The car parked, and the two of them went up in the elevator, both a little awkward.

One tried hard to be reserved; the other was quietly annoyed.

For a moment, the air felt tense.

Once inside the apartment, the larger space seemed to ease Seth a little. He put his mask on—at least, tried to. He tilted his head and asked gently, “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Just some bread.”

Watching Seth pull out the little lamb slippers from the closet, Fang Chen was startled, “When did you buy those?”

Seth lied easily, “Last time, after you visited.”

Fang Chen put them on and mumbled, “But how did you know I’d come again?”

Seth didn’t reply, just got a soda from the fridge and handed it over.

He checked the time and said in a negotiating tone, “It’s still early. I’ll go bake a cake for you. You do your studying for now—if you have any trouble, just ask me, okay?”

Fang Chen clutched his backpack and stared at Seth for a moment before finally nodding.

He felt like Seth was purposefully avoiding him.

Which, in a way, was true.
Seth really struggled to stay calm near Fang Chen. That smile vanished the instant he turned away, replaced by eyes burning with desire and lips pressed so tight, stray blond hair barely covering the brewing storm in his gaze.

He marched to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of ice water and gulped half of it, regaining a bit of composure, then set out ingredients—if Joey ever saw this, he’d be dumbfounded. Hard to imagine those hands, which could knock someone out with a single punch, could also crack eggs and whip cream for a cake.

But the problem was:
Fang Chen wasn’t really here just to study, either.
With Seth hiding out in the kitchen, how was Fang Chen supposed to make a move?

So the little lamb sulked on the couch.

It wasn’t long before Fang Chen called out, “Seth, can you help me?”

Seth had just put the batter in the oven; he whipped off his oven mitts and came out.

“What’s—”
He froze mid-sentence.

In the living room, Fang Chen was kneeling on the floor, back arched, butt in the air, reaching for something under the couch. “My pen rolled underneath—I can’t get it out.”

Seth just stood there, silent, hands subconsciously clenched.

That pose made Fang Chen’s shirt ride up, showing a strip of soft white waist and belly, and the way he stuck his butt up filled out those shorts, the cuffs rolling high enough to show the top of his thighs and even further in…

Seth struggled to breathe.

“Get up.” His voice was rough. “I’ll get it for you.”

Fang Chen lifted his head, blinked at Seth for a few seconds, then slowly stood.

Seth glanced down and saw Fang Chen’s knees were red.

After retrieving the pen, Fang Chen darted in close, leaning softly into Seth, “Thank you.”

Seth dropped his gaze, the sunlight casting one shadow on the floor—just his. Fang Chen’s was completely covered.

To Seth, this brought a strange satisfaction.

As if Fang Chen had already been absorbed into him, hidden inside his body and soul, invisible to anyone else.

A few seconds passed before Seth abruptly commented, “Your shorts are too short.”

It was so sudden, even Fang Chen was startled. Then he nearly smiled—short shorts had their advantages.

“Really?” Fang Chen looked down, feigning innocence. “I think they’re fine.”

Seth looked away quickly; one more glance and he’d be biting those legs for sure.

“I need to check on the cake,” he said coldly and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Fang Chen watching him, fists clenched, his inner lamb projecting military punches.
Some “buddy”!?
Since when do “buddies” care if your shorts are too short?!

In the end, Fang Chen just collapsed back onto the sofa, feeling limp and powerless.
Books and laptop were scattered, but he had zero motivation to study.
He just lay there, dead as dried fish, playing on his phone.

Jamin was sending him some “loving” recommendations,
Pushing a series of abs pics from Twitter.

Having seen and touched Seth, nothing else compared, not even the Saoirse photos.

“Cake’s ready.”

Suddenly, Seth’s deep voice came overhead.

Fang Chen jumped, dropping his phone.
He stared at Seth. “Why do you walk so quietly?”

Seth frowned, set down the cake, and bent over to retrieve Fang Chen’s phone.
Unfortunately, the screen had been left showing a picture of a red-haired guy pulling up his shirt for an ab-selfie.

Fang Chen, “…”
Seth snorted. “Maybe it’s not me walking quietly—maybe you’re just too entranced.”

Fang Chen felt guilty for a second, but quickly recovered.
What’s wrong with looking at abs? If they’re bros, don’t they share videos anyway?
He snatched back the phone, trying to sound casual. “Not at all—haven’t looked at anything really wild yet. That needs headphones.”

Seth looked down at him, inscrutable for a few seconds, then changed the subject. “Try the cake. I poured blueberry sauce on, from that jar you gave me last time.”

Mentioning the sauce, Fang Chen felt awkward. Back on the ranch, he’d bragged and promised to make some, but he’d burned batch after batch before finally getting a small jar out the door to Seth.

The cake was already cut; Fang Chen tried a piece, still warm and fluffy, with blueberry sauce—one bite and he felt instantly happy.

Anytime Fang Chen ate something he liked, he’d grin involuntarily, eyes crinkling on the couch, legs swinging in delight.

Seth didn’t eat; he just watched Fang Chen eat half the cake.

When Fang Chen finally set the fork down, Seth asked, “Full?”

Fang Chen nodded—half full, half too flustered from being stared at.

Just eat already!
Why keep staring!

Seth pushed the cake aside and nodded toward the chaotic desk, “How’s the studying going?”

Uh…

Fang Chen awkwardly licked his lips, lied, “It’s fine…”

“Put your phone down.”
Seth set aside the fork, grabbed a book, and said coolly, “Come here—I need to check.”

Suddenly, it felt like being called on in class.

Fang Chen shuffled over, took a seat beside Seth, and watched as Seth grabbed a red pen and immediately circled half a dozen misspelled words.

So embarrassing…

Fang Chen’s fundamentals were weak—spoken English barely passed, but writing was a disaster.

With all his mistakes being pointed out, Fang Chen instinctively sat up straight, sneaking nervous glances at Seth.

Seth kept marking, but every now and then would glance down—the white, soft legs pressed together on the black leather couch, too distracting.

He’d touched those legs before—soft as the finest marble.

Seth forced his gaze away.

“Most of your multivariable calculus answers are wrong. If you translate the questions incorrectly, your answers will be off, too.” Seth’s voice was icy. “You should put more energy into studying.”

Instead of those other distractions.

Thinking of the ab pics he’d just seen on Fang Chen’s phone, Seth couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger.

He’d wanted to throw the phone and pin Fang Chen, give him a few good spanks as a lesson.

But he didn’t even have the right to be jealous.

He had to swallow it down, pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

Beside him, Fang Chen blinked, nervously clutching his shorts.
What did that mean?
Was it a warning not to get ideas about him?

His chest felt heavy, like a stone sitting on his heart, making it hard to breathe.

He bit his lip, face pale.

But then Seth pulled out some scratch paper and, in awkward Chinese, said, “Start from the first question—begin by translating it, okay?”

Fang Chen paused, voice softer, “So you learned Chinese just to translate my homework?”

Seth raised an eyebrow, “Apparently, it’s really useful.”

Still baiting!
Fang Chen bit his lip, but couldn’t resist, poking his head closer. “Let me see—where did I mess up?”

Seth’s hand shook, the red marker making a wild line.
Fang Chen was so close, he could almost taste the blueberry breath.

Seth nearly cursed under his breath.
Damn!
Such a tease.

He was just begging to be kissed—pinned and kissed hard until his lips were red, swollen, his tongue hanging out and drool running down, all kissed away again.

Seth could barely contain himself, mind in turmoil as he tried to keep his cool and explain the problem.

He taught with detail; even if Fang Chen started off distracted, soon he was completely focused, diligently taking notes.

Seth leaned his head on his hand, never looking away, just watching Fang Chen’s long dark lashes as he worked—if he blindfolded Fang Chen, those lashes would tremble, brushing softly against his palm.

When you lose sight, your body becomes even more sensitive.

Seth thought idly.
Would even a touch make him shiver, blushing all over?

“Did I solve this right?” Fang Chen asked suddenly.

Seth came back to himself, looked down, and saw Fang Chen pointing—pink-tipped nails.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.

He wanted to lick them.

He rasped, “Yes.”

Fang Chen nodded and kept working, totally oblivious to the danger lurking right next to him.

Seth leaned back, draped his arm behind Fang Chen’s chair, making it look like he’d wrapped Fang Chen up in a hug.

He’d held back long enough.
Someday, he’d just devour him whole.