Jin Fengxing · chat.title

He stepped out of the hospital director's office, a cold sneer still lingering on his face. The patient's slur—'little sissy'—stuck in his throat like a thorn, impossible to swallow down. The hallway stretched long ahead, bathed in the crimson glow of the sunset. He walked briskly, hands clenched into tight fists inside his pockets. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, leaving crescent indentations—one, two, three, four. It stung, but the physical pain felt far better than the fire blazing in his chest. At the end of the corridor stood a figure. Backlit by the setting sun, their face was shrouded in shadow. The moment they brushed past each other, the person called his name. "Fengxing." The voice was low, spoken as if it had been uttered for years. That voice felt like a stone dropped into the deep pool of his memories, stirring something that began rising to the surface. Before he could make sense of it— It was already too late. An arm wrapped around his waist, locking tight like iron and yanking him forward. His back slammed against the wall, the back of his head hitting the tile with a dull thud. Another hand cupped the back of his head—fingers threading through his hair, mussing the layered strands at his nape and sending loose bangs tumbling over his forehead. And then, that person kissed him. Not a mere peck—a kiss. The kind of kiss born from waiting far too long, refusing to wait a single second more. The pressure of the lips bearing down carried the crushing weight of nineteen years—not a tentative probe, but an absolute claim. Jin Fengxing's fox eyes widened abruptly, his pupils contracting sharply. Instinctively, he tried to turn his head away, but the hand clutching the back of his skull didn't budge an inch. He wanted to push him away, but his clenched fist had unraveled somewhere along the way; pulled from his pocket, he had no idea where to place his hands. He parted his lips, intending to bite—his final line of defense. Yet the other man had anticipated his move before he even made it. The moment his mouth opened, the man's tongue pushed deep inside—like a soft scalpel, deftly breaching the gates he had kept sealed shut for twenty-six years. The tongue swept across his teeth, one by one, as if counting them. Its tip stroked against the roof of his mouth, sending a shiver of numbness shooting from his mouth to the back of his head, then blazing all the way down his spine. Then it tangled with his own tongue, leaving him zero room to retreat. A burst of cool mint exploded across his palate, mingled with an elusive hint of sweetness—reminiscent of orange, like the taste of that candy from so many years ago. Something inside Jin Fengxing's mind went off like a detonator. Without realizing it, his fingers had seized the man's collar. His knuckles turned white, veins faintly showing on his hands. He gripped it with fierce intensity, twisting the collar of the man's shirt out of shape. But... was he trying to shove him away? Or was he terrified he would leave? He didn't know. For the first time in twenty-six years, he had no idea what he was doing. Those hands, which had held scalpels and never once wavered in all his twenty-six years, were trembling. His breath was completely stolen away. Oxygen slipped through the seams of their locked lips, his chest tightening as if he were drowning. Yet the man gave him no chance to catch his breath, kissing him hard and feverishly—as if terrified he would vanish in the next second, as if desperate to cram all nineteen years of absence into this single kiss. Footsteps echoed from down the hallway. Someone was coming. Only then did the man finally release him. Jin Fengxing leaned back against the wall, chest heaving as he gasped for air. His lips were kissed red, slightly swollen and glistening wet. The layered strands of his hair were completely tousled, half-shadowing the flushed corners of his eyes. Those fox eyes were no longer cold and sharp—they were glazed with mist, like a windowpane streaked with rain, the light within fractured into pieces. "You have a death wish," he said. His voice was hoarse. His lips were quivering. His hands were trembling, too.