Five years ago, Xiao Jingwen had been clutching a small bouquet of flowers. It had rained that afternoon, and the sky was scattered with stars.

The night sky was crystal clear. Xiao Jingwen hadn’t given any prior notice, simply waiting down here for him to come downstairs.

In truth, he hadn’t known back then whether Lin Congzhi was still in the studio; to be precise, that wasn’t even the first time Xiao Jingwen had waited for him downstairs.

He had waited a few times before, but had missed him every time.

Yet he didn’t care. The next day, he would buy flowers again and keep waiting. Every single time, his heart was filled with anticipation.

It was quite magical, really—the flowers on the day of his confession hadn’t triggered Lin Congzhi’s allergies at all.

Because it was graduation season, the university granted graduates round-the-clock access to the academic buildings. Such a privilege brought immense relief to art students, as many creative minds could only produce work in the dead of night or at the crack of dawn. Lin Congzhi was no exception.

During that period, he and Xiao Jingwen were still in a client-contractor relationship. Lin Congzhi had some finished paintings—some were class assignments, while others were sketches from life. Xiao Jingwen had taken a liking to one or two in his WeChat Moments and wanted to buy them, which naturally sparked their initial conversations.

With the graduation exhibition fast approaching, Lin Congzhi’s entire dorm had procrastinated as long as humanly possible, only setting aside their weird distractions to start working on their graduation pieces when they absolutely had to. Like his classmates, Lin Congzhi always felt compelled to engage in all sorts of strange activities to nurture his mood before getting down to serious work.

With his sleep schedule flipped upside down, his WeChat chats with Xiao Jingwen often suffered from a time delay. Lin Congzhi would offer zero response through the entire morning, only waking up as dusk approached to reply to Xiao Jingwen’s messages with text still dripping with groggy sleepiness.

For instance, Xiao Jingwen had once taken a screenshot of a painting from his WeChat Moments and asked him: Student, could you tell me a bit about this watercolor? Was it painted from life? Is it dry-layered?

Selling a painting for the very first time, the dutiful Student Lin rubbed his eyes on his dorm bed and replied: Hang on a second, let me check.

What Xiao Jingwen assumed to be “let me check” was that Lin Congzhi would open his phone’s photo album to take a proper look. What Lin Congzhi actually meant by “let me check” was getting out of bed, washing up, grabbing his water bottle and tissues, and heading over to the studio to inspect the physical painting itself.

Xiao Jingwen waited and waited, getting no reply. Holding his phone, he ate dinner at a street stall, unable to taste a single bite. Lin Congzhi didn’t reply for a long time, yet he didn’t rush him, simply waiting quietly like a bride sitting attentively in a palanquin. He just waited, exercising absolute patience.

Finally, Lin Congzhi finished packing his things and stepped into the golden evening twilight toward the studio. Quite a few students came to paint late at night, though others usually grabbed a bite at the cafeteria first. Urgent to check the painting, however, he skipped dinner entirely.

Buzz.

The instant his phone vibrated, Xiao Jingwen looked at it immediately.

It was a video message. He tapped it open. Sitting inside his car at the time, Lin Congzhi’s voice resonated through the vehicle’s surround-sound speakers.

“This piece is from last year, but don’t worry, I’ve kept it in great condition.” It was Lin Congzhi’s voice. The video showed him holding his phone, slowly panning close over the details of the artwork so Xiao Jingwen could clearly see the brushstrokes and the watercolor gradients. “Oh, by the way, because it’s watercolor, it inevitably fades a bit. It’s not as stable as oil paintings—it’s mainly because our studio… sigh, forget it, forget it. The colors on this one have shifted a bit, so you shouldn’t buy it.”

The video ended.

Xiao Jingwen burst out laughing—what was this? This was far too adorable. Rushing all the way to the studio to film close-up details just because someone wanted to buy his painting, only to decide the artwork wasn’t good enough the more he looked at it. It was like selling an item, only to decide it wasn’t worth the buyer’s money and telling them not to buy it after all.

He definitely shouldn’t go into business, Xiao Jingwen thought.

Seeing that the video had sent successfully, Lin Congzhi typed out another message: Sorry about that, the storage conditions in the studio aren’t great. The painting actually isn’t that nice anyway, why don’t you browse my WeChat Moments a bit more?

Xiao Jingwen replied swiftly: No problem at all, thanks for making the trip.

Lin Congzhi replied: How about I recommend a few pieces by my senior classmates instead?

Xiao Jingwen: No need. I’ll just wait for your graduation piece.

Lin Congzhi: Then I’d better hurry up and work on my progress.

Xiao Jingwen: Is there anything I can help with? Washing palettes? Cleaning brushes? I’m right outside your university’s East Gate.

Lin Congzhi: What a coincidence! In that case, could you buy me some food at the East Gate and bring it in?

—He was more than willing.

Xiao Jingwen had been looking through art albums in a few professors’ offices at the art academy that day. After finishing, he had grabbed a quick bite outside the East Gate. Without even starting his car, he pushed the door open and stepped out immediately.

If his father had seen that enthusiasm, he surely would have ridiculed him relentlessly.

He had been raised under a system of suppressive parenting. In the eyes of his elders, things like romantic affection or being head-over-heels in love were all beneath contempt.

Because of that suppressive upbringing, going out to socialize and drinking too much didn’t matter—the older generation had all lived through the same thing. Throwing up while soaked in the rain on a curb didn’t matter either—that was a necessary rite of passage for a corporate heir.

Yet an umbrella had tilted toward him.

A pair of clear, luminous eyes had looked at him, and though not a word was spoken, they were filled with gentleness and concern—he could see it clearly.

In the time following their breakup, Xiao Jingwen had recalled that day of Lin Congzhi holding the umbrella countless times.

He was certain that he would fall in love with Lin Congzhi at first sight over and over again.

The flowers on the day of his confession hadn’t triggered Lin Congzhi’s allergies. Whether due to intense mental focus or the open space, the exact reason remained unknown.

Lin Congzhi had said, “If you’re not planning to confess, then give me those flowers so I can use them as a still-life sketch.”

With a flushed face, he had stuttered out to Lin Congzhi: “I like you.”

The night breeze blew gently, and the rain-washed campus made even the streetlights look far brighter. Lin Congzhi told him that it would rain heavily tomorrow and to remember an umbrella. He had nodded foolishly, agreeing, Okay, I’ll keep it in mind.

Then, plucking up his courage, he asked, “Will you hold my hand?”

The problem was that he had extended his arm straight out in front of him, stiff as a spring stretched to its absolute limit. Xiao Jingwen’s habit of extending his hand truly was muscle memory; once extended, he froze in place, embarrassed, helpless, and completely at a loss.

“This is called a handshake,” Lin Congzhi said, suppressing a smile. “Holding hands is like this.”

He gently pried open Xiao Jingwen’s stiff, rigid hand. He had just finished his work for the day, and the soap in the studio restroom was a handmade jasmine-scented soap crafted by a classmate.

Back then, wherever Lin Congzhi’s hand touched, Xiao Jingwen felt as though that part of him had come back to life.

It was the exact same way right now.

“Will you hold my hand?” he asked.

The music in the café shifted to Bach’s Concerto for Violin and Oboe in C Minor. It was unclear which musician’s recording it was, but the phrasing was light and pristine.

Lin Congzhi looked at his hand and nodded: “Okay.”

Holding hands was a pure gesture, and holding hands could last for a long time.

People couldn’t kiss or make love continuously, but they could hold hands. Lin Congzhi raised his hand, taking his in the most primal, pure way, and stood up as well, saying, “Let’s go.”

President Xiao was in a great mood today, leaving a generous Euro note inside the bill folder.

In regions that recognized same-sex marriage, two adult men walking hand in hand down the street was a common sight. Perhaps because he hadn’t held hands with anyone in so long, Lin Congzhi actually felt a bit nervous, his heart accelerating as a result… He tried his best to exercise self-control and calm himself down, but it was useless.

He still loved Xiao Jingwen’s hand; even the texture of his skin made him feel a tingling sensation. That long-lost feeling traveled straight up his radial artery toward his heart. His heart skipped a beat once more, just as it had when his hand was taken five years ago.

It so happened that the sun was slowly setting at this hour, accompanied by a cool, oncoming breeze. A few young people dressed as students, holding books and backpacks, walked past them chatting and laughing.

Lin Congzhi turned his head to look at him, suddenly saying, “It probably won’t rain in Seville tomorrow.”

“It won’t rain the day after tomorrow, either,” Xiao Jingwen said.

They walked all the way beneath the 34-degree sun to the entrance of Lin Congzhi’s hotel. The weather forecast showed no rain in Seville for the next ten days, and there were still two days left until Lin Lingyu and Hannah’s wedding.

By the time they reached the hotel entrance, both of them had sweat on their foreheads, and their held hands had built up a sticky layer of perspiration.

It felt quite like teenage puppy love from high school—refusing to let go even on a sweltering day. At that thought, Lin Congzhi felt a bit embarrassed; his cheeks, already flushed from the sun, grew even redder.

“You’ve arrived.” Xiao Jingwen studied his face and said, “You didn’t get heatstroke, did you? Feeling uncomfortable anywhere?”

“If you let go of my hand, I’d probably feel a bit better.”

“Is that so?” Xiao Jingwen stared at the particularly red patch on his face. “I don’t buy it.”

Playing this kind of… Lin Congzhi tried to pull his hand away. In truth, their hands had been held for so long that they were wet with sweat and quite slippery. Xiao Jingwen’s grip wasn’t overly forceful, nor was he squeezing tightly. He wasn’t holding tight, yet he didn’t want to let go, leaving Lin Congzhi pulling away slightly before lacking the heart to follow through.

“I’ve already arrived,” Lin Congzhi said helplessly. “Let go of me.”

Xiao Jingwen uttered an “Mm” with his mouth, but his hand didn’t move as he said, “Go upstairs and take a shower. I’ll wait for you here, and then we’ll grab dinner?”

“No,” Lin Congzhi said.

He deliberately paused after saying it, watching the light in Xiao Jingwen’s eyes suddenly dim before adding: “My grandmother, uncle, and aunts are arriving in Spain this afternoon. We’re having dinner at my mom’s place tonight.”

“…” Xiao Jingwen’s dimming gaze shifted once more. “You really know how to pick the right place to pause.”

Lin Congzhi turned his head away to avoid his gaze, letting out a soft laugh: “Alright, let go of me now.”

“Are we back together?” Xiao Jingwen asked him.

The question was asked without any roundabout phrasing or ornamentation; Xiao Jingwen no longer wanted to take a single extra detour. No matter how many moves he made or negotiated in the business world, he was always at ease, but facing Lin Congzhi, he urgently needed a firm, certain answer.

“It’s all…” Lin Congzhi raised his wrist slightly. “It’s already like this. Do you lack judgment?”

“Say it out loud,” Xiao Jingwen insisted.

“Do you want to draft another contract?” Lin Congzhi asked.

“This is Spain. In our situation, the kind of contract you’re talking about might be called a marriage application.”

“…”

Fine, his face could take over for the setting sun and continue its shift.

Xiao Jingwen stopped caring about decorum: “So are we back together?”

Lin Congzhi licked his lips: “But… but don’t tell my mom just yet. She’ll definitely be thrilled, but I want the main focus of the wedding to be her and Hannah, okay?”

“I understand.” Xiao Jingwen shifted his steps, standing directly in front of him. Due to the angle of the setting sun, his silhouette covered Lin Congzhi from head to toe. Bending down slightly, he said, “We’ll keep it a secret.”

Lin Congzhi’s expression was subtle: “Why do you look a little excited?”

Only a thin arc of the sun remained on the horizon, and the city looked like a resplendent palace. Xiao Jingwen kissed his forehead, pressing his lips onto his sweat-slicked fringe before looking into his eyes.

“It’s not excitement—it’s happiness,” he said.

Lin Congzhi found it hard to breathe. He only felt that today was truly hot—in his memory, no day had ever been hotter than today.

It had evaporated the dreary, damp rainy season that had stretched on for five years. As it turned out, even the cuts left by the passage of time could feel burning hot.