“Wait… am I actually kinda gay?”
For two straight days, Meng Xin wrestled with this question.
He thought about it while eating, sleeping, walking—even during class.
At one point, he even grabbed a scratch paper and started analyzing it. His process was just as meticulous as when he calculated battle power stats in video games.
His expression was so serious that the classmate sitting next to him couldn’t help but ask, “Meng Xin, what are you calculating?”
“Nothing, uh…” Meng Xin panicked and blurted out a lie. “Just working on a game… stuck on a new level.”
He glanced down at his paper.
On the left side, he had drawn a curvy, wavy line.
On the right side, he had drawn a perfectly straight line.
Below each line, he tallied marks using “正” (Chinese tally marks).
Every time he felt a little gay, he added a stroke to the left.
Every time he felt like a straight guy, he added a stroke to the right.
When he finally snapped out of it—
The left side had one extra mark.
—He was doomed.
Meng Xin felt his soul leave his body.
At 7:30 in the morning, Zhang Yiming received a message from Bian Ting.
This time, it was another question about a certain someone. The question was: why does it feel like that person is avoiding him?
Zhang Yiming, who was still groggy from sleep, was instantly jolted awake by the message. He replied: “What’s going on? What happened? Or… what did you do? Did you swap his iced Americano for herbal medicine?”
Bian Ting frowned and responded: “No.”
Nothing had happened, and he hadn’t done anything unusual.
Zhang Yiming: “Then how do you know he’s avoiding you?”
Bian Ting briefly summarized the incidents that made him feel that way.
For example, lately, whenever Meng Xin met his gaze, he would immediately start looking at chairs, tables, or the electric fan.
For example, lately, whenever they ran into each other outside, their greetings lasted no more than ten seconds.
For example, lately, Meng Xin no longer clung to him, asking questions about gay men, nor did he seem curious about the topic anymore.
After listing all this, Bian Ting added the latest occurrence: “This morning, he saw me and turned around to run.”
Zhang Yiming thought of a possibility: “Could it be that he’s finally realized and started being homophobic?”
But Bian Ting still felt that something was off.
Meng Xin had always known he was gay. If he was going to be homophobic, wasn’t it a bit too late for that?
In reality, Meng Xin wasn’t deliberately avoiding Bian Ting. He just didn’t know how to face him.
As a 100% straight guy in the past, Meng Xin had always been open and at ease around Bian Ting. He firmly believed that he would never turn gay, so nothing Bian Ting did could affect him.
But now… his “purity” wasn’t as high anymore.
Now, everything Bian Ting did seemed to affect him a lot, to the point where he constantly had a sinking feeling—”Oh no, am I turning gay?”
The closer they were, the stronger this feeling became. And that was dangerous.
Whenever Bian Ting looked at him, he would start thinking, “Is he going to ask if he can hug me again? Can a straight guy hug a gay guy all the time and still be considered straight? But I already agreed to a hug last time… Would refusing now make me a hypocrite?”
Eventually, he had no choice but to limit himself.
He tried not to make eye contact with Bian Ting for more than three seconds.
He tried to avoid any physical contact with him that was longer than 10 cm, including handshakes.
He tried not to be curious about anything related to gay men.
He worked hard to keep their conversations within the normal topics of straight guys.
But even with all these precautions, his sense of crisis didn’t ease much.
He felt anxious, yet at the same time, guilty—Bian Ting hadn’t done anything wrong, so avoiding him like this felt unfair. But his thoughts were in complete chaos, and the closer he got to Bian Ting, the messier they became. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t figure things out.
For the first time ever, Meng Xin invited Fan Da out for a meal of Xinjiang-style stir-fried rice noodles.
Fan Da eyed the noodles warily but didn’t touch them. Instead, he said, “No one treats someone to a meal for no reason. If you’re acting nice, you must be up to something.”
Meng Xin replied, “Why don’t you eat first, and I’ll tell you after?”
“No.” Fan Da was very serious about his food. “I never eat Xinjiang-style stir-fried rice noodles when I have unresolved doubts in my heart.”
“…”
Meng Xin finally gave in. “I just wanted to discuss something with you.”
“You know about Schrödinger’s cat, right? The idea that a cat can exist in a state of being both alive and dead at the same time…”
“I don’t get it. I’m a humanities major,” Fan Da interrupted bluntly after hearing all that buildup. “Just get to the point.”
Meng Xin hesitated for a moment. Under Fan Da’s sharp gaze, he finally asked, “Does the world have to be strictly black or white? Do people have to be either straight or gay?”
Fan Da thought for a second and then said, “So, you think you might be gay, but at the same time, you don’t believe you are?”
Meng Xin: “…”
Meng Xin: “Are you sure you’re a humanities major?”
“Your comprehension skills are terrible.”
Fan Da raised an eyebrow and said, “I scored 140 on the Chinese exam in the college entrance test.”
Meng Xin replied honestly, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“What I mean is—couldn’t it be possible that someone who seems a little gay is actually straight?” Meng Xin reasoned seriously. “Like how the human body is 70% water, but we don’t call people ‘water’.”
“So you think you’re 70% gay, but you’re relying on the remaining 30% to convince people that you’re straight.” Fan Da paraphrased with his exceptional comprehension skills.
Meng Xin immediately protested, “What the hell—it’s not 70%! That’s way too much!”
“So… you still think you’re a little gay?”
“…That’s not what I meant either.”
As they spoke, Fan Da casually grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the container beside him, poked into the bowl, separated the clumped-up Xinjiang-style stir-fried rice noodles, and mixed the sauce more evenly.
“What are you doing?” Meng Xin asked.
“Oh, I’ve got no more doubts now,” Fan Da said. “I can eat now.”
Meng Xin’s voice nearly cracked, “What do you mean, ‘no more doubts’?”
He had tons of doubts, okay?!
“So what if you’re a little gay?” Fan Da dipped two pieces of naan into the sauce, deliberately hiding them at the bottom of the bowl so he could eat them last. As he prepared his meal, he continued, “The world’s not going to stop spinning just because there’s one less straight guy. Nothing’s gonna change.”
“Relax. Humanity isn’t relying on you to reproduce.”
“…”
Meng Xin reached out to grab Fan Da’s bowl. “You’re not allowed to eat anymore.”
But Fan Da was faster—he shoveled a mouthful of noodles into his mouth before Meng Xin could get to it.
With his mouth full, he mumbled, “Too late, I’ve already eaten.” Which clearly meant: My saliva is in this now, don’t even think about taking it back.
Meng Xin: “…”
Meng Xin: “You shameless gay bastard.”
Fan Da didn’t bother responding—he just kept eating the free Xinjiang-style stir-fried rice noodles that Meng Xin had paid for.
Meng Xin continued avoiding Bian Ting for another three days, acting like a mouse hiding from a cat whenever he saw him.
Not only that, but he also tried to minimize his presence, becoming unusually quiet in the dorm.
His other roommates definitely noticed something was off.
Huang Wenjie asked curiously, “Meng Xin, why are you so well-behaved lately? Weren’t you just trying to dominate the dorm a while ago? What happened?”
Meng Xin waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing.”
What was he supposed to say?
That nothing had happened, really—he was just starting to feel slightly uncertain about his identity as a straight guy?
Gao Yinghang even messaged him privately: 【What’s wrong, bro? It’s not because of that friend who called you a straight-man chauvinist, is it?】
Gao Yinghang: 【Come on! I already told you, being a straight-man chauvinist isn’t that big of a deal!】
Meng Xin replied: “Thanks, bro.”
Being a “straight-man chauvinist” wasn’t a big deal… because he wasn’t one.
Even though Huang Wenjie and Gao Yinghang were completely useless in helping him understand his current confusion, having them—the two unquestionable straight guys—around in the dorm did make Meng Xin feel a little more secure.
Being around straight guys made him feel like he was still straight.
Being around gay guys… made him feel like he soon wouldn’t be.
That night, when Huang Wenjie and Gao Yinghang weren’t in the dorm, Meng Xin quietly packed his things, preparing to go to the library.
—At this point, he didn’t even know how to face gay people, let alone be alone in a room with one!
His behavior was highly unusual since Meng Xin never went to the library at night. Bian Ting was well aware of his habits.
Just as Meng Xin was about to sneak out, Bian Ting stepped to the side and blocked his way.
Meng Xin moved left, and Bian Ting followed.
Meng Xin moved right, and Bian Ting followed again.
Not only did he block Meng Xin’s path, but he even took a few steps forward, forcing Meng Xin back until he was nearly pressed against the wall.
Having no escape, Meng Xin finally spoke. “Bian Ting, what are you doing?”
“I think…” Bian Ting stared at him, enunciating each word slowly. “You’ve been avoiding me these past few days.”
“No way!” Meng Xin touched his nose guiltily. “Why would you think that?”
Bian Ting studied him with a thoughtful expression.
Meng Xin felt a chill under his gaze and hurriedly insisted, “No, no, definitely not! It’s all in your head.”
“You’re going to the library at this hour?”
“Is that not allowed? I’ve been into studying lately.”
“It’s 9:30 PM,” Bian Ting pointed out. “The library closes in an hour.”
By the time Meng Xin got there, he’d barely have any time before he had to come back.
Meng Xin put on a serious face. “I make use of every second to study.”
“Study what?”
“…Studying.”
Meng Xin had no idea what he was going to study—he was a regular college student, not some hardcore scholar.
“…”
“…”
Bian Ting glanced at the backpack Meng Xin had just packed—there wasn’t a single study-related item inside, only his laptop and a charging cable.
“Did I do something to you?” Bian Ting asked again.
Meng Xin shook his head furiously. “No, no, not at all.”
Then he added, extra firmly, “You’re great. Really great. Super great. I mean it.”
He was confused, sure, but Bian Ting hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t want to hurt Bian Ting, didn’t want Bian Ting to doubt himself, and definitely didn’t want him to go drinking his sorrows away again.
Bian Ting took another step forward, exuding an aggressive presence.
The distance between them shrank even further.
Bian Ting tilted his head slightly and leaned in.
Meng Xin had nowhere to go—he could only step back, pressing his back against the wall. A strange nervousness crept up inside him. He clenched the edge of his pants but quickly realized that made him seem too passive, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to act cool.
Inside his pockets, his hands were gripping the fabric lining so hard he was almost tearing it apart.
—Wait, is he not even going to ask? Just going straight for it? Do gay guys just… do that? Is this okay?
—Last time, just hugging him made him not 100% straight anymore. So if something happens now, what then? Can you even call yourself straight when there’s only 30% left?
Bian Ting kept closing the distance, inch by inch, breaking past the boundaries of personal space.
At such a close range, Meng Xin could smell Bian Ting’s scent—a light, refreshing fragrance, exactly the same as the last time he was in his arms.
Meng Xin instinctively held his breath and… closed his eyes.
…
But all Bian Ting did was casually tilt his head and pluck a small black lint fiber from Meng Xin’s shoulder.
“I thought there was something dirty on you,” Bian Ting said.
Meng Xin: “…”
What the hell—why did he close his eyes just now?!
Bian Ting noticed too. “Why did you close your eyes?”
“I didn’t!” Meng Xin immediately widened his eyes to the max, making sure they were as open as possible. “I was blinking! I just blinked a little slowly, and you thought I closed my eyes.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Blink again, let me see.”
Meng Xin exaggeratedly slowed down his blink, demonstrating it to Bian Ting. “Just like this. This is exactly what I did just now.”
Bian Ting, seemingly wanting to see more clearly, leaned in again. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wanted to capture every microexpression on Meng Xin’s face—a signal of something dangerous.
With his back pressed against the wall, Meng Xin was so nervous that he started sweating.
Fortunately, Bian Ting soon straightened up and stepped back to a safer distance.
Meng Xin let out a breath of relief.
He was about to make a break for it, but Bian Ting had no intention of letting him go and was still blocking his path.
Just as Meng Xin was about to ask him to move, Bian Ting spoke again:
“Why aren’t you curious anymore?”
Meng Xin pretended not to understand. “Huh? Curious about what?”
“Things like gay people,” Bian Ting paused for a moment before continuing, “and me.”
“…”
“I was never that curious…” Meng Xin’s voice trailed off.
“Weren’t you, though?” Bian Ting pulled out a phrase Meng Xin had used before, softly repeating it back to him. “A straight guy with a thirst for knowledge?”
Meng Xin hadn’t expected Bian Ting to bring up his past words at a time like this. Feeling his confidence waver, he muttered, “That was… in the past…!”
But after saying that, he realized it sounded misleading, as if he was indirectly admitting something. Panicking, he quickly added a clarification: “I mean, the thirst for knowledge part was in the past.”
Bian Ting didn’t say anything.
The atmosphere turned eerily silent.
But there are different kinds of silence.
Meng Xin was silent because he was guilty and afraid of saying the wrong thing. Bian Ting, on the other hand, was silent because he had picked up on something unusual.
Maybe it was because of his guilt, but Meng Xin felt like Bian Ting’s silence was a wordless interrogation. Especially since Bian Ting’s gaze was locked onto him so tightly that it felt like he was being stripped bare.
Meng Xin couldn’t take it anymore. If Bian Ting didn’t say something soon, things would really get weird.
So he spoke first: “Bian Ting, maybe you should just say somethi—”
“I like you.”
Bian Ting suddenly said.
Meng Xin froze for two seconds before realizing what he had just heard. His eyes widened in shock.
In an instant, a blush spread across his face like the evening sky, quickly dyeing his entire body in shades of red.
Meng Xin looked like a fully cooked shrimp. His hands, hidden in his pockets, clenched into tight fists, and even his voice came out stammering: “W-w-why are you suddenly confessing?!”
Who just confesses out of nowhere like that?!
“I’m still in the middle of secretly liking you,” Bian Ting said calmly. “I was worried you’d forget, so I thought I’d remind you.”
After saying that, he finally stepped aside, leaving a wide-open path, and even personally opened the dorm room door for Meng Xin.
“Reminder’s over. You can go now.”
“…”
Meng Xin bolted out of the dorm, moving so fast it was like smoke was rising from his legs.
His mind was completely blank—he didn’t even realize he was walking with mismatched steps.
Bian Ting leaned against the doorframe, watching as Meng Xin practically turned into a tornado rushing down the stairs.
—Well, now he knew why a certain someone had been avoiding him.
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