Chapter 97 A Bit Tight, Seems I Bought the Wrong Size

Chapter 97: A Bit Tight, Must Have Bought the Wrong Size

The temperature difference between indoors and outdoors was huge, and going back and forth between outside and inside made a person feel chilled to the bone.

Guan Junshan was already quite drunk, and the warm air from the air conditioner blew against his face, making the room almost too hot. He paused at the entryway, propping one hand on the cabinet edge, swaying on his feet, unsteady.

Lin Haoda stood not far away, his feet unconsciously turned toward him. Guan Junshan caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye and looked up to meet his gaze. "I'm fine."

He deliberately forced a smile, knowing full well his pale face must look terrible, but pretending to be tough anyway. "Just a little dizzy."

Lin Haoda said nothing, silently walking toward the living room, motioning for him to follow.

The glass on the table was still giving off steam. Guan Junshan forced himself to walk over, touched it—still warm.

The chandelier overhead was old, its copper paint peeling, spilling a warm, halo-like glow. The water's surface rippled in concentric circles, glittering with tiny points of light.

The walk from the entrance wasn’t long, but a string of water droplets fell, dotting the ivory floor. Lin Haoda avoided those wet marks, walked to the shoe cabinet, opened it, and crouched down.

Guan Junshan’s palm warmed against the glass as he turned to watch. Lin Haoda focused intently, eyes downcast, searching through the cabinet. A light in the corner of the ceiling glowed, its soft, gentle halo landed lightly on the back of his neck, making that small patch of skin look very fair and fragile.

His body was heating up uncontrollably, his mind shut down. Guan Junshan stared fixedly at that spot, his fingertips unconsciously brushed against the glass.

Unaware of the gaze behind him, Lin Haoda pulled out a pair of men’s slippers from the shoe cabinet—rubber soles with a short fleece lining, gray, a very homey style.

He placed the slippers on the rug without a word. Guan Junshan looked down, and found it unsurprising that they were the same style as the ones Lin Haoda was wearing, just a different color and about two sizes larger. They didn’t look very old, but they weren’t brand new either.

Lin Haoda also dropped his gaze, looking at the faint signs of wear. He hesitated before speaking. "This is the only pair at home that's about your size."

He originally wanted to add that if Guan Junshan didn’t want to wear them, he would go downstairs later to buy a toothbrush and towel, and he’d grab a new pair while he was at it.

Guan Junshan sat down on the chair, first saying "It's fine," then, after a couple of seconds, adding "Thanks."

He should have cared, but right now he couldn’t afford to. Probably because he had no choice—his whole body was soaking wet, as if encased in ice that would only get thicker if he didn't move.

He took off his coat; his knuckles were already pale from the cold. "Is there hot water? I might need to take a shower first."

Lin Haoda looked at him, nodded, and said, "I'll take you to the bathroom."

When he moved to this apartment, he could only pick either a good location or good conditions. Lin Haoda chose an old neighborhood in a great location, but the bathroom was only a few square meters, with no bathtub to speak of.

The walls were covered in white tiles that had discolored at the grout lines over time, but fortunately the bathroom light was dim. Lin Haoda pointed out the shampoo, body wash, and face wash one by one, turned on the space heater, and then slipped out.

They had been apart so long, and given their current relationship, whether Lin Haoda was doing well or poorly, or whether his place and things were cheap or not, wasn't something Guan Junshan needed to approve of.

It was just a one-night stay. If he really wasn’t satisfied, the four-star hotel across the street was only a five-minute walk away.

Lin Haoda didn't let himself dwell on it. He set the electric water heater's temperature, and only when he heard the sound of water running in the bathroom did he throw on a coat and hurry downstairs.

After crossing two blocks, there was a 24-hour convenience store next to the neighboring housing complex. Lin Haoda occasionally bought hot milk there when he pulled all-nighters, but it had suddenly started snowing tonight, and he wasn't sure if it would close early because of the snow.

Snow fell thick and fast, mixed with tiny ice pellets, tapping against the umbrella, sometimes blown inside by the wind, pelting his face. Late at night, not a single car was on the road, as if the world had hit pause ahead of time, leaving only branches whipped and tossed by the wind.

Lin Haoda half-jogged all the way there. Fortunately, the convenience store's sign was still lit from afar. He pushed open the heavy glass door, and the clerk on night shift was lounging at the counter scrolling through videos, immediately looked up, looking surprised anyone would brave this weather.

The store was small, with limited options. Lin Haoda picked a few essentials. At the register, he noticed the electric oven beside the counter, which still had a few warm ready-made foods inside.

The clerk efficiently scanned and bagged his items, then, catching his glance, asked if he wanted to grab some food as well.

Lin Haoda hesitated, thinking it looked a bit too oily, and declined.

But then he thought of Guan Junshan. He didn't keep any hangover remedies at home, and he started worrying that Guan Junshan might feel sick in the middle of the night—maybe even cause trouble.

When he got home, the sound of running water in the bathroom had gradually stopped. Lin Haoda didn't even have time to take off his coat; he walked over and knocked on the door.

The door had a whole pane of frosted glass—definitely a trendy choice from twenty years ago. Combined with the dim, yellowish light overhead, a figure moving inside was clearly visible to anyone outside without needing a close look.

Guan Junshan came over, apparently drying his hair. His voice echoed in the small bathroom. "What's up?"

The space was already tiny, and with his tall frame standing there, his forearm was almost pressed against the glass door. Lin Haoda’s eyes rose slightly, and it felt like he was about to be pulled into an embrace by that arm.

Normally, living alone, he never noticed these things, but with an extra person now, everything suddenly felt inconvenient.

Lin Haoda quickly lowered his eyes and placed the bag by the door. "I put the toiletries and underwear here. Remember to take them."

He added, "The hair dryer is in the mirror cabinet. Just open it and you'll see it."

Guan Junshan said "Okay," and before Lin Haoda could leave, he twisted the lock and immediately started to open the door. Lin Haoda froze for half a second, then instinctively pressed down on the wiggling doorknob from the outside, almost biting his tongue several times. "I-I haven't left yet… wait another half minute before coming out!"

Guan Junshan let go of the handle, and the bathroom went silent again.

Only the never-quite-tight showerhead kept dripping in the night.

And the shadowy figure reflected on the frosted glass. In the dim light, Guan Junshan’s physique was imposing: broad shoulders, straight back, narrow waist.

He didn’t dare look any lower. Lin Haoda kept his head down and quickly turned to leave.

He pulled another set of pajamas and a blanket from the bedroom closet and had just placed them on the couch when the bathroom door slid open with a whoosh.

A thick cloud of translucent steam billowed out, and trails of water droplets snaked across the tiles. Guan Junshan stepped out a moment later, hair wet, chest bare, looking like a magazine cover model. His lines tapered smoothly down to a lean, narrow waist, and the towel Lin Haoda had just bought was loosely wrapped around his lower half. Water dripped from his neck and chest, slowly tracing down the grooves of his muscles.

Lin Haoda glanced at him, then quickly turned away, focusing on the new duvet cover he was pulling over the blanket. "The pajamas are on the chair. They're clean."

Guan Junshan hummed in acknowledgment and walked over barefoot, his skin still radiating shower steam, raising the temperature of the already cramped space by a fraction.

Back to back, they stood at opposite ends of the couch. The air conditioner overhead hummed, blowing warm air. Rustling sounds came from behind—Guan Junshan changing clothes.

Lin Haoda expertly smoothed out the duvet cover and waited a moment. "Done?"

Guan Junshan didn't answer. After a pause, Lin Haoda heard him utter a low "Mm-hmm," and asked nervously, "What's wrong?"

"...A bit tight."

Lin Haoda didn't catch on. Confused, he pressed, "What?"

Guan Junshan’s forehead was still burning, and his breathing was heavy, coming in waves. "The underwear. Must have bought the wrong size."

Lin Haoda froze, his breath catching for a moment. He bit his lip and said quietly, "I… forgot to check the size."

Actually, he had checked, but the memory was too old and blurred, and he didn’t want to dwell on it further.

The mistake was already made, and he had to fix it. Lin Haoda stood still for half a minute, then reached for his coat and scarf on the hat rack.

"Lin Haoda." Guan Junshan called from behind. "Are you going out again?"

Lin Haoda nodded to explain. "That convenience store is open 24 hours. I'll just go down again."

Guan Junshan was silent for a few seconds, then slipped on his slippers and walked around from the back of the couch. "No need." He kept his eyes down as he buttoned his pajama top, staring at Lin Haoda. "It's not that big a deal."

Lin Haoda, halfway into his coat, hesitated. "Are you sure it's okay?"

“… Mm.” Guan Junshan mumbled indistinctly.

The second hand on the wall clock ticked past another half circle, but Lin Haoda insisted, “It’s just next to the neighborhood—I’ll be quick.”

Guan Junshan’s black hair was damp, water droplets sliding down. Standing in the dim light of a single lamp, his eyes turned dark and moist, fixed on Lin Haoda without wavering. His voice blended into the night, ambiguous and blurred: “If it really feels uncomfortable… I could just not wear it.”

Things like that—he could do whatever he wanted. Why bother telling him? Lin Haoda blinked, quickly looked away, opened his mouth as if to say something, then didn’t know how to respond. In the end, he simply gave up and obediently hung his coat and hat back on the rack.

After taking a fever reducer with warm water, Guan Junshan soon fell asleep. All the lights in the living room were turned off, leaving only a small nightlight leading to the bedroom.

Lin Haoda worried he wouldn’t sleep well, so he came out of the room several times. His slippers were heavy on the floor, so he took them off and walked in just thin socks, stepping as lightly as falling snow outside the window.

Guan Junshan was tall with long legs, curled up on a sofa less than 1.7 meters long. Even asleep, he looked pathetic, with nowhere to put his hands and feet, barely hugging the blanket, one leg dangling off the edge and almost touching the floor.

In the dim room, he slept restlessly, his brows constantly furrowed, his breathing short and quick, his eyelids twitching uneasily. His lips were pale and dry from fever, cracked and peeling.

Lin Haoda didn’t stand too close. He was more like a silent watcher in a snowy night, leaning against the wall, gazing quietly for a while. Then, just as quietly as he came, he turned and went back to his room.

In the middle of the night, Lin Haoda was woken from his sleep by a noise from the living room.

He had always been a light sleeper, and with something on his mind, as soon as Guan Junshan pushed open the kitchen door, Lin Haoda’s eyelids fluttered, and he was awake the next second.

The nightlight in the hallway was still on, a cold white orb, like a blurry mist rising from the sea. Lin Haoda sat up straight in bed, the blanket draped over his waist, and looked toward the door with some concern.

A faint sound came from the kitchen. Before going to sleep, Lin Haoda had filled a thermos with hot water and placed it against the tiled wall.

He guessed that Guan Junshan must have woken up thirsty for water, because he heard the clink of a glass against the counter. But before his heart could fully settle, the next second, a sharp, shattering noise tore through the silent night.

His heart jolted. Lin Haoda didn’t have time to put on a coat; he wore only thin pajamas, slipped into his slippers, and got out of bed.

The kitchen light was indeed on. Guan Junshan was huddled uncomfortably, squatting and picking up the shattered glass pieces bit by bit with his hands.

Hearing footsteps, he reacted a beat too late and looked up, his eyes focusing again with a hint of confusion, finally meeting Lin Haoda’s gaze from the doorway.

“Sorry for waking you up so late,” Guan Junshan said, his voice hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper. “Don’t come over yet.”

He probably had no idea how he looked right now.

His cheekbones were flushed with fever, but his entire face was pale without a trace of color. Sweat kept rolling down his forehead and temples. His nape and chest were completely soaked, making him look as pathetic as if he had just come in from a downpour.

In countless moments, Lin Haoda felt that he should have been tougher—it wouldn’t have been that hard.

But after Guan Junshan spoke those firm, refusing words, he didn’t continue cleaning up the shards. He just kept staring at Lin Haoda with those dark eyes, never looking away, sticky and hot, like an invisible spider’s thread that tied Lin Haoda’s hands and feet, firmly fixing him in place.

Lin Haoda also knew that he couldn’t really blame anyone else. It wasn’t himself who was burning up to the point of dehydration and losing the ability to think clearly.

Outside the window, the snow was still falling, thick and swirling, covering the windowsill with a thin layer, frosting the glass with white ice crystals, hazy and misty.

Lin Haoda lowered his eyes, sighed inwardly, walked over, and touched that scorching shoulder. “Get up.”

Guan Junshan didn’t move. Like an old projector that hadn’t focused properly, he slowly adjusted his angle, then fixed his gaze back on Lin Haoda’s face.

“If this fever keeps up, you’ll be delirious,” Lin Haoda deliberately jabbed at him. “Don’t make things harder for me. Just be good and go sit on the sofa.”