He Wants Me Close… But Not Too Close

“Practice? With that playing?” Ye Zhiqiu laughed, reaching for the remote. Qin Jianhe caught his hand, threading their fingers together.

“No,” he said, kissing the tip of his nose. “I only want to watch you.”

He wanted to focus solely on Ye Zhiqiu, without distractions.

Ye Zhiqiu was speechless. Qin Jianhe was inexperienced, yet seemed to know exactly what to say. The words themselves were simple, but delivered in his low, slightly hoarse voice, they sounded remarkably sweet.

Even Ye Zhiqiu, cold as he was, felt his heart skip.

After a long while tangled on the sofa, Ye Zhiqiu got up to shower.

“Together?” Qin Jianhe asked this time.

He looked down at him, his eyes dark and deep, and Ye Zhiqiu felt an inexplicable pressure.

“Not the guest room?” Ye Zhiqiu’s fingers curled inside his sleeve.

He sounded like he was teasing, though he was nervous.

“No,” Qin Jianhe said, watching him. “Not the guest room.”

His directness eased Ye Zhiqiu’s tension. He laughed, then remembered something. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“I have some ready.” Qin Jianhe took his wrist and led him to the walk-in closet.

Ye Zhiqiu had never been inside before.

When the lights came on, his eyes widened.

It was spacious, with glass cabinets lining all four walls, spotless.

Suits, ties, cufflinks, watches, belts, shoes—everything imaginable. They took up most of the space. The rest was casual and athletic wear.

His eyes landed on a few pairs of limited-edition sneakers casually placed on a shoe rack. They lit up.

“Like them?” Qin Jianhe noticed immediately.

He did, but they were Qin Jianhe’s size. And they were old, probably from his school days.

Limited editions. Even when they’d been released, only a lucky few had gotten them. Now, it was impossible.

“No,” Ye Zhiqiu said, though his eyes lingered. “Most of these are custom, aren’t they?”

It wasn’t the custom nature that interested him, but the distinct styles of different masters, each unique.

“Yes,” Qin Jianhe understood. “I’m lucky.”

“You kept clothes from when you were younger?”

“My mother did.” Qin Jianhe’s lips curved. “She said I grew so fast the year I hit one-eighty that I didn’t have many clothes in that size. She made them herself. Kept them as keepsakes.”

Ye Zhiqiu paused. He thought of the clothes he’d worn home last time. He’d left them at his house.

They were just old clothes. But knowing Nie Fengjun had made them, they meant more.

“Mother.” Such a simple word, yet heavier than anything. He hated Tao Ruoqing, but she was a good mother to her sons.

“I’ll return them,” he said. “They’re clean. I forgot to bring them.”

Qin Jianhe hadn’t thought much of it. His relationship with his mother was good. These things were nice, but not essential. But knowing Ye Zhiqiu, who had lost his mother, might feel differently, he just nodded.

They stopped at a double-door glass cabinet. Inside, neatly folded, were silk and cotton pajamas, simple underlayers, and several sets of underwear.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

“Isn’t this too much?” he laughed.

In truth, Qin Jianhe had prepared much more. Clothes, watches, accessories, bags, shoes.

But after their time together, he’d changed his mind. He’d instructed his staff to pare it down to the basics.

Ye Zhiqiu seemed self-centered, carefree, but he needed to be treated as an equal, not given things from a position of power.

Qin Jianhe didn’t know if he was right. He couldn’t be sure. But for now, he wanted to respect him.

“I didn’t know your preferences,” Qin Jianhe said, a faint smile on his lips. “So I had a little of everything made.”

“I’m not picky.” Still, since he’d gone to the trouble, Ye Zhiqiu picked a set.

“Then maybe you can be.” Qin Jianhe looked down at him. “Consider it an incentive. I want you to visit often.”

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

Damn. Qin Jianhe really knew how to talk. If he kept this up, Ye Zhiqiu was afraid he might not be able to resist.

“Shower,” he said, pulling Qin Jianhe. “Let’s get it over with. We both have things to do tomorrow.”

Qin Jianhe laughed softly. It sounded like a chore.

* * * *

Two people showering together was never calm.

This time, Ye Zhiqiu didn’t have dark circles under his eyes. Qin Jianhe had learned a few tricks. They were evenly matched, from the tub to the floor.

In the end, Ye Zhiqiu was pinned against the wall, kissing until he was dizzy.

Steam filled the room. He had no foothold, nothing to hold, only his neck stretched back, watching the steam on the ceiling condense into droplets.

They seemed to fall into his eyes. A blink, and his face was wet.

Pleasure, stimulation, madness grew wild in his veins. He couldn’t take it. He bit down on Qin Jianhe’s shoulder.

“Who’s the dog?” Qin Jianhe asked, his voice rough with moisture, making Ye Zhiqiu’s jaw tighten.

He could barely move when they left the bathroom. He lay on the bed, a thin blanket over him, while Qin Jianhe sat beside him, drying his hair with a hairdryer.

When it was dry, Qin Jianhe ran his hand over his head.

“Who’s the dog?” he asked again, his voice amused.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

He’d called Qin Jianhe a dog before. Now he’d drawn blood.

“Your fault,” he mumbled. “If I hadn’t, I might not have made it out alive.”

He’d bought things for Qin Jianhe to use. Instead, they’d been used on him.

Qin Jianhe was a wolf. Controlled during the day, a mad dog in bed.

He glared. His eyes were naturally striking, now wet, their edges pink. Pitiful.

Qin Jianhe lay beside him and kissed his eyelids, his lips hot, his tongue tracing the corners.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked. “Why the rush?”

“I’m going to work.”

“Not resting?”

“No.” After a moment, he mumbled, “When do you leave?”

He had an early flight. “Not sure yet.”

Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes were heavy. He yawned.

Qin Jianhe pulled him close, letting him rest against his neck.

“Qin Jianhe,” Ye Zhiqiu said, half asleep. “No more tricks.”

A soft laugh, then a warm hand rubbed his back. His nerves relaxed. He fell into darkness.

* * * *

He slept deeply. When he woke, sunlight was seeping through the curtains.

“Awake?” The man beside him, reading a tablet, noticed immediately and smiled.

Qin Jianhe was already up, dressed as usual, refined and elegant.

Ye Zhiqiu wondered if the wolf from last night and the man before him were the same person.

Qin Jianhe bent to smooth his hair.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, then kissed his forehead. “Handsome?”

Not an illusion. Ye Zhiqiu was sure.

“What time is it?” he asked. His voice was hoarse.

Qin Jianhe’s eyes held a different kind of smile, warm like the sun through the curtains.

“Nine-thirty. I made chicken soup. Eat first or sleep more?”

Ye Zhiqiu was still groggy. He blinked.

“Weren’t you going to Hong Kong? When do you leave?”

“No rush. I can go later.”

He’d changed his flight. Ye Zhiqiu had tempted him, and he’d lost control. He’d expected him to sleep until noon.

“Getting up?” He touched Ye Zhiqiu’s hair.

“Why?”

Qin Jianhe’s eyes darkened. “Can I?”

Ye Zhiqiu turned away, laughing. “No.”

He helped him dress. Ye Zhiqiu found his phone in the living room. Missed calls, unread messages. Even Ye Hongxian.

He checked work emails, then the group chat with Jin Baobao and Li Shaojun.

The food was ready. The soup was good, the chicken tender.

“You can cook,” Ye Zhiqiu said.

“There are other things. I’ll make them next time.”

“You’re planning ahead.”

“Yes.”

Ye Zhiqiu didn’t know what to say. Qin Jianhe cleared the table.

“I’m going,” Ye Zhiqiu said, backpack in hand.

Qin Jianhe dried his hands. “I’ll come. I have work.”

He came out with a tie.

Ye Zhiqiu was wary. “You want me to tie it?”

“Yes.”

Ye Zhiqiu took it. “You still owe me.”

“More debt won’t hurt.”

He tied it, his face cold. Qin Jianhe laughed and ruffled his hair. “I’ll bring you a gift.”

Ye Zhiqiu’s expression softened. “Where’s your luggage?”

“Not needed. The hotel keeps a suite. Things are there.” He paused. “Ye Zhiqiu.”

Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes were on his throat. He looked up.

“Add your fingerprint,” Qin Jianhe said.

He didn’t finish, but Ye Zhiqiu understood. He could come whenever he wanted.

He was careful, always leaving a way out.

But Ye Zhiqiu resisted.

This was Qin Jianhe’s home. No one should open their home to just anyone. Especially not someone like Qin Jianhe.

It looked clean, empty. But there could be secrets.

He was here for himself, or for Qin Jianhe.

Two wounded people, huddling together in the cold, finding warmth in the simplest way.

If Qin Jianhe wasn’t here, what was the point? If he was, he didn’t need a key.

This was Qin Jianhe’s home, not his.

“No,” he said. “I’ll add my fingerprint to the gate system. So I can get in.”

A pause. Then Qin Jianhe smoothed his hair under his cap.

“Alright.”

* * * *

Saturday morning traffic was light. They reached the office quickly.

Ye Zhiqiu worked all morning, sitting. His legs ached from last night.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it, focused on cutting fabric.

When he was done, he looked.

Unread messages. One from QIN.

[I’m going to the airport. Rest when you’re done. Call if you need anything.]

He sat for a while. Sunlight fell through the blinds, patterning his face.

Beautiful. Cold. Like the light itself.