Chapter 14: Sharing the Same Bed

Lu Mi always remembered the feeling of the last time Shen Tan kissed him.

But this time, Shen Tan was clearly rougher and more urgent. Without any warning, he pried open Lu Mi’s lips and teeth, licking inside his mouth, depriving him of breath. Shen Tan gave him no chance to catch his breath, pressing him against the chair so he couldn’t move or struggle.

Lu Mi couldn’t tell if his mind was slowly losing consciousness from lack of oxygen or for some other reason. Once released, he eagerly took in deep, gasping breaths.

Yet Shen Tan didn’t offer him any relief. He grasped Lu Mi’s chin, forcing him to open his moist eyes and look at him. “I only get angry enough to do this to you, and I can be worse.”

Seeing Lu Mi trying to break free with a satisfied glint, Shen Tan lowered his head and kissed Lu Mi’s sweat-dampened forehead. “If you like this, I wouldn’t mind taking on this unfounded charge of ‘anger.’ After all, the one who benefits in the end is me.” As he spoke, he pressed his fingertip against Lu Mi’s lips.

Lu Mi should have felt scared, but this was the first time he so clearly perceived a specific emotion from Shen Tan.

It wasn’t violent or brutal venting.

It was desire mingled with a warning.

A warning not to take Shen Tan’s words lightly.

Lu Mi couldn’t understand why Shen Tan behaved this way.

Perhaps, to Shen Tan, even a passing fancy deserved proper treatment.

Lu Mi shook his head.

“Don’t like it?” Shen Tan deliberately kissed down from Lu Mi’s forehead to his nose tip, then back to his lips, but unlike before, he didn’t pry open Lu Mi’s mouth this time—he just ground his teeth against them.

Lu Mi found himself unable to answer such a humiliating question.

His mind went blank for a long while; there was no room to talk about liking or disliking.

“No answer means you like it,” Shen Tan said with a chuckle, then captured Lu Mi’s lips again, sucking and licking.

Lu Mi couldn’t refuse. He had gradually learned to accommodate. Humans have an innate knack for this, especially when it’s not one-sided violent suppression; they learn to find ways to make themselves more comfortable.

Lu Mi learned to open his mouth, grasping Shen Tan’s pajama top to keep his balance. The warmth through the fabric eased his rising body heat.

When Shen Tan finally let go, Lu Mi collapsed into his chest.

Shen Tan didn’t push him away. Instead, he stroked Lu Mi’s back again and again, as if soothing his current emotions.

Lu Mi couldn’t quite label what he was feeling.

He had thought he would recoil for a long time, but the truth was he didn’t. He even felt Shen Tan was gentler.

But he couldn’t think that way.

He had to remain alert at all times.

He couldn’t let Shen Tan become a gentle man in his mind—that would be no good beginning.

He opened his eyes in Shen Tan’s embrace, clutched his clothes for a while, then softly said, “Mr. Shen, I didn’t mean to avoid video calls with you. It’s just that my phone is broken.”

Even with Shen Tan’s warning, even if he said it out loud, Shen Tan probably wouldn’t mind thinking he was just asking for a phone.

It was Shen Tan who made him want it.

“Got it.” Shen Tan massaged the back of Lu Mi’s neck, calming his surging desire. “Time to rest.”

Lu Mi realized Shen Tan’s “got it” was tinged with a smile. He recalled those words from before, wondering if the smile was always there.

Though even when Shen Tan smiled, it never felt particularly warm.

Lu Mi slipped out of Shen Tan’s arms, picked up the phone that had fallen during their kiss. Fortunately, the floor was covered with soft blankets, so no damage should have been done.

He instinctively pressed the power button; the screen lit up, but a few messages from A Mo popped up.

Lu Mi quickly dismissed them. He didn’t know if Shen Tan saw, nor why he felt guilty—perhaps because Shen Tan had once asked if he wanted to add A Mo as a friend. He felt like he had deceived Shen Tan.

He shoved the phone into his jacket pocket and looked up at Shen Tan. “...What about you, Mr. Shen?”

“Are you inviting me to join? I don’t mind taking another shower,” Shen Tan said with a slight curl at the corner of his mouth, his voice still carrying lingering desire.

Lu Mi’s lips were still swollen; such words could easily make someone lose control.

“I didn’t mean that!” Lu Mi stammered, his ears flushed red as he shook his head vigorously.

He seemed much better than before, less hesitant.

Shen Tan didn’t tease him further—otherwise, Lu Mi wouldn’t sleep well tonight. He bent down and kissed Lu Mi’s nose. “I’m going to the study to work.”

Lu Mi responded with a soft “Oh,” standing up hurriedly. “Then I’ll head back to the bedroom first.”

He quickly returned to the bedroom and, after closing the door, touched his nose.

What a strange sensation—why did Shen Tan’s kiss on his nose feel like an electric shock?

Shen Tan stood in the esports room, watching the bedroom door close, his expression faintly unreadable.

He hadn’t seen the messages on Lu Mi’s phone clearly, but had noticed the name “A Mo.”

---

After finishing his shower, Lu Mi came out to find Shen Tan still working in the study. Lu Mi guessed he was busy; after all, on the nights they’d video called, Shen Tan stayed up late handling work.

The Shen family was so vast that if Shen Tan wished, he could easily make the Lu family disappear.

Lu Mi wrapped himself in the blanket, his mind remarkably clear.

When would Shen Tan come back to sleep?

He knew this day would come, but still felt nervous.

He moved to the edge of the bed, leaving most of it to Shen Tan, then pulled out his phone.

A few messages from A Mo awaited him.

A Mo: “I saw you played with Sweet Donut today. I learned support from him; he’s really good.”

Lu Mi paused.

He remembered Sweet Donut rose to fame at seventeen, only four years ago, while A Mo had been streaming for five or six years.

Maybe A Mo had learned a lot since then.

Lu Mi hadn’t watched A Mo’s streams and didn’t know him well.

A Mo: “Everyone in my stream says you coordinate with pro players really well, super impressive.”

A Mo: “Looks like you’re off stream now. Ready to rest? I still have tons of hours to reach this month. The end of the month will be a disaster.”

Lu Mi pressed his lips together. “Thanks, I’m going to rest now.”

He rarely chatted with anyone, didn’t know what to say, and coupled with the management’s insistence on tying him to A Mo, he felt some resistance deep down.

After replying, Lu Mi reread A Mo’s messages, trying to learn something from them.

But before he could grasp anything, his phone vibrated again.

Fortunately, it wasn’t A Mo this time—it was Shui Mu.

Shui Mu seldom messaged him on WeChat unless it was urgent.

Lu Mi quickly opened the message.

Shui Mu: “I took a few days off to watch the matches, but how come you queued duo with Sweet Donut? You traitor! Didn’t you say no duo queues? Wuwuwu, I’m not as good as Sweet Donut in your heart.”

Shui Mu: “Okay, although you’re not as good as Sweet Donut in my heart either, can you take me with you next time? You know how fun mid-jungle support synergy is?”

Lu Mi chuckled softly. “Probably no next time.”

He really didn’t like duo queue; today was only because the barrage of comments got too much.

Though this was normal in competitive circles—if you lose, you get scolded no matter how good your past results were.

It was the same for streamers, especially technical ones.

When you play well, they praise you; when you slip up, they call you bad and accuse you of cheating without basis.

When Lu Mi first started streaming, he kept the comments on. He was nervous, unsure how to interact with viewers, but hoped to adapt quickly and take feedback.

Later, he found reading comments affected his mood while gaming.

He just wanted to stay calm and face every game with a composed attitude.

Shui Mu: “You really don’t know the joy of mid-jungle support synergy, wuwuwu.”

Shui Mu: “Okay, that’s fine. I’m back to streaming tomorrow. Even if I can’t be with Sweet Donut, can I at least team up with you?”

Shui Mu: “If your next answer is no, I’ll start crying now.”

Lu Mi pondered for a moment: “But I can’t see you.”

He and Shui Mu were just online friends, never met in person, nor planned to.

Shui Mu: “[... ]”

Shui Mu: “Heartless little boy!!!”

Shui Mu: “Wait, you’re a man! I heard you got married—why am I the last to know? Where’s your conscience?”

Lu Mi: “I’m not married.”

Shen Tan probably wouldn’t actually register a marriage with him; Lu Mi didn’t want to lie to Shui Mu.

Lu Mi: “You said a few days ago that your paper wasn’t done yet. If you stream tomorrow, will you have time to finish it?”

Shui Mu was also a sophomore. According to him, after finishing high school entrance exams, he wanted to enter a youth training program, but his parents found out and locked him at home all summer. When school started, they forced him back to college. He had no choice but to become an amateur gaming streamer. He wasn’t short of money and streamed for fun, not profit.

A few days ago, Shui Mu took leave to attend matches and told Lu Mi he still had homework.

Shui Mu: “Do you have to remind me of such painful things, wuwuwu?”

Shui Mu: “Can you ask Sweet Donut for an autograph for me?”

Shui Mu: “Okay, I’m off to write my paper. Hope when I start streaming tomorrow, I’ll see your invite, my cute lost little brother.”

Shui Mu didn’t press about the marriage again.

After saying goodbye, Lu Mi was about to put down his phone when Shui Mu messaged again: “By the way, don’t pay attention to that A Mo. He loves to hit on little streamers; he’s not a good person.”

Though Shui Mu hadn’t streamed recently, he had been online watching Lu Mi and knew about A Mo.

Lu Mi was momentarily stunned, recalling A Mo saying he had played with Shui Mu. He thought about it but didn’t ask Shui Mu further.

He didn’t want to distract him from writing.

He replied “Okay,” then slipped the phone under his pillow. His biological clock was making him sleepy, and soon he fell asleep.

Lu Mi dreamed he was lying in a small room at the Lu family home. He was very hungry, but the door was locked. He curled up on the hard bed, praying someone would come and let him out.

After an unknown time, he heard the door open. He was too exhausted to get up or open his eyes, only able to hear the sounds.

Someone came to his bedside, picked him up in their arms, and carried him out.

It was a warm embrace.

When Lu Mi awoke, he wasn’t fully awake yet but vaguely saw Shen Tan’s back.

Shen Tan was standing in front of the wardrobe, dressing. Lu Mi saw him undo the tie he had fastened on his coat and tie it around his neck.

Lu Mi fell asleep again. When he woke, the room was empty except for the traces of someone having lain beside him.

The wardrobe door was closed. Lu Mi got out of bed and opened it. The tie on the coat sleeve was indeed gone.

It wasn’t a hallucination.

But Lu Mi had no recollection of Shen Tan coming back to sleep. He only remembered having a very good dream the night before.

He washed his face, then returned and felt around under his pillow for his phone to check the time. He had no classes today, so there was no rush.

When he found the phone, he was startled and reached beside it.

It wasn’t a trick of the mind—there was something next to the phone.

A brand-new phone.

Lu Mi recognized it as the same model as Shen Tan’s, even with a case already on.

The case had a childish cartoon cat pattern.

It was Lu Mi’s WeChat profile picture.