Chapter 98 Don’t Kick Me Out, Don’t Think Too Badly of Me

Chapter 98: Don’t Send Me Away, Don’t Think the Worst of Me

Lin Haoda knew that being drunk felt terrible—he’d learned that not long after he started working.

Back then, he’d just graduated. Finding a job hadn’t gone smoothly, and he still needed to find a place to live. With almost no money left, he’d settled for a small company, applying as a sales assistant.

The interview process seemed formal—they checked his degree, asked about scholarships, and preferably with competition awards and national certifications. But once he started, he realized none of that mattered. Lin Haoda’s only job was to visit clients in a suit every day and book dinners at nearby restaurants at night, toasting round after round.

His boss taught him: don’t act like you’re some top graduate. In front of clients, keep your head lower than your glass. At the table, drink alcohol like it’s water. No one’s born with a tolerance for alcohol—you just haven’t practiced enough.

Back then, he often got blackout drunk. His colleagues would be kind enough to call a cab and carry him home, but in the middle of the night, his stomach would burn so badly he’d crawl out of bed, vomit, and cook himself something warm.

Luckily, he didn’t stay there long. Before his three-month probation was up, he quit on his own.

From then on, alcohol never left him with a good impression. Lin Haoda rarely let himself get drunk, unless he was very sad or heartbroken.

The kitchen wasn’t big, but after Guan Junshan left, Lin Haoda finally had room to move around. He crouched down, gathered the glass shards together, wrapped them in a wet paper towel, and carefully placed them in the trash.

There were noodles in the cupboard, along with instant congee. Lin Haoda set both on the counter, hesitating, when a click—the ceiling light came on.

Guan Junshan hadn’t stayed on the couch long. He’d wandered back over and stood at the doorway.

As long as he didn’t crowd in and get in the way, Lin Haoda couldn’t be bothered to shoo him away again. He decided on the congee—it was quick, ready in five minutes.

Guan Junshan leaned against the doorframe, watching him expertly place a small pot on the stove. The instant congee was pre-packaged, needing only simple preparation. Guan Junshan used to hate this—he was the type who, even when sick, would have his driver buy freshly made congee from upscale restaurants.

But people change. Only now did Guan Junshan realize that all the standards he’d taken for granted were all established before Lin Haoda came into his life. The old Guan Junshan had just been a pitiful guy, cold and unfeeling, swallowing congee and pills alone when sick or drunk.

The water in the pot soon boiled, white steam drifting softly under the light. Lin Haoda stood in it, busying himself calmly. He wore only a thin cotton pajama set with a cheap teddy bear print—clearly bought on sale at a supermarket. The sleeves were damp from rubbing against things, his fingers pale and slender, the tips pink from the steam.

Guan Junshan’s gaze lingered on that slender, bony wrist. He caught the scent of the cheap instant congee boiling, yet found it oddly comforting.

When the congee was served, Guan Junshan and Lin Haoda sat across from each other at the table.

It was the early hours of the morning. The wind still howled, rattling the windows. But indoors, it was so quiet it felt reassuring. Only a wall lamp was on in the living room, the warm aroma of food slowly enveloping them.

Guan Junshan spooned the congee slowly, swallowing bit by bit. There were no vitamins at home, but Lin Haoda found a jar of effervescent tablets from somewhere and made him a sweet, fruity drink.

Guan Junshan rarely thanked anyone, but most of his thanks that night went to Lin Haoda sitting across from him. Lin Haoda kept his eyes down, quiet for a moment, then suddenly rested his chin on his hand and asked, “Why did you drink so much?”

Back in the garage when they’d parted, Guan Junshan had still been perfectly sober and rational.

The ceramic spoon in Guan Junshan’s hand paused, clinking softly against the bowl’s edge, but quickly resumed. “Nothing much,” he said casually. “Just some business stuff.”

He didn’t want to talk about it, and Lin Haoda had already guessed. So he just nodded and said, “Okay,” without pressing further.

Guan Junshan still stared at him, eyes dark, as if he wanted to say something.

Lin Haoda pretended not to notice. He told Guan Junshan to put the bowl in the sink, then got up to head back to his room. Guan Junshan couldn’t hold back anymore. He reached out and grabbed Lin Haoda’s wrist, his voice low: “I… I often can’t sleep well.”

“…” Lin Haoda turned to look at him, hesitating for a moment. “When did it start?”

“A while ago.” Guan Junshan set down the spoon, sitting upright with his shoulders straight.

In the quiet air, Lin Haoda closed his eyes, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Guan Junshan went quiet again, unable to speak.

Lin Haoda stood with his back to him, letting out a soft laugh. “So this is how you treat your condition?”

With that, he shook off Guan Junshan’s hand.

Guan Junshan wanted to explain—no, this wasn’t treatment. If you’re the illness, I’d rather be sleepless forever, spend my whole life like this.

But he couldn’t say it. Those words would sound like empty flattery to Lin Haoda now, meaningless.

After a moment, Lin Haoda remembered something and asked, “When you sleep at my place, is that also an act?”

Guan Junshan’s feverish mind barely processed it, then he realized what Lin Haoda meant and immediately denied it: “No, it’s not.”

“I really did fall asleep just now.”

Even though the couch here was small and narrow, barely fitting his legs, the scent on the blanket—so similar to Lin Haoda’s—had slowly pulled him into sleep.

He didn’t even know what magic it held. The insomnia that no psychologist could cure seemed to heal with just one night’s sleep here.

But Lin Haoda turned to him, looking at him with a very calm expression. “Guan Junshan, I’m really tired. I can’t keep playing this pointless game with you anymore.”

His voice was soft, like coaxing a child: “What value do I even have to you anymore? None, right?”

Before, at least Guan Junshan needed him as a shield to avoid marriage, as a casual fling. But now, so much time had passed. Lin Haoda just felt numb. Couldn’t they just stop wasting each other’s time?

Guan Junshan’s breath caught. “I’m not playing any games with you.”

“When I can’t sleep, medicine doesn’t work. Alcohol might.”

He stood in the dim light, his cheeks flushed with fever, eyes bloodshot, face pale, his lips—which had just regained some color—turning white again. He spoke these heartfelt words, exposing the fragile side he’d never shown anyone, laying it bare in the light of day, before the person he loved. “Because only then can I remember you.”

Lin Haoda let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Your love is too heavy for me to carry.”

Guan Junshan licked his lips and nodded. “Fine. If you don’t want to hear it, that’s okay.”

“Just don’t send me away.” His voice dropped. “You know, it’s only here that I can get a good night’s sleep.”

“Just take me in like a poor sick person.” Guan Junshan’s eyes reddened as he stared at him. “Hao Da, don’t think the worst of me.”

Lin Haoda closed his eyes, his eyelids trembling as he struggled. “Then what will you do if you can’t ever fall in love?”

If he couldn’t find a partner, couldn’t meet someone to love, would he blame it all on him?

“Then I won’t fall in love.” Guan Junshan gave a bitter smile, his fingers twitched at his side before he slowly reached out to link them with Lin Haoda’s. “It’s all the same to me anyway.”

But Lin Haoda shook off his hand, unusually firm. “I don’t want that. Find someone else soon. Find someone new—someone more obedient, more loveable.”

“There’s no one else.” Guan Junshan reached out and hugged him tightly from behind, his hot breath warm against Lin Haoda’s ear, utterly certain: “No one else is coming. There is no new, more loveable person.”

Their bodies fit perfectly together. He couldn’t stop himself from burying his face in Lin Haoda’s neck, his nose brushing against his warm skin, mumbling, “How can I prove that I love you? I won’t give up. Never.”

This was Guan Junshan—to prove it, to win his heart back, he’d give up everything else. No longer dignified, no longer hiding his true feelings. He’d say the cheesiest lovey-dovey stuff, accept the bluntest rejections without complaint, throw away everything.

His burning cheek, his feverish palm, his dry, warm lips—every part of him pressed tightly against Lin Haoda. His heart beat softly but heavily in his chest, as if all life’s rawest emotions had finally found their home.

Lin Haoda’s eyes reddened, his lashes wet, his voice choked with sobs: “You… you’re so selfish…”

“Back then, you told me not to cling to you. Now you say I’m the reason you can’t sleep. Guan Junshan, you’re really too much, you know.”

Guan Junshan listened to his intermittent sobbing, his heart nearly breaking, unable to utter a word. He could only slowly turn him around, using his thumb to wipe away those bitter tears. "It's my fault, my selfishness, I went too far."

He lowered his head, pulling Lin Haoda into his arms. "This time, I'm the one clinging to you. If you're unwilling, you can refuse."

Lin Haoda pressed against him, his chest heaving slightly, breathing lightly. After listening, his lips indeed moved as if to speak.

But Guan Junshan interrupted before he could say anything. "But you know, I won't give up."

"..." Lin Haoda, his tears still wet, looked up at him with reddened eyes, suddenly not wanting to say another word.

Guan Junshan still stared at him intently, his gaze burning, watching those clear, bright eyes. His heartbeat quickened, and his throat grew warm.

Before tonight, seeing him was difficult, and embracing him existed only in dreams. Now, having seen him, touched him, felt his warm breath and damp tears, some long-suppressed emotions quietly brushed against the edge of reason, lingering dully, pulling back and forth repeatedly.

Lin Haoda knew he was drawing closer, and his tears gradually stopped. He reached out to push him away. "Since you want to stay and sleep, then go sleep."

Guan Junshan's romantic thoughts were shattered, his excitement stuck in limbo. His body reacted first, pulling him back, lowering his head, and cupping his face with his hands.

"Guan Junshan!" Lin Haoda immediately raised his arm to block his chest, his cheeks flushed, his breath ragged. "...Not now!"

Unable to hold him, Guan Junshan didn't give up. He persisted in rubbing and squeezing his wrist, his voice hoarse. "Alright, alright. When, then?"

Lin Haoda turned his face away, quickly escaping his persistent advances, fled into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

His fingertips suddenly felt cold, Guan Junshan stood still, savoring the moment. For a long time, his eyes dazedly followed him.

He, of course, couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Guan Junshan lay back on the sofa, breathing in Lin Haoda's scent. In the darkness, he recalled that beautiful face as he had wept silently, those especially striking eyes, filled with emotion and allure, like an ink painting, captivating.

The air conditioner blew warm air overhead, making him feel hot all over and break into a sweat. The thin blanket was loosely draped over his waist. Guan Junshan exhaled a couple of breaths of stale air, but it wasn't enough. A fire seemed to be burning in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

The house was silent, save for the occasional soft crack of snow-laden branches outside. Lin Haoda should be fast asleep in the room, the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

Through a door, five or six meters away, after waiting so long, through so many days and nights, he could finally hold him in his arms without needing alcohol to dream of holding him. Thinking of this, he couldn't help but slide his hand down into the blanket, fumbling to loosen the constricting fabric, and finally let out a long, relieved sigh.

He hadn't done this in a long time, the movements and sensations felt unfamiliar, carrying a secretive thrill that quickly enveloped him, tightened, and plunged him into a hot, wet tide of desire. His breathing grew rapid, sweat trickling into his hairline, his senses were magnified infinitely.

In the end, he didn't fully release, but at least it burned off most of the excited energy that had kept him awake. Later, as dawn approached, Guan Junshan finally felt utterly exhausted and fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke again, the sky was fully bright, the snow had stopped, and leaden clouds still hung low in the sky.

The kitchen door was closed, with the sound of a range hood inside. Lin Haoda was already up, wearing a thick turtleneck sweater under his loungewear. He had apparently gone out to buy groceries and was now wearing an apron, cooking breakfast.

Without announcing himself, Guan Junshan pushed the door open. Once he entered, the already small space felt even more cramped.

Their eyes met, and both tacitly looked away, sharing a moment of silence. The emotional tug-of-war last night had been too intense. Now, waking up, life had to return to its ordinary routine, which left them both feeling awkward.

"Wash up. Breakfast will be ready soon." Lin Haoda picked up the spatula, turning back to continue his work.

Guan Junshan turned around, his long legs striding away, then he looked back. "Snow's stopped. After breakfast... I'll leave."

With a sizzle, the egg mixture hit the pan, hot oil splattering, and a cloud of white steam rising. Lin Haoda's ears were filled with the humming of the range hood, and it was unclear if he actually heard.

After washing up, Guan Junshan went to the balcony to retrieve his clothes. Lin Haoda had dried them with an oil heater all night, and they were now barely wearable.

By the time he was ready, breakfast was already on the table. A bowl of thin noodles with glistening oil, topped with a golden sunny-side-up egg, and sprinkled with finely chopped green onions. The aroma of white pepper and sesame oil wafted straight to his nose.

They sat opposite each other, still silent. Everything that needed to be said and everything that shouldn't have been said had been poured out the night before. When he checked his temperature this morning, Guan Junshan's fever had dropped significantly. Aside from slightly bloodshot eyes, he looked every bit the elegant, handsome golden boy.

He bit into the noodles, a bitter smile forming in his heart. He wondered if he should thank Lin Haoda for being too attentive, for taking such good care of him. Originally, while brushing his teeth, he had considered pretending his fever hadn't broken, hoping Lin Haoda's soft heart would let him stay another half day or full day.

That was the thought, but even if his fever persisted, and Lin Haoda agreed to let him stay, his driver and assistant would inevitably call, urging him to return. In the end, Guan Junshan had few opportunities to set aside reason and act impulsively, all of them combined amounted to just one short night.

After finishing this utterly silent breakfast, Lin Haoda stood up and gathered the dishes into the sink. Guan Junshan followed him to the kitchen entrance and spoke from behind. "The driver is already on his way..."

Lin Haoda untied his apron, turned to look at him, showing no sign of wanting him to stay. "There's only one umbrella in the house. I'll see you downstairs."

Guan Junshan thought, why bother? He could perfectly well leave on his own; the snow outside had already stopped.

On second thought, he felt he was being too eager. He needed to give Lin Haoda some time to think things through clearly.

Lin Haoda returned to the bedroom to put on heavy clothes. Guan Junshan put on his shoes first and stood by the entrance waiting.

Lin Haoda came over with the umbrella, sat on the shoe bench, and put on his shoes.

Guan Junshan stood beside him, looking down at the two slippers on the floor. The space was too small; the fuzzy toes of the slippers touched, one gray, one blue.

Lin Haoda was tying his boot laces, his scarf slipping down, revealing that slender, fair, delicate neck.

Guan Junshan's Adam's apple bobbed lightly.

Even though he had warned himself countless times and restrained himself just as many times, he still opened his mouth to ask if Lin Haoda was free tomorrow evening. He knew of a nice restaurant, absolutely a thousand times better than the Cantonese place they had been to.

Before the words could leave his mouth, the doorbell rang first.

It was the weekend, and it had just snowed. Who could it be at this early hour?

Lin Haoda put down the umbrella, walked to the door, and bent to look through the peephole.

Guan Junshan considerately stepped back, giving him space.

Standing outside the peephole was a man, tall and handsome, with a presence and style that rivaled Guan Junshan behind him.

But his face was full of worry, his heart full of longing, as he stood anxiously outside the door.

The doorbell rang again and again.

It was Pei Mingyi.