After returning home, Qin Siyu developed a fever after all.
Aston called him. Qin Siyu dragged himself over to the apartment manager’s office to answer the telephone and said he couldn’t come to school for the next couple of days.
They had already sent in their revised paper, which had been accepted quickly this time. The insurance questions it addressed were timely and important, so it would appear in print soon as well. But the new semester was about to begin, and Qin Siyu was still living near campus for the moment, preparing for classes.
Once he knew Qin Siyu was ill, Aston worried and came to knock on his door. Qin Siyu was sleeping so deeply he heard nothing. In the end, one of his roommates opened it for Aston.
The Filipino roommate recognized Kingsley Aston. His eyes widened and he stammered, ‘King… King…’
Aston asked politely, ‘Is Sean here?’
‘Ah… yes, yes he is!’ the Filipino man said.
Aston inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
He pulled back the curtain to Qin Siyu’s little space in the living room and immediately saw him curled up on the bed.
Qin Siyu was still sleeping on his side, half resting his head on his pillow and half hugging it. Curled into himself, he clasped his hands together on the far side of the pillow, fingers intertwined as though he felt terribly unwell. The quilt was pulled up beneath his neck.
Aston went over quietly, drew the chair from the desk up to the bedside, and sat.
Qin Siyu’s cheeks were flushed, his lips were dry, and hot breath escaped his mouth.
Aston raised his fingers to check his temperature.
Qin Siyu felt the touch, but he was already hazy with fever. He reached out and caught Aston’s fingertips.
Aston’s hand paused. Qin Siyu opened his eyes but couldn’t see clearly. Propping himself a little on one elbow, he lifted his head closer and tried to make out the visitor. ‘Kingsley?’
‘Mm,’ Aston said. ‘I just came to see how you are. Do you need to go to the hospital?’
‘Of course not,’ Qin Siyu replied.
‘But your temperature is already very high.’
‘Really, I don’t.’ Qin Siyu added, ‘My lungs are fine. It’s probably only a fever.’
Aston frowned. Qin Siyu was still holding the fingertips of his right hand. Perhaps the fever had truly muddled him, because when he finished speaking, he lowered his head and kissed the back of Aston’s fingers. ‘This will make me feel much better.’
He said it earnestly and reverently, as though he could truly draw some strength from the kiss.
Aston’s fingers stiffened for a moment. Qin Siyu let them go and lay back down.
‘…’ After a moment’s silence, Aston stood, took the washbasin and towel from the nearby rack, and went to the apartment bathroom.
Qin Siyu was poor. Even his towel was stiff and rough.
A fever could be observed for a day or two, but at the very least he needed to cool down.
After a while Aston returned. Qin Siyu’s eyes were half open.
Aston told him to turn onto his back and lie properly beneath the quilt.
But Qin Siyu felt hot and secretly poked one foot out.
His ankle was still pale, though the fever had reddened his toes a little.
‘Close your eyes,’ Aston told him. Holding the towel, he wiped Qin Siyu’s forehead, eyes, cheeks, bridge of the nose, lips, and chin, much as he had in the car that night.
Qin Siyu obeyed, his eyes half closed, drifting in and out of awareness.
‘Lift your head a little,’ Aston instructed, wiping his neck with the cool towel.
Qin Siyu wore a loose white undershirt. Aston lowered the strap on his right shoulder to his upper arm, baring his neck and shoulder. He had Qin Siyu turn his face, then wiped from below his ear down the side of his neck to his shoulder. He raised that strap, lowered the other, wiped the opposite side, and finally traced down along his throat to the hollow between his collarbones.
His shoulders weren’t smooth in the way a woman’s might be. At the shoulder joints, where the two collarbones ended, the bone protruded slightly. Aston’s fingers passed over the places through the towel.
That feels so much better, Qin Siyu thought.
Aston pulled down the quilt again. Looking at the loose white undershirt, he folded it upward too.
The sudden chill against his chest startled Qin Siyu. He opened his eyes in a panic and clapped both hands over it.
That hint of red flashed and vanished. Aston looked at Qin Siyu’s fingertips without speaking.
Qin Siyu used only his fingertips to cover himself. Years of labor had given him healthy chest muscles, which rose slightly beneath his skin. His long, narrow fingers and faintly pink nails covered just those two small places. With his index, middle, and ring fingers held together, he could barely hide the round areas, making them seem more conspicuous still.
Aston kept his eyes on him, caught his wrist, and said quietly, ‘You need to cool down.’
He pulled one hand away by force, exposing one little pink point, vivid, soft, and trembling. Aston reached to move the other hand. Qin Siyu resisted harder this time, but to no avail: that hand was forced aside as well, exposing the other.
Aston’s gaze traveled between them. He parted his lips, only to realize he didn’t actually want to speak.
What he wanted was—
Qin Siyu lifted his chest and squirmed. Both hands struggled again, trying to cover himself.
Aston wouldn’t permit it. Qin Siyu needed his fever brought down.
With one hand he easily lifted Qin Siyu’s slender, strong lower back. His two hands were folded behind him, and Aston glanced over them with blue eyes. He raised the undershirt and drew it backward, folded it around once, and used it to bind Qin Siyu’s hands securely behind his back before gently lowering him onto the bed again.
Fever had reddened Qin Siyu’s cheeks and lips. His eyes would barely open, and his gaze was unfocused. He lay with his body arched slightly, both arms bent backward beneath his lower back.
Aston dampened the towel and began wiping his body.
‘Don’t—’ Qin Siyu said.
‘Mm,’ Aston answered. ‘I know.’
Aston knew Qin Siyu wanted him not to touch those places again. They were only ‘friends,’ after all. Yet ever since that night, both of them had continued making use of the ordinary identity of ‘friends’ to touch each other’s bodies, secretly, quietly, and with a thrill.
Qin Siyu relaxed a little. Aston rubbed his chest with the towel but respected his request and did as he’d been told: he carefully circled the two points, wiping around their red edges, one side at a time, before wiping his abdominal muscles and waist.
Qin Siyu’s chest and abdomen rose and fell violently. Everywhere else felt refreshingly cool, but the one area Aston had passed over was left out. Now his chest felt painfully swollen, as though every molecule in it might burst apart.
Aston looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’
Qin Siyu could only breathe in and out, his chest still heaving.
Aston’s eyes fell to his chest. Bright sunshine streamed through the window, flowers were blooming in profusion, and fruit was ripening. His voice was low. ‘Are you hot there too? Or are you embarrassed?’
Qin Siyu didn’t answer.
Aston tilted his head, as though he understood. He dipped the towel in cool water again, wrung it out, then folded it twice lengthwise into one narrow strip. He laid the strip gently across Qin Siyu’s chest, covering both pink points, and said softly, ‘This solves two problems at once. It cools you down and keeps you covered. Right?’
A chill spread across Qin Siyu’s chest.
But the strip covered only a narrow band, leaving skin exposed above and below. Only those two points were concealed. Qin Siyu couldn’t see how that solved anything. His arms were still trapped behind him, and he twisted his upper body.
How many people exposed themselves this way before a friend?
Aston asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Kingsley.’ Qin Siyu could hardly stand it anymore. On the verge of breaking down, he tried to send Aston away. ‘Could I have some Coke? I want something cold and sweet. Is that all right?’
It was also true. His whole body was hot, and he had no appetite.
Aston looked down at him for a while, then braced his hands on his knees and stood. ‘Of course. I’ll go buy some.’
‘Thank you.’
Aston took Qin Siyu’s ankle and tucked his foot back beneath the quilt before leaving.
Besides Coke, Aston also bought a bottle of paracetamol. When he returned to the apartment, Qin Siyu had naturally freed his hands, pulled his undershirt back on, and fallen asleep again with the pillow in his arms.
Elio’s Notes: A small historical wrinkle: paracetamol (acetaminophen) was known by 1933, but it wasn’t commercially available in the United States until around 1950. I’ve kept the author’s scene unchanged.
He slept restlessly. The moment Aston approached the bed, he woke once more.
‘I bought the Coke,’ Aston said. ‘Do you have a bottle opener?’
‘In the kitchen,’ Qin Siyu replied hoarsely. ‘The drawer beside the stove.’
‘All right.’
Aston went into the kitchen, washed his hands, and rummaged in the drawer. He found an old bottle opener. He didn’t know which previous tenant had left it, but it had been scrubbed until it shone.
The kitchen was clean, bright, and somehow homely. Qin Siyu probably did much of the everyday cleaning and upkeep himself.
Aston washed the opener again, brought it into the living room, picked up the Coke bottle on the desk, and popped off the cap with a sharp snap.
To his surprise, the Coke surged up, bubbling out of the bottle in a rush.
He hadn’t expected it to be so agitated, but he reacted quickly, slipping the long middle finger of his right hand into the bottle’s neck to block the opening, leaving only a narrow gap. By the time most of the gas had escaped, the Coke slowly sank back down.
Aston pulled out his finger, now wet and sticky along its length. Holding the bottle between his other fingers, he offered it over. ‘Do you still want to drink it?’
‘It’s fine.’ Qin Siyu propped himself up.
A drop clung to Aston’s middle fingertip, on the verge of falling. Qin Siyu stared at it.
Noticing his gaze, Aston looked at the droplet too.
The air seemed to freeze for several seconds, even as the drop was truly about to fall. It swelled at the fingertip, trembling, precariously suspended.
Perhaps the fever had made Qin Siyu incapable of thinking clearly. Perhaps he feared the Coke would fall on the sheets and leave a stain that might never wash out. Perhaps he was fascinated by the long knuckle of Aston’s middle finger, or was simply searching for yet another excuse to touch him. Whatever the reason, as the droplet was about to fall, Qin Siyu leaned forward and caught it with the tip of his tongue. Gently.
Aston felt something soft against his fingertip, followed by a tingling sensation.
They gazed at one another for a long while. The bottle was put back on the desk, and another drop began to gather.
Aston lowered his eyes and breathed slowly. He tapped Qin Siyu’s lower lip with his index finger and held the tip of his middle finger just before his mouth. Qin Siyu understood and lowered his eyes, licking away the next drop too.
Then the middle finger entered his mouth. Aston stood by the bed with his eyes lowered, reaching inside to toy with the tip of Qin Siyu’s tongue. Qin Siyu lowered his eyes as well, held and gently bit the finger, sucked at it, and wound his tongue around it until every trace of sugar was gone.
Even when Aston began to withdraw the finger, Qin Siyu still held it lightly between his teeth.
Aston withdrew his finger and crouched beside the bed. His fingertip gleamed where it rested on the bedsheet.
Their gazes tangled and intertwined like creeping vines.
Had they also had an excuse just now?
To keep Coke from staining the bedsheets?
Did it truly need to be licked away?
Surely it did.
Qin Siyu’s temperature was high and his face still burned. The slightly upswept corners of his eyes and the way his eyelids hung half open were particularly noticeable. They looked at each other for a very long time from barely any distance at all.
Eyes, bridge of the nose, lips.
Qin Siyu’s lips moved. But knowing he had to restrain himself, he closed them again.
Each watched the other’s lips, then raised his gaze to the other’s eyes.
One pair of eyes was black, the other blue: one like an abyss, the other like the sea. Both seemed to beckon someone to plunge headlong in and lose his very life.
When Aston looked at his mouth, Qin Siyu parted his lips a fraction several times, revealing the little fullness at their center, then pressed them shut again.
Aston knew what he wanted. He wanted to suck and tease that rounded part of Qin Siyu’s lip. But… he couldn’t.
That would be crossing the line for real.
Aston asked, ‘Is it sweet?’
Was he referring to the Coke? Qin Siyu answered, ‘Sweet.’
Aston closed his eyes briefly, then stood abruptly, put the Coke bottle into Qin Siyu’s hand, and said, ‘You said you wanted this.’
‘Mm.’
‘There’s some cold medicine on the desk as well. I bought bread and pastries too. Eat a little when you’re feeling better.’
Qin Siyu looked into his eyes again. ‘All right.’
He was still propping himself upright, and the quilt had slipped down a little. One shoulder was bare, and the strap of his undershirt had fallen along that arm. The bone at that shoulder was even more prominent, as was the hollow at his collarbone. His skin was pale, and with him looking up like this, Aston wanted desperately to seize his shoulder, press him down against the bed, part his legs, and make him throw back his head and cry out.
But all Aston said was, ‘Get some more sleep. I’ll come see you again tomorrow.’
‘…Thank you.’
After Aston left, Qin Siyu leaned against the wall and drank his iced Coke. He was burning on the outside and within. The Coke was cold, yet as it entered his stomach, it felt as if every organ began to burn, as though it might be reduced to ash.
In fact, Qin Siyu recovered from his cold quickly. The next day he could already get out of bed. When Aston arrived, he was tidying his belongings.
Summer was approaching, and the window beside his desk stood open. In front of the screen hung a set of handmade ‘wind chimes.’
He’d suspended a branch horizontally before the window. Threads hung from it. Some ended in dried yellow leaves, maple or ginkgo, with a little hole near each stem through which a thread was passed, and a small red berry hanging above the leaf. From other threads dangled acorns and similar things, also pierced at the top for the string. When the wind blew, the whole arrangement swayed gently.
He always knew how to entertain himself.
There was always a glow of honest labor about him, too.
His belongings lay spread across the desk, and he was gathering them up one by one.
He’d just bathed. His black hair looked smooth and sleek in the sunlight before the window.
Aston picked up yesterday’s Coke bottle cap, intending to help him. ‘We can throw this out, can’t we?’
Qin Siyu whipped his head around and glared at him. ‘Are we trying to ruin ourselves? You can sell that for money!’
Aston: ‘…………’
Ten minutes later they were nearly finished tidying. Aston saw something lying on the desk that looked like a sheer glove from a wedding dress. He picked it up. ‘What’s this?’
Qin Siyu glanced at it and paused. ‘Oh, last week, someone from Chinatown opened a Western-style bridal shop—’
Second-generation Chinese Americans were growing up, and the balance between young men and women had improved considerably. Weddings were becoming common in Chinatown, lively affairs. For decades before, men had often had no choice but to return to China to find wives.
Now, if both bride and groom had been born in San Francisco, they often wore Western wedding clothes, held a ceremony in church, and then hosted the banquet in a Chinatown restaurant: a mixture of customs.
If they had both been born in China, they usually still held a Chinese-style wedding and wore traditional wedding clothes.
Aston asked, puzzled, ‘So?’
Qin Siyu continued, ‘The shop invited Suyu to model for an advertisement… and brought out an incredibly beautiful wedding dress.’
Lin Suyu was something of an idol among Chinatown girls. She was beautiful, studied at Yale, and intended to become a lawyer. A wedding gown looked wonderful on her, and the advertisement might really increase sales.
‘And then?’ Aston asked.
‘But—’ Qin Siyu laughed. ‘This glove was far, far too long. The fabric collapsed at the fingertips. It was the prettiest one, but it was the wrong size. Nobody knew what to do…’
He laughed even harder. ‘Suyu’s hands aren’t the long, elegant kind. They’re short and cute. They tried two other girls in the glove afterward, but the shopkeeper still wasn’t satisfied. That was when Suyu said her brother could probably pass.’
Aston raised an eyebrow.
Qin Siyu slipped the glove over his hand. It really was a perfect fit. Because the fabric was sheer, it half concealed the hand beneath, making it hard to tell that it belonged to a man. All that showed clearly was the length of his fingers and the definition of his knuckles.
He searched the desk again and found a red wrist corsage. Drawing his right hand in slightly, he slipped the flower onto his wrist. The main bloom was bright red, with a little green foliage beside it. Qin Siyu explained, ‘It’s a Chinese wedding, so adding a red wrist flower makes the photographs more festive. East meets West.’
Aston asked, ‘What sort of pictures did they take in the end?’
All Qin Siyu’s roommates were out today. Summer wind drifted into the room, and Aston’s fringe fell across his eyes. Qin Siyu looked at him, lifted a bridal veil, and draped it over both of them. It hung down past their waists. With the gloved hand, he brushed Aston’s hair aside, let his fingers slide over the back of his head, and moved closer, gazing up at him as their breaths nearly merged. Making it up as he went, he said, ‘Like… this.’
The veil was one of the advertising props as well.
His gloved hand descended slowly through the golden hair and finally settled at the back of Aston’s neck. Even Qin Siyu’s little finger slipped beneath the collar of Aston’s black shirt. Aston felt the bridal glove’s gauze brush against his skin, sending a shiver from his nape to his brain and down his spine to his pelvis. He controlled his breathing as the fingers slowly tightened there. Qin Siyu held his gaze with those angled eyes. ‘Like this. Holding the back of the neck. A close-up of this part.’
He was making it up entirely.
In reality, he’d simply pretended the hand belonged to Suyu and posed it in front of her for a few photographs featuring a wedding ring. That had been all. Nothing complicated.
He was searching for another excuse to touch Aston, and especially to touch him while wearing a bridal prop.
‘And there was this,’ Qin Siyu went on. Perhaps the glove made him bolder because it placed a barrier between their skin, or perhaps the fact that it was worn for a wedding made him impulsive. He brushed the back of his fingers against Aston’s cheek, drew an index fingertip slowly down his nose and back up to its bridge, and wrapped his other arm around Aston’s waist, pressing their lower abdomens together. ‘One picture like this.’
Aston’s golden hair, brows, eyes, and nose all submitted docilely to his fingertips.
Qin Siyu touched Aston’s lips with his index finger, drawing slowly from the dip in the middle of the lower lip to its corner. Their chests almost touched. ‘And one like this.’
Above the red flower was white gauze. Above the gauze were red lips.
Aston’s voice was always deep. ‘Really?’
The thirties had brought a return to conservatism. Photographs like these weren’t fashionable.
‘I can’t remember.’ Qin Siyu stroked his lips again. ‘Let me think… Maybe not?’
So many parts of Qin Siyu’s body had been touched over the past two days… but he wanted to touch Aston too, even if it was only his hair or his face.
Aston had touched Qin Siyu’s lips; Qin Siyu wanted to touch Aston’s.
The bridal glove stopped at the corner of Aston’s mouth. Both men breathed rapidly.
Qin Siyu thought he must really have been delirious from fever over the past two days. He kept wanting to take Aston’s lips into his mouth and lick them, as if tasting some treasure rarer than anything in the world.
Even if all he could do now was touch them with a fingertip, that would be enough.
Qin Siyu stared at those lips and, drawing on sight and touch, recalled how it felt to kiss them.
Back then… they had been very soft.
Aston lowered his eyes toward him, too. Both savored the feeling of their mingling breath.
The air seemed to stop moving. Second after second passed as they looked into each other’s eyes, one pair blue, the other black.
Some days ago, Aston had touched Qin Siyu’s lips. Now Qin Siyu had caressed Aston’s. Both paid close attention to the feeling, but in truth they each knew exactly what they really wanted.
Plainly, it was lips against lips.
To embrace, as though to dissolve the other into one’s body; to rub the tips of their tongues together; to exchange breath; to produce fresh moisture under the other’s touch and let the other swallow it.
But now they could only imagine it.
How they might lick every line of the other’s lips, suck that little fullness, part the seam of his mouth, and hook their tongues together.
Trying to satisfy themselves through imagination only made them hungrier.
Painful and pleasurable all at once.
They could neither move forward nor retreat, like two trains accidentally set facing each other on the same track. Neither could back away, yet if they continued, they would be smashed to pieces together.