The husband lowered his head to look at him.
At that moment, Yan Chuan felt hesitant to meet his gaze, fearing that he might use some outrageous means to determine that his “lover” was not just one person.
It was as if the script was not yet finished, and the contestant had been eliminated midway.
He tried to rise on his tiptoes, pressing his soft, rosy lips against his husband’s.
“Goodnight kiss,” Yan Chuan said softly, his heart racing with uncertainty, not knowing if such a simple touch could actually be considered a kiss by his husband.
His nervousness, compounded by guilt, made his long lashes tremble slightly.
He bit his lip, making an effort to stretch his body, trying to reach his husband’s closed lips. Occasionally, he would stick out his tongue to lick them.
With his slim waist being held and his back against the cabinet, he found himself half-embraced and half-sitting on it, his toes stretched tight and dangling above the floor.
“Is this okay?” he asked hopefully, unable to see his husband’s expression in the dim light behind him.
His husband seemed to nod.
Before Yan Chuan could sigh in relief, he felt himself being lifted off the ground entirely—his husband had picked him up!
There was quite a height difference between them, and a short sound escaped Yan Chuan as his house slippers fell off.
His calves moved a few times, not touching the ground, and his bare toes kicked at his husband’s leg.
Of course, it did not cause any movement.
A kiss descended, deep and heavy, with an undeniable insistence that forced Yan Chuan to tilt his head back in acceptance.
Yan Chuan didn’t dare to move; the sharp scent of medication lingered in his husband’s mouth. Afraid of injuring himself further while also disliking the taste, he could only turn his face aside, allowing his husband to act.
His delicate brows furrowed, and his eyes truly seemed to be brimming with tears.
“Um…” Yan Chuan found it hard to avoid him, yet he didn’t truly dare to refuse. He placed his hand on his husband’s chest, half-pushing, half-accepting.
A single question lingered in his mind.
Using that scent as a reference, he thought, but he had seen Shan Qi and Tang Zhen the other day, hadn’t he?
Why was it coming to light today?
Moreover, through the mist in his eyes, he caught a glimpse of his husband’s dark but handsome face, sensing that something was off with his mood.
As they tangled together, his husband’s movements gradually turned gentle, seemingly satisfied with his cooperation, the hand around his waist reassuringly patting him.
Yan Chuan took the opportunity to relax, his breath gradually returning to normal.
Yet, he still struggled with the pungent scent of the medication.
The kitchen lights were off, and the living room light cast a clear boundary line between them in the dimness. They stood at the intersection of light and shadow.
The atmosphere between them felt thick and ambiguous as if they were indeed a couple in love.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging at the door.
Yan Chuan was startled and turned his gaze toward the door.
“Bang! Bang!” The knocking continued, growing increasingly frantic, seemingly unwilling to stop without a response.
“Open the door!” A muffled voice called from outside, a lengthy string of words, and Yan Chuan looked at his husband in confusion.
Who could be knocking at this late hour?
“Who is it?”
Yan Chuan pushed his husband aside and stepped down from his embrace to ask first.
His breathing was still a bit unsteady, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining with moisture, making him look quite enticing.
His husband stood beside him, still unsatisfied, wrapping an arm around his slender waist for support.
“The water pipe in your neighbour’s apartment has burst,” a somewhat familiar voice came from outside, tinged with annoyance. “It’s leaking down to the next floor, and they can’t repair it next door.”
With each explanation, the voice grew more complaining: “The ceiling of the floor below is going to be ruined.”
So, it was a broken water pipe.
Apartment 13 was a low-rent unit, and its facilities appeared somewhat outdated; it wasn’t unusual for a pipe to break somewhere.
Yan Chuan glanced at his husband.
“Should we let him in to fix it?” The pipes connected; each floor shared a main valve. If they couldn’t repair it from the vacant unit next door, they had to knock on their door.
That made sense.
But the voice made Yan Chuan frown slightly, his eyes shimmering with moisture, appearing even more pitiful; it had to be Shan Qi.
What a coincidence; he really did live on the floor below.
His husband turned on the kitchen light, and the earlier sombre look lessened a bit: “Open the door; I’ll talk to him.”
Letting the broken pipe continue leaking wasn’t a viable option, especially since the floor below was flooding, and they didn’t know when it would reach their side.
Yan Chuan nodded and opened the door.
Standing outside was indeed Shan Qi.
The outside was pitch black, and the sound of dripping water surrounded them in the quiet corridor. He wore only a grey tank top on his upper body, a damp jacket casually wrapped around his waist. The tank was also wet, clinging to him and clearly outlining his muscular physique.
His hair was damp, droplets running down his prominent nose and tracing his tightly pressed lips, dripping onto his chin.
He looked dishevelled, yet there was a wildness to him.
He resembled the type of plumber you’d find in a steamy romantic movie, showing up at night to share intimate moments with a beautiful housewife.
When the door opened, Shan Qi’s eyes met Yan Chuan’s, raising the wrench in his hand.
“Come in.” Without saying much, the similarly tall man spoke in a low voice and pointed towards the kitchen: “The valve is over there; I’ll help you fix it.”
Shan Qi nodded and followed him inside.
The living room was brightly lit, and there was more than one person inside; the young and beautiful housewife stood next to them, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her head lowered as if shy.
Shan Qi’s gaze fell on her lips, which were a striking shade of red, almost abnormal.
What had once been a subtle rose colour now appeared swollen, as if someone had caressed or tasted them, turning them a deeper hue. They looked vivid and saturated, like crushed wild fruits smeared across luscious, red juice.
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