Chapter 55: No One Else Will Do

Chapter 55: No One Else Will Do

The silver Lexus cruised down the street, and Zhuang Shubai asked, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"No." Zhao Yu denied it immediately.

They weren't even friends, so how could they be boyfriends?

When Zhuang Shubai asked that, Zhao Yu suddenly felt embarrassed. He didn't want anyone to find out about his relationship with Gu Hansheng—being forced to submit to someone wasn't exactly something to be proud of.

Zhuang Shubai didn't know the full story, but he could tell Zhao Yu was uncomfortable, so he didn't push it.

Pulling up to the hotel, Zhao Yu got out and said, "Dr. Zhuang, I've put you out too much today. Let me know when you're free, and I'll take you out to eat."

Zhuang Shubai looked up at him from the car window. The midday sun spilled over him, making even his hair look like it was glowing.

Zhuang Shubai had seen Zhao Yu's loneliness and fragility, but also his strength and optimism.

Even now, there was a faint trace of exhaustion in his eyes, but a smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth, like bamboo that had weathered a storm and was slowly coming back to life under the sun.

Maybe it was from their very first meeting that Zhuang Shubai had been drawn to that bruised and battered young man.

And right now, Zhao Yu was using every ounce of his strength just to crawl out of the shadows and get back to a normal life. Zhuang Shubai knew that the weight of his feelings would only add pressure—this was the worst possible time to confess.

So he smiled, tucking his feelings away for now, and said, "Alright. When I have time, where can I find you?"

Zhao Yu glanced back at the hotel sign: "I'm staying here for now. I'm planning to start looking for an apartment in the next few days. But you can just call me—I don't start work till next week."

"Where are you planning to rent?" Zhuang Shubai said. "I know a few people in real estate. Maybe they can help you find a suitable place."

"Near Yatai Restaurant. Thanks—looks like I owe you another one."

"Then you'll have to treat me to another meal?"

"Then I'll have to cook for you myself."

Zhuang Shubai laughed. "It's a deal?"

"Don't worry, I never go back on my word."

"Mm. Go get some rest. Take care of yourself—and no more drinking."

"I've quit, I've quit." Zhao Yu scratched his head. "I'm heading up then. Drive safe."

After saying goodbye to Zhuang Shubai, Zhao Yu went back to his hotel room and almost got knocked over by the smell of alcohol. He quickly stepped over the bottles scattered on the floor and opened the window to air the place out.

The carpet was completely soaked in alcohol. There was a broken bottle on the floor, glass shards everywhere. Zhao Yu didn't remember smashing any bottles, and the bathroom door frame was slightly warped as well.

He couldn't figure out what else had gone down in this room, but he knew he'd definitely have to pay a hefty price for the damages. When he called housekeeping to clean up, the cleaning lady huffed and complained endlessly. Annoyed, Zhao Yu went downstairs to hash out the damages with the hotel manager and switched rooms.

After resting in bed for a bit, Zhao Yu went downstairs to get something to eat. He couldn't have anything greasy or salty, so he was stuck with bland rice porridge. Even though he had no appetite, he followed Dr. Zhuang's orders—eating on time, taking his meds, staying away from alcohol and cigarettes, and not staying up late.

He needed to recover fast so he could get back to work; otherwise, in his current state, he'd just be dead weight for Cao Xu.

He still had trouble sleeping at night. Before he was discharged, he'd asked the doctor for some sleeping pills. He took one and lay in bed, trying to fall asleep.

The sudden switch to a healthy diet and lifestyle, along with alcohol withdrawal, left him restless. In the ten or so minutes before the pill kicked in, he suddenly thought of the look Gu Hansheng had given him when he bit him earlier that day.

Gu Hansheng had seemed taken aback by his aggression.

That was true—he'd never dared to fight back against Gu Hansheng before. This was the first time he'd struck back so hard.

Biting felt great in the moment, but once the brief release was over, the hollow space in his heart started to ache again. After fighting back, all he felt was a fleeting thrill—and nothing else. And now, even that thrill was gone, leaving nothing but endless emptiness.

The two most important feelings in his heart had been ripped out of his life at the same time, without giving him even a second to ease into it—tearing open a raw, bloody wound. And the healing process was both painful and itchy, making him want to scratch at it but too afraid to.

It wasn't until the sleeping pill kicked in that his chaotic thoughts finally settled, and he drifted off.

...

The villa was lit up—it was already past one in the morning, but the place was still bright as day.

Gu Hansheng sat in the courtyard smoking. The book he hadn't finished was tossed carelessly onto the lawn, its pages damp and creased from the dew.

With Zhao Yu gone, the villa was dead silent from morning to night.

Earlier, when the housekeeper asked about Zhao Yu during breakfast, Gu Hansheng told her to shut her mouth. She never dared to say that name again, and the empty house got even quieter.

The ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Gu Hansheng's right hand was wrapped in gauze as he crushed out half a cigarette.

Zhao Yu had been bitten too, and had even ended up in the hospital after the wound got infected.

Gu Hansheng never knew a bite could hurt this bad. When he was a kid learning to ride horses, he'd fallen off and spent two months in the hospital—even that hadn't hurt this bad.

It cut right through him.

Gu Hansheng lit another cigarette and glanced toward the kitchen. Zhao Yu had once hung a monkfish there to fillet it, starting out clumsy and ending up skilled. Gu Hansheng had sat in this exact spot in the courtyard and watched the whole thing.

Zhao Yu was good with knives, especially his favorite—a yanagiba blade for slicing fish. The blade was thin and slender, like a willow leaf. When he was figuring out how to cut, he'd twirl the knife in his hand, the sharp edge slipping between his fingers, as obedient as a chopstick.

That ugly-ass fish had eventually turned into a delicious dish on the table, but Gu Hansheng didn't try everything, just like he hadn't eaten every meal Zhao Yu had cooked for him.

How many days had it been? A week? Ten days? Half a month?

Zhao Yu had been brought back by him, then dragged his suitcase out and left. The walk-in closet still had a bunch of light-colored designer clothes—the ones Zhao Yu wore when he was staying here. No matter how he put them together, they always looked clean, youthful, and innocent.

Honestly, that style never suited Zhao Yu. A guy who bites until he draws blood when he can't win a fight, with teeth sharper than a dog's—he belonged in his own dark T-shirts with retro American logos.

The cigarette burned down to the filter. Gu Hansheng hadn't taken a single drag off this one. The dying ember burned his finger, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray without flinching.

The clothes were still there, and the new knife set was too. Zhao Yu's slippers were still by the door, and Gu Hansheng saw them every time he came home.

The cleaner came three times a week but hadn't managed to wipe away all traces of Zhao Yu. She thought someone was still wearing the slippers, so she kept them in the shoe cabinet. She thought someone was still using the knives, so she dusted off the knife case.

Everything looked so clean, like someone really was still using them.

Every day, Gu Hansheng came home to an empty, dark house. At first, he didn't care. Now, even the reflection in the glass door felt cold and lonely.

On countless late nights and early mornings, he'd been in bed with Zhao Yu, feeling the warmth of that body in his arms rise, heat building, the slight resistance like flirting, trembling fingertips like a teasing feather.

Gu Hansheng had plenty of ex-girlfriends, but Zhao Yu was the only man he'd ever slept with.

Before this, he'd never been interested in a man's body. Those ex-girlfriends were all soft as water and knew how to please him. Zhao Yu had none of the things he usually went for—yet somehow, Zhao Yu was the one he was addicted to.

Gu Hansheng looked down at his own reaction and let out a mocking laugh, feeling a little annoyed.

He's just a man—what's so different about him?

He called Song Wenhao: "You got any clean escorts at your place?"

Song Wenhao brightened at his words, thinking he'd finally come to his senses and dumped Zhao Yu. He quickly said, "Of course I do. What kind are you looking for? How about the one from last time?"

"Which one?"

"The one who drank with you, the one you got a Macallan for."

It was only then that Gu Hansheng remembered that incident. He couldn't recall what that boy looked like anymore, only that that night Zhao Yu had come to him to apologize and drank the remaining half bottle of Macallan, first throwing punches, then running his mouth with arrogant taunts and provoking endlessly.

Half-drunk Zhao Yu, lips wet, liquor dripping from the corner of his mouth down his neck into his collar—there was a wild, sensual appeal to him...

Gu Hansheng rubbed his temples. "Not him."

"I've got others. Want me to send him over?"

"Yeah."

Half an hour later, a young boy about five-foot-nine appeared at the door, wearing a light blue T-shirt and beige five-pocket cargo pants, bringing a burst of youthful energy.

Song Wenhao really knew how to choose his boys. This one was much more clean-cut than the last, seemingly new to the trade, and his smile still held a hint of innocence.

Temperament-wise, he was very close to Chen Xitong—the "Little White Flower" type Gu Hansheng liked.

"Hello, Mr. Gu. Mr. Song sent me," the boy said, his voice pleasant, carrying a youthful charm that drew in both men and women.

Gu Hansheng let him in, and he followed him over to the sofa, setting down his bag and taking off his shirt without needing to be told.

The boy had a healthy build, clean skin, and wore a light, pleasant cologne.

He stepped forward to kiss Gu Hansheng, but Gu Hansheng said, "Skip that. Let's just get to it."

So the boy backed off a little, knelt by his leg, and began to undo his pants.

Though new to the trade, the boy had already learned many ways to arouse desire. As he worked, he secretly glanced up at Gu Hansheng's expression. The man seemed lost in thought, his face cold, showing no sign of desire.

Ten minutes passed, and the boy was sweating from the effort, but Gu Hansheng stayed completely unmoved.

"Leave," Gu Hansheng said suddenly.

The boy looked up in surprise, saw the weariness on his face, and obediently got up, dressed, took the money, and quietly left.

A boy who perfectly matched Gu Hansheng's preferences—clean, pure, and not annoying—yet Gu Hansheng felt no sexual interest in him at all.

Sometimes, with Zhao Yu fully clothed, just a glimpse of pale skin at his pajama collar when he lowered his head—or the faint mint scent of body wash on him—was enough to make Gu Hansheng lose control. If he kissed along his spine down to the dimples of his lower back, Zhao Yu would be extremely sensitive, his taut waistline alluring.

Gu Hansheng leaned back into the sofa, staring at the glaring light overhead. After a long sigh, he kicked over the coffee table.