Qin Siyu had thought it was all over, but Aston said he would take him to look at the fraternity’s other rooms too, conscientious to the end.
Farther down the corridor was a display room filled with trophies and other prizes.
Aston had all sorts of things there. Equestrian awards, swimming, rowing, tennis, even boxing and fencing… so many.
“I have a lot of skills too,” Qin Siyu said. “It’s a shame there aren’t competitions for them.”
Aston: “Hmm?”
Qin Siyu counted on his fingers. “I learned so much working in laundries: washing, ironing, mending, sewing on buttons… And in cobblers’ shops I learned to glue on soles, nail on heels, polish shoes… In restaurants I learned to cut vegetables into fine strips and prepare noodles and other dough-based dishes… I’m good at all those things. It’s just a shame there aren’t any competitions.”
He was intelligent and conscientious, and his hands were deft. He really did do all those things well.
Aston laughed at his remark.
The recreation room had a billiard table, card tables, and all sorts of other things.
Qin Siyu had seen billiard tables in Chinatown shops. But both in films and in those shops, the tables had six pockets.
This table, though, it… it… didn’t have any pockets!
Qin Siyu: “…?”
“Never seen one?” Aston asked. “Carom billiards.”
“No.” Qin Siyu thought for a moment. “But I think I’ve heard of it.”
It seemed to be an expensive pastime, something found only in gentlemen’s clubs.
Aston’s mouth curved slightly. “There are only three balls: white, red, and yellow. You use one to strike the other two. You have to hit both, and before contacting the second object ball, the cue ball must strike the cushions at least three times.”
“Sounds difficult?”
“It’s not too bad.” Aston picked up a cue. “You just need to calculate the path. Compared with pocket billiards, position matters more. You have to control the contact point, strength, angle, and stroke.”
As he spoke, he loosened his necktie and handed it to Qin Siyu.
Qin Siyu took it, coiled it a few times around his hand, and held it in place with his thumb.
He wanted to challenge Aston, so he deliberately arranged a difficult position for him to demonstrate, placing both object balls in corners on the far side.
Aston shook his head and bent over the table. His lashes were long, his eyes deep, his Adam’s apple prominent in his neck, and his collar pin lightly grazed the cue.
With a sharp crack, the yellow ball struck the white ball in the corner, rebounded off the bottom cushion, returned to strike the top cushion, then struck the bottom again. After several more rebounds, it gently kissed the red ball. His contact point, angle, and strength had all been flawless.
“…Impressive,” Qin Siyu said.
Aston kept playing, every shot looking effortless.
After watching for a while, Qin Siyu had begun to understand. When Aston finally missed, he pointed at the white and red balls. “If it were my turn, I’d use this route, right? Hit the yellow ball and rebound over here, then go this way, contact three cushions, and reach the red ball.”
It was mechanics, after all. He could calculate it.
Aston nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”
“May I try?”
“Have you played before?” Aston asked.
“No,” Qin Siyu replied. “I’ve played pocket billiards two or three times, casually. I wouldn’t call that learning.” It had been in little billiard rooms along the street, where everything seemed noisy and chaotic.
“All right.” Aston said nothing more. He wiped the table, bent over, found the angle, and demonstrated. “You’ve chosen the right line. Strike the yellow ball on the left side, at the point you indicated. Three cushions, then the red ball. No sidespin on the cue ball.”
When he’d finished, Aston straightened and handed the cue to Qin Siyu.
Qin Siyu took it and bent over the table. He pressed his left hand against the cloth and held the cue in his right. His left thumb rose slightly, his knuckles drew inward, and the tendons of his hand tightened, making a graceful hollow by his wrist.
His right hand wasn’t used to the cue. Several times he loosened his grip, then grasped it again, his fingers rhythmically tightening, releasing, and closing.
“Is this the right stance?” Qin Siyu asked. “How much force should I use?”
His footing was correct, but Aston could see that Qin Siyu had focused only on his hands and legs. His torso was angled slightly wrong, which would make the shot difficult. Aston studied him, then walked slowly behind him and placed both palms against Qin Siyu’s hipbones. His finger pads pressed firmly into the hollows at his hips, bracing them before he gave a firm push that brought Qin Siyu’s body squarely into line.
Indeed, those curves made a beautiful pair of handholds.
Bent over the table, Qin Siyu felt Aston’s large hands shift his hips and backside. His center of gravity changed. When he looked toward the cue and the white ball again, the angle was indeed much more comfortable, and everything was lined up properly.
Aston then placed his hands at Qin Siyu’s waist, his palms against his sides and one thumb resting in the small of his back. He guided him a little lower, nearly to the table, bending slightly with him. His deep voice sounded from behind: “A little lower. This way you can see the angle better.”
“…” Of course. Qin Siyu had been holding himself too high.
Aston released him and stood to the side, inspecting his stance.
With his posture adjusted, Qin Siyu’s trousers had ridden up a little, revealing a glimpse of ankle skin as pale and smooth as clotted cream.
His trousers clung to the backs of his legs, outlining his backside and hamstrings. His backside was well nourished, rounded and pert, practically made for a swat. His thighs, perhaps from cycling every day, were healthy and strong, with graceful muscle definition.
His waist was bent very low.
His waist was fairly slender, tucked inside his suit trousers.
His clothes were rather formal today, carrying the solemnity of the period: a shirt and waistcoat, with fashionable suspenders instead of an ordinary belt.
The suspenders were hidden beneath his waistcoat, but in this posture the clasp at the back of his waist was visible to Aston.
They were clearly Y-shaped suspenders: two straps over the shoulders met behind his back, then ran down as one to a clasp fastening his trousers at the waist.
But now, with the fabric stretched across his hips, that single clasp was holding onto his waistband for dear life. It pulled the cloth so tightly that wrinkles had formed around it.
Aston had an unkind impulse to release the clasp. All it would take was a light press at Qin Siyu’s waist; the clasp would spring open, and the waistband would slip down and catch at his hips.
Of course, Aston only thought about it.
The cue brushed Qin Siyu’s chin. His eyes were dark, now flecked with golden light.
Aston watched him and once again thought how beautiful he was.
His facial features formed graceful lines: forehead, eyes, nose, lips, chin, neck… even his Adam’s apple rose in one smooth curve before descending again.
Noticing Aston observing him, Qin Siyu blinked and asked once more, “Is this the right stance? It is, isn’t it?”
At the question, Aston let his gaze travel over every inch of Qin Siyu again.
Finally he stepped forward and adjusted several fingers very slightly, spreading the four fingers farther and drawing the thumb inward. “Almost.”
He moved very slowly and properly, his fingertips lightly holding Qin Siyu’s knuckles as he guided them into place. Once they were positioned, he let go at once, without any unnecessary contact.
Yet Qin Siyu’s fingers tingled.
Not merely tingled. They felt a little numb.
“All right.” The room was enormous and empty apart from the two of them. Aston’s deep voice sounded especially resonant. He half-turned to stand beside Qin Siyu, his face less than an inch from Qin Siyu’s, and pointed at the white ball. “Strike the center. This position doesn’t require any sidespin.”
Qin Siyu tried to focus. “How hard?”
Aston stood behind Qin Siyu and bent low. The cloth of his shirt and waistcoat brushed Qin Siyu’s back as he braced one hand against the table to Qin Siyu’s left. With the other, he held the butt of the cue and guided its angle and force, stopping each stroke just before contact. His voice came from above: “Like this… Understand? This angle, this amount of force.”
Their bodies fit together remarkably well. Even with one man beneath the other, Aston’s posture remained correct, natural, and fluid.
Qin Siyu forced his attention back to billiards and nodded. “I understand. Let me try.”
“It’s difficult,” Aston said as he withdrew naturally. “You need a very thin hit, and the angle is awkward. Yet you also need considerable force for the three cushions, which makes the cue difficult to control.”
When the cue ball was struck hard and fast, it became much more difficult to control both the angle and the exact contact point. That demanded long practice.
But Qin Siyu was competitive. All his concentration was on the cue as he reproduced Aston’s movements and asked, “Like this?”
“Mm.”
Qin Siyu rehearsed it again and again.
He was extraordinarily patient. Even after aiming for a long time, he showed no exhaustion or impatience, like a wild animal stalking its prey.
In fact, Qin Siyu trusted the steadiness of his fingers. He intended to become an outstanding doctor.
His fingers were unusually nimble and steady. A Western-trained doctor at Donghua Hospital had once taught him surgical knots and remarked that his control of his arms and fingers was exceptionally rare.
He practiced several more times. At one point the angle suddenly felt right. Without any warning or hesitation, he took the shot!
Like a predator seizing the perfect moment.
With a sharp crack, the white ball followed the calculated line and struck the yellow ball precisely. It rebounded, struck the cushions with three crisp clacks, then tapped the red ball elegantly, separating and coming to rest in a comfortable position for the next shot.
Almost perfect.
Qin Siyu’s lips curved. He straightened slowly, like a predator after a successful hunt.
A faint smile on his face, he looked toward Aston. Their gazes met and seemed to scrape against each other.
“Impressive,” Aston said, watching him. “Excellent cue control.”
He’d succeeded on his first attempt.
“I suppose there was some luck involved,” Qin Siyu said with a smile. “I’d like to keep going. May I?”
Aston gestured for him to continue.
Now that he basically understood how the game worked, Qin Siyu made another successful shot. Only after he finally missed did he hand the cue back to Aston with regret. “Your turn.”
Aston took it. “Well played.”
Very well played.
“Your turn,” Qin Siyu repeated.
On Aston’s third shot, the balls ended up in a position of extreme difficulty that required tremendous force.
Aston bent over the table. His right hand looked unremarkable, and he barely drew the cue backward. Yet the table rang with a thunderous crack. The balls shot apart and scattered across the cloth. Qin Siyu’s heart gave a sudden leap, and he became keenly aware again of the power hidden beneath Aston’s elegant exterior.
The struck red ball rebounded from the lower cushion and flew off the table with a bang. Qin Siyu reacted swiftly. Turning his right hand over, he caught it with a smack against his chest.
He’d caught it, and nothing had happened. Aston remained perfectly composed on the surface, but inwardly relaxed at last. His golden eyelashes returned to their usual position with a single flutter. He straightened slowly and said, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Qin Siyu answered. “Just an accident.”
“I broke the rules.” Aston looked at the red ball in Qin Siyu’s hand. Somehow it felt like an omen. “I lost.”
The person who broke the rules first was destined for utter defeat.
But Qin Siyu shook his head. “We’re not competing.”
He gave Aston the ball. “Thank you for teaching me this, Kingsley.”
There were chessboards in the recreation room too.
Qin Siyu knew how to play chess, and of course Aston did too. It was still early, and neither was hungry, so Qin Siyu suggested a game.
An opponent like this, a mind like this, was hard to find.
They opened the chess set.
Qin Siyu let out a quiet breath of relief.
Wealthy people often used ivory sets, but he hated those.
Since he intended to study medicine, biology was a compulsory course for him. An elephant carried its young for twenty-two months, the longest gestation of any land animal, yet people killed elephants for their tusks. He had seen a photograph of an elephant whose face had been mutilated for ivory; its mother had stood beside it, crying in anguish.
Aston seemed to understand his thoughts and quietly said, “It’s wood. The black pieces are ebony, the white are boxwood.”
Qin Siyu returned to himself, surprised by how well Aston understood him. He took the pieces from the box. “Mm.”
Aston glanced at him.
The game was unexpectedly exhilarating.
Both players thought far ahead, looking dozens of moves into the future: the opponent’s likely response, the following move of their own, and every variation that might result.
Qin Siyu was very serious. He would lower his lashes, interlace his fingers in his lap, and study the board, his gaze sweeping over the pieces as his thoughts shifted.
Aston liked looking at his eyes.
When Qin Siyu lowered his lashes, the delicate, fan-shaped folds of his eyelids became particularly distinct: a fine crease began a third of the way along each lid, then gradually opened out before sweeping upward at the outer corners.
Beneath his left eye was a tiny round mole.
Whenever he moved a piece, he would pinch its head lightly, lift it, then lower it with great care onto a new square. There was nothing overtly violent or murderous about the way he moved.
But a closer look revealed how dangerous every move was. One moment of carelessness and his opponent could be annihilated.
And he had a very distinctive style. Qin Siyu was remarkably good with pawns.
Pawns were weak and easy to overlook. After a few moves, however, Aston realized Qin Siyu was exceptionally skilled at moving his pawns in ways that appeared defensive, so that Aston would think he was merely protecting rooks or knights. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he’d build pawn chains and conceal threats within a long-term strategic formation. A position that looked ordinary could become extremely dangerous on closer inspection.
He wanted to use his pawns to hunt down the king. After all, a pawn that survived to reach the far rank could be promoted into a queen, rook, or knight.
It was almost a school of chess unto itself.
Aston had competed in many tournaments and won many awards. Nobody at the fraternity was his equal. Yet tonight, for the first time in ages, he was utterly absorbed.
Aston’s own style, by contrast, possessed a kind of violent beauty.
Every piece was his to command.
His approach was oppressive. Every move threatened the opponent and forced them toward positions he’d designed in advance. The entire board became a hunting ground. Under that pressure, the most obvious defensive moves were always traps, and the other player would fall into them almost without realizing it. Delicate strategic planning combined with devastating attacks.
Both thought far ahead, shaping the battlefield and preparing to launch a decisive attack when the final chaos arrived. They were long-range strategists, plotting and calculating for a long time before bringing destruction down on the entire board.
By the final stage, with castling and clearing operations behind them, the room had fallen completely silent.
Qin Siyu’s heart was in his throat and his scalp tingled. He wanted to give everything he had. He didn’t want to be weak, and he didn’t want to lose.
His pawns had come alive.
Aston was the same. He’d never encountered a formation like this, and had to concentrate every part of his mind.
Almost every move was difficult for either man to predict.
That demanded even greater concentration.
Qin Siyu’s pawn chain was dangerous. One mistake and a pawn might reach the far rank and be promoted into a queen, rook, or knight.
Qin Siyu breathed softly. Every move was made with extraordinary caution.
When studying the position he habitually interlaced his fingers in his lap, while Aston reclined against the chair back and leaned against one sofa arm. Aston’s hand rested on the armrest, his fingers hanging downward, the bones of his wrist and fingers sharply defined.
When it was time to move, he’d lean toward the board and grip the armrest, his five fingers tightening suddenly while his other hand picked up a piece.
One move was critical. Qin Siyu was to play next. He pondered for a long time while Aston assessed the position too.
“…” Before moving a piece, Qin Siyu lifted his eyes toward Aston. Aston, leaning back, raised his own eyes in turn. Their gazes seemed tranquil, yet each concealed a hint of the wish to conquer. After several seconds Qin Siyu finally made his choice, played a move, and looked at Aston again.
Aston lowered his lashes and began considering it carefully.
Several moves later, when Qin Siyu captured one of Aston’s important rooks, he held the piece up before his eyes, tilted his head, and said, “Capture~”
Aston gave him a cool glance.
A few turns later, Qin Siyu lost a rook of his own.
Aston lifted it before Qin Siyu’s eyes and said in an equally soft voice, “Capture.”
Qin Siyu: “…”
In the end, the match was a draw.
They had said “check” several times, but neither could checkmate the other.
Once winning became impossible, Qin Siyu went a little wild and captured two of Aston’s pieces while offering two of his own in exchange.
At last the board was empty except for two kings facing each other.
“A draw,” Qin Siyu said in wonder.
“Mm,” Aston agreed. “A draw.”
It had been years since that happened.
Sean… he’s truly intelligent.
They had both been utterly absorbed, their thoughts fixed on the board and each other. Every move made by one tugged at the other’s nerves and demanded everything in return. Neither wanted to disappoint himself, nor the other.
Aston reviewed the game and couldn’t recall any mistake. Qin Siyu was reviewing it too. They reached the same conclusion.
Aston opened the chess box and put the pieces away.
One white king remained, still on Qin Siyu’s side of the board.
Qin Siyu picked it up and handed it over.
Aston accepted it and looked at it.
The piece seemed to carry a trace of warmth. For the whole game, it had been the object Qin Siyu struggled desperately to watch over and protect.
Aston felt almost jealous of it.
As he put it away, Aston noticed a little scrap of colored paper attached to the base of the king, perhaps from an earlier event.
The pieces were solid wood, but the bases had slight hollows carved into them as decoration. Aston held the king in one hand, inserted the tip of a finger into the recess, and rubbed around until the fragment stuck to it. He glanced at his finger, rubbed the scrap loose, and shook it into the wastebasket.
Qin Siyu watched the whole time.
Kingsley Aston really was something, he thought. Even the way he picked at things looked elegant.
Aston closed the chessboard.
The two halves of the wooden box came together. The two kings, once set into opposite sides and seemingly as far apart as they could be, now nestled quietly together in the darkness.
As they put the board away, Qin Siyu was about to say something when footsteps suddenly stopped outside the room. Someone knocked several times on the wooden door. “Who’s in there?”
“…???” Qin Siyu glanced at Aston.
There wasn’t any scheduled activity today, and it was getting late, yet the recreation room clearly had lights on and voices inside.
Aston told Qin Siyu, “I’ll open the door. Find somewhere to hide.”
“???” Qin Siyu had no time to think or respond. He spun around, surveyed the room, and finally slipped behind a curtain.
The floor-length curtain was made of thick red velvet.
Qin Siyu heard the door open and Aston exchange a few words with whoever stood outside. Then, to his astonishment, the two of them came into the room!
Aston had brought the visitor inside to discuss something urgent. The man seemed to be responsible for the fraternity’s public relations.
They started making coffee not far from Qin Siyu’s hiding place.
I’m done for, Qin Siyu thought. Making coffee takes ages.
Fortunately the area outside the windows was secluded, so nobody was likely to see him.
They talked and talked, continuing even after the coffee was ready. Aston finally took the other man over to a large window on the opposite wall.
The visitor walked in front, Aston behind.
As Aston passed Qin Siyu, he noticed a slight bulge in the curtain. He reached out and, through the velvet, pressed a finger against Qin Siyu’s lower abdomen and pushed him backward. The bulge instantly disappeared.
Aston drew back the curtain on the opposite wall. The two men looked leisurely out of the window as they drank coffee and discussed their business. Aston remained completely natural throughout, showing nothing suspicious.
By the time the issue was finally settled and the conversation ended, Qin Siyu was thoroughly bored. Aston escorted the visitor out and came back to pull the curtain aside.
As Aston lifted the heavy red fabric, Qin Siyu sat cross-legged on the windowsill, resting his head on one hand with his elbow propped on his knee. Their eyes met. “Finished at last? I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Sorry.”
Qin Siyu lowered his legs, but they had gone a little numb. Aston casually grasped him around the ribs and lifted him down with ease. Once Qin Siyu was standing steadily, he let go.
Aston turned and asked while walking, “Were you nervous?”
“Not really,” Qin Siyu replied. “I could have run. You’d have been on your own.”
Qin Siyu looked at his tall back, its broad shoulders and long legs, and remembered the day in the car when Aston had told him about his childhood punishment. For a moment then, Qin Siyu had wanted to hug him. He’d wanted to put his arms around Aston from behind, rest his forehead against his back, hold him tight, and ask, Would this make you feel better?
Aston had said then that on the day his mother returned from the hospital, she had, for the first time, wanted to hold him. It had been the only time in his life anyone had truly embraced him.
He’d spoken calmly that day, yet Qin Siyu had detected a subtle tremor beneath his words.
Aston had reached a corner and was adjusting a gramophone. He took out a record, lowered it onto the turntable, centered the hole on the spindle, set the speed, and brought down the needle. The record began turning slowly.
“Some music?” Aston suggested. “It might help you relax.”
“Mm,” Qin Siyu replied.
Strangely, he didn’t want to leave early.
They sat together on the sofa, listening to music and talking.
Resting his head on one hand, Aston asked, “What are you working on these days?”
Qin Siyu leaned lazily against the sofa, his legs stretched out. “Much the same as before. I’ve introduced a laundry to several medium-sized hospitals, saving the nurses some time. They quite like me. Maybe I can volunteer there over the summer. The laundry pays referral fees too.”
“That’s good.”
“Besides that, it’s classes and projects.” Qin Siyu told him everything, item by item, down to the smallest detail. “I’ve also found a job in San Francisco repairing bicycles near the wharf. Competition for restaurant work is fierce, but when I thought about it, San Francisco is a special place. There are so many hills, and the slopes are steep. Bicycles take a lot of wear and tear, so repairs are one of the few businesses doing better in this economy. Public transportation costs money, and people rely more on cycling. They’re also spending much longer traveling from place to place searching for work…” It was the same reasoning he’d applied to shoe repair.
His eyes curved. “Dockworkers often cycle to and from the waterfront too, and their incomes are comparatively good. The shop where I work has plenty of business.”
“Comparatively good?” Aston asked.
“Mm.” Qin Siyu explained patiently. “San Francisco’s a major port. When work is busy, a stevedore can earn a dollar an hour, or fifty cents even at the low end. That’s four to eight dollars a day. But to be picked for work, they often have to give the foreman a dollar as a cut.”
Aston regarded him.
“And on days when I have no classes, I sometimes find a spot in Oakland to mend shoes. I squeeze the jobs into whatever gaps I have.”
Aston looked at him again.
“What?” Qin Siyu laughed. “It’s actually all very interesting. Really. Take repairing shoes, for instance. You meet all kinds of people.”
He counted off his customers. “There’s a traveling salesman who’s always rushing from place to place. Yet whenever he comes to get his shoes repaired, he quietly takes out a sketchbook and draws. He says drawing is when he feels most like himself. There’s also a woman who works as a proofreader at The Women’s Journal. She’s unusual: she wears trousers every day, even to work! She asked me to remove a decoration near the ankle of her shoe because it was wearing against her trousers. I moved it to the toe instead. She was very pleased, and even gave me a copy of Movie Classic. Katharine Hepburn was wearing trousers in it, and she looked marvelous. The woman said Hollywood stars were making the fashion popular, and plenty of respectable women wore trousers now!”
In this era, unless they worked in manual labor, women who wore trousers were still regarded as rebellious or daring, and even accused of being lesbians for exposing themselves so boldly. But the Depression made people yearn for escape from reality more than ever. Over half of Americans went to the movies every week. Hollywood’s influence was unprecedented, perhaps greater even than in later times.
As he talked, Qin Siyu naturally leaned a little closer to Aston. “Then there’s a boy who loves soccer. He’s Mexican, but he’s so poor he’s been wearing the same pair of shoes for years. He keeps bringing them to be patched and even asks me to stretch them as his feet grow. And there’s a girl who loves dancing. She’s poor too. She’s had her dance shoes for years and brought them to me several times for repairs. She dreams of becoming a dancer. Last month the toes wore through, and she was terrified that patching them would make the shoes rub her feet and hurt too much to dance. But I lined the inside with cotton, and she said they were even more comfortable afterward.”
Aston let Qin Siyu lean against him and listened to the stories of all these people.
Qin Siyu didn’t know why he was telling Aston so much. “There was also a husband whose wife had died. He discovered a pearl was missing from her favorite shoes. He searched everywhere for a matching one but couldn’t find it. I looked for such a long time. Finally I found one, and when I’d repaired the shoes… he cried.”
“Another woman had terribly uncomfortable wedding shoes. She felt her wedding wouldn’t be perfect without them, but she couldn’t explain exactly where they were rubbing. Several cobblers couldn’t fix them. She happened to pass my stand and decided to try once more. And guess what?” Qin Siyu sounded faintly proud. “I worked out the problem.”
He went on talking about little things he had never told anyone before. “A lot of older women in Chinatown had their feet bound when they were young. Their shoes have to fit very precisely. Pairs sent over by family in China, or imported by Chinese shops here, often don’t fit. Local custom shoemakers are rather expensive, so I’ve altered shoes for several of them…”
Aston listened intently.
Occasionally Qin Siyu would turn his eyes toward him, and Aston would look back. Their gazes seemed to wind around each other.
They looked very close.
Aston had never heard stories like these. They were fascinating. He wanted Sean to keep talking until dawn, until they had to leave for class, or even longer.
Qin Siyu liked telling them. He enjoyed sharing things with people he cared about, whether family or friends.
He had never been able to speak this freely before. He didn’t know whom he could tell these things to, who would be interested, who would want to listen. All his friends were struggling in the same world, just as he was. Tonight, however, he’d found a devoted listener.
Just then, the gramophone began playing the tune they’d danced to at the masquerade.
That night Qin Siyu had been mocked and told to leave because he wasn’t wearing a costume or decoration. Aston had fastened some beautiful flowers to his spectacles to partly conceal his face, allowing him to stay.
Later, those people had made Qin Siyu take part in a dance-partner selection as though he were a girl, hoping he’d be rejected and humiliated in front of everyone. But Aston had chosen him voluntarily, and they’d danced together until the end.
Aston suddenly asked, “Shall we dance to it again?”
Qin Siyu: “Hmm?”
“You still don’t seem to have truly learned,” Aston said calmly. “Sometimes you miss the beat. Last time there were too many people on the dance floor and not enough space. This recreation room is larger and emptier. Want to try?”
Perhaps it was because the evening had been so enjoyable: billiards, chess, and talking had all felt wonderful. There was even a strange little thrill beneath Qin Siyu’s skin. Almost without knowing why, he nodded. “Sure.”
They came together for the dance. When the new phrase of music began, they followed it, returning in their minds to that night.
Aston rested one hand against Qin Siyu’s shoulder and back. His other hand paused. At the masquerade he’d been wearing white gloves. Tonight…
When they first met during the dance marathon, the two of them had barely known one another, and somehow there had been less to worry about.
The introduction was nearly over. With no time to dwell on it, Aston opened his hand and took Qin Siyu’s.
Qin Siyu’s palm suddenly felt hot.
The room was large and the music echoed through the open space. Qin Siyu felt almost dazed.
There were no masks this time. The lights were bright, and gold seemed to glitter in Aston’s blue eyes. His pupils were a deep blue-black, surrounded by clear sky-blue irises. Gold seemed to burn within the dark centers.
For that golden fire, a person might willingly drown in the ocean.
Everything seemed to stop.
Aston watched Qin Siyu too.
Qin Siyu’s nose was straight, though softer in contour than a white person’s, with a tip that turned slightly upward.
His mouth… Aston studied his mouth closely.
His lips were red, fresh-looking and full. Aston remembered that when Qin Siyu smiled earlier, he’d caught a glimpse of the softness of his tongue. Qin Siyu’s face was small, his chin delicately shaped, and his teeth even. His mouth seemed perfectly suited to holding something inside it, enveloping it, drawing it close and warming it, whether a finger, the tip of a tongue, or…
He remembered those dreams. Whenever he offered his tongue, Qin Siyu would wind his own around it, kissing and seeking him eagerly, rubbing against him as though even their deepest kisses could never be deep enough.
In those dreams, Qin Siyu had sometimes even cried, begging him, “Give me…”
They continued looking calmly at each other, swaying slowly.
The last part of the tune was lively and playful. Qin Siyu smiled, and Aston’s lips curved too.
The dance was at once very long and very short.
They released each other gently and stepped apart. Qin Siyu was breathing a little faster, as though their gazes had burned him.
“You…” Qin Siyu began.
“Me?” Aston asked.
Qin Siyu shook his head. “Nothing.”
Just then, laughter and shouts from children came through the window.
Outside one side of the recreation room stood a wall, while the other looked over a lawn. Qin Siyu lifted the curtain. A group of children were rolling about like balls, racing from one side of the grass to the other and back again.
Qin Siyu smiled, lifted his chin, and pointed them out to Aston. “Kiddos.”
Aston’s heart suddenly sank.
He’d used the word “Kiddos.”
Not the usual “Kids,” which adults commonly used when they saw children, a word that was already friendly enough. He’d said “Kiddos,” little ones.
He must really like children.
Otherwise he wouldn’t have used such an affectionate word.
Qin Siyu was still smiling faintly. In an instant, everything that had happened that evening seemed to recede and blur.
While playing billiards and chess, listening to records, chatting, and dancing, Aston seemed to have forgotten completely… that Qin Siyu was attracted to women, that he had a girlfriend, and that he treated her with the utmost devotion.
One day he would start a family, with children crowding around his knees.
The evening had been so wonderful that Aston truly had forgotten.
And even if Qin Siyu didn’t have a girlfriend, what then?
Two men spending their lives together? Utterly absurd.
Would they be sent to a psychiatric hospital, thrown into federal prison, or beaten to death?
Any one of those outcomes meant complete ruin.
As Pastor Peter had said, he must stay away from temptation.
Stop.
Aston’s gaze grew calm. He followed Qin Siyu’s attention to the children outside.
A group of children.
How detestable.
Every single one of them.
Qin Siyu was still watching.
Children seemed to have limitless energy. They were curious about everything and eager to share what they discovered. When one child lay down and started rolling across the grass, several others immediately followed.
“So cute, huh?” Qin Siyu said.
Cute?
“Mm,” Aston replied numbly.