Chapter 2: Let’s Go See the Sea
1576 Words
Li Zhili was putting away the barware on the counter. When he looked up, he saw Fu Wang sitting at the bar, grinning with his eyes curved like an overexcited puppy.
Li couldn’t help catching the mood and smiled back.
“How were the drinks tonight?”
“Pretty good,” Fu nodded approvingly. “Hit me with another Aperol Orange Glow.”
Li flashed an OK sign, turned, and pulled the bottles and tools he needed back down from the rack.
Aperol, sparkling wine, a crown of soda…
His long fingers pinched the bar spoon, giving the drink a slow stir. He tucked a slice of blood orange into the rim, then slid the glass gently toward Fu.
Fu took the crystal-clear cocktail and, by chance, caught a glimpse of the forearm Li hadn’t pulled back yet.
“You got ink?” he asked casually.
Li paused, blank for a second or two before realizing what Fu meant.
He instinctively touched the patch of hazy ink near his elbow.
“Yeah. There used to be a scar here. Shenting said I could get a tattoo over it to cover it. I thought about it, decided it wasn’t a bad idea, so I went and got it done a few weeks ago.”
He pushed another freshly mixed drink—one he’d been about to carry away—over to Fu instead, and glanced in Song Xiaoyuan’s direction.
“And that one over there, is he your…?”
He broke off mid-sentence.
Song had noticed him looking, and met his eyes.
“Oh, that’s my friend. Name’s Song Xiaoyuan,” Fu said. He didn’t turn around, but he knew exactly who Li was staring at.
Li pulled his gaze back with some effort.
“You’ve never brought him here before, have you? Someone that pretty—I’d remember.”
Fu shook his head. “First time.”
“What a coincidence. I’ve got a friend who loves Chinese ink painting. Shame you met late—otherwise you could’ve had him design a tattoo for you.”
As he spoke, Fu laced his fingers together. The smile faded from his face, and his tone dropped.
“To be honest, I came tonight because I wanted to ask a favor. It’s about my friend.”
He didn’t wait for Li to answer.
“I want to ask you to get him home.”
Li stopped moving, staring at him.
“Get your friend home?” he repeated, bewildered.
Fu didn’t respond right away, clearly picking his words. After a few moments, he finally said slowly,
“Xiaoyuan just broke up. His ex is a total bastard—trash personality, trash temper. Last week he cheated, and my friend walked right in on him.”
“Xiaoyuan dumped him on the spot. But the guy refused to accept it and even twisted it around, saying Xiaoyuan was too clingy, that he ‘couldn’t breathe,’ that’s why he cheated.”
Li frowned and couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Song again.
Right then, Song was spacing out, staring at the city lights outside the window. His black hair brushed the tops of his ears; the glimpse of his side profile was sharp and delicate, almost fragile.
“That asshole doesn’t want to let go. He’s been calling non-stop—harassing him, begging him to get back together. He’s downstairs right now, waiting for him. Xiaoyuan told him he already has a boyfriend and doesn’t want this mess dragging on, but that prick doesn’t believe him. Says he has to see him face to face.”
“So I came to you.”
The anger on Fu’s face hadn’t completely faded, but when he looked at Li, it softened into something pleading.
“I can’t do it. That bastard knows me—there’s no way I can pretend to be his boyfriend. I was hoping you could pretend instead. It won’t take long. Just get him safely out of the bar and take him home.”
Li said nothing.
Fu wasn’t at all sure this would work.
Yes, Li was a good guy—but the excuse was clumsy, and their relationship didn’t go past small talk over alcohol. He really had no idea if Li would say yes.
He was just considering whether to say more when a weight landed suddenly on his shoulder.
He turned.
Song had come to stand beside him, picked up the cocktail on the counter, and taken a light sip.
Li’s line of sight suddenly cleared. He looked up on instinct and saw Song tasting the drink at the bar, his sleeve sliding up with the motion, baring a slim, pale wrist.
Song held the glass, about to say something—but Li raised a hand to stop him.
His eyes locked onto the cluster of ugly, abrupt bruises around Song’s right wrist. His voice dropped.
“Your wrist… what happened?”
“Oh.”
Song’s gaze flickered. He quickly set the glass down and tugged the sleeve over his wrist.
“It’s nothing. My ex grabbed me that day when we broke up.”
He pinched the hem of his sleeve, a little embarrassed.
“If you hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t even have noticed the bruises.”
He kept his head lowered. Black hair fell to his ears, veiling half his face, but the hint of redness in his eyes was still visible. Dark lashes quivered like a young bird’s wings—fragile and easy to pity.
Li fell silent for a beat, then sighed.
“This can’t go on like this. I’ll help you.”
It took Song a few seconds to process that.
Then he hurriedly bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, I—”
He didn’t get to finish.
“I’ll help him.”
The voice cut cleanly through, like a cold spring running over smooth stones—crisp and icy.
All three turned to look.
Lin Shenting strolled over, keys dangling from his hand.
“You heard all that?” Li asked, puzzled.
Lin arched a brow. “I was sitting right over there. Doesn’t really count as eavesdropping, does it?”
Then his gaze slid to Song.
“You’re very pretty,” he said, without an ounce of restraint.
Song froze, not expecting the bluntness. “Thank you,” he answered automatically.
“Lucky timing. I haven’t had much to drink tonight.”
Lin didn’t bother hiding the interest in his eyes. He moved in closer, his voice hooking in a low, coaxing curve.
“Let me take you home.”
Li frowned. He had no idea what Lin was playing at.
“A-Ting, you—”
“Thank you. Really. For the offer.”
Song looked straight at Lin as he spoke, polite and serious.
“But I… asked the boss first.”
Song’s eyes were naturally made for affection, and his habits were impeccable—he never dodged eye contact. His gaze was bright and clear, open and steady. Even when his mind was elsewhere, those cool, beautiful eyes held a faint sheen, letting emotion drift soft and slow across the surface. It gave the person he was looking at the illusion of being treasured.
This was only the second time their eyes met.
Song was looking at him gently, vulnerably, gratefully.
Lin smiled. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy being looked up at with that kind of dependence.
He couldn’t help himself. His thumb pressed lightly to the faintly reddened outer corner of Song’s eye, the rough pad rubbing that soft skin as if brushing away tears.
“Feels like you’re about to cry,” he murmured, his hand gliding to the back of Song’s neck. He smoothed the dark curls at the nape with a touch that almost bordered on pity.
“It’s fine if you turn me down. It’s not like I’d do anything to you.”
Song lowered his lashes again, pale face slowly flushing to a dangerous rose.
Then Lin seemed to remember something.
He dropped his hand, fingers sliding down to close around Song’s wrist.
“Does it hurt?”
It probably did—Song flinched instinctively when his wrist was encircled. But he only pressed his lips together, didn’t pull away, and let Lin hold on, docile and compliant.
“It doesn’t,” he said.
Song shook his head, eyes still damp.
“You’re not squeezing hard. It’s fine.”
Lin found the faint tremor in his voice unexpectedly cute.
He wrapped his hand fully around that slender wrist, his cold fingers slowly warming against Song’s skin.
“You really won’t let me take you home?” he asked again.
“Brother Zhili will just drive you straight back,” Lin added, voice unhurried.
“But I ride a motorcycle. If you want, I can take you out to the sea. We can ride along the coast and watch the ocean all night.”
He held Song’s gaze, coaxing, almost hungry.
“Come with me?”
Song couldn’t stop himself from looking up at him—
and collided head-on with that heated stare.
It was like getting burned. He jerked his gaze away, but his cheeks still flushed hotter, beyond his control.
After a moment, whether it was some gesture or some word of Lin’s that tipped the scale, Song lowered his head and answered in a quiet voice,
“Okay.
I want to see the sea too.”
- Writer
