The next day, Su Ziceng tore off the band-aid on his face, leaving a small, inconspicuous wound at the corner of his mouth, shallow and reddish. In the mirror, his complexion was delicate, showing no signs of staying up late, apart from that accidental wound.
Hang Yishao’s temperament was just like that. Su Ziceng tossed the flimsy band-aid aside, examining his own reflection with a furrowed brow. Whether it was his relationship with Pello or with Hang Yishao, things were currently both complicated and messy, with his internal balance tipping now and then.
Physically, he still couldn’t resist Hang Yishao. Under such circumstances last night, if it were someone else, he would have definitely made them regret it, but under Hang Yishao’s dominance, he felt powerless.
Mentally, he had already started to acknowledge Pello’s unusual place in his heart. Being with Pello always offered him the comfort of being cherished, yet every time he remembered that this was Pello’s usual way with everyone, he felt disappointed.
From outside came a quiet knock on the door, the gentle sound filling the silent corridor almost entirely.
"Ziceng?" The voice clearly belonged to Pello. Su Ziceng hurriedly checked his reflection in the mirror and his night robe. He hadn’t slept well and had woken up early in the morning; at just seven o’clock, Pello’s early visit was quite rare.
He rubbed his eyes and opened the door to find Pello standing outside, holding two breakfasts—Su Ziceng’s favorite vegetarian sandwiches and freshly squeezed orange juice, along with a cup of coffee. His heart warmed; Pello always made him feel cherished.
He stepped aside to let him in, but upon realizing the mess in his dorm, Su Ziceng’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"What happened to your lips?" Pello’s fingers were cool as they paused on Su Ziceng’s lips. He had noticed the subtle injury, the one left by Hang Yishao now tinged with another man’s scent. Su Ziceng, flustered, brushed his hand away, stammering, "Accidentally got stung by a mosquito."
The room turned noticeably colder, and Pello added, "The mosquitoes in winter are quite venomous. It’s better to be careful."
"Yeah," Su Ziceng said as he retreated to the bathroom, sounds of washing up following. Pello placed the breakfast on the table. His height alone made the small two-person dorm room feel much tighter.
A cream-colored coat hung limply on the back of a chair, its front button undone, the matching wool yarn sticking out conspicuously. Pello reached out abruptly and yanked off those threads. His eyes, red from a sleepless night, looked tired.
During breakfast, while Su Ziceng was eating his vegetarian sandwich, he noticed Pello was only drinking coffee. He mumbled, "Just coffee? That’s not good for your stomach."
Pello responded indifferently, "I’m used to it," as his breakfast had always just been black coffee, occasionally with a bit of Whiskey. He then took a half-eaten sandwich from Su Ziceng, who after finishing the rest, said, "I’ve eaten all the eggs, left some lettuce and tomato, you’ll just have to make do."
The sandwich in his hands was torn apart, Pello paused, looking at it and muttered softly, "It’s fine, I don’t like eggs anyway."
"Didn’t see that coming, you really have quite a few quirks," Su Ziceng remarked while opening the wardrobe, deciding on another jacket since the one was damaged. Moreover, under Pello’s gaze, she felt uncomfortable.
Behind the loose nightgown, an awkward arm was stretched out, Su Zi’s hand still on the hanger. Behind her ears, there was a puff of warm breath; she hesitated, initially uneasy, then relaxed.
"I regret letting you go with that guy last night," Pello’s voice sounded angry, a rare loss of composure from him, using an uncouth "that guy" to refer to Hang Yishao.
"I’ve been thinking all night about what he would say to you, and what he would do to you?" his fingers warmed up in Su Ziceng’s body temperature, "Tell me."
"I hate it when someone speaks to me in a commanding tone," Su Ziceng thought to herself, surprised at Pello’s unreasonable side, though she actually said nothing.
"Tell me," Pello persisted stubbornly, his tense jaw lowered, rubbing against Su Ziceng’s soft cheek, his hand resting on her waist, "According to our agreement, we should be honest with each other."