Fang Chen didn’t seem to notice how strange Seth’s tone had gotten. He tilted his head, thinking, and said, “Dice? Poker? Anything’s fine.”

Seth gave a cold snort. “Didn’t know you knew so much.”

The little lamb blinked. “What’s wrong? Are you mad?”

Seth kept his tone chilly. “No.”

Fang Chen nodded. “Good. Can we change seats? I want to sit next to you—it looks clearer over there.”

Seth was seething but couldn’t vent at him. He exerted every ounce of restraint; his reply was icy: “No.”

Fang Chen pouted but dropped it.

Seth kept a tight face, downed half his drink in one gulp—the cold alcohol burned all the way down, somehow making him feel even hotter and more agitated inside.

Joey’s eyes darted around, not sure what was going on. He gestured for someone to bring a roulette board over.

“Chen! Spin the Wheel! Want to play?”

Fang Chen’s attention shifted. He looked at the board and nodded, “Okay!”

Actually, the whole table was full, most of them from the club, people Fang Chen had met at the ranch, so he felt pretty at ease.

He mumbled quietly, “What if I spin drinking?…”

Seth looked at him. “I’ll drink for you.”

Fang Chen edged closer, whispering, “Won’t you get drunk?”

Despite the wild, noisy bar, Fang Chen’s whisper landed perfectly in Seth’s ear, soft as a feather but so ticklish.

Seth’s throat bobbed. His own voice dropped, “I won’t.”

Just one quiet sentence from Fang Chen was all it took to calm him.

Like a soft little lamb, just a few “baa”s and the fierce gray wolf would come trotting over, tail wagging.

He unconsciously leaned closer to Fang Chen too, thinking the little lamb seemed even sweeter tonight. He took a deeper breath—but the next moment, Fang Chen had bounced back to his seat and eagerly raised his hand, “I’ll spin first!”

So near, so far, never quite close.

Seth’s hand squeezed the glass—he felt on the verge of snapping. He looked down at the ring below, feeling for the first time like going down to punch someone just to vent.

“Have a glass of whiskey.” Fang Chen pointed to the pointer on the board, then looked expectantly at Seth, eyes shining.

Seth gave a little smile and raised his brow.

The little lamb got animated, put ice and lemon in a glass and poured in the whiskey—presented it earnestly. “Big King, please!”

Said in such broken English.

Seth’s lips twitched as he took the glass and knocked it back in one go.

Whether luck was bad or Seth’s was worse, over the next few rounds, Fang Chen landed on “drink” every time.

Glass after glass, Seth didn’t even blink, but his gaze on Fang Chen grew darker and heavier.

After several rounds, Fang Chen actually hesitated to pour more. He leaned in to scrutinize Seth, “Are you really not drunk?”

Seth squinted, leaned close—so close his lips almost grazed Fang Chen’s soft ear. “No. I can’t get drunk.”

What a boast.

Fang Chen gritted his teeth, but the breathy words on his ear made tingles ripple all over him.

Talking is fine—why so close?
He grumbled inside, conveniently forgetting how he’d been teasing Seth earlier.

Sheep can have their fun but Seth can’t?

Another round started, but before Fang Chen could move, Seth reached out and stopped the wheel.

“This round’s mine.”

Fang Chen couldn’t explain it, but his heart started racing—something felt out of his control.

He held his breath, eyes locked on the wheel.

“Give him a hug!”

One of the mildest prompts, but all eyes snapped to Seth.

After all, it’s Seth—no one had seen him do anything affectionate.

But he looked casual, leaning back and tilting his head, gaze zeroing in on Fang Chen.

Fang Chen tried pretending not to see but Seth’s look was palpable, pinning him to the spot.

“Fang Chen.” He spoke Fang Chen’s name with near-perfect fluency.

Seth’s tone was totally natural. “Come here. Hug.”

Fang Chen swallowed, a little nervous.
Hugging was fine, but not in front of so many people—it was a little awkward.

He tried to decline, “I—”

But Seth stood, scooped him up without warning, and sat back down with Fang Chen in his lap.

Huh???
(°ー°〃)

Before he realized it, Seth was holding him like a stuffed toy, chin resting on Fang Chen’s fluffy hair.

He started to squirm away but Seth’s arm around his waist was like a steel band—he couldn’t budge.

“Be good.”
Seth’s low voice was uncommonly gentle.

Fang Chen froze, instinctively falling still.

Seth finally smiled.

Holding Fang Chen at last—Seth was completely content. He breathed in deep. If not for the crowded bar, he’d have buried his face in Fang Chen’s neck, just like a satiated wolf nuzzling his lamb.

Fang Chen mumbled, “How long do I have to sit here? Everyone’s looking.”

Seth’s gaze swept over the crowd—everyone instantly looked away.

Fang Chen, “…”
Damn!
Why can’t a shorty ever escape being Seth’s little figurine?

The sheep gave up and went limp in his arms.

Seth was tall; even sitting, he seemed imposing. In his arms, Fang Chen looked like a doll—a strangely harmonious sight.

All his pent-up frustration vanished. Seth was suddenly in a great mood, asking, “Still want to play?”

Fang Chen snarled, “Play!”

Seth just “mm”-ed, making no move to let go.

“How can I play if you won’t let go?”

“Why not?” he replied lazily. “Rules said we had to hug; we should respect the game.”

With perfect logic.

Before Fang Chen could debate, a ruckus by the stairs drew his curiosity—the blue-haired boxer had won the match and was heading their way.

Seth’s arm tightened on Fang Chen’s waist.

Fang Chen squirmed.

Seth growled, “Don’t rush.”

The boxer stopped before them, “Hey Seth! Remember me? That intercollegiate bout—we met!”

Seth raised a brow.

“I always wanted to fight you!” Buddy said. “Hope I get the chance.”

Seth nodded, “Sure.”

As Buddy turned to Fang Chen, he exclaimed in awe, “Whoa—so cute!”

In Seth’s arms, Fang Chen looked every bit the doll, Seth’s arm exuding unmistakable possessiveness.

Buddy stammered, “And this is—?”

Suddenly remembering Jamin’s advice, Fang Chen wriggled free. He grinned at Buddy, “Hi! I’m Chen, I saw your match—amazing!”

Buddy blushed, “Oh! Thank you!”

Yet before they could talk more, Seth stood abruptly, expression cold, “It’s late—we should go.”

Fang Chen blinked. “But we just got here!”

Joey jumped in, “Yeah, let’s stay! We haven’t even hit the dance floor.”

Seth looked even more sour—no way were they letting Fang Chen into the crowd.

“You still have homework,” Seth said, ending the discussion.

Fang Chen bristled.
Homework!?
We’re at a bar and all you care about is study?
Chinese education, you win!

He bristled, “I want to dance—go home if you must!”

Seth said sternly, “Fang Chen.”

Fang Chen ignored him.

Buddy was bewildered, Joey tried to smooth things over, “Stay, just a bit longer.”

But Seth’s eyes never left Fang Chen—angry and helpless.

At last, he relented. “I’ll come with you.”

Joey rallied the others, “Let’s all go!”

Midnight; the place was packed, music pulsing with bodies moving in time.

Fang Chen danced left and bumped Seth’s chest; right—and bumped him again.

He scowled, “Why are you always next to me?”

Seth replied calmly, “So no one else bumps into you.”

He had no idea how many eyes were on Fang Chen, who glowed like a sprite in the night.

But the more people looked, the more it infuriated Seth.

Fang Chen asked, “And what if they did?”

He looked up, clueless and innocent.
Seth pressed his lips together, about to answer—but before he could, Fang Chen turned away, caught up in the music.

He was a clumsy dancer—just waving arms and legs—yet to Seth, it was unbearably cute.

A guy nearby whistled. “Join us?”

Fang Chen’s steps faltered, but before he could reply, Seth stepped in front, glaring coldly.

The guy shrugged, “Alright, he’s yours.”

That seemed to please Seth, but Fang Chen popped his head around Seth’s shoulder, “Let’s go!”

That guy laughed.

Seth couldn’t take it, dragged Fang Chen out of the crowd.

Once outside, away from the noise, Fang Chen struggled to free his wrist, but Seth pulled him close.

“You’re not being good tonight, Fang Chen.”

Always arguing.

Fang Chen looked serious. “Are you mad? Because I wanted to dance?”

Seth didn’t answer.

So Fang Chen edged closer, voice lower. “Are you upset if I dance with someone else?”

He didn’t expect an answer, and moved to escape, but Seth grabbed him again.

“Running again?” Seth stared into his eyes.

Fang Chen looked away. “No, you took too long. I’m going home.”

Seth paused, then nodded. “I’ll take you.”

In the car, Fang Chen leaned against the window, pretending to sleep.

Was he too obvious tonight?
Did Seth notice?

Jamin said not to be too warm to Seth, to act cold, even chat with others—to see if Seth would get jealous.

Did he get mad?

Fang Chen’s thoughts swirled—then he fell asleep.

Sheep are just that simple.

Seth quietly watched him.

When they arrived, Seth didn’t wake him.

His favorite lamb, right in front of him—he couldn’t resist anymore.

Fang Chen, sleeping, looked so inviting; Seth wanted a taste, just a little…

Half asleep, Fang Chen blinked, feeling something tickly—peered up into Seth’s gray-blue eyes, startled awake.

“What…what are you doing?”

Seth leaned in, lips nearly brushing Fang Chen’s ear, breath tangled together.

Then he pulled back as if nothing happened. “I called your name a few times and you didn’t wake. Wanted to check if you’d passed out.”

Fang Chen, “…”
Seth tilted his head, “What did you think I was doing?”

I thought!
I thought you would kiss me!

Fang Chen clenched his fists, embarrassed.

He fumbled with his seatbelt, “I’m going.”

“Fang Chen,” Seth called again.

The boy looked up. Seth asked, “What should we eat tomorrow?”

Not “will you come”—just what to eat!

So vicious!

“So vicious!!” Fang Chen ranted to Jamin that night.

Jamin cried, “You agreed!? You shouldn’t have! Don’t forget our plan—bait him! See if he likes you!”

Fang Chen groaned, “You don’t get it—you’ve never had Chinese food. I can’t say no!”

Besides, Seth promised spicy crawfish tomorrow.
No way could he refuse.

Defeated, he whispered, “Make it as spicy as you can.”

Don’t think about it.
Fang Chen wiped his mouth, then asked, “Jamin, what do I do next?”

“He pulled you out—means he’s jealous, and if he’s jealous, he probably likes you!”

Jamin considered, “Maybe he’s got performance anxiety, so he likes you but won’t admit it.”

Fang Chen gasped.
Σ( ° △°|||)︴
That big! All for nothing!?

They strategized with zero conclusion until Fang Chen, exhausted, washed up and noticed in the mirror—his ear was a little red.

So it wasn’t a dream—there really was a mosquito in Seth’s car.

Back at the apartment, Seth lounged in the living room, intently watching a chef’s cooking livestream on the big screen.

After several replays, Seth turned off the screen but was slow to get up, eyes closed as if napping—his mind replaying every little thing Fang Chen did that night.

At the time he’d felt his heart ache, but now all he felt was soft and warm.

Later, he went not to his own room but to the guest room where Fang Chen had stayed, lay down where Fang Chen had lain, gripping Fang Chen’s old shirt, burying his face in it.

Soon, that shirt would smell like both of them.

A low, rough sound slipped from Seth’s throat.

…

Next morning, Fang Chen had class. Afterward, he was stopped on his way out.

“Fang Chen! Come be in the end-of-term play!”

It was a foreign classmate, hands clasped pleadingly. “You’re the best-looking in our year—give the foreigners a shock!”

Fang Chen had no interest and shook his head, “Not for me, no time.”

Zhou Lili dragged him, “First prize gets two grand, we’d split it.”

He paused, tempted, “No guarantee we’d win…”

“We will, if you join!”

Tempted by cash, Fang Chen agreed to talk later.

Running out, worried Seth would be waiting, he hurried to the side street.

Seth met him partway, steadying him. “Why rush?”

“Did you wait long?” Fang Chen apologized. “I got held up.”

“Just got here.” Seth took Fang Chen’s bag casually. “Need help?”

Fang Chen shook his head, told him about the play.

Seth wanted to say, never worry about money, but didn’t want to scare him away.

“What sort of play?”

“She’ll send the script tonight.”

Seth silently hoped it wasn’t a romance—or at least, nothing intimate.

He glanced at the time, “Not much homework today. Want to relax first?”

Huh?
Excited, Fang Chen asked, “Where to?”

“Ever ridden a horse? Let’s go to the stables.”

Eyes lit up, “I want to! But I can’t ride.”

Even better.

Seth smiled, “That’s fine, I’ll teach you.”

Sharing a horse—body to body.

After last night and a cigarette, Seth had cleared his head.

He was done going slow.
The lamb’s attention needed to be his and his alone.

Oh, and he messaged the stables manager: clear everyone out ahead of time.

Wouldn’t let last night’s chaos repeat.
Little lamb’s focus could only be on him.