Chapter 8

After returning that day, Song Wenzhou threw the culprit, which had nearly made him too embarrassed to face anyone, into the bathroom to shower. He sulked for a long while, then resolutely refused Mu Chi’s advances when he got into bed.

The next day, after Mu Chi had “sobered up,” Song Wenzhou still gave him the silent treatment for several hours.

If Mu Chi hadn’t been so curious about why he was upset, and if he hadn’t patiently tried to cheer him up despite being ignored, Song Wenzhou wouldn’t have known that Mu Chi hadn’t been drunk the night before. In fact, Mu Chi had been secretly laughing in his heart when he heard Song Wenzhou stammering his explanation to the traffic cop.

When Song Wenzhou found out the truth, he gave Mu Chi a good beating.

After being beaten, Mu Chi eagerly approached him to rub his wrist, fearing that Song Wenzhou might hurt his hand while hitting him. He then asked with a half-hearted tone, “Did I smell bad when I kissed you after drinking?”

Song Wenzhou snorted coldly. “Not bad.”

—

“Does it smell bad?” Mu Chi asked, tugging at his collar.

Song Wenzhou instinctively shook his head, but halfway through, he suddenly realized a serious issue. He gestured toward the black Audi behind Mu Chi and frowned, asking, “Did you drive after drinking?”

“No, no,” Mu Chi quickly reassured him, not wanting to make Song Wenzhou worry. Over the years, he had never joked about his safety, “I had a designated driver bring me here.”

“Oh,” Song Wenzhou responded softly, his gaze returning to the small box in Mu Chi’s hand.

“Hm?” Mu Chi extended the box toward him.

Song Wenzhou had no intention of taking it. He lowered his eyes and said, “I returned everything you gave me. I’ll return what you gave me, too. Keep it for yourself.”

“That’s not right,” Mu Chi wasn’t polite anymore. He grabbed Song Wenzhou’s hand and shoved the box into his palm, insisting, “I gave it to you, so it’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it, but there’s no reason for you to return it.”

Song Wenzhou almost laughed in frustration. In Mu Chi’s view, reason was something used to control others. He could return the keychain, but when Song Wenzhou didn’t want to keep what originally belonged to him, that was unacceptable.

Mu Chi seemed to have guessed what he was thinking, and the next moment added, “Besides, I didn’t return the keychain. I said I’d just have you keep it for me temporarily.”

Song Wenzhou: “…Does it make a difference?”

They had already broken up. They would only drift farther apart from now on, and Mu Chi might soon forget about all this.

“Of course it does,” Mu Chi said seriously. “I’ll take it back.”

“You give it if you want, take it if you want—this is too… too domineering,” Song Wenzhou said angrily.

“Hey, you’ve known me for so long. Haven’t I always been this domineering?” Mu Chi seemed to take it as a compliment, looking rather pleased with himself. He pointed at the box in Song Wenzhou’s hand and added, “You’d better keep this well. Even though I said you could do whatever you want with it, don’t throw it away.”

Song Wenzhou didn’t want to argue anymore. He turned around and opened the car door, leaving with the words, “I’m going to work.”

“Hey? You’re leaving already? Let’s chat a bit more,” Mu Chi thought teasing Song Wenzhou was always fun. As Song Wenzhou rolled down the window to back up the car, he leaned against the window and asked, “Have you been eating properly these days?”

At least it was a question showing concern. Song Wenzhou couldn’t stay cold to him and replied, “…I’ve been eating.”

“That’s good,” Mu Chi nodded. “You have to take care of yourself. Don’t make me worry. If you need anything, remember to call me. I’m on standby 24/7.”

“Take your hand off.” Song Wenzhou started the car, and in the rearview mirror, Mu Chi stood where he was, watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he turned the corner and drove out of the neighborhood, no longer able to see Mu Chi’s figure, that Song Wenzhou quietly snorted.

Don’t make him worry. With their relationship right now, how could he even talk about worrying?

The white Lexus blended into the flow of traffic. Song Wenzhou, as usual, often glanced at the rearview mirror and, through the faint reflection from the car window, noticed the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

After a busy morning at the office, Song Wenzhou finally wrapped up an important client’s personal account plan. Once he handed the file over, he finally got a moment of free time. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took out the small box Mu Chi had forced into his hand when he left in the morning.

The box was small, containing a single button—just an ordinary white button, unremarkable and without any distinguishing features. On closer inspection, one could notice the surface of the button had lost its sheen.

It had been kept in that box for far too long.

Although the button was something Song Wenzhou had deliberately placed in the box many years ago, he rarely thought about it. Usually, he just tossed it into some corner of his wardrobe, and only when he needed to rummage through things would he remember, “Oh, he still has this.”

But whether it was during his university years or after he graduated and moved out, Song Wenzhou had thrown away or given away many things to lighten his load. However, he never once got rid of this small box.

When they moved in together, Mu Chi had helped Song Wenzhou organize his clothes. He came across the box and curiously opened it, only to find the button inside. Mu Chi teased him about it for a while, until a flustered Song Wenzhou silenced him with a passionate kiss.

After that, Song Wenzhou, wanting to “destroy the evidence,” casually tossed the box into a random corner. Over the years, he couldn’t even remember where the box had gone.

He had no idea where Mu Chi had found it.

Now that he thought about it, the button had originally been pried off Mu Chi’s shirt during their second year of high school.