Xiao Wei
After dinner, Xiao Wei shooed Yu Chen to the sofa, and casually pulled the overly long sleeve from her hand, his voice low but with a smile: "Don't tug at my clothes, go sit down, I'm going to take a shower."
The kitchen light went out, leaving only the living room wall lamp, its warm yellow glow like nighttime steeped in pale beer. Yu Chen nestled into the dark gray sofa, enveloped in its soft velvet. A silent commercial played on the television, the screen flickering, but she stared intently at the opposite side—
The white sandbag hung silently, its bottom ten centimeters above the carpet, like a pendulum paused. The air was filled with the lingering aroma of beef bone soup and the steam carried by Xiao Wei as he brushed past her. She raised her hand, rolled up her overly long sleeves to her fingertips, then lowered them, then rolled them up again, like a timer that had lost its rhythm.
The sound of water running could be heard from upstairs.
"Whoosh—"
The first sound of hot water hitting the tiles felt more real than any clock. Yu Chen looked up, her gaze following the sound to the ceiling—a light strip shone below the stair railing, cold and white, like a taut bandage forcibly stitching the two spaces together. The sound of water continued, interspersed with faint, low coughs—the muffled thuds of Xiao Wei burying his face in his hands as he rinsed the water.
She suddenly remembered the metal halide lamp in the boxing gym, just as bright, so bright that it pinned shadows to the mat. But here there was no sweat, no cheers, only the daily routine of one person, softened by the hot water.
The water stopped, and the fan automatically turned on, humming softly. Yu Chen tucked his knees to his chest, but his ears were perked up—
Footsteps echoed upstairs, from the bathroom to the dressing room, then paused as a drawer was pulled open, its wheels making a soft "click" sound; then paused again, followed by the creaking of the wooden floorboards under pressure, all the way to the top of the stairs.
Xiao Wei went downstairs.
She wore a black sleeveless vest, the neckline lower than her training uniform, revealing water droplets clinging to the skin below her collarbone, reddened by the hot water. The loose hem swayed with her steps across her abs, like a flowing dark river in the night. Her hair was half-wet, water dripping from the ends onto her shoulders and neck, then sliding down her chest, leaving a shimmering thin line.
She wore grey athletic shorts with white stripes along the sides, the hem reaching mid-thigh, revealing a faint, old scar on her knee—a mark left by a knee strike during the national finals, like a knife scar dulled by time. She held a towel to dry her hair in one hand, and carried…
Yu Chen's gaze fell on that hand—
Xiao Wei carried her bandage, black, which she had taken off while showering, loosely rolled up like a snakeskin that had just been shed. She walked to the sofa, threw the bandage onto the coffee table, stepped on the edge of the sofa, and nestled next to Yu Chen, the dark gray velvet immediately sinking into an even larger curve.
"Forty degrees Celsius." She turned her head, her voice muffled by the towel covering her mouth. "Two degrees higher than yours, so your hands don't swell."
Yu Chen hummed in agreement, the scent of mint from her recent shower, mixed with a hint of cedar, stronger than before. Her fingers tightened inside her sleeves, but she dared not look up, her gaze fixed on the water droplet sliding down Xiao Wei's calf—
Water droplets grazed the old scars, then the calf muscles, and finally landed on the carpet, silently, like a star that had fallen prematurely.
Xiao Wei draped the towel around her neck and slid down until her shoulder touched Yu Chen's. Two layers of fabric separated them, yet they shared the same body heat. The television commercial ended, the screen flashed blue, projecting their shadows onto the opposite wall—one with knees drawn up, the other leaning back, their shadows strangely overlapping to form a cross, like a referee giving a "rest" gesture.
"Yu Chen," Xiao Wei said, his voice low but damp, "look up."
Yu Chen didn't move. Xiao Wei then reached out, hooked her chin with his index finger, and gently lifted it up—
Under the warm yellow light of the wall lamp, the boy's eyes still held a lingering redness from before his bath, the tip of his nose glistened from the steam, and tiny teeth marks remained on his lips from biting too hard. Xiao Wei pressed his thumb against one of the marks, rubbing it gently, his voice hoarse and soft:
"Still afraid?"
Yu Chen shook her head, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible. Xiao Wei smiled, his palm sliding from her chin to the back of her neck, pressing her against his shoulder—
"Then let's rest for a while."
The television screen flickered from blue to static, the hissing sound like white noise from a corner of a boxing ring. Yu Chen's forehead pressed against Xiao Wei's shoulder and neck, their skin touching, their temperatures mingling—one burning hot, the other slightly cool. She quietly reached out and grasped Xiao Wei's fingertips hanging on the towel, daring only to hold them for a centimeter, yet it felt like grasping a ticket to an unknown arena.
Xiao Wei didn't move, letting her pinch him. After a while, she turned her head and touched Yu Chen's hair crown with her lips, her voice so low it was barely a whisper:
"Ten minutes, then go upstairs to sleep."
"……good."
Outside the window, the first star after the rain lit up, like someone had turned on the alarm bell ahead of time, but was slow to ring it.
Xiao Wei draped the towel over the back of the chair, turned off the wall lamp, leaving only the motion-sensor light at the foot of the stairs. Its cold white light cut a thin line, as if stitching the living room into the night.
"Upstairs." Her voice was low, but still damp from her recent shower. The last syllable brushed against my ear like gauze brushing against it unintentionally.
Yu Chen followed behind, his slippers too big, making a hollow "thump-thump" sound on the wooden stairs, like an amplified heartbeat. The second-floor corridor was short, at the end of which a dark gray door was half-open, with a light strip peeking out from the crack and falling onto the floor like a stretched fluorescent bandage.
Push the door open—
The room was simpler than I had imagined: a floor-to-ceiling window that let in unobstructed moonlight after the rain, turning the floor into a black and white checkerboard pattern. The bed was in the center, low-lying, 1.5 meters high, with gray sheets and two pillows side by side, separated by an obvious dividing line—a black satin eye mask and a half-open copy of "Anatomy of Sports".
“There’s only this one bed.” Xiao Wei leaned against the door frame, his voice drifting in the darkness, with a hint of innocent laughter. “The guest room is piled high with weight plates. If you want to sleep on the floor, you’ll have to move twenty kilograms first.”
Yu Chen's ears instantly turned red, her fingers gripping the overly long sleeves until her knuckles turned white. She lowered her head, pretending to study the texture of the floor, but then she heard Xiao Wei approaching, his slippers making a very light "shh, shh" sound on the carpet, like a feline approaching its prey.
"What are you afraid of?" Xiao Wei stopped in front of her, hooked her chin with his index finger, and brushed his thumb across her still damp lower lip. "Afraid I'll eat you up?"
The light was behind her, her face hidden in shadow, only her eyes reflecting the moonlight, like two obsidian stones polished by rain. Yu Chen was forced to look up, her breathing instantly becoming erratic—the scent of mint mixed with cedar, so close she could count the tiny water droplets still clinging to the other's eyelashes.
“…It’s not fear.” Her voice was hoarse, but stubborn. “It’s the heat.”
Xiao Wei chuckled softly, her chest vibrating against Yu Chen's chest, like a pat on the back of her wildly beating heart. Suddenly, she leaned down, her right hand under her knees and her left hand around her back—a princess carry. Yu Chen gasped, her fingertips instinctively grabbing the fabric of the other's vest at her shoulder. The fabric stretched, revealing the skin below her collarbone, reddened from the hot water.
"Xiao Wei!"
"Here." Xiao Wei responded lightly, took two steps to the bedside, and put the person down—the movement was extremely light, like setting off a grenade with the fuse still attached. The mattress sank, and Yu Chen was completely enveloped in a gray cloud. Just as she was about to turn over, Xiao Wei had already propped himself up on one side of her ear with one hand and taken the black eye mask with the other.
"Put it on?" She shook it, her voice bright and teasing, "So you won't look around."
Yu Chen reached out to push him away, but Xiao Wei grabbed her wrist with his knuckles and pressed it against the pillow. The satin of the blindfold brushed against her eyelids, cool and refreshing, and darkness instantly descended. Deprived of sight, her hearing and touch were amplified—she heard Xiao Wei's breath, so close it felt like it was pressed against her ear; she felt his fingertips slide from her brow to the bridge of her nose, and then to the peak of her lips, as if he were memorizing a map.
In the darkness, the scent of mint swept over—his lips were captured, first gently pressed, then bitten. Xiao Wei's tongue swept across the small cut on Yu Chen's lower lip where the boxing glove had just grazed it, tasting a faint hint of rust, before pulling away slightly, his voice hoarse and sticky:
"sweet."
Yu Chen wanted to retort, but could only gasp for breath. She struggled to free her wrists, the untied ends of the bandages tangling between their fingers like an unbreakable knot. Xiao Wei used his knee to separate her legs, lowering his body with precise control of his weight—like cornering an opponent against the ropes in a match, but not delivering the final blow.
"Yu Chen," she said softly, her breath hot and moist, "did anyone hug you like this at school?"
The question struck Yu Chen like a cold punch, hitting him squarely in the heart. Two faces flashed through Yu Chen's mind—
An Yi's translation, in library A-17, the hourglass pencil marks on the 148-point exam paper;
Sheng Shuo, in the morning mist on the playground, the chronograph dial at 9'48".
She instinctively shook her head, the movement so large it pulled at her blindfold, revealing tiny golden stars in the darkness. At that moment, Xiao Wei released her lips, his fingertips moving behind her ear, gently flicking the silver earring—
"bite."
The extremely faint metallic vibrato sounded like a referee ringing a bell.
"No?" Xiao Wei laughed, his voice getting closer, so close it was deafening. "That would be best."
She suddenly lowered her head and used the tip of her teeth to nibble at Yu Chen's earlobe, like putting a ring on a bird. Yu Chen trembled, her back arched, and her knee struck Xiao Wei's side with a dull thud. The darkness amplified the sensation into a tsunami—she heard her own heartbeat, so fast it seemed about to burst through her ribcage.
"Xiao Wei..." Her voice was moist, like she was begging for mercy, or like she was being coquettish.
"Yes." Xiao Wei responded very softly, but nudged her side with his knee, his voice low and hoarse, "Say it again."
Yu Chen refused, her teeth clenched tightly. Xiao Wei chuckled, his palm slipping under the hem of her T-shirt, his fingertips tracing the hollow of her abs, stopping at the most sensitive rib—a light tickle. Yu Chen arched her back abruptly, tears instantly welling up, sliding down the edge of her blindfold and into her hair like two tiny, hot rivers.
"Should I call out or not?" Xiao Wei used his lips to catch the tear, tasting its salty bitterness, but his voice softened, "Be good, don't hold back."
Yu Chen finally broke down, calling her name with a nasal tone: "Xiao Wei!"
Her voice was hoarse and trembling, the last syllable like ink dripping into water, spreading in circles, softening the darkness. Xiao Wei's heart sank suddenly, as if struck by a silent, heavy punch to her liver; all her frivolous jokes vanished instantly. She ripped off her blindfold, leaned down to kiss Yu Chen's damp eyes, her lips as light as if afraid to shatter a layer of mist: "Okay, okay, stop it, I was wrong." Why is she crying again…
She turned to the side, pressing Yu Chen into the crook of her shoulder, her palm against her thin back, gently stroking it like smoothing the bristling fur of a frightened cat. A muffled sob escaped her neck, carrying the stubborn nasal tone of a young boy, but she no longer struggled; her fingers gripped the hem of her vest tightly, her knuckles white, as if clinging to the last piece of driftwood.
Outside the window, the first star after the rain lit up, and the moonlight pinned two overlapping shadows to the wall—one trembling slightly, the other silently embracing, like the referee finally giving the "rest" gesture after the game, but no one was willing to leave the field.
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