saw Yue Zhishi’s face clearly: his soft and short hair, his light-coloured eyes, his eyelashes, his neck as pale as porcelain as it stretched up from the collar of his shirt — he saw his long and slender fingers, as well as the faint veins slightly bulging up from his lowered arms.

“Mn.” Because his mind had strayed, Song Yu gave Yue Zhishi a belated response before subconsciously saying, “Why are you here.”

But that sentence of his was concealed by the sound of thunder.

Yue Zhishi didn’t hear it, and so he didn’t reply to it. His fear didn’t need to be hidden away in front of Song Yu; he didn’t need to worry that Song Yu would ridicule his biological fear like the boy sitting behind him — and so Yue Zhishi took a few steps closer to him and arrived in front of Song Yu.

Song Yu’s shadow safely caged around Yue Zhishi.

Song Yu wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him to not be afraid, but he didn’t know how best to do it. But Yue Zhishi grabbed hold of his wrist before he could — he wrapped a hand around the watch Song Yu very much treasured, and then he moved upwards slightly and held onto Song Yu’s forearm.

Damp skin attached itself to a palm. Yue Zhishi was holding him very lightly, but it felt like he was clutching Song Yu’s heart.

“We can hug for a bit, right.”

He said it tentatively, but he moved very straightforwardly as if afraid Song Yu would release a sound of rejection — he immediately went to embrace Song Yu. The metal name badge on his shirt collar seemed to accidentally knock into Song Yu’s badge, and the minute sound of clashing that emerged from the darkness echoed in Song Yu’s ear for a very long time.

Slightly surprised, he didn’t raise his hands to return Yue Zhishi’s hug, but Yue Zhishi wouldn’t be able to see the look on his face with his head buried into his collarbone. He was hugging Song Yu like he’d used to as a child, as candidly and naturally as he’d used to do almost every morning in the past.

But this was the first time they completed an embrace in a random dark corner of their school — an embrace no one else knew about.

“Your body smells really nice,” Yue Zhishi said, using a tone of voice devoid of any wicked intentions to say inappropriate words. His arms were wrapped around Song Yu’s back, drawing stability from Song Yu’s body.

It was slightly awkward how silent Song Yu was, but when thunder sounded again, he subconsciously raised a hand and stroked Yue Zhishi’s hair from behind. His other arm landed very softly on Yue Zhishi’s back, as though he didn’t plan on using any strength to surround Yue Zhishi.

A strange fantasy flickered across his mind for a moment; right now, he felt like they were a pair of secondary school students dating early.

But that thought was rapidly drowned by the sounds of rain — rainwater nailed it deeply into the earth.

Yue Zhishi clutched him very tightly when the thunder boomed, and after a few seconds, he slightly relaxed his arms. In Song Yu’s arms, he took in a deep breath.

“Why did you come downstairs?” he softly asked Song Yu.

Song Yu didn’t know how to reply; it wasn’t as though he could say he’d been worried and had wanted to head over to see him before finding himself being particularly foolish after walking halfway. And then had stopped at the stairs.

“…To wash my hands,” he said very simply.

Yue Zhishi let out a soft ‘oh’. Separated by two layers of shirts, he could feel Song Yu’s chest, faintly vibrating.

“But doesn’t the fifth floor have a bathroom too?” he directly asked, having thought of it.

Song Yu’s voice turned stiff.

“Yue Zhishi.”

“You’re talking so much. Are you not scared anymore?”

“No.”

Yue Zhishi shut his mouth in a hurry, before opening it again after two seconds.

“Hug just a little while longer,” he earnestly requested.