Are there any rules we need to abide by when we live together? ...
Wen Zichuan looked up at him and asked, "Can I do anything?"
Cheng Sizhou laughed heartlessly: "...We can't go clubbing in the middle of the night. The old man downstairs has a heart disease."
"What else?"
"Then tell me, what do you want to do?"
"When I shared a house with colleagues before, they would have some requirements."
"for example?"
"One is on a diet, and the others can't eat at night."
"You eat yours, and he starves his."
"He said the smell made him uncomfortable."
So this fool is going hungry every day just to accommodate others?
To be fair, Cheng Sizhou is quite disgusted by this kind of thing. It's everyone's first time as a human being, so why should they be spoiled?
Seeing his thoughts written all over his face, Wen Zichuan wanted to laugh: "So let's make an agreement first, so as to avoid unpleasantness later."
"No problem, then let's make three rules?" Cheng Sizhou pretended to be serious.
"Okay, go ahead and talk. I'm listening." Wen Zichuan nodded seriously.
"First, eat on time."
"……good."
"Second, go to bed on time."
"Um."
"Third, don't refuse my kindness."
Cheng Sizhou looked at him with a scrutinizing look in his eyes, and they both remembered at the same time that he had made noodles that he didn't eat, that he had bought medicine that he had paid for, and that he had paid for his transportation, medical expenses, and snacks.
Wen Zichuan didn't want to owe anyone anything, but Brother Zhou was no longer considered "someone else" to him. Although he couldn't find the right words to describe their relationship, at least they were friends who could talk to each other.
He was thinking about the wording of his reply when he was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
They both had the same phone model, and both had the default ringtone. Cheng Sizhou confirmed it before saying, "Oh, mine."
The call was from a senior brother from the calligraphy and painting group next door. Because Mr. Jiang used to be engaged in calligraphy and painting restoration, before he retired, this senior brother would come to the ceramics group whenever he had time, and was very attentive to Mr. Jiang and asked him about his well-being.
Cheng Sizhou was rude and said that they were all senior brothers, Yu Ming was the legitimate son, and this one was the illegitimate son, and in his eyes there was a world of difference between them.
"It's so hot, what are all these people doing here? I see you're not here to see the cultural relics, you're just curious about that, that rich returning female. Okay, okay, I've already taken a leave, don't count me in."
Straight men are really annoying. If you say she is a folk collector, they are not interested. But if you say she is a rich female returnee, a bunch of people will rush to join in the fun.
Cheng Sizhou hung up the phone and continued to say to Wen Zichuan: "It's your turn. What do you want?"
Wen Zichuan ate the watermelon in his hand and said with his head down, "I don't have anything... Oh, by the way, when I was sharing a house with someone before, we had an unwritten agreement, so let's copy it here."
"What agreement?"
"If you have a girlfriend, you are not allowed to bring her home to spend the night."
"Okay! No problem!"
Cheng Sizhou replied in seconds, even quicker than Cheetos.
Despite his smile, he felt a pity deep down. Zichuan, like his colleagues and friends, was unaware of his sexual orientation. However, Cheng Sizhou wasn't ready to reveal the truth. Think about it, who would believe a gay man who invited another man to live with him and said he had no ulterior motives?
He felt sorry for Wen Zichuan and wanted to be nice to him, even as friends.
As for the future, let's leave it to fate.
That night, they had dinner together at home.
Cheng Sizhou wasn't particularly good at cooking Fengbo's dishes, so thinking that Wen Zichuan's stomach problems needed to be treated, he picked some fresh vegetables and cooked some light, home-cooked meals. Wen Zichuan ate happily and even washed the dishes afterward.
When the people just moved in, Cheng Sizhou fully demonstrated his sense of ownership. He demonstrated in detail how to use various facilities and told them where the shared items were placed.
Wen Zichuan packed up his things and took a shower. After that, he walked up to him with wet hair.
"Oh, the hair dryer is in the drawer under the TV cabinet."
"Thank you, Brother Zhou."
The tone of his thanks was cute and soft, and Cheng Sizhou once again caught that special ending tone in his pleasant voice. If he had to use a metaphor, it was a bit like the feeling of a cat's paw rubbing against the sand of corrugated paper, which was very tickling.
Especially, the character "哥" in "周哥".
The hair dryer hummed, filling the room with a refreshing minty scent. Wen Zichuan squinted his eyes as the hot wind blew through his hair. His thin young body was shrouded in a loose white round-neck short-sleeved shirt, and because he raised one arm, half of his collarbone was exposed on the other side.
Looking at this scene for too long makes you want to commit a crime.
Cheng Sizhou thought that he must hide his desire for the other person's body. They have a long time to live together, and he can't be tempted by her beauty every day. If he can see her but can't eat her, wouldn't he suffocate to death?
Furthermore, Dr. Cheng had told him that his sexual orientation was innate and could not be changed. He was stuck in the mud and was getting dirty, so at least he should not drag other people's children into it.
He dared not forget what he had promised his father at any time.
Cheng Sizhou suppressed the chaotic thoughts that surged within him, poured a basin of hot water onto the coffee table, and tested the temperature. It was a bit scalding. He soaked a towel in it, scooped it up, and wrung it dry. Seeing that Wen Zichuan had finished blowing his hair, he invited him to come sit down.
"Come, sit down and give me your hand."
Wen Zichuan obeyed and stretched out his hand in front of him.
Cheng Sizhou covered his forearm with a hot towel and massaged the meridians from the elbow to the inside of the wrist with moderate pressure.
"What is this for?"
"You carried heavy things during the day. If I don't give you a massage, your arms will hurt when you go to sleep."
Wen Zichuan stopped talking and let him press the left side and then the right side. The rising steam clouded his vision. He looked at the man beside him who lowered his head to massage him, and his thoughts drifted farther and farther away.
"Brother Zhou."
"Um?"
"If I hadn't moved in, would you have found someone else to share the apartment with?"
"I guess so. It would be a waste for one person to live in such a big house."
"If it were someone else, would you do the same?"
"It depends on what kind of person it is," Cheng Sizhou said, his chest congested, and he started talking nonsense again. "What if it's a muscular man who can beat ten of me? I won't bother with that."
Wen Zichuan could tell that the first two times he met him, he looked sick, and Cheng Sizhou felt sorry for him and took care of him and treated him well out of sympathy.
Voice actors are also actors, so what's so difficult about pretending to be weak? But what he wants is not for Cheng Sizhou to share some of his enthusiasm and kindness with him from his bright and noble personality. He has just finished dubbing "Hao Xue Xing Ge", and they cannot go to the tragic ending of Wen Hao and Chu Xingge.
In mid-August, a typhoon passed through.
A howling wind ripped through the tall buildings, and upon waking, the ground was littered with fallen branches and withered flowers. For days, torrential rain and seawater backflow had severely impacted the city's underground pipe network, and the stagnant water everywhere emanated the smell of stale decay.
It was raining heavily at night. Cheng Sizhou was about to go to bed when he vaguely heard some movement in the living room.
"Zichuan, what's wrong with you?" He opened the door and saw a figure pacing back and forth in the dim ambient light.
"I... I'm fine." Wen Zichuan turned around and raised the water cup in his hand, "I'm thirsty, come out and drink some water."
"Why don't you turn on the light?" Cheng Sizhou walked to the wall. "The switch is here."
"No, don't open it." Wen Zichuan said.
Cheng Sizhou saw that he had his back to him and was drinking water one sip after another, pouring another after finishing one glass.
The boiled water in the kettle was prepared before going to bed, so it's normal to drink water when he wakes up at night, but the way he drinks it... won't he get water poisoning?
He couldn't see Wen Zichuan's condition clearly, but he vaguely felt that something was wrong.
"Zichuan?"
Wen Zichuan didn't answer. He continued to drink water and took deep breaths.
The sound of his inhalation and exhalation was so heavy that it could not even cover up the sudden rain knocking on the window. He seemed to be using some kind of self-suggestion psychotherapy to prolong his breathing, but he appeared extremely restrained.
"Zichuan!"
When Cheng Sizhou ran over, a word popped up in his mind: stress response.
The Lantern Museum has held a popular science exhibition, explaining that animals experience stress responses when their living environment changes or they face significant threats. Human stress responses manifest as sympathetic nervous system excitement, increased hormone secretion, and accelerated heart rate and breathing.
He stepped forward and held Wen Zichuan's arm: "Are you feeling uncomfortable somewhere?"
"Don't touch me...don't touch me!" Wen Zichuan retracted his arm and rejected his physical contact.
"I won't touch you. I'll step back. Don't be nervous." Cheng Sizhou returned to the room in the dark, found a night light, adjusted the light to the dimmest level, and placed it on the corner of the dining table against the wall.
The headlights are too dazzling, but they don't give any light at all and are easy to bump into.
"Go back to sleep, I'm fine." Wen Zichuan's voice trembled a little, "Let me be alone for a while."
He felt bad for waking Cheng Sizhou up in the middle of the night. In fact, as long as he could fall asleep and the rain stopped tomorrow morning, everything would be fine. But the rain was so heavy tonight, as if the sky was leaking and it kept raining.
He has been like this since he was a child, unable to sleep due to the sound of rain.
Cheng Sizhou knew that stress is usually a psychological problem and it is better to relieve it than to block it. So he found two cushions, placed one near the dining table and the other behind the sofa. Then he sat down on the sofa, two or three meters away, and tried to find topics to chat with Wen Zichuan.
Wen Zichuan held the water cup and sat down cross-legged like him.
When two people bend down, the dining table, sofa and wall form a small enclosed space, which, coupled with the soft light of the night light, creates a comforting feeling.
"I heard that being closer to the ground makes you feel more at ease. Do you feel better?" Cheng Sizhou asked.
"Much better." Wen Zichuan lowered his voice, "I'm sorry to trouble you again."
Cheng Sizhou stretched his legs and put on a casual, casual tone, "Hey, after Zhou Yitang moved out, no one bothered me anymore. I'm not used to it."
"Don't comfort me, I know you mean well."
"Zichuan, have you ever heard that people living in this world actually need a sense of connection?"
"A sense of connection?"
"People like me, almost 30, single, with a monotonous job, few friends and no social life, sometimes feel like I lack connection with the world."
"How could that be? People who work with cultural relics must know a lot about history, so their connection to the world should be deeper."
"The people who could have used those artifacts are no longer with us. When I was little, I often wondered what it was like after death. Did they really go to heaven and watch over those who came after them? Only when I grew up did I realize that when we die, we have no connection or ties to the world anymore."
There was a rumble of thunder in the sky, and the sound of the heavy rain changed its rhythm, like drum music turning into a slow tempo, dripping softly, and it was probably about to stop.
"Brother Zhou, do you want to hear my childhood story?"
"I'd like to hear more about it."
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