22:02, three rhythmic knocks sound at my door. Since moving to this city over half a year ago, I've lived alone, and there's no one who would visit at this hour. Yet these controlled knocks don't sound like a drunk who's gotten the wrong door.

I don't answer immediately, but grab the防身 tool I keep handy and quietly approach the door.

The knocking comes again, followed by a voice drifting through the door: "Are you asleep? I have a small problem and need to trouble you with something."

I recognize the voice—it's Ziyu, the boy who lives in the apartment to my right, with the beautiful face. Aside from a few chance encounters, we barely know each other, exchanging little more than our names. While it's possible he could harm me, the moment I recognize his voice, I relax my guard. I know he's not the type to hurt others.

Because he'd rather hurt himself.

I open the door, and sure enough, there stands Ziyu. It's midsummer, sweltering hot, yet he's wearing a long-sleeved white shirt. He's much taller than me but extremely thin—the soft fabric, washed many times, clings to his body, revealing the prominent bones of his shoulders. I look up at him, my gaze slowly traveling up from his chin to his face. His moist lips, small nose, those two perfectly symmetrical beauty marks, eyes glistening with moisture half-hidden behind slightly too-long bangs—all combine to make his pleading expression seem strangely暧昧.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you so late," he says with an apologetic smile, his speech slow, but I still detect the unnatural pause. "I... I accidentally cut my arm, and I was wondering if you have anything for first aid, since I saw you working at the pharmacy before..."

I recognize the lie immediately. Since summer started, every time we've met, I've noticed the obvious bandages or thin scars on his exposed forearms. I don't want to get involved, and I'm about to refuse when he adds, "...and I can only come to you. I know you'll help me."

I can't refuse. I nod and step aside to let him in. "Come in." My invitation makes his smile relax. He nods, murmurs thanks, and steps into my apartment. As I close the door, I can't help mocking myself inwardly: "Again. Just like always."

I gesture toward the sofa, and he sits down while I retrieve the first-aid kit. Ziyu cooperatively rolls up his sleeve, revealing a crude bandage made from a face towel, already soaked through with blood. Gently unwrapping it, I'd already expected the wound to be serious given the bleeding, but actually seeing it still gives me a small shock. I不由自主 look up at him—he looks like a naughty child caught by a teacher, nervously shifting his gaze away before lying again: "I wasn't paying attention while opening a package and got cut by the box cutter."

I say nothing, just低下头 again to treat his wound.

The entire process is conducted in unusual silence. Even though my technique isn't particularly skilled or gentle, he doesn't utter a sound of pain. Several times he seems about to speak, but seeing the top of my head as I concentrate—perhaps also feeling shame about lying to me—he closes his mouth again.

When I finish bandaging and look up, he meets my eyes and says sincerely, "Thank you." He makes no move to leave, just固执地 stares at me. I sense he's waiting for me to say "you're welcome" or "it's nothing," but I don't want to give him that satisfaction. I already lost to him at the door—I want to win just once.

"Are you a pain junkie, or do you just like cutting yourself?"

Stating the truth so ruthlessly is like dropping a bomb between us. His stubbornness and lies vanish instantly. Surprise, fear, confusion—expressions like spilled paint splatter across his beautiful face, even those two small moles seeming to dim.

Before he can recover, I add, "If you just want to feel something, you can come to me." Watching his expression crumple into blankness, waves of satisfaction surge through me. I won't let him defeat me again.

These two sentences leave Ziyu reeling. I seize the advantage, shifting closer to him until our knees touch. The skin-on-skin contact shocks him back to awareness. "I..." I raise a hand to his cheek, leaning in to look directly into his eyes, cutting him off: "Or would you like to try right now?" As my hand slides down his face, brushing his earlobe, I feel his entire body tremble and his breathing instantly quicken. My hand moves to his neck, gently gripping it, thumb pressing against his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.