The Art School Angler Reeled in the Ice Hockey Prince - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Biting the Neck

“You can come to my room, it’s just upstairs.”

White Ming hesitated for a moment. After running a lap for the glow-stick activity and trekking across half the campus to find his fishing license, his legs were a bit sore. Standing in the hallway for an unknown amount of time didn’t appeal to him, so he nodded.

He followed Connor up to the seventh floor. Outside the window, the snow had turned into heavy flakes like goose feathers. Walking behind Connor, White Ming realized the man’s shadow completely eclipsed him.

He hadn’t expected Connor to live in the student dorms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in this building.”

“I usually have games and training, so living off-campus is more convenient. This room was booked during the school’s intensive training camp at the start of the semester, I just haven’t canceled it yet.”

When they reached the door, Connor opened it to let White Ming in. The floor space was larger than White Ming’s—a single-occupancy studio. Aside from basic furniture, there were almost no personal belongings, making it look as though no one lived there.

Beep—beep—

Connor turned up the heat. “You’re free to use the bathroom here.” The fixtures were the same as the ones in White Ming’s suite, so he didn’t need a tutorial. White Ming was still holding the egg tarts. “I’ll leave the keycard for you. You can put those in the kitchen fridge and use the card to get back in.”

“Eh?”

“Are you leaving? It’s snowing hard outside. We can sleep together.”

Connor’s eyes flickered, his gaze coming to rest on White Ming’s face. In the middle of the room, the boy looked tiny, his eyes clear and innocent, as if he didn’t realize the weight of what he had just said.

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s your own room, why would I mind?” The bed was large; even with two people, there would still be enough space for a third person between them.

Connor stood at the doorway for a moment before closing the door.

White Ming remembered something. “I have to go back for a bit, my clothes are still in my room.”

He turned to leave again, but Connor caught him. This time, his grip wasn’t as heavy as the first time by the lake; it held a touch of helplessness. “I have spare clothes in the closet.”

While White Ming went to shower, Connor put the egg tarts in the kitchen and sat there for fifteen minutes before returning.

The heating was cranked up high. Perhaps because of the steam brought out by White Ming’s shower, the air felt slightly humid. The boy was sitting cross-legged on a chair, drying his hair. He wore one of Connor’s white shirts, which reached down to his knees, and a pair of shorts that draped over his calves.

White Ming’s hair looked soft and fluffy under the warm air of the dryer. Once finished, he crawled onto the bed, holding up his pants as he walked because they kept slipping down.

Noticing Connor watching him, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Your injury. It hasn’t healed yet.”

White Ming looked down. The superficial wound was recovering quickly. He gave a small smile. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Connor rummaged through the cabinet for a first-aid kit and tossed him a tube of ointment. White Ming could only make out two English words on the label: something about “skin” and “recovery.”

Connor pulled a chair over and sat by White Ming’s bed. Does he want to confirm I’ve applied it before he leaves? Is he really that guilty about my injury? White Ming immediately began applying the ointment. When he finished, he smiled and handed it back, only to meet a very serious face.

“Tha—Thank you.”

“There will be ice on the lake until the end of the month, and snowstorms can happen anytime during winter. Don’t go fishing anymore. Wait until next March.”

Without fish, he might not even see the spring of next March.

White Ming asked, puzzled, “Is it really that dangerous? I’m not the only one who fishes in winter.”

“Then why did you fall in last time?”

Great, I’ve become a high-priority target for the safety inspector. “Last time, I hooked a metal bucket. The line got tangled, I gave it a tug, and in I went.”

He conveniently left out the part where he was too stingy to cut his fishing line.

Feeling guilty, White Ming proactively raised his hand in a vow. “Last night at the lake was an accident. From now on, I’ll only fish during the day and be careful of my safety.”

If he couldn’t be persuaded, so be it. After all, Connor was the one who decided when that license would reach the boy’s hands.

“And what about tonight? The dorm is a shared space, your roommate’s behavior was very rude.”

“Um…” White Ming knew he could talk to the RA, but this roommate only occasionally brought people back. Usually, he wasn’t in the dorm at all. They had no other conflicts, and the roommate wasn’t the “overly-familiar” type who forced him into conversations. Except for those “active” moments, White Ming could read in peace.

He knew there were roommates who were messy or liked to talk loudly on the phone. He was quite satisfied with the current situation; the effort of switching might result in a roommate even worse than this one.

Besides, the rent for a single room was nearly double. He couldn’t even dream of it…

Connor disagreed with White Ming’s approach but couldn’t force him. He decided he would visit the RA himself tomorrow.

Connor headed off to shower. White Ming’s phone screen was still on the hockey search results. He continued watching Connor’s videos on the bed. Another compilation was arranged chronologically: from childhood hobby classes to middle school tournaments, and then a photo from high school—Connor holding a golden trophy in front of a fountain. To his left and right were likely his family. There was a tiny scratch on his right cheek; he had won the championship, but his expression was incredibly grumpy.

White Ming smiled. News reports and forums called him a genius, a rising star in the hockey world. He wondered if Connor ever had a phase where he didn’t want to go to his hobby classes, or if he was just a bratty kid who hated having his parents take his picture.

The bathroom door creaked. Connor had changed into a simple white athletic T-shirt. White Ming wasn’t sure if athletes built their physique to play hockey well, or if playing hockey built the physique, but with such a beautiful set of muscles, the aura radiating from him made it clear to anyone that he belonged to the elite of the arena.

The man rummaged in the closet for a bit, pulling out another duvet to spread on the floor.

White Ming put his phone away. “Are you going to sleep on the floor?” The bed was huge, he hadn’t expected Connor to sleep on the ground. Letting him stay in the room was already a great favor; how could he let the owner sleep on the floor?

White Ming got up to pull the duvet. “I’ll sleep on the floor. This is your room.” He tugged, but it didn’t budge.

Connor looked at him. Those pale green eyes made White Ming freeze again. He wondered if he had said something wrong, then suddenly realized—just because he didn’t mind sharing a bed didn’t mean others didn’t.

Tonight was an emergency. Even though Connor was kind, everyone has their private space. The invitation to the room might have just been a polite gesture, yet he had agreed without hesitation. Borrowing clothes was probably just because Connor couldn’t stand the thought of him sleeping in dirty clothes on his bed…

How awkward!

The more White Ming thought about it, the more intrusive he felt. His face began to flush. But going back now would offend the helpful Connor. Caught in a dilemma, he tugged gently at the duvet, his voice growing smaller and smaller.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it through. I’ll just sleep on the floor. I’ll head back tomorrow morning.”

Connor saw White Ming suddenly become embarrassed. He didn’t say it outright, but thinking from White Ming’s perspective, he realized the boy might think he was being rejected. He let go decisively and tossed the duvet onto the bed. “Let’s sleep together.”

“Ah… ah, okay.” White Ming breathed a sigh of relief.

Outside, the snow continued to fall silently. The flakes weren’t like feathers; they were like large clumps of shredded cotton candy being dropped from the sky. Soon, a line of snow accumulated on the windowsill. The snow here was very fluffy; tomorrow morning, the campus would be covered in this soft white material.

White Ming remembered their deal.

“Why do you want me to be your hockey assistant for three days?”

“My original assistant is on leave. I’m only training at the school for a short time lately, there’s no point in finding a permanent replacement.”

“Oh, okay. But I’ve never done sports assistant work, and I’ve never played hockey. I might cause you trouble.” If he had to interact with others, he might need to learn some vocabulary in advance.

“You don’t need to know how.”

He didn’t actually need an assistant, he just wanted to occupy the boy’s time so he wouldn’t go wandering by the lake with a fishing rod.

“That’s good, then.”

Half of White Ming’s face was buried in the pillow. His dark eyes were bright in the night, and his skin radiated a faint, porcelain-like luster. A small tuft of hair on his head was pushed into a pretty arc by the sunken pillow. Connor noticed the boy was observing him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s my first time getting to know an athlete. I feel like you’re very different from me.” Though he had basically clung to the man during their first meeting, the scene was too chaotic to observe him closely. Now, the star of the arena was lying right next to him. And with a personality as kind as an angel—he was so perfect it felt surreal.

Soon, beyond the muscles and personality, he discovered another difference in the athlete.

Connor practiced abdominal breathing. With every breath, his chest and abdomen rose and fell slightly. Under the white T-shirt, the lines and contours of his muscles were very distinct.

Does breathing like that have a different effect? White Ming stared for a while, then placed his hand on his own stomach, trying to mimic the frequency of Connor’s breathing. Under his soft, white palm, his belly puffed out and in.

Connor froze. White Ming was staring directly at his chest, but his gaze was pure, devoid of any ulterior motives. Connor’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He reached out and pulled the boy’s hand away.

“Go to sleep.”

“Oh, okay.” Perhaps he wasn’t doing it right. White Ming gave a small smile, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, and closed his eyes.

Connor looked at his lowered eyelashes and fair face. That dream he had had countless times came back to him.

In the fountain, the boy was also wearing a white shirt, sitting in the water, soaked through. The mist rose from his skin, creating a glistening sheen. The pale red birthmark on his collarbone was like a little fish, caught in a milky-white dream. Behind the fountain was a cluster of white roses in full bloom.

The scene made him forget to breathe. The sound of the fountain was like a roaring waterfall that had surged for many years, unable to find silence in his heart.

Now, the mist of the fountain and the rich fragrance of the flowers in the dream had become reality, firmly encircling him. The boy was lying right by his pillow, within his territory.

He had just taken a cold shower, yet on this snowy night, the fire in his heart was burning brighter than ever. The trapped beast in his chest had escaped again, desperately wanting to break out of its cage, screaming to bite him, to possess him.

But all he could do was lean down to look at him while he slept. The scent coming from him was like fresh snow.

The faint light from the window traced the silhouette of the boy’s profile. It was the moonlight kissing him, not Connor.

This realization made the fire in his heart flare up again. Amidst the violent struggle, a thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. He couldn’t help but open his mouth toward the boy’s slender neck. He wanted to leave his mark on this prey, to pull him into his embrace and devour him completely—the voice, the scent, he wanted to swallow it all into his own stomach. Everything was his.

But at the moment his lips were about to touch the skin, he couldn’t bear to do it after all. He gently bit the boy’s collar instead.