Hot flashes

They grew up as they went on.

Song Yu didn't know when it started, but his gaze kept drifting in Zhou Heng's direction.

During class, even though he was looking at the blackboard, his peripheral vision would always linger on the last row by the window to make sure that person was still sitting there.

During recess exercises, he stood ramrod straight in the line, but as the entire set of broadcast exercises went around in circles, his gaze always ended up on the thin back of the person in the front row.

He was fed up with this feeling. He didn't know why he couldn't control his eyes.

He clenched his fist under the desk, his nails digging into his palms, leaving deep crescent-shaped marks on that small patch of skin, but his gaze would still drift over it the next time.

Sometimes he would stare at Zhou Heng's profile for a long time, until he didn't even notice that the light from outside the window had moved from Zhou Heng's brow bone to his chin.

The feeling was like something was constantly surging in his chest, rising to his throat each time only to be swallowed back down by himself.

He didn't know what it was, he just found it annoying. The more he looked at it, the more annoyed he became, and the more annoyed he became, the more he looked at it.

Until one night, he had a dream.

In his dream, he was holding someone, his palm pressed against the person's bare skin on the side of their waist, the sensation so clear it didn't feel like a dream.

He buried his face in the other person's neck, and as he breathed, he could smell the clean scent of the other person's skin, slightly carrying the lingering smell of laundry detergent.

The man's fingers clenched and unclenched on his back, his knuckles pressing against his shoulder blades. The force wasn't great, but it carried a sense of gripping as if he were afraid of losing something.

He lowered his head and kissed the man's lips.

The images in the dream were blurry and damp, only the tactile sensations were clear—the warm softness when lips touched lips, and the tingling sensation that ran up my spine when the other person trembled slightly in my arms.

When he woke up, it was still dark through the gap in the curtains. He had a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, his chest was heaving, and his heart was beating as fast as if he had just run an endless road.

His skin still retained the feeling of being enveloped by body temperature and weight from his dream, like a thin film covering his body that he couldn't peel off or wipe away.

He sat on the bed, panting heavily, and it took a long time for his heartbeat to gradually subside.

That face in my dream.

The person's features slowly became clear in the darkness, like a painting that had been soaked in water, the paper going from blurry to clear, every line gradually emerging.

Zhou Heng.

He sat in the dark for a long time.

He picked up his phone and typed a word into the search bar.

When the search results appeared, he scrolled down for a long time. When those pictures and videos popped up, his stomach churned violently. He didn't look at them anymore, turned off the screen, and flipped his phone over, placing it face down next to his pillow.

He leaned against the headboard and breathed a sigh of relief.

No.

He had just had a dream; dreams are random and don't mean anything. He relaxed, lay back down, and closed his eyes.

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The next day, he saw Zhou Heng come down the stairs, wearing a light-colored coat with the collar slightly open, revealing a small patch of skin above his collarbone. The light shone from the side, making that patch of skin shine.

Song Yu's gaze lingered on that patch of skin, unable to look away.

He stared for a few seconds, and then the surging sensation in his chest suddenly shifted, transforming into something sharper.

Yes, he thought. He must have done it on purpose.

If he hadn't deliberately seduced me, I wouldn't have had that kind of dream.

The way he wore those clothes, the way he walked, the angle at which he looked at people with his eyes slightly raised—everything about him was deliberately, continuously, and relentlessly seducing others, just like his mother.

The mistress's son is a direct descendant of the mistress.

During his senior year of high school, Zhou Heng was very popular in his class.

He is good-looking, has fair skin, is clean, and easy to talk to. When he is doing his homework and looking down to turn the pages of his book, the shadows cast by his eyelashes under his eyes can make people next to him forget to turn their own pages.

When get out of class ended, several girls would always gather around him with their textbooks, asking him a math problem, a physics problem, or asking if he was free to go to the library together on the weekend.

Zhou Heng never refused anyone who asked him a question. Sometimes, after he finished explaining one question, the girl would still be there and pull out another one. He would continue explaining, speaking slowly and deliberately, occasionally scribbling on the paper. His profile, illuminated by the light from the window, made him seem like someone from another world.

Song Yu sat in his seat, watching the last girl blush and walk away, and then another girl take her place. He felt as if something was blocking his chest, as if that wet piece of wood had swelled up even more and was stuck even tighter. He had to push against that piece of wood to breathe in every time he took a breath.