After Lu Nanyang left, the apartment felt unusually empty.
Despite living here for quite a while, Xie Quan realized he’d never really taken the time to observe the space. Maybe it was because he spent most of his time buried in his work or holed up in his room preparing for his research—he rarely looked up to take in his surroundings.
He slowly sat up in bed, slipped on a jacket, and walked out of the bedroom.
For its price range, this apartment was fairly spacious. There was a living room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. But the wear and tear showed—cracks lined the walls, and he’d previously noticed signs of water leakage on the bathroom ceiling.
Yet despite the old structure, the place felt thoroughly lived-in. Two throw pillows lay in a messy sprawl on the couch, crumbs of potato chips scattered across the coffee table. Sunlight poured in through the window, casting long rays across the kitchen floor. An empty takeout box with leftover scraps still sat on the dining table, chopsticks resting haphazardly on top. It must’ve been what he ate in a rush the night before.
Lu Nanyang—the young master of the Lu family—had been living in this cheap apartment all this time. Xie Quan had seen firsthand how generously he spent when treating friends to meals, yet here he was, enduring such living conditions for himself.
Most of that money probably wasn’t from the Lu family. He’d earned it through his own hard work.
What a self-sacrificing idiot. Completely incomprehensible.
Xie Quan grabbed a cloth from the kitchen, swept the chip crumbs off the table, tossed the takeout box into the trash, and took the chopsticks to the sink. Then he washed the pile of dishes stacked inside.
Cool water flowed down, soaking his hands and swirling into the bowls. Xie Quan cleaned each dish efficiently. The translucent porcelain shone in the sunlight, gleaming like glass.
It was probably the first time he’d ever done the dishes at Lu Nanyang’s place. They rarely cooked together. Usually, they ate separately—or Xie Quan would cook, and Lu Nanyang would clean up.
Xie Quan had always hated doing dishes. Back when Xie Yuanqiang ruled the house, dishwashing had been one of his daily chores. He didn’t mind doing it when he was the one cooking, but washing dishes at someone else’s house? Not a chance.
But today, he hadn’t even thought about it. He just… did it. Naturally, effortlessly.
When he went to rinse the cloth in the bathroom, he suddenly realized why.
There were two toothbrush cups next to the sink. One belonged to Lu Nanyang. The other was new.
It was a sky-blue plastic cup, the handle shaped like a small, curved whale. Inside stood an unopened toothbrush, still wrapped in its packaging, standing upright and quiet.
That meant his luggage was still in the hotel room. Lu Nanyang was actually thoughtful enough to take care of this. When had he bought it? Was it last night, when he fainted?
Or… was it even earlier than that?
Lu Nanyang’s toothbrush was red, and the one he bought for Xie Quan matched the cup—it was blue. Xie Quan couldn’t help but reach out and nudge the blue toothbrush, and the heads of the two brushes gently touched.
One on the left, one on the right. They looked like a couple kissing.
At that moment, Xie Quan realized—everything had changed.
This apartment was no longer just Lu Nanyang’s. It had become their apartment.
It was the place where the two of them would live together from now on.
When he looked into the mirror, Xie Quan noticed there was a smile on his lips. He didn’t even know when it had appeared, but it had been there for quite a while.
Just as he was about to wash the cloth and wipe down the sink, his throat suddenly itched, and he had to bend over and cough violently.
A familiar, intense suffocating sensation stretched from his chest to his throat—like a swarm of ants crawling through his body. That maddening sting and itch spread through his limbs in an instant.
The world spun around him. Xie Quan staggered and hit the doorframe, dry-heaving several times without bringing anything up. His stomach spasmed violently, as if trying to expel all his internal organs.
The withdrawal symptoms came without warning, like a sudden flood overwhelming the banks. His vision darkened, and the knuckles of the hand gripping the doorframe turned pale from the strain.
He had promised Lu Nanyang. He couldn’t let things spiral like they used to.
It’s fine. Just hold on. It’ll pass.
He’d been through so much filth and misery and hadn’t been defeated. He wasn’t going to lose to a few pills.
But… Lu Nanyang wasn’t here now.
Earlier, he’d handed over four bottles of pills. Lu Nanyang wouldn’t have just thrown them all away after he left, right?
They had to still be somewhere in the apartment…
Xie Quan’s eyes immediately fell on the cabinet in the dining area—the one where the medicine had been kept.
If he remembered correctly, that’s where Lu Nanyang had put the pills.
One bottle had already been opened, and he’d taken about half of it.
If he took just a few now, no one would know.
Smack—Xie Quan suddenly slapped his own right wrist with his left hand.
Back to the room. Go to sleep. There’s no medicine in there. Not anymore.
Lu Nanyang would be back soon. He’d gone out to get different medication.
Even Xie Quan himself didn’t realize just how against his nature this level of restraint was—forcing himself to suppress his urges when no one was watching. It was unthinkable. The old him would’ve laughed at the idea.
Lu Nanyang had nothing to offer, yet like a fool, he always gave his full heart.
Xie Quan didn’t want to let down that burning, beating heart again.
Click—he locked himself in the room and slumped slowly to the floor against the door.
Cold sweat poured from his forehead, soaking his hair, making the strands stick wetly to his skin. His breathing was fast and hot, his chest tight and painful, as if every breath carried fire.
For some reason, the memory of Lu Nanyang’s kiss before he left rose in his mind.
He remembered the softness of those lips, the heat of Lu Nanyang’s breath in his ear, and the hardness he had felt when he’d raised his knee to touch that spot.
Two entirely different kinds of desire tangled violently inside him, roaring in his chest.
When Lu Nanyang had asked if there were any pills left, he had pulled him down into a kiss.
In that moment, he knew more clearly than ever—there was another kind of cure. One that was quick, free, and just as effective…
Xie Quan dragged himself toward the bed, resting his sweat-drenched forehead against the edge.
But this was his own room. The sheets smelled of cold alcohol and mint—no trace of Lu Nanyang.
He bit down hard on the sheets, letting out a muffled whimper.
He didn’t even have the strength to crawl to Lu Nanyang’s room anymore.
He needed Lu Nanyang’s scent.
Now. Immediately. Desperately.
Frantically scanning the room, his eyes finally landed on a jacket draped over a chair.
It was the one Lu Nanyang had worn in the elevator last night. Maybe it was damp with sweat and he’d tossed it there without thinking.
Xie Quan grabbed the jacket and hugged it to his chest, burying his face in the fabric and taking a deep breath.
That faint, familiar scent filled his nostrils. A rush of heat twisted through his abdomen like a snake.
But it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
Every cell in his body screamed for it, the craving tearing him apart.
He pressed his forehead to the lining of the jacket and rubbed against it. Thud—something fell out of the pocket.
It was a pack of cigarettes. About five or six left inside.
Maybe because his sense of taste had dulled, Xie Quan often felt like his sense of smell was sharper than most people’s. Right now, just the faint whiff from the box was enough for him to recognize it—it was the same brand Lu Nanyang always smoked.
The one that left a light lemon scent lingering on him.
Xie Quan felt the tightness in his pants grow unbearable. Any movement made the fabric pull taut against his skin, making him ache.
He turned over, curled up with the jacket, and used his teeth to pull a cigarette from the pack. Then he reached into the same pocket and found a lighter, lighting the cigarette between his lips.
Xie Quan didn’t really know how to smoke, so he just held it between his teeth, eyes half-closed, watching the smoke curl upward and fade into the hazy border between objects.
The tobacco smell made him cough a little, but he lowered his head again, rubbing his cheek against Lu Nanyang’s jacket. Then his hand moved downward to unbutton his pants.
It had clearly started as an act of restraint against the drugs, yet now it had turned into another kind of indulgence.
……
Lu Nanyang came back a bit later than expected—first, he had taken a call from Lu Zhanlei, and second, none of the nearby pharmacies had one of the medications Xie Quan had written down for him. He had to rent a shared bike and ride to a pharmacy farther away just to get it.
On his way back, he decided to pick up a serving of wontons, thinking that maybe a change of flavor would make it easier for Xie Quan to eat.
…Even though he couldn’t taste anything, maybe the sense of ritual would help?
Using his foot to push open the door, Lu Nanyang casually tossed the keys into the shoe cabinet drawer. “Xie Quan, I’m back.”
But the apartment was silent. No response.
Lu Nanyang’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly set the things down on the table, swapped into his indoor slippers in record time, and rushed inside. “Xie Quan?”
Still no answer, but the door to the north bedroom was open.
“Xie Quan? Are you there? Xie—”
The second half of the sentence died in his throat as he pushed the door open and saw the scene before him:
Xie Quan was curled up on the bed, lying on top of his jacket. His hair was soaked with sweat, and like a small animal, he was nuzzling the fabric with his cheek. He had a cigarette between his teeth—the brand Lu Nanyang usually smoked. The room was filled with swirling smoke, making everything hazy and unclear.
His long fingers were hidden below his waist, moving rhythmically. His gray eyes shimmered with a watery glaze—it was obvious what he was doing with just one look.
He was slower to react than usual. After a few seconds, he slowly lifted his head and looked at Lu Nanyang standing at the door. He raised a hand and gently bit the edge of his thumbnail.
That movement revealed a bite mark on his forearm—deep enough that it was bleeding slowly.
“Why are you just standing there?” Xie Quan’s voice was hoarse and seductive. “Nanyang, come help me.”
