The air seemed to freeze.

Seth let out a heavy breath, his gaze darkening as he looked at Fang Chen. His voice came out hoarse: “Too big?”

Fang Chen, cheeks flushed from the wine, gestured awkwardly, “Really, when I put it on, it just falls off.”

Seth stared at Fang Chen’s shirt, as if trying to see through the thin fabric to everything underneath.

But in the end, he forced himself to look away. “I’ll have them send new ones over.”

Fang Chen made an “OK” sign with his fingers around one eye, blinking brightly through the “O.”

Too cute for words.

Seth had to use every ounce of self-control not to snatch him up. He bit down hard, jaw tense and veins standing out, voice low: “Wait in your room.”

Any more and he might not be able to hold back.

But Fang Chen shook his head: “I’m not tired yet! Didn’t you say I could play games? Where’s the game console?”

Still muttering, he crouched down to rummage through the drawers under the cabinet. As he bent over, the shirt slid up from his knees to the tops of his thighs… and of course, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Seth’s breaths grew heavier, his eyes almost blood-red with suppressed desire. Silently swearing, he strode over, grabbed Fang Chen by the waist, and hoisted him up, with Fang Chen’s round bum right in front of him. Finally losing control, he gave Fang Chen’s bare butt a firm slap, voice rough: “Back to your room. Come out only after you’ve got underwear on.”

The smack echoed through the apartment. Fang Chen was dumbstruck for a second; the wine haze vanished and his mind was crystal clear.

Seth hit him? On the butt? On his bare butt?

His face flared red—blazing from his ears down to his neck.

He froze, then suddenly wriggled furiously, legs kicking and yelling, mixing English and Chinese, “Holy shit! You hit me!! Bastard! Put me down!! I’ll fight you for real!”

Seth’s face stayed stern; there was no way he was letting Fang Chen down—he even had to tug the shirt down as Fang Chen squirmed, just in case things got too exposed and he lost control again.

Only after tossing Fang Chen onto the bed in the guest room, fingers clawed up Seth’s neck, did he finally let go.

Fang Chen glared up, fists clenched, “Don’t think I can’t beat you.”

Seth reached out, wrapped up the little fists, eyes heavy, “So you like fighting bare-assed?”

Fang Chen’s eyes widened, yanking his hands back and clutching his backside.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Seth gave him one last look, then left.

As soon as he was gone, Fang Chen started rubbing his own butt.

Damn! Didn’t he realize how strong he was?!

Seth came back with a bag, dropping it by the bedside. “Go change.”

Fang Chen shot him a glare. “Get out!”

Seth snorted. Just a minute ago, you were parading your bare butt around, now suddenly shy.

But he said nothing, just left and shut the door behind him.

Seth didn’t like smoking around Fang Chen, but right now, irritation was boiling over. So he bit down on a cigarette, chewing the tobacco.

Outside the full-length windows, the lights below blurred by the rain—like an out-of-focus movie.

But in Seth’s mind it was only the image of Fang Chen in his shirt, showing off legs.
Clean, lovely, irresistible.

There was another bag next to the sofa—the assistant had dropped off a lounge set, but Seth hadn’t taken it to Fang Chen.
Privately, he liked Fang Chen best wearing his shirt.
Even though—

He glanced at the closed door.
He figured Fang Chen wouldn’t come out until morning.

The rain kept pouring down.
Seth couldn’t help wondering whether coaxing Fang Chen to stay tonight was a mistake, something that might mess up whatever they had.

It was a disaster!!!

Early the next day, Fang Chen, hair a messy black mop, punched a pillow desperately.

Drinking! Always leads to trouble!
Last time: groped Seth’s abs. This time: running around bare-assed. Next? Climbing into his bed?!

After pummeling, the pillow was misshapen, but memory foam always bounces back.

Fang Chen flopped back, exhausted.
The horror! The shame! The sheep is doomed!

He wished the door would never open, so he’d never have to face Seth!

But barely two minutes in, a delicious aroma wafted in from under the door.

Nose twitching seriously, Fang Chen sniffed. Uh oh, he’s being lured out…

Within seconds, Fang Chen gave in, peeked out the door to sniff, and when the smell overwhelmed him—was that chicken soup?

All he’d had yesterday was bland “white people food,” and he was starving now.

He couldn’t hold out any longer, so he left the room, trying to keep a stern face, hoping to win against Seth on attitude.
He ran around naked; so what? Did that mean his ass deserved a spanking?

He snuck into the kitchen only to be caught by Seth turning around.

Seth greeted calmly, like last night never happened. “Morning. I made chicken noodle soup—wash up and you can eat.”

Fang Chen lost steam instantly, mumbled a dry “Morning.”
He ducked his head, cheeks flaring up again, only now noticing he was still in Seth’s crumpled shirt.

He didn’t realize that, as he ducked away, Seth was eyeing him like a wolf, dark gaze caressing every exposed bit from the unbuttoned collar to bare legs.

His prey.
Sooner or later, he’d eat it whole.

Fang Chen didn’t dare look up, muttered, “I—I’ll go change.”
He hurried back to his room.

Seth smiled as he turned off the stove.

At breakfast, the contrast was clear: one side held a steaming bowl of noodles, golden eggs, fresh orange juice; on the other, bland salad, bread, and black coffee.

Fang Chen buried his head in food, nearly diving in, “Aren’t you hungry… are you only eating that?”

Seth stirred his coffee. “Going to school today?”

“Yeah, two classes.”

“Then I’ll pick you up after.”

Gulp—
Fang Chen drank his last sip of soup, suddenly lost.

Why did it sound so much like living together?

If this was any other day, Fang Chen might agree. But after last night, the sheep sensed danger and just wanted to escape.

He wiped his mouth and bluffed, “I’m having dinner with Jamin, just going straight to the dorm tonight.”

Seth saw the lie, but didn’t challenge it, just nodded. “Then tomorrow—”

“I’ve got plans tomorrow…”

Under his gaze, Fang Chen’s voice faded.

Seth’s patience was wearing thin. He pushed the coffee aside, locked eyes on Fang Chen: “Are you avoiding me?”

Fang Chen looked away, voice tiny, “No, not at all.”

“Then come over tomorrow.”
Seth softened his tone. “If you finish today’s study plan, I’ll take you out tonight.”

At that, Fang Chen’s eyes sparkled a little, “Where?”

“Secrecy!”

Fang Chen pouted, but eventually agreed, saying it was just for fun—not for Seth.

After breakfast, Seth drove Fang Chen to school, parking off the side street.
Seth frowned, “You embarrassed by me?”

“No—you’re famous.” Fang Chen buckled up, muttered, “If you walk around campus, people take your picture.”

“So?”

Fang Chen bit his lip, trying to meet Seth’s gaze, “They’ll get the wrong idea. After Halloween, people online said we’re a couple.”

Seth stared deeply, “Does that upset you?”

Fang Chen hesitated, looking down. “Let’s go—I’ll be late.”

The engine roared and the car sped off.

After Fang Chen left, Seth sat and closed his eyes, ignoring calls. After a while, he headed home.

He ran into the cleaning lady and told her not to touch the guest room—he’d clean it himself.

Inside, Fang Chen had tidied the room; his worn shirt lay folded on the bed.

Seth looked at it for two seconds, then picked it up, first sniffing it lightly, then burying his face in the fabric.

Fang Chen hadn’t meant it, but after two classes, feeling muddled, he really called Jamin for dinner.

They went to a basement hot wing shop; Jamin ordered three helpings like he wanted to bankrupt Fang Chen.

But Fang Chen had no appetite; he sipped juice and sighed.

Jamin asked, “What’s up?”

Fang Chen shook his head.

Jamin snorted, “You’re in front of New York’s top relationship expert—don’t waste your chance.”

Fang Chen hesitated, mumbling, “I have a friend…”

Jamin gestured, “Stop. Just tell me—what’s up with Seth?”

Fang Chen bit his lip. “I think he’s deliberately leading me on.”

“How so?”

“He’s nice to me, invites me out, but never says anything about his feelings.” Fang Chen clenched his fists, getting angry, “It’s unfair.”

Jamin frowned, “You’re so cute—how could he not like you? Even Seth isn’t that immune.”

“When will you see him next?”

“Tomorrow…”

Jamin thought, then called Fang Chen closer, “I have a plan.”

“So mysterious? Whispering?”

“Of course—VIP only.”

…

Next morning, Fang Chen woke to his alarm, washed up, and ran down with his bag—felt like rushing to an early class.

By now, their routine was familiar; Seth naturally took Fang Chen’s bag and ruffled his fluffy hair. “Hungry? I made dumplings for breakfast.”

“Made dumplings,” Fang Chen corrected, eyes lighting up, “You can do that?”

Seth was casual, “It’s easy.”

He didn’t mention getting up extra early to prep.

Fang Chen couldn’t help but murmur, “Ever thought of opening a Chinese restaurant?”

Seth grinned, “You can treat me like a chef now—order whatever you want.”

Truthfully, Seth’s cooking was incredible.

As Fang Chen ate, he studied Seth’s hands. “Are you good at cooking because your hands are so big?”

Seth’s gaze darkened; he turned his hand over, engulfed Fang Chen’s little fist.

Fang Chen balled his hand, making it even easier for Seth to knead it.

In the ring, Seth knew fists had to be harder than rock to win. But he’d never known how heavy even a cottony fist could feel.

How much more could he love?
Enough to want to bite and kiss it.

Seth’s hands were hot; Fang Chen fidgeted and pulled away.

Seth shifted topic, “Ever been to a bar?”

Eh?
Sheep ears pricked.

“Joey opened a boxing-themed bar. Tonight I’ll take you.”

Two sheep ears up.

“Boxing-themed? Is there a ring?”

“Of course—there’s even matches tonight.”

Sheep crowed, “When do we go?”

Seth smiled, “After you finish today’s homework.”

Smack!
Sheep became a meatball on the table.

The apartment had a study, which Seth rarely used, but it served for today.

A desk, both of them facing each other, atmosphere like a library. Fang Chen kept peeking at Seth’s book—full of dense words that made his head spin.

Seth caught his glance and asked, “Anything you don’t understand?”

Fang Chen clutched his book, buried his head, “No.”

“Don’t hunch—bad for your eyes.” Seth’s tone took on a tutor’s edge.

Fang Chen sat up; maybe his hair was a bit long, but Seth almost wished he wouldn’t cut it, loving how it felt.

Maybe the bar’s reward helped—Fang Chen studied so fast, he finished early in the afternoon.

Seth checked the time, “It’s early—let’s eat, what do you want?”

Fang Chen shook his head, eyes bright, “I want to go change.”

Seth frowned, “Change? Why?”

“Because we’re going to the bar tonight!”

Seth rarely went to such places; if not for bringing Fang Chen, he wouldn’t go at all. But whatever Fang Chen wanted, Seth always agreed.

“I’ll drop you off—you change, I’ll wait downstairs.”

Fang Chen had already texted Jamin, who was waiting with a bag of gear in the dorm.

When Fang Chen arrived, Jamin dragged him inside, “Don’t worry, Seth’s gonna be knocked out tonight—but you gotta stick to the plan, talk less.”

Fang Chen nodded fiercely, clutching his fists—he’d catch Seth out or die trying.

Outfit set, makeup done, Jamin broke out the curling iron.

Fang Chen goggled, “You’re amazing.”

Jamin whistled, “Professional.”

Seth waited a while, but hadn’t the slightest impatience. He used to hear Joey complain about waiting for his girlfriend, but Seth felt only pleasure.

Standing below the dorm, leaning on the car, he eyed the line of lit windows, knowing which was Fang Chen’s.

Right now, what was Fang Chen doing?
Changing?
Maybe his white waist would flash, maybe he’d bend over and stick out that round butt…

Mind cluttered only with sheep.

Then Fang Chen stepped out the door.

Seth rarely faltered, but he did now; eyes instantly dark as ink, glued to Fang Chen.

Fang Chen wore Jamin’s chosen outfit—black top with rhinestones, a low V neck showing lots of milky skin, denim shorts with a studded belt; curls at the ends of his hair for extra charm.

He’d never dressed like this; eyeliner long and winged, a mischievous sprite.

As Fang Chen smiled, Seth struggled to breathe.

“You waited long?” Fang Chen asked.

Seth’s voice was hoarse, “No.”

Fang Chen stepped close, on tiptoe, lips glossy. “Do I look good?”

Seth stared, then rasped, “You look great.”

Just a little closer… and he could kiss Fang Chen.

But Fang Chen breezed past, “It’s late—let’s go.”

Seth stood still, then finally climbed in the car.

On the way, Fang Chen barely spoke, just fiddled with his phone. Seth watched, finally asked, “Did you eat? Hungry?”

Fang Chen didn’t look up, “No.”

Seth frowned slightly, glanced at his phone, “Chatting?”

Fang Chen finally paused, blinked slyly up—then gave a vague answer:
“A friend.”

Seth’s eyes darkened, lips pressed tight—he stopped talking.

Joey’s bar was right downtown—a three-story standalone, sign blazing in the night.

Joey greeted them at the door, nearly bouncing.
With Seth here, his bar would go viral.

“Hey! Seth, this way!”
“Chen! Good to see you!! God, you look gorgeous—a little devil… I mean that in a good way.”

Fang Chen winked back, “Thanks!”

Joey started to chat more, but Seth cut him off coldly, “You wanna stand here freezing?”

Joey shrank back, “Come in, come in! Can’t argue with the boss.”

Seth let Fang Chen walk ahead, shadowing him closely.

Joey whispered, “Keeping an eye on him, huh?”
Seth replied icily, “Get the chef to send food up.”

“This is a bar, not a restaurant—”

The rest of his protest died under Seth’s glare.

Almost immediately, Fang Chen vanished; Seth looked around, scowling, found him at the bar counter, chin in hand, watching the bartender.

Seth strode over, arm braced on the counter, unobtrusively boxing Fang Chen in.

“Want a drink?”

Fang Chen turned and smiled, “I don’t drink, but wow, he can breathe fire.”

Seth’s throat bobbed; he barely heard a word—his whole focus was on Fang Chen’s soft lips.

This pose—perfect for a kiss.

He leaned in, heat between them in the dim light, shadows merging—

But Fang Chen dodged, sliding away. “Where do we sit? Upstairs?”

Seth exhaled deeply and followed, “Yeah, come on.”

The bar had no private rooms, but their spot on the second floor had a great view of the ring below.

Fang Chen perched on the back of the sofa, enthusiastically watching the action.

No alcohol tonight; Seth ordered juice, then handed Fang Chen a glass with a straw. “Try it, do you like it?”

Fang Chen sipped, nodded, “It’s good.”

Seth grinned, just about to say more when Fang Chen turned to Joey, “When does the match start?”

“Soon, ten sharp—five minutes.”

Downstairs, the shouts started up; Fang Chen grinned, “It’s starting! Joey, is that blue-haired guy a boxer? Great body.”

Joey nearly spit his drink.

He glanced at Seth, whose face was thunderous, and hastily replied, “Body… eh.”

Fang Chen was about to ask more, but Seth finally snapped, tugged Fang Chen over, and said low, “Sit up, you haven’t eaten, get something in you.”

Snacks and grilled beef appeared at the table.

Fang Chen obligingly ate a slice, eyes going wide, “Awesome!”

Joey bragged, “Of course! The chefs here are top-class, better than any restaurant.”

He went on, boastful, “This bar, everything in it, I built it myself! Chen, I’ve always dreamed of a boxing bar—so cool.”

Fang Chen smiled, “That’s impressive! What’s the blue-haired boxer’s name?”

“Him? Buddy——”

Suddenly, Seth slammed his glass down, cutting Joey off.

Joey recovered, coughed, and changed topic, “Want more juice? Milk?”

Fang Chen puffed his cheeks, staying quiet.

Just then, the broadcast began.
The match had started.

Seth wasn’t interested in bar fights—he saw them as a waste of time.

But Fang Chen was enthralled, eyes wide, mouth agape whenever things got intense.

Seth’s gaze turned glacial.
He wondered if Fang Chen had been as excited watching his matches.

Grinding his jaw, Seth almost regretted bringing Fang Chen tonight.

He didn’t know what was wrong—Fang Chen seemed distant, focused on everything but him.

He hated when Fang Chen paid attention to anyone but him.

Still, whenever Fang Chen turned and smiled, it all vanished.
Under the disco ball, with Fang Chen’s eyes bright and beautiful, all Seth could do was melt.

Then Fang Chen spoke—and Seth’s mood crashed again.

“Can we invite him up to join us?”

Seth’s face went cold, locking eyes on the oblivious little lamb, “Oh? What do you want to play?”

Author’s note:

Degree of Husband-and-Wife Routine

Beginner: taking backpack, ruffling hair, opening car door

Intermediate: reaching to be carried, waiting to be shod, treating man as sofa, seeking a comfy spot on him for phone games

Ultimate: tap the butt—little lamb knows to switch positions

Once a person dives into the sea of knowledge, their sheep-brain will overload, repeating the cycle of drowning and gasping for breath, till they’re limp on the couch like a kebab, lost to the world.