There were two hot topics circulating on campus recently.
One was the upcoming May Day holiday, and the other was the gossip about the two most talked-about “grass” (a term for couples) on campus, who seemed to be getting pretty close.
Confession Wall:
“Hey, quick question. That guy who was going to confess to Bian Ting, did he succeed? I keep seeing Bian Ting with a guy these days.”
This post had become the second most discussed topic, right after the May Day holiday.
“No, no, that’s just Bian Ting’s roommate, Meng Xin.”
“Well, that guy didn’t even get a chance. On the day of his confession, Meng Xin showed up to see Bian Ting, and Bian Ting immediately ditched the guy after just a few words to go find Meng Xin.”
“They’ve been glued together recently, huh?”
“Not just glued together! I’m suspicious they’re even sleeping together.”
“I saw them holding hands by the lake the other day. Heh, they’re definitely together.”
“Hey, don’t misinterpret their friendship like that! My roommate and I are always together like that—are you saying we’re a couple now?”
“Hey, you never know.”
“+1, not impossible.”
“+10086, not impossible.”
“I’ll vouch for it. They’re definitely together. I’m in the same class as Bian Ting. The last time Meng Xin came looking for him (the day of the confession), I asked him who the guy was outside, and he said it was his ‘super-lucky boyfriend.’”
“I bumped into them at the beach music festival with my boyfriend! They’re definitely together. No normal bros hold hands and watch fireworks like that.”
“Haha, I ran into them while gaming the other day. They even changed their couple names and got two chickens.”
“No wonder I’ve been seeing Meng Xin in the library a lot more lately. The odds of running into him have gone from 20% to 80%. The library’s now a double-scenery spot!”
Huang Wenjie and Gao Yinghang were in their dorm room, dramatically reading the comments under a post on the confession wall.
“Su—per—duper—like—”
“Boy—friend—”
They sang in exaggerated tones, but suddenly Huang Wenjie stopped.
“Damn, I just remembered something,” Huang Wenjie smacked his head and shouted, “Wasn’t Meng Xin talking about having someone he liked last semester? I asked who it was and what their name was, and he told me it had the word ‘Ting’ in it!”
Meng Xin had completely forgotten about that until Huang Wenjie brought it up. Now, seeing Huang Wenjie about to drop some shocking info, he quickly interrupted, “Don’t say it!”
But Huang Wenjie had turned into a detective and couldn’t stop now.
“I thought it was a ‘Ting’ with the woman radical,”
“Damn, now that I think about it—”
Before Huang Wenjie could continue, Meng Xin quickly grabbed a cookie from his snack box, tore open the packaging, and shoved it into Huang Wenjie’s mouth in a desperate attempt to silence him.
Huang Wenjie chewed a few times, swallowed the cookie, and then loudly exclaimed, “That ‘Ting’ is ‘Bian Ting,’ isn’t it?”
When Bian Ting heard his name, he looked toward Meng Xin.
He remembered this conversation. That day, Huang Wenjie had playfully said the word “Ting” over and over again.
“…” Meng Xin awkwardly looked away.
It had been so long since then, and now being caught with that random “crush” he had made up on the spot when he was still pretending to be straight—it was like someone pulling out old photos of him wearing open-crotch pants at a wedding!
“Damn, not even cookies can stop your mouth.” Meng Xin grabbed another snack from Huang Wenjie’s box, this time a huge cake, and shoved it into his mouth like it was a rag.
“Mmm mmm mmm!” Huang Wenjie pushed his hand away, shouting loudly, “Murder! Godfather!!!”
The students had already started their holiday countdown. After waiting for more than half a month, the break was finally getting close.
This holiday was only a few days long, and Bian Ting had decided not to go home.
When Meng Xin heard this, he excitedly said, “Then come to my house!”
“My parents left a couple of days ago and won’t be back that soon.”
Since Bian Ting had nothing to do staying at school, he simply said, “Alright.”
Meng Xin’s house wasn’t far from school—just a little over three hours by car, or only 40 minutes by high-speed train.
On the first day of the holiday, Meng Xin took Bian Ting into his home and gave him a tour of his room.
Bian Ting had seen Meng Xin’s room countless times, mostly as a backdrop during their video calls. But this was the first time he was actually stepping into it.
The walls were decorated with superhero posters, and on display were several Ultraman figures in different poses and styles, along with models of airplanes and aircraft carriers. The bookshelf was filled mostly with mystery novels, many of which Bian Ting and Meng Xin had both read.
A typical straight guy’s room.
Bian Ting glanced around, and he couldn’t find any traces of gay stuff.
He couldn’t help but think of what Gao Yinghang had said last time: “You actually bent Meng Xin…!”
“You know, my parents aren’t home, right?”
Meng Xin spoke slowly, with a clear implication: “And they won’t be back today.”
“Let’s go.” Bian Ting instantly understood his meaning, “Let’s go buy it now.”
Meng Xin and Bian Ting, both wearing masks and hats, arrived at a supermarket near Meng Xin’s house.
Meng Xin originally wanted to get this over with quickly.
The shelves were full of boxes, all sorts of them, some with words on them that Meng Xin couldn’t understand.
He grabbed a random box according to the size and threw it onto the self-checkout counter like it was hot.
Just as he was about to scan the code, he suddenly noticed the words in the bottom-right corner of the box: “Mango Flavor.”
“No mango, no mango.” Meng Xin remembered Bian Ting was allergic, so he clicked “Cancel” on the screen and put the box back on the shelf.
He nudged Bian Ting with his elbow, “You go grab another one.”
Bian Ting obeyed and casually picked another one from the shelf, placing it on the self-checkout counter.
This time, Meng Xin carefully checked the flavor.
Luckily, it wasn’t mango. It was mint.
He picked it up and was about to scan it when he suddenly stopped.
Then, he clicked “Cancel” again.
“Wait! What if the mint is too refreshing?”
Meng Xin hesitated, then pulled Bian Ting back, “Let’s change it to something else…”
He stood there, caught in indecision.
— What if the strawberry flavor turns out to be pink? Wouldn’t that be too childish?
— But then again, what color isn’t childish? Blue? But wouldn’t that be like Avatar?
He turned around and saw Bian Ting carefully studying a box of condoms.
Meng Xin leaned over and asked, “What are you looking at? The manufacturing date?”
Do people really check the manufacturing date when buying these things? This was Meng Xin’s first time, so he wasn’t really sure.
“Looking for contact information,” Bian Ting replied.
Meng Xin was stunned for a moment, “What for?”
“I can’t stand seeing you so conflicted,” Bian Ting joked, “I’ll call and ask if they can custom-make one that smells like little pot noodles.”
“…”
“… Bian Ting!!!”
Meng Xin immediately pinched him.
Bian Ting shrugged and, understanding the situation, wisely kept quiet.
They were making quite a commotion, and after Meng Xin pinched him, he quickly glanced around. Thankfully, there was no one nearby.
He stood there for a while, then finally grabbed a box of unscented ones.
“…That’s it, let’s go quickly.”
The situation unfolded naturally.
Bian Ting, understanding Meng Xin’s nature, was the first to close the curtains and turn off the lights as soon as they entered the room, in order to avoid any possible “wait a minute” moments.
Thought for a second
If I’d known things would turn out like this, I never would have put a full-length mirror in my room.
Meng Xin tried to bury his face in the covers, but an insistent hand lifted his chin.
“No hiding.”
He had no chance to protest, so he obediently raised his head. His mind was completely blank—because the owner of that hand was doing something far more excessive.
“Bian Ting…” Meng Xin urgently called his full name. “Please don’t—”
“Just promise me one thing.” Bian Ting’s fingers wouldn’t budge as he coaxed him, “When it’s over, you’re not allowed to dive under the covers, and you have to speak.”
“It’s simple. Promise me,” Bian Ting’s voice was hypnotic, “and I’ll let you come out. Okay?”
Meng Xin had never felt such a rush; tears threatened to spill over.
“All—alright… I promise…!”
When Bian Ting got his answer, he finally withdrew his hand and curved his lips into a smile, brushing a kiss against Meng Xin’s lip.
“My good baby.”
…
…
A real man’s word is like a four-horse chariot—you can’t catch it once it’s gone.
By sheer force of will, Meng Xin fought down the urge to burrow under the blankets.
Though honestly, even if he wanted to, he’d have no strength left to move.
“Bian Ting, now I believe you really don’t have an ex-boyfriend,” Meng Xin croaked. “Who does this—”
“Does what?”
“…bully me.” His voice was hoarse. “I have no strength left.”
Thoughtful as ever, Bian Ting poured him a glass of water and, sitting at the bedside, brought it to his lips.
Meng Xin forced himself to lift his head and sip, wetting his throat, then suddenly added, “Actually, you’re not even very skilled among guys who—are with guys.”
He was covered in welts and marks—he was too embarrassed even to look!
“…That’s not true…”
Bian Ting, who’d suddenly grown stony, had just moments ago been far more honest.
He pressed another kiss to Meng Xin’s lip. “It is.”
“I don’t believe you… Stop bullying me when there’s no point of comparison.”
“You do have a comparison.”
“I do…?”
“The second time should be a bit better than the first,” Bian Ting said. “Want to try?”
“Hey…! Biān—Bian Ting…” Meng Xin’s voice trailed off, breaking into fragments. “I just drank water…”
Meng Xin was roused by the sound of water.
He climbed out of bed and hobbled to the door, only to find Bian Ting at the washbasin, hand‑washing laundry.
What on earth is he washing clothes so early for—
Then Meng Xin’s thoughts clicked into place, and he bolted for the bathroom, bracing himself on the wall.
He caught a glimpse of the garment in Bian Ting’s hands—and sure enough, it was his own trousers!
“Ah! Stop! Let me do it myself!”
But Bian Ting wouldn’t let him take it. Instead he remarked, “Ultraman is so cute.”
“….”
“Come on, how did you even spot that tiny pattern?”
“It’s easier to see when you’re close,” Bian Ting said matter‑of‑factly.
Meng Xin turned his head at that moment—through Bian Ting’s profile he noticed the high ridge of his nose.
He’d never realized before how pronounced Bian Ting’s nose was.
Embarrassed, he flushed scarlet—so mortified he wished the floor would swallow him—and snatched at the laundry.
“Stop washing it—really, I’ve got this…”
He’d been a straight man his entire life; he’d always washed his own underwear. He’d never asked for another’s help.
Bian Ting shifted his body to block him, refusing to hand it over.
“If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d already be done.”
“And what are we going to tell anyone who walks in on us?”
“No need for excuses. If someone asks, just say, ‘Bian Ting got my underwear dirty, so he’s helping me clean it.’”
As for how it got dirty…
An untimely memory of Bian Ting’s teasing words the night before flitted through Meng Xin’s mind: “Baby, there’s so much water.”
At the time, Meng Xin had trembled and tried to push Bian’s face away. But Bian had lifted his head and pouted, “You’ll bruise my beauty.” Meng Xin hadn’t dared push harder; overwhelmed, he’d scrunched himself into the corner and, with nowhere else to go, had clung to the bedsheet and endured.
“Bian Ting! Don’t you have any shame?” Meng Xin gripped Bian’s waist, twisting lightly. “Keep your mouth shut.”
He’d put so little force into the twist that Bian Ting still cried out, “Oof!”
“After serving you all night, this is what I get,” Bian Ting complained. “Such an ungrateful wretch.”
“…”
“…Bian Ting,” Meng Xin said solemnly, “Do you remember when I once asked why you liked men, and you said, ‘Because I’m a pervert’?”
Bian Ting, wringing out the water from Meng Xin’s trousers and hanging them to dry, only replied, “And now?”
Meng Xin studied him gravely. “You really are a pervert.”
Bian Ting smiled. “Thanks for the compliment.”
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