After My Childhood Friend Misunderstood That I Had a Boyfriend - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Flirting with my crush backfired

Chu Xi didn’t know how to describe the way Zhou Jinyan looked right now. He was like a pitiful wolf-dog, head bowed, begging for forgiveness.

A stray remark Chu Xi had made in anger had, unbeknownst to him, tugged at Zhou Jinyan’s heartstrings, making him lose sleep and obsess over it.

Zhou Jinyan was distracted and flustered because of him.

The moment he realized this, all the indescribable emotions Chu Xi had kept bottled up—the grievances, the helplessness of repeatedly trying to talk himself out of his feelings, and the spear that had been aimed at his own heart from the beginning—all transformed into the rhythmic beat of fireworks exploding in the night sky.

Chu Xi’s heart had never beaten as fast as it did now.

What should he say?

It turned out that when a person experiences massive joy, they truly do lose their words.

Even though he should have been happy, Chu Xi’s nose stung. He suddenly thought of the date Zhou Jinyan had rejected, and that inexplicable, avoidant behavior.

Even though he had done nothing wrong, the other man had suddenly become indifferent to his acting spoiled and had even avoided physical contact.

In reality, he hadn’t faced much coldness, but every time he reached out and his hand fell empty, the repeated oscillation between hope and fear, every instance of disappointment—it all added invisible power to that spear aimed at his heart.

He could only feel anxious and terrified, self-doubting and wondering if all the signs pointed to one thing:

His attempt to flirt with his crush had backfired.

Perhaps Zhou Jinyan didn’t like clingy people who acted spoiled.

But at this moment, all that previous anxiety, the fear of loss, the self-doubt, the self-loathing, and all those suppressed thoughts vanished, swallowed by joy.

Chu Xi had only one thought now:

Zhou Jinyan really does like me too.

He liked him even more than Chu Xi had imagined.

He was so happy.

Before Chu Xi could decide how to respond to Zhou Jinyan, his stomach let out two ill-timed growls, breaking the somewhat stalled atmosphere between them.

The aroma of the lean meat porridge with seaweed and dried shrimp teased Chu Xi’s taste buds. The static air began to flow again as Chu Xi’s hand, holding the spoon, moved: “Um, I’m hungry.”

Zhou Jinyan had also asked the family’s housekeeper to prepare some soup. He poured out a small bowl and placed it by Chu Xi’s hand: “Then eat first.”

The soup smelled delicious too. Chu Xi swallowed hard: “What kind of soup is this?”

At some point, Zhou Jinyan had moved his stool over to squeeze in next to Chu Xi: “Pork bone and yam.”

Chu Xi: “Oh.”

Chu Xi took small sips of the porridge, the delicious taste soothing his palate. He suddenly felt incredibly fortunate.

The food was good, the person he liked liked him back, and they were sitting side-by-side eating a simple lunch.

It turned out that happiness is life itself.

After lunch, Zhou Jinyan cleared away the trash. When he walked in from the balcony, he saw Chu Xi reclining lazily in his chair.

It seemed he was almost recovered. His mental state looked good.

Zhou Jinyan felt a bit more at ease. He sat down next to Chu Xi: “Do you still feel unwell?”

“I feel better.” Chu Xi tilted his head to look at him, proactively brushing the fringe away from his forehead. “Feel it; am I almost better?”

It was a perfectly normal sentence, but it fell on Zhou Jinyan’s ears like an invitation. His breathing hitched. His dark eyes were deep, and while he looked steady on the surface, his words betrayed his unsteady breath: “Okay.”

Zhou Jinyan had calluses on his left palm. That slightly rough texture touched Chu Xi’s forehead once again.

After a long while, Chu Xi poked the back of Zhou Jinyan’s hand with his fingertip: “Well? Has the fever gone down?”

Zhou Jinyan: “Mm.”

The temperature wasn’t as scorching as it had been that morning. To be safe, Zhou Jinyan took out the thermometer: “Tuck this in.”

Zhou Jinyan: “Measure your temperature again.”

Chu Xi reached out to take it: “Got it.”

As he took the thermometer, Chu Xi mischievously grazed Zhou Jinyan’s fingertips with his own. When he pulled back, he seemingly intentionally—or perhaps accidentally—brushed against the back of Zhou Jinyan’s hand.

It was a soft, smooth, delicate sensation. Where they touched, a string of tiny electrical currents sparked, traveling from the back of his hand to his heart, leaving him feeling tingly and restless.

Zhou Jinyan’s heart skipped a beat. He raised an eyebrow; he had a strong feeling Chu Xi was doing this on purpose.

Yet Chu Xi met his gaze with perfect naturalness: “I’ve tucked it in.”

With such a composed appearance, it made one uncertain if he was being deliberate or not.

Zhou Jinyan didn’t dwell on it for long. Seeing that Chu Xi was in a good mood and still remembering Chu Xi’s earlier “I’m not telling you,” he asked as if casually: “Did you catch a cold last night?”

Chu Xi tilted his head: “No.”

Not a cold? Zhou Jinyan frowned. Just as he was about to ask more, he heard Chu Xi say in a slightly reproachful tone: “I told you yesterday, but it seems you didn’t see my messages.”

Zhou Jinyan repeated: “Yesterday?”

Yesterday… if he hadn’t received the messages, it could only have been during the time his phone was smashed.

What an unlucky coincidence. Chu Xi happened to message him just as his phone happened to break. Zhou Jinyan prided himself on being rational, but at this moment, a surge of agitation rose in his heart.

He didn’t blame Chu Xi; he only regretted that he hadn’t logged into WeChat on a new phone sooner. If he had, he would have seen Chu Xi’s messages.

He had left Chu Xi hanging for an entire night.

He was in the wrong.

Chu Xi sat up straight. It was fine if Zhou Jinyan didn’t mention it, but now that he had, Chu Xi got angry again: “Exactly!”

Chu Xi’s eyes widened: “I sent you so, so many messages, and you just wouldn’t reply. And when you finally did, you only replied to that irrelevant message about me hating you!”

Chu Xi spoke as if handing down a verdict: “You only care about whether I hate you or not! You’re too much!”

Because he was so agitated, his movements were a bit jerky, and the thermometer he had tucked in suddenly slipped into his clothes.

“Ah.” Chu Xi felt around; it seemed to have landed near his lower abdomen, caught by his clothes. He immediately redirected his anger: “It’s all your fault!”

Zhou Jinyan watched as Chu Xi patted here and there trying to find the thermometer. Because he was sick and afraid of the cold, he was dressed thickly; his clumsy movements were like a penguin flapping its wings—silly and cute.

Zhou Jinyan didn’t fully register what Chu Xi was saying; he only felt the other man looked adorable right now.

What is he rambling about? I really want to kiss him.

Chu Xi originally wanted to lift his shirt to get the thermometer, but when he looked up and met Zhou Jinyan’s somewhat predatory gaze, his heart felt like it had been scorched by a spark.

Chu Xi inexplicably thought of the “dormant shadow” he had seen during their video call.

It was really big.

Chu Xi’s ears turned red.

Then he remembered Jian Yu saying “Don’t be curious.” The more he was told not to be curious, the more curious he became.

Ahhh, so annoying!

Chu Xi redirected his anger toward Zhou Jinyan again: “It’s all your fault! I hate you to death.”

His tone had no intimidation whatsoever. Zhou Jinyan’s eyes flickered. At the thought that Chu Xi’s “hatred” wasn’t because he had listened to another man’s instigation, but was entirely due to his own mistakes, he inexplicably felt that this “I hate you” sounded more like flirting.

Zhou Jinyan’s Adam’s apple bobbed: “Mm, it’s all my fault.”

Why does it sound like there isn’t a shred of remorse in his voice?

Chu Xi had a gut feeling that if he lifted his shirt in front of Zhou Jinyan, something significant would happen. So, he turned around, putting his back to Zhou Jinyan, to retrieve the thermometer caught in his clothes.

But Chu Xi only minded the front; his rolled-up shirt couldn’t fully cover his waist, revealing a section of his fair, white back.

It looked like a perfect place to leave some marks.

But it was quickly covered by the fabric again. Zhou Jinyan felt a trace of regret, though he didn’t show it. He calmly asked Chu Xi to show him the thermometer.

Zhou Jinyan checked the mercury level: “The fever is gone.”

Chu Xi was drinking hot water and could only manage a muffled “Mm-mm-mm” through the water.

After waiting patiently for Chu Xi to finish drinking, Zhou Jinyan spoke: “I didn’t ignore your messages on purpose.”

Zhou Jinyan lowered his gaze, looking at him with deep focus: “And I don’t only care about whether you hate me. I

“I care about everything about you.”

It was another one of those “confession in disguise” statements. Chu Xi felt that Zhou Jinyan seemed different from before.

Not a conventional change, but what was it? Chu Xi’s heart throbbed. If the Zhou Jinyan he faced before was a forest shrouded in thick fog, he was now like a forest whose veil was being stripped away layer by layer by the sunlight, revealing its purest part.

Before, he couldn’t see through Zhou Jinyan’s heart. Now, Zhou Jinyan was baring himself, holding his entire heart out in front of him.

Chu Xi loved this feeling—the transparency, the sense of control, the feeling of knowing everything. It truly swept away all his insecurities, allowing him to act a bit spoiled and entitled. He asked pointedly: “Such sweet words, so why didn’t you reply to my messages then?”

Zhou Jinyan’s dark eyes were deep, his thin lips moved, and his voice was soft: “Because my phone accidentally broke.”

Huh?

His phone broke?

Chu Xi was stunned. Clearly, he hadn’t expected such an absurd reason.

Zhou Jinyan continued: “When I finally logged into WeChat, I happened to only receive that one message about you hating me.”

Chu Xi was stunned again. Was it really that coincidental?

So Zhou Jinyan hadn’t left him on read, and it wasn’t that he only cared about negative thoughts or didn’t care about his emotions.

Pure coincidence was the culprit that had made them both feel miserable.

He listened as Zhou Jinyan recounted the events of the previous day. The more he heard, the more his heart ached for him. Ah, how could Zhou Jinyan be so unlucky too?

Their two chairs were pressed tightly together; two unlucky people huddling for warmth.

Although it sounded absurd, Zhou Jinyan had no reason to weave such a flawed story to deceive him. Life is sometimes just full of accidents. Chu Xi believed him almost entirely.

Chu Xi hugged the little lamb plushie, resting his chin on its head: “You’re so unlucky too.”

Hearing this, Zhou Jinyan leaned down and asked the question they had both brushed aside moments ago: “Do you still hate me? Can you please not hate me?”

Chu Xi’s feelings of grievance had long since vanished. He was about to say directly that he didn’t hate him, but when he thought of his wait last night, the words that came out were: “I’m not telling you.”

Zhou Jinyan was silent for a moment, just about to say something.

Chu Xi paused for a beat and then continued: “Unless you can figure out why I got sick. I already told you the answer yesterday.”

He told me the answer yesterday?

A wave of restless energy surged in Zhou Jinyan’s heart. He wished he could see every single message Chu Xi had sent him right this instant.