Chapter 52 Let’s Sleep Together

Chapter 52: Sleep Together

Yunxi’s middle school was way more interesting than the elementary school—wider grounds, bigger spaces, better food in the cafeteria, and the greenery around the track that greeted every sunrise and sunset. To Shen Ci, everything felt wonderful. The only downside was that Shen Rong was in their class.

But Shen Rong wasn’t the same empty-headed kid from years ago, always scheming to make Shen Ci’s life hell. Now, he was all about showing off in front of Song Qiuchi.

Song Qiuchi, the eldest daughter of the Song family, had grown up stunning—totally cold to outsiders and completely fed up with Shen Rong’s antics.

“Thanks, but no.” Song Qiuchi politely accepted the eleventh love letter Shen Rong had handed her, then passed it to her deskmate, Shen Ci. “Secretary Shen, take care of this.”

Shen Rong’s face darkened as he watched Shen Ci take the letter, pull a custom stamp from his pencil case like it was routine, and stamp a red mark on the envelope.

He squinted, reading the two characters inside the red circle: “Reviewed.”

Shen Ci stood up, brushed past Shen Rong, and put the letter back on his desk.

“Shen Ci!” Shen Rong gritted his teeth. “I’m telling you, don’t mess with me.”

Shen Ci glanced at him, raised an eyebrow, picked the letter up again, and waved it in front of Shen Rong. “Don’t want it anymore?”

Without waiting for an answer, Shen Ci walked to the back of the classroom and tossed the stamped pink envelope right into the trash can.

The classroom was full of students, but nobody said a word. They all watched the drama in silence—after all, the two had been at odds for years.

Over the years, Shen Rong’s attempts to trip Shen Ci up had rarely worked; Shen Ci almost always got back at him right away. He strode over to Shen Ci, looking cocky but not daring to push it, and muttered under his breath, “Don’t think I won’t cut your hair again.”

Shen Ci brushed his hands off like he was disgusted, met Shen Rong’s eyes, shrugged, and leaned his head forward, offering his hair just like when they were kids by the pond.

“Go ahead, cut it.” His tone was calm, but it carried an unspoken threat. “Snip one strand, and my daddy will shave your head clean tonight.”

These days, Shen Wenzhou didn’t have much say in most family matters. Assistant Li and the butler mostly sided with Shen Shiyan—which was really Shen Wenzhou’s silent approval.

The summer before middle school, Shen Rong hired some thugs from another school to corner Shen Ci in a grove behind the campus. He didn’t expect Shen Ci to text Shen Shiyan the moment he saw them coming from a distance. By the time the fight started, Shen Shiyan had already driven up.

He coldly asked Shen Ci how many times he got hit. Shen Ci, eyes all teary, covered his face and mumbled, “Three times, I think. I don’t remember clearly.”

Shen Rong remembered it vividly: Shen Shiyan gave him three solid slaps. He threw a fit at home for days, and in the end, both he and Shen Shiyan had to kneel in the ancestral hall for hours.

Damn it—Shen Rong didn’t even land a hit on Shen Ci’s face that day. Instead, his own arm had three scratches from Shen Ci’s nails.

What a little fake.

Shen Rong cursed under his breath, ignored Shen Ci, and slunk back to his seat with a dark look.

He’d actually planned to confess privately, but one of his friends suggested a public declaration, saying Song Qiuchi wouldn’t dare refuse in front of everyone.

......

Shen Rong wanted to cuss out loud.

That evening, after work, Shen Shiyan lightly knocked on Shen Ci’s wide-open door. “You’re Song Qiuchi’s secretary now?”

Shen Ci was lying on his bed listening to music on low. He rolled onto his side, propping his chin up to look over. “We’re just messing around. I help her handle love letters—basically stamping them like pork cuts.”

“...” Shen Shiyan glanced at the sad love song playing on the tablet on the bed. “Your Sister Song asked me how many pieces of pork you stamped today.”

“Not many today, Daddy.” Shen Ci held up one finger. “Just one.”

Just then, the air conditioner in his room let out a sharp screech, and the cool air cut off.

Yuncheng was experiencing a heatwave this year—even before midsummer, it was already over thirty degrees Celsius. No way he could sleep without AC.

Most of the furniture in the side courtyard had gone unused for years until Shen Shiyan and the others moved in. They were old pieces, and one after another, things kept breaking.

Frowning, Shen Shiyan checked the time on his phone—past eleven at night.

Shen Ci hopped off the bed, grabbed his earphones, phone, and tablet, then rummaged through his closet for clean underwear, socks, and clothes for school the next day. He hugged the pile and headed for the door.

“Running away from home?” Shen Shiyan stopped him.

“The AC’s broken.” Shen Ci’s eyes curved with excitement. “Let’s sleep together, Daddy.”

Back in sixth grade, Shen Ci could still sneak into Shen Shiyan’s bed with a few tricks. But since starting middle school, his heartless daddy had refused to let him cuddle to sleep anymore.

“No.” Shen Shiyan didn’t even think twice.

Shen Ci had expected that. He pouted pitifully. “It’s eleven, Daddy. I have school tomorrow. You wouldn’t let me evaporate in a room without AC, would you?”

“...”

“Fine.” Shen Shiyan said it, but still let go and allowed Shen Ci to take his things into his room.

Just that brief standoff at the door had Shen Ci breaking out in a light sweat again. He stared at the faint outline of muscles beneath Shen Shiyan’s white shirt. “Daddy, it’s so hot. I want to shower too. It’s late—let’s do it together.”

“You go first.” Shen Shiyan stopped unbuttoning his shirt and turned to look at Shen Ci.

“It’d be faster together.” Shen Ci pulled off his top without a hint of hesitation. “We’re both guys, and I’m still a kid. What’s the big deal?”

Shen Shiyan’s gaze dropped as Shen Ci reached for the drawstring on his pajama pants. He turned away again. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

Shen Ci was about to argue, but when he looked up, Shen Shiyan had already left. A few seconds later, a towel flew in from the doorway.

He didn’t understand why Shen Shiyan was so resistant now to sleeping or showering together, when it had been fine when he was little.

He clipped his freshly washed hair back, quickly lathered up with body wash, rinsed off, and was out of the bathroom in minutes.

Shen Ci lay on the bed waiting for Shen Shiyan, drowsiness creeping in.

By the time Shen Shiyan came out in his pajamas, Shen Ci had already fallen asleep, facing him.

He watched for a moment, then walked over slowly, pulled a blanket from the cabinet, and closed the cabinet door with a soft click. The person behind him turned over, kicking the covers aside.

Shen Ci was shirtless, the lines on his waist prominent from all the skateboarding, his pale skin rising and falling with each breath.

Shen Shiyan went over and tucked the blanket back over him. As he straightened up, Shen Ci grabbed his hand.

“Daddy.” Shen Ci’s grip was tight, his voice hoarse from sleep. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Shen Shiyan tried to pull his fingers free, but Shen Ci held on.

Half-asleep, Shen Ci mumbled and tugged at him. “No. You said you’d never abandon me.”

Shen Shiyan said nothing, his gaze fixed on Shen Ci’s face. His brows were furrowed, lashes trembling slightly, half his face buried in the pillow, hair naturally splayed out, a few strands draping over his rounded shoulder.

A long moment passed, and Shen Ci showed no sign of letting go.

Shen Shiyan sighed, spread the blanket with one hand, and lay down beside Shen Ci, not sharing the same cover.

Sleeping in the same bed with separate blankets was clearly pointless. Feeling the warmth beside him, Shen Ci’s brow relaxed. Following the hand he held, he quickly scooted over. Annoyed by the blanket bunched between them, he grunted and kicked it away.

The scent of green apple seeped into the blanket, wrapping around Shen Shiyan.

Breathing steadied at his neck, arms firmly around his waist. Shen Shiyan resignedly opened his eyes.

He might as well have slept on the couch—at least he’d get some sleep.