Lu Nanyang walked over and grabbed Xie Quan’s wrist.
Sure enough, the mark on his forearm was a bite. A hard one, judging by the way blood was streaming from the wound down to his elbow.
“You—” Lu Nanyang had just opened his mouth to ask what was going on when Xie Quan suddenly wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him with fiery passion—like someone dying of thirst in a desert finally finding water, greedily trying to suck out every drop.
Lu Nanyang was dragged down onto the bed, nearly collapsing on top of Xie Quan.
The air was thick with chaotic scents—cigarette smoke, iron from the blood, and a faint, secretive musk.
Lu Nanyang snatched the nearly burned-out cigarette from between Xie Quan’s fingers and extinguished it in the glass of water on the nightstand. He panted as he looked down at the man beneath him—and the obvious bulge beneath Xie Quan’s waist.
Lu Nanyang felt his throat go dry, like something was brushing against it from the inside.
“You lit my cigarettes and rubbed yourself on my clothes?” he said, locking Xie Quan’s wrists.
He looked just like a cat in heat.
Xie Quan let out a desperate sound and instinctively arched his hips. His gray eyes were hazy, as if he couldn’t even understand what Lu Nanyang was saying anymore. “Nanyang…”
Lu Nanyang’s grip tightened slightly, causing dark red blood to seep from the wound again. “What happened to you?”
The sting made Xie Quan flinch, but it didn’t bring him back to his senses. Instead, he clung tighter to Lu Nanyang’s waist.
With his uninjured hand, he grabbed Lu Nanyang’s hand and guided it down to his obvious bulge, pleading softly, “Nanyang, touch me… hurry…”
Lu Nanyang’s brain exploded like a firework.
Something wasn’t right with Xie Quan.
These weren’t words he would say when he was sober.
But…
Lu Nanyang followed his movement and stroked him. Xie Quan immediately let out a long, drawn-out moan. Even his closest classmates would never have imagined such a sound could come from his mouth.
Sultry. Indulgent. Like a siren luring sailors to their doom.
“Nanyang…”
Hearing his name spoken in that tone was pure torment.
Lu Nanyang pressed his other hand over Xie Quan’s mouth and held him like a child in his arms. The position made it easy to move and also allowed him to kiss the back of Xie Quan’s neck.
The heat and hardness in his hand contrasted starkly with the weak, sweat-drenched body in his arms.
Xie Quan didn’t last long before letting out a high-pitched moan and closing his eyes in Lu Nanyang’s embrace.
Lu Nanyang reached for some tissues from the side to wipe his hands, noticing at the same time that Xie Quan’s expression didn’t relax at all—in fact, it became even more pained. Like a fish out of water, he clung to his shoulder, panting rapidly.
Then it hit him—he’d seen this look on Xie Quan before, on that stormy night with sudden thunder and rain.
It all made sense now.
Xie Quan was trying to relieve his withdrawal symptoms through pain and sexual release.
But this didn’t solve the root of the problem. It was just like drinking poison to quench thirst.
“Wait here.” Lu Nanyang gently stroked the back of Xie Quan’s neck to soothe him, then got up and left the room.
When he came back, he was carrying a first-aid kit.
But he didn’t see Xie Quan—only a lump under the covers.
Xie Quan had wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, back facing him, curling up so that even his face and injured arm were hidden away.
At first glance, it might seem like he was just asleep. But looking closely, the blanket was trembling ever so slightly.
“Xie Quan, come out. I need to dress your wound.” Lu Nanyang sighed.
“No need.” Xie Quan’s voice was hoarse, his throat dry. “I’m tired. Let me sleep for a bit. Just go.”
His tone was cold, with no trace left of the sensual atmosphere from earlier.
It was as if he had drawn a boundary with the blanket, building a protective shell around himself, trying to block out everything outside. As if that could somehow preserve the last scraps of dignity he had already lost.
“Xie Quan…” Lu Nanyang frowned.
“I can handle it myself!” Xie Quan raised his voice, sounding frighteningly hoarse. “Just leave me alone for a while. I can do it on my own.”
“No.” Lu Nanyang firmly refused, but he didn’t move closer. Instead, he set the first aid kit on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. “The wound on your hand is pretty deep. It needs to be bandaged. Or do you think you’re in any condition to do it properly yourself?”
There was no response from under the blanket.
Lu Nanyang exhaled softly and said in a low voice, “Xie Quan, I just want to bandage your wound. I won’t ask anything, won’t do anything extra. You don’t even need to come out — just give me your hand. Is that okay?”
No one responded for a long while. The room was so quiet you could only hear the wind and birds outside the window.
Lu Nanyang didn’t move. He just waited patiently. After a while, Xie Quan’s hand emerged from the gap in the blanket — pale and slender, the wound on the wrist still bleeding slightly, leaving a string of jarring, mottled bloodstains on the bedding.
Lu Nanyang let out a breath of relief, picked up the first aid kit, walked to the other side of the bed, and squatted down. He took out bandages and antiseptic, then carefully disinfected the wound.
Seeing the exposed flesh and bite marks made Lu Nanyang’s heart clench.
This guy was way too harsh on himself. The wound was so deep, it was hard to imagine how much force he used when he bit himself.
After disinfecting, Lu Nanyang began wrapping the bandage around the wound, loop by loop. He didn’t have much technique, but his strength was solid. Even if it didn’t look neat, it was tight enough not to fall off.
As he wrapped, Xie Quan’s voice came muffled from under the blanket, dry and hoarse: “I don’t want you to see my face like this…”
“Shh,” Lu Nanyang said. “Don’t talk. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
And just like he promised, he didn’t say another word from start to finish.
Xie Quan lay under the blanket. The warm breath he exhaled came back at him, wrapping around his body. His vision was obscured, so he simply closed his eyes.
Everything was overwhelmingly quiet. Though the air still held a lingering, ambiguous scent, it had already cooled down.
All he could feel was the sting on his arm, the pressure of the bandage, and the occasional brush of Lu Nanyang’s fingertips.
Before long, he heard the snip of scissors cutting the bandage. Then Lu Nanyang gently placed his arm down.
“All done. Doesn’t look great, but it’ll stop the bleeding. If you don’t like it, fix it yourself when you feel better.”
Xie Quan didn’t reply, but something in Lu Nanyang’s low, soft voice made his tightly wound nerves slowly relax.
“The diazepam you gave me before—I didn’t throw it away. It’s in the cabinet next to the water dispenser in the dining room—”
“Don’t tell me!” Xie Quan suddenly cut him off, voice shaking. “I don’t need to know. Don’t tell me.”
Lu Nanyang fell silent for a moment. “How many days has it been since you took your meds?”
He hadn’t taken a single pill since he left this apartment. Even Xie Quan himself had lost track of how many days it had been.
Five… seven? Every day felt like the end of the world—long and agonizing.
He heard Lu Nanyang sigh, then felt a hand holding his injured hand.
That hand felt just like he remembered—long, dry fingers, slight calluses in the palms, maybe from military training. But it was always warm, making someone like him, cold-blooded as he was, instinctively crave it.
“Xie Quan, let me see you. Please?”
He let out a sound so soft it was barely audible even to himself, yet somehow Lu Nanyang understood.
There was a soft rustling sound, then the blanket covering him was gently lifted.
Sweaty bangs clung to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. Lu Nanyang leaned in and gently tucked the hair behind Xie Quan’s ear with his index finger.
They rarely looked at each other from such close distance. Xie Quan’s gaze was drawn to Lu Nanyang’s eyes, unable to look away.
His eyes were serious and focused—not mocking, not pitying, not sympathetic—but filled with something Xie Quan couldn’t decipher.
Then he understood.
Because in his entire life, no one had ever looked at him like this before.
Fervent, burning, yet so composed and focused. Those deep black pupils held nothing but his reflection, as if looking at him was the most important thing in the world.
“Xie Quan, it’s okay not to do everything perfectly.” Lu Nanyang spoke slowly, making sure every word was heard clearly. “It’s okay if you can’t quit all at once. It’s okay if you fail and try again. It’s okay to show your weakness. None of that is a big deal. You don’t need to trade perfection for anything—at least not with me.”
He smiled, then said softly, “No matter what you’re like, you’re still my boyfriend.”
Looking into his eyes, Xie Quan realized that his withdrawal hadn’t been successful at all.
His addiction had quietly shifted—from medication to Lu Nanyang.
