I want to be held tightly by him

He asked Wasin to send him back to Nest Winza from the Tang Dynasty, and Jonathan imprisoned himself in his apartment for nearly half a month.

The task of healing the injured hand naturally fell to Vasin, a bodyguard and assistant who considered bumps and bruises a daily occurrence. He was a perfect candidate. Jonah threatened Vasin with his "hidden watch" and said that if he dared to reveal even a little bit to the company, he would be made to disappear from his side immediately.

Aside from healing, Jonah has done almost nothing but one thing in the past two weeks.

Find yourself.

I don't know when it started, perhaps it was when I gradually forgot the details of my dreams from years ago, perhaps it was when I lost my sense of identification with the halo of perfect idols, perhaps it was when the rewards of the trap game no longer pleased me...

Dissociation lurks, ready to pounce whenever clear positive feedback is not received, accompanied by a sharp whistle.

The whistle first blew incessantly on Christmas Eve.

Two weeks ago, he suddenly realized that the person who blew the whistle was Jiang Songhe.

Jiang Songhe, this man who has his own natural barrier, he tried every means to break through it, but with little success. In fact, his charm tricks, which had never failed him, were even reflected back, turning into negative sound waves that aggravated his self-doubt.

So he fled, hid, and isolated himself.

In the towering penthouse, mirrors are everywhere—laid out as whole, broken and pieced together, nested and assembled—in a variety of forms and styles, all serving as a means of self-reflection.

Born with good looks, Jonathan doesn't actually need to look in the mirror all the time, but he needs to use the mirror to carefully and repeatedly examine whether he is perfect enough to deserve more and longer love and support.

He walked to the wall in the living room where a huge portrait of himself hung, and there were shadowy figures everywhere he went, completely naked.

This portrait was a gift from Tang Fan to Jonathan for his sixteenth birthday.

In the painting, he seems indifferent to everything around him, focusing solely on tossing a coin engraved with the face of Janus. Janus, the two-faced god, governs all beginnings and endings, past and future, and is the embodiment of all contradictions.

That spot will soon be filled with a new replacement, right?

Besides him, will there be others who can rekindle inspiration?

Jonah broke free from his reverie and raised his hand to stroke the coin in his hand in the painting.

Whoosh—

As the coin was pressed, the giant portrait transformed into a hidden door that slowly opened.

Behind the door, an entire wall resembled an endless stamp album, neatly arranged with recording pens. Jonathan ran his fingers over the metal devices engraved with brief characters from different countries, his fingertips lingering on the empty space in the very center.

...

In the bathtub, the voice recorders were scattered haphazardly at the bottom, forming a nest.

Similar sound lines collide, refract, and resonate on the cold white porcelain wall, forming a rich and chaotic sound field.

Jonah was immersed in the spoils of war, and the gasps and cries of those who had surrendered to his control could no longer soothe his body or mind.

Whether it's filling the sacred void in one's heart that one cannot obtain, driving away the excited impulses brought on by bipolar disorder, or fighting against the fear of being forced to gag by one's stepfather in childhood and self-loathing...

Everything that was supposed to work, it failed.

A sense of loss and frustration descended like a suffocating shadow, and his movements became increasingly rough and obsessive until the last voice, hoarse from exhaustion, fell silent. Only then did Jonah withdraw his hand in despair.

He hugged himself, drenched in cold sweat, and buried his face deep into his curled-up, exhausted body.

I don't feel anything, I'm doomed.

To maintain his proud voice and the aura of a perfect idol, he strictly adhered to abstaining from smoking and drinking. The game of recording openly was his only effective pastime with guaranteed privacy.

He doesn't know what other ways he can vent his anxiety in the future.

It seems like we're really doomed.

“Ugh…cough…Joe…Na…Xi…”

The butterfly's bones suddenly contracted like flapping wings, then hesitantly unfolded.

Confirming that a sound was coming through the porcelain wall, Jonathan climbed onto the edge of the bathtub, his gaze sweeping over the forearm where awns were beginning to appear, and looking down at the video device on the floor, which seemed to have been on silent mode for half a month.

The camera focused on a large bed. The distance between the chandelier and the bed made it difficult for Jonathan to see the man's expression; he could only make out his movements. The man mumbled Jonathan's name, and then no more words came out.

"Dreaming again, huh? About me, it'll probably just be a nightmare." Jonathan smiled weakly, scratching at a cool, slippery surface with his nails.

A moment later, the man raised his head, put one hand over his eyes, and reached the other hand into the quilt, slowly and continuously moving downwards, until it finally stopped at his waist and hips.

Jonathan's gaze was drawn to the movement, following it downwards and lingering there. The end point reminded him of the eve of New Year's Day, when he explored the unfolded jigsaw puzzle by the hand that brushed against him, the piece of paper that stopped abruptly at the waistline.

The memory alone made Jonathan's throat begin to itch with thirst, and the scene that broke the stillness made his nerves and lower abdomen tighten at the same time... The hand under the quilt actually moved!

Jonathan swallowed hard, rubbed his wet eyes in disbelief, and then opened them wide.

That man who possesses a built-in barrier and controls the whistle seems to be, clearly is...!!!

A muffled, suppressed groan came from the device's speaker. Jonah didn't have time to comment on how well the groan suited his style. Without thinking, he pulled the source of the sound into the bathtub and placed it at the bottom.

Kneeling on the uneven, hard nest, Jonathan used the slight pain to support his palms on either side of the sound source and touched the man's indistinct face amidst the gray-blue noise with his still-healing wounded hands.

Then, slide your finger to increase the volume, amplifying the deep and shallow, hoarse breaths.

Her jagged neck bent down along with her injured left hand. Focused on her ear, her narrow eyes, though tightly closed, still allowed her to vividly see the faint lines between the man's brows, his prominent Adam's apple, the ring that sealed his desires, his well-defined knuckles, and his full, clean fingernails...

"Hmm!"

The man suddenly let out a heavy, low roar, as if he were having a nightmare; the suppressed, hoarse reverberation was tinged with a violent ferocity.

Jonah felt as if a switch had been pressed to trigger empathy, as if he had been struck by a whip in the heart. The shivers on his forearm instantly spread throughout his body, and his blood surged and gathered in his palms.

In a moment of panic, he jumped to the conclusion that the man had discovered the secret hidden in the chandelier.

He managed to regain his focus amidst the swaying light and opened his eyes to look at the source of the sound—

...(More than 300 words omitted here)...

My mind went blank for a long time, and all my senses were reduced to hearing, with the buzzing of bees going on and on.

The waterlogged body swayed precariously, slowly sliding down the side of the bathtub, producing a sluggish, strained sound.

After a while, a series of indistinct murmurs, both crying and laughing, came from the nest—

“I made him break the rule.”