Chapter 3: Like

The smoke hit his windpipe hard, triggering a violent cough. Ren Yu cursed inwardly as alarm bells went off in his head.

Fang Yingli wore that all-knowing, leisurely look again, and it inexplicably stoked a deep-seated irritation in Ren Yu.

“No. That’s all I’ve got.” Ren Yu’s voice had gone hoarse. “Giving people used things, I’d worry they’d mind.”

Fang Yingli didn’t push. His gaze settled on the lips still clamped around the cigarette butt. He noticed Ren Yu looked different from this morning, maybe due to the dusk, or maybe fatigue, but he seemed more relaxed now, closer to his true self.

He switched topics. “If you can’t smoke, don’t pretend you can.”

Ren Yu had been smoking for years. Not heavily, but still. Being mocked like some green kid by another man stung his pride. The restlessness in him deepened. Ren Yu stood, flicking his lighter, and met Fang Yingli’s eyes with a grin that refused to back down. “And what counts as knowing how?”

Fang Yingli lowered his lashes, reached out, and plucked the black cigarette pack peeking from Ren Yu’s pocket. He flipped it open with a thumbnail, drew out a Lanzhou, and, skipping the step of borrowing the lighter, stepped in close and lit his cigarette from the one between Ren Yu’s lips.

At this distance, the light was squeezed out, leaving only dim shadows. The ignited tobacco flared like a cinnabar mole, illuminating Fang Yingli’s cold, dark eyes. His lashes, lowered, were longer than expected. The corners of his mouth pressed faintly down, his features softening, and for a moment there was something terrifyingly calm and tender in him, mirroring the stillness before danger strikes.

Ren Yu’s instincts screamed at him to step back, but the part of him that refused to lose held his legs in place. Fortunately, it didn’t last long. Fang Yingli lifted his head, drew a breath in the narrow space between them, pulled the cigarette away, and exhaled a lazy ring of smoke.

Looked better than Ren Yu’s own sloppy affectation, he had to admit.

“Thanks.” Fang Yingli raised the cigarette between his fingers and stepped back.

Ren Yu smiled generously. “Mr. Fang accepted a cigarette from me. I’ll count that as becoming your student. I’d like to learn more boxing from you.”

Fang Yingli’s gaze traveled down from his face to his waist—a waist that clearly wouldn’t hold up well.

“If we run into each other, sure.”

Another vague answer. The man had a gift for wiping out whatever goodwill you’d painstakingly built in a single second. You thought you’d gotten familiar, earned at least a little face, but in reality, spending another second with him depended entirely on his mood. He had no intention of giving anyone face; his boundaries were as stark as oil and water.

Fortunately, pinning down specifics wasn’t hard for Ren Yu, since the man’s comings and goings were all under his surveillance.

So he let the topic end there. “Hope we’re fated to run into each other.”

Fang Yingli smiled, tapped his cigarette, and turned to go.

“Mr. Fang, you didn’t take anything in exchange.”

Fang Yingli left him with a view of his back, raising the half-empty pack of Lanzhou in a little wave.

Only then did Ren Yu realize—strictly speaking, the man had taken something he’d used.

Getting on familiar terms with Fang Yingli had taken him nearly a week, but things had fallen into place naturally enough. Ren Yu felt he’d shown no obvious cracks, which he could count as a decent start. He finally breathed easier, helped Auntie Tang clean up the event area, packed up his stall, and headed home to rest.

At eleven that night, fresh from the shower, he picked up his phone and saw a message in the community group from a maintenance worker. The man had been repairing a water valve in Building 2 and broke his wrench, and was asking if anyone had one to lend.

Most families with kids were already asleep, and responses were sparse. Ren Yu, ever helpful, replied, “I’ve got one. I’m in Building 4, close to Building 2. Which unit? I’ll bring it over.”

His phone buzzed with the answer. “1008.”

What a coincidence. Ren Yu himself was in Building 4, Unit 1008. Building 2 was directly opposite, which meant Building 2, Unit 1008 was Fang Yingli’s unit.

He was instantly wide awake. He rummaged around for a wrench, grabbed one from his equipment bag, threw on a T-shirt and shorts, and headed downstairs. At the entrance to Building 2, he was about to buzz the intercom when the door swung open from inside, nearly clipping his nose. Ren Yu frowned and stepped back half a pace, only to find Fang Yingli standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Fang?” Ren Yu feigned surprise.

Fang Yingli’s gaze flicked over the wrench in his hand, and he pushed the door wider, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person. “My water valve’s broken. I was going to come to you—save you the trip.”

He paused, clearly waiting for Ren Yu to hand over the wrench.

Instead, Ren Yu stepped forward, squeezing through the doorway. They were suddenly very close. Fang Yingli didn’t retreat either; one hand held the door, the other rested in his pocket, and he looked down at him, like a resting lion watching a rabbit bold enough to prance before it.

“I’m pretty handy. Let me come up and take a look.” Ren Yu said.

To his surprise, Fang Yingli, though slightly taken aback, didn’t refuse. He shut the door and led the way inside, into the elevator, pressing the button for the tenth floor.

The elevator climbed slowly. Cramped boxes were prime territory for awkward silence, but Ren Yu was adept at handling such moments. He opened the conversation, “How long have you lived here, Mr. Fang?”

“Two years.”

Ren Yu had done his homework. He knew not only that Fang Yingli had moved in two years ago, but that it was because his law firm had relocated, and he’d chosen this complex for convenience.

“I just moved in. Anything bad about this place? Does the heating work well in winter?” Ren Yu widened his eyes slightly, playing the overly curious new tenant. He didn’t actually care. Who knew where he’d be scraping a living by winter.

“It’s fine.” Fang Yingli remained as economical with words as ever. Then, after a beat, he added, “Except…”

Before he could finish, the ceiling light flickered and went dark. The elevator shuddered to a stop somewhere between floors. The control panel flashed an “Er” error code, leaving only the dark red backlight behind the buttons visible.

“Except the elevator breaks down a lot.” Fang Yingli finally got to finish his sentence, the elevator having conveniently proven his point. Talk about timing.

“…”

Ren Yu didn’t run into this kind of situation often. Before he could react, Fang Yingli had already pressed the emergency button and spoken to the on-duty maintenance staff, who promised to send someone immediately.

Once the call ended, true silence settled over the elevator. The darkness was impenetrable, almost physical, pressing down on them. The temperature wasn’t low either, and soon both men were slick with a thin sheen of sweat.

Ren Yu’s calves began to ache from standing. He stepped back, expecting his back to meet the cold metal wall, but instead he collided with a solid, warm body. His shoulder blades hit what felt like a chest; his backside pressed against what was unmistakably a groin. Both were prominent enough that contact had been unavoidable.

His spine went rigid. Ren Yu straightened immediately in the dark, but his foot caught the edge of Fang Yingli’s shoe, and he lost his balance, pitching sideways. Panicking, his hands scrabbled for purchase—gripping an arm, then a waist, finally landing on a shoulder. Meanwhile, Fang Yingli’s hand closed firmly around his wrist.

For a moment they were pressed together in a thoroughly compromising position. The saving grace was that in the pitch black, they could only hear each other’s ragged breathing, not see the posture. Dignity was still preserved.

The scent of Ren Yu’s body wash, released by rising body heat and friction, began to diffuse into the air. It was faint, barely detectable, but not entirely absent—coconut, maybe. A little sweet, a little suggestive. Strange. Coconut was supposed to be a boring, monotonous fruit. Why was it different for him?

Fang Yingli’s eyes darkened. Taking hold of the cool wrist, he propped Ren Yu upright again, then sidestepped to make room.

“Sorry.” Ren Yu lit up his phone screen, finally able to make out Fang Yingli’s position. A thread of frustration coiled in his stomach. “When are they coming?”

“Soon.”

He really knew how to kill a conversation, Ren Yu grumbled internally. Another two seconds of shared silence. In the vision-limited dark, the residual sensation on his fingertips lingered, becoming persistent and vivid. He rubbed his fingers together, and the details he hadn’t consciously registered before kept surfacing in his mind, which were the shape and feel of Fang Yingli’s biceps, his abs. It was definitely more stimulating than watching through a lens.

Ren Yu scrabbled for conversation again. “You’re in great shape, Mr. Fang. I mean your body.” He smiled. “Bet you’re popular with women.”

In the thin light of the phone, Fang Yingli shot him a glance. Ren Yu seemed completely unaware that his earlier struggling had skewed his collar to one side, exposing half a prominent collarbone.

He looked away, voice soft, carrying a teasing edge. “Men wouldn’t like it?”

Ren Yu froze for a beat, then laughed. “Spoken like a lawyer. Very precise.”

Then he added, “Men would like it too. If it were me, I’d like it a lot.”