Desk-mate, Do You Like Me? - Chapter 38

Chapter 38

On the first evening self-study session after the monthly exams, the teachers were mostly in the office grading papers.

Xu Qing easily slipped out of school.

The mid-October wind was biting, swirling the fallen leaves of the old pagoda tree at the school gate around Xu Qing’s feet.

Just as he was about to zip up his school jacket, he saw Li Mo leaning against a sycamore tree not far away. Li Mo’s school jacket was draped over him, and his casted right hand was fixed with a bandage.

“The medicine is in my bag,” Li Mo said as he saw him approach, gesturing with his head towards the bag while carefully avoiding the poorly hidden bruise on Xu Qing’s wrist. “Should we go to the wonton shop at the alley entrance first? I ate there once, it’s really delicious.”

Xu Qing didn’t say anything, just followed him into the alley.

The wind softened Li Mo’s voice a little: “I asked the doctor. The dressing change will be quick today, it won’t take long.” He paused, then added, “No one is watching the evening self-study, so you don’t need to rush.”

Xu Qing’s gaze lingered on Li Mo’s casted right hand for a moment. His look was heavy, carrying a silent weight.

He, of course, knew how Li Mo got injured. The gasps and shouts around the field that day still seemed to prick his eardrums. He had looked up from his sketchpad, his vision cutting through the running figures, and the image of Li Mo curled up on the ground, clutching his arm, was still vivid.

Now, the person stood right in front of him, awkwardly holding a school bag with that injured hand.

Xu Qing didn’t immediately take the school bag. Instead, he took a small step forward. The wind at the alley entrance blew his fringe.

He stretched out his hand. His fingertips didn’t touch the plaster cast, but instead gently, cautiously stroked the edge of the bandage that fixed Li Mo’s arm. The movement was so light, as if touching an extremely fragile treasure.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, his voice so low it was almost carried away by the wind, carrying a barely perceptible tremor.

He knew the answer was yes, but he still asked, as if simply acknowledging “it hurts” could transfer some of the heaviness from his heart, to be shared by them both.

Li Mo looked at him, a complex emotion fleeting across his eyes, as if scalded by this careful concern.

He avoided Xu Qing’s gaze, looking down and awkwardly adjusting the position of the bandage with his left hand. His tone tried to be light, but an imperceptible embarrassment shone through: “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just a little numb, and itchy. The doctor said the bone is growing.” He paused, then quickly added, as if trying to hide something, “It’s really fine.”

Xu Qing didn’t speak, just silently took Li Mo’s school bag.

The weight of the bag pressed on one shoulder, heavy and substantial. He caught the faint scent of laundry detergent from Li Mo’s bag, mixed with a hint of antiseptic.

He followed Li Mo into the alley, his gaze unable to move away from the casted arm.

Every time Li Mo slightly frowned due to movement, even the most minute expression, it was like a tiny needle, lightly pricking Xu Qing’s heart.

It wasn’t sharp pain, but a long, dense ache that slowly spread.

He knew that Li Mo’s injury was related to him.

If he hadn’t liked Bai Sheng for such a ridiculous reason, if he hadn’t approached Li Mo in the first place, Bai Sheng wouldn’t have done something so despicable out of jealousy, and Li Mo wouldn’t have been injured.

This realization felt like a heavy stone pressing on his chest, a mix of self-denial, guilt, and an indescribable heartache that made it difficult to breathe.

The wind whistled through the narrow alley.

Li Mo was still ahead of him, talking about how delicious the wonton shop was, how quickly the dressing change would be, and how the evening self-study didn’t matter… His voice was deliberately cheerful, trying to dispel the heavy air between them.

Xu Qing listened quietly, occasionally responding with a very light “Mhm.” His fingers, clutching the corner of his school jacket, tightened slightly, his knuckles turning pale.

All his attention seemed to be focused on the person beside him, who was wearing a cast but still trying to smile at him. The smell of wontons from the alley entrance, the evening self-study bell, even the anxieties of the monthly exam, all became distant and blurry at this moment.

The steam from the wonton shop blurred the window glass, separating them from the outside world. In the small space, there was only the gurgling of the soup base and the faint clinking of Li Mo awkwardly trying to use the spoon with his left hand.

Xu Qing scooped up the wontons from his own bowl, blew on them, and then silently, gently transferred some of the plumpest ones to Li Mo’s bowl.

The movement was so natural it seemed rehearsed countless times, yet the slight tension in his fingertips betrayed the lack of peace in his heart.

Li Mo looked at the extra wontons in his bowl, paused, and looked up at the person across from him.

Xu Qing, however, kept his eyes down, focused on stirring the remaining clear soup in his bowl. His thick lashes cast a small shadow below his eyes, obscuring all his emotions.

“Hey, it’s my hand that’s injured, not my stomach,” Li Mo tried to break the excessive silence with a joke, but his voice sounded dry even to himself.

Xu Qing finally raised his eyes, his gaze landing once again on the glaring cast, his voice low and hoarse: “Can you eat by yourself?”

“Of course I can!” Li Mo immediately demonstrated, awkwardly but resolutely scooping up a wonton with his left hand, carefully preventing the soup from spilling, and putting it in his mouth.

As he chewed, he slightly inhaled, seeming to have accidentally burned himself or perhaps strained his injury.

Xu Qing’s fingers curled up, and he almost stood up, but ultimately just pushed the vinegar bottle on the table toward Li Mo.

“Slow down,” he said. The two words were as light as a sigh, yet they heavily settled on Li Mo’s heart.

Li Mo put down his spoon, the facade of cheerfulness finally cracking. He looked at Xu Qing, his expression becoming serious: “Xu Qing, it’s really not your fault. Bai Sheng is the one who’s brainless. You…”

Xu Qing waved his hand, signaling him not to say more.

He knew Li Mo was comforting him, but the guilt and self-loathing felt like vines, tightening around his heart.

He truly wished he could travel back in time and slap his own blind eyes for feeling a vague good impression of a person like Bai Sheng, and he hated that this feeling had brought about an undeserved disaster that ultimately befell Li Mo.

“If it weren’t for me…” Xu Qing’s voice was almost swallowed in his throat. “You wouldn’t have…”

“There is no ‘if’,” Li Mo interrupted him, his tone unusually firm. However, because of the inconvenience of his right hand, the firmness seemed somewhat powerless, instead conveying a sense of urgency. “Xu Qing, look at me.”

Xu Qing’s fingers trembled, and he slowly raised his eyes.

Under the warm yellow light, Li Mo’s gaze was burning, carrying an unmistakable seriousness: “To me, what’s harder to bear than this hand being temporarily unusable is seeing you like this. You’ve sealed yourself off, thinking everything is your fault… That is more suffocating than the plaster cast on my arm.”

He paused, his voice softening, carrying a faint plea: “Don’t be like this, okay?”

Xu Qing stared at him blankly, seeing his own image—the one shrunk within a shell of guilt—clearly reflected in the other’s eyes.

Li Mo’s words were like a gentle yet precise key, subtly prying open a crack in his heavy shell.

The wind outside the window seemed to have lessened. The steam from the wontons curled up, warming the air between them.

Xu Qing didn’t speak for a long time, so long that the light in Li Mo’s eyes slightly dimmed, thinking his words had been too hasty.

Then, he saw Xu Qing very slowly, almost tentatively, extend his index finger and very, very lightly touch Li Mo’s casted forearm, which rested on the table edge.

A clumsy, attempting-to-comfort touch.

“…The wontons are getting cold,” Xu Qing lowered his head, his earlobes slightly flushed, his voice as thin as a mosquito’s buzz. “Eat quickly.”

Li Mo saw his rare look of distress. The gloomy cloud in his heart suddenly seemed to be parted by a gust of wind, letting a sliver of light through. He picked up his spoon, the corner of his mouth inevitably curving into a slight smile.

“Mhm,” he responded, his voice becoming light again. “We’ll go change the dressing after we finish eating. You promised to help me.”

The community medical service station deep in the alley shone with cold white light. The night-shift doctor seemed familiar with Li Mo, joked, “You’re here again,” and skillfully led them into the treatment room.

The air was heavy with the strong smell of disinfectant, much more pungent than the scent on Li Mo’s backpack. The cold instrument trays, sterile gauze, and scissors were laid out in order, gleaming with an unnerving metallic sheen.

Xu Qing stood by, watching the doctor cut open the old bandage, exposing the area where the cast met the skin. The skin there was slightly red, with friction marks. He unconsciously held his breath, his fingers quietly clenched at his side.

Li Mo, however, looked as usual, even having the presence of mind to turn his head, smile at Xu Qing, and silently mouth: “Quickly.”

But when the doctor began to check the fixation and gently pressed a few points, Li Mo’s forehead instantly broke out in a fine layer of cold sweat. His lips were tightly pressed and pale, and his left hand gripped the edge of the treatment bed fiercely, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the strain.

He gritted his teeth, not making a single sound.

Xu Qing’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed by that invisible hand, a dull ache spreading. He stepped forward almost without thinking, stood on the other side of the treatment bed, and offered his left hand.

Li Mo was startled and looked up at him.

Xu Qing avoided his gaze, the side of his cheek tense. He just stubbornly held his hand out there, his fingertips slightly trembling, yet carrying an unrejectable implication.

Complex emotions churned in Li Mo’s eyes. Finally, he released his grip on the bed edge, slowly and tentatively placing his left hand on top of Xu Qing’s. His fingertips were icy, carrying the chill of sweat, and were immediately tightly encased by Xu Qing’s warm palm.

Xu Qing gripped very hard, as if trying to transfer strength this way, to share the pain he couldn’t personally feel.

The doctor’s movements were uninterrupted, seemingly accustomed to the silent support between the teenagers.

Throughout the dressing change, the only sound in the treatment room was the slight clinking of instruments.

Li Mo’s nails unconsciously dug into Xu Qing’s web of thumb and index finger, leaving a few shallow crescent marks.

Xu Qing didn’t even frown. He just squeezed back tighter, his gaze fixed on Li Mo’s slightly trembling eyelashes as he endured the pain. That subtle trembling scratched at his heart like a feather.

Only when the doctor finally applied the new adhesive tape and said, “All done,” did the tense air suddenly ease.

Li Mo let out a long breath, looking a bit exhausted, as if he had just emerged from water. Only then did he realize he was still tightly clutching Xu Qing’s hand.

He tried to let go as if he’d been burned, but Xu Qing gently squeezed his hand back before releasing it.

“The fixation is good, and it’s healing well,” the doctor said while writing notes. “No need to come so often next time, just come back for a check-up in a week. Be careful not to get it wet or use force.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Li Mo said softly, his voice still a little weak.

Walking out of the service station, the night wind blew, sobering them both up.

Walking side by side in the silent alley, the intimacy from the treatment room seemed to slowly dissipate with the smell of disinfectant, leaving a hint of vague awkwardness and more unspeakable emotions surging beneath the surface.

Xu Qing silently put both their school bags on his back again.

Near the alley entrance, where the lights of the school wall could be seen, Li Mo suddenly stopped.

“Xu Qing,” he called him.

Xu Qing turned back, the streetlamp casting a soft light and shadow on his defined profile.

Li Mo looked at him and said very seriously: “Thank you for today.”

Thank you for the wontons, thank you for your company, thank you for… holding my hand.

Xu Qing shook his head, meaning “you’re welcome.” He lowered his eyelashes, was silent for a few seconds, and when he looked up again, his gaze held something more, as if he had made a certain decision.

“From now on…” he began, his voice lighter than the night wind, yet carrying a clear promise, “I’ll be with you.”

The wind swept over the sycamore leaves, making a rustling sound, like a gentle affirmation.

Li Mo looked at him, the light in his eyes gradually brightening, finally forming an incredibly clear smile that dispelled all the fatigue and pain.

“Good,” he replied, his voice filled with a sense of relieved warmth. “It’s a deal.”