Chapter Text
It’s hot in the classroom: sticky-heat hot. The windows are open and the air is still and the teacher has turned on the fan that does nothing but thrum and make clacking sounds. It’s a backdrop to the sound of paper sheets turning. Of pens scratching. Of sighing and feet scuffing into the floor.
Spines are curved over desks, and hair is falling into faces, and He Tian is slumped in his chair and he’s just watching, pen spinning between his fingers so fast it’s a blur.
Some of them have their cheeks almost pressed to the paper, glasses pressed against the desk. Some have straight-backs and jittering legs. Some, like Mo Guan Shan, have their hair in knots in their hand, lips bitten, pens moving across the page in an awkward, uncertain jerk. It’s a look that belongs to the struggling and the haven’t-revised’s. And it’s so at odds with He Tian, his slouch and expression that is soft and almost lazy, that the difference is almost jarring
But He Tian can’t help notice that Guan Shan’s is a unique look that belongs to the desperate, that he’s leaning so far over that his shirt has ridden up out the back of his black trousers, flash of pale skin a distraction, a mirage that He Tian is trying to make some sense of.
His pen clatters, for the third time, onto the floor.
It earns him a cast of annoyed glances – Guan Shan tenses at the sound but, otherwise, does nothing – and the teacher is staring at him. He Tian picks it up, and the teacher’s shoes are clacking onto the floor, and when he leans back in his chair she’s folding her arms beside his desk.
‘Is something the matter, He Tian?’ she asks, voice quiet even though everyone can hear it in the silence. Can hear it and is trying not to because the exams are more important than what he has to say for once.
‘The matter?’
‘Your paper is empty.’
He looks at it. So it is. ‘Yes,’ he says.
‘Are you having difficulty with the questions?’
‘No,’ he says.
She’s looking at him like she doesn’t understand. Like she’s disappointed, a small apostrophe between her thick brows.
‘See me after,’ is all she says, and heads back to the front of the room, shoes clicking.
He doesn’t, actually, see her after, because Bi Wenling’s asked him if he wants to go for a drink in the city and he says yes. He doesn’t see the teacher after because it doesn’t matter what her concerns are. He doesn’t see her after because his uncle offered him a job last month for when he finishes high school, and he’s said yes to that too.
‘Just pass,’ his uncle says, when he asks if there are grade requirements. ‘And don’t look like a total fuck up.’
Not looking like a total fuck up, to be exact, means that he can pass some exams and choose to fail others. He tries hard in the ones he likes, doesn’t turn the paper in the ones he doesn’t, and knows he’ll end up with a comfortable average that puts him in place with every other mid-level student in the city.
‘You’ll regret it,’ Zhengxi tells him, tone omniscient and foreboding.
But Zhengxi’s too practical sometimes so He Tian gives him the finger and knows that not getting an A in Philosophy and Ethics is not, in fact, something he is going to regret when he’s in his twenties and earning a salary that would make most people’s eyes water. At least, that’s what his uncle has promised him, and he tends to be pretty good on his promises, so He Tian doesn’t mind banking on the unknown.
He’s in a taxi by eight o’clock, and it smells of the girls’ perfume and flavoured lipgloss and Huo Qi’s aftershave. It smells of vodka because they’re sneaking sips out of micro bottles from the girls’ clutch bags, and the driver is passing them irritated glances because he’s a driver not a barman.
‘Li Lao Shi’s gonna have it in for you tomorrow,’ Huo Qi says, leaning across the seat and passing him the bottle.
He Tian takes a swig, can taste ethanol and the remnant’s of the girls’ coconut-flavoured lips that taste like rum, and he knows that they’re watching the way his throat works as he swallows, and it’s a heady, lustful thing that makes Huo Qi’s eyes darkens and the Bi Ten bites her lip.
He passes the bottle to Bi Wenling, and she’s smiling as she raises it to her own lips.
‘Li Lao Shi can go fuck herself,’ He Tian says. Puts the emphasis on the fuck, and the girls squeal in awful delight.
Huo Qi laughs. ‘Can’t all be as secure as you, He Tian,’ he says easily. ‘Some of us have to try.’
He Tian shrugs, because there’s something behind the words. Something that reeks of jealousy and something that’s bitter, and it’s just as rich as the hitched laughter. He Tian can’t care, because it’s not his fault that some things work in his favour. Not his fault that some people don’t have what he has. Zhengxi used to tell him that he should feel more. When Jian Yi went and he didn’t really feel anything. But he told Zhengxi that feeling wasn’t going to bring him back. And for a while, after that, they hadn’t spoken.
They slip between traffic now and miss red lights and the taxi jerks occasionally, too hard on the steering, too stiff on the breaks, and Shanghai’s slipping past them and through them as the sun is setting and the the city starts to change and light up around them, and soon they’re in the belly of the beast. He Tian hands over a wad of cash – keep the change – and they climb out on trembling legs and eyes that roll back for a second because they’d drunk too much too quickly.
‘Fuck, it’s cold,’ Wenling says, pulling her dress down from where it’s hiked up around her thighs. He Tian catches a glimpse of a white thong when she yanks down the fabric. It looks nice. And he nearly tells her. Imagines the way she’d choke and Huo Qi would give him that wild sort of look that said he couldn’t say things like that to girls and wishing almost that he could say it himself.
It’s not, actually. Cold. The summer night is hot and the sky’s a hazy, setting pink of a sinking sun, and most people in the bar, standing outside smoking a cigarette, passing them on the street, are wearing t-shirts and shorts and thin jackets.
It’s busy when they walk inside: men finishing work in suits with jackets folded over their arms, groups of teens and twenty-somethings finishing school or university for the day, women starting out on a hen night. There’s music thrumming through the speakers, low and heavy and all bass, and Wenling and Bi Ten find an empty while He Tian and Huo Qi get a round of shots, a few bottles of beer and some colourful cocktails. There’s a mirror behind the bar, and He Tian catches his reflection in it as he swipes his card. He think he looks like his father.
‘You’re the best,’ Wenling says as they carry them over, red lips parting.
‘You can get the next round,’ he tells her, handing her a cocktail and a couple of shots that smell like mouthwash. Doesn’t mean it, because a couple of drinks don’t make a thumb-print dent in his savings account.
They sit and drink and talk about school and exams because it’s easy, and then the conversation turns to after, which is harder, but they know they’ve got two weeks left and they probably won’t see each other again once school finishes in. Different social circles. Different aspirations. Knowing that they’ve never really been that close anyway and it was easy to be friends with each other when no one else would. He Tian too sharp, too much, Wenling too much of a gleam in her eye, Huo Qi too eager for the drink and the drugs, Bi Ten too much like all of them and not enough of herself. Alone they were imposing and weirdly dangerous – weirdly other – together they were impossible and suffocating to anyone who was not them.
‘I applied for an internship,’ Wenling says, when Huo Qi asks her what she’ll be doing. After. ‘I’m still waiting to hear.’
‘If you don’t get it?’
‘Apply to some others. Get a job.’
Huo Qi sighs. ‘I wish I had it that easy.’
Bi Ten’s look is flat as she moves a straw through her mojito. ‘You do,’ she says. ‘Stop pretending like you’re not your daddy’s little rich boy.’
Huo Qi flushes under the light, red and glowing. It’s dark out now, and the lights have been dimmed in the bar, and the cigarette smoke and the smell of liquor has started to draw the place into some quiet, shadowed part of the night.
‘At least my father cares,’ Huo Qi mutters.
It’s a jibe to He Tian. They all know it. Cast him a nervous glance. A waiting glance. He’s too unpredictable.
‘Lucky you,’ is all he says, knows his eyes are too still as he downs another shot and he’s not made a joke that they can laugh at.
Huo Qi gets up to go to the bathroom, because he can never handle the confrontation once he’s started it. The girls started talking about him, like He Tian’s not sitting there, and it’s an unconscious thing when he pulls his phone out.
What are you doing? he types.
He takes a swig of his beer, swallows slowly when he a text slides through.
im busy
He Tian bites his cheek. Doing what?
none of your business
I’m having a drink with Wenling.
good for you?
Come join.
and be a part of your trust fund group? no thanks
He snorts at this, and Wenling throws him a look.
‘What?’ she says.
‘Nothing.’
Huo Qi comes back eventually, sliding into the booth. His face is wet and pale and He Tian’s staring at him.
‘You missed a spot,’ He Tian says.
Huo Qi looks at him, startled, and wipes his arm across his nose, checks his reflection in the back of his phone.
‘Thanks for the invite,’ Bi Ten says to him, annoyed.
‘I only had enough for one go.’
‘Sure.’
He Tian is staring at his phone while they talk. It doesn’t light up again. He feels, suddenly, a little empty.
He rises to his feet. ‘I’m going for a smoke.’
‘I’ll come,’ Wenling says, and it’s almost a question.
He shrugs. ‘If you want.’
They go out the back of the bar, because the front is always busy and the music’s too loud. Outside it’s just an alleyway, empty and hot with steam from the kitchen and the smell of grease and rubbish bins that gets disguised under menthol cigarettes. He lights up for Wenling, and leans against the wall of the building with a foot against the brick.
‘Model pose,’ she says, an arm wrapped around herself. She holds her cigarette like she’s in some French indie film.
He rolls his eyes at her. ‘Whatever,’ he says.
She takes another drag, blows the smoke away from them both, and he sees that she’s biting her lip, red lipstick on her teeth, gloss left on glass rims. He wonders if her lips will still taste like coconut.
He thinks he knows what’s coming, because she’s sultry in a movie-star kind of way that makes most of the boys talk about fucking her rather than talking about having sex with her, and she’s never learnt that part of the appeal is not showing all you’ve got.
She says, ‘I can’t believe it’s all going to be over in two weeks.’
He says, ‘I can.’
Her sigh is loud. ‘Would it kill you be fucking sentimental for once, He Tian?’
‘Probably.’ He’s never really tried it. Not with her.
‘It makes you fucking difficult to like.’
I didn’t ask you to like me, he almost says. But it’s too similar. Too familiar. And he doesn’t want to give her that feeling that he only wanted to keep for someone else.
Instead, he shrugs. ‘Do you want my jacket?’ he says, because it’s getting cooler now, and her dress is short, and maybe the arm wrapped around herself is not a defence wholly against him.
She hesitates, for a moment, and it makes her look young, and that’s what makes He Tian’s heart kind of ache for her. And then she nods, slides her arms into it while he holds her cigarette. She breathes in the smell on the collar, and he wonders what it’s like. Nearly asks her to tell him.
‘Why are you so different than you were in middle school?’ she says, quietly.
He passes her cigarette back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You used to be so much… easier.’
‘Easier?’
‘You used to laugh more.’
‘I don’t think you’re remembering me very well,’ he remarks.
‘I used to ask you the stupidest shit and you’d indulge me,’ she continues. ‘And you’d tell me like you were telling me a secret. Like I was the only one that knew out of five other girls.’
He knows what she’s talking about, distantly. Remembers how they used to stop him in the corridor and ask if he’d walk them to class, and how he’d said yes. (Why had he said yes?) Remembers the way he’d lean back in his chair and when the bell rang they’d all gather around his desk like moths to a flame that was neither bright nor warm, and he’d enjoyed it as much as been puzzled by it. Puzzled, more, when people saw through it. Whatever it was.
He flicks ash away, embers dying on the ground. ‘And now?’ he asks her.
‘And now I feel like you’re telling people secrets that they’re not supposed to know.’
‘That’s interesting,’ he says.
‘No, it’s not,’ she sighs. ‘You don’t really give a shit about me.’
‘I gave you my jacket.’
‘Of course you did,’ she says, rolling her eyes.
He’s not sure what he’s supposed to make of that, but he’s also not sure if he can be bothered to work it out. Because it’s like she kept reminding them: two weeks. And they were counting down. And suddenly everything either meant everything or nothing – you gave it your all or you didn’t give it anything. And He Tian was finding that it was remarkably easy to give it nothing.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for.
Apparently, neither does she, and she gives him a strange look.
‘I’m going back in,’ she says. She waits for a moment, like she expects him to join her, but instead he lights up another cigarette and nods.
It’s quiet when she leaves. The vents from the kitchen have shut off because they’ve stopped serving food. He can hear the kitchen staff talking to each other and the clatter of plates through the service door along the alley. He can hear the cars passing on the street, windows down, music loud, late-night summer vibes riding the airwaves that are sticky and wet and hot and can’t quite reach him when he’s standing in the shadows.
He brings his phone out again and swipes through the last couple of texts. He’s done it before, scrolling through the phone when he can’t sleep. When he’s waiting for his turn as he sits on the side of the court during a basketball game. When he’s in class and can see Guan Shan and is trying to piece the words on the screen to his mouth and wondering what expression he would have made. If he ever smiles when he gets anything from He Tian. If he’s really devoid of anything for him.
He slips his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and smokes slowly, makes rings, lets it fill him up until the menthol makes his lungs feel cold. Doesn’t want to have to go back in and listen to Huo Qi’s barbed words and get looks from Wenling like she’s expecting something from him.
He’s nearly finished when the door opens a little way down the alley. It’s the door to the staff entrance, and He Tian ducks into the alcove of his own doorframe as two figures emerge.
‘Can’t wait to get you to mine,’ a voice mutters, and it’s a low sound, a dark sound, and He Tian can’t help but listen.
Whoever he’s with doesn’t reply, and He Tian leans forward, toes barely edging past the shade of the alcove, peering around the wall. There’s a guy, tall and well-built, and his frame almost hides the other guy he’s pressing into the wall. He Tian thinks he should be shocked that it’s another guy, but instead he takes a drag and watches as hands press into the tall guy’s biceps as he’s closed in, as the guy presses his mouth against a neck and a mouth parts and a head rolls against the brick until He Tian can see his face and—
He Tian stills.
Even in the dark it’s undeniable.
Even in the dark he’d know those lips. Knows that red hair. Know the way his eyes screw up against things that are real and in front of him and undeniably there, like closing his eyes was all he could do.
The cigarette is growing ashy between He Tian’s fingers, and he’s frozen as the guy works his way up Guan Shan’s throat, as he presses kisses into his cheekbones before they find his lips. As he leans in closer and presses his knee between Guan Shan’s thighs and He Tian shouldn’t be watching this. Shouldn’t.
And he wonders if this is what Guan Shan meant when he said he was busy. Knows on some vague level of awareness that he should be grateful that he wasn’t lying, that it would be the guy thing to cheer him on, but instead he can’t move and he can only watch and feel something funny happen in his chest.
And after a while Guan Shan shakes his head, because one of the guy’s hands is working its way beneath the waistline of Guan Shan’s jeans, and his other hand is pinning Guan Shan’s wrists to the wall above his head, and he looks so small. For a moment He Tian wonders if he should do something, but Guan Shan’s not struggling, not bucking against him, not swinging fists like he did in middle school.
And he whispers, ‘You can’t,’ and He Tian nearly misses it over the sound of a car door slamming down on the street.
‘Your uncle said I could,’ the guy says, and it’s a murmur into Guan Shan’s throat.
‘He’s not my uncle.’ And then: ‘You just need to pay me first.’
He Tian thinks he’s misheard him. Thinks he’s got it wrong. That he’s seeing it wrong. Because the feeling in his throat is too tight now and the cigarette has fallen onto the floor and it can’tbe. It can’t be. He wouldn’t.
Just because you have money you think you can use me.
He Tian thinks he is going to be sick.
‘The cash is on my dresser,’ the guy is saying.
‘Then we should probably go there and finish what you started.’
The guy makes a sound between a gasp and a guttural grown that echoes off the walls, and He Tian doesn’t need to watch anymore to know what Guan Shan did. Can imagine it even has he backs into the alcove, presses his head against the door, like it can open and pull him into something dark and cool and unending and silent.
He hears the footsteps after a minute, and they’re close, and there’s nothing he can do but hold himself so still. A shadow passes, and they’re near enough for He Tian to reach out and touch the guy’s jacket if he wants, to pull his hands away from where it’s tucked into Guan Shan’s back pocket, and he thinks they haven’t seen him.
He let’s out a sigh, and it’s quiet, but of course – of course – Guan Shan hears it.
For a second he looks at where He Tian’s standing like his mind can’t make up the pieces of what his eyes are seeing, blank, flat gaze; slack expression.
And then – then his eyes widen, barely, and his lips part, and he stumbles.
And He Tian wants to say something, but doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, so he doesn’t, and the guy doesn’t notice the exchange and he’s keeping Guan Shan moving and then they’re gone. Out onto the street. Car doors slamming, tires screeching as they pull away.
The engine fills He Tian’s head, and his heart is thumping in his throat, and for a while the deep, building roar of it is all he can hear.