Professor Xie, isn't this a case of forcing customers to buy products that don't match the

"I want to touch you, Shang Song."

"It's not about being separated by anything, it's not about having to rehearse beforehand... it's real, I really want to touch you."

"So, we have to do it."

These words conceal a longing that is too intense, too direct, and too painful.

Shang Song felt his heart, the most tender spot, tingle, tremble, and ache from these words.

All the grievances, fears, and resentments from before suddenly surged up.

It turns out that he never really let go; he just pretended to have forgotten.

He tilted his head back, blinked hard, and forced back the tears that were about to fall.

He hasn't forgotten those pains.

But he couldn't pretend he didn't see that the man in front of him had been working hard to get closer to him over the past six months.

"Xie Jing," he spoke, his voice hoarse, "why are you like this? I mean, why is it so difficult for you to touch other people?"

Xie Jing's eyes flickered, but he didn't answer directly. Instead, he replied in a low voice:

"...Some things from the past. I'm used to it."

Very vague, almost perfunctory.

Shang Song thought of Xie Jing's mysterious identity, about which he knew little so far, and vaguely guessed the gravity of the situation, so he didn't ask any further questions.

Everyone has a past they can't touch, and there are probably many more like Xie Jing.

His gaze fell on Xie Jing's hands resting on his knees.

That hand, which had just tried to wipe away his tears, fell limply to its side.

He asked himself in his heart: Shang Song, are you sure?

The answer is: Uncertain.

But he still spoke up.

"Then..." Shang Song asked, "What if I touched you? Like now, if I touched you first, would you still throw me away like last time?"

He recalled the over-the-shoulder throw he had experienced six months ago, the weightlessness he felt as his body suddenly lifted into the air, and the extreme terror of the cold, sharp corner of the table magnified before his eyes.

Although Xie Jing protected him in the end, the feeling of being instinctively resisted was really unpleasant.

Xie Jing seemed to recall that terrible reaction as well. He turned his head slightly away, trying to avoid it, but then looked back at Shang Song with a hint of apology in his eyes. He then said, "No."

He quickly added further evidence: "Last night... I restrained myself."

He was referring to the fact that last night in the car, when Shang Song grabbed his collar, he did not take any excessive defensive action.

Shang Song nodded.

Then, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind, and he reached out his hand, slowly and gently.

His fingertips first carefully touched Xie Jing's slightly cool fingertips.

In that instant, Xie Jing's pupils suddenly contracted, and his whole body tensed up almost imperceptibly.

But he did not dodge.

Shang Song's heart was beating a little fast, but he didn't stop.

He gently and slowly covered Xie Jing's cold hand with his warm hand.

He could feel that Xie Jing's skin on the back of his hand was delicate, yet unusually taut, beneath his palm.

He could even feel the veins throbbing beneath the skin, pulsating almost abnormally fast.

Then, his fingertips tightened around Xie Jing's hand little by little, using his warm hands to envelop and guide it, gently pressing that resisting hand against his still tear-stained cheek with an almost devout tenderness.

The moment their skin touched, Xie Jing's fingertips first felt a damp coolness, the traces of undried tears. Then, a clearer warmth swept over him, carrying the softness, freshness, and vibrancy unique to young people.

He could even feel his fingertips gently brushing against Shang Song's still-damp eyelashes.

The sensation was subtle yet incredibly clear, like a butterfly trembling or a tender bud shaking.

There was no nausea or fear as expected.

Shang Song's face... was warm. Soft. Wet.

It is alive.

It is the Shang Song.

She was someone he had thought about for a long time, but had never dared to approach.

Xie Jing held his breath.

His gaze was fixed on the spot where their skin touched, as if his world had collapsed, leaving only the warmth in his hand.

He was incredibly attached to this beautiful moment.

He wanted to stay.

I want to trace that outline with my fingertips, to touch more possibilities.

But his hands began to tremble slowly.

Then, my heartbeat became erratic, my blood seemed to freeze, and my fingertips grew colder and colder.

He pursed his lips tightly, his jawline taut, his whole being like a bow stretched to its limit, as if it might snap at any moment.

But he didn't pull his hand away; he even tried to control his fingertips, wanting to give some kind of response.

Even the slightest movement, to brush against those trembling, butterfly-like eyelashes, is impossible...

"Are you feeling unwell?" Shang Song looked up at Xie Jing, who was so close to him, his voice soft and trembling uncontrollably.

Xie Jing's Adam's apple bobbed violently, but he did not answer.

Or rather, he couldn't answer.

But Shang Song could feel the hand beneath his palm growing colder and stiffer, and even starting to... spasm.

Shang Song closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, the hopeful light in his eyes had vanished.

He didn't wait for Xie Jing's reply, nor did he try to hold that cold hand any tighter.

He loosened his fingers very slowly, with a tender reluctance, little by little.

The instant his fingers loosened, Xie Jing's hand almost instantly, with astonishing speed, withdrew from Shang Song's palm.

The hand fell back to his side and was tightly grasped by his other hand. At the same time, Xie Jing abruptly turned his face away, avoiding Shang Song's gaze. His chest heaved rapidly a few times, but he forcibly suppressed it.

His pale face and the cold sweat beading on his forehead cruelly revealed how agonizing that brief ten-odd seconds of contact had been for him.

Shang Song's hand was still suspended in mid-air, his palm feeling empty, and his heart feeling empty as well.

It seems he... made a mistake again.

Knowing full well that Xie Jing was struggling, why did you still try?

He loves Xie Jing.

This feeling, which had never truly died out during the six months of separation, was rekindled in the thrill of the reunion and the honesty of the moment, burning in his chest and making his blood surge.

However, love cannot solve all problems.

He couldn't imagine how a relationship could feel warm and happy if even the most basic acts of holding hands, hugging, and kissing became torture for the other person, or even if these physical contactes could never be achieved. How could such a relationship be maintained?

Besides, he and Xie Jing were from two completely different worlds.

Besides the barriers that prevent them from freely touching each other, differences in identity, background, and way of thinking are also problems that stand between them.

They are indeed not a good match.

"Xie Jing," Shang Song slowly placed his hand back on the table, then lowered his eyelashes. He opened his mouth several times, then remained silent each time. Finally, he slowly said:

"I love you. I'm not lying to you, and I'm not lying to myself. But... even something as simple as holding hands like just now makes you so upset, and you have to try so hard to endure it... I might... really not be able to."

He raised his eyes and looked into Xie Jing's eyes, which had suddenly turned back. There, churning with intense panic and despair, it was as if he were watching helplessly as the snowstorm swept across the mountains and collapsed before his eyes, and he could only wait to die, unable to do anything about it.

At that moment, Shang Song felt as if his heart was being torn apart, but he still forced himself to continue speaking:

"My heart aches for you. Just a second ago, I even thought, 'That's it, let it be. As long as you stay where I can see you, I don't want anything else.'"

He gave a bitter smile, tears welling up again, but he forced them back: "But Xie Jing, I'm human too. I'm greedy, I want to be hugged by someone I like, I want a shoulder to lean on when I'm sad, I want... so many things."

He sniffed, trying to steady his voice: "So, I can't lie to you and say I love you, love you enough to accept you as you are. Nor can I... let myself be trapped in this hopeless relationship forever. It's not good for anyone."