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The bathroom was too small for this.
The walls were close and seemed to shrink even closer under the heavy air. Humidity clung to every surface, slightly tacky to touch. The tile floor was cracked, the faucet had a constant drip, and the window could barely open beyond a slight crack. There was a toothbrush jammed behind the faucet, a shower curtain half-drawn back, and a lingering scent of old shampoo, something vaguely eucalyptus that Cheng Xiaoshi insisted "added to the vibe." Lu Guang wasn't sure what vibe he was trying to cultivate, exactly.
And yet, Lu Guang found himself sitting in the bathtub across from Cheng Xiaoshi, whose socks were still on for some unfathomable reason and looked far too pleased with himself. They sat with their backs against opposite ends of the tub, legs pressed in a loose tangle because there wasn't enough room not to.
The bathtub was narrow, decorated by old porcelain with chipped enamel and a hairline crack running through the base. There were green tiles with little faded swirls, some of which had fallen off entirely to reveal stained grout hiding underneath. A bottle of half-empty shampoo sat on the windowsill. A tiny rust ring circled the drain.
It wasn't comfortable, nor particularly meaningful. But Cheng Xiaoshi had insisted.
That was the problem with him. He had a peculiar way of turning completely absurd ideas into things that felt oddly reasonable. And Lu Guang fell for it every time: hook, line, and sinker.
His knee bumped against Cheng Xiaoshi’s. He shifted slightly, but the contact didn’t quite go away. Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
“This is not what bathtubs are for,” Lu Guang said flatly.
“You say that like you know what bathtubs are for,” Cheng Xiaoshi grinned, stretching out one leg further, encroaching on what little of Lu Guang’s personal space remained.
Lu Guang shifted his gaze away, out the window. The cracked glass reflected a distorted patch of sky.
“They’re for bathing.”
Cheng Xiaoshi frowned, letting out a dramatic sigh. “God, you’re so linear sometimes. Live a little, Guang Guang.”
Lu Guang slowly exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes. His slacks were already wrinkled beyond salvation. It didn’t help that his shirt was stuck to his back, the collar damp against his neck. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, but that didn’t really help. The heat made everything sluggish: his thoughts, his movements, the way his cigarette sat limply from his fingers, unlit.
Cheng Xiaoshi, in contrast, appeared entirely too comfortable, limbs sprawled out languidly. His T-shirt was soft and a little moth-bitten with age, his jeans were slightly torn at the knee. One arm was slung casually over the side of the tub. Ink-like black hair curled at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat.
Lu Guang caught himself watching a drop of sweat trace the curve of Cheng Xiaoshi’s neck. It trickled down the column of his throat and then fell along the edge of his collarbone. He looked away before it reached his collar.
The room smelled faintly of air freshener and ceramic and heat. The fan in the hallway clicked rhythmically with every pass, slow and mechanical, but no breeze reached them. It was a strange little vacuum of sweat and silence.
And per usual, Cheng Xiaoshi made it weirder.
He had sauntered in 30 minutes earlier, waving a pack of cigarettes like he’d just solved world peace, and then proceeded to promptly announce, “We’re having a tub moment.”
“I’m reading,” Lu Guang deadpanned, looking up from a book that he actually hadn’t turned a page of for nearly half an hour.
“Exactly. It’s hot. You’re clearly bored and I’m irresistibly charming. Tub time,” Cheng Xiaoshi declared.
Lu Guang blinked. “That is not a sentence you say to people.”
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the look on Cheng Xiaoshi’s face, starry-eyed and imploring, like he already knew Lu Guang wouldn’t say no. Nevertheless, for reasons he couldn’t articulate out loud, Lu Guang had followed.
And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? That Cheng Xiaoshi knew—knew that he could ask almost anything, and Lu Guang would follow, reluctantly, quietly, every time. And it wasn’t even about the favor. It was about him.
They had been best friends for years. Roommates for one. It was simple, mostly. Except for the part that it wasn't.
Lu Guang adjusted his position, foot brushing against Cheng Xiaoshi’s again.
"I still don't understand what this is supposed to accomplish,” he remarked absentmindedly, cigarette rolling loosely between his fingers.
"Roommate bonding time," Cheng Xiaoshi replied brightly. “And I get to annoy you for an hour. Win-win.”
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true. Embrace the weirdness. This is the kind of stuff people write melodramatic Tumblr posts about."
Lu Guang looked at him sideways. "Do you want us to be a Tumblr post?"
"I'm saying we'd make a great one."
“You're very confident."
Cheng Xiaoshi grinned. "You like that about me. And besides, you’re still here."
He was. He knew Cheng Xiaoshi was referring to him still sitting in the tub with him, but his mind trailed off. He hadn’t planned to stay this long, as his original intention had only been to crash with Cheng Xiaoshi for a few weeks while he looked for a place of his own. He wasn’t sure when that plan had changed.
Lu Guang had never smoked before moving in. Didn’t like the smell. Didn’t like the way it clung. But the first time Cheng Xiaoshi passed him a cigarette across the kitchen counter, mid-argument about a film neither of them liked but both had very strong opinions about, it felt like a dare, a challenge of sorts.
He’d lit it and inhaled wrong, coughing in embarrassment as Cheng Xiaoshi doubled over in laughter. Not mockingly—fondly, maybe. Like he knew Lu Guang would try again just to prove a point. That was the thing; Cheng Xiaoshi always stirred this ache within him, impulsive and hungry, leading him to do things that were definitely against his better judgement.
Now, a year later, Lu Guang brought the cigarette to his lips without a second thought. The lighter clicked once. It didn’t light. The flint scraped, hissed, and went silent again. He gave it another try, thumb slow and steady, like patience might earn him mercy. No spark.
He examined the metal casing. It was a sleek, silver one that Cheng Xiaoshi had convinced him to buy in January, despite the outrageous price. “Aesthetic matters,” he had said. “Plus, you can’t just keep borrowing mine.”
“It’s not working,” Lu Guang muttered, as if this was a neutral observation of the universe and not something vaguely annoying. His eyebrows knit into a slight frown.
Cheng Xiaoshi looked up from where he was balancing a cigarette between his lips, his voice taking on an amused lilt. “Need some help, Guang Guang?”
Lu Guang’s fingers tightened around the lighter. “I’ll handle it,” he mumbled, taking another shot with his lighter that was stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Nothing. He adjusted his grip, checked the fluid level, and clicked again.
Still nothing.
Cheng Xiaoshi sat up a little straighter, waving his own cigarette around. Lazy tendrils of smoke curled up towards the ceiling. “You want mine?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Cheng Xiaoshi tilted his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “Well, lucky for you, I have an idea.”
That was never a comforting sentence.
“You always say that before doing something you absolutely shouldn’t.”
“Not true. Sometimes I say it before doing something extremely charming.”
“I’m not convinced those are different things.”
Cheng Xiaoshi’s grin only widened. “Trust me.”
“I’d rather not.”
But Cheng Xiaoshi was already moving, his own cigarette aglow, the end faintly orange in the dim bathroom light.
“Here,” he said, “Just—hold still for a sec.”
He leaned forward, closer than necessary. One knee rested between Lu Guang’s, hand braced on the green-tiled wall for balance. His other hand brought the cigarette to his lips, holding it between two fingers, smoke curling in barely visible tendrils between them.
Lu Guang blinked, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips now. “What are you—”
Before he could form an objection, Cheng Xiaoshi had already bridged the gap between them, bringing the tip of his own lit cigarette forward. There was a softness to this motion, not rushed. Deliberate. Lu Guang instinctively reached up to hold his cigarette so it wouldn’t fall.
Too close. Way too close. His voice caught halfway up his throat. He told himself to move, to lean back, to breathe normally—but instead, he stayed still, like a deer about to bolt, but never quite does.
Their hands nearly touched. Cheng Xiaoshi’s fingers twitched, pulling back just slightly as if afraid of brushing skin. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
Cheng Xiaoshi angled the cigarette downwards, his face inches away from Lu Guang’s.
The tips met.
Fire passed from one to the other in a quiet kiss of orange.
Their knees were already touching, but now he was close enough for Lu Guang to see the little freckle near his jaw, the sheen of sweat on his cheeks.
Lu Guang’s eyes flickered up to Cheng Xiaoshi’s half-lidded gaze, and then back down to where ember met paper. Tiny sparks flared where tobacco caught. He could feel the warmth on his face. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cigarette or Cheng Xiaoshi. Both, maybe. His heart was beating far too fast for something so stupidly small.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s breath brushed his cheek—mint, smoke, heat. And then it was gone. His eyes lingered, just for a second longer than they should have. He pulled back slowly, that grin still hovering on his face like it lived there by default.
“There we go,” he said, voice low. “Now we’re both lit.”
Lu Guang took a drag, calm and practiced, and tried very hard to not think about how closeCheng Xiaoshi had been. How he could still feel the residual warmth from where their hands nearly touched. How his face had been just close enough to see the curve of Cheng Xiaoshi’s lips, the fleck of ash clinging to his collarbone, the stupid glint in his eyes.
He exhaled slowly, breathing out the smoke, mostly to give himself something to focus on besides the thunderous thud of his own pulse.
It was just a cigarette.
It was just a stupid, overheated bathtub.
It was just—
“You’re staring,” Cheng Xiaoshi stated, amused.
“That was unnecessary,” Lu Guang replied after a brief pause, the cigarette between his fingers trembling a bit too much for his liking. “And I’m not staring.”
“You are. It’s fine. I’m nice to look at,” Cheng Xiaoshi laughed cheekily.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you are, bathtub and all. Admit it, you’re obsessed.”
Lu Guang opened his mouth like he might respond, then paused. Closed it again. The tips of his ears were turning pink, slow and traitorous. He reached up to adjust his glasses, except he wasn’t wearing any, and ended up brushing his fingers through his hair in a motion that looked much more nervous than he meant it to.
He considered his next words carefully, keeping his face neutral. “You do have a certain gravitational pull to you.”
“Aha!” Cheng Xiaoshi pointed, triumphant. “See? I knew you had it in you! You can flirt.”
Lu Guang’s lips pressed into a thin line. He tilted his chin upward, feigning calm, ignoring the flush that crept up his cheeks. “That wasn’t flirting.”
“Whatever you say, Guang Guang.”
Lu Guang chose not to respond to that.
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. The bathroom was quiet except for the occasional soft inhale, the hiss of the cigarette, the gentle drip from the faucet. Outside, the hum of the summer air filtered in—cicadas buzzing in the trees, kids yelling across the street, distant music playing through an open window. Inside, everything felt hazy and slightly surreal.
It was hot. Stupidly, unnecessarily hot. Sweat collected at the nape of his neck, behind his ears, in the crook of his elbow. But he didn't move, instead letting the water lap at his legs, his knees resting against Cheng Xiaoshi’s.
He didn’t know when it had stopped bothering him, how close they were. Or maybe it still did, just in a different way. In a way that made his head feel foggy.
Cheng Xiaoshi exhaled a wisp of smoke and said, “Y’know, you look oddly dignified for someone sitting in a bathtub with a bad lighter and an even worse case of heat stroke.”
Lu Guang shot him a look. Cheng Xiaoshi raised his eyebrows innocently.
"What? You've got that whole brooding, mysterious model vibe going on. Very tragic, pretty boy."
“That’s just my face.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“You carry yourself like you’re above it all,” Cheng Xiaoshi waved vaguely. “Like this”—he gestured to the tub, the smoke, the strange intimacy of it all—”doesn’t affect you.”
Lu Guang inhaled, letting the smoke fill up his lungs. “It doesn’t.”
“Liar.”
Lu Guang gave him a look, just a glance from underneath his lashes.
He held the stare half a second too long before dropping it, eyes flicking down to the water. He exhaled a little too quickly, like the smoke might hide the heat rising in his cheeks. His stomach did a strange little turn and he blamed the nicotine. Or the humidity. Or both.
Lu Guang ignored it, pretended like none of it mattered, but everything about them mattered far more than it should have.
The way Cheng Xiaoshi left notes on the fridge that were half grocery lists, half motivational card greetings. The way Lu Guang always brought takeout back for them to share over lame jokes on late evenings. The way Cheng Xiaoshi never knocked but always entered like he belonged in the room. The way Lu Guang allowed him to get all up in his personal space and pretended not to notice when he fell asleep on his shoulder.
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, shifting his weight like he couldn’t quite get comfortable.
Cheng Xiaoshi reached over and flicked ash in the sink, dragging Lu Guang out of his head.
“It’s kind of romantic, though,” Cheng Xiaoshi spoke up after a moment.
Lu Guang gave him a pointed look.
“What?” he smiled innocently. “Two guys, sharing cigarettes while sitting in a bathtub on a sweltering summer day. Very indie movie. Qiao Ling would eat it up.”
“Do you always narrate your life like it’s a screenplay?”
“Only the interesting parts.”
“You think this is interesting?”
“I think you’re interesting.”
Lu Guang looked away. His gaze drifted to the ceiling. It was cracked. Of course it was. His jaw shifted like he was biting back a reaction. The tips of his ears had gone pink again.
“Do you do this with everyone?” he asked finally.
“Smoke in a bathtub with them?”
Lu Guang nodded.
Cheng Xiaoshi leaned back, letting one arm fall over the edge of the bathtub, fingers tapping against the side. “Not really. Most people aren’t fun enough.”
“And I am?”
“Somehow,” he said slowly, letting the smoke trail from his lips, “you’re the most fun person I know, even though you’re also the most boring.”
“I’m not boring.”
“You color code your bookshelf.”
“It’s efficient.”
“It’s insane.”
Lu Guang frowned, a bit miffed. “And yet you still like living with me.”
“I love living with you.”
The word slipped out too easily, too comfortably.
Lu Guang’s fingers tightened slightly around his cigarette. He coughed. Quietly. Then looked down and pretended to adjust his sleeve like it had somehow become a pressing issue. His hand twitched slightly. He didn’t even like taking baths, and yet here he was, half-melting into porcelain just to sit across from someone who didn’t even bother taking off his socks.
“You okay?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked suddenly, catching that tiny shift. It wasn’t teasing. Not quite. It was too soft for that.
“Fine,” Lu Guang said, a bit too fast.
Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did and was pretending not to. That was the game, wasn't it?
This constant back-and-forth, this edge they kept dancing along. They had rules. Mostly unspoken. Mostly broken.
"I think this place makes people weird," Cheng Xiaoshi murmured after a brief moment, voice quieter. Softer. "The heat. The space. Everything feels close."
"It's a one-bedroom," Lu Guang replied. "It is close."
"No, I mean—” Cheng Xiaoshi paused. “You know what I mean."
Lu Guang didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could without saying too much.
The thing was—Cheng Xiaoshi was always like this. Light and open and just a little bit reckless. He touched people easily. Laughed easily. Moved through the world like it was something made for him. Lu Guang had spent most of his life trying to avoid being seen. Cheng Xiaoshi had walked into his life and saw him, kept looking, and never once glanced away.
"I'm going to have to find a way to pay you back for all these cigarettes," Lu Guang said eventually, brushing past the previous topic.
Cheng Xiaoshi blinked, then smirked. "Is that your way of saying you want me to buy you dinner?"
"No."
"Because l'd do it. Easily. You want sushi? Tacos? A hot date?"
Lu Guang shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.
“Oh? Is that a yes? I knew it, you like it when I talk.”
"I want you to stop talking.”
Cheng Xiaoshi’s grin widened. "Too bad."
He leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded, smoke drifting from his lips like something out of a dream. For once, Lu Guang didn’t immediately look away, eyes fixed on the way Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest rose and fell, the dust of rosy red that stained his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was from the heat or something else, but his gaze lingered. And then—Cheng Xiaoshi turned his head just in time to catch him.
Their eyes met. Just a second too long.
This time, Cheng Xiaoshi was the one who flushed, a bright red creeping up his neck. His mouth opened like he was going to say something—something sincere, maybe—but then he shook his head and huffed a laugh instead, covering it with a smirk. “So you are staring.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Lu Guang took another drag, his face passive. Except the heat hadn’t left his cheeks.
By the time the smoke cleared, the sun had dipped low enough to cast gold light through the tiny window. The water had long run cold, but Lu Guang’s face still felt warm. Cheng Xiaoshi stood up first, stretching with a small groan as water trickled down his arms.
"Same time tomorrow?” he asked, tilting his head teasingly.
Lu Guang raised an eyebrow. "You're assuming I'll agree to this again."
"Someday,” Cheng Xiaoshi grinned, “you're going to have to admit you love me."
"Someday,” Lu Guang glanced up at him, “you're going to have to stop assuming things."
Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes sparkled. "So that's not a no."
Lu Guang looked away. He made a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, but his ears stayed pink.
The tub felt too empty when Cheng Xiaoshi stepped out.