Chronicles of the Beginning of Love

What constituted “doing as he was told”? To disobey nothing at all was called doing as he was told. He had barely alleviated his hunger with this meal. When Qiu Huaijun returned to his bedroom, he was so angry he threw his pillow and kicked the table. But other than making his toes hurt, he gained nothing.

He curled up on the bed. The air conditioner wasn’t on; the windows were open wide, the heat and humidity of a coming rainstorm permeating the room. Qiu Huaijun began to sweat lightly, his anxiety becoming hard to suppress. He clenched his hand into a fist, staring at the grey-black clock on the wall. That blob of grey-black became putrefied oil in seawater, became the rotten, smelly fish and shrimp in a basket; in the sleepiness that came again and again, it became shadows and strands of hair.

In his half-sleeping, half-awake state, he won a dream. The dream was grey-black too, interspersed with sudden blue-green. Before he could figure out what it was, he heard the sound of the door opening in the midst of haziness; a soft, soft sound. A mass of shadow dropped over his eyes. Qiu Huaijun blearily opened his eyes to see He Qingchuan’s wet hair.

“Got impatient?” He Qingchuan seemed to be smiling. “So sleepy.”

Qiu Huaijun’s sleepiness disappeared in an instant. He stared blankly at him for a few seconds, then reacted. He Qingchuan watched him push himself up to a sitting position, striving to create an unbothered, experienced appearance. “Are we doing it?”

“How do you want to do it?” He Qingchuan got close to him, his hand propped up by his side. “Tell me.”

Qiu Huaijun was at a loss for words. Angry, he snapped, “Fuck you, isn’t it you fucking me? How should I know!”

He Qingchuan watched his pitch-black pupils and laughed lightly. He raised up a side of the thin blanket, covering his body. He laid down beside Qiu Huaijun. “Sleep.”

— Sleep? He Qingchuan actually closed his eyes, turning off the light by his side in passing. Qiu Huaijun stared at him uncomprehendingly, suspecting that this was a trap. Yet he had no proof; he could only slowly lie back down.

After turning off the light, he couldn’t see He Qingchuan’s face in the dark. But he could hear the sound of his breathing, warm air puffing on his eyelashes and hair. Earlier, Qiu Huaijun’s sleepiness was in abundance, but now he was incomparably alert. There was only a bit of blanket, and the pillow wasn’t wide; he and He Qingchuan’s knees touched. Qiu Huaijun shrank back imperceptibly, but He Qingchuan suddenly seized his waist.

He Qingchuan’s hand slipped underneath his shirt and felt his binder. “If you wear this at night, it’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Don’t move!” Since they were so close, Qiu Huaijun’s struggles had nowhere to go. It was but a strip of white cotton; it came off light as a feather. A pair of pale, soft breasts bounced out, vestiges of white at the nipples. “Stay away from me…”

“There’s milk coming out again?” He Qingchuan borrowed the weak line of light, gathering up Qiu Huaijun’s breasts and squeezing. The scent of milk in the air became more noticeable. Qiu Huaijun was terribly conflicted; He Qingchuan looked at him. “Remember what you promised me.”

All of Qiu Huaijun’s movements froze, only leaving the sound of breathing. He Qingchaun rucked up his shirt to his collarbones and bent down, taking a nipple into his mouth. His teeth started nipping and biting at the nipple, causing milk to flow out. Tortured gasps came from Qiu Huaijun’s mouth.

He didn’t dare to look at the sight of He Qingchuan sucking at his nipple; he could only deceive himself by closing his eyes. Dense, long eyelashes trembled. His entire body buzzed. He could even distinctly hear the sound of He Qingchuan swallowing. He gritted his teeth, ultimately giving up resistance and gripping He Qingchuan’s hair.

“Ge,” said Qiu Huaijun, his voice raw. “Use more force, there’s a lot of milk…”

Who would have thought that he was so sensitive that, relying only on sucking milk, he could reach orgasm? He Qingchuan went to suck at his other nipple, his hand kneading the first. He tugged at the nipple with ill intention, trying to make him hurt. Qiu Huaijun couldn’t control his tears, turning his head to the side with a sob. Tears dampened a small section of the pillow. He called out “ge, ge” for a time; he called out “He Qingchuan” for a time.

His underwear became wet again, sticking to his lower body. When He Qingchuan let go of him, clear liquid had moistened both breasts, looking especially lewd beneath the moonlight.

Qiu Huaijun hadn’t recovered from his orgasm yet. He dazedly stared at He Qingchuan— there was still the white stain of milk by the side of his mouth. He Qingchuan used his tongue to lick it away. Qiu Huaijun’s face nearly ignited. “Are you insane…

“You told me to wait for you here, just for this. He Qingchuan, have you not weaned…” Qiu Huaijun forced himself to keep face, and said, “You must be a pervert.”

“I thought we were the same type of person.” He Qingchuan’s knees parted his two legs, caressing his dampened legs. “Are we not?”

Were they both perverts? Qiu Huaijun had no strength left anywhere; he could only be manipulated by him. He panted, “Don’t you think it’s disgusting? I’m neither man nor woman. If you want to find a hole to stick your dick in, why don’t you find a girl? When did I offend you?”

“Who told you I liked women?” He Qingchuan’s fingers touched his chin, quickly pressing down upon his lips and taking away Qiu Huaijun’s ability to speak. The boiling heat from his body travelled onto Qiu Huaijun’s, bringing an invasive, oppressive feeling. He laughed, “I like men.” His fingers left burning hot lips. “If your underwear’s gotten wet, then take them off. I won’t fuck you tonight.”

Qiu Huaijun was sure his heartbeat stopped for a second, then unpredictably increased in speed; he even wanted to open his mouth and ask He Qingchuan what he meant. But it looked like He Qingchuan had lost the desire to keep speaking, closing his eyes.

In the end, he didn’t have the courage to take off his underwear. Qiu Huaijun could only endure the wet sensation of his underwear, closing his eyes as well. He originally believed that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the entire night, but he actually fell asleep in He Qingchuan’s arms very fast, so much so that he didn’t have a single dream. Would he snore? Or drool? If he did, that would be fantastic. It’d be best to disgust He Qingchuan, so he could get rid of him faster.

When he woke up the next day, the side of the bed was empty. He Qingchuan had already gotten up for early independent study; the early independent study for the third-years was earlier than for the second-years. Qiu Huaijun touched the side of his mouth to find no drool; whether he had snored or not was hard to determine. He sat on the bed blankly for a while before getting off and changing into clean clothes. He tossed the wet underwear into the dirty laundry basket, carelessly eating a few bites of breakfast and slinging on his backpack before walking out of the villa.

At ten, the weather became overcast, the clouds pressing down heavily. The wind blowing through the trees created a rustling sound, like thousands of shards of glass waiting for the right time to fall and pierce the skin and hair of passersby. Large sheets of oily green faded in the gloomy sky outside, waiting for the rain to drench them sodden.

Qiu Huaijun was still copying his self-criticism. He hated copying self-criticisms; underneath the tip of his pen, “sorry” had almost been written to death. The fan on the ceiling creaked as it spun. The air was stiflingly hot; the sky turned into the color of a rotten orange’s juice. Qiu Huaijun became sweaty all over as he wrote.

“There’s probably going to be a rainstorm today.” Fan Yang looked outside the window, giving him a nudge. “How are you going to get home in the afternoon? Did you bring an umbrella?”

“There’s no point in bringing an umbrella on this type of day, it’s not like the rain comes down perpendicularly.” Qiu Huaijun bit the cap of his pen, swiping at the phone hidden inside the pile of books. He flipped a page. “I didn’t bring one.”

“You were awesome when you skipped class last time, I’m telling you. Zhang Xiangming specially came to block you, and he was so shocked that he didn’t.” The sound of the bell rang. The teacher, holding the textbook, walked in. Fan Yang hid behind a stack of books, continuing to talk in a low voice, “That dumbass swore at the doorway for so long that our teacher caught him. He’s probably writing a self-criticism like you right now!”

Zhang Xiangming was the person he fought with before. Qiu Huaijun sneered, “Dumb fuck.”

“He’s probably going to come bother you in the next few days, be careful.” Fan Yang took out his textbook. The wind blew out the window curtains in large swells. The textbook pages made rustling sounds, flipping all the way to page 53: a clean and empty page. “If there’s anything, just call me. Us two can’t do anything else, but we can fight for each other*.”

Just as he finished speaking, the rainstorm came out. Everyone’s gaze moved over. Leaves came down; all was mist and grey-white. The students near the windows hurriedly closed the windows. A drizzle of rain curled up in the corners, the remainder slapping against the glass. The cicadas gave a final struggle, then disappeared. Qiu Huaijun stopped writing, curling up the two pages of self-criticism and stuffing it into his desk.

He didn’t like going to class. He could only rest his chin on his shoulders and stare at nothing, failing to distract himself from thinking of He Qingchuan. It was to the point that the moment he thought of him, his hole would twitch and his entire body would become hot. He instinctively pinned He Qingchuan as a dangerous character; it was hard to figure out what He Qingchuan was thinking.

At noon, he bought bread and chips from the automated coin-operated vending machine. He didn’t bring an umbrella, so he didn’t want to get wet. When he was playing on his phone in the empty classroom, he received a text from He Wang.

Did you bring an umbrella? It’s still raining in the afternoon.

He Qingchuan held the bread in his mouth, his fingertips touching the screen. White light reflected in his pupils. After a long while, he replied, I didn’t bring one. It’s fine.

If it was still the past, he probably would’ve made He Wang simply fuck off. But compared to He Qingchuan’s evils, He Wang seemed more trustworthy— could it be said as the hidden positive result of comparison? Qiu Huaijun thought it was laughable.

In the afternoon, wait in your classroom for me. I brought an umbrella, we’ll go together.

*两肋插刀; idiom meaning “to help [someone] at the loss of one’s own life”; lit. to be stabbed in the ribs on both sides, unfearing of death

Author's note

Huaijun: mhm mhm, er-ge's a good person.

He Wang: mhm, mhm (takes out big dick