I Can’t Keep Being a Scumbag Anymore—What Should I Do? [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 11.2

“I’ll tell you a secret too.” Qin Wei chuckled, tugging at Feng Qin’s pant leg as he desperately tried to lean closer. “My Brother Qiu, he’s already hooked up with that little brat Li Zhu. They’re living together. In that building behind my house.”

“Wanna know where my house is?”

Feng Qin’s expression gradually went cold as he turned to look at him.

Seeing Feng Qin’s face, Qin Wei suddenly burst into a loud laugh, pounding the wall as he cackled. “Look at you! Getting anxious, aren’t you? I’m not telling you! Give up, you grandson!”

Feng Qin ground his teeth, took a few deep breaths, and gave him a swift, clean kick.

Qin Wei, a hundred-and-fifty-pound athlete, didn’t even grunt after taking the hit. His body went limp as he slumped backward, finally falling silent.

The world was finally quiet.

But Feng Qin’s mind was anything but.

In his eighteen years, Feng Qin never thought he’d have anything to do with words like “secret crush” or “love at first sight.”

To be captivated by someone’s looks—circling around them like an animal in mating season, feeling joy or bitterness over the slightest bit of attention or total lack thereof.

It was moronic.

He got back on his bike, forcing himself to stop thinking about Ran Muqiu. But before he could even drive the boy out of his mind, he saw him at the next intersection.

Almost instantly, Feng Qin’s blood ran hot again, and a smile instinctively began to form.

But as he saw the scene in the alley clearly, his expression froze. He felt as if he had been plunged into an ice cellar.

The streetlamp was dim. Only a pale, bright moon hung in the sky, its light falling on the two figures in the corner of the alley.

The tall boy was half-kneeling, one hand encircling the other’s waist while the other held the boy’s fingers. He was pressing kisses, one by one, onto the back of the hand and the skin between the fingers, his movements almost reverent.

The one being held was slender; his waist could probably be encircled by two hands—Feng Qin had known that for a while.

That afternoon, he had stood behind the gap in the infirmary curtain, staring at that person for ages. While Li Zhu was changing his bandages, Feng Qin had acted like a total psycho, using that gap to measure the curve of the boy’s waist with his eyes.

Even the color of those fingers was lustrous, looking whiter than the moonlight.

Yet that pure color, when caught between the boy’s lips and teeth, left behind a glistening dampness. Looking at it for too long made a heat surge in Feng Qin’s heart and stomach.

Feng Qin stared dazed for a moment before turning his bike around and practically fleeing the scene.

He rode fast. Fifteen minutes later, he was back in the city center.

Hitting a red light, Feng Qin braked and slowly buried his face in the crook of his elbow on the handlebars.

“Dammit,” he swore under his breath.

When it was his turn, it wasn’t just moronic—it was fucking cowardly.