Chapter 12: Watching a Movie

Ji Xu stood in front of the bathroom mirror changing his clothes.

His fingers reached around to touch the gland on his hindneck; it was no longer hot, its skin temperature returning to normal.

To the touch, it was merely a tiny, slightly raised patch, bearing almost no temperature difference from the surrounding skin.

After a moment’s thought, however, he still pulled open the drawer underneath the bathroom vanity, pulling out a brand-new suppressor patch from inside.

The suppressor patches had been bought by Rong Du at the pharmacy two days ago—a box of ten in pink packaging, printed with the words “Gentle Pheromone Suppressor Patch — Suitable for Alphas & Omegas.”

When Rong Du bought it, he had probably just grabbed it conveniently, not caring whether the pattern on the box was a cartoon bunny or whatever.

In short, it was a tenderly pink box, which actually matched quite well with the rabbit toothbrush cup at home.

Ji Xu tore open the packaging to extract one.

It was a palm-sized, semi-transparent gel material in an off-white color, its edges rounded, releasing a faint medical tape aroma.

Tilted his head toward the mirror, he swept his hair forward to expose his hindneck, pressing the suppressor patch onto his gland.

He used the pads of his fingers to press lightly along the edges in a circle to ensure it adhered firmly.

The moment the gel contacted his skin, a brief sensation of coolness washed over him before it rapidly conformed to his skin, covering that slightly raised gland completely and snugly.

It was rude to randomly radiate one’s own pheromones out in public.

Ji Xu had known this truth since he was a child.

Although most Alphas were usually capable of keeping their pheromones from leaking, there would always be moments of emotional volatility or physical instability when scent would accidentally seep out if one wasn’t paying attention.

Having grown up in an orphanage, the management of pheromones in communal living spaces was exceptionally strict.

Regardless of whether one was an Alpha or an Omega, everyone abided by the same rule—patch up when going out, check before entering, and refrain from causing trouble for others.

The situation for Omegas was somewhat special; their pheromones were beyond their conscious control, leaking out with even the slightest emotional wave.

Thus, the vast majority of Omegas wore suppressor patches year-round, with some not taking them off all day.

By contrast, Alphas were far freer, only needing to wear one occasionally around their susceptibility period or after strenuous exercise.

Ji Xu touched the smooth patch on his hindneck, confirming it was stuck tightly without any curling edges, before switching his shoes and stepping out the door.

Rong Du was already waiting for him at the entrance of the stairwell, dressed in a clean white T-shirt and dark trousers, holding Ji Xu’s jacket in his hand—although Haicheng was unbearably hot right now, the air conditioning in movie theaters was notoriously aggressive, making it easy to catch a chill upon coming out.

He saw Ji Xu walk down, his gaze lingering on his hindneck for a split second, where the edge of the suppressor patch exposed beneath the tips of his hair reflected a bit of light under the stairwell lamps.

Rong Du didn’t say anything, simply handing the jacket over: “Bring it along.

The cinema gets cold.”

The two of them took a bus to the shopping mall.

Haicheng’s largest cinema was situated on the top floor of a commercial complex in the city center.

When the elevator went up, it was crammed full of people—mostly young adults, along with quite a few parents bringing their children along.

Ji Xu stood in the corner while Rong Du shielded him from the front to separate him from the crowd.

The two stepped out of the elevator one after the other, greeted by a blast of sweet popcorn aroma mixed with the cool draft of air conditioning.

Rong Du went to the counter to collect the pre-booked tickets.

When he returned, he held two cups of milk tea and a giant tub of popcorn in his hands.

The popcorn was freshly made, still carrying a gentle heat, with the scents of butter and caramel wafting outward hot and sweet.

He handed one of the milk tea cups to Ji Xu.

A fine layer of water droplets had condensed over the wall of the cup—it was iced.

Rong Du’s own cup was a sugar-free, room-temperature tea, as restrained and low-key as he was.

“Let’s go.”

Ji Xu took the milk tea and took a sip, the icy dairy sweetness sliding down his throat and washing away the faint lingering heat beneath the suppressor patch on his gland.

Holding the tub of popcorn, he followed Rong Du toward the screening room.

The floor was carpeted in dark colors, while the light-box posters on both sides glowed with colorful, flamboyant covers of various blockbusters.

Their screening room was at the end of the hallway.

When they pushed the door open to enter, the lights were still on, and the seats were about seventy to eighty percent filled.

Indeed, there were plenty of young children ranging from four or five to around ten years old—some clinging to their parents’ arms, others kicking their legs on the seats, chatting away noisily as the air filled with snacks and warm human activity.

Ji Xu tugged at Rong Du’s cuff to find their seats—dead center in the very last row, two seats joined together with armrests that could be stowed away.

He placed the popcorn tub in the empty gap between them, sat down, and pushed the seat armrest up so that there was no barrier between the two of them.

Rong Du sat down to his left, draping the jacket over his knees and placing his milk tea into the cup holder on the side of his seat.

Ji Xu rested his feet on the crossbar of the row in front of him, shrinking back into his seat cushion, immediately settling into a comfortable posture.

The instant the lights dimmed, all the noise in the theater hushed for a beat.

Then the movie began, lighthearted background music sounding as a string of colorful subtitles flashed onto the screen.

It was a lighthearted road comedy about a few friends embarking on a road trip together and causing various absurd misunderstandings along the way.

The comedy beats were dense without being vulgar, drawing bursts of laughter across the theater.

Ji Xu watched intently, leaning his body slightly forward, the corners of his mouth never dropping once from the start.

Whenever a funny joke hit, he laughed along with the people around him, his shoulders quivering lightly, making his entire person vivid and bright in the dim reflection of the screen.

When he reached out his hand to grab popcorn, he didn’t even look, simply probing into the tub by feel.

He scooped a handful out of the butter and caramel fragrance to pop into his mouth, chewing with crunching sounds while a caramel-colored crumb occasionally stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Rong Du’s eyes were fixed on the big screen up ahead, but his peripheral vision was completely occupied by Ji Xu beside him.

The light from the screen flickered on and off across Ji Xu’s face—at times a warm tone of orange, at times a cool shade of blue—illuminating his profile into alternating light and shadow.

When Ji Xu laughed, the corners of his eyes would curve down, his eyelashes trembling along with it, the arc of his lips clearly outlined by the light.

When he turned his head to share a certain joke with Rong Du, those eyes reflected the light of the entire screen, bright as if a handful of crushed stars had been scattered within them.

Rong Du smiled too.

Every time Ji Xu laughed, he would curve his lips in turn, that gentle expression surfacing on his face, though he hadn’t actually paid attention to what was playing in the movie at all.

The plot in front was roughly about someone getting lost at a highway service station while the rest of the group searched everywhere for him.

Rong Du only knew that the people on the screen were running back and forth, but as for why they were running or where they were running to, he failed to follow along completely.

All of his attention fell upon the person beside him: Ji Xu taking a sip of milk tea with a gurgling sound, Ji Xu’s knee unconsciously bumping against his own, the tips of Ji Xu’s hair brushing across his upper arm due to tilting his head.

These fragmented, tiny moments that others wouldn’t notice in the slightest were amplified infinitely in Rong Du’s perception, every single one distinct and irreplaceable.

Halfway through the movie, Ji Xu reached out again to scoop some popcorn.

His fingertips rummaged at the bottom of the tub twice, catching nothing, as the empty plastic tub let out a hollow crunching sound.

Looking down, he realized the tub of popcorn had been devoured clean down to the bottom without him knowing, leaving only a few crumbs clinging to the walls of the tub.

With a bit of regret, he licked the lingering caramel flavor from his lips, tilting his head to lean closer to Rong Du: “Rong Du, help me grab a tissue.

There are wet wipes in my left pocket—I can’t reach it comfortably myself.”

Rong Du lowered his head, reaching one hand into the left pocket of Ji Xu’s pants to pull out an individually wrapped wet wipe, tearing open the seal to pull one out.

Then, instead of handing the wet wipe to Ji Xu, he maintained that posture while his other hand reached over to grab Ji Xu’s right hand.

Ji Xu’s hand was held by Rong Du.

His fingers were slender and well-articulated, his nails trimmed clean and rounded, with a hint of thin callus on the pads of his fingers from holding things over time.

Rong Du folded the wet wipe, wrapped it around Ji Xu’s fingers, and began wiping them carefully and slowly, starting from the thumb.

The cool sensation of the wet wipe pressed against his skin, rubbing away the popcorn crumbs and butter grease clinging to his fingertips bit by bit, every joint wiped clean, even between the fingers lightly passed over.

After wiping them once, Rong Du flipped the wet wipe over and repeated the exact same motion, the pads of his fingers sliding down Ji Xu’s fingers slowly through that thin layer of paper tissue—thumb, index finger, middle finger, ring finger, little finger, one by one, with painstaking care.

Ji Xu watched Rong Du’s lowered eyes and brows, illuminated in half-light and half-shadow by the reflection of the screen.

His hand was held in Rong Du’s palm, the other’s body heat transmitting through the cool chill of the wet wipe, dry and warm, ironing the back of his fingers bit by bit.

His hands didn’t seem that dirty, right?

He had only touched a bit of caramel from the popcorn, so wiping them once was more than enough.

Yet Rong Du’s hand showed no intention of letting go at all, continuing to slowly rub away even as the wet wipe was nearly warmed dry by their body heat.

Ji Xu realized belatedly that the distance between the two of them was far too close.

His arm had been pulled over by Rong Du, half his body leaning over to his side, his nose nearly touching Rong Du’s shoulder.

His throat bobbed, and he gently tugged his hand back: “That’s enough.”

Rong Du’s fingers loosened slightly, and Ji Xu pulled his hand back.

The wet wipe was already half-dry.

Rong Du folded it up and placed it into the trash bag beside the seat, his movements very calm, as if that overly meticulous wipe down just now was nothing more than the most ordinary small matter.

He redirected his gaze to the screen, where a scene of a crowd chasing and fooling around on the beach was currently playing, laughter ringing out in a chorus.

Ji Xu turned his head back to continue watching the movie as well, but on the back of the hand that had just been held, the cool sensation of the wet wipe and the lingering warmth of Rong Du’s palm seemed to still remain, mixed together, making him unable to resist lightly rubbing that hand against his knee.

Ji Xu didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the plot either.

However, he had already watched most of it anyway, remembering all the earlier comedy beats; he knew how the final ten-minute wrap-up went—a happy ending where everyone found what they wanted.

When the film ended, the credits began to roll, and the lights in the screening room slowly came up.

The parents around them held their children’s hands, standing up to walk out, as the kids’ chatter rang out once more.

Ji Xu stood up to stretch, following behind Rong Du toward the exit, talking as he walked: “This movie was so fun.

I wonder if there’ll be a second part.”

Rong Du walked half a step ahead of him, turning his head back to look at him upon hearing that.

Ji Xu’s face was rendered soft by the warm yellow light of the cinema, a trace of moisture from drinking milk tea earlier still clinging to his lips, glistening brightly.

Rong Du withdrew his gaze and handed Ji Xu’s jacket to him: “I don’t know, maybe there will be.”

Naturally, he extended his hand, taking hold of Ji Xu’s left hand, interlocking their fingers together, palm to palm.

Ji Xu’s fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away, letting Rong Du hold him as they walked out of the screening room.

They didn’t head home right away.

Connected below the shopping mall was a bustling food street.

At nine or ten o’clock at night, it was right at its peak prosperity.

The stalls on both sides were lit up with warm yellow string lights, while white clouds of smoke from skewers and teppanyaki drifted upward, mixing with the rich aromas of cumin, chili, sesame, and sauces.

Ji Xu’s taste buds were instantly hooked.

The tub of popcorn and cup of milk tea earlier had barely filled a tooth gap, and after sitting in the cinema for over an hour, another layer of hunger had struck his stomach.

Tugging Rong Du along, he dashed straight to the nearest teppanyaki squid stall, ordering two large squid skewers.

The iron plate sizzled loudly as the stall owner brushed on sauce and flipped them over, steam rising hot.

Ji Xu took a skewer and bit into it.

The squid tentacles were coated slick and glossy with sauce, scalding hot and springy.

He let out a hissed hiss from the heat but didn’t stop his mouth at all, finishing off a whole skewer in two or three bites.

Next were takoyaki, grilled cold noodles, oden, and fried skewers—Ji Xu ate his way down the line, carrying more and more food in his hands.

For some items that he found not quite to his taste halfway through, or those he genuinely couldn’t finish, he naturally handed them behind his back.

Rong Du would catch them right behind him, expressionlessly receiving the half-eaten grilled gluten, the fried rice cakes with two bites left, and the sour plum soup with only two sips taken, silently clearing them out.

The jacket he had been carrying earlier had turned into a half-full plastic bag at some unknown point, filled with various bamboo skewers, small bowls, and napkin wrappings.

He simply followed behind Ji Xu like a diligent mobile trash can and logistics assistant; Ji Xu ate his way forward without looking back, while he cleared up the aftermath in silence behind him.

Having eaten from head to tail, Ji Xu was finally stuffed by the time they finished walking the food street.

He stopped, placing one hand on his waist—actually, it hadn’t reached such an exaggerated extent that he needed to support his waist, but he deliberately put on that exaggerated look of being stuffed, tilting his head to look at Rong Du while slightly sticking out his belly: “Rong Du, let’s go home.”

Rong Du walked in front of him.

The overlapping warm lights of the streetlamps and food stalls fell onto Ji Xu’s face.

A ring around his lips was glossy from eating, a bit of brownish sauce clinging to the corner of his mouth, with tiny specks of cumin powder on his philtrum and chin.

Completely oblivious himself, he raised his face to look at Rong Du just like that, his expression bearing that lazy contentment and drowsiness that came after eating one’s fill.

Rong Du pulled another pack of wet wipes out of his pocket, tore it open to extract one, and without handing it to Ji Xu, raised his hand to press it directly onto the corner of his mouth.

Ji Xu froze.

The wet wipe pressed coolly beside his lips.

Through that thin layer of tissue paper, Rong Du’s fingers wiped from the corner of his mouth toward the middle of his lips with a light force, rubbing away the greasy sheen and sauce marks bit by bit.

It was too close—Rong Du’s face was nearly a palm’s distance right in front of him.

With his eyes cast downward, his eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes, the warm air of his breath brushing across Ji Xu’s forehead.

Ji Xu subconsciously wanted to shrink back.

Just as the tips of his toes moved half a step backward, his wrist was caught by Rong Du’s free hand—not heavy, but pulling him back very steadily.

“Don’t move,” Rong Du said in a low voice, his tone pressed so low and soft by the clamor of the food street that only Ji Xu could hear it, “It’s not wiped clean yet.”

Ji Xu blinked his eyes, the suppressor patch on his hindneck pulling slightly taut from his nervous movement.

He stopped obediently, raising his face to allow Rong Du’s fingertips to rub back and forth across his lips and the corners of his mouth through the wet wipe, wiping away that specks of cumin powder on his chin, before pressing lightly along his lip line.

With his eyes cast down, he could see Rong Du’s Adam’s apple bob slightly, right at a place so close to him.

Ji Xu’s breathing lightened unconsciously, pursing his lips as he waited for that fine, meticulous touch to come to an end.

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