Chapter 12

Chapter 12

As Fang Bingxue showered, he took the opportunity to scrub his dirty clothes.

The accommodation here was far from ideal; the bathroom was cramped and narrow. He had to carefully turn sideways to avoid the rusted metal shelf while showering. With no laundry detergent, Fang Bingxue found a bar of soap and made do, rubbing his clothes clean, all while sighing in despair. *What a mess.*

Before long, the sound of the shower stopped.

Fang Bingxue looked around, but couldn't find a single towel to dry himself. Leaning his elbow on the door handle, he closed his eyes. "I..."

He didn't finish.

Fang Bingxue suddenly realized something: he and Zhou Xu were both men. Even if they weren't close, walking out naked wouldn't be a big deal. The real issue was that Wang Chuan, that damn jerk, had created a misunderstanding. In Zhou Xu's mind, he might now be seen as someone who "likes men."

It was only three years ago that the Ministry of Health had removed homosexuality from the category of mental disorders in the *Chinese Classification and Diagnostic Criteria of Mental Disorders*. Even so, many people still strongly opposed it, and in remote, small towns in the northwest, the public was even more conservative.

*Wait.*

Fang Bingxue’s eyes widened.

He wasn't gay—what was there to fear?

And perhaps Zhou Xu hadn't even heard the rumor, so there was no need to panic!

"Do you have a towel?" Fang Bingxue cracked the door open. "There's nothing in here."

He didn't look outside, so he had no idea what Zhou Xu was doing. All he heard was a slightly hoarse, magnetic voice, as if the man was smoking: "I'm using it."

"Then what should I dry myself with?"

"Use your clothes," Zhou Xu replied offhandedly. "Just wipe yourself down."

Fang Bingxue paused. "I washed them."

A moment later, there was a faint *sizzle*—likely the sound of a cigarette butt being pressed into a disposable plastic cup, hitting the water at the bottom.

Footsteps approached.

"You washed *all* of them?"

Fang Bingxue grunted in affirmation.

He was the type who either didn't do something at all or went all the way. For example, on weekdays, he usually didn't bother with housework, letting his clothes pile up on a chair. But on weekends, or whenever the mood struck him, he'd clean every nook and cranny, even the gaps in the ceiling. So just now, on impulse, he had scrubbed all his clothes clean.

Including his underwear.

The alcohol had mostly worn off, and now his body carried the scent of cheap soap—clean, damp, mixed with warm steam as it drifted out, masking the sharp smell of tobacco.

Zhou Xu’s arm appeared through the door crack, his wheat-colored skin and prominent veins clearly visible.

"Use this. Clean clothes will be here soon."

Fang Bingxue pushed the door open a little wider. "Okay."

When he took it, the black T-shirt still seemed to carry body heat. Fang Bingxue quickly toweled off, not even looking up. "I'll wear this for now?"

"Whatever."

Fang Bingxue pulled the shirt on and stepped out. Honestly, his legs still felt a little weak, as if he had turned into a ruin after a storm.

Zhou Xu glanced at him, then stood up and closed the window.

Outside, the clouds hung low, threatening rain.

The faint smell of smoke still lingered in the room. Without a clothes rack, Fang Bingxue walked to the window and hung the freshly washed clothes on the handle, making do. When he turned around, Zhou Xu had already lain back on the bed, arms folded behind his head, gazing absently at the ceiling without a word.

It was a standard double room, the two single beds placed close together with a small nightstand wedged between them. A black desk phone sat on top. Fang Bingxue also sat on his bed, casually draping the blanket over himself.

Neither spoke. The quiet was oppressive.

Almost eerily so.

From this angle, Fang Bingxue could only stare at the ceiling too. He couldn't very well turn to look at Zhou Xu—that would be weird, especially since both of them were scarcely dressed, not exactly presentable.

Thankfully, Zhou Xu’s shirt was big enough to hang loosely on Fang Bingxue, covering him down to the thighs. He fidgeted with the damp hem of the shirt and silently stared into space.

After a while, Zhou Xu seemed unable to take it anymore. He propped himself up and pressed the phone button. "Why haven't the clothes arrived yet? Where's Old Wang?"

A young woman’s bright voice answered, "I'll hurry them along for you!"

Perhaps to make a point of letting Fang Bingxue hear, Zhou Xu had deliberately put the call on speaker. After hanging up, he pulled a cigarette from the pack and reached for his lighter, only to put it back.

Fang Bingxue subtly averted his gaze, remembering how he had told Zhou Xu during their first meeting that he didn't smoke.

But that didn't necessarily mean Zhou Xu was putting the cigarette away out of consideration for him—Fang Bingxue didn't flatter himself. His throat still ached slightly from the stomach acid, but his mind was mostly clear now. "Are there clothes for me?"

Zhou Xu gave him a look. "No."

Fang Bingxue turned to face him. "Then what am I supposed to wear?"

"Go bare."

"That's not appropriate."

As soon as the words left his mouth, both of them laughed, and the tense atmosphere eased considerably. Zhou Xu kept the unlit cigarette between his lips, resting his head back on his arms as he stared at the ceiling. "There are clothes, but I didn't get you shoes."

Fang Bingxue said seriously, "It's fine. At least I didn't throw up on my own shoes."

"Fuck," Zhou Xu scoffed, half-amused. "You aimed pretty damn well, you little bastard. You were definitely targeting me."

Fang Bingxue laughed with him.

Zhou Xu let out a mocking snort. "I should've just wiped myself off and gone home to shower and sleep. What a pain."

As he spoke, he continued staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, as if there were flowers up there. From Fang Bingxue’s angle, his jawline was sharp, his Adam’s apple moving above defined chest muscles.

The blanket only covered him to the abdomen, leaving most of his lean torso exposed.

No depressions or unusual marks on the head or face—meaning no blunt force trauma. There was, however, a faint linear scar on the outer side of his arm, likely from a sharp object, now faded to a pale white. Fang Bingxue couldn’t see his back, so he didn’t know if there were any linear bruises—common in street fights involving blunt weapons like clubs—

"What the hell are you looking at?!"

Zhou Xu flung the cigarette aside and shot him a fierce glare, as if only realizing what he’d said afterward. He cursed again and jerked the blanket up, haphazardly covering himself.

Fang Bingxue silently averted his gaze.

"If you weren't stuck here with no clothes, I'd throw you the hell out right now," Zhou Xu snarled gruffly. "Weirdo. What’re you staring at? Keep staring and I’ll pluck your eyes out!"

Fang Bingxue ignored his cursing. He'd figured out that Zhou Xu wasn’t the type to get into fights often—no street thug. Criminal record aside, at the very least, he appeared law-abiding.

Otherwise, Old Yan wouldn’t have asked him for help.

Zhou Xu kept swearing, but when he got no reaction, he grew even angrier. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and snapped, "Hey, once the clothes arrive, get out!"

Fang Bingxue said lazily, "Didn’t you say you were leaving after taking a shower?"

"I didn’t even finish!"

"Then keep going. Who’s stopping you?"

Zhou Xu fumed, "Like hell! I’m not doing it here—I’m going home to shower!"

Fang Bingxue snorted.

At the same time, there was finally a knock at the door. Zhou Xu jumped off the bed to answer it and came back with an armful of clothes, tossing them onto the bed. Fang Bingxue's eyes widened. "This many?"

Zhou Xu ignored him, throwing on a shirt. He shot Fang Bingxue a glance while grabbing a pair of pants and then headed into the bathroom.

Taking the chance, Fang Bingxue quickly picked out a pair of gray sweatpants—baggy, slightly too big, but luckily it had a drawstring waist he could tighten.

So when Zhou Xu came out, he saw Fang Bingxue cinching the drawstring tight, making his waist look narrow.

Once dressed, Fang Bingxue stood arms crossed, his tone impatient. "Just leave the clothes in the room when you check out tomorrow."

Fang Bingxue didn’t look up. "Ah, my bad."

Zhou Xu sneered. "Whatever. My shoes need cleaning—twenty bucks."

He held out his hand.

Still buzzed, Fang Bingxue grabbed Zhou Xu’s forearm to steady himself as he stood, then dug out cash from his wallet—he’d taken it out earlier when doing laundry, leaving it on the TV table.

But instead of handing it over right away, he went to the bathroom door to put on his shoes first before passing the money to Zhou Xu. "'Preciate it."

Zhou Xu took it without looking up, mumbled, "Your feet are pretty small."

Fang Bingxue: "Huh?"

"About this long," Zhou Xu gestured with his hands, "bet you're slow."

Without hesitation, Fang Bingxue retorted, "That’s just your hands being too big."

Weird thing to say, seemingly out of nowhere, but Zhou Xu didn’t press further. He waved dismissively and walked toward the door, wearing the cheap plastic slippers from the room, his dirty shoes dangling in a plastic bag from his finger. Just before leaving, he turned back. "Oh, right—what was up with that urn you were holding the other day?"

Fang Bingxue had already sat back down on the bed, rubbing his temples. "What urn?"

Zhou Xu narrowed his eyes, his gaze heavy, but he couldn’t tell if the other man was playing dumb or if he’d genuinely misremembered. Either way, there was no point pushing it. His calloused thumb brushed the door handle. "Don’t drink so much next time, especially mixing hard liquor and beer. That’s the fastest way to get wasted."

Though Fang Bingxue hadn’t said anything, his expression made it clear he still wasn’t feeling great.

And the worst was yet to come—the morning after would be absolute hell.

Fang Bingxue tilted his head up. "Thanks… Why do I keep thanking you? This is really embarrassing."

Zhou Xu didn’t respond or move.

"Anything else?" Fang Bingxue smiled, a soft smile. "Might as well say it all now."

Zhou Xu finally turned around, as if suddenly remembering. "Oh, right, almost forgot—"

"What was your name again?"