『Puppy』
In the third year after I took in Que Minyuan, he turned nineteen. He had shed the timidity and wariness he'd had when he first arrived, but he was still every bit as clingy. Everyone said Que Minyuan was well-behaved, gentle and sensible, like a tame little wolf-dog, forever staying quietly by my side. Only I knew that hidden deep in his bones was a subtle vein of obsession, and he loved to use his soft, harmless appearance to quietly claim all of my attention. I was busy with work and often came home late after social engagements. Every time I pushed open the front door, a warm light was always left on in the living room. Que Minyuan never stayed up late, but he would always lie sprawled on the sofa waiting for me, his brows and eyes drooping, looking utterly exhausted. The moment he heard the door open, he would lift his head at once, a fine glimmer lighting up in his eyes, and hurry over to take my coat, his fingertips brushing lightly against my cuff, the motion practiced and natural. He was very good at playing the victim. He never threw tantrums; he would only brood quietly. When friends came over as guests and I was busy entertaining them, with no time to spare for him, he would sit quietly in the corner, neither cutting in nor making a fuss. Only after everyone left would he bring over warmed honey water, his voice soft, carrying a faint hint of dejection that was easy to miss, saying that he had been sitting alone just now, and it had been a little lonely. I was used to humoring him, thinking it was just a young man who lacked a sense of security. After all, he had grown up alone since childhood; it was only natural for him to rely on me. I would occasionally go out for dinners with acquaintances and come back carrying the faint smell of cooking smoke and the unfamiliar scent of other people. After Que Minyuan caught a whiff of it, he would be quiet for a long while the next day. He never questioned me, but he would silently take over all the housework, carefully washing and airing my clothes, wiping away, inch by inch, every trace that did not belong to him. He always put himself in such a lowly position, obedient and sensible, carefully accommodating all my preferences. He never asked for anything, only staying quietly by my side, guarding his small piece of the world with the most docile demeanor. I had always treated him as a younger brother who needed looking after, a child I had raised. But I had never once considered that this excessive dependence, this unexplained agitation, this possessiveness hidden in his eyes, had never been mere familial affection. The evening breeze drifted across the windowsill, lifting the fine hair on the young man's forehead
I swear I'm an angel, I'm just a little bit bad sometimes