BSS CH 30

Popsicle

He gave a small nod, pale lashes fluttering in acknowledgment.

He parted his lips, suddenly feeling the atmosphere was just right to ask the questions he had long wanted to ask.

Did he remember what happened that drunken night? Were the words he said true?

Just as he was about to speak, Liang Jingmin stood abruptly to turn off the TV. “It’s too late. No more watching. Sleep.”

With a click, the lights went out. Cheng Jing reconsidered—it wasn’t urgent, after all. These questions could wait.

So he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

A throbbing pain pulled at his nerves from the base of his skull. His body was exhausted, but his mind remained painfully clear. He used to sleep soundly, but ever since the pregnancy, his rest had been shallow.

In that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, every sound amplified—uneven breaths, the clatter of dry branches against leaves like metal striking stone, grating, twisting, tormenting his mind. Just as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, noise would yank him back. His thoughts dilated and contracted like a face held underwater, suffocating in cycles.

Finally admitting defeat, he sat up slowly and saw Liang Jingmin already deep in sleep.

The night had never felt so dark. A dry thirst clawed at his throat. Insomnia eroded him—the earlier warmth and softness had long dissipated. Suddenly, his limbs felt leaden, immovable.

He knew his emotions had always been unhealthy, but he didn’t realize how unhealthy. Sometimes, he felt no different from anyone else—he could eat, sleep, cry, laugh. Other times, he found himself stripped of basic functions, numb all over. Weak. Exhausted. Like a walking corpse.

This must be a low point, Cheng Jing told himself. It’s fine. I’ve endured countless hollow nights like this. One more means nothing.

What had the doctor said during his last visit? The harder he tried to recall, the fuzzier the memory became. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe—his body suspended between drowning and exhaustion.

In desperate struggle, his hand brushed Liang Jingmin’s fingers.

Like clutching a lifeline, he reflexively began shaking Liang Jingmin’s arm wildly.

It was a quarter to four in the morning.

When Liang Jingmin opened his eyes, he wasn’t angry—often, he wasn’t even asleep at this hour.

But being abruptly woken would ruffle anyone. His brows knitted slightly, an almost trademarked frown.

The haze of sleep still clouded his vision as he reached to turn on the nightlight.

Meeting his gaze, Cheng Jing hesitated before blurting out:

“Liang Jingmin… I really want a popsicle.”

The moment he said it, he felt a little foolish. Neither insomnia nor a sudden craving was the real reason he’d woken him. If he had to pick an excuse, whimsy was the kinder one.

Liang Jingmin frowned.

Adrenaline sped the wakefulness. Fully alert now, he sighed. “You want a popsicle now? At this hour, even Auntie’s asleep. Who’s going to buy it for you?”

Cheng Jing lowered his eyes, thinking. “It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”

---

Half an hour later, Liang Jingmin drove off to buy popsicles.

Unfortunately, no supermarkets were open at this hour. Even the rare 24-hour convenience stores didn’t stock the classic ice bars. Liang Jingmin’s luck was abysmal—after twenty kilometers of driving, dawn was breaking by the time he returned, having emptied an entire convenience store’s freezer.

Cheng Jing lay alone, waiting, but the process somehow felt comforting, and he gradually drifted off to sleep. By the time Liang Jingmin returned, the only light in the bedroom was the warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp, casting a soft hue over Cheng Jing, who was curled up peacefully against the pillows, hugging a beige cushion.

Liang Jingmin was about to leave quietly when the faint click of the light switch startled Cheng Jing awake.

Seeing that he was already alert, Liang Jingmin spoke calmly, “I bought a lot. Come pick what you want.”

Cheng Jing’s expression suddenly brightened. Wrapped in a blanket, he trotted out with rare liveliness, a flicker of vitality returning.

But after rummaging through two freezers’ worth of ice cream, his excitement dimmed. “There’s no old-fashioned popsicle. Just ice cream bars.”

“Aren’t these pretty much the same? The convenience stores were closed—only this one was open.” Liang Jingmin leaned against the wall, his tone matter-of-fact.

“But I only wanted the popsicle,” Cheng Jing murmured, lowering his gaze toward his toes—though his view was slightly obstructed by the curve of his belly.

Liang Jingmin fell silent. In the hushed predawn, only birdsong drifted through the window.

After a long pause, he finally said, “Should I go buy it for you now?”

Cheng Jing’s face remained blank as he sifted through the rejected ice cream bars before finally picking one at random and tearing open the wrapper.

“Never mind,” he said softly to Liang Jingmin, then walked slowly back to the room, the ice cream in his mouth.

Liang Jingmin unwrapped one for himself and took a bite. The world around them was utterly still, and for a fleeting moment, he felt something like happiness.

---

Back in bed, Cheng Jing suddenly spoke again, his tone completely different from the childish petulance of earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Liang Jingmin’s ear, his voice hollow, tinged with something like despair. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to be so difficult.”

Liang Jingmin’s silence was like flowing night. Then, without a word, he turned and pulled Cheng Jing tightly into his arms.

His embrace was always like this—impossible to refuse, crushing as if he wanted to meld their bodies together, twist their bones and blood into a single shape, lock them into place like puzzle pieces so they could never be separated again.

His voice was low, muffled: “It’s okay. I love you. I don’t mind.”

Cheng Jing stiffened, blinking rapidly like a cat playing dead after being picked up.

Staying by Liang Jingmin’s side, listening to unfamiliar sweet nothings, felt precarious—like beauty on borrowed time.

“Is it true?” he asked softly.

Liang Jingmin seemed to instantly understand what he meant. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I always thought you hated me,” Cheng Jing whispered.

“Why would I hate you?”

Cheng Jing thought carefully. “Maybe because… I’m troublesome. My emotions are messy. Like a stubborn stain you can’t scrub off.”

Liang Jingmin’s voice deepened. “If I hated you, why would I marry you?”

“Because… you made a bet with your brother.”

The words touched a years-old wound, and Cheng Jing flinched at his own admission.

But Liang Jingmin only shook his head, his expression unreadable in the dark. “Cheng Jing, if I didn’t want to, no one could force me.”

Cheng Jing lowered his eyes, nodding as if unaffected. So Liang Jingmin cupped his face—cold to the touch, like fine porcelain—and began kissing the corner of his lips.

It was perhaps the gentlest kiss they had ever shared. Cheng Jing’s lashes fluttered wildly, like feathers tickling the heart, sending shivers from scalp to fingertips.

He kissed back desperately, the world dissolving into a rain-soaked night. For some reason, he thought of the day he first met Liang Jingmin—the dark, murky puddles, the scent of wet earth after a storm.

When they finally parted, Cheng Jing’s expression remained blank. He tilted his head slightly, resting it against Liang Jingmin.

Six percent. He had won the bet.

Then, at the worst possible moment, he asked again: “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

When Liang Jingmin didn’t respond, he continued, his voice lost and despairing: “But why does love make people sick?”

Liang Jingmin’s fingers combed slowly through his hair. “That’s not why. Cheng Jing, you’ve been through terrible things. It’s normal to break under that.”

What could be worse than loving Liang Jingmin? Cheng Jing tried to remember, but the moment he did, the headache returned.

So he stopped thinking.

“Then what should I do?”

Liang Jingmin exhaled slowly. “Everyone gets sick sometimes. This is just a small illness. We’ll treat it, and you’ll get better.”

Cheng Jing nodded, then reached for Liang Jingmin’s hand. A knife wound on his palm hadn’t yet healed, wrapped in a thin layer of gauze.

He touched it carefully. “Does it still hurt?”

Liang Jingmin shook his head. “Not for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Cheng Jing’s fingers traced the scars on Liang Jingmin’s body—most hidden on his shoulders, back, and thighs, remnants of his father’s brutality.

His cold fingertips brushed Liang Jingmin’s throat, chest, abdomen, thighs—until Liang Jingmin caught his wrist.

“It’s almost dawn. Stop touching me.”

Cheng Jing laughed quietly, then asked, “Do you think I’m like him?”

“No. You’re much crueler than he ever was,” Liang Jingmin said lightly.

“Don’t cut yourself again, Cheng Jing. Promise me. Those wounds hurt far more than this.”

Liang Jingmin often called him “baby,” but his second-favorite was Cheng Jing’s full name. Cheng Jing used to hate it—his parents only ever used it when they were angry, leaving him with bitter memories. But now, with Liang Jingmin’s warm breath against his ear, the way he said it sent shivers down his spine.

Liang Jingmin had a beautiful voice.

Cheng Jing slightly furrowed his brows: “On rainy days, your wound must hurt, right? Feeling numb and itchy.”

Because he knew this feeling himself, he deduced that Liang Jingmin had just lied.

Liang Jingmin smiled faintly: “I don’t feel it. You’re just too delicate.”

Cheng Jing pouted: “Fine.”

“You have to go to the hospital in the morning—aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I dozed off for a bit earlier,” Cheng Jing sighed. “Now I’m completely awake.”

Liang Jingmin looked at him, amused: “Do you like it that much?”

Like what? Cheng Jing raised his eyes to look at Liang Jingmin, catching the sly glint in the corner of his eyes.

Cheng Jing tilted his head, pretending to be angry.

Liang Jingmin reached out to touch him: “If you like it, why have you never said so? I may not have much else, but I’ve got plenty of kisses to give.”

At that, Cheng Jing finally couldn’t hold back anymore. He flipped over and sat on Liang Jingmin’s lap, his hands sliding past Liang Jingmin’s ears to cup his face, then leaned down to capture his lips.

He wished this moment could last forever.

By the time the kiss ended, Cheng Jing’s breathing was unsteady. He could sense that Liang Jingmin had the same urge as him—both restraining themselves with equal effort.

The bedside lamp flickered on again, casting a dim, murky glow. From staying up late, faint red veins colored the corners of Liang Jingmin’s eyes, dark and unfathomable, like a cigarette burning to its end.

He traced kisses along Cheng Jing’s ear, his voice like wisps of smoke: “Do you want it or not?”

Finally, Cheng Jing trembled, letting out a dazed whimper.