Since he’d promised Qin Siyu, Aston quietly brought him into the fraternity house before the next weekly meeting.
Along the way they encountered a student with a doll-like face. He stammered in delighted surprise, “Mr… Mr… Mr. Aston!”
Aston surveyed him with his eyes and silently asked, Well?
The student seemed deeply wounded. His expression filled with obvious disappointment. “We met at your house last month… You left halfway through…”
So this was from the party the French electrical magnate had attended.
Aston gave a cool nod. His manner was superficially polite but distant. “Did you need something?”
“N-no… I only wanted to say hello.”
“All right,” Aston said. “See you next time.”
The other student: “…”
He managed weakly, “See you next time.”
As they went on, Qin Siyu said, “You just looked him over like that? You forgot who he was, but you don’t seem at all concerned.”
Aston gave him a sidelong look, puzzled. “Why should I be concerned? I’m the one who forgot him. He’s the one who should be concerned.”
Qin Siyu: “…”
What the hell was he talking about?
Aston added, “It means he was too ordinary to leave an impression on me, and he couldn’t offer me any benefit that would attract my attention.”
Qin Siyu: “…”
He couldn’t quite explain why, but he no longer felt much like talking to Aston.
They arrived a little early because Qin Siyu needed somewhere to hide.
He looked around the room and asked, “Where am I supposed to hide afterward?”
“Wherever you like,” Aston replied casually.
But there didn’t seem to be anywhere suitable. Qin Siyu’s eyes settled on the space beneath Aston’s desk.
The fraternity had a president, currently Aston, a vice-president, secretary, and other officers. There was an executive desk in the meeting room, and in a little while Aston would sit behind it and listen to the others’ reports.
“…” I’ll go in there, Qin Siyu decided. He pulled the chair back, turned to face outward, squatted down, gripped the desk edge with his fingers curled back over it, and slowly shuffled underneath.
Aston watched his hands. They were long and slender, and because of the awkward grip, the tips of his nails were turning white. Several thin, pale old scars marked the backs of his hands. Perhaps he’d acquired them in one of his many jobs.
Once inside, Qin Siyu announced, “I’m ready!”
His voice came from beneath the desk, muffled and indistinct.
There was a faint sound of voices outside the door. The others were arriving one after another.
The fingers disappeared in a flash. Qin Siyu had hidden himself inside.
After several people entered, Aston sat in the chair at an unhurried pace, put both hands on the armrests, and pushed himself forward.
Qin Siyu saw two long legs extend into the space under the desk. The suit trousers were made from fine fabric with perfectly straight creases. In that position, the cloth drew taut across his thighs, revealing the latent strength of his leg muscles. His movements looked casually relaxed yet never lost their cultivated grace. His black cotton socks and black leather shoes were immaculate, the shoes polished to a shine.
Aston sat with his legs apart. From Qin Siyu’s angle, he could see the center seam of his trousers perfectly. They were clearly custom-tailored: he needed no belt, and the buttons were hidden beneath the fly, invisible to anyone standing nearby. But the fabric rose conspicuously at the front, outlining the buttons and pulling the crotch seam tight. Everything beneath seemed rather cramped.
Staring at that part of someone would be downright improper. Qin Siyu looked away.
But he couldn’t seem to help it. Every so often he’d steal another glance, be startled all over again, then steal another, and be startled again.
People were strange that way. The more they were startled by something, the more they seemed to want to look at it.
Qin Siyu remembered their accidental collision on that night at the station.
Sometimes Aston drew his legs a little closer together, making the outline even more noticeable. The air beneath the desk was stifling, and Qin Siyu felt nearly dizzy. Fortunately Aston seemed uncomfortable sitting like that, and after a while he would spread his knees again.
All the officers had arrived, and the regular meeting finally began.
The social chair had planned an event with the sorority.
Aston picked up the proposal and glanced through it. For a while, the only sound in the room was the rustle of paper.
A few seconds later he tossed it back. “This is what you’re giving me?”
“Uh,” the other student stammered, “we were… a little short on time…”
“If you’re short on time,” Aston said, “don’t give me ten pages. Give me one.”
The student appeared to see the light. “…Ah.”
Aston continued, “If you have only ten minutes, give me three sentences: what you’re trying to accomplish, what options you have, and which you recommend. If you have only one minute, give me one sentence: your recommendation. You may also ask for help, and I can reassign people. Understood?”
“I understand.”
Next, the recruitment chair reported on the results of rush week. After giving his report, he complained angrily, “That so-and-so the university assigned us was a complete jerk!” He launched into a long tirade.
Aston nodded and asked someone else, “Anything to add?”
“Yes,” another member said, “that so-and-so really was a jerk! And besides that, he even…” He launched into another tirade.
Aston’s lips curved. He picked up his pen and scribbled several lines on the minutes spread before him, then read aloud, “All right. The so-and-so sent by the university: confirmed jerk. I’ve written it down.”
The room erupted in laughter. The fear and tension caused by the social committee’s poor work vanished at once. Everyone loved and feared him, respected and dreaded him in equal measure.
“…” Qin Siyu thought, Impressive.
Aston was generally affable when speaking to people or meeting them, yet he possessed an undeniable air of authority.
Next, the philanthropy chair proposed organizing a charity performance for an orphanage.
Aston listened carefully, then commented, “Something’s missing.”
Everyone began discussing it.
Aston rarely took on his officers’ work for them or handed them a ready-made solution. He offered a few pointed suggestions at crucial moments, helping his subordinates understand the problem and clarify their reasoning.
Aston would say, “Don’t bring me your work. Bring me your judgment.”
Qin Siyu heard every word.
Qin Siyu was actually five feet ten inches tall, unusually tall among the Cantonese residents of Chinatown. Naturally he was uncomfortable staying curled beneath the desk. He wanted to stretch and change position, so he slowly and quietly moved from sitting to kneeling. He placed his hands on Aston’s knees for support, rose between his legs, and silently straightened his back.
Aston’s thigh muscles tensed the moment Qin Siyu’s hands came to rest on his knees.
Outwardly, nothing changed. Aston leaned against the chair back, folded his arms, and glanced under the desk. His eyes met Qin Siyu’s.
He had emerged between Aston’s knees almost soundlessly, like a merman, and was looking up at him with dark, dark eyes. His hands were pale against Aston’s black suit trousers.
Aston leaned forward toward the desk again, looking at the philanthropy chair. Meanwhile, one hand slipped beneath the desk and covered the back of Qin Siyu’s hand. He tightened his grip almost imperceptibly, lifted it off his knee, and pushed it away.
“…” Qin Siyu retreated beneath the desk again.
But then Aston’s hand reached down once more. He tried to catch Qin Siyu behind the neck and missed. The second time he found his hair instead, grasped it, and gently drew him closer.
The movement wasn’t quick, but it was very deliberate.
“???” Qin Siyu was pulled forward before he fully understood what was happening, his head ending up between Aston’s knees as the hand continued drawing him closer.
After Aston had just pushed his hands away, he didn’t dare touch the man’s knees again. He held onto his calves instead.
Having drawn him close, Aston kept hold of his hair and rested Qin Siyu’s head against his right knee. Then he laid a palm on the top of Qin Siyu’s head, turned his head ninety degrees to face the other leg, gave it a few gentle pats, and smoothed his hair as though in reassurance. He was signaling Qin Siyu to turn his whole body ninety degrees and sit on the carpet with his back against Aston’s leg.
That would certainly be more comfortable. The desk’s wooden backboard was hard, and Qin Siyu hadn’t dared lean against it firmly for fear of making a noise.
Qin Siyu complied. After turning, he sat facing one side of the desk and leaned against Aston’s calf. He spread his own legs wide apart so Aston could set his other foot on the carpet between Qin Siyu’s thighs.
He didn’t want to touch Aston’s expensive leather shoes, so he remained seated with his legs spread, watching the foot Aston had planted between his thighs.
Beneath the black cotton sock, Aston’s ankle and Achilles tendon were long and well-defined. The leg supporting Qin Siyu was strong and perfectly steady. Qin Siyu was a grown man, not particularly light; supporting his weight demanded effort from Aston’s thigh muscles. Yet no matter how long Qin Siyu leaned against him, Aston seemed to find it effortless.
He remembered that Aston had apparently won the national college tennis championship last year and this year.
A classmate had once exclaimed, “Did you know Kingsley Aston’s résumé is only one page long?”
Qin Siyu had asked, “How is that possible? He has so many honors.”
“It’s true,” the classmate said. “He doesn’t have to write: 1932, placed first here; 1933, placed first there, and take four lines for four years. His résumé just says: Academics, first place, 1932 and 1933. Tennis, champion, 1932 and 1933. Each achievement takes only one line.”
Qin Siyu had replied politely, “Thank you for explaining. I understand.”
“Oh, and you’re usually first in things too. Keep it up!”
Qin Siyu smiled. “I will.”
The treasurer started reporting on the fraternity’s finances.
He droned on. Aston wasn’t particularly interested. His left foot shifted inadvertently, and his heel struck the soft inside of Qin Siyu’s thigh.
Qin Siyu had no choice but to spread his legs even wider.
The spot where the heel had brushed him felt itchy, so Qin Siyu scratched it a few times.
Whenever Aston shifted his foot, creases formed in the leather of his shoe. When he put it down on the carpet again, the creases disappeared.
Qin Siyu turned his head without thinking and found that the strained fabric was now very close to his face, the buttons still pressing against it. He hastily looked away again.
Was Aston really a man of his age? Qin Siyu wondered.
His physique seemed far too mature.
He thought of Aston’s towering height, broad shoulders, powerful chest, and strong legs…
What did he look like beneath his clothes?
It was hard to imagine an Asian man developing quite a physique like that.
The meeting dragged into the evening. Qin Siyu changed his position several times, and when the discussion turned to increasingly trivial matters, he began getting bored.
Aston also seemed bored.
Several members were having a lively discussion about an important issue, but Qin Siyu was starting to feel sleepy.
He tried desperately to stay awake. If he actually fell asleep, he might cause no end of trouble, but he was overwhelmingly tired.
It was impossible to say whether Aston intended to help him or make his situation worse, whether he was being kind or mean. When Qin Siyu yawned from sheer lack of interest, Aston suddenly reached down and lightly scratched his chin a few times to provoke him.
Like teasing a cat.
It tickled terribly, but Qin Siyu was afraid he’d laugh aloud and be discovered. The effort of suppressing his laughter certainly woke him up.
Aston’s two fingers didn’t stop. They continued stroking back and forth beneath his chin.
Unwilling to suffer alone, Qin Siyu decided to retaliate. Still leaning against the leg beside him, he reached out and tickled Aston’s thigh.
Aston’s leg tensed. He drew back his hand, lifted a foot, and pressed it lightly against Qin Siyu’s ankle in warning.
A slow, gentle pressure, then he withdrew.
Naturally, his shoes were clean, and the carpet was thick, but Qin Siyu was startled by the sudden touch.
Meanwhile, a fraternity officer was saying, “By the way, Roosevelt’s community program needs the university to get involved…”
“All right,” Aston said, his voice perfectly even. “Draw up a proposal for me.”
“Mm.”
“Also,” another officer said, “we’ve decided to hold next month’s hunting trip near the edge of Yosemite…”
“Fine,” Aston agreed. “It’s your decision.”
Hunting trips were among the fraternity’s most important annual activities. Fraternities across the country liked to emphasize courage, exploration, and manliness. Aston had little interest in hunting himself, but if the others liked it, he would participate.
After six o’clock, when the meeting was finally about to end, Qin Siyu let out a long breath.
Unfortunately, one of the officers returned to repeat a point he’d already made. “About the fraternity journal, I still have a question…”
“…” Qin Siyu had to shrink back into hiding.
Aston patted his head twice in reassurance.
Qin Siyu sighed.
The meeting had been long, but not actually dull. He had seen some interesting things.
For example, the wealthy students loved joking when they talked, disparaging themselves or their entire group. They found that funny and relaxed, a sign of their own sense of humor.
When proposing something, one member might laugh and ask, “Come on, which bastard wants to take charge of this?”
Everyone would laugh together.
But Qin Siyu knew that people in his own community would never use those words to make jokes or lighten the mood. They wouldn’t sound funny, because they weren’t funny. Every insult felt like a sharp blade driven into the heart.
At last the meeting ended with a clatter of movement, and the fraternity officers filed out one by one.
Qin Siyu waited a while. Finally he heard Aston address him in that unhurried voice. “All right, Sean. Come out.”
It was still deep and magnetic.
Qin Siyu put his head out and was about to speak when Aston suddenly noticed one of the officers coming back. He immediately covered Qin Siyu’s parted lips with one hand, supporting the back of his head with the other. In a completely calm voice he asked the returning man, “Did you need something else?”
“…” Aston’s hand covered Qin Siyu’s mouth. Qin Siyu’s lips were soft, and his breath brushed lightly against the side of Aston’s index finger.
He remembered the signet ring Aston had worn on his index finger that night at the station, a symbol of power, authority, and control, of the family belonging to him.
Aston wasn’t wearing it today, but Qin Siyu’s breath still curled lightly around the base of his finger.
Qin Siyu touched the back of Aston’s hand and lowered it, glancing accidentally at the lines of his palm.
His heart line was clean and unbroken, without a single branch. Old people in Chinatown said that meant a person would love only one individual in their lifetime.
Qin Siyu looked at his own palm.
Its heart line was equally clear.
The old people in Chinatown said they’d never seen a heart line as neat as his, without a single fork or wandering line from beginning to end. He didn’t believe such things, but he’d remembered the saying and looked at his palm with interest over the years.
And today he’d found another.
The two of them… both had hands like that.
He knew it was superstition, one of those things the New Culture movement wanted to put an end to. Yet at that moment something still stirred within him.
Aston drew back his hand. The man at the door said, “It’s about the hunting trip. We think we should arrange target practice first. Many members have never hunted.”
“Fine,” Aston said. “Apply to Tim. Tim will give you the budget.”
The member asked, “Will the president attend the practice? If you are, could you give us a time so we can arrange it around your schedule?”
“I don’t need it,” Aston replied evenly.
At last the room fell completely quiet. Aston withdrew his polished shoes, placed both hands on the wooden armrests, and moved his chair back slightly, looking down as he made room for Qin Siyu to come out.
Qin Siyu looked left and right. It still seemed rather cramped, but he gripped the seat between Aston’s legs, then Aston’s wrist, and managed to crawl out. Aston had kept a hand on the armrest, leaving very little space.
The gap he’d left was so narrow that Qin Siyu had to hold his chest forward and arch his lower back to avoid hitting the underside of the desk, sliding past Aston with only a few centimeters to spare.
When their eyes were level, he almost seemed to get stuck. Their gazes tangled and he couldn’t move. He called Aston’s name.
Aston looked at him, then finally and slowly moved a little farther back.
There was room now.
Qin Siyu wanted to thank him. First he turned to look very carefully toward the doorway. There was nobody there, but he was still afraid someone might hear him. He grasped Aston’s wrist with both hands, bent low, and whispered in the softest possible voice, his warm breath brushing Aston’s ear, “Today… thank you.”
The icy-blue eyes fixed on him.
Qin Siyu added, “I really really really appreciate you.”
Still afraid of being heard, he continued to whisper.
Three quiet, slowly spoken “really”s, with pauses, full of sincerity.
And then, appreciate you.
Thank you, truly, truly, truly.
“…” Aston held his gaze. After a moment he reached out with his right hand and patted the back of Qin Siyu’s head twice.