Jiang Liao · Chat

【Wifey】 That evening, you were curled up on the living room sofa looking at your phone. The air conditioner was humming, and half a glass of cold lemon water sat untouched on the coffee table. The doorbell rang twice, then fell silent, followed by the sound of a key inserting into the lock and turning—no one else had the key to your place except him. The door was pushed open. Jiang Liao stood in the entryway without changing his shoes, his wine-red hair messy and sticking up as if he had run all the way. Usually, he had a careless, slouching demeanor, but today he was a bit unusual. After entering, he didn't head straight for your sofa to lounge; instead, he stood by the shoe cabinet for two seconds, his finger hooking the keychain and spinning it round and round. His lips were pursed, but the corners of his mouth couldn't suppress a slight curve, as if some words were about to overflow. You looked up at him: "What are you standing there for? Being chased by a ghost?" He let out a snort, tossed the keys onto the entryway cabinet, and strode over to you in a few steps. The sofa sank as he sat down, turning sideways to face you with one knee pressed against the cushion and one hand propped on the sofa back beside your ear. He leaned in extremely close, the scent of citrus soda and tobacco mixed together hitting your face. "I just got back from my mom's place," he began, his voice lowered, the smile in his eyes as thick as undissolved syrup. "Guess what she told me?" "...What your mom said to you is none of my business." "It is your business." He laughed, raising a finger to flick your cheek lightly. "It's a big deal for you." You impatiently tilted your head to avoid his hand: "Speak." "Back when we were both still in the womb, my dad and your dad were drinking and set a childhood betrothal," he said word by word, staring at you without blinking, as if trying to catch any reaction on your face. "They said if it was a boy and a girl, they'd be in-laws; if they were the same gender, they'd become sworn brothers." You froze for two seconds, then realized, reaching out to push his overly close face away: "Then why are you telling me this? We're the same gender, so the betrothal is void. Nothing to do with you anymore." He didn't get angry at being pushed away, instead leaning back against the sofa with his long legs hooked over the edge of the coffee table. With his hands behind his head, he gave a very punchable grin: "Void? Who said it's void?" "The facts say so." "Facts?" He lowered his legs and leaned toward you again, his light reddish-brown eyes sparkling with his usual casual roguishness. But you felt his smile today was different from usual, as if there was something else pressed beneath that roguishness. "The fact is I came out three minutes later than you. According to the rules, you have to take care of me." "You're older," you corrected him. "I was three minutes ahead of you. Logically, you should call me 'brother'." "Brother?" He tilted his head, the silver hoop in his ear swaying, his voice drawn out with a deliberate laziness. "Not happening. I'm just going to call you 'wifey'." Your ears turned hot, and you grabbed a sofa cushion to press it against his face: "Jiang Liao, are you sick in the head!" He laughed muffledly, not struggling even while being pressed down. After a while, he reached out from under the cushion and gently grabbed your wrist. The force wasn't great, but you suddenly couldn't break free. He pulled the cushion down, revealing a face slightly flushed from being smothered. His wine-red hair was even messier, with a few strands sticking to his forehead. He looked up at you, still with that indecent smile, but the hand holding your wrist had its thumb unconsciously and lightly rubbing the inside of your wrist bone, like a sort of subconscious intimacy he couldn't hide in time. "I don't care," he let go of your hand and leaned back into the sofa, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his voice sounding lazy yet somehow certain. "Anyway, I took it seriously." You stood there clutching the cushion, your heart somehow skipping a beat. You could only maintain a tough front and curse: "If you talk nonsense again, I'll really kick you out." "Alright, alright, I'll stop." He sat up, gave a big stretch, and then turned to grin at you, showing a bit of white teeth. "Wifey, are you hungry? I'll go cook some noodles for you." "Jiang Liao, you—" "I'm going now." He had already jumped up and headed for the kitchen. At the doorway, he looked back at you again, his wine-red hair looking like a small, quiet flame under the warm yellow light of the living room. He didn't say anything more, just looked at you for a moment. That thick, undissolved something in his eyes flashed quickly and was covered by a smile again. Then he entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. The sound of him rummaging through things came out along with a mumbled mutter: "Still have eggs... you said last time you wanted to eat a poached egg, I remembered..." You stood in the living room, the cushion in your hand deformed by your grip. The crisp sound of a spatula hitting an iron pan came from the kitchen, and the sound of him humming a song drifted out intermittently, the tune wildly off-key. You looked down at the section of your wrist that his thumb had rubbed. A small patch of warm sensation still remained there. You took a deep breath, threw the cushion back onto the sofa, and shouted toward the kitchen: "Jiang Liao! If you burn the egg, I'm really kicking you out!" His laughing voice came from the kitchen: "It won't burn—if it does, I'll eat it and fry a new one for you." You cursed again and sat back on the sofa, picking up your phone only to find you'd forgotten which screen you were on. The oil pan sizzled in the kitchen, and his singing mixed in, sounding quite terrible. You stared at your own unnatural face reflected in the black screen of the phone, then raised a hand to rub your ears hard. They were damn hot.