Thank you @Renea for the Kofi.
_
As Chi Qing spoke, he heard Xie Lin let out a soft laugh.
Then, Xie Lin’s laughter grew increasingly difficult to control, especially after Chi Qing finished saying, “I suspect I might have developed some kind of illness again.”
Chi Qing: “What’s so funny?”
Xie Lin rested a hand on Chi Qing’s head. Since Chi Qing was slightly shorter, Xie Lin habitually leaned down when he spoke, his tone filled with an intimacy that made Chi Qing’s head spin. “Laughing at you for being an idiot.”
The feelings Chi Qing was struggling to explain were, to Xie Lin, exactly the response he hadn’t dared to hope for. Every word Chi Qing had just uttered translated in Xie Lin’s ears into one simple, six-word sentence: I like you too.
After recognizing those six words, Xie Lin found it hard to describe his mood. There was surprise and joy, but mostly, it was a yearning that felt like it might overflow. He wanted to define their relationship, he wanted to be together, he wanted contact—to touch, to hold him, to…
Worried that Chi Qing might shrink back if he was too intense, Xie Lin restrained himself and simply patted the man’s head a few times.
Chi Qing didn’t understand this kind of intimacy. He felt that he didn’t actually mind Xie Lin’s tone, but the content of what he was saying was still incomprehensible. He frowned and dodged Xie Lin’s hand. “I’m trying to talk to you seriously here, and you’re calling me names?”
“No…” Xie Lin explained, “It’s not that you’re really an idiot. Sometimes calling someone an idiot is just a way of saying, ‘You’re cute.'”
Chi Qing: “Do you think I’ve never been to a literature class?”
Xie Lin: “…”
Chi Qing had attended literature classes, but he lacked the experience of reading the popular school romance novels that swept through campuses. He didn’t know the banter common between people who liked each other, nor had he experienced conversations that crossed the boundaries of social safety. Most of the time, people couldn’t even get close enough to him to talk, let alone flirt. In terms of social interaction, Chi Qing had a massive deficit.
If Ji Mingrui had called him an “idiot,” Chi Qing would have beaten him into the wall until he couldn’t be scraped off. But after Xie Lin’s patient explanation, Chi Qing begrudgingly accepted the excuse—after all, he really couldn’t find any other reason why he wasn’t angry when Xie Lin called him that.
Finally, Xie Lin looked at him and drew a conclusion: “What you’re feeling isn’t an anomaly, and it’s not an illness.”
“The reason you feel that way is because,” Xie Lin paused for a second, “you like me too.”
Chi Qing’s first reaction was disbelief. He had no idea how Xie Lin had arrived at that conclusion based on his previous confession, but when he opened his mouth to argue, he found he couldn’t say a word. “I…”
He couldn’t say “impossible” to Xie Lin. He couldn’t say “I don’t like you,” either.
…
Logically speaking, if you eliminate all the wrong options, the one that remains—no matter how unbelievable—must be the truth.
In the end, Chi Qing asked: “How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
Xie Lin moved his hand from Chi Qing’s head, letting it drop to rest on Chi Qing’s wrist. He took Chi Qing’s hand and pressed it, through the fabric of his coat, against the left side of his chest—the fifth intercostal space, where the heart sits. It was a position similar to where the cat’s heart had been pierced in that murder case.
Xie Lin’s hand was cold; his clothes were too thin for the night, and he had spent the day shivering just to look sharp. But in stark contrast to his cold skin was his violently pounding heart.
The rhythm of the heartbeat transmitted into Chi Qing’s palm. For a moment, Chi Qing’s hand seemed to become a conductor, and he realized that Xie Lin’s heartbeat was at the exact same frequency as his own.
“From here,” Xie Lin answered.
Xie Lin had seen Chi Qing’s psychological file, and through their recent work together, he realized Chi Qing’s issues were far more complex than just “germaphobia.” Germaphobia was just a symptom of the effects of his mind-reading; he likely had a severe emotional disorder. From a certain perspective, Xie Lin understood Chi Qing far better than the psychologist surnamed Wu did.
Xie Lin: “If you don’t believe me, we can try.”
Chi Qing raised his eyelids to look at him. “Try what?”
“Try dating.”
The word like. Chi Qing had once thought it was something very distant. Years ago, his psychologist’s words often echoed in his mind:
—“You cannot perceive emotions.”
—“You will not feel pity, fear, joy, or sadness.”
He couldn’t even grasp basic emotions, let alone understand the feeling of liking someone.
After showering and lying in bed, Chi Qing felt as if he had experienced an unrealistic dream. Not only did Xie Lin’s voice in the car feel like a hallucination, but the fact that he had actually agreed to try dating when Xie Lin asked him at the door felt utterly surreal.
…What had he said? How had the word “Okay” even escaped his lips? Why on earth did he agree?
Chi Qing tossed and turned in bed. Outside, the cat was crouching quietly, trying to paw at the gap in the door, letting out a soft meow. When the cat meowed for the third time, Chi Qing sat up, realizing that in the chaos of his conversation with Xie Lin, he had forgotten to give the cat its extra serving of dry food.
Chi Qing solemnly put on his gloves to prevent cat hair from touching him, changed his pajamas, and after making all the necessary preparations, opened the door. He stared at the cat with a blank expression and went to the balcony to refill the bowl.
The cat followed him, step by step, meowing and looking toward the door. The little creature was smart; even though it was terrified of the man from across the hall, it knew who was the one who fed it every day. It was curious why it wasn’t him.
“Stop looking,” Chi Qing said, having no idea what it was meowing about, replying based on his own interpretation. “He’s not here. Don’t you hate him?”
Cat: Meow. (If you have food, you’re my master.)
Chi Qing: “Have some dignity.”
Cat: Meow meow. (Why didn’t you call him over?)
Chi Qing: “I’m a mess right now. I don’t want to see him yet.”
Cat: Meow meow meow.
This time, Chi Qing failed to interpret the message and lost the patience for conversation. “That string was too long. I don’t understand it. Stop meowing.”
Cat: “…”
Feeding the cat was a struggle, mostly because he had to prevent it from pouncing on him while he poured. The cat usually liked to stick to him, and with the added incentive of food, its attachment became even more exaggerated once it smelled the meal.
After finally finishing, Chi Qing felt no drowsiness. He took off his gloves and sat on the sofa watching the cat eat. The phone screen lit up, then went dark. He still felt that all of this was incredibly unreal. He watched the cat for a while, then watched a few episodes of TV, until he finally remembered to check his phone and saw several unread messages.
Xie Lin: Sleep early.
Half an hour later, the person who had advised him to sleep early clearly hadn’t fallen asleep himself. Xie Lin sent several more messages:
—Don’t you think there was something missing at the end of that sentence?
—I’ll answer for you.
—It was missing a title.
—Do you think “Partner” sounds better, or “Boyfriend”?
—There’s one other way to call you.
—Baby?
Chi Qing: “…”
Baby my foot.
In over twenty years of life, this was the first time someone had called him “baby,” and the feeling was incredibly complex.
The cat, full and satisfied, was lying by Chi Qing’s side, wagging its tail back and forth. Halfway through, Chi Qing shoved the phone screen in front of it, showing it the string of human characters it couldn’t understand.
Chi Qing: “Is this man sick?”
Cat: “…?”
Chi Qing continued: “I agreed to try it with him. Am I sick too?”
Cat: “???”
Xie Lin didn’t care if he was sick or not. After sending a flood of messages, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He remembered Wu Zhi calling him all night long the first time he got a girlfriend—he’d call, and then call again half an hour later, saying he was too happy to sleep. Xie Lin had cursed Wu Zhi out back then, warning him: “If you call again, don’t force me to find a way to make you break up immediately.”
Now, he wanted to apologize to that past version of Wu Zhi.
Xie Lin lay awake until nearly 5:00 AM before he finally drifted off, but he didn’t sleep long; his biological clock woke him at 8:00 AM. The first thing he did upon waking was check for unread messages.
Chi Qing had replied, and it was quite a long response. Xie Lin read it carefully and found Chi Qing had written: Given that neither of our psychological states is very normal, instead of “trying it out,” perhaps we should go see a psychiatrist.
Xie Lin: “…”
He knew the partner he had chosen was abnormal. But he never expected that after deep reflection, Chi Qing’s conclusion would be to go see a shrink.
Xie Lin was wearing dark gray cotton pajamas, his hair slightly messy. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of ice water, his fingers resting against the cold glass as he pushed his tongue against his cheek. He was so angered by the message that he ended up laughing.
Chi Qing hadn’t slept for many hours, either. He was awakened by the cat’s meowing at the door, so he got up to give it more food. He had spent the late night watching a romance drama; agreeing to Xie Lin was an act of emotion, but the message he sent was an act of rationality.
Analyzed rationally, the current situation was: Both he and Xie Lin were pretty disturbed. Two mentally ill people getting together to “try it out”—did that even make sense?
Chi Qing was sitting on the sofa taking off his gloves when the doorbell rang.
He opened the door to find Xie Lin standing there, still in his pajamas. He looked weary, his charm replaced by an exhausted, gloomy intensity. He stared straight at Chi Qing, looking visibly unwell.
Chi Qing assumed he was just there to feed the cat: “I’ve already…” fed it.
But Xie Lin didn’t give him the chance to finish. He shut the door behind him. Chi Qing was standing near the wall, so Xie Lin took a step forward, cornering him against it. He braced his palms against the wall, lowered his head, and asked, “What do you mean by that message?”
Chi Qing: “…?”
The distance between them was too close; Chi Qing didn’t react in time.
Xie Lin closed his eyes. Every emotion was being tugged by Chi Qing—he had been so happy last night he couldn’t sleep, only to be crushed by this today. He gritted his teeth. “Are you trying to back out?”
“You agreed to try it yesterday, and today you’re talking about going to see a doctor.”
“…”
Chi Qing’s phone was sitting in the entryway, and the ringtone rang at the perfect moment. Both of them glanced toward it. The screen displayed two words: “Dr. Wu.”
Dr. Wu: “Oh, Mr. Chi! I just saw the message you sent last night. I have time today. I’m very pleased with your proactive attitude toward treatment—I hardly ever see you taking the initiative like this. How is 10:00 AM? I…”
Dr. Wu was enthusiastically trying to book a time, but before he could finish, a lazy, dragged-out voice interrupted from the other end:
“Busy. We’re cancelling.”
The call cut off.
Leaving Dr. Wu holding his phone, utterly bewildered: What the hell is going on? And that voice didn’t sound like Chi Qing at all.
Back at the apartment, Xie Lin finished the call, tossed the phone back where it had been, and turned back to Chi Qing. “Speak.”
To Chi Qing, the distance between him and Xie Lin had always been closer than anyone else, but this face-to-face, oppressive proximity was rare.
Chi Qing had nowhere left to retreat, and that familiar racing heartbeat returned to his chest. After he sent that proposal last night, he had actually wanted to recall it, but after two minutes, it was too late. Even if he were given all the time in the world to consider it, even if he used all the logic and reasoning he possessed, he couldn’t handle the relationship between him and the man in front of him. Rationality was retreating in the face of an illogical, unreasonable emotional pull.
This was a first in his world.
“Not backing out.”
“Partner, boyfriend, baby—I don’t like any of those,” Chi Qing said, struggling to overcome his embarrassment. “If you absolutely must call me something… think of something else.”
