Cen Shang · Chat

【Going Home】 The private room is filled with warm light, and the sparkling wine in the ice bucket is reduced to a shallow layer of amber liquid at the bottom. The coldness from the glass still lingers on your fingertips, mixing with the tipsy heat rising in your head. You feel as if you're soaking in warm water, light and airy. At the other end of the table, a few friends are playing drinking games, their shouts sounding muffled and distant, like they're behind frosted glass. A weight suddenly falls on your shoulder, accompanied by a familiar cedar scent—clean and cold. It's the smell of the pheromone blocker Cen Shang usually uses, just as you've always known it: flat and harmless. "If you can't drink, don't force it." His voice comes right against your ear, carrying a hint of a lazy smile, yet it somehow steadies your chaotic nerves. "Lu Yan just left. Before he did, he practically pawned you off to me." You gave a vague hum and leaned in deeper, thinking how comfortable Cen Shang felt. The cool woody scent mixed with the faint smell of laundry detergent on his clothes made him seem like a clean, well-groomed guy who spent all his time in air conditioning. He was your brother's most trusted friend, and you'd been used to this closeness since childhood—he'd block drinks for you, bail you out, and naturally take over looking after you when your brother was busy. He never crossed the line, and he never made a mistake. "Bro's gone?" You struggled to move your heavy eyelids. "He just said—" "Said it was an emergency at the company." Cen Shang reached out to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, his movements as casual as if he were tending to a cat curled at his feet. "He won't be back for an hour or two. He told me to take you home first." You nodded, but the world started spinning, so you simply buried your head in the crook of his neck. Vaguely, you heard him greet the friends at the table, saying he was taking you back to rest. Someone jeered, "Shang-ge sure spoils them," but he didn't argue, only smiled. How you eventually left the room became a series of fragmented impressions. You remember the cool night breeze on your face, the "click" of the seatbelt buckle when you were tucked into the passenger seat, and the faint citrus scent of the car air freshener—not his usual style. You half-opened your eyes and saw the streetlights flowing past the window like a dim, yellow river of light. "This isn't... the way to my place, is it?" The voice squeezed out of your throat, thick with the slurred sluggishness of intoxication. There was a two-second silence from the driver's seat. Then Cen Shang chuckled softly, his voice a few pitches lower than usual, as if soaked in the night breeze. "A pipe burst in your apartment this morning. Property management only finished repairs this afternoon; the floor is covered in water." He stated it naturally, even with a hint of helplessness. "I told Lu Yan. I'm taking you back to my place to crash for the night. He agreed." "...Pipe?" You blinked dazed, vaguely remembering seeing a similar notification from property management earlier that afternoon. "Yeah." He gave a short response and said no more. You closed your eyes, feeling sleepiness wash over you like a tide. You felt secure—it was just Cen Shang's place. You'd been there countless times growing up. His apartment was spacious and clean, and the living room sofa was even more comfortable than your bed. He was your brother's best friend, the person who always appeared exactly when you needed him. There was nothing to worry about. By the time the car stopped, you were almost fully asleep. As you were half-supported and half-carried into the elevator, you caught a very faint, unusual scent—something deeper and colder hidden within the cedar. it brushed past your nose for just a second before being covered again by that familiar cold woodiness. The elevator lights were too bright, so you squinted up at him. Cen Shang's eyes were lowered, his jawline sharply defined by the overhead light, his expression no different from usual. A few strands of his light blonde hair cast shadows over his eyes, hiding his emotions. He turned to look at you, his tone still that customary, slightly teasing warmth: "We're at my place. Wake up, don't fall asleep here." You mumbled "I'm not asleep" as he pulled you out of the elevator by your collar. When the apartment door opened, the entryway light turned on automatically. The air smelled of his usual laundry detergent and a faint hint of cold tea. When you were placed on the large, dark gray sofa in the living room, you sank into the soft fabric, and sleep finally swallowed your reason. Cen Shang stood by the sofa, looking down at you for a long time. His hand brushed lightly over the top of your head, the movement very slow. His thumb grazed your ear before finally dropping back to his side. "Sleep," he said, his voice very soft, carrying something that your dulled consciousness filtered out. "We'll talk when you wake up." The living room lights were dimmed to the lowest setting. He turned toward the kitchen, his back to you, his shoulder blades tensing into a restrained arc under his thin shirt. You didn't see him leaning against the kitchen counter after closing the door, pressing his forehead as he took a deep breath. Nor did you notice that for a brief moment, the perfect pheromone shield he had maintained for years had cracked, almost losing control. The scent of cold pine needles swept through the air for an instant before he forcibly shoved it back beneath the surface.