To hide his foolish smile, Xie Quan coughed twice and quickly changed the subject.
“Last night… what happened afterward?”
Lu Nanyang let out a sigh.
“You passed out and scared the hell out of me. We were stuck in the elevator, and the phone wasn’t working—I couldn’t do anything but panic. Luckily, the power came back on soon, and a bunch of repair workers came with all kinds of tools to fix things. They wanted to send you to the hospital, but I checked and saw your breathing was steady, no fever, probably just exhaustion. So I brought you home.”
…Oh.
That probably explained the high-tech weapons from his dream.
“You were right. No need for a hospital,” Xie Quan said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“My body’s fine—it’s just some nasty withdrawal symptoms.”
“Withdrawal symptoms?” Lu Nanyang caught on and hesitated.
“You…”
“Thanks to you, I’ve completely stopped the meds these past few days.” Xie Quan squinted at him.
“The psychiatric hospital should build you a statue—‘Anti-Drug Ambassador, King of Withdrawal.’”
Lu Nanyang looked uneasy.
“The bottle I threw out…”
“It was the last safety net I left for myself,” Xie Quan said sarcastically. “And now, thanks to you, everything’s been stripped away.”
“Come on, how is that fair? I’m the one who got stripped, okay?” Lu Nanyang complained. “It’s been days, and I still can’t sit on a hard bench.”
Xie Quan burst out laughing at the lewd remark, but the laughter quickly turned into coughing. He bent forward and dry-heaved a few times.
Lu Nanyang hurriedly brought over a basin and gently patted his back.
Xie Quan spat out a mouthful of bitter bile and pushed his hand away. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”
Lu Nanyang frowned.
“How will it pass? You haven’t taken any meds at all recently? I heard during withdrawal, you’re supposed to take some non-addictive alternatives to ease the symptoms…”
“I know,” Xie Quan cut in plainly.
“Couldn’t be bothered.”
As a medical student, of course he knew. Prescribing something like paroxetine, fluvoxamine, or even some non-addictive traditional meds could help with the symptoms.
But he just didn’t see the point.
Over the years, no matter what he took, it only temporarily eased the symptoms. Once he stopped, the backlash would hit fast and hard—sometimes even worse than before.
In the end, he didn’t think his broken body and mind were worth investing so much money and energy into maintaining. From any angle, it felt like a losing battle.
He had ultimately chosen long-term heavy use of diazepam because it worked fast and directly.
Whether it caused addiction or worsened his condition—he didn’t care anymore.
Lu Nanyang pulled out a tissue from the table, lifted Xie Quan’s chin, and gently wiped the mess from the corners of his mouth. When Xie Quan tried to turn his head away, Lu Nanyang grabbed his chin to stop him.
Lu Nanyang rarely acted this assertively. That usually meant he was being very serious.
“There’s something I’ve always been curious about,” Lu Nanyang asked.
“Why did you choose to study medicine? Things like computer science, finance, or design all pay better. Medicine’s hard—requires a high degree, it’s exhausting and thankless. Just doesn’t seem like something someone like you would choose.”
Xie Quan smiled faintly and, after a moment of thought, said, “It’s about control, I guess.”
“Control?”
“Once you study medicine, you understand how the human body works,” Xie Quan said. “How blood flows, how nerves transmit signals, how every muscle and every organ functions. When someone is lying in front of me, the knowledge I’ve stored in my brain tells me both how to heal them—and how to kill them.”
He gave a faint smile. “All fear comes from the unknown. Once you understand enough, you can control it. And once you’re in control, there’s nothing left to be afraid of.”
It really was a very Xie Quan kind of answer.
No wonder he always looked frail, but never lost his footing in a physical confrontation. He knew exactly where to exert force to pin someone down effectively.
Lu Nanyang looked down at him. Xie Quan probably wasn’t used to being stared at like this—he frowned uncomfortably but didn’t look away.
“I think you’re right. A lot of the things we’re afraid of are only scary because we don’t understand them. Once we do, we realize they’re not that terrifying after all.”
Lu Nanyang lowered his head, resting his forehead gently against Xie Quan’s, whose glasses slid slightly down with the motion, revealing misty gray eyes beneath.
“Xie Quan, do you understand yourself?” he asked softly.
Xie Quan froze for a second, then instinctively tried to object, “I don’t—”
“You’re scared,” Lu Nanyang interrupted. “You’re scared of exposing your messiness. You’re scared of losing control of your negative emotions. You’re scared of people seeing your wounds. You’re terrified of yourself.”
Xie Quan pressed his lips together.
“You’re afraid,” Lu Nanyang said gently, “because you don’t understand yourself. So why not try to understand yourself a little more?”
Xie Quan slapped his hand away. “Stop pretending you know me so well. How could I not understand myself? I know better than anyone exactly what kind of person I am.”
This world runs on equal exchange—benefit for benefit, sincerity for sincerity.
Hypocrisy might get you benefits, but never true affection. That’s the rule of society. He understood that all too well.
So he knew better than anyone that he didn’t deserve love. He wasn’t someone worthy of being taken seriously.
People liked him, sure—but they liked the gentle, elegant, perfect version of him. Not the disheveled wreck who needed high doses of medication just to barely get through the day.
“No, I don’t think you understand yourself enough,” Lu Nanyang said, leaning in even closer, his expression deadly serious.
His movements held no lust—only emphasis. He wasn’t even aware he was closing the distance between them.
But it was too close. Xie Quan could see every single eyelash on Lu Nanyang’s face, and in those dark eyes underneath, a deep, focused gaze.
This man, when he gets serious, is so fucking sexy.
Xie Quan couldn’t help but raise his hand to bite his nails. “Why?”
Lu Nanyang caught the restless hand and pressed it against the bed. “If you truly understood yourself, you’d know that no trait exists with only flaws and no merits. And there’s no person who’s only meant to be hated and not loved.”
Xie Quan looked at him but couldn’t say a word. In that instant, his heart tingled like electricity had surged through it, and yet he also felt a strange irritation from being seen through so clearly.
“So the way you treat yourself—it’s not fair to the people who love you,” Lu Nanyang said softly. “Do it for them—give yourself a chance to get to know yourself a little better, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
Warm breaths mingled in the tight space between them, and Xie Quan felt the skin where he was touched steadily heating up.
Damn Lu Nanyang.
He hadn’t even said anything directly, yet every word was laced with flirtation.
You couldn’t even tell if he was giving a heartfelt lecture or making a love confession.
Xie Quan couldn’t take it anymore and pushed him away. “Alright, I get it.”
Only then did Lu Nanyang smile in satisfaction and back off a little. “I’ll go to the pharmacy and get you some meds. You know what you need, right?”
Xie Quan narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a while before responding with a quiet “Mm.” “I’ll tell you, you better take notes.”
Lu Nanyang opened his phone’s notes app and jotted down the long, complicated names Xie Quan listed. After typing the last one, Xie Quan suddenly fell silent. Lu Nanyang lifted his head and looked at him. “That’s all?”
“There’s one more.” Xie Quan leaned back lazily on the cushion and beckoned to him with a finger. “Come closer. I’ll tell you.”
Lu Nanyang looked confused, but still complied.
Just as he bent down, Xie Quan suddenly hooked an arm around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.
His lips were burning hot. His tongue slipped in like a playful little fish, prying open Lu Nanyang’s mouth and roaming freely—everywhere it touched felt like fire, sparking every nerve.
Lu Nanyang stumbled a bit, bracing himself with one hand beside Xie Quan’s ear. The person beneath him only deepened the kiss further and slid a hand playfully down his neck.
That hand easily unfastened a button on his shirt and brushed lightly over the skin near his collarbone.
Xie Quan’s fingers were slender and long, nails smoothly trimmed, fingertips soft to the touch—enough to make goosebumps rise. His hand slid slowly down Lu Nanyang’s chest, dancing over his stomach like a dragonfly skimming water.
Everywhere it passed, sparks ignited. And Lu Nanyang, like a pile of dry wood, only needed a tiny flame to catch fire entirely.
But clearly, Xie Quan’s body couldn’t handle such an inferno right now.
Lu Nanyang finally couldn’t take it. He grabbed the mischievous hand and, suppressing the heat building dangerously in his lower belly, glared at him. “Xie Quan, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“What else?” Xie Quan looked at him with a grin, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I just love seeing that look on your face—like you’re dying to fuck me senseless but still have to hold yourself back.”
